The Power of Cities (Medieval and Early Modern Iberian World) 2019027548, 2019027549, 9789004399686, 9789004399693

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface and Acknowledgments
List of Maps and Figures
Notes on Contributors
Maps
Urban History on the Iberian Peninsula—Current Perspectives
Part 1 The City in Spania (4th to 7th Centuries) .
1 The Transformation of the City in Hispania between the 4th and the 6th Centuries
2 The Late Antique City in Spania—Toledo and Recópolis
Part 2 The City in al-Andalus (8th to 11th Centuries) .
3 Ornament of the World: Urban Change in Early Islamic Qur.uba
4 The Impact of the Arab Conquest on the Planning of the Iberian Cities: Toledo inside Walls
Part 3 The City in the Territories of the “Reconquista” (11th to 15th Centuries) .
5 Conquered Cities: Continuity and Transformation of Urban Structures in the Castilian “Reconquista” Territories (11th–14th Centuries) —Toledo and Seville
6 The City in the Image/Images of the City: The Lost Tapestry of Valladolid
Part 4 The City in the Hispaniae (15th to 18th Centuries) .
7 Characteristics of Castilian Cities in the 16th and 17th Centuries
8 Ports to “New Worlds”: Lisbon, Seville, Cádiz (15th–18th Centuries)
The Power of Cities—Rewriting the History of the Iberian Peninsula
Index of Places, Names and Subjects

Citation preview

The Power of Cities

The Medieval and Early Modern Iberian World Edited by Larry J. Simon (Western Michigan University) Gerard Wiegers (University of Amsterdam) Arie Schippers (University of Amsterdam) Isidro J. Rivera (University of Kansas) Mercedes Garcia-Arenal (cchs/csic) Montserrat Piera (Temple University)

volume 70

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

The Power of Cities The Iberian Peninsula from Late Antiquity to the Early Modern Period

Edited by

Sabine Panzram

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustration: Tyche-Fortuna, 2nd century AD, Itálica. (c) Sabine Panzram, Museo Arqueológico de Sevilla, Consejería de Cultura y Patrimonio. Junta de Andalucía. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Panzram, Sabine, editor. Title: The power of cities : the Iberian peninsula from late antiquity to the early modern period / edited by Sabine Panzram. Description: Boston : Brill, 2019. | Series: The medieval and early modern iberian world, 15691934 ; 70 | Includes index. Identifiers: LCCN 2019027548 (print) | LCCN 2019027549 (ebook) | ISBN 9789004399686 (hardback) | ISBN 9789004399693 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Cities and towns--Spain--History. | Spain--Buildings, structures, etc.--History. | Cities and towns--Growth. | Urban archaeology--Iberian Peninsula. Classification: LCC HT145.S6 P69 2019 (print) | LCC HT145.S6 (ebook) | DDC 307.760946--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019027548 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019027549

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 1569-1934 isbn 978-90-04-39968-6 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-39969-3 (e-book) Copyright 2019 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense, Hotei Publishing, mentis Verlag, Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh and Wilhelm Fink Verlag. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

(…) τοῦτον σημήνας προβήσομαι ἐς τὸ πρόσω τοῦ λόγου, ὁμοίως σμικρὰ καὶ μεγάλα ἄστεα ἀνθρώπων ἐπεξιών. τὰ γὰρ τὸ πάλαι μεγάλα ἦν, τὰ πολλὰ σμικρὰ αὐτῶν γέγονε: τὰ δὲ ἐπ᾽ ἐμεῦ ἦν μεγάλα, πρότερον ἦν σμικρά. τὴν ἀνθρωπηίην ὤν ἐπιστάμενος εὐδαιμονίην οὐδαμὰ ἐν τὠυτῷ μένουσαν, ἐπιμνήσομαι ἀμφοτέρων ὁμοίως. I will now continue with my history—after all, that is why I searched out great and small cities alike. For cities that once were large have now become small, and those that were great in my time were once insignificant. I know that human greatness does not endure, and I therefore wish to treat the fates of both in the same manner. herodotus of halicarnassus 1,5,3–4

∵

Contents Preface and Acknowledgments  ix List of Maps and Figures  xii Notes on Contributors  xviii Maps  xxii

Urban History on the Iberian Peninsula—Current Perspectives  1 Sabine Panzram

Part 1 The City in Spania (4th to 7th Centuries) 1

The Transformation of the City in Hispania between the 4th and the 6th Centuries  39 Gisela Ripoll

2

The Late Antique City in Spania—Toledo and Recópolis 84 Javier Arce

Part 2 The City in al-Andalus (8th to 11th Centuries) 3

Ornament of the World: Urban Change in Early Islamic Qurṭuba  107 Isabel Toral-Niehoff and Alberto León Muñoz

4

The Impact of the Arab Conquest on the Planning of the Iberian Cities: Toledo inside Walls  161 Fernando Valdés Fernández

Part 3 The City in the Territories of the “Reconquista” (11th to 15th Centuries) 5

Conquered Cities: Continuity and Transformation of Urban Structures in the Castilian “Reconquista” Territories (11th–14th Centuries)—Toledo and Seville  201 Matthias Maser

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contents

The City in the Image/Images of the City: The Lost Tapestry of Valladolid  247 María Asenjo González

Part 4 The City in the Hispaniae (15th to 18th Centuries) 7

Characteristics of Castilian Cities in the 16th and 17th Centuries  289 Antonio Irigoyen López

8

Ports to “New Worlds”: Lisbon, Seville, Cádiz (15th–18th Centuries)  321 Klaus Weber and Torsten dos Santos Arnold



The Power of Cities—Rewriting the History of the Iberian Peninsula  362 Sabine Panzram



Indices  373

Preface and Acknowledgments For Herodotus, the father of historiography, human greatness was anything but enduring, a dictum that he also applied to the cities of his time (the 5th ­century B.C.): cities that had once been large had become small, and those he experienced as great had previously been inconsequential. He concluded that he should treat the fates of both in the same way and thereby formulated a maxim for urban research that even today qualifies as avant-garde. The idea for this volume originated in 2014, during a stay in Córdoba in southern Spain. In the 1930s, Manuel Machado characterized this city, which leads a sleepy existence on the banks of the Gaudalquivir, as “romana y mora, Córdoba callada”—a phrase that could no better have captured the impression it made on me in the June heat of that year. The stone bridge of the Baetis reminded me of its founding by M. Claudius Marcellus in the middle of the 2nd century B.C.—designed as a propugnaculum populi Romani in the ­Turdetania—as did the marble pillars of the so-called Templo de la calle Claudio Marcelo that stretched into the brilliant blue sky. After having received juridical privileges under Augustus, and thanks to the plentiful natural resources in its surroundings and hinterland, Colonia Patricia Corduba had developed into a prosperous and flourishing provincial capital. The theater, too, indicated the “Roman way of life” that Italic peoples, veterans, and members of the local and regional elite had lived here: spurred on by their enthusiasm for this lifestyle, some of them had even moved to the capital of the Imperium Romanum, with Seneca, the philosopher and educator of Nero, surely serving as a famous example. But this testimony to the erstwhile glory of Rome, the patria communis and the romanitas it brought with it—which in following centuries would continue to prove viable, identity-establishing constituents that defied not only the “crisis of the 3th century” but Byzantium and the Visigoths—clearly stood in the shadow of the construction that sprawled in the immediate vicinity of the Roman bridge: the Mezquita Aljama. This squat construction from the end of the 8th century, which dates to the first Umayyad emir, impresses one on entering its patio, whose shady orange trees and burbling fountains invite one to stay, dazzling one on entering its forest of gleaming white-red pillars. Here, ­al-Andalus’s impressions are indicative: Qurṭuba with its mosques and gardens, its public baths and water features, its university and public library and schools, whose estimated population of half a million in the 10th century made it the most populous city in the Mediterranean region, seemed to live again for one long moment—a moment one tried to hold onto when leaving the Mezquita. This simultaneity of the non-simultaneous fascinated,

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disturbed, and raised questions: how could this significant Roman and Arabic city have sunk into insignificance after 1,300 years of existence? Was this development rooted in the city’s layout or was the historical-political context the decisive factor? Did the Christian kings following the conquest not appreciate what this “mother of all cities,” this “ornament of the world,” had to offer? I could not stop contemplating these questions, nor could they be answered within the scope of an annual Toletum workshop that took place in the Hamburg Warburg House: In 2010 I had founded a “Network for Researching the Iberian Peninsula in Antiquity” (www.toletum-network.com) together with Markus Trunk, a classical archaeologist from the University of Trier. Since then, we have discussed constituent elements of the urban world in an interdisciplinary and epoch-spanning manner, from the perspective of ancient and medieval history, classical, provincial Roman, and Early Christian archaeology, as well as from architectural and Islamic studies. In 2013, for example, we dedicated ourselves to the sculptural features of public and private spaces; in 2014, we studied the entertainment sites of the theater, amphitheater, and circus as places of civic self-conception. Our focus always lay within the centuries between the Republic and the year 711 and thus on questions of continuity and change, of rupture and transformation. What was needed was a format that would enable us to transcend this temporal framework, to allow us to include the Arabic and Christian Middle Ages and Early Modern period. A research day seemed ideal for our purpose: in April 2015, the network thus for the first time hosted an event that extended its temporal scope into the 18th century. The participants proceeded from the current state of research on Late Antique urbanism and the image of the cities of the Iberian Peninsula to what had been fundamentally modified by urban archaeological research and a change in the paradigm; they then asked what consequences this reassessment had for the following epochs. The majority of the authors whose contributions are featured in this volume had the opportunity to discuss these questions of the power of the cities that day in the Hamburg Warburg House. Nevertheless, these are not conference notes in the strictest sense of the term, as the authors who participated substantially reworked their essays and are joined by others whose contributions have closed thematic gaps—Alberto León Muñoz, Fernando Valdés Fernández, María Asenjo González, Klaus Weber, and Torsten dos Santos Arnold. The editor has done no more than to copyedit these texts, which reflect the variety of research questions and the different ways of approaching the problem; responsibility for their content and illustrations lie with the authors. It is obvious that this volume utilizes the perspective of classical studies, as reflected in its conception. Evidently, the time for cooperation in the field of urban

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r­ esearch—between classical studies, medieval studies, and the Early Modern period, between history and archaeologists—has not yet arrived, as desirable as it may be. But perhaps we will one day succeed in “treating the fate of all cities in the same way”—the harbour cities that blossomed in antiquity as well as the cities that prospered in the Middle Ages in the south of the Iberian Peninsula and those flourishing in the modern period in Castile’s Meseta. In any case, an approach in the Herodotian manner would be necessary in order finally to write the history of the Iberian Peninsula from the perspective of the cities themselves. This volume does not distinguish itself in these attempts through the swiftness of its publication, but sometimes Rome really isn’t built in a day. That it has come into existence is due to the efforts of a not-insignificant number of people, whom I would like to thank for their help and support. I am indebted to Caroline Bergen (Hamburg), Florian Klein (Hamburg), and Florian Sittig (Cologne), who helped to prepare the manuscript for publication; to Dominik Kloss (Hamburg), who as usual compiled the register; to Laurent Callegarin (Madrid), who was responsible for drawing the maps; to Charlotte Tupman (Exeter) und Timothy Wardell (Hopewell, New Jersey) for additional language assistance, and to Marcella Mulder, editor at Brill, for her infinite patience—my heartfelt thanks goes out to them, as it does to the anonymous reviewers whose constructive criticisms indubitably helped to improve the individual articles as well as the volume as a whole. I would also particularly like to thank those who for years have allowed me to participate in their thoughts and research in this field through consistently lively and contentious discussions: Javier Arce (Lille), Patrice Cressier (Madrid), and Horst Pietschmann (Cologne). Last but not least, my thanks above all is due to Eduardo Manzano Moreno (Madrid) for an epoch-spanning, discipline-crossing, curiosity-driven exchange of ideas in those summer days of 2014 that opened my eyes to al-Andalus. Sabine Panzram Madrid, April 2019

Maps and Figures Maps 1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4

The City in Spania (4th to 7th Centuries)  xxii The City in al-Andalus (8th to 11th Centuries)  xxiii The City in the Territories of the “Reconquista” (11th to 15th Centuries)  xxiv The City in the Hispaniae (15th to 18th Centuries)  xxv

Figures 1.1 1.2 1.3

1.4

1.5 1.6

1.7 1.8

1.9

Council of Elvira. Provenance of the bishops and priests signing at the council  44 Baptisteries in Hispania, according to archaeological, textual, and epigraphic evidence  45 The topography of martyrial cults in Hispania according to Prudentius’ Peristephanon (hymns dedicated, names mentioned) and the Hispanic ­Passionary (versions prior to the 8th century)  48 Toletum/Toledo. Codex Vigilanus or Albeldensis, illustrated by Vigila at the ­monastery of San Martín de Albelda (Monastery of El Escorial, Esc. D.I.2, folio 142r)  51 Barcino/Barcelona. City walls, porta decumana, photogrammetry. © J. García Biosca, Pla Barcino, Ajuntament de Barcelona  52 Valentia/Valencia. Plan of city and the episcopal complex. © After Albert V. Ribera i Lacomba and Miquel Rosselló Mesquida, “Valentia en el siglo vii, de Suinthila a Teodomiro,” in El siglo vii frente al siglo vii: Arquitectura, ed. Pedro Mateos Cruz and Luis Caballero Zoreda (Anejos de Archivo Español de ­Arqueología 51) (Madrid, 2009), fig. 11, siam, Ajuntament de València  55 Valentia/Valencia. Hypothesis of city structure around 600 a.d. © 3D, Albert V. Ribera i Lacomba, siam, Ajuntament de València/Arquitectura Virtual  56 Egara/Terrassa (Vallès Occidental, Barcelona). Episcopal complex with the churches of Santa Maria and Sant Pere and the funerary structure of Sant Miquel in the centre. © Photograph: Badia Casanova, Terrassa/ Barcelona  58 Egara/Terrassa (Vallès Occidental, Barcelona). Plan of the episcopal ­complex. © Gemma García i Llinares, Antonio Moro García, and Francesc Tuset ­Bertrán, “Necròpolis del conjunt episcopal d’Ègara,” in Arqueologia funerària al nord-est peninsular, segles vi–xii, ed. Núria Molist Capella and Gisela Ripoll

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(­Monografies d’Olèrdola 3.2) (Barcelona, 2012), 403–419; CARE-Hispania ­graphic design in Núria Molist Capella and Gisela Ripoll, eds., Arqueologia funerària al nord-est peninsular, segles vi–xii (Monografies d’Olèrdola 3.2) (­Barcelona, 2012)  59 1.10 Pollentia/Alcúdia (Mallorca). Aerial view of the forum. © Photograph: Miguel Á. Cau Ontiveros  64 1.11 Tarraco/Tarragona. Plan of the El Francolí-Parc Central basilica complex and cemetery. © After Josep M. Macias Solé, Josep Guitart i Duran, Ignacio Fiz Fernández, et al., eds., Planimetria Arqueològica de Tarraco (Documenta 5 = Atles d’Arqueologia Urbana de Catalunya 2) (Tarragona, 2007), plate E partial  67 1.12 Tarraco/Tarragona. El Francolí cemetery. Tombs of different types and semi-circular couches for funerary banquets. © Photograph: Gisela Ripoll  68 1.13 Barcino/Barcelona. Distribution of burials around the city. © Aaron López Batlle, “El suburbi funerari de Barcino a l’antiguitat tardana,” in Arqueologia ­funerària al nord-est peninsular, segles vi–xii, ed. Núria Molist Capella and Gisela Ripoll (Monografies d’Olèrdola 3.1) (Barcelona, 2012), 431–456  69 1.14 Distribution of the sarcophagi found in Hispania. Fourth-century ­Roman ­workshops, local workshops and imports from Aquitaine and North Africa  70 2.1 View of Toledo. © Badisches Landesmuseum Karlsruhe, ed., Das Königreich der Vandalen (Mainz, 2009), 146  87 2.2 Situation of Recópolis. © Lauro Olmo Enciso, “Arquitectura religiosa y ­organización litúrgica en época visigoda: de Recopolis a Racupel,” in Visigodos y Omeyas, ed. Luis Caballero and Pedro Mateos (Anejos de Archivo Español de Arqueologia 23) (Madrid, 2001), 151, fig. 1  93 2.3 Recópolis. © Badisches Landesmuseum Karlsruhe, ed., Das Königreich der ­Vandalen (Mainz, 2009), 159  96 2.4 The horreum of Recópolis. © Javier Arce, Esperando a los árabes. Los visigodos en Hispania, 507–711 (Madrid, 2011), fig. 13  97 2.5 The horreum of the city of Mediana (Serbia). © Efthymios Rizos, “Centres of the Late Roman Military Supply Network in the Balkans: a Survey of Horrea,” Jahrbuch des römisch-germanischen Zentralmuseum Mainz 60 (2013): 666, fig. 7  98 2.6 Horrea in Gamzigrad. © Efthymios Rizos, “Centres of the Late Roman Military Supply Network in the Balkans: a Survey of Horrea,” Jahrbuch des römisch-­ germanischen Zentralmuseum Mainz 60 (2013): 668, fig. 9  99 2.7 Horrea in Nicopolis. © Efthymios Rizos, “Centres of the Late Roman Military Supply Network in the Balkans: a Survey of Horrea,” Jahrbuch des römisch-­ germanischen Zentralmuseum Mainz 60 (2013): 677, fig. 19  99

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2.8 Horrea in Zaldapa. © Efthymios Rizos, “Centres of the Late Roman Military Supply Network in the Balkans: a Survey of Horrea,” Jahrbuch des römisch-­ germanischen Zentralmuseum Mainz 60 (2013): 673, fig. 14  100 2.9 Area of extension of Byzantium in Hispania (2nd half of the 6th century). © Margarita Vallejo Girvés, Hispania y Bizancio (Madrid, 2012), 540, map 4  101 3.1 Reconstruction of the road network of Islamic madīna of Córdoba from “Plano de los Franceses” (1811) and continuity of the occupation of power places in the southwest corner of the city between Late Antiquity and Umayyad Caliphate. © Convenio GMU-UCO  115 3.2 Aerial view of the structures of the “castellum” excavated in the “Patio de Mujeres” of the Alcázar de los Reyes Cristianos, at the south-western corner of Córdoba. It is possible to distinguish the rows of columns, walls and doors blocked off by the Late Antique building. © Convenio GMU-UCO  117 3.3 Aerial view of the historic complex of Córdoba with Guadalquivir, Roman bridge, Great mosque and the “alcázar” (Christian castle). Detail of the facade and architectural decoration of the “Puerta de los Visires” of the Great Mosque, built by ʿAbd al-Raḥmān i. © Convenio GMU-UCO  123 3.4 Reconstruction of Córdoba’s urban topography in the mid-ninth century. © Convenio GMU-UCO  127 3.5 1. Location of remains of the almunia al-Ruṣāfa regarding the Islamic madīna of Córdoba. 2. Results of geomagnetic archaeological survey which has identified the remains of palatial al-Ruṣāfa sector (Eastern Atlas, 2004). 3. Comparison ­between plans of palaces al-Ruṣāfa and al-Zaytūna (Juan F. Murillo Redondo, “La almunia de al-Rusafa en Córdoba,” Madrider Mitteilungen 50 [2009]: 450–482, here 460, fig. 1. and 482, fig. 7). © Convenio GMU-UCO  128–130 3.6 General plan of excavated areas belonging to the suburb of Shaqunda, detailing the structures of sector A. © Convenio GMU-UCO  133–135 3.7 General plan of Qurṭuba and Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ in the mid-tenth century. © Convenio GMU-UCO  136 3.8 North side of the Calahorra tower of Córdoba, with the caliphal arch. © Convenio GMU-UCO  140 3.9 Hypothesized reconstruction of a sector of the western suburbs, of Yānib al-Garbī (Córdoba; Ronda de Poniente, Plan Parcial O-7, Plan Parcial P1). © Convenio GMU-UCO  143 3.10.1 General plan and aerial view of the “almunia” of Fontanar. © Convenio GMU-UCO  144 3.10.2 Virtual ­reconstruction of the original appearance of the residential caliphal complex of the “Vial norte del Plan Parcial RENFE” (Felix Arnold, “El edificio singular del Vial Norte del Plan Parcial RENFE. Estudio arquitectónico,”

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Anejos de Anales de Arqueología Cordobesa 2 (2009–2010): 247–274, here 262, fig. 13)  145 3.10.3 General plan of a sector of the maqbara (cemetery) of Ronda de Poniente. © Convenio GMU-UCO  150 4.1 Toledo. Orthophotography. © Google Earth  162 4.2 1. Toledo in Late Antiquity. © Rafael Barroso Cabrera, Jesús Carrobles Santos, Jorge Morín de Pablos, et al., “El paisaje urbano de Toledo en la ­Antigüedad ­Tardía,” Antiquité Tardive 23 (2015): 329–352, here 334, fig. 3; 2. Toledo in ­Visigothic Times. © Rafael Barroso Cabrera, Jesús Carrobles Santos, Jorge Morín de Pablos, et al., “El paisaje urbano de Toledo en la Antigüedad Tardía,” Antiquité Tardive 23 (2015): 329–352, here 340, fig. 4  163–164 4.3 Zocodover Place and Arco de la Sangre. Entrance to the palatium area  174 4.4 Miniature in the Codex Vigilianus. © Jacques Fontaine, L’Art Préroman ­hispanique, vol. 1 (La nuit de temps 38) (St. Léger-Vauban, 1973), 346, fig. 121  176 4.5 Church of Cristo de la Luz, former mosque of Bāb al-Mardūm. © Fernando Valdés Fernández  178 4.6 Convento de Madre de Dios (Toledo). Top left, Arabic house. © Juan M. Rojas Rodríguez-Malo, Antonio J. Gómez Laguna, and Javier Pérez López-Triviño, et al., “El convento de madre de Dios. Evolución histórica de una manzana de ­Toledo a través de la arqueología,” in Actas del ii Congreso de Historia y ­Urbanismo Medieval, ed. Jean Passini and Ricardo A. Izquierdo Benito (Castilla-La Mancha, 2007), 281–319, here 304, fig. 15  185 4.7 Hypothetical reconstruction of sabīl-kuttāb of Tornerías. © Fernando Valdés Fernández  188 4.8 Arabic inscriptions from Toledo (xi Century). 1. Well-curb inscription of the Friday mosque of Toledo; 2. Well-curb inscription, probably from the sabīlkuttāb, known as the Mosque of Las Tornerías. © Évariste Lévi-Provençal, Les inscriptions arabes d’Espagne (Leiden, Paris, 1931), plates xv and xvi  189 5.1 Phases of the Iberian Reconquest. © Map drawn by Nick E. Verelst  202 5.2 Muslim Ṭulayṭula in 1085. © From: Rafael del Cerro Malagón and Diego Peris Sánchez, eds., Architecturas de Toledo 1: Del Romano al Gótico (Patrimonio histórico de Castilla-La Mancha 4), 2nd ed. (Toledo, 1992), 62  209 5.3 Map of Early Modern Toledo by El Greco (c. 1608–1614), digital reconstruction and new edition by Cesáreo Bas Vivancos and Rafael del Cerro Malagón (2014). © Ed. Cesáreo Bas Vivancos and Rafael del Cerro Malagón 2014 (courtesy of the Ayuntamiento de Toledo: http://www.toledo.es/toledo-siempre/exposicionesvirtuales/el-plano-de-toledo-del-greco-1608-1614-nueva-edicion. Consulted 24th April 2019)  211

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5.4 Toledo, El Cristo de la Luz (former Mosque of Bāb al-Mardūm). © Wikipedia under GNU-License: https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cristo_de_la_Luz#/media/ File:Mezquita_de_Bab_al-Mardum_(Toledo).jpg  214 5.5 Minaret of the former Almohad mosque of Sevilla (La Giralda). © Wikipedia under GNU-License: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sevilla_Cathe dral_-_Giralda.jpg  215 5.6 Arabic inscriptions from the Almohad mosque on the cathedral gate in Seville (13th century, Puerta del Perdón). © Wikipedia under GNU-License: https:// archnet.org/sites/2753/media_contents/2166  216 5.7 Panorama of Early Modern Seville (c. 1588). © Detail from: Georg Braun and Franz Hogenberg, Civitates orbis terrarum, vol. 4 (Cologne 1588), table 2  220 5.8 Panorama of Early Modern Toledo (engraved by Georg Hofnaegel c. 1566). © Detail from: Georg Braun and Franz Hogenberg, Civitates orbis terrarum, vol. 5 (Cologne 1598), table 15  221 6.1 The Gate of Santa María in Burgos built in the 14th century. © By Eltitomac – Own work, cco: https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid= 14921060  253 6.2 The Town Walls of Ávila. © This is a photo of a historical area indexed in the Spanish heritage register of Bienes de Interés Cultural under the reference RI53-0000275: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/32/Avila_001 .jpg  255 6.3 The Roman Aqueduct of Segovia. © By Manuel González Olaechea y ­Franco – Edited version of image: AcueductoSegovia04.JPG. Original file uploaded by author, CC BY-SA 3.0: https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php? curid=4951568  256 6.4 Sigillvm Concilii of Escalona. © From Museo Lázaro Galdiano, reference 4633: http://4.bp.blogspot.com/kemDF2GnT1g/UCiuz9RZlI/AAAAAAAAAZc/z7F CtZTsn4g/s1600/Sigillum+Concilii+de+Escalona.jpg  258 6.5 The mythical origins of the city of Valladolid and the queen’s arrival of Berengaria in the city. © Biblioteca de la Real Academia de la Historia (b.r.a.h.)/ Colección Salazar y Castro: M-76, f° 65 and 66  273 6.6 Valladolid being charged with the tutelage of the minority of Alfonso xi and the liberation of King John ii by some knights of Valladolid. © Biblioteca de la Real Academia de la Historia (b.r.a.h.)/Colección Salazar y Castro: M-76, f° 77 to 79  276 7.1 Georg Hoefnagel, “Toletum,” in Civitates Orbis Terrarum, Liber Primus, ed. Georg Braun and Franz Hogenberg (Cologne, 1572). © https://commons.wikimedia .org/wiki/File:Braun_Toledo_UBHD.jpg  310 7.2 Georg Hoefnagel, “Toletum,” in Civitates Orbis Terrarum, Liber Quintus, ed. Georg Braun and Franz Hogenberg (Cologne, 1598). © Maurizio Vesco, “Los

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s­ ignos de la grandeza urbana Civitates Orbis Terrarum,” in La imagen de la ­ciudad en la Edad Moderna, ed. Alicia Cámara Muñoz and Consuelo Gómez López (Madrid, 2011), 169  311 7.3 El Greco. View and Plan of Toledo. Museo de El Greco (Toledo, 1608). © https:// commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:El_Greco_-_View_and_Plan_of_Toledo _-_WGA10607.jpg  312 8.1 Lisabona magnificentissima Regia Sedes Portugalliae et florentissimum ­Emporium (drawn by Georg Matthaus Seutter, c. 1710–1750). © National Library of Portugal, Lisbon, E. 528 R. (free license)  325 8.2 Lisbon, Lisboa (drawn by W.B. Clarke, c. 1844). © National Library of Portugal, Lisbon, CC-594-v (free license)  326 8.3 Map of Seville (engraved by Matthäus Merian, c. 1638). © Wikipedia under GNU-License  334 8.4 The city of Cádiz (drawn by Gabriel Bodenehr, Augsburg, c. 1700). © Klaus ­Weber. Deutsche Kaufleute im Atlantikhandel 1680–1830: Unternehmen und ­Familien in Hamburg, Cádiz und Bordeaux. Munich, 2004, 91/fig. 1  345

Notes on Contributors Javier Arce is Professor Emeritus of Ancient History and Roman Archaeology at the Université Charles de Gaulle-Lille 3 in France. Among the various positions he has held is the outstanding post of director of the Escuela Española de Historia y Arqueologia in Rome and Research Professor at the Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas in Madrid. He was one of the coordinators of the European Science Foundation project “The Transformation of the Roman World.” The author of numerous groundbreaking titles about Late Antique history in the Mediterranean has recently published a book on Alaric (Marcial Pons, 2018). María Asenjo González is full Professor at the Universidad Complutense de Madrid, Department of Medieval History, a post she has held since 2007. Her research focuses on the urban history of Castile from the economic, political, social, and cultural points of view, on which she has published books, articles, and book chapters as both author and coordinator. Since 2001 she has directed national and international projects which have involved many scholars. Her major publications include: Oligarchy and Patronage in Late Medieval Spanish Urban Society (Turnhout, 2009); Urban Elites and Aristocratic Behaviour in the Spanish Kingdoms at the end of the Middle Ages (Turnhout, 2013). Antonio Irigoyen López is Professor of Early Modern History at the University of Murcia. He has been a member of the Seminar Family and Power Elite since 1992 and refmur (International Network for Family Studies) since its founding in 2010. He specializes in the social history of the Church and clergy in the Spanish monarchy during the early modern period. His analytical approach studies the clergy, family relationships, and social change from a comparative perspective. He also analyzes the ecclesiastical regulation of marriage, baptism, and godparenthood. He has been a visiting researcher at the universities of Lisbon (Portugal), Bordeaux (France), Córdoba (Argentina), and Zacatecas (Mexico). Alberto León Muñoz is Professor of Archaeology at the University of Córdoba (B.A. in History at the University of Granada (1993); Ph.D. in Archaeology at the University of Córdoba (2001)). His main research focuses on Late Antique and Medieval

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a­ rchaeology, medieval fortifications, Islamic urbanism, funerary archaeology, and building archaeology (archeologia dell’architettura). Between 2001 and 2010 he was part of the team gmu-uco, researching the urban archaeology of Córdoba. He has participated in numerous conferences and has published several papers on these issues in national and international reviews and journals. He has directed several doctoral theses on Córdoba’s Islamic archaeology. Matthias Maser studied Medieval History and Islamic Studies at the universities of Bamberg, Alexandria (Egypt), and Tübingen. In 2003 he obtained his Ph.D. degree at the Friedrich-Alexander-Universität Erlangen-Nürnberg with a thesis on the Latin “Historia Arabum” of the Toledan archbishop Rodrigo Jiménez de Rada. From 2008 to 2011 he participated in a state-funded, interdisciplinary project on “Mozarabic” cultural identity in medieval Iberia. Currently he holds the position of Senior Lecturer for Medieval History at the University of Erlangen-Nürnberg. His research interests center, among other things, on Christian-Muslim relations and cross-cultural exchange in medieval Spain. Sabine Panzram is Professor of Ancient History at Hamburg University. She obtained her Ph.D. at Münster University after completing her studies in Freiburg and Barcelona. She has been a Research Fellow of the German Research Foundation at the German Archaeological Institute in Berlin and has held a Marie Curie Senior Fellowship at the École des Hautes Études Hispaniques et Ibériques—Casa de Velázquez in Madrid. Possessing a distinguished track record of research in a range of areas, she focuses in particular on urban history on the Iberian Peninsula. She is currently preparing a study on “Christendom without Church. The genesis of an institution in the dioecesis Hispaniarum (4th to 7th centuries).” She is the coordinator of Toletum, an interdisciplinary network for young researchers studying the Iberian Peninsula in Antiquity. The German Archaeological Institute counts her among its corresponding members. Gisela Ripoll is Professor of Archaeology and Associate Research at the eraaub/Equip de Recerca Arqueològica i Arqueomètrica at the Universidad de Barcelona. Gaining doctorates at the University of Barcelona and the Université de ParisSorbonne (Paris iv), she is widely known for her publications on the transformation of late Roman Spain. She has been Visiting Professor at the Université de Paris-Sorbonne (Paris iv), the École Normale Supérieure, and the École

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Pratique des Hautes Études, Senior Researcher at the Institute for Advanced Study at Princeton (usa), and received the Prix Raoul Duseigneur (Institut de France). She is the Managing Editor of the scientific journal Pyrenae. Torsten dos Santos Arnold is a doctoral researcher at the Europa-Universität Viadrina/Frankfurt upon the Oder in the research project “The Globalized Periphery: Atlantic Commerce, Socioeconomic and Cultural Change in Central Europe (1680–1850)”. He carried out a qualitative and quantitative analysis of the socio-economic relations between Central Europe and the Atlantic World via French and Portuguese seaports during the 18th century. In 2013, his study on Indo-Portuguese copper trade during the first half of the 16th century was awarded the research prize of the Portuguese Association of Economic and Social History (aphes). Isabel Toral-Niehoff studied History, Islamic and Arabic Studies in Tübingen. She gained her Ph.D. in 1997 with a work on Greek-Arabic Magic: Kitāb Ǧiranīs. Die arabische ­Übersetzung der ersten Kyranis des Hermes Trismegistos und die griechischen Parallelen. (2004). Her Habilitation was in 2008 at the Free University Berlin, published as Al-Ḥīra. Eine arabische Kulturmetropole im spätantiken Kontext (Brill: 2014). Since 1997 she has held various research positions and fellowships in Freiburg, Berlin, London, and Göttingen. Her main publishing and research fields are: Arabia and the Near East in Late Antiquity; Arabic Literature; ­Al-Andalus. Since 2016 she has been scientific coordinator at the Johannes Gutenberg University of Mainz. Fernando Valdés Fernández is Professor of Islamic Archaeology at the Universidad Autónoma de Madrid. He has also taught at the universities of Bamberg, Berlin, and the Sorbonne iv. For more than 40 years he has been working in Badajoz, excavating the Alcazaba and the old Plaza de Toros; he has also carried out fieldwork in Mérida, Trujillo, Cáceres, Villanueva del Fresno, Higuera la Real, Toledo, and Raqqa (Syria). He is the author of more than one hundred scientific works, including books and articles about Andalucian archaeology in particular and Islamic archaeology in general. The German Archaeological Institute counts him among its corresponding members. Klaus Weber obtained his Ph.D. at Universität Hamburg in 2001. He has been Research Fellow at nui Galway (2002–2003), at The Rothschild Archive, London (2004–2009),

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and at the Institut für die Geschichte der Deutschen Juden, Hamburg (2010– 2011). He now holds a professorship for Comparative Economic and Social History of Europe at the Europa-Universität Viadrina/Frankfurt upon the Oder. His current research project deals with the integration of Central European proto-industrial regions in the Atlantic economy: “The Globalized Periphery (1680–1850).” Publications: Deutsche Kaufleute im Atlantikhandel 1680–1830: Unternehmen und Familien in Hamburg, Cádiz und Bordeaux (2004); Schwarzes Amerika. Eine Geschichte der Sklaverei (2008); edited with F. Hatje, Überseehandel und Handelsmetropolen: Europa und Asien, 17.–20. Jahrhundert (2008).

Ossonoba

Pace

Ebora

Asidona

Hispalis

Astigi

Tucci

Malaca

Biata

Tesa

Acci Urci Urci

Basti

Oretum

Iliberri

Egabrum

Elepla

Cordoba

Segobriga

Osca

Urgello

Iliorici

Begastri Ilici

Egara

0

Tarraco Tarraco 516

Dianium

Valentia

Carthago Nova

Setabi

Ilerda

Dertosa

Cesaraugusta

Segia

TARRACONENSIS

Valeria

Ercavica

Segontia

Turiaso

Calagurris

Pompaelo

CARTHAGINENSIS

Toletum

Complutum

Segobia

The City in Spania (4th to 7th Centuries)

Italica

BAETICA

Emerita Emerita

Abela

Cauca

Auca

Veleia

Numantia Uxama

Iuliobriga

Amaia

Palentia

Salmantica Slamantica

Caurium

Caliabria

Egitania

Beseo

Dumio

Asturica

GALLAECIA

LUSITANIA

Lameco

Bracara

Brittonia

Auriense

ATLANTIC OCEAN

Map 1.1

Olisipo

Conimbria

Portucale

Tude Tude

Iria

Lucus

© L. Callegarin

100

200

Provincial Capitals Cities Provincial Limits

INSULAE BALEARES

Palma

300 km

Mago

0m

100 m

500 m

1000 m

2000 m

4000 m

MEDITERRANEAN SEA

Empurias Gerunda

Barcino

Ausona

Maps

Map 1.2

The City in al-Andalus (8th to 11th Centuries)

 Maps

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Leiria

Talavera

Jerez de la Frontera

Baeza

Andújar

Tarifa

Algeciras

Gibraltar

Málaga Marbella

Baza Vera

Almería

Segura

Murviedo

Alicante

Denia

0

Palma

Barcelona

Girona

200 © L. Callegarin

100

Limits of Kingdoms

300 km

Mahón

MEDITERRANEAN SEA

Ampurias

Perpignan

BALEARIC ISLANDS

Tarragona Tortosa Amposta Peñíscola

Valencia

Cartagena

Murcia

Elche

Villena

Játiva

Alcira

Balaguer

Urgel

Mequinenza

Lérida

Morella

Caspe

Zaragoza

Teruel

Daroca

Calatayua

Tarazona Épila

Barbastro

CROWN OF Castellón ARAGON Cuenca

Alcaraz

Úbeda

Calatrava

Priego Écija Granada Seville Antequera Alhama

Córdoba

CROWN OF CASTILE

Ucles

Alcázar

Toledo Ocaña

Madrid

Guadalajara

Soria

Huesca

Jaca

KINGDOM OF NAVARRE Pamplona

Calahorra

Vitoria

The City in the Territories of the “Reconquista” (11th to 15th Centuries)

Cadiz

Huelva San Lucar

Niebla

Llerena

Badajoz

Ávila

Segovia

Tordesillas

Valladolid

Palencia

Burgos

Santander

0m

100 m

500 m

1000 m

2000 m

4000 m

M aps

Map 1.3

Faro

ATLANTIC OCEAN

Lagos

Mertola Tavira

Aljustrel Moura

Beja

Coria

Ciudad Rodrigo

Salamanca

Toro

León

Alcántara Cáceres Trujillo Mérida Elvas

Guarda

Almeida

Alcacer Évora

Santarem

Palmella

Lisbon

Vizcú

Lamego

Coimbra

Portucale

KINGDOM OF PORTUGAL

Braga

Astorga

Orense

Tuy

Lugo

Oviedo

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Viseu

Évora

Coria

Jerez de la Frontera

Gibraltar

Málaga Marbella

Alhama

Granada

Teruel

Vera

Murcia

Murviedo

Denia

Cartagena

Alicante

Gerona

0

200 © L. Callegarin

100

Limits of the provincial intendancies

Balearic Islands

Palma

300 km

Mahón

MEDITERRANEAN SEA

Ampurias

Perpignan

Barcelona

Catalonia

Lérida Tarragona Tortosa Amposta Peñíscola

Valencia

Valencia

Elche

Urgel Balaguer

Castellón

Morella

Aragon

Alcira San Felipe Villena

Murcia

Almería

Baza

Úbeda

Andalusia

Baeza

Andújar

The City in the Hispaniae (15th to 18th Centuries)

Tarifa

Algeciras

Córdoba

Daroca

Cuenca

Alcaraz Segura

Alcázar

Ucles

Zaragoza

Barbastro

Épila Mequinenza Caspe

Tarazona

KINGDOM OF SPAIN

Toledo Ocaña

Madrid

Guadalajara

Segovia

New Castile

Priego Antequera

Écija

Seville

Llerena

Badajoz

Extremadura

Cáceres Trujillo Mérida

Ávila

Talavera

Salamanca

Calatayud

Soria

Old Castile Huesca

Jaca

Navarra Pamplona

Calahorra

Vitoria

Vascongadas

Burgos

Santander

Valladolid

Palencia

Tordesillas

Toro

Ciudad Rodrigo

Huelva San Lucar de Barrameda Cadiz

ATLANTIC OCEAN

Faro

Mertola Tavira

León

León

Astorga

Alcántara

Niebla

Elvas

Aljustrel Moura

Alcacer de Sal Beja

Lisbon

Santarem

Map 1.4

Guarda

Almeida

KINGDOM OF PORTUGAL

Lagos

Palmela

Orense

Lamego

Coimbra Leiria

Oporto

Braga

Tuy

Galicia

Lugo

Asturias

Oviedo

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Urban History on the Iberian Peninsula—Current Perspectives Sabine Panzram Roman cities seemed built for eternity. Rome masterfully understood how to combine urbanization and Romanization.1 It had made municipal self-­ administration a cornerstone of its system of government and the expansion of its urban culture—the “Roman way of life”—on the one hand created a unity that no sovereign compulsion, no political action driven by conceptual goal-­ setting, could have achieved; it manifested itself in aspects such as its building program or festival calendar, and thereby in those social practices of festivals and games. On the other hand, the Roman lifestyle was influenced by a diversity shaped by geology, climate, and landscape relief as much as by the differences between the ethnicities and cultures that Rome integrated in the course of its expansion, which retained their languages and practices to different degrees during the process of acculturation. The ostensible uniformity of the cityscapes and the conformity of the external lifestyle were thus accompanied by an extraordinary diversity. Of the 2,000 cities across the imperial territory that underpinned Rome’s power, around 400 lay within the Iberian Peninsula.2 Until the 1980s, this region’s history was considered as one of successful Romanization that reached its peak with Trajan and Hadrian, the emperors of Hispanic origin, and ended as early as 284 a.d. It was then that the so-called crisis of the third century—triggered by the invasions of the Franks and Alemanni in the 60s and 70s—utterly and irrevocably destroyed the flourishing urban culture of the first and second centuries.3 Spanish historiography begins

1 For the debate surrounding this contentious term, deliberately used here in the absence of convincing alternatives, see for example Géza Alföldy, “Romanisation—Grundbegriff oder Fehlgriff? Überlegungen zum gegenwärtigen Stand der Erforschung von Integrationsprozessen im römischen Weltreich,” in Zsolt Visy, ed., Limes xix. Proceedings of the xixth International Congress of Roman Frontier Studies (Pécs 2003) (Pécs, 2005), 25–56; Patrice Le Roux, “La romanisation en question,” Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales 59.2 (2004): 287–311; David J. Mattingly, Imperialism, Power, and Identity. Experiencing the Roman Empire (Princeton, 2011). 2 Plinius, naturalis historia 3,7, and 18. 3 So, for example, José M. Blázquez Martínez, Angel Montenegro, José M. Roldán, et al., eds., Historia de España antigua, vol. 2: Hispania romana (Madrid, 1978); Géza Alföldy, s.v.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���9 | doi:10.1163/9789004399693_002

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with the year 409, with the invasions of the Suebi, Vandals, and Alans, and interprets the decades until 589 as the pre-history of the Visigothic era. In fact, all multi-volume histories of Spain published between 1940 and 1980 adhered to this periodization and judged these 125 years as historically trivial, subsuming them under either antiquity or the Middle Ages and covering them in only a few brief pages.4 However, the research of the last few decades has fundamentally altered our perception of cities that decadently succumbed to the “crisis of the third century,” then suffered from the incursions of “barbaric” invasions and were finally destroyed by the Vandals, Visigoths, and other ethnicities. From the perspective of classical studies, cities’ strength and importance as sovereigns remained unbroken during this time of socio-political realignment and disorientation.5 The period’s urbanism is characterized not by decline, but by transformation; the functions performed by its social elites are marked not by change, but by continuity. For the goal of the “barbarians” had by no means been the shortterm destruction of the cities, institutions, and society, but rather long-term integration: they retained traditional forms and adapted these to the changing active context. The power of the cities also remained unbroken. The municipia and conventus of the early imperial period continued to function as reference points;6 they “­Tarraco,” in RE Suppl. 15 (1978), cols. 570–644. The following contributions have proved particularly influential: Miquel Tarradell i Mateu, “La crisis del siglo iii d.C. en Hispania: algunos aspectos fundamentales,” in i Congreso español de estudios clásicos (Madrid 1956) (Madrid, 1958), 263–275; Blas Taracena Aguirre, “Las invasiones germánicas en España durante la segunda mitad del siglo iii d.C.,” in i Congreso español de estudios pirenaicos (San Sebastián 1950), vol. 6 (Zaragoza, 1952), 37–45, and José M. Blázquez Martínez, “La crisis del siglo iii en Hispania y Mauritania Tingitana,” Hispania 108 (1968): 5–37. 4 For example, Ramón Menéndez Pidal, ed., Historia de España, vol. 2: Pedor Bosch Gimpera, Pedro Aguado Bleye, and Manuel Torres López, et al., España romana (218 a. de J.C.–414 de J.C.) (Madrid, 1935), 307–310; vol. 3: Manuel Torres López, Ramón Prieto Bances, Matilde López Serrano, et al., España visigoda (414–711) (Madrid 1940) in the editorial Espasa Calpe; Manuel Tuñon de Lara, ed., Historia de España, 2 vols, vol. 1: Miquel Tarradell i Mateu and Julio Mangas Manjarrés, Primeras culturas e Hispania romana (Barcelona, 1980); vol. 2: Juan J. Sayas Abengochea and Luis A. García Moreno, Romanismo y germanismo, el despertar de los pueblos hispánicos (ss. iv–x) (Barcelona, 1980) in the editorial Labor. 5 Fundamental works on this topic are: Neil Christie and Simon T. Loseby, eds., Towns in Transition. Urban Evolution in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (Aldershot, 1996); Gian Pietro Brogiolo and Bryan Ward-Perkins, eds., The Idea and the Ideal of the Town between Late ­Antiquity and Early Middle Ages (Leiden, 1999); Jens-Uwe Krause and Christian Witschel, eds., Die Stadt in der Spätantike—Niedergang oder Wandel? (Internationales Kolloquium, München 2003) (Historia-Einzelschrift 190) (Stuttgart, 2006). 6 Sabine Panzram, “Die Iberische Halbinsel um 500 n. Chr.—Herrschaft ‘am Ende der Welt.’ Eine Geschichte in neun Städten,” in Chlodwigs Welt. Organisation von Herrschaft um 500.

Urban History on the Iberian Peninsula—Current Perspectives

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retained their traditional sphere of influence and at most gradually adapted to local idiosyncrasies. Their respective hinterlands continued to determine the division of the territory, their elites dominated the political discourse and filled key positions of the socio-economic relationship web as well as prestigious offices, and could also give voice to their opposition. The eschewal of direct, centralized control or a modification of property ownership clearly resulted from the peculiarities of the military conquest: the Visigothic magnates had been forced repeatedly to send their armies against cities like Corduba and conquer them multiple times, probably because they were met with significant local resistance.7 During the defence, martyrs like Acisclus had offered spiritual protection that consistently proved more effective than actual city walls.8 In effect, there were periods in which Visigothic control over the Hispanic regions was restricted to those cities in which the king had been present himself, until Leovigild finally succeeded, over the course of a decade, in building a territorially cohesive kingdom. However, the cities’ power in the Weberian sense and their influence à la longue is proven above all by their physical reality and history: their layout and architectural design, the buildings and monuments of which they consisted and the myths, legends, and stories that circulated about them. While it seemed absent from the imagery of the gleaming marble cities of the high imperial period, whose silhouettes dominated the constructions of the municipal and provincial imperial cult with their statues and sculptures, it is evident in the prospering and Christianized environments that in the long-term would come to characterize churches, the bishop’s seat, and monasteries: in cities such as Bracara (Braga), the former main city of the eponymous conventus, now the capital of Gallaecia—between Minius (Miño) and Durius (Duero), nestled amid fertile land near the Atlantic coast and not far from the region of the gold mines—whose cityscape from the Flavian time around 400 ­underwent an all Internationale Tagung. Weingarten 2011, ed. Mischa Meier and Steffen Patzold (Roma Aeterna. Beiträge zu Spätantike und Frühmittelalter 3) (Stuttgart, 2014), 449–486; compare Michael Kulikowski, “Wie Spanien gotisch wurde. Der Historiker und der archäologische Befund,” in Zwischen Spätantike und Frühmittelalter. Archäologie des 4. bis 7. Jahrhunderts im Westen, ed. Sebastian Brather (Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, 57) (Berlin, 2008), 27–43. 7 The two-time conquest of Corduba (Isidorus, Historia Gothorum 47 and 49 chron. ii, 286–287) is related by the legend of the golden Trients: cordoba bis optinuit, on this see The Coinage of the Visigoths of Spain. Leovigild to Achila ii, ed. George Carpenter Miles (Hispanic Numismatic Series 2) (New York, 1952), 190/n. 30. 8 Isidorus, Historia Gothorum 45 and 46 chron. ii, 285–286; Eulalia worked on the case of Merida: Hydatius, chronica ii, 21,90 and 30,182; compare also Isidorus, Historia Gothorum 32 chron. ii, 280.

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but programmatic redesign through the expansion of both public and private buildings, and even the construction of a prestigious city wall.9 Another case is that of Merida (Mérida) in the southwest of the Iberian Peninsula, the former capital of the province and the diocese of both Spains. For four centuries, since the time of Claudius, the urban landscape had here been modified only slightly through repairs or an odd new building. But then came conveyance, destruction, devastation—and the construction activity of bishops, especially in the course of the 6th century, which in the suburbium lead to the erection of a basilica for the martyr Eulalia, a monastery, and a xenodochium.10 Moreover, the church Sancta Iherusalen (Santa María) was built intra muros, connected to the episcopal palace, which together with a baptistery made up a monumental complex. Or in Toletum (Toledo): in the geo-strategic civitas regia of the Visigoth kingdom, for example, an imperial entertainment site like the circus continued to be used, while the Basilica of Leocadia (Cristo de la Vega) and the Church of the Apostles Petrus and Paulus (Vega Baja) were created, annexed in the first half of the 7th century by the palatium and the praetorium.11 9

10

11

Maria M. Dos Reis Martins, “Bracara Augusta. A Roman Town in the Atlantic Area,” in Lorenzo Abad Casal, Simon Keay, and Sebastián F. Ramallo Asensio, eds., Early Roman Towns in Hispania Tarraconensis (jra Suppl. 62) (Portsmouth, R.I., 2006), 213–222; eadem and Helena Paula Abreu de Carvalho, “Bracara Augusta and the Changing Rural Landscape,” in Changing Landscapes. The Impact of Roman Towns in the Western Mediterranean. International Colloquium (Castelo de Vide–Marvão 2008), ed. Cristina Corsi and Frank Vermeulen (Bologna, 2010), 281–298. Robert Portass, “Re-Evaluating the Iberian North-West in Late Antiquity,” in Debating Urbanism Within and Beyond the Walls a.d. 300–700. International Conference (Leicester 2008), ed. Denis Sami and Gavin Speed (Leicester Archaeology Monographs 17) (Leicester, 2010), 111–138. Pedro Mateos Cruz, La basílica de Santa Eulalia de Mérida. Arqueología y urbanismo (Anejos de Archivo Español de Arqueología 19) (Madrid, 1999); idem, “Augusta Emerita, de capital de la dioecesis Hispaniarum a sede temporal visigoda,” in Sedes Regiae (ann. 400–800), ed. Gisela Ripoll and Josep Maria Gurt i Esparraguera (Barcelona, 2000), 491–520, here 502–517; Juana Márquez, “Los suburbios de Augusta Emerita en perspectiva diacrónica,” in Las áreas suburbanas en la Ciudad Histórica. Topografía, usos, función, ed. Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil (Monografías de Arqueología Cordobesa 18) (Córdoba, 2010), 135–152. Lauro Olmo Enciso, “Ciudad y estado en época visigoda: Toledo, la construcción de un nuevo paisaje urbano,” in Espacios Urbanos en el Occidente Mediterráneo (ss. vi–viii). Congreso Internacional. Toledo 2009, ed. Alfonso García, Ricardo Izquierdo Benito, Lauro Olmo Enciso, and Diego Peris Sánchez (Toledo, 2010), 87–111; Rafael Barroso Cabrera and Jorge Morín de Pablos, “La civitas regia Toletana en el contexto de la Hispania de la séptima centuria,” in Regia sedes toletana, vol. 1: La topografia de la ciudad de Toledo en la Antigüedad tardia y alta Edad Media, ed. Jesús Carrobles Santos, Rafael Barroso Cabrera, Jorge Morín de Pablos, and Fernando Valdés Fernández (Toledo, 2007), 97–161; Rafael Barroso Cabrera, Jesús Carrobles Santos, Jorge Morín de Pablos, and Isabel Sánchez Ramos, “El paisaje urbano de Toledo en la Antigüedad tardía,” Antiquité Tardive 23 (2015): 329–352.

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In Toletana urbe itself, a basilica dedicated to Mary, Mother of God (today the cathedral), and the episcopal palace expanded the cityscape. The present volume aims to make a contribution to urban research on the Iberian Peninsula from the perspective of ancient studies in two ways: on the one hand, the volume presents the current state of research in the form of epoch-spanning and, consequently, interdisciplinary case studies, in contrast to previous publications, which usually take into account only the urban history of a single epoch.12 Its methodology is thus breaking new ground by taking seriously the unity of the Mediterranean world from Marcus Aurelius to Muhammad that Peter Brown postulated as early as the 70s, and implementing it in a systematic manner on the basis of new approaches to periodization. If the “long Late Antiquity” stretches into the 9th century,13 then it is possible to scrutinize critically the current debate about the end, change, continuity, or transformation of the city on the basis of the urban horizons of experience of the Roman imperial period. Or even to resume a discussion that Hugh N. Kennedy initiated as early as 1985, when his fundamental article “From Polis to Madīna” drew attention to the fact that the so-called Islamic city should be regarded more as the consequence of social and economic transformation than as the result of an abrupt “Islamisation” of society.14 On this basis, the volume also asks what consequences the new assessment of late antique urbanism had for the epochs that followed, both for the centuries until the end of the so-called

12

13

14

See, for example, Michael Kulikowski, Late Roman Spain and its Cities (Baltimore, 2004); Las ciudades de Alandalús. Nuevas perspectivas, ed. Julio Navarro Palazón and Pedro Jiménez Castillo (Conocer Alandalús 5) (Zaragoza, 2007); Miguel Á. Ladero Quesada, Ciudades de la España medieval. Introducción a su estudio (Madrid, 2010); Richard L. Kagan, Spanish Cities of the Golden Age. The Views of Anton van den Wyngaerde (Berkeley, 1989). Peter Brown, The World of Late Antiquity from Marcus Aurelius to Muhammad (London, 1971); see more recently Peter Brown, Glen W. Bowersock, Averil Cameron, et al., “The World of Late Antiquity Revisited,” Symbolae Osloenses 72 (1997): 5–90; John H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, “Late Antiquity and the Concept of Decline,” Nottingham Medieval Studies 45 (2001): 1–11; Averil Cameron, “The ‘long’ Late Antiquity: A Late Twentieth Century Model,” in Classics in Progress: Essays on Ancient Greece and Rome, ed. Timothy P. Wiseman (Oxford, 2002), 165–191; Arnaldo Marcone, “A Long Late Antiquity?: Considerations on a Controversial Periodization,” Journal of Late Antiquity 1.1 (2008): 4–19; Edward James, “The Rise and Function of the Concept ‘Late Antiquity’,” Journal of Late Antiquity 1.1 (2008): 20–30. Hugh N. Kennedy, “From Polis to Madina. Urban Change in Late Antique and Early Islamic Syria,” Past and Present 106 (1985): 3–27; see also idem, “From Antiquity to Islam in the Cities of al-Andalus and al-Mashriq,” in Genèse de la ville islamique en al-Andalus et au Maghreb occidental, ed. Patrice Cressier and Mercedes García-Arenal (Madrid, 1998), 53–64.

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Reconquista in 1492 and for the Early Modern period.15 The 18th century presents itself as an appropriate end point because the 19th century represents the dawn of a new epoch, both quantitatively and qualitatively: the expansion of cities, the diversity of city types, the magnitude of international connections, but also new concepts of urban openness and communal politics, as well as discourses about “urbanity” and criticism of city life, made the century an “epoch of extremely intensive urbanisation.”16 Spatially, this is restricted to Castile, the largest and most densely populated kingdom of the Iberian Peninsula, home to more than 90 percent of the population in the Early Modern period.17 In order to make clear the potential of this innovative approach, this volume will first sketch the development of urban research on the Iberian Peninsula, which made possible subsequent case studies, and then submit a proposal for a new narrative that proceeds from the urban histories themselves—after all, it is the cities that hold the key to the history of the Iberian Peninsula. 1

A Paradigm Shift: The Discovery of the “Long Late Antiquity” (4th to 9th Centuries)

If researchers today can volubly express themselves about the municipal world of the Iberian Peninsula in Late Antiquity, that is due on the one hand to the activities of urban archaeology and on the other to conceptual debates, initiated by Javier Arce in the early 80s in the field of ancient studies, and only a little later by Pierre Guichard and Manuel Acién Almansa in medieval studies. 15

16 17

This is a disputed term, but for a lack of better alternatives it continues to be used in the academic discourse. On this, see Nikolas Jaspert, “‘Reconquista.’ Interdependenzen und Tragfähigkeit eines wertkategorialen Deutungsmusters,” in Christlicher Norden—­ Muslimischer Süden. Ansprüche und Wirklichkeiten von Christen, Juden und Muslimen auf der Iberischen Halbinsel im Hoch- und Spätmittelalter, ed. Matthias M. Tischler and Alexander Fidora (Erudiri sapientia 7) (Münster, 2011), 445–465; Martín F. Ríos Saloma, La Reconquista en la historiografía española contemporánea (Madrid, 2013); Alejandro García Sanjuán, “Rejecting al-Andalus, exalting the Reconquista: historical memory in contemporary Spain,” Journal of Medieval Iberian Studies 10 (2018): 127–145. On cities as “Europäische Muster und weltweiter Eigensinn” see Jürgen Osterhammel, Die Verwandlung der Welt. Eine Geschichte des 19. Jahrhunderts, 5th ed. (München, 2010), 355–464, esp. 355–365. Jan de Vries, “Population,” in Handbook of European History, 1400–1600: Late Middle Ages, Renaissance and Reformation, 2 vols., ed. Thomas A. Brady, Heiko A. Oberman, and James D. Tracy (Leiden, 1994), 1:1–50; John H. Elliott, Imperial Spain, 1469–1716, 2nd ed. (London, 2002), 24–25; Aurelio Espinosa, The Empire of the Cities. Emperor Charles V, the Comunero Revolt, and the Transformation of the Spanish System (Studies in Medieval and Reformation Traditions 137) (Leiden, 2009), 23.

Urban History on the Iberian Peninsula—Current Perspectives

7

In the 70s and 80s, urban archaeology had already developed quasi-­ simultaneously in various European countries, whose cities were all faced with a challenge: construction work that was necessary for a modern, functioning infrastructure which brought with it radical transformations, if not the final destruction of existing structures, some of which were several thousand years old. In 1969 in Tours, the fitting term of an unavoidably necessary “gestion des archives du sol” had been coined, energetically insisting that archaeological monuments were to be treated like the documents of a hidden subterranean archive. Nobody, the thinking went, would dream of destroying such a thing.18 And in London, in 1973, the ruins of Roman Londinium sparked demands that were no less insistent for the necessity of a detailed study of the past to facilitate a design of the city’s future.19 In Spain, these efforts at discovery and investigation had coincided with the final years of Franco, and his death in 1975 imbued them with an additional political connotation: a democratic Spain could not consider anything propagated under the dictatorship as historical benchmarks of national identity—the Visigothic period, in which Spain had been “united, great, free, and Catholic” for the first time, and the Castile region, in which the hispanidad had developed in the era of the “Reconquista.” Looking to history, it had made Rome its reference—the past as an imperial province should now make possible the future as a region of the European community. Accordingly, the first systematic excavations—begun in the 1980s in Tarragona, Córdoba, and Mérida—had not only carved a path to the remnants of the provincial capital cities of Roman Hispania, but also to Europe.20 For urban archaeology means not merely uncovering the remnants of the worlds of 2000 years ago, but also their restoration, musealization, and recontextualization: it endeavours to integrate these in the cityscape of today and so offer the city’s inhabitants the possibility of experiencing urban architectural components in their historical dimension, and not in isolation in a museum, stripped of all context. In doing so, it always aims at the “Konstruktion von Gedächtnis,” an archaeological memory as a component of collective remembrance, which aims to preserve a 18 19 20

Henri Galinie and Bernard Randoin, Les Archives du Sol à Tours, survie et avenir de l’archeologie de la ville (Tours, 1969). Martin Biddle and Daphne M. Hudson, The Future of London’s Past: A Survey of the Archaeological Implications of Planning and Development in the Nation’s Capital (Rescue Publication 4) (London, 1973). Baltasar Porcel, “Roma a Catalunya. Una realitat d’ahir i una lectura d’avui,” in Roma a Catalunya, ed. Marc Mayer Olivé (Barcelona, 1992), 7–9; Margarita Díaz-Andreu García, “Theory and Ideology in Archaeology: Spanish Archaeology under the Franco Régime,” Antiquity 67 (1993): 74–82; Fernando Wulff Alonso and Manuel Álvarez Martí-Aguilar, eds., Antigüedad y franquismo (1936–1975) (cedma) (Málaga, 2003).

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consciousness of the past and specifically make it present, consequently making possible the perception of cultural belonging.21 The spectacular new discoveries of the imperial period—such as the theater of Corduba, the forum of Carthago Nova (Cartagena), or the harbour of Caesaraugusta (Zarazoga) and parts of the city layout of Segobriga (Segóbriga)—bore particular potential in this respect.22 In combination with epigraphic monuments, such as the Senatus consultum de Cn. Pisone patre, the lex Irnitana, and over 20,000 inscriptions, they promised new insights into the constructional elaboration and social organization of the world of the city.23 Late Antiquity did not become a focus of research until 1982, when Javier Arce presented sketches of the political, bureaucratic, military, economic, and religious history of a century that until that point had been considered unworthy of historical research and declared it “El último siglo de la España romana (284–409).”24 Javier Arce provocatively and critically demanded a paradigm change, archaeological evidence interpreted as uninfluenced by historiographical transmission, as had always been conducted by reaching back to such evidence and confirming the dominant interpretational scheme of decay and decadence, rather than functioning, for example, as a corrective. He postulated continuity instead of change, up until and even past 409 a.d. He also argued that the Hispanic provinces should be classified as part of the active context of the empire, rather than as an imperial annex irrelevant to Rome. The archaeological findings and the epigraphic evidence of these centuries, upon which urban archaeology now also began to focus and which it brought to light in parallel with the conceptional debate, underlined the necessity of a change 21

22

23

24

Sabine Panzram, “‘¡Tarraco Viva!’ Stadtgeschichte leben—Das moderne Spanien und das alte Rom,” in Die Konstruktion von Gedächtnis—Zu einer Standortbestimmung von Archäologie in der Stadt. Kolloquium der Fritz Thyssen Stiftung, ed. Henner von Hesberg (Archäologisches Gedächtnis der Städte 1) (Worms, 2016), 122–134. Ángel Ventura Villanueva, Carlos Márquez Moreno, Antonio Monterroso Checa, et al., eds., El teatro romano de Córdoba (Córdoba, 2002); Elena Ruiz Valderas, ed., Cartagena, Colonia Urbs Iulia Nova Carthago (Ciudades romanas de Hispania 5) (Rome, 2017); Francisco Beltrán Lloris, ed., Zaragoza, Colonia Caesar Augusta, (Ciudades romanas de Hispania 4) (Rome, 2007); María del Rosario Cebrián Fernández, Segobriga. Municipio ­romano (Serie Arqueología 18) (Cuenca, 2014). Werner Eck, Senatus consultum de Cn. Pisone patre (Vestigia 48) (Munich, 1996); Julián González Fernández, “The Lex Irnitana. A New Copy of the Flavian Municipal Law (with an English translation of the law by Michael Crawford),” Journal of Roman Studies 76 (1986): 147–243. An overview of the current state of research can now be found in Sabine Panzram, ed., Oppidum—civitas—urbs. Städteforschung auf der Iberischen Halbinsel zwischen Rom und al-Andalus (Geschichte und Kultur der Iberischen Welt 13) (Berlin, 2017). Javier Arce, El último siglo de la España romana, 2nd rev. ed. (Madrid, 2009 [1982]), 284–409.

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in perspective: after all, the third century was proven to have been marked by continuity, while the fourth century seemed to have been dominated by a socalled slow change and transformation of the urban topographies.25 However, where these proved significant at the beginning of the fifth century—such as in Tarraco (Tarragona) or Augusta Emerita (Mérida)—they do not trace back to pillaging or destruction, but to the abandonment and repurposing of public buildings and, above all, to the activities of the bishops.26 In view of the dimensions of the discoveries and findings, interdisciplinarity became the conditio sine qua non;27 the traditionally separate research of these centuries through different disciplines—the responsibility of the “romanistas” for Roman Spain and of the “mundo germánico” specialists for the following centuries—proved obsolete. Without the cooperation of archaeologists and building specialists, epigraphists, and historians (from the pre- and early to ancient and medieval history), neither urban nor social historical developments could be studied à la longue. The centuries after the invasions of the Suebi, Vandals, and Alans in 409 and after the Third Council of Toledo in 589, which had previously been perceived as the prelude to the glorious time of the reges Visigothorum of the 7th century,28 now belonged to the “(post-)history” of the Imperium Romanum. Once researchers had stripped the years 284, 409, and 589 of their status as decisive turning points, an analysis of the transformational but also institutionalizing processes first became possible, from a classical studies perspective, up to the year 711 and beyond. The representatives of Spanish classical studies now argue above all for continuity, a so-called slow change, and

25 26

27 28

See the case studies in José Beltrán Fortes and Oliva Rodríguez Gutiérrez, eds., Hispaniae urbes. Investigaciones arqueológicas en ciudades históricas (Seville, 2012). Ricardo Mar Medina and José J. Guidi Sánchez, “Formación y usos del espacio urbano tardoantiguo en Tarraco,” in Espacios Urbanos en el Occidente Mediterráneo (ss. vi–viii). Congreso Internacional (Toledo 2009), ed. Alfonso García, Ricardo Izquierdo Benito, Lauro Olmo Enciso, et al. (Toledo, 2010), 173–182; Pedro Mateos Cruz and Miguel Alba Calzado, “De Emerita Augusta a Marida,” in Visigodos y Omeyas. Un debate entre la Antigüedad Tardía y la Alta Edad Media, ed. Luis Caballero Zoreda and Pedro Mateos Cruz (Anejos de Archivo Español de Arqueología 23) (Madrid, 2000), 143–168; Achim Arbeiter, “Zur Christianisierung der hispanischen Stadttopographien in der Spätantike,” in Städte in Spanien. Moderne Urbanität seit 2000 Jahren, ed. Sabine Panzram (Mainz, 2014), 103–114. Armin U. Stylow, “Von Emil Hübner zur Neuauflage von cil ii,” Madrider Mitteilungen 36 (1995): 17–25; cf. Jonathan C. Edmondson, “Epigraphy and History of Roman Hispania: The New Edition of cil ii,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 12 (1999): 649–666. As still related, for example, in José Orlandis Rovira, Historia de España, vol. 4: Época visigoda (409–711) (Madrid, 1987); Luis A. García Moreno, Historia de España visigoda (­Madrid, 1989); Edward A. Thompson, The Goths in Spain (Oxford, 1969); Roger Collins, Visigothic Spain. 409–711, (Malden, Mass., 2004).

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t­ ransformations, but not for discontinuities and ruptures that could have, in the most extreme case, led to the phenomenon of the “Vrbes extinctae.”29 Medieval studies also reconstituted itself in the mid-80s. If these decades already signified upheaval and reorientation for classical studies, this is all the more true for these disciplines in which the matter at hand was not a paradigm change, but in part the definition of a paradigm itself.30 Under Franco, they had been charged with finding historical explanations for the national identity of a centralistic Spain, with the Visigothic period and the Christian kingdoms thus being of interest.31 Research into the “España musulmana,” meanwhile, had been conducted by the Arabists; accordingly, research into transmitted literature had been the focal point, and their interest in the material was purely art historical. Generally, the influence of the Umayyad conquest was judged to be shallow and minimal, with the Hispanic civilization superior to the Arabic one. Just one year after Franco’s death, Pierre Guichard produced an equally innovative and fundamental study that not only broke with traditionalism and postulated a radical break with the Visigothic period for the first time, but also analysed the social structure from the perspective of anthropological and social history.32 This study can be regarded as representative for a series of investigations that lamented increasingly loudly the limitedness of Andalusian chronicles in regard to their questions about social structures, settlement patterns, or forms of production, and whose attention shifted ever more frequently to archaeological remnants. Among the Spanish researchers, the work of the medievalist, Arabist, and archaeologist Manuel Acién Almansa reflects this resolute decision to formulate theses beyond the historiographical models 29 30

31

32

Neil Christie and Andrea Augenti, eds., Vrbes extinctae. Archaeologies of Abandoned Classical Towns (Aldershot, 2012). So Eduardo Manzano Moreno, “Al-Andalus: un balance crítico.” In Villa 4. Histoire et Archéologie de l’Occident musulman (viie–xve siècles) : Al-Andalus, Maghreb, Sicile, ed. Philipe Sénac (Études Médiévales Ibériques) (Toulouse 2012), 19–31, here 21; see also Philippe Sénac, “Histoire et archéologie de l’Occident musulman : stratigraphie d’une recherche française.” In Villa 4. Histoire et Archéologie de l’Occident musulman (viie–xve siècles) : Al-Andalus, Maghreb, Sicile, ed. Philippe Sénac (Études Médiévales Ibériques) (Toulouse, 2012), 9–17. Margarita Díaz-Andreu García, “Islamic Archaeology and the Origin of the Spanish Nation,” in Nationalism and Archaeology in Europe, ed. Margarita Díaz-Andreu García and Timothy Champion (London, 1996), 68–89; José C. Carvajal López, “The Archaeology of Al-Andalus: Past, Present and Future,” Medieval Archaeology 58 (2014): 318–339. Pierre Guichard, Al-Andalus. Estructura antropológica de una sociedad islámica en Occidente (Barcelona 1976); idem, Structures sociales “orientales” et “occidentales” dans l’Espagne musulmane (Civilisations et Sociétés 66) (Paris, 1977); idem, Les musulmans de Valence et la Reconquête (xie–xiiie siècles), 2 vols. (Damascus, 1990).

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established particularly strongly so far.33 This general impulse coincided with an interest in the young Spanish democracy—a nation pieced together from “nationalities and regions”—and in values such as multiculturalism and tolerance; the excavations of al-Andalus were meant to lead the way into the mythic “convivencia” of Christians, Jews, and Muslims. In 1985, a first convention took place between Spanish medieval archaeologists who attempted to establish their own discipline, separate from classical archaeology, medieval history, medieval Latin, and Arabic studies.34 They wanted to work not individually and positivistically, but collaboratively and with methodical reflection; they were interested more in contexts and processes than in objects such as castles, churches, or cemeteries; and they integrated disciplines such as epigraphy and numismatics into their investigations as a matter of course. After a good three decades of archaeological studies, the written findings can now be squared with the material ones, corpora are being created and fundamental themes can, for the first time, be treated from a broad material basis.35 If one now speaks of continuity that extends beyond the year 711, then this conclusion is rooted in the investigation of early medieval ceramics, which provide evidence of it from the 7th to the 9th centuries in places such as Valencia, Mérida, Cartagena, and Recópolis.36 They allow one 33

34

35

36

Manuel Acién Almansa, La formación y destrucción de al-Andalus, in Historia de los pueblos de España, vol. 1: Tierras fronterizas: Andalucía—Canarias, ed. Miquel Barceló Perelló (Barcelona, 1984), 21–45; idem: Entre el feudalismo y el Islam. Umar ibn Hafsun en los historiadores, en las fuentes y en la historia (Colección Martínez de Mazas. Serie estudios 1) (Jaén, 1994); see also the updated 2nd edition from 1997 with an extensive prologue by the author, in which he addresses the criticisms of his study; on this, see Alejandro García Sanjuán, “Manuel Acién Almansa, medievalista pionero y renovador de la historia de alAndalus,” Medievalismo 26 (2016): 135–153. On this and the following: Sonia Gutiérrez Lloret, “Early al-Andalus: an Archaeological Approach to the Process of Islamization in the Iberian Peninsula (7th to 10th Centuries),” in New Directions in Early Medieval European Archaeology: Spain and Italy Compared. Essays for Riccardo Francovich, ed. Sauro Gelichi and Richard Hodges (Collection Haut Moyen Âge 24) (Turnhout, 2015), 43–85. For example, María A. Martínez Núñez, Epigrafía árabe (Catálogo del Gabinete de Antigüedades de la Real Academia de la Historia. 1: Antigüedades; 1: Epigrafía árabe 3) (Madrid, 2007); Antonio Malpica Cuello and Bilar Sarr Marroco, eds., Epigrafía árabe y ­arqueología medieval (Granada, 2015); Alberto Canto García, Tawfiq Ibrahim, and Fátima Martín Escudero, Monedas andalusíes (Catálogo del Gabinete de Antigüedades de la Real Academia de la Historia. 2: Monedas y medallas; 1: Monedas españolas; 3) (Madrid, 2000). Luis Caballero Zoreda, Pedro Mateos Cruz, and Manuel Retuerce Velasco, eds., Cerámicas tardorromanas y altomedievales en la Península Ibérica. Ruptura y continuidad. Simposio internacional. Mérida 2001 (Anejos del Archivo Español de Arqueología 28) (Madrid, 2003); cf. Sonia Gutiérrez Lloret, “La arqueología en la historia del temprano al-Andalus: espacios sociales, cerámica e islamización.” In Villa 4. Histoire et Archéologie de l’Occident

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to make a well-founded rejection of the thesis of a “population break” in the context of the Conquista. In regards to the question of the Islamization and Arabization of the society of al-Andalus, different phases can now be distinguished that allow one to trace the cultural process that culminated in social homogeneity: burials from the 8th century already provide evidence of conversion, but findings such as epigraphic evidence and ceramics do not show social Islamization until the late 9th or the 10th century.37 In the end, urban archaeology has decisively overcome the phase of “resultados decepcionantes” constituted by Évariste Lévi-Provençal in the 50s38 and can now be regarded as a model of systematic, interdisciplinary research. The protest cry of “Todo al-Andalus es urbano…” may have been necessary,39 but its echo has endured: once it had freed itself from the unambiguously connoted conception of being a “ciudad hispano-musulmana,”40 the path was clear for investigations of the urban topography, the individual monuments, their functionality, etc.41 Stratigraphic investigations show that cities such as Valencia, Mérida, and Córdoba were not abandoned immediately during their conquest, but continued to be used, even if this obvious continuity should not shroud the recognition that

37

38 39

40 41

musulman (viie–xve siècles) : Al-Andalus, Maghreb, Sicile, ed. Philipe Sénac (Études Médiévales Ibériques) (Toulouse, 2012), 33–66. Sonia Gutiérrez Lloret, “El reconocimiento arqueológico de la islamización. Una mirada desde al-Andalus,” in 711. Arqueología e historia entre dos mundos, vol. 1, ed. Luis A. García Moreno and Alfonso Vigil-Escalera (Zona Arqueológica 15) (Alcalá de Henares, 2011), 191–210. Évariste Lévi-Provençal, España musulmana hasta la caída del califato de Córdoba (711– 1031 de J.C.). Instituciones y vida social e intelectual (Historia de España 5) (Madrid, 1957), 197–198. Mikel de Espalza Ferrer, “Espacios y sus funciones en la ciudad árabe,” in Simposio internacional sobre la ciudad islámica. Zaragoza 1988 (Zaragoza, 1991), 9–25; also see Rafael Azuar Ruiz, Sonia Gutiérrez Lloret, and Fernando Valdés Fernández, eds., Urbanismo medieval del país valenciano (Madrid, 1993); Manuela Marín, ed., The Formation of al-Andalus, part 1: History and Society (The Formation of the Classical Islamic World 46) (Aldershot, 1998). So, for example, Leopoldo Torres Balbás, Ciudades hispanomusulmanas, 2 vols. (Madrid, 1971); Basilio Pavón Maldonado, Ciudades hispanomusulmanas (Colecciones mapfre 1492. Colección al-Andalus 5) (Madrid, 1992). Patrice Cressier and Mercedes García-Arenal, eds., Genèse de la ville islamique en al-­ Andalus et au Maghreb occidental (Madrid, 1998); Christine Mazzoli-Guintard, “Urbanisme islamique et ville en al-Andalus: autour de nouvelles propositions méthodologiques,” in La ciudad en al-Andalus y el Magreb. ii Congreso Internacional. Algeciras 1999, ed. Antonio Torremacho Silva and Virgilio Martínez Enamorado (Algeciras, 2002), 49–73; Antonio Malpica Cuello, “The Emergence of the City in al-Andalus,” in New Directions in Early Medieval European Archaeology: Spain and Italy Compared. Essays for Riccardo Francovich, ed. Sauro Gelichi and Richard Hodges (Collection Haut Moyen Âge 24) (Turnhout, 2015), 87–109.

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a functional and then topographic “breakup” occurred, particularly visible in new foundations such as Baijana (Pechina), Murcia, and Badajoz in the 9th century. In any case, a wide-ranging homogenising process in the cities and the accompanying, so far unknown, intensity of the social Islamization process can be verified for the second half of the 9th century, before a both quantitatively and qualitatively new epoch broke out in the 10th century. As early as 1992, however, Manuel Acién Almansa himself had cautioned against the academic unacceptability of nonchalantly trading one paradigm for another: “un medievalismo oficial, exclusivamente textual y castellano” against “una práctica arqueológica esencialmente islámica.”42 But this is exactly what happened, and an interdisciplinary investigation of the city in the late Middle Ages remains a desideratum.43 While the generally avid excavation activities produced documentation of late medieval stratigraphies—lying, as they did, above the Islamic ones—these layers were frequently damaged, and very few archaeologists specialized in this era.44 Consequently, the findings exist almost exclusively in the form of excavation reports with short descriptions and without historical contextualization: this fact encourages the existing tendency of urban research back to the “Reconquista” and beyond to rely solely on written records, even for urban topics such as the water supply. It fundamentally aims at an assessment of concrete structures that adheres closely 42 43

44

Manuel Acién Almansa, “Arqueología medieval en Andalucía,” in Coloquio hispano-­ italiano de Arqueología Medieval/Coloquio hispano-italiano di Archeologia Medievale (Granada 1990; 1992), 27–33, here 32. Magdalena Valor Piechotta and José A. Gutiérrez González, eds., The Archaeology of Medieval Spain, 1100–1500 (Studies in the Archaeology of Medieval Europe) (Sheffield, 2014); see also the outline by Julio Navarro Palazón and Pedro Jiménez Castillo, “The Islamic Town in Medieval Europe,” in The Archaeology of Medieval Europe, vol. 2: Twelfth to Sixteenth Centuries, ed. Martin Carver and Jan Klápště (Acta Jutlandica. Humanities Series 9) (Aarhus, 2011), 404–407. José A. Gutiérrez González addresses only the Christian North of the Iberian Peninsula in “The Other Iberian Peninsula: The Cities in Early Medieval Spain,” in New Directions in Early Medieval European Archaeology: Spain and Italy Compared. Essays for Riccardo Francovich, ed. Sauro Gelichi and Richard Hodges (Collection Haut Moyen Âge 24) (Turnhout, 2015), 135–184. On this and in the following, Eva M. Alcázar Hernández, “Reflexiones y balance historiográfico sobre el estudio del paisaje rural bajomedieval es España desde la arqueología,” Norba. Revista de Historia 25–26 (2012–2013): 77–88; Vicente Salvatierra Cuenca and Eva M. Alcázar Hernández, “Ciudad bajomedieval a arqueología. Entre la investigación y el comentario,” in La Ciutat Medieval i Arqueologia. vi Curs Internacional d’Arqueologia Medieval, ed. Flocel Sabaté and Jesús Brufal (Lleida, 2014), 43–66; Antonio Malpica Cuello, Vicente Salvatierra Cuenca, Joan J. Torró Martínez, et al., “La arqueología medieval a inicios del siglo xxi. Viejas preguntas y nuevas formas de respuesta,” Debates de Arqueología Medieval 7 (2017): 97–146.

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to the sources.45 In all areas, studies today have access to far broader and more diverse sources than older investigations, which is due less to the discovery of previously unknown material than to different research questions, for which previously neglected evidence promises answers. Conversely, these sources themselves put a spotlight on phenomena that have been largely neglected but which are relevant for the general subject matter. Researchers have particularly worked out new results and interpretations in numerous studies of individual cities, motivated by a desire to (re-)construct the “patria chica” in question.46 The intensely local focus of these analyses, however, also means that a critical examination of the results often cannot offer broad perspectives but must be carried out only for individual cases, thus shedding light more on specifics than—to refer to an example—overarching phenomena. Despite this tendency towards positivism, the last decades have produced studies that no longer view the city as an entity per se or as an object of constitutional historical research, but as an urban system, a bundle of complex relationships of different social groupings integrated into networks of varying provenance—­ political, economic, social, religious, or cultural—on both the local and regional levels.47 Currently, researchers are thus not only inquiring into the function of the city over the course of the “Reconquista,” its restructuring and so-called repoblación as well as the expulsion of the Arabic population,48 but also into 45

46

47

48

From a critical perspective: José M. Monsalvo Antón, “Historia de los poderes medievales, del Derecho a la Antropología. El ejemplo castellano: monarquía, concejos y señoríos en los siglos xii–xv,” in Historia a debate. Medieval. Congreso Internacional. Santiago de Compostela 1993, ed. Carlos Barros Guimeráns (La Coruña 1995), 81–149. See, for example, Antonio Bonet Correa, ed., Urbanismo e historia urbana en el mundo hispano. Primer simposio. Madrid 1978 (Madrid, 1979); Idem, ed., Urbanismo e historia urbana en el mundo hispano. Segundo simposio. Madrid 1982, 2 vols. (Madrid, 1985); Emilio Sáez Sánchez, Cristina Segura Graíño, and Margarita Cantera Montenegro, eds., La ciudad hispánica durante los siglos xiii al xvi. Coloquio. La Rábida y Sevilla 1981, 3 vols. (Madrid, 1985–1987); as well as the overview by María Asenjo González, “Las ciudades medievales castellanas. Balance y perspectivas de su desarrollo historiográfico (1990–2004),” En la España medieval 28 (2005): 415–453. This applies both to overviews—such as María Asenjo González, “Las ciudades,” in Orígenes de la Monarquía hispánica: Propaganda y legitimación (ca. 1400–1520), ed. José M. Nieto Soria, (Madrid, 1999), 105–141; Miguel Á. Ladero Quesada, Ciudades de la España medieval. Introducción a su estudio (Madrid, 2010)—and to individual case studies, such as the contributions in the anthologies of José M. Monsalvo Antón, ed., Sociedades urbanas y culturas políticas en la Baja Edad Media castellana (Estudios históricos y geográficos 156) (Salamanca, 2013) and María Á. López Arandia, ed., Ciudades y fronteras. Una mirada interdisziplinar al mundo urbano (ss. xii–xxi) (Cáceres, 2014). Jean Gautier-Dalché, “La ville hispanique au Moyen Âge,” in Concejos y ciudades en la Edad Media hispánica. Actas del ii Congreso de Estudios Medievales. Madrid 1989 (Madrid, 1990), 7–20; Actas del iii Curso de Cultura Medieval. Seminario: Repoblación y Reconquista.

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the historic background of the execution of complex image programs, the erection of large ecclesiastical and profane constructions, or urban planning.49 For questions of urban topography, continuity dominates even when—as in the case of Córdoba—the population was exchanged and now consisted largely of Christian settlers from Northern Castile and franci from beyond the Pyrenees. They accepted the city as they found it and redesigned it à la longue in accordance with their needs; but these measures were at first only visible in the increase in Christian buildings (churches and monasteries) and the modifications of the street network.50 Until the 80s, research into the urbanism of the Early Modern period was conducted from a perspective provided by the so-called leyenda negra: the image of an “España inquisitorial, ignorante, fanática, incapaz de figurar entre los pueblos cultos lo mismo ahora que antes, dispuesta siempre a las represiones violentas; enigma del progreso y de las innovaciones” that had already arrived in the 16th century,51 although it was not fully formulated until the 20th century, led to the assumption that Habsburg rule had been responsible for Castile’s demise and thus also for the political irrelevance of the cities. A change in perspective required a new understanding of this form of governing: it was not a centralized nation state with a coercive system, but rather a political system characterized by procedural law and a willingness to compromise.52 Charles’s

49

50

51

52

Aguilar de Campoo 1991, ed. José L. Hernando Garrido and Miguel A. García Guinea (Aguilar de Campoo, 1993); Alejandro García Sanjuán, “La conquista cristiana de Andalucía y el destino de la población musulmana (621–662 H/1224–1264). La aportación de las fuentes árabes,” in Arcos y la frontera andaluza (1264–1330), ed. Manuel González Jiménez and Rafael Sánchez Saus (Universidad de Sevilla, 2016), 33–58. See, for example, María Asenjo Gonzalez, “La représentation de l’origine mythique de Valladolid,” in Colloque Ab urbe condita. Fonder et refonder la ville: récits et représentations (seconde moitié du Moyen Âge–premier xvie siècle). Pau 14–15 mai 2009, ed. Veronique Lamazou-­Duplan (Pau, 2011), 90–103; Pilar Martínez Taboada, “Historia del urbanismo medieval hispano: cuestiones metodológicas e historiográficas,” Anales de Historia del Arte (2009): 27–59. Miguel Á. Ladero Quesada, “Toledo y Córdoba en la Baja Edad Media. Aspectos urbanísticos,” Revista del Instituto Egipcio de Estudios Islámicos en Madrid 30 (1998): 181–220; Antonio Collantes de Terán Sánchez, “De la ciudad andalusí a la castellana. El espacio urbano en la Andalucía bajomedieval,” Boletín de la Real Academia Sevillana de Buenas Letras: Minervae Baeticae 37 (2009): 163–190. Julián Juderías y Loyot, La leyenda negra de España. Estudios acerca del concepto de España en el extranjero (Madrid, 2014 [1914]), 102; on this, Jocelyn N. Hillgarth, The Mirror of Spain, 1500–1700. The Formation of a Myth (Ann Arbor, 2000) esp. 309–327; Ruth MacKay, “Lazy, Improvident People”: Myth and Reality in the Writing of Spanish History (Ithaca, 2006), esp. 1–19. Nicholas Henshall, The Myth of Absolutism: Change and Continuity in Early Modern European Monarchy (Harlow, 1992), esp. 122–125; Helen Nader, “‘The More Communes, the

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absolute power was, in fact, limited. He was an absolutist monarch in the sense that he was independent from Rome and his princes, but he was dependent on his subjects in areas such as his financial power—and Castile’s tax revenue was significantly higher than that of Naples or the Netherlands. His actions on the Iberian Peninsula thus stayed within the framework provided by a mixed constitution, in which the monarchy was one factor of political authority and reached decisions with the consent of the cortes.53 Charles and the nobility supported the town and village councils’ self-administration, and they in turn gave their loyalty.54 At any rate, the result of the revolt of the comunidades in 1520 and 1521 was not their violent suppression and thus the destruction of the Castilian communes vitality and democratic values; rather, an intensive negotiation concluded with—in the words of Aurelio Espinosa—a “constitutional commonwealth, an empire of autonomous cities and towns, and the post-comunero parliament provided a reform platform for a commonwealth of selfruling republics.”55 This empire of cities and towns based on constitutional policies, management programs, and bureaucratic procedures was finally brought to an end by Bourbon rule, whose practitioners were unwilling to tolerate the power and independence of the cities and towns while establishing a central state.56 The re-assessment of this phase of the Spanish nation-building Greater the King.’ Hidden Communes in Absolutist Theory,” in Theorien kommunaler Ordnung in Europa, ed. Peter Blickle (Schriften des Historischen Kollegs. Kolloquien 36) (Munich, 1996), 215–223; John B. Owens, “By My Absolute Royal Authority.” Justice and the Castilian Commonwealth at the Beginnings of the First Global Age (Changing Perspectives on Early Modern Europe 3) (Rochester, 2005), here 4/n. 8, with a conception of Castile and the Hispanic Monarchy as “a complex array of intricate, overlapping, interlocal, interactive economic, political, and information networks,” which are connected by municipalities. 53 Joan P. Rubiés, “La idea del gobierno mixto y su significado en la crisis de la Monarquía Hispánica,” Historia Social 24 (1996): 57–81; Espinosa, The Empire of the Cities, 14–33. 54 José I. Fortea Pérez, “Poder real y poder municipal en Castilla en el siglo xvi,” in Estructuras y formas del poder en la historia, ed. Reyna Pastor de Togneri, Ian Kieniewicz, and Eduardo García de Enterría Martínez-Carande (Acta Salmanticencia. Estudios Históricos y Geográficos 81) (Salamanca, 1991), 117–142; María Asenjo González “Las ciudades castellanas al inicio del reinado de Carlos v,” Studia historica. Historia moderna 21 (1991): 49–115; also compare Peter Sahlins, Boundaries. The Making of France and Spain in the Pyrenees (Berkeley, 1989), 103–132. 55 Espinosa, The Empire of the Cities, 13; cf. Máximo Diago Hernando, “Transformaciones en las instituciones de gobierno local de las ciudades castellanas durante la revuelta comunera (1520–1521),” Hispania. Revista española de historia 63/214 (2003): 623–656; Joseph Pérez, La Revolución de las Comunidades de Castilla: 1520–1521, 6th ed. (Madrid, 1998 [Bordeaux, 1970]). 56 Helen Nader, Liberty in Absolutist Spain. The Habsburg Sale of Towns, 1516–1700 (Baltimore, 1990), 10; Pablo Fernández Albadalejo, Fragmentos de monarquia. Trabajos de historia política (Madrid, 1992), 353–361.

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process as well as the analysis of previously neglected archival material made possible a multiplicity of individual case studies, which produce the impression that the history of the Early Modern cities is currently one of the most popular and productive areas of historical science. The literature, in any case, is almost too substantial to grasp. At the same time—or perhaps for exactly this reason—it is not so simple to say what Early Modern urban history actually is, that is, whether and how it can be differentiated from other sectorial, historic research fields such as political, economic, or juridical history. Apart from the research object’s relation to an urban framework, almost no thematic predeterminations exist. Studies of the urban world, the city’s constitution, council politics, and inner-city conflicts,57 to social groupings and individual city types, continue to play an important role.58 But works about the images of and discourses about cities or their conceptions must also be mentioned here;59 in contrast, the topic “city and rule” holds only a marginal position and is usually addressed in a cursory fashion.60 2

Old Sites, a New Approach: Cities from Late Antiquity to the Early Modern Period

The contributions to this volume shed light on the ideal-typical sketch of the development of the Hispanic cities from the “long Late Antiquity” to the Early Modern period in all its facets. In doing so, they revise the traditional narrative. They are part of different research traditions and come from varying disciplines: ancient history and early Christian archaeology, Arabic studies, medieval history and early medieval archaeology, as well as the Early Modern 57

58 59 60

See, for example, the anthologies Ciudad y mundo urbano en la época moderna, ed. Luis A. Ribot García and Luigi De Rosa (Madrid, 1997), 48–49; Imágenes de la diversidad. El mundo urbano en la Corona de Castilla (ss. xvi–xvii), ed. José I. Fortea Pérez (Santander, 1997); Ciudades en Conflicto (ss. xvi–xviii), ed. idem and Juan E. Gelabert (Madrid, 2008). Antonio García-Baquero González, ed., La burguesía de negocios en la Andalucía de la ilustración, 2 vols., (Cádiz, 1991); Patrick O’Flanagan, Port Cities of Atlantic Iberia: c. 1500–1900 (Aldershot, 2008). Kagan, ed., Spanish Cities of the Golden Age; idem, Urban Images of the Hispanic World. 1493–1793 (New Haven, 2000); Santiago Quesada Casajuana, Idea de la ciudad en la cultura hispana de la Edad Moderna (Barcelona, 1992). Pablo Fernández Albaladejo, “Cities and the State in Spain,” in Cities and the Rise of States in Europe, a.d. 1000 to 1800, ed. Charles Tilly and Wim P. Blockmans (Boulder, 1994), 168–183; Regine Jorzick, Herrschaftssymbolik und Staat. Die Vermittlung königlicher Herrschaft im Spanien der frühen Neuzeit (1556–1598) (Munich, 1998); Horst Pietschmann, “Stadt und Herrschaft im Spanien des 16. Jahrhunderts,” in Städte im Wandel: Bauliche Inszenierung und literarische Stilisierung lokaler Eliten auf der Iberischen Halbinsel. Internationales Kolloquium. Hamburg 2005, ed. Sabine Panzram (Münster, 2007), 325–360.

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period. Through this interdisciplinary approach of consistently connecting history and archaeology, the volume grapples with a problem that both classical and medieval studies have had to address in the last three decades, and must continue to focus upon: although written records initially dominated the narrative of the archaeologically “disappointing” urban histories, the conjuncture of urban archaeology soon reversed these circumstances. The archaeological findings then clearly took center stage and were used not infrequently for model building: the stones spoke very loquaciously on topics about which they could have nothing to say. The present contributions now attempt to integrate the results of both disciplines and to establish a discourse that has moved beyond the extremes. They offer definitions of the world of the “city” in its respective eras and take into account internal developments in the cities just as much as their integration in supra-regional networks of, for example, an economic or religious nature. They ask about the effects of the presence of “barbarians” on the Iberian Peninsula as well as that of the rule of the Umayyads on the urban worlds, thereby daring to enter territory that is only now beginning to be explored.61 But the volume goes further: by tracing the arc into the 18th century and so encompassing the cities after their reconquest by Christian rulers as well as in the Early Modern period, it is the first to ask how far the re-­evaluation of late antique urbanism bears consequences for the urban research of the following epochs. The first chapter offers an introduction into the regional context of Hispania and develops a general panorama of the urban world for the period from the 4th century to the 6th. The early Christian archaeologist Gisela Ripoll proceeds from the pragmatic principle that the past—the classical city—was used in accordance with the needs of the present, which means above all according to the demands that Christianity placed on a city from the 4th century onwards. The most significant personage was the bishop, who now acted as the patronus of a civitas christiana, in which the martyrs acted as defensores civitates. At any rate, the records of the Council of Elvira (Granada) of the early 4th century already attest the existence of 38 Christian communities on the Iberian Peninsula; here, Christianity was above all an urban phenomenon. However, the city was always connected with its hinterlands: the necropoleis and the martyrs’ basilicas and mausoleums and monasteries and xenodochia may have lain outside the city walls, but processions and services following the Stations 61

Few publications span this broad scope, including José Beltrán Fortes and Oliva Rodríguez Gutiérrez, eds., Sevilla Arqueológica. La ciudad en época protohistórica, antigua y andalusí (Colección: Temas libres 65) (Seville, 2014); Panzram, Oppidum—civitas—urbs. See also Peter Pentz, From Roman Proconsularis to Islamic Ifrīqiya (gotarc. Serie B. Gothenburg Archaeological Theses 22) (Gothenburg, 2002).

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of the Cross, such as those in honour of the feast days of the saints (“Carmona Calendar”) created a consciousness of their cohesiveness and served as a reassurance of Christian identity. The episcopal complex was the main inner-city reference point, comprising the cathedral, episcopal palace, and baptistery, but also lodgings for pilgrims, etc. Whether it was erected in the traditional city center (Toletum, Valentia [Valencia]) or more on the outskirts (Barcino [Barcelona]) depended on the population density of the inner city. This was also accompanied by new constructions of a civil character, such as horrea for storing grain and horti that were created within the city walls; moreover, house constructions were modified, parts of the road system fell out of use, and certain areas of the city were closed. Generally, Gisela Ripoll produces the impression that the city in 4th to 6th century Hispania was dominated by continuity and transformation, not collapse and catastrophe, and that the late antique, early Christian city (according to the concept of a “Heavenly Jerusalem”) is to be regarded as important in its own right, alongside the classical and medieval versions. From the perspective of an ancient historian, Javier Arce offers two case studies of Toledo and Reccopolis, a pair of important cities whose topographies remain largely unknown. With Toletum, the Visigoths turned a city that had very little to no importance in the Roman period into a focal point of their kingdom. Their reason must have been geostrategic, because the city lay not only approximately in the center of the Iberian Peninsula, but also halfway between Narbona (Narbonne) in the Septimania and Hispalis (Sevilla) in the Baetica. Javier Arce views the establishment of this urbs regia as an indicator of the Visigoths’ imitatio imperii. He firmly rejects a topographical reconstruction—which is conducted analogously to other cities, due to a lack of findings—and relegates arguments that the praetorium was located in the suburbium, where the circus lay, to the realm of speculation. The written ­records—especially from Leovigild onwards—produce an impression of a city filled with churches, constructed thanks to the generosity of the kings. However, it is hardly possible to identify these as the setting for the councils that took place starting in 400 a.d. in Toledo. It is unknown where the Third Council of 589, led by Reccared himself, may have convened: in civitatum regiam, as the records say, may refer to Santa Maria, the city’s oldest church, or alternatively to the royal or episcopal palace. A comparison with archaeological evidence has (so far) not been possible. In any case, Toledo enjoyed the privilege of serving as the royal seat and the “spiritual capital” of the Visigothic kingdom. In contrast, Jarvier Arce opposes interpretations that claim that Reccopolis was an “extension” of Toledo, a “palatine city” or a residence for the second son, Hermenegild. ­According to Isidore of Seville and John of Biclaro, the city was

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founded by Leovigild, who named it after his son but gave it no functions. In fact, the excavations in Cerro de la Oliva (Prov. Guadalajara) raise the question of whether the structures there should be understood as a horreum rather than a palatium. Parallels from Asia Minor and the Balkans demonstrate that these storage facilities may have been built to supply the army and subsequently used by the Church for purposes of tax collection. The Arabist Isabel Toral-Niehoff and the medieval archaeologist Alberto León Muñoz submit the written and material records transmitted from Qurṭuba to an equally rigorous examination. The former provincial capital city of Baetica flourished under the Umayyads, who made it the capital of the emirate and later the caliphate. The Arabic chronicles relating the conquest of the city in July 711 a.d. stem from the 13th century; the earliest record they reference comes from the 10th century and not from that region, but from Egypt. Obviously, the legitimation of the ruling dynasty was at first paramount: after the Umayyads’ end, the nostalgic intention of glorifying their fame took its place. The combined view with the archaeological findings should be placed in this context. The new city rulers saw themselves confronted with a late antique city that still possessed its city walls and gates from Roman times, but whose orthogonal street network had given way to twisting alleyways and whose center had shifted from the northeast to the southwest, where the religious, economic, and civil focal points of urban life—such as the Mezquita—would be established. It is difficult to judge the short-term effect of the city’s conquest: if any century deserves to be called the “dark age,” it is the 8th. Isabel Toral-Niehoff and Alberto León Muñoz assume that a gradual transformation took place, accompanying a pragmatic policy towards the Christian majority. According to the chronicles, the city rulers occupied the properties of the Visigothic elite, who offered resistance and made a second conquest necessary. Arabic legal sources laid out that property ownership would remain intact after capitulation if a city paid tribute, but only a single source reports such a capitulation. In any case, the first construction work in the 720s was conducted on obviously damaged infrastructure, such as the bridge over the Guadalquivir. The mosque was built under ʿAbd al-Raḥmān’s rule in the 80s and was directly connected to the Alcázar to its west. This concentration of religious and political power can presumably be traced back to the Visigoths, but is also known from Arabic cities such as Damascus. Both constructions were monumentalized under ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ii. Towards the end of the 10th century, the city stretched over 10 km along the Guadalquivir. One can, in fact, speak of three different cities—a true urban center—if one supplements Madīna of Córdoba with the palatial cities of Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ in the west and Madīnat al-Zahīra in the east. ­Construction work on these palatial cities had begun due to the

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proclamation of the caliphate in the second third of the 10th century and elicited an economic boom without compare. But this flourishing did not last long: the civil war that broke out in 1009 and brought the caliphate to an end in 1031 turned the “ornament of the world” into a provincial city. Fernando Valdés Fernández takes up the case study of Toledo from the perspective of a medieval archaeologist and first establishes—like his classical studies colleague Javier Arce—our deficient to nonexistent knowledge of the topography of the approximately 60 ha Visigothic city. According to written records, it was encircled by walls in the years 711/712, and various monasteries and endowments existed alongside the Santa María Basilica, the church dedicated to Peter and Paul, and the Basilica of Saint Leocadia and Saint Vincent. As in most of the Iberian Peninsula, the military seizure here did not result in extensive destruction but utilized diplomatic means and aimed at the concluding of contracts. In any case, archaeological findings bear no evidence of destruction horizons dating to this time. Religious buildings naturally underwent the first alterations, as the new city rulers will have needed mosques, for which they altered the churches. A record dated to 870/871 thus requests permission to use endowment funds (ḥubus) to renew the minaret of the main mosque and to take over the neighbouring church. Fernando Valdés Fernández postulates that this had once been a cathedral and that the ecclesiastical structure was—as in Syria—for a time put to joint use, until the growth of the Muslim community finally led to the expropriation of the Christian building. Electromagnetic prospections in the building’s interior from the 80s seem to confirm this thesis. Sections of the northern wall and two cisterns of the mosque are the only elements that could be confirmed for certain; a miḥrāb and qibla were not identified, which makes a conversion of the church unlikely. This discovery excludes an immediate Islamization of the city; a gradual repurposing to suit the new surroundings is the more fitting description. On the other hand, the existence of a religious foundation can be seen as evidence of this process, which concluded in the late 10th and early 11th century. This slowness can perhaps be attributed to the city’s loss of political importance, which must have touched fields such as economics: Ṭulayṭula was no longer Toledo, the urbs regia of the Visigothic kingdom, but merely a city of secondary rank. In contrast to other regions such as Ifrīqiya, the new capital city (Qayrawān) was not built immediately adjacent to the old one (Carthage), but instead centered around the Guadalquivir valley from the beginning. The medievalist Matthias Maser inquires after the continuity and discontinuity of urban structures in the territories reconquered from Castile between the 11th and 14th centuries, using the examples of Toledo and Seville. In so ­doing, however, he focuses not only on urbanism, but also on its perception by

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Christian settlers, which was shaped by a desire to legitimise the “Reconquista.” In 1085, Toledo was the first city to capitulate almost intact to the Christian conquerors. It retained its topography largely unchanged until the 14th century; settlers new to the city took over the structure of individual neighbourhoods, and neighbourhoods such as that of the franci developed. After all, they had at their disposal all necessary elements of an urban infrastructure, though some may have seemed strange to them: only Christian churches were missing. Into the 1330s, this problem was solved by repurposing and reconsecrating mosques; in 1222, construction of a cathedral was begun primarily because the Friday mosque had sustained significant damage in an earthquake. Public squares also do not seem to have been missed: not until 1339 were houses torn down to make room for a square that would soon take on a significant role in the municipal self-administration (“Plaza del Ayuntamiento”). In the case of Seville, which fell to the Christians in 1248, the urban topography transformed more quickly, although this was partially because flooding of the Guadalquivir made regular construction work necessary in any case. In regard to the urban societies, Alfonso vi also pursued a strategy aimed at continuity: Toledo’s treaty of surrender guaranteed freedom, safety, and the inviolability of its property. However, his successor to the throne of Castile opted for discontinuity and decreed that a city’s Islamic population must leave within a month of its capture. Even in Toledo, however, the majority of the Islamic population left the city; as a result, both cities needed Christian settlers from the north to replace the original population. These were wooed with the prospect of land ownership, individual liberties, and the autonomy of communal self-administration: in return, they would have to render military service on the “frontier.” Thanks to the “recruiting criteria,” the urban societies that developed in these circumstances differed fundamentally from those in the north of the Iberian Peninsula. In a way, Toledo’s social order and communal law-making turned it into a model for cities such as Seville or Córdoba, which were now also subordinated to the crown of Castile. Continuity in its urbanism was thus juxtaposed with discontinuity in its social order. María Asenjo González, also a medievalist, focuses on the conception of the city and the question of its identity in the cities of Castile from the 10th to the 15th century. Here, too, we find proof of both continuity and change. As in antiquity, a city was symbolized by its walls, which defined its borders and were crucial to its defence; its maintenance was the remit of the concilium, which in turn involved the municipal community. The gates could take the form of a stronghold—as in the case of the Gate of Santa María in Burgos—in which the city council would convene. They were connected to the suburbs— the so-called burgos—which sprang up outside the city walls, along the arterial

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roads and around the monasteries, so that one can, in the end, speak of the urbanization of the suburbia. Cities with a Roman past such as León (Legio), Astorga (Asturica Augusta), or Lugo (Lucus Augusti) integrated the city walls from Roman times, although the differences in scale were significant: while these had then comprised between 20 and 28 ha, Soria encompassed 100 and 12th-century Vallodolid 120. Yet the past was also treated in an innovative way, as in the tapestries of Vallodolid. The tapestries, presumably commissioned in 1524 and crafted in Flanders, graced the conference room of the city council until it was destroyed by a fire in 1561. However, sketches have been preserved showing scenes from the origins of the city until the events of the reign of John ii in 1444, annotated with a short explanation. Their selection evidently aimed to emphasize the city’s role in service of the king and its loyalty to him, particularly for the preservation of the dynasty’s critical moments. The city’s origins are in reality unknown: the creation of a founding myth including victory over the Arabs served to strengthen the collective consciousness in a moment when the city’s tax revenue was supporting the crown’s war against the Arabs in North Africa and Eastern Europe. The commissioned work is part of the cities’ general interest in their histories that developed towards the end of the 15th century, especially in those cities that stood under royal jurisdiction (realengo), as María Asenjo González emphasizes. The Early Modern historian Antonio Irigoyen López described the cities of 16th and 17th century Castile—counted among the most strongly urbanized regions of Europe—in the categories of “growth and decline,” of “flourishing and decay.” Although more than 37 cities with populations exceeding 10,000 still existed in 1600, that number had dropped to 22 by 1700. The situation seems to have stabilized by 1800, when they numbered 34, but the peak of earlier times was not reached again. The Castilian cities’ urbanism was characterized above all by change: the city walls were seen as obstacles and destroyed in the 18th and 19th centuries, since they restricted the cities’ expansion. Efforts were made to create broad and roomy streets, which stood in contrast to the narrow streets of the Arab times and thus functioned as signs of modernity, as well as squares: the Plaza Mayors—as of Madrid, Valladolid, and Toledo— functioned not just as junctions of a city’s traffic axes and as their administrative, political, and economic centers, but also as meeting points of social life and not least as stages of municipal self-presentation, hosting bull fights and the Inquisition’s autos de fe. Moreover, urban life was increasingly influenced by the Church. Fernando Chueca Goitia even goes so far as to claim that Spain shaped a type of city sui generis: the monastery city. While Europe had cities with monasteries, Spain had cities that turned into monasteries. Their efforts to become cities of God developed their topographies, constructional design, and

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s­ elf-presentation into true Christianopoleis. Toledo is the perfect ­example— with its cathedral, approximately 75 religious buildings, and innumerable clerics. Here, a feast day like Corpus Christi stretched over 25 days because the ceremony had to be repeated in every parish church. Antonio Irigoyen López sees in this new manner of self-conception a possibility of overcoming a present in crisis with help of the past: in the Visigothic period, Toledo had been the civitas regia; now, it was attempting to become the civitas Dei—as the seat of the Primas of Spain, as a second Rome. However, the power of the city now flowed from the power of the Church. The economic and social historians Klaus Weber and Torsten dos Santos Arnold understand the “Reconquista” primarily as the starting point of the Iberian expansion. They study the three harbour cities of Lisbon, Seville, and Cádiz, which had already had a significant economic function in the Imperium Romanum, between the 15th and 18th centuries. In this time period, they had a monopoly on trade with the colonies, which in 1717 transferred from Seville to Cádiz. With this measure, the crowns of Portugal and Castile attempted to bring the flow of goods and precious metals under their control and taxation. The exclusion of direct trade with the colonies led to the presence and settlement of thousands of merchants in these cities. Efforts to increase toll revenue forced an expansion of imports. In addition, the introduction of non-Iberian goods— such as textiles—into the colonies could not be prevented. These accelerated industrial decline on the Iberian Peninsula itself, leading—especially in the case of Spain—to dependence on foreign credit. Genovese, German, French, and British merchants were thus present in all three cities and exercised a substantial influence on the politics and dynastic changes of the Iberian crowns, while the local elites remained economically conservative. For this reason, both crowns were accused of inefficiency and failure, which ultimately resulted from their privileging of the harbour cities. Or, put differently: if they had left the cities with more autonomy and trusted in the self-regulatory mechanisms of a tried and tested system, the economic decline may have been preventable. Sources The Chronicle of Hydatius and the Consularia Constantinopolitana: Two Contemporary Accounts of the Final Years of the Roman Empire, edited by Richard W. Burgess (Oxford Classical Monographs). Oxford, 1993. The Coinage of the Visigoths of Spain. Leovigild to Achila ii, edited by George Carpenter Miles (Hispanic Numismatic Series 2). New York, 1952.

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Ribot García, Luis A., and Luigi De Rosa, eds. Ciudad y mundo urbano en la época moderna. Madrid, 1997. Ríos Saloma, Martín F. La Reconquista en la historiografía española contemporánea. Madrid, 2013. Rubiés, Joan P. “La idea del gobierno mixto y su significado en la crisis de la Monarquía Hispánica.” Historia Social 24 (1996): 57–81. Ruiz Valderas, Elena, ed. Cartagena, Colonia Urbs Iulia Nova Carthago (Ciudades romanas de Hispania 5). Rome, 2017. Sáez Sánchez, Emilio, Cristina Segura Graíño, and Margarita Cantera Montenegro, eds. La ciudad hispánica durante los siglos xiii al xvi. Coloquio. La Rábida y Sevilla 1981. 3 vols. Madrid, 1985–1987. Sahlins, Peter. Boundaries. The Making of France and Spain in the Pyrenees. Berkeley, 1989. Salvatierra Cuenca, Vicente, and Eva M. Alcázar Hernández. “Ciudad bajomedieval a arqueología. Entre la investigación y el comentario.” In La Ciutat Medieval i ­Arqueologia. vi Curs Internacional d’Arqueologia Medieval, edited by Flocel Sabaté and Jesús Brufal, 43–66. Lleida, 2014. Sénac, Philippe. “Histoire et archéologie de l’Occident musulman : stratigraphie d’une recherche française.” In Villa 4. Histoire et Archéologie de l’Occident musulman (viie–xve siècles) : Al-Andalus, Maghreb, Sicile, edited by Philippe Sénac, 9–17 (Études Médiévales Ibériques). Toulouse, 2012. Stylow, Armin U. “Von Emil Hübner zur Neuauflage von cil ii.” Madrider Mitteilungen 36 (1995): 17–25. Taracena Aguirre, Blas. “Las invasiones germánicas en España durante la segunda mitad del siglo iii d.C.” In i Congreso español de estudios pirenaicos (San Sebastián 1950), vol. 6, 37–45. Zaragoza, 1952. Tarradell i Mateu, Miquel. “La crisis del siglo iii d.C. en Hispania: algunos aspectos fundamentales.” In i Congreso español de estudios clásicos (Madrid 1956), 263–275. Madrid, 1958. Thompson, Edward A. The Goths in Spain. Oxford, 1969. Torres Balbás, Leopoldo. Ciudades hispanomusulmanas. 2 vols. Madrid, 1971. Tuñon de Lara, Manuel, ed. Historia de España. 2 vols., vol. 1: Manuel Tuñon de Lara, Miquel Tarradell i Mateu, and Julio Mangas Manjarrés. Primeras culturas e Hispania romana. Vol. 2: Juan J. Sayas Abengochea and Luis A. García Moreno. Romanismo y germanismo, el despertar de los pueblos hispánicos (ss. iv–x). Barcelona, 1980. Valor Piechotta Magdalena, and José A. Gutiérrez González, eds. The Archaeology of Medieval Spain, 1100–1500 (Studies in the Archaeology of Medieval Europe). Sheffield; Bristol, 2014. Ventura Villanueva, Ángel, Carlos Márquez Moreno, Antonio Monterroso Checa, and Miguel A. Carmona Berenguer, eds. El teatro romano de Córdoba. Córdoba, 2002.

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Vries, Jan de. “Population.” In Handbook of European History, 1400–1600: Late Middle Ages, Renaissance and Reformation. 2 vols., edited by Thomas A. Brady, Heiko A. Oberman, and James D. Tracy, 1: 1–50. Leiden, 1994. Wulff Alonso, Fernando, and Manuel Álvarez Martí-Aguilar, eds. Antigüedad y franquismo (1936–1975) (CEDMA). Málaga, 2003.

Part 1 The City in Spania (4th to 7th Centuries)

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Chapter 1

The Transformation of the City in Hispania between the 4th and the 6th Centuries Gisela Ripoll Discussing the city in Late Antiquity means discussing economy and society.1 In terms of historiography, the period, once Fustel de Coulanges, Max Weber, or Henri Pirenne are left behind, has been straightjacketed according to two models identified by Bryan Ward-Perkins in 1997.2 One considers the period to have been one of catastrophe and collapse, a pessimistic standpoint; the other is the optimistic approach that understands Late Antiquity as a period defined by the continuity and transformation of the earlier Roman world.3 In fact, there is now a considerable degree of consensus that Late Antiquity was a period with its “own distinctive personality,” as the great Henri-Irenée Marrou pointed out in the mid-20th century, an opinion that has continued to be supported by other researchers.4 From my point of view, these are two sides of the same coin, neither being a valid starting point for a study of the city in 1 This text forms part of the activities of the eraaub/Equip de Recerca Arqueològica i Arqueomètrica of the Universitat de Barcelona (2017 sgr 1043). I would like to thank Sabine Panzram and Eduardo Carrero Santamaría for their observations on the text, Javier Arce for discussing it in Hamburg, Miguel Á. Cau Ontiveros, Carme Miró and Albert Ribera i Lacomba for the figures that they have made available, Philipp Banks for translating it from Spanish into English, Charlotte Tupman for her fine work of editing the final text, and R. Álvarez for preparing the maps. 2 Bryan Ward-Perkins, “Continuitists, Catastrophists, and the Towns of Post-Roman Northern Italy,” Papers of the British School at Rome 65 (1997), 157–176. Gisela Ripoll, “La ciudad de la antigüedad tardía. Algunos puntos de reflexión,” in Ciutats mediterrànies: civilització i desenvolupament, ed. Antonio Riera Melis, Josep Guitart i Duran, and Salvador Giner de San Julián (Publicacions de la Presidència, Sèrie Major 2) (Barcelona, 2015), 161–171. 3 See the problems presented by Chris Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages: Europe and the Mediterranean, 400–800 (Oxford, 2005), 591–692 (Spanish edition, Barcelona, 2009, 839– 983). Bryan Ward-Perkins, The Fall of Rome and the End of Civilization (Oxford, 2005), directly related to the economy. See also the two assessments: Andrea Giardina, “Esplosione di tardoantico,” Studi Storici 40.1 (1999): 157–180; Javier Arce, “Antigüedad Tardía hispánica. Avances recientes,” Pyrenae 36.1 (2005): 3–28. 4 Henri-Irénée Marrou, Décadence romaine ou antiquité tardive? iiie–ive siècle (Paris, 1977); Glen W. Bowersock, Peter Brown, and Oleg Grabar, eds., Interpreting Late Antiquity: Essays on the Postclassical World (Cambridge, Mass., 2001).

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���9 | doi:10.1163/9789004399693_003

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Late Antiquity, as they restrict the evidence by adhering to the model of the magnificent, majestic, monumental classical city that preceded the city of Late Antiquity. In fact, what was happening, as Neil J. Christie has recently stated in an inspired way, was that “The past was there to be used according to the needs of that present.”5 It is therefore necessary to consider the period using a more diverse approach, beginning with the reflection that in Late Antiquity there were environmental, climatic, geomorphological, demographic, political, military, economic, commercial, agricultural, and, above all, religious factors that structured society, and thus the city, in a way different from the preceding Roman city and from the subsequent Byzantine, Islamic, or medieval Christian cities. Expressed succinctly, Christianity created the need for a new city endowed with all the settings for its ceremonial expression. 1

Christianity, City, and Territory in Hispania

What, then, was the Late Antique city?6 What do we know about the city’s political and administrative functions? What was its juridical status? What administrative and religious buildings did it possess? Was coinage minted there or not? And, therefore, who was responsible for the taxation system? Why did some of these cities become episcopal sees, and which ones? These and a long 5 Neil J. Christie, “Vrbes Extinctae: Archaeologies of and Approaches to Abandoned Classical Cities,” in Vrbes Extinctae. Archaeologies of Abandoned Classical Towns, ed. Neil J. Christie and Andrea Augenti (Farnham, 2012), 1–44, here 34. 6 Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera, Gisela Ripoll, and Cristina Godoy Fernández, “Topografía de la Antigüedad tardía hispánica. Reflexiones para una propuesta de trabajo,” Antiquité Tardive 2 (1994): 161–180; Gisella Cantino Wataghin, Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera, and Jean Guyon, “Topografia della civitas christiana tra iv e vi sec.,” in Early Medieval Towns in the Western Mediterranean. Atti del Convegno. Ravello 1994, ed. Gian P. Brogiolo (Documenti di archeologia 10) (Mantua, 1996), 17–41; Gisela Ripoll, “The transformation and process of acculturation in Late Antique Hispania: Select aspects from urban and rural archaeological documentation,” in The Visigoths. Studies in Culture and Society, ed. Alberto Ferreiro (Leiden, 1999), 263– 302; Gisela Ripoll and Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera, eds., Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800) (Real Acadèmia de Bones Lletres. Series maior 6 = Memorias de la Real Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona 25) (Barcelona, 2000); Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera, “Transformaciones en el tejido de las ciudades hispanas durante la antigüedad tardía: dinámicas urbanas,” Zephyrus 53–54 (2000–2001), 443–471; Michael Kulikowski, Late Roman Spain and Its Cities (Baltimore, 2004); Pilar Diarte Blasco, La configuración urbana de la Hispania tardoantigua. Transformaciones y pervivencias de los espacios públicos romanos (ss. iii–vi d.C.) (bar International Series 2429) (Oxford, 2012); Pilar Diarte Blasco and Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera, “La percepción del espacio en el urbanismo tardoantiguo: características evolutivas en el ejemplo hispano,” Antiquité Tardive 23 (2015): 307–328; Ripoll, “La ciudad de la antigüedad tardía,” 161–171.

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series of other questions need to be answered. For example, what do the words used in the sources tell us? A rapid review supplies us with a heterogeneous range of vocabulary: civitas, urbs, urbibus, vicus, viculis, pagus, mansio, oppidiculis, statio, villa, villula, vilare, burgus and even turris, allodium, castrum, castellum, praetorium, or palatium. This long list of terms with many meanings and a lengthy history refers to different forms of settlement found within and on the periphery of urban areas.7 The form in which they are expressed materially leads many archaeologists to describe them merely as primary or secondary centers, of low or high density, both for the sake of comfort and because we are unable to define them in either historical or archaeological terms. There can be no doubt that one of the keys to answering the question of the nature of the city in Late Antique Hispania lies in considering how the cities worked, how they were governed, that is to say who was responsible for administering them. Leonard A. Curchin,8 following the work of other scholars such as Karl F. Stroheker,9 Javier Arce,10 and Sabine Panzram,11 has recently reconsidered the extant “prosopography” for curatores and defensores. The results are limited as the amount of evidence is small, but if the curiales and the principales or primates are added, the range is broadened, and if the activity of other significant figures in public life, such as the honorati (nobles) and the great landowners, the possessores, is also added, then the government of the cities can be visualized from a political and administrative point of view. Until the early 6th century the civitas is known to have been regulated by the curia, a body that was replaced by the comes and iudices civitatis, who had both civil and military duties, and who in turn, together with the rectores provinciae, were to be the same as the iudices in the times of the Visigothic kingdom. If the results of combing the written sources, above all the acts of the church councils, the hagiographic texts, the iconographic programs, and the results 7

8 9 10 11

On this terminology in the Iberian Peninsula: José I. Martínez Melón, “El vocabulario de los asentamientos rurales (ss. i–ix d.C.): evolución de la terminología,” in Villas tardoantiguas en el Mediterráneo occidental, ed. Alexandra Chavarría, Javier Arce, and Gian P. Brogiolo (Anejos de Archivo Español de Arqueología 39) (Madrid, 2006), 113–131; Flocel Sabaté, El territorio de la Catalunya medieval (Barcelona, 1997). Leonard A. Curchin, “The Role of Civic Leaders in Late Antique Hispania,” Studia historica. Historia antigua 32 (2014), 281–304. Karl F. Stroheker, “Spanische Senatoren der spätrömischen und westgotischen Zeit,” Madrider Mitteilungen 4 (1963): 107–132. Javier Arce, “El cursus publicus en la Hispania tardorromana,” in Simposio sobre la red viaria en la Hispania romana (Zaragoza, 1990), 35–40. Sabine Panzram, Stadtbild und Elite. Tarraco, Corduba und Augusta Emerita zwischen Republik und Spätantike (Historia Einzelschriften 161) (Stuttgart, 2002).

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of archaeological data are added, all the evidence suggests that the most ­significant figure in the regulation or government of urban life was the episcopus, the ultimate representative of the ecclesiastical hierarchy, whose standing was almost at the same level as the role of the defensor. The defensor civitatis was the martyr or saint and, by extension, his or her relics; in the words of Norman H. Baynes they, the martyrs, were “the supernatural defenders of the city.”12 The patronus of the city was the bishop, the representative of the city on Earth, who, over the course of time, acquired the clear role as a leader at the head of the great majority of the faithful from all levels of society.13 To society, the bishop was what the senators had been throughout the 4th century, with its exponential increase in appointments and the shaping of a senatorial aristocracy, what Peter Brown calls the “aristocratization” of the Church in Gallia,14 a process that it may well be possible to extrapolate to Hispania,

12

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14

Norman H. Baynes, “The Supernatural Defenders of Constantinople,” in Byzantine Studies and Other Essays, ed. Norman H. Baynes (Westport, Conn., 1974 [London, 1955]), 260–284. See also Peter Brown, The cult of the saints: its rise and function in Latin Christianity (Chicago, 1981); Alba M. Orselli, L’idea e il culto del santo patrono cittadino nella letteratura latina cristiana (Università degli Studi di Bologna, Facoltà di lettere e filosofia, Studi e ricerche, n.s. 12) (Bologna, 1965). We have recently considered certain specific aspects: Gisela Ripoll and Javier Arce, “De los cultos paganos al culto cristiano: el proceso de transformación en Hispania (ss. iv–vii),” in Des dieux civiques aux saints patrons (ive–viie siècle), ed. JeanPierre Caillet, Sylvain Destephen, Bruno Dumézil, and Hervé Inglebert (Textes, Images et Monuments de l’Antiquité au haut Moyen Âge 12) (Paris, 2015), 341–351. Jean-Charles Picard, Le souvenir des évêques. Sépultures. Listes épiscopales et cultes des évêques en Italie du Nord des origines au xe siècle (Bibliothèque des Écoles Françaises d’Athènes et de Rome 268) (Rome, 1988); Jean-Charles Picard, Évêques, Saints et Cités en Italie et en Gaule. Études d’Archéologie et d’Histoire (Collection de l’École Française de Rome 242) (Rome, 1998); Éric Rebillard and Claire Sotinel, eds., L’Évêque dans la cité du ive au ve siècle: image et autorité (Collection de l’École Française de Rome 248) (Rome, 1998); Claudia Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity: The Nature of Christian Leadership in an Age of Transition (The Transformation of the Classical Heritage 37) (Berkeley, 2005). For the medieval period: Eric Palazzo, L’évêque et son image: L’illustration du Pontifical au Moyen Âge (Turnhout, 1999); Maureen C. Miller, The Bishop’s Palace: Architecture and Authority in Medieval Italy (Ithaca, N.Y., 2000) (which goes far beyond merely architectural questions and contains important sections on Late Antiquity). And for Hispania, cf. Celine Martin, “La commémoration des évêques en Espagne wisigothique,” in Autour des morts. Mémoire et identité. Actes du Ve colloque international sur la sociabilité. Rouen 1998, ed. Olivier Dumoulin and Françoise Thélamon (Publications de l’Université de Rouen 296) (Rouen, 2001), 369–375; Olof Brandt, Silvia Cresci, Jorge López Quiroga, et al., eds., Episcopus, ciuitas, territorium. Acta xv Congressvs Internationalis Archaeologicae Christianae. Toledo 2008 (Studi di Antichità Cristiana 65) (Vatican City, 2013). Peter Brown, “Aspects of the Christianization of the Roman Aristocracy,” Journal of Roman Studies 51 (1961): 1–11.

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as is also suggested by the studies of Aline Rousselle and Frank D. Gilliard.15 Whatever the case, entering the ecclesiastical cursus as a bishop, maintaining municipal burdens, properties, and fiscal immunity were far from easy tasks; above all, they meant a constantly changing responsibility, as can be observed in fourth-century legislation. In addition, it should be remembered that ecclesiastical property was not exempt from taxation from the time of Honorius on, and that many acts of munificence sought exemption from such enormous fiscal burdens. However, it is also true that taxation was so onerous that those holding high office in the ecclesiastical hierarchy very often found themselves obliged to pay for different munera (the food supply to the citizens and the construction of religious buildings) from their own funds.16 This whole process of Christianization and organization of communities was slow. The civitas christiana, or rather, the “image” of the civitas christiana was to be progressively shaped as a consequence of a gradual process of development that written sources and archaeological information enable us to define. From this evidence, it can be deduced that Christianity was above all a phenomenon arising in the urban environment by means of the intervention of the aristocracies, the urban élite. It was the bishop, the patronus, who regulated the construction and organization of a new topography marked by the cults of martyrs and their relics, the defensores civitates. One of the earliest documents that best illustrates the process of urban Christianization is the Council of Elvira or of Illiberris, dating from the early 4th century (fig. 1.1).17 Thanks to the acts signed by the 19 bishops and 24 priests attending, 38 Christian communities, all near the place where the council was held, are known, including representatives of the five provinces in the Peninsula, Baetica and the southernmost part of Carthaginensis being the most deeply Christianized areas during this initial stage. In the territorium, the part of the city’s area beyond the urbs and the suburbium, Christianity is not detected until a later date, in the 6th century, 15 16 17

Αline Rousselle, “Aspects sociaux du recrutement ecclésiastique au ive siècle,” Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome. Antiquité 89.1 (1977): 333–370. Frank D. Gilliard, “Senatorial Bishops in the Fourth Century,” Harvard Theological Review 77.2 (1984): 153–175. Rousselle, “Aspects sociaux,” 369–370. This is not the place to make any contribution to the debate concerning its chronology and compilation or where it was held. The basic information can be found in Manuel Sotomayor Muro, “El concilio de Elvira en el contexto de la Colección Canónica Hispana,” in El cristianismo. Aspectos históricos de su origen y difusión en Hispania. Actas del Symposium de Vitoria-Gasteiz 1996, ed. Juan Santos Yanguas and Ramón Teja Casuso (Revisiones de Historia Antigua 3) (Vitoria-Gasteiz, 2000), 189–199. Josep Vilella Masana and Pere-Enric Barreda Edo, “¿Cánones del concilio de Elvira o cánones pseudoiliberritanos?,” Augustinianum 46.2 (2006): 285–373.

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Figure 1.1 Council of Elvira. Provenance of the bishops and priests signing at the council

i­ntroduced by these same urban aristocracies that had residences and estates at their disposal in the countryside. This was the moment when the first parish churches with baptisteries started to appear (fig. 1.2), often constructed over oratories for private use18 in a villa-type context.19

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Gisela Ripoll and Isabel Velázquez Soriano, “Origen y desarrollo de las parrochiae en la Hispania de la antigüedad tardía,” in Alle origini della parrocchia rurale (iv–vii sec.). Atti della giornata tematica dei Seminari di Archeologia Cristiana. Rome 1998, ed. Philippe Pergola (Sussidi allo Studio delle antichità cristiane 12) (Vatican City, 1999), 101–165. Gisela Ripoll and Javier Arce, “The Transformation and End of Roman Villae in the West (Fourth-Seventh Centuries). Problems and Perspectives,” in Towns and their Territories between Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, ed. Gian P. Brogiolo, Nancy Gauthier, and Neil J. Christie (The transformation of the Roman world 9) (Leiden, 2000), 63–114; Gisela Ripoll, “Aristocratic residences in Late Antique Hispania,” in The Roman Villa in the Mediterranean Basin. Late Republic to Late Antiquity, ed. Annalisa Marzano and Guy P.R. Métraux (New York, 2018), 426–452.

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Figure 1.2 Baptisteries in Hispania, according to archaeological, textual, and epigraphic evidence

The bishop’s extensive activity should also be recalled in this context, in terms of both evangelization and liturgy, taking care of church dedications and the consecration of altars. The epigraphic record supplies few examples of episcopal activity, but the case of Pimenius is invaluable for the documents that provide evidence of his journeys around the territory of his diocese of Medina  Sidonia/Asidona with the aim of consecrating churches around the year 630.20 The new civitas was organized both inside and outside the city walls, and although separated by them these areas were linked by processions and ­stational liturgy.21 Within the walls the episcopal complex, with all the buildings and 20 21

Yvette Duval, “Nativola-les-Trois-Églises. (Évêché d’Acci, 594–607) d’après Vivès, icerv, 303,” Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome. Antiquité 103.2 (1991): 807–820. Victor Saxer, “L’utilisation par la liturgie de l’espace urbain et suburbain. L’exemple de Rome dans l’Antiquité et Haut Moyen Âge,” in Actes du xie Congrès International

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dependencies necessary to serve the bishop and the community, was the focal point.22 Outside the walls lay the funerary areas, including an emergent factor that was to transform them, the martyrial cult,23 which gave cohesion to the religious organization of the suburbium and which interested the Church because of its evangelical capacity to capture new converts in large numbers.24 The processions that demonstrated the spiritual unity of the city, and which were led by the bishop, were regulated by a precise liturgy and calendar, which might be of a universal or a local nature.25 The liturgical calendar structured and regulated the manifestations of the beliefs of the faithful by inserting the festivities in the calendar of saints’ days between the two main cycles—­ Advent/Christmas/Epiphany and Lent/Easter/Whitsun. The number of masses that were held enables us to refer to a greater or lesser degree of solemnity.26 An exceptional document that shows how the martyrology marked the rhythm of city life is what is known as the “Carmona Calendar,” inscribed on a column, which could be seen in the older church, perhaps by the end of the 6th or

22

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24 25 26

d’Archéologie Chrétienne, ed. Noël Duval. 3 vols. (Collection de l’École française de Rome 123 = Studi di antichità cristiana 41) (Rome, 1989), 2:918–1033; John F. Baldovin, The Urban Character of Christian Worship: The Origins, Development, and Meaning of Stational Li­turgy (Orientalia Christiana Analecta 228) (Rome, 1987); Michele R. Salzman, On Roman Time. The codex calendar of 354 and the rhythms of urban life in late antiquity (Oxford, 1990). Wolfgang Müller-Wiener, “Riflessioni sulle caratteristiche dei palazzi episcopali,” Felix Ravenna 125–126 (1983): 103–145; idem, “Bischofsresidenzen des 4.–7. Jhs. im östlichen Mittelmeerraum,” in Actes du xie Congrès International d’Archéologie Chrétienne, ed. Noël Duval. 3 vols. (Collection de l’École française de Rome 123 = Studi di antichità cristiana 41) (Rome, 1989), 1:651–709. Hippolyte Delehaye, Les origines du culte des martyrs (Brussels, 1912); Richard Krautheimer, “Mensa-Coemeterium-Martyrium,” Cahiers archéologiques 11 (1960): 15–40; Yvette Duval, Loca sanctorum Africae. Le culte des martyrs en Afrique du ive au viie siècle. 2 vols. (Collection de l’École française de Rome 58) (Rome, 1982); eadem, Auprès des Saints, corps et âme. L’inhumation “ad sanctos” dans la chrétienté d’Orient et d’Occident du iiie au viie siècle (Études Augustiniennes) (Paris, 1988); Yvette Duval and Jean-Charles Picard, eds., L’inhumation privilégiée du ive au viiie siècle en Occident. Actes du colloque tenu à Créteil 1984 (Paris, 1986); Les fonctions des saints dans le monde occidental (iiie–xiiie siècle). Actes du colloque. Rome 1988 (Collection de l’École française de Rome 149) (Rome, 1991); Ann M. Yasin, Saints and Church Spaces in the Late Antique Mediterranean: Architecture, Cult and Community (Cambridge, 2009). Ramsay MacMullen, Christianizing the Roman Empire: a.d. 100–400 (New Haven, 1984), 29–30. Ripoll and Arce, “De los cultos paganos al culto cristiano,” 347–348. Carmen García Rodríguez, El culto de los santos en la España romana y visigoda (Monografías de Historia Eclesiástica 1) (Madrid, 1966), 53–54.

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the beginning of the 7th century.27 Some of the most renowned local martyrs, such as Vincent, Felix, Treptetis, Crispin and Mucius, Fructuosus, Augurius, and Eulogius, are referred to, as well as those of a more universal nature, such as Stephen, John, and Gervasius and Protasius. In addition to the processions, the cult of martyrs included certain occasions when commemorations took place at specific points understood as loca sanctorum, at first over the tomb but subsequently inside the church. The cult of martyrs’ relics lies at the root of the episcopal topography, which was conditioned by the findspot of the remains. The commemoration of martyrs was accompanied by various rituals,28 in which the bishop played a fundamental role, as already mentioned, as he did in all the ceremonies that took place throughout the urbs. Thanks to Prudentius’ Peristephanon (late 4th/early 5th century), the early martyrial topography of the Iberian Peninsula, to which were added all the saints that were gathered in the Hispanic Passionary in versions prior to the 8th century (fig. 1.3), can be reconstructed.29 Such early transformations can be detected in cities such as Mérida/Emerita with Eulalia, Vincent in Valencia/Valentia, among others including Calahorra/Calagurris with Emeterius and Celedonius. The martyr’s importance for a city was such that, if no real martyr was available, one had to be invented.30 Generally speaking, what is known as an inventio involved a translatio of relics. Hence the great diffusion of relics that occurred between the 6th and the 7th centuries, which, however, had already started as a result of the fragmentation of relics being authorized, as in the case of Felix of Gerunda/Gerona or of Vincent himself. A good example of 27

28 29

30

The column is reused in the Patio de los Naranjos of the former mosque, converted in the 15th century into the Church of Santa María de la Asunción (Carmona, Seville) and records the sequence of the holy martyrs from December onwards. Cf. Ripoll and Arce, “De los cultos paganos al culto cristiano” (with essential bibliography); Pedro Castillo Maldonado, Los mártires hispanorromanos y su culto en la Hispania de la Antigüedad Tardía (Biblioteca de estudios clásicos 11) (Granada, 1999), 119–122. Alan Thacker, “Loca sanctorum: the significance of place in the study of the saints,” in Local Saints and Local Churches in the Early Medieval West, ed. Alan Thacker and Richard Sharpe (Oxford, 2003), 1–43. Angel Fábrega Grau, Pasionario Hispánico (ss. vii–xi) (Monumenta Hispaniae Sacra 6) (Madrid, 1953); García Rodríguez, El culto de los santos; Castillo Maldonado, Los mártires hispanorromanos y su culto; Isabel Velázquez Soriano, La literatura hagiográfica: presupuestos básicos y aproximación a sus manifestaciones en la Hispania visigoda (Fundación Instituto Castellano Leonés de la Lengua) (Segovia, 2007). Brigitte Beaujard, “Les inventions de martyrs et l’histoire des Églises de Gaule aux ve et vie siècles,” in Autour des morts. Mémoire et identité. Actes du Ve colloque international sur la sociabilité. Rouen 1998, ed. Olivier Dumoulin and Françoise Thélamon (Publications de l’Université de Rouen 296) (Rouen, 2001), 363–367, above all on the basis of Gregory of Tours’ Liber in gloria martyrum.

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Figure 1.3 The topography of martyrial cults in Hispania according to Prudentius’ Peristephanon (hymns dedicated, names mentioned) and the Hispanic Passionary (versions prior to the 8th century)

this phenomenon is the “hagiographic loan” between Saint Eulalia of Emerita/ Mérida and Saint Eulalia of Barcino/Barcelona.31 The bishop of Barcelona in 656, Quiricus, is known to have written a hymn dedicated to Eulalia, which was the beginning of the inventio. Subsequently, Bishop Frodoinus received orders from Charles the Bald to find Eulalia’s relics, which he did in the year 878, the real inventio; afterwards, the translatio of the relics to the cathedral took place, at which moment its dedication was modified to that of ecclesiae sanctae crucis et sanctae Eulaliae. 31

Sebastián Puig Puig, “Santa Eulalia de Barcelona,” in Episcopologio de la Sede Barcinonense. Apuntes para la historia de la iglesia de Barcelona y de sus prelados, ed. Sebastián Puig Puig (Barcelona, 1929), 15–23; Ángel Fábrega Grau, Santa Eulalia de Barcelona. Revisión de un problema histórico (Rome, 1958).

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2 The Civitas Christiana in Hispania The city, the civitas, was a unit: urbs/suburbium/territorium;32 it did not rely on the contraposition of city and countryside laid down by the historiographical tradition prevailing in the first years of the second half of the 20th century. The trinomial urbs/suburbium/territorium space was dynamically interrelated to physical variables, as well as others created by humankind, with each of the elements depending on the other two. The countryside produced wealth; the city received and redistributed it, structuring both the local and the long-­ distance market. Hence there was a state of economic balance, but also a social, religious, and spiritual one.33 The relationship between the urban fabric, the urbs, and the suburbium was established on the basis of economic ties, but also by means of liturgical manifestations, which regulated the life of the Christian community. The important link expressed by the urbs/suburbium/territorium trinomial is a certainty; however, it is difficult to define the points that delimited not so much the city—the urbs—since the defenses effectively symbolized this separation, but rather where the exact limit between the suburban area and the territory lay. From a theoretical point of view, it can be stated that where the presence of funerary areas came to an end, the suburbium also terminated and the territorium began, but at both the administrative and “juridical” and the archaeological levels, this separation is difficult to define. In turn, in the written sources, the use of the term suburbium is frequent, especially when locating or situating places of worship, which articulated—together with the funerary complexes—Christian activity outside the city, but neither do they make any contribution as regards the delimitation of this space. The city in Late Antiquity was defined by its defenses. The fortifications stood as an identifying feature of the civitas christiana, a fact emphasized by various scholars, who also establish a direct relationship to the martyrs 32

33

Gurt i Esparraguera, Ripoll, and Godoy Fernández, “Topografía de la Antigüedad” 162–164. See also the close relationship expounded by Pablo de la Cruz Díaz Martínez, “City and Territory in Hispania in Late Antiquity,” in Towns and their territories between Late Antiquity and Early Middle Ages, ed. Gian P. Brogiolo, Nancy Gauthier, and Neil J. Christie (Transformation of the Roman World 9) (Leiden, 2000), 3–35. For the “image” of the city and the countryside understood as a whole: Paul-Albert Février, “Images de la Ville dans la Chrétienté naissante,” in Actes du xie Congrès International d’Archéologie Chrétienne, ed. Noël Duval. 3 vols. (Collection de l’École française de Rome 123 = Studi di antichità cristiana 41) (Rome, 1989), 2:1371–1392. From the economic point of view: Paul Reynolds, “Material culture and the economy in the age of Saint Isidore of Seville (6th and 7th centuries),” Antiquité Tardive 23 (2015): 163–210.

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­ rotecting the city. It suffices to remember the account by Gregory of Tours p referring to Caesaraugusta/Zaragoza. When Childebert and Chlothar tried to sack the city,34 a procession singing psalms walked round the city’s walls carrying the tunic of Saint Vincent, a Hispanic martyr who had been integrated into the universal liturgical calendar. On seeing the tunic, the Franks withdrew. The city and its walls were built in the image of the Heavenly Jerusalem, understood as the ideal city, open and receptive, the earthly manifestation of the City of God, as described in the Apocalypse of John (21,1–22,15). The first iconographic models date from the 4th and 5th centuries, like the triumphal arch of the first half of the 5th century in Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome, and spread extensively in the medieval period, particularly on the basis of the iconographic tradition of the Beatus of Liébana.35 The construction of the city walls is very close to John’s text; it is almost an iconological transposition. Folio 142r of the Codex Vigilanus or Albeldensis with its illustration of the churches of Sancta Mariae and Sancti Petri in Toledo under the gates entering the city through its walls is a clear example of continuity in how the city was represented between the 4th century and the late 10th century (fig. 1.4). This symbolic conceptualization of city walls as an imitation of the Heavenly Jerusalem challenges the interpretation of such fortifications as being a true line of defense for the civitas. Did the city walls of Late Antiquity really play a defensive role? From the analysis of their architectural and structural morphology, it can be deduced that they were subject to constant restoration work, rebuilding, bracing, increases in height, double enclosures, as well as the proliferation of towers and curtain walls, parapet walks. The examples available from Hispania make this particularly clear. It is sufficient to remember the case of the spectacular defenses of Barcino/Barcelona, whose Augustan walls were doubled in thickness in Late Antiquity although continuing to follow the same line, with 76 wall towers being added (fig. 1.5), or that of Lucus Augusti/Lugo, which, when the course of the Augustan defenses was modified, acquired 86 wall towers protecting an urban area of 34 hectares. There are even some very late examples of rebuilding work, reflected in the epigraphic evidence for Toletum/Toledo, the civitas regia, included in the Chronicle of 754, 34 35

Gregory of Tours, History Francorum iii, 29; Ripoll and Arce, “De los cultos paganos al culto cristiano,” 35. Maria L. Gatti Perer, ed., La Gerusalemme celeste. “La dimora di Dio con gli uomini” (Apg. 21:3) Imagini della Gerusalemme celeste dal iii et xiv secolo (Milan, 1983); Alessandro Rovetta, “Gerusalemme celeste e Gerusalemme terrena tra Medioevo e Rinascimento,” in La Terrasanta e il crepuscolo della crociata. Oltre Federico ii e dopo la caduta di Acri. Atti del Convegno internazionale di studio. Bari 1994, ed. Maria S. Calò Mariani (Bari, 2001), 277–286.

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Figure 1.4 Toletum/Toledo. Codex Vigilanus or Albeldensis, illustrated by Vigila at the ­monastery of San Martín de Albelda

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Figure 1.5 Barcino/Barcelona. City walls, porta decumana, photogrammetry

where the restoration work carried out by Wamba in the late 7th century in memory of the city’s martyrs is described.36 Within the city walls, the essential development in the new civitas christiana was the establishment of a new neuralgic center that completely invalidated the ones that had previously boasted about this “rank.” This involved the abandonment of the forum and the creation of new buildings, churches and parish churches; for this reason, some scholars refer to “polycentric cities”37 and even to “episcopal cities,”38 due to the presence of the bishop and his need 36

37

38

The transcribed epigraphic text states: In memoriis quoque martirum, quas super easdem portarum turriculas titulauit, hec similiter exarauit. Uso, sancti domini, quorum hic presentia fulget, hanc urbem et plebem solito saluate fabore. (iv, 35). Cf. Ripoll and Arce, “De los cultos paganos al culto cristiano,” 347. See the edition by José E. López Pereira, Continuatio Isidoriana Hispana: Crónica mozárabe de 754, edición crítica y traducción (Textos Medievales 58) (Zaragoza, 1980), 54. Gisella Cantino Wataghin, “Urbanistica tardoantica e topografia cristiana. Termini di un problema,” in Felix Temporis Reparatio. Atti del Convegno Archeologico Internazionale “Milano capitale dell’Impero romano.” Milano 1990, ed. Gemma Sena Chiesa and Ermanno A. Arslan (Milano, 1992), 171–192; Gisella Cantino Wataghin, “Contributo allo studio della citta tardoantica,” in iv Reunió d’Arqueologia cristiana hispànica. Lisboa 1992 (Monografies de la Secció Històrico-Arqueològica 4) (Barcelona, 1995), 235–261. Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera, “Arqueología de las ciudades episcopales,” in Estudios de arqueología dedicados a la profesora Ana María Muñoz Amilibia, ed. Sebastián F. Ramallo Asensio (Murcia, 2003), 122.

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to ­dispose of the spaces necessary to serve the faithful. The episcopal complex was the response to the requirements of this new civitas. Subsequently, the extensive episcopal activity that took place within the urban enclosure and its surroundings led to an accentuation of urban life, which gradually transformed the use of certain sectors of the urban grid and some of the buildings. This transformation involved the reuse of sculptures, inscriptions, and columns as simple building materials, and the relocation of these same materials to special places, points of prestige, thereby elevating them to the category of spolia. There is a clear difference in meaning between, on the one hand, new building work including reused material derived from buildings or structures that had fallen into disuse and, on the other, the very different context in which specific sculptural or ornamental structural material was selected so that it could be relocated in a place of symbolic significance.39 Spolia enable us to measure certain aspects of the symbolic contents offered by the collective mind-set, the image that the city had of itself. In Late Antiquity there can be no doubt that the episcopal complex— episcopium/episkopeion—was the urban point of reference par excellence.40 It consisted of the cathedral for use by the bishop, the baptistery, the episcopal palace with its corresponding reception hall, a second church, the parish one, infrastructure related to the prelate’s needs and services, and often structures for housing visitors and pilgrims, as well as the destitute that needed episcopal charity, and buildings used for production and storage purposes. It is important to emphasize that, generally speaking, all these buildings and spaces were interconnected in one way or another and occupied a substantial space. In almost all cases, the large dimensions of these buildings required the episcopal complex to be located at some distance from the forum, where the density of the urban grid and buildings was highest. This off-center location was to lead 39

In my opinion, the nuances of these aspects are not sufficiently examined in Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera and Pilar Diarte Blasco, “Spolia et Hispania: alcuni esempi Peninsulari,” Hortus Artium Medievalium 17 (2011): 7–22. Plunder is not the only meaning of spolia. 40 From Müller-Wiener, “Riflessioni” and idem, “Bischofsresidenzen”; Françoise Monfrin, “La christianisation de l’espace et du temps. Établissement matériel de l’Église aux ve et vie siècles,” in Histoire du Christianisme des origines à nos jours, 3: Les églises d’Orient et d’Occident, ed. Luce Pietri (París, 1998), 959–1014, cf. 986–1001; Jean Guyon, “Au-delà des Espagnes: Un aperçu sur les groupes épiscopaux en Occident,” in vi Reunió d’Arqueologia Cristiana Hispànica. Les ciutats tardoantigues d’Hispania: cristianització i topografia. Valencia 2003, ed. Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera and Albert Ribera i Lacomba (Barcelona, 2005), 15–36; Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera and Isabel Sánchez Ramos, “Episcopal Groups in Hispania,” Oxford Journal of Archaeology 30.3 (2011): 273–298.

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to the formation of fully developed cathedral districts in the medieval period.41 How was this new neuralgic center established within the city? Where did the properties that made its construction possible come from? Was this a result of the frequently mentioned munificence of Christian elites? The fact that the episcopal complex was at some distance from the forum and most often in areas close to defenses poses another question of interest, precisely the joint defensive commitment of a clearly military nature shared between the episcopium and the city walls. This was the case in Barcino, where the episcopal complex was to be built in the north-eastern quadrant of the city, taking up more than two insulae, adjoining the city walls and reusing material derived from the demolition of the forum, a process started in the 5th century.42 Admittedly, there are certain exceptions, such as the forum of Toletum, where all the evidence seems to suggest that the cathedral of Santa María, the new episcopal group, was erected on the same site; or the example of Valentia, also somewhat special, where the episcopium was built adjoining the forum where the spaces between the columns were blocked and, over the course of the 6th and 7th centuries, the forum was invaded by tombs (figs. 1.6 and 1.7). Moreover, reference must be made to the paradigmatic episcopal group of Egara/Terrassa, which should be considered as such despite being sine urbe; this complex has been elevated to the category of a model “figurehead of Christian urban archaeology,” together with Barcino and Valentia, by Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera.43 Yet the monumental natures of Barcino, Egara, and Valentia 41 Miller, The Bishop’s Palace, 61–72; Eduardo Carrero Santamaría, “Un barrio, un fortín. La segregación del espacio urbano medieval alrededor de las catedrales del centro-norte peninsular,” in A Guerra e a sociedade na Idade Média. vi Jornadas Luso-Espanholas de Estudos Medievais. 2 vols. (Coimbra, 2009), 1:131–148. 42 Cristina Godoy Fernández, “El complejo episcopal de Barcino. Cuestiones sobre función e identificación de los edificios,” Madrider Mitteilungen 39 (1998): 311–322; Cristina Godoy Fernández and Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera, “Un itinerario de peregrinaje para el culto martirial y veneración del agua bautismal en el complejo episcopal de Barcino,” Madrider Mitteilungen 39 (1998): 323–335; Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera and Cristina Godoy Fernández, “Barcino, de sede imperial a urbs regia en época visigoda,” in Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), ed. Gisela Ripoll and Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera (Real Acadèmia de Bones Lletres. Series maior 6 = Memorias de la Real Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona 25) (Barcelona, 2000), 425–466; Julia Beltrán de Heredia, ed., De Barcino a Barcinona (ss. i–viii). Los restos arqueológicos de la plaza del Rey de Barcelona (Barcelona, 2001); Julia Beltrán de Heredia, “Barcino, de colònia romana a sede regia visigoda, medina islàmica i ciutat comtal: una urbs en transformació,” Quarhis: Quaderns d’Arqueologia i Història de la Ciutat de Barcelona 9 (2013): 16–118. 43 Gurt i Esparraguera, “Ciudades episcopales,” 124. For Valencia, see Albert Vicent Ribera i Lacomba and Miquel Rosselló Mesquida, “Valentia en el siglo vii, de Suinthila

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Figure 1.6 Valentia/Valencia. Plan of the city and the episcopal complex

a ­Teodomiro,” in El siglo vii frente al siglo vii: Arquitectura, ed. Pedro Mateos Cruz and Luis Caballero Zoreda (Anejos de Archivo Español de Arqueología 51) (Madrid, 2009), 185–203. For Terrassa, see Gemma Garcia i Llinares, Antonio Moro García, and Francesc Tuset Bertrán, La seu episcopal d’Ègara. Arqueologia d’un conjunt cristià del segle iv al ix (Documenta 8) (Tarragona 2009); eidem, “Necròpolis del conjunt episcopal d’Ègara,” in Arqueologia funerària al nord-est peninsular, segles v–xii, ed. Núria Molist Capella and Gisela Ripoll (Monografies d’Olèrdola 3.2) (Barcelona, 2012), 403–419.

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Figure 1.7 Valentia/Valencia. Hypothesis of city structure around 600 A.D.

cannot be accepted as an architectural point of reference for the whole Iberian Peninsula. The number of episcopal sees in Hispania dating from Late Antiquity recorded in textual sources may be substantial, but our total lack of archaeological evidence for the majority of them invalidates any attempt to establish a model on the basis of those three examples, each of which has its own particular characteristics. A simple re-examination of the elements making up the architectural complex, and of the architecture of the cathedral, permits a better grasp of its significance for the city, as well as that of the image that the bishop and the community sought to offer of their own urbs.44 Each of the buildings included within the episcopal complex performed a precise function arising from the bishop’s liturgical and political needs.45 The 44

45

Éric Rebillard and Claire Sotinel, eds., L’Évêque dans la cité du ive au ve siècle: image et autorité. Actes de la Table ronde organisée par l’Istituto Patristico Augustinianum et l’École française de Rome. Rome 1995 (Collection de l’École Française de Rome 248) (Rome, 1998); Palazzo, L’évêque et son image. Eduardo Carrero Santamaría, “La fortaleza del obispo. El palacio episcopal urbano en Galicia durante la Edad Media,” Castillos de España 119 (2000), 3–12, which in fact is rooted in exceptional cases such as the fortified episcopal palace of Caričin Grad, which

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cathedral church—ecclesia cathedralis, ecclesia principalis—was, together with the episcopal palace and the reception hall, the bishop’s building par excellence, but also that of the faithful, as it often took on the dual role of episcopal and parish church. In the Christian city, the cathedral was everything, and its construction, taking into account the continuous building work and transformations, reflected the need to provide a suitable backdrop for the high point of the liturgical ceremonies of the urbs. The cathedral usually had an atrium at one end, preceded by a vestibule, emphasizing the access to the church. The atrium and portico-lined streets were two of the emblematic features of the late Roman city, and thus of the episcopal complex, but were also to be found in the martyrial centers that emerged in the suburbium. The presence of the atrium and the people under its porticoes or those lining the streets recalls the help to the poor that bishops and the Christian community were expected to offer.46 A further, and quite different, problem is the one raised by the presence of a second church for parish use, which has generated so much argument as to whether these complexes should be understood as double cathedrals:47 the cathedral proper, dependent on the bishop and used for services by the clergy, with a dedication to a martyr, and the second, the parish church. Alternatively, the larger one is understood as having been used for services while the other one was used for catechumens; in the sedes regiae a third possibility exists as an imperial or royal church, a palatine one, might have coexisted with the episcopal one. It seems extremely unlikely that this duplication was

46

47

was built alongside the similarly fortified civil settlement, cf. Noël Duval and Vladislav Popović, eds., Caričin Grad iii, Recherches archéologiques franco-serbes à Caričin Grad. L’acropole et ses monuments (cathédrale, baptistère et bâtiments annexes) (Collection de l’École Française de Rome 75.3) (Rome, 2010). Jean-Charles Picard, “L’atrium dans les églises paléochrétiennes d’Occident,” in Actes du xie Congrès International d’Archéologie Chrétienne, ed. Noël Duval. 3 vols. (Collection de l’École française de Rome 123 = Studi di antichità cristiana 41) (Rome, 1989), 1: 505–553; idem, “La fonction des salles de réception dans le groupe épiscopal de Genève,” in Le souvenir des évêques. Sépultures, listes épiscopales et culte des évêques en Italie du Nord des origines au xe siècle, ed. Jean-Charles Picard (Collection de l’École française de Rome 242) (Rome 1988), 179. Jean-Michel Carrié, ed., Les églises doubles et les familles d’églises (Antiquité Tardive 4) (Paris, 1996), a dossier dedicated to this problem with a collection of articles of fundamental importance. For Hispania, see also Eduardo Carrero Santamaría, El conjunto catedralicio de Oviedo en la Edad Media. Arquitectura, topografía y funciones en la ciudad episcopal (Colección de arte 10) (Oviedo, 2003), 27–39; idem, “La arquitectura medieval al servicio de las necesidades litúrgicas. Los conjuntos de iglesias,” in Cien años de investigación sobre arquitectura medieval española, ed. Javier Martínez de Aguirre and Daniel Ortiz Pradas (Anales de Historia del Arte, Vol. Extraordinario) (Madrid, 2009), 61–97.

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Figure 1.8 Egara/Terrassa (Vallès Occidental, Barcelona). Episcopal complex with the churches of Santa Maria (without accent) and Sant Pere and the funerary structure of Sant Miquel in the center

a ­consequence of there being a summer church and a winter church, as was claimed by Noël Duval.48 In sixth-century Egara/Terrassa the cathedral was Santa Maria (without accent), while the parish church was Sant Pere and the funerary one, Sant Miquel, which stood between the other two and, furthermore, was of central plan (figs. 1.8 and 1.9).49 At the core of the episcopal complex, directly linked to the cathedral and the parish church, stood the baptistery,50 whether in an area used for this purpose inside the church or alternatively as a separate building, but one that facilitated the passage from catechumen to neophyte within the bosom of the community and using the framework of the appropriate architecture. As the baptistery was frequently of central plan, there was a wide range of a­ rchitectural 48 49 50

Noël Duval, “L’ecclesia, espace de la communauté chrétienne dans la cité,” in Naissance des arts chrétiens. Atlas des monuments paléochrétiens de la France (Paris, 1991), 50–69. Garcia i Llinares, Moro García, and Tuset Bertrán, La seu episcopal. Pere de Palol i Salellas, “El baptisterio en el ámbito arquitectónico de los conjuntos episcopales urbanos,” in Actes du xie Congrès International d’Archéologie Chrétienne, ed. Noël Duval. 3 vols. (Collection de l’École française de Rome 123 = Studi di antichità cristiana 41) (Rome, 1989), 1:559–605.

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Figure 1.9 Egara/Terrassa (Vallès Occidental, Barcelona). Plan of the episcopal complex

solutions for its construction, elevation, and roofing, and even the possibility of two baptismal pools, as at Myrtillis (Mértola, Bajo Alentejo), where there were two monumental baptisteries.51 The bishop lived in the city, but he might have done so in different places: on the one hand, in the residence proper, known as the episcopium, domus ecclesiae or domus episcopalis, but never palatium,52 located within the confines of the episcopal complex; on the other hand, in houses that were ecclesiastical property or owned directly by the bishop, which are not easy to identify on the basis of their architecture alone, in view of their similarity to other civil palaces and houses in both Late Antiquity and more especially in the wealthier medieval period.53 When the bishop travelled, he resided in fortifications that dotted the entire territory of the diocese or in temporary residences that had a

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Virgílio Lopes, “La Antigüedad tardía en Mértola (Portugal),” Onoba 3 (2015): 105–128. Picard, “La fonction des salles de réception.” It was not until well into the medieval period, with the rise of these residences, that the texts made use of the term palatium, cf. Miller, The Bishop’s Palace. Xavier Barral i Altet, ed., Viure a palau a l’Edat Mitjana, segles xii–xv. Catàleg d’exposició a la Fontana d’Or (Girona, 2004).

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small oratory or church.54 The bishop’s residence,55 with rooms for his private use, including baths, also required spaces for the archives, administration, and meetings, the secretarium recorded in the texts, as well as more ostentatious halls, especially a dining-room (or several such spaces), often of tetraconch shape, logically a stibadium,56 and a reception hall, the salutatorium, for visitors and the faithful. Identifying them from the archaeological and architectural evidence is sometimes complicated, due to their great similarity to the reception halls to be found in the more prestigious and luxurious domestic structures of the time, such as the numerous domus and villae where the reception spaces occupied a place of importance within the building, as well as being lavishly built and decorated. The same situation arose in the case of the courtroom, the episcopalis audientia, where legal proceedings took place, since the bishop increasingly intervened as an authority in conflict resolution, even if the responsibility might be delegated to others as assessors of varying condition and origins. It is also true that the functions of these different spaces might be interchangeable, or that they might perform different purposes; the secretarium was often used as the salutatorium while the latter might be used as the episcopalis audientia, although the texts place the secretarium in direct relation to the church or basilica rather than to the bishop’s residence.57 54 55

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Carrero Santamaría, “La fortaleza del obispo,” 3–12. John C. Lamoreaux, “Episcopal Courts in Late Antiquity,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 3.2 (1995): 143–167; Jean-Pierre Caillet, “Le cas de Caričin Grad (Serbie) et le problème de l’identification de certains ‘palais épiscopaux’ de l’Antiquité tardive,” in Des domus ecclesiae aux palais épiscopaux. Actes du colloque tenu à Autun 2009, ed. Sylvie BalconBerry, François Baratte, and Jean-Pierre Caillet (Bibliothèque de l’Antiquité Tardive 23) (Turnhout, 2012), 149–162; Picard, “La fonction des salles de réception”; Noël Duval, “La représentation du palais dans l’art du Bas-Empire et du Haut Moyen Âge d’après le Psautier d’Utrecht,” Cahiers Archéologiques 15 (1965): 207–254; idem, “Existe-t-il une structure palatiale propre à l’Antiquité tardive?,” in Le système palatial en Orient, en Grèce et à Rome. Actes du Colloque de Strasbourg 1985, ed. Edmond Lévy (Travaux du Centre de Recherches sur le Proche-Orient de la Grèce antique 9) (Strasbourg, 1987), 463–490. Luke Lavan, “The residences of Late Antique governors: A gazetteer,” Antiquité Tardive 7 (1999), 135–164; Eric Morvillez, “Le fonctionnement de l’audience dans les grandes demeures de l’Antiquité tardive (ive–ve siècles),” in L’audience, rituel et cadres spatiaux dans l’Antiquité et le HautMoyen-Age, ed. Jean-Pierre Caillet and Michel Sot (Paris, 2007), 175–192. This must have been common in both public and ecclesiastical architecture as is demonstrated by the most recent discoveries in villae and ecclesiastical buildings, such as those of Illa del Rei, cf. Miguel Á. Cau Ontiveros, Catalina Mas Florit, Gisela Ripoll, et al., “El conjunto eclesiástico de la Illa del Rei en Mahón (Menorca, Islas Baleares),” Hortus Artium Medievalium 18 (2012): 415–432. Lamoreaux, “Episcopal Courts,” 156–161; Picard, “La function des salles de réception,” 180–185.

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The episcopal domus also had to dispose of the entire infrastructure to welcome the clergy—the elements necessary for the monasterium clericorum, which numbered several: a chapter house, refectory, hall, and dormitory, as well as for their servants, including spaces for their dwellings and meals. This in turn meant that the infrastructure had to be prepared for the administration of production, the officinae, and the storage of products and merchandise. The public spaces of the episcopal residence would have ended up being meeting places because of the wide and varied range of activities that took place there. The forum had definitively lost its pre-eminence and was undergoing a farreaching process of transformation. It is clear that all the architectural references that have been mentioned seek to describe the “ideal” episcopal complex, although these must have been few in number. The needs of the bishop, the clergy, and the faithful might well have been satisfied in versatile, multi-functional spaces. Everything depended on the size of the diocese and its economic resources.58 However, the urban church would inevitably have been the point of reference for the parishes that structured the territory of the diocese by means of a network of churches with parochial functions.59 Nevertheless, the city, eminently episcopal in character, was not only that; it was also a place of residence for society and a space for production and commercialization, its domestic architecture being one of the key elements for our understanding of the process of both urban and social transformation.60 Domestic architecture occupied new spaces that inevitably implied a transformation in their use; thus, for example, the new forum built in Complutum in the 4th century soon fell out of use, and was used as a place for marginal housing, with hut-like structures, until the 7th century at least; in the case of Segóbriga, both the forum and the theater and amphitheater were extensively plundered and colonized by dwellings, as also occurred in Conímbriga, where the forum and the surrounding insulae have revealed reoccupation in the form of residential structures dating well into the 6th century; finally, reference should be made to Tarraco, where, in the mid-5th century, the concilium provinciae 58 59

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Müller-Wiener, “Riflessioni,” 106. Ripoll and Velázquez Soriano, “Origen y desarrollo de las parrochiae”; Gisela Ripoll, Eduardo Carrero, Daniel Rico, et al., “La arquitectura religiosa hispánica del siglo iv al x y el proyecto del Corpus Architecturae Religiosae Europeae-CARE-Hispania,” Hortus Artium Medievalium 18.1 (2012): 45–73. Javier Arce, Alexandra Chavarría Arnau, and Gisela Ripoll, “The Urban Domus in Late Antique Hispania: Examples from Emerita, Barcino and Complutum,” in Housing in Late Antiquity. From Palaces to Shops, ed. Luke Lavan, Lale Özgenel, and Alexander Sarantis (Late Antique Archaeology 3.2) (Leiden, 2007), 305–336.

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was partially transformed into dwellings and partially into a zone for industrial purposes.61 The urban street-plan was fossilized in Late Antiquity and conditioned the medieval urban layout, both within the city and in the suburbs. The city, whether linear or concentric, was a fusion of districts each with its own character that the inhabitants lived in. The economic world of the city strengthened an influential, well-to-do class, visible to us thanks to architecture, among other forms. The earlier domus established around a peristyle was transformed and adapted to the economic needs of the 11th- and 12-century city, leading to the emergence of private urban palaces and mansions.62 Life inside these palaces encompassed various facets, among which we might emphasize the fact that people lived alongside wild animals, with all that this might imply for security and outbuildings, a situation that was considered an intrinsic sign of the monarchy. The gardens of the Palau Reial Major (Main Royal Palace) and the Palau Reial Menor (Lesser Royal Palace) in Barchinona, in the 10th and 12th centuries respectively, were where these animals were housed, along with the introduction of new “exotic gardens.”63 These phenomena may have dated back to earlier situations, such as the vivarium, normally located near the cathedral, an authentic corral or living “pantry” at the bishop’s disposal. Exotic animals and pets formed part of everyday life. The macaque from Iulia Libica/Llívia (Cerdanya, eastern Pyrenees), intentionally buried in a grave, was the result of, and constitutes evidence for, the coexistence of such animals with civil, military, or ecclesiastical families.64 The Late Antique city was also provided with a wide range of infrastructures of a civil nature. Among these large public buildings were horrea to store grain.65 The large buildings of a noticeably elongated rectangular plan at 61

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Gurt i Esparraguera, “Transformaciones en el tejido de las ciudades hispanas”; Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera and Rafael Hidalgo Prieto, “L’urbanisme a la ciutat hispana al llarg de l’Antiguitat Tardana,” in vi Reunió d’Arqueologia Cristiana Hispànica: les ciutats tardoantigues d’Hispania: cristianització i topografia. València 2003, ed. Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera and Albert Ribera i Lacomba (Monografies de la Secció Històrico-Arqueològica 9) (Barcelona, 2005), 73–93. Barral i Altet, Viure a palau; Anna M. Adroer Tasis, Palaus Reials de Catalunya (Barcelona, 2003). Anna M. Adroer Tasis, “Animals exòtics als palaus reials de Barcelona,” Medievalia 8 = Estudios dedicados al profesor Frederic Udina i Martorell 1 (1989): 9–22. Oriol Olesti, Jordi Guàrdia, Marta Maragall, et al., eds., “Controlling the Pyrenees. A macaque’s burial from the late antiquity in Iulia Libica (Llívia, La Cerdanya, Spain),” in War and Warfare in Late Antiquity: Current Perspectives, ed. Alexander C. Sarantis and Neil J. Christie (Late Antique Archaeology 8.1–2) (Leiden, 2013), 703–734. Javier Arce, “Horrea y aprovisionamiento en Hispania (ss. iv–vi),” in Horrea d’Hispanie et de la Méditerranée romaine, ed. Javier Arce and Bertrand Goffaux (Collection de la Casa de Velázquez 125) (Madrid, 2011), 287–297.

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Recópolis (Guadalajara) may well have been horrea.66 In the case of Cercadilla (Córdoba),67 which was abandoned in the late 4th century, the ­cryptoporticus that served as horrea was reoccupied in the 6th century as a temporary “­refuge,” as is suggested by the presence of coarse pottery and hearths. Horrea ecclesiae are also recorded, such as that of Oretum (church of Santa Ana, Granátula de Calatrava, Ciudad Real), known due to a late 4th-century inscription studied by Javier Arce,68 who alludes to their administration by civil personnel. They were not exactly held in high esteem by the inhabitants; although officially known as exactores, they were often referred to as tyranni. In archaeological terms, certain spaces to the north of the church of el Tolmo de Minateda should be considered as a possible horreum, although the examples of Recópolis and Cercadilla demonstrate that the enormous dimensions of this type of granary required them to be isolated.69 However, it is also true that many civil public buildings were no longer significant or even needed in Late Antiquity. The new civitas witnessed the breakdown of the urban grid and the transformation of the building programs of the classical city.70 Certain buildings were left abandoned; others were transformed for different uses. Such was the case of the temples at Baelo Claudia, which were subdivided into dwelling spaces,71 or the forum at Pollentia/Alcúdia (Mallorca), which in an initial stage, perhaps in the Byzantine period, was fortified and then used as a cemetery (fig. 1.10).72 A similar situation arose at Clunia/Peñalba de Castro-Burgos, with a small 5th-century graveyard in the post scaenam area of the theater and a further example adjoining the forum macellum, of 6th- and 7th-century date.73 The 66 67

68 69 70 71

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Arce, “Horrea y aprovisionamiento,” 296–297. Rafael Hidalgo Prieto, “De edificio imperial a complejo de culto: la ocupación cristiana del palacio de Cercadilla,” in Espacios y usos funerarios en el Occidente romano. Actas del Congreso Internacional celebrado en la Facultad de Filosofía y Letras de la Universidad de Córdoba. Córdoba 2001, ed. Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil (Córdoba, 2002), 343–372. Arce, “Horrea y aprovisionamiento,” 289–290. Arce, “Horrea y aprovisionamiento,” 290, citando el Codex Theodosianus, 15,1,4 and 15,1,35. For Hispania, see Gurt i Esparraguera, “Transformaciones en el tejido de las ciudades hispanas”; Diarte Blasco and Gurt i Esparraguera, “La percepción del espacio.” Javier Arce, “Fana, templa, delubra destrui praecipimus: el final de los templos de la Hispania romana,” Archivo Español de Arqueología 79 (2006): 115–124; idem, “Fana, Templa, Delubra Destrui Praecipimus: The End of the Temples in Roman Spain,” in The Archaeo­ logy of Late Antique “Paganism,” ed. Luke Lavan and Michael Mulryan (Late Antique Archaeology 7) (Leiden 2011), 195–208. Miguel Á. Cau Ontiveros, “Urban Change on the Balearics in Late Antiquity,” in Vrbes Extinctae. Archaeologies of Abandoned Classical Towns, ed. Neil J. Christie and Andrea Augenti (Farnham, 2012), 115–144. Miguel Á. de la Iglesia Santamaría and Francesc Tuset Bertrán, Colonia Clvnia Svlpicia. Ciudad romana (Burgos, 2012).

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Figure 1.10

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Pollentia/Alcúdia (Mallorca). Aerial view of the forum

baths, as an expression of everyday life and ritual in aristocratic reception ceremonials, were to find their continuation in the world of the episcopacy, although undergoing far-reaching transformations. In the case of Emporiae, a funerary church was built in the public baths next to the stoa of the Greek city; this, however, formed part of an atypical topographical layout, as the episcopal complex and the inhabitants shifted to the small peninsula now known as Sant Martí d’Empúries, while the former urban area was ringed by a series of mausoleums and funerary complexes that eventually became churches, such as Santa Margarida, Santa Magdalena, and Sant Vicenç. The distance between the various settings, in some cases more than 1200 meters, is far from insignificant, and fostered the staging—against a backdrop of the port and a sea agitated by the north wind—of processions accompanied by songs and laments linking the world of the living to that of the dead. Archaeological evidence from elsewhere demonstrates that other outcomes were possible, such as the case of the baths at Clunia, transformed into a pottery workshop, or those at Segóbriga, converted into a metallurgical workshop, as were those in Gijón, which then in the 6th century were used for burials. An important element that equally reflects the breakdown of certain urban grids is the management of waste water, whether rain, residual, or excess water, which can be seen from the state of the drains and sewers. It is true that the

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great hydraulic public works of the classical city, both as regards water catchment, supply and distribution, and its disposal, in the hands of the municipal administration, suffered a lack of maintenance in Late Antiquity. The clearest evidence for this phenomenon is the silting of sewers, a situation that occured in many cities in Hispania from the mid-3rd century, as in Valentia, Illici, Tarraco, Iluro, and Caesaraugusta, among others.74 The collapse of the system led to unsanitary conditions. It should also be emphasized how important waste material and its management was in large urban nuclei, a question that several publications have drawn attention to.75 Refuse disposal gave rise to the creation of rubbish dumps, which provide an authentic stratigraphy of urban life, mainly through the ceramic contexts they contain. In Late Antiquity, the number of waste dumps increased and were no longer restricted to the urban fringes; on the contrary, they are recorded within the walled area, being used over long periods of time, a fact that can be observed from their sedimentation and stratification.76 Mention might be made of the cases in Valentia, Asturica Augusta, Barcino, together with the conversion of the baths in Gijón into a rubbish dump in the 6th century, and the example of Tarraco, where, from the 5th century, many parts of public and private buildings are recorded as having been given over to use as rubbish tips, with the consequent abandonment of their original purposes.77 3

A New Landscape: The Suburbium

From the 4th century on, with the increasing impact of Christianity, the extramural city, the suburbium, gradually came to be articulated around a series of 74 75

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Josep A. Remolà, “Sobre la interpretación arqueológica de los vertederos,” in Sordes Urbis. La eliminación de residuos en la ciudad romana, ed. Xavier Dupré i Raventós and Josep A. Remolà Vallverdú (Bibliotheca Italica 24) (Rome, 2000), 107–121, here 118. Xavier Dupré i Raventós and Josep A. Remolà Vallverdú, eds., Sordes Urbis. La eliminación de residuos en la ciudad romana (Bibliotheca Italica 24) (Rome, 2000); Josep A. Remolà Vallverdú and Jesús Acero Pérez, eds., La gestión de los residuos urbanos en Hispania. Xavier Dupré i Raventós (1956–2006) in memoriam. Actas de la Reunión Científica celebrada en Mérida 2009 (Anejos de Archivo Español de Arqueología 60) (Mérida, 2011). Gurt i Esparraguera, “Transformaciones en el tejido de las ciudades hispanas”; Xavier Dupré i Raventós and Josep A. Remolà Vallverdú, “A propósito de la gestión de los residuos urbanos en Hispania,” Romula 1 (2002): 39–56, here 50. Remolà Vallverdú, “Los vertederos,” 118–119; Francesc Tarrats i Bou, “Tárraco, topografía urbana y arqueología de los vertederos,” in Sordes Urbis. La eliminación de residuos en la ciudad romana, ed. Xavier Dupré i Raventós and Josep A. Remolà Vallverdú (Bibliotheca Italica 24) (Rome, 2000), 132–134.

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focal points established as a consequence of the cult of the dead.78 Christianity as a salvation religion based on resurrection made death a space for venerating, living alongside, and paying respect to martyrs. Hospitals and hospices— xenodochia—monasteries, pilgrim shelters, martyrial and funerary basilicas, mausoleums and so forth, were all points of attraction for pilgrims, and became focal points for the transformation of the suburbium of the new ciuitas christiana. As has been pointed out, this new city formed a single unit in which the intramural and extramural spaces were closely related, above all due to the liturgical activity of the community of the faithful. The previous distribution of funerary zones along the roads was lost, and funerary areas spread, coming to occupy extensive sectors, resulting in certain spaces, including suburban villae and roads leading towards the city, losing their previous functions. The economic and productive role played by the suburbium in the classical city was almost imperceptible in Late Antiquity. In practice, it became a “funerary belt.” Tarraco/Tarragona (figs. 1.11 and 1.12) and Barcino/Barcelona (fig. 1.13) are clear examples of this phenomenon.79

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Gisela Ripoll, “El món funerari,” in Del romà al romànic. Història, art i cultura de la Tarraconense mediterrània entre els segles iv i x, ed. Pere de Palol and Antoni Pladevall i Font (Barcelona, 1999), 249–260; Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera and Isabel Sánchez Ramos, “Espacios funerarios y espacios sacros en la ciudad tardoantigua. La situación en Hispania,” in Espacios Urbanos en el Occidente Mediterráneo (ss. vi–viii). Congreso Internacional (Toledo 2009), ed. Alfonso García, Ricardo Izquierdo Benito, Lauro Olmo Enciso, et al. (Toledo 2010), 15–28; Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera and Isabel Sánchez Ramos, “Topografía funeraria de las ciudades hispanas en los siglos iv–vii,” Madrider Mitteilungen 52 (2011), 457–513; Gisela Ripoll and Núria Molist Capella, “Arqueologia funerària a Catalunya: de l’antiguitat tardana al món medieval,” in Arqueologia funerària al nord-est peninsular, segles vi–xii, ed. Núria Molist Capella and Gisela Ripoll (Monografies d’Olèrdola 3.1) (Barcelona, 2012), 15–30 (it is worth consulting the two volumes published with many significant contributions) and Gisela Ripoll and Núria Molist Capella, “Cura mortuorum en el nordeste de la Península Ibérica, siglos iv al xii d.C.,” Territorio, Sociedad y Poder 9 (2014): 5–66, where all these questions are reviewed, covering an extensive time span from the 4th to the 12th centuries. Josep M. Macias Solé, Josep Guitart i Duran, Ignacio Fiz Fernández, et al., eds., Planimetria Arqueològica de Tarraco (Documenta 5 = Atles d’Arqueologia Urbana de Catalunya 2) (Tarragona, 2007); Jordi López Vilar, Les basíliques paleocristianes del suburbi occidental de Tarraco. El temple septentrional i el complex martirial de Sant Fructuós. 2 vols. (Documenta 4) (Tarragona, 2006). This interpretation contradicts what is proposed by Gurt i Esparraguera and Sánchez Ramos, “Topografía funeraria,” 482, who consider that the Francolí site may have been the episcopal group. For Barcino, Aaron López Batlle, “El suburbi funerari de Barcino a l’antiguitat tardana,” in Arqueologia funerària al nord-est peninsular, segles vi–xii, ed. Núria Molist Capella and Gisela Ripoll (Monografies d’Olèrdola 3.1) (Barcelona, 2012), 431–456.

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Figure 1.11

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Tarraco/Tarragona. Plan of the El Francolí-Parc Central basilica complex and cemetery

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Figure 1.12

Tarraco/Tarragona. El Francolí cemetery. Tombs of different types and semicircular couches for funerary banquets

These burial areas did not always seek a new location far from pagan cemeteries, as in the case of Carthago Nova/Cartagena (San Antón cemetery); instead, burials might take place in the same areas, such as the example of Tarragona. These cemeteries were often extended or experienced increased density due to the presence of the tombs of martyrs—loca sanctorum—the commemoration of whom increased exponentially. Initially, there might be a memoria, martyrium, or tumulus, which in turn created a cemetery ad sanctos, what was effectively the same as a tumulatio or depositio ad martyres. Its subsequent monumental development implied the construction of a funerary basilica, or rather a basilica ad corpus, with the corresponding depositio reliquiae.80 Being buried close to a martyr, the closer the better, was the maximum expression of the need of the faithful to feel that they were under the martyr’s protection, with its implications, ranging from the unprofanable nature of the tomb to the feeling of belonging to a community; it represented the union between earthly and heavenly affairs. The tombs ad sanctos themselves protected the martyrs’ bodies and their existence. These much privileged burials in proximity to a martyr helped to intercede for the redemption of the soul of the 80

Ripoll and Molist Capella, “Cura mortuorum,” 17 and 34.

Figure 1.13

Barcino/Barcelona. Distribution of burials around the city

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Figure 1.14

Distribution of the sarcophagi found in Hispania. Fourth-century Roman workshops, local workshops, and imports from Aquitaine and North Africa

deceased. This coexistence in the funerary area might also reflect the hope for the same in heavenly eternity. In turn, analysis of martyrial inscriptions, as well as of the epitaphs referring to the deposition of relics and the archaeological remains, demonstrates the close relationship between burial and the cult of the martyrs.81 Aristocracy can be detected in burials ad sanctos, both because of their location as privileged inhumation burials and due to the related constructions or elements in which the body had been placed, ranging from mausoleums to sarcophagi, as well as such features as mosaic laudae and inscriptions. The wish on the part of some of the faithful to receive burial in a quality sarcophagus demonstrates their acquisitive power, but also the desire, often fulfilled and recorded, to fill a privileged spot in the funerary or martyrial basilica. ­Sarcophagi 81

Yvette Duval, “Projet d’enquête sur l’épigraphie martyriale en Espagne romaine, visigothique (et byzantine),” Antiquité Tardive 1 (1993): 173–206.

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from Hispania are characterized by two features: their production and distribution (fig. 1.14). Originally a workshop in Rome manufactured and distributed its clients’ orders; subsequently, local workshops began to produce sarcophagi on a large scale late in the second half of the 4th century or even into the early 5th century, a moment that coincided with the decline of the Roman workshops’ exports. While the workshops continued their influence on products made in Hispania, thereafter, local workshops, above all the one at Tarragona, became more influenced by African workshops, particularly those of Carthage.82 Funerary inscriptions related to bishops should also be emphasized; we simply need to recall the funerary eulogies/carmina epigraphica handed down by the Anthologia Hispanica, referring to the bishops John (469–519?) and Sergio (519–554?) of Tarragona and Justinian of Valencia (527–548?),83 which perpetuate martyrial hagiographic models and confirm the ever-increasing power of the bishops, who gradually became almost the “holy protectors” of the city. It is true that, apart from these inscriptions, very little is known about episcopal tombs. Undoubtedly, they must have been located at some emblematic point in the city, at first perhaps at an extramural site, but later within the city, next to the cathedral, as a consequence of the constant and progressive tendency towards intramural burial, a phenomenon that demonstrates the coexistence between the world of the living and that of the dead that is recorded from the 4th century and which is clearly evident in the 6th century.84 In Hispania, as in the rest of the Empire, not all burial areas around the urbs owed their origins to the cult of a martyr or the veneration of relics; some had other reasons for existence continuing the pagan funerary areas that coexisted with the Christian ones. Generally speaking, it was in these funerary areas that places of worship appeared, whose internal spaces, porticoes and surrounding areas, were inundated by burials. Funerary churches thus became an essential feature in the layout of the suburban landscape during the initial stages of Christianity, as they would also be in the new configuration of the rural world, although evidence from rural parishes is far later in date.85 82 83 84

85

Gisela Ripoll, “Sarcófagos de la Antigüedad tardía hispánica: importaciones y talleres locales,” Antiquité Tardive 1 (1993): 153–158. José Vives, Inscripciones cristianas de la España romana y visigoda (icerv) (Monumenta Hispania Sacra 2), 2nd ed. (Barcelona, 1969), nos. 277, 278, and 279. Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera, Gisela Ripoll, and Cristina Godoy Fernández, “Le necro­ poli urbane in Spagna nella tarda antichità,” Revista di Archeologia Cristiana 72 (1996): 275–277. Ripoll, “El món funerari,” 251–253; Ripoll and Molist Capella, “Cura mortuorum,” 32–33. Ripoll and Velázquez Soriano, “Origen y desarrollo de las parrochiae.”

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The fact that tombs were present both inside and outside churches proves the desire of believers to be buried as close as possible to a sacred space, seeking its protection. It is worth pointing out the words recorded in canon xviii of First Council of Braga (561), a council of provincial scope, which recommended that if burials had to take place in martyrial basilicas, they should be made outside the church and in its porticoes.86 Despite this prohibition, as demonstrated by archaeology, the habit of burying the dead inside basilicas was to be habitual throughout Late Antiquity. In addition to the martyrial basilicas and funerary churches located in these cemeteries, hospitals and hospices—xenodochia—as well as pilgrim shelters and monastic buildings were built in the suburbium, while some, although relatively few, suburban villae continued to exist. The entire area surrounding the city was articulated in accordance with the dynamics established by the places of cults to martyrs, the loca sanctorum, which were the real poles of attraction for the faithful. In order to provide services for pilgrims, the Christian city had to be endowed with monasteries, hostels, and hospitals. The xenodochium in Emerita/Mérida is, for the moment, the only one to be identified as such, as it is mentioned in the Vitas Sanctorum Patrum Emeritensium in the account in which reference is made to Bishop Masona, who was also a physician in the city in the years before and after the turn of the 7th century.87 The topography of the city of Late Antiquity was completed with the construction of monasteries for both urban and suburban communities, but also for rural ones associated with the subsistence economy of the period.88 This obliged the monastery to be in close relation to the territory, the ­landowners, the administrators who managed the land, and the peasantry. Toledo is a 86

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José Vives, ed., Concilios visigóticos e hispano-romanos (España cristiana 1) (Barcelona; Madrid, 1963), 75: De corporibus defunctorum. (De corporibus hominum intra baselicas sanctorum nullatenus sepellendis). Item placuit, ut corpora defunctorum nullo modo intra basilicam sanctorum sepeliantur, sed si necesse est de foris circa murum baselicae usque adeo non abhorret. Nam si firmissimum hoc previlegium usque nunc retinent civitates, ut nullo modo intra ambitus murorum ciuislibet defuncti corpus humetur, quanto magis hoc venerabilium martyrum debet reverentia obtinera. See also Isidro G. Bango Torviso, “El espacio para enterramientos privilegiados en la arquitectura medieval española,” Anuario del Departamento de Historia y Teoría del Arte 4 (1992): 93–132. Vitas Sanctorum Patrum Emeritensium 5.3.2–8; Pedro Mateos Cruz, “Identificación del Xenodochium fundado por Masona en Mérida,” in iv Reunió d’Arqueologia Cristiana Hispànica. Lisboa 1992 (Monografies de la Secció Històrico-Arqueològica 4) (Barcelona, 1995), 309–316. Pablo de la Cruz Díaz Martínez, Formas económicas y sociales en el monacato visigodo (Acta Salmanticensia. Estudios historicos y geograficos 53) (Salamanca, 1987); Luis A. García Moreno, “Los monjes y monasterios en las ciudades de las Españas tardorromanas y visigodas,” Habis 24 (1993): 179–192.

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­ aradigmatic example because the sources mention many monasteries located p both within the city and in its surroundings, although for the moment none have been detected archaeologically and the sources offer but scant information.89 From what has been said, it can be deduced that the city of Late Antiquity in Hispania between the 4th and the 6th centuries was an entity characterized by a series of urban transformations that were a consequence of Christianity. Any reflection on these transformations of the city requires us to understand that it had its own identity, and was not simply the heir of the classical city and the precursor of the medieval city. To understand the city we must take into account its political and administrative, juridical, economic, and ecclesiastical functions, together with the urban reorganization of the period. In imitation of the Heavenly Jerusalem, the civitas christiana was organized both within and outside the city walls, with new neuralgic points linked to each other by means of stational liturgy. The episcopal complex, the parrochiae, and the funerary churches, were the points that articulated urban life. The cult of the martyrs, aristocratic munificence, the role of the bishops, and Christian liturgy and rituals are matters of fundamental significance for an understanding of the debate between historical and archaeological evidence for the transformation of the city in Late Antiquity. There are, however, points of interest from the many urban excavations that complement our image of the city: the re-structuring of domestic architecture, the abandonment of some buildings, the breakdown of certain sectors of the street network, the modifications to the city walls, the trend towards intramural burial, the management of rubbish dumps, waste and hydraulic resources, and the appearance of horti and the reoccupation of spaces, among others. The overall accumulation of evidence provides an image of the city in Hispania between the 4th and the 6th centuries that is not one of collapse and catastrophe, but, on the contrary, one of continuity and transformation, one that prefigures the medieval city. Sources López Pereira, José E. Continuatio Isidoriana Hispana: Crónica mozárabe de 754, edición crítica y traducción (Textos Medievales 58). Zaragoza, 1980.

89

Gisela Ripoll and Isabel Velázquez Soriano, “Toletum, la construcción de una urbs regia,” in Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), ed. Gisela Ripoll and Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera (Real Acadèmia de Bones Lletres. Series maior 6 = Memorias de la Real Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona 25) (Barcelona, 2000), 521–578.

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Vives, José. Inscripciones cristianas de la España romana y visigoda (ICERV ) (Monumenta Hispania Sacra 2). 2nd ed. Barcelona, 1969. Vives, José, ed. Concilios visigóticos e hispano-romanos (España cristiana 1). Barcelona, 1963.

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Rovetta, Alessandro. “Gerusalemme celeste e Gerusalemme terrena tra Medioevo e Rinascimento.” In La Terrasanta e il crepuscolo della crociata. Oltre Federico ii e dopo la caduta di Acri. Atti del Convegno internazionale di studio. Bari 1994, edited by Maria S. Calò Mariani, 277–286. Bari, 2001. Sabaté, Flocel. El territorio de la Catalunya medieval. Barcelona, 1997. Salzman, Michele R. On Roman Time. The Codex Calendar of 354 and the Rhythms of Urban Life in Late Antiquity. Oxford, 1990. Saxer, Victor. “L’utilisation par la liturgie de l’espace urbain et suburbain. L’exemple de Rome dans l’Antiquité et Haut Moyen Âge.” In Actes du xie Congrès International d’Archéologie Chrétienne, Lyon, Vienne, Grenoble, Genève, Aoste 1986, edited by Noël Duval. 3 vols., 2:918–1033 (Collection de l’École française de Rome 123 = Studi di antichità cristiana 41). Rome, 1989. Sotomayor Muro, Manuel. “El concilio de Elvira en el contexto de la Colección Canónica Hispana.” In El cristianismo. Aspectos históricos de su origen y difusión en Hispania. Actas del Symposium de Vitoria-Gasteiz 1996, edited by Juan Santos Yanguas and Ramón Teja Casuso, 189–199 (Revisiones de Historia Antigua 3). Vitoria-Gasteiz, 2000. Stroheker, Karl F. “Spanische Senatoren der spätrömischen und westgotischen Zeit.” Madrider Mitteilungen 4 (1963): 107–132. Tarrats i Bou, Francesc. “Tárraco, topografía urbana y arqueología de los vertederos.” In Sordes Urbis. La eliminación de residuos en la ciudad romana, edited by Xavier Dupré Raventós and Josep A. Remolà Vallverdú, 129–137 (Bibliotheca italica 24). Rome, 2000. Thacker, Alan. “Loca sanctorum: the significance of place in the study of the saints.” In Local Saints and Local Churches in the Early Medieval West, edited by Alan Thacker and Richard Sharpe, 1–43. Oxford, 2003. Velázquez Soriano, Isabel. La literatura hagiográfica: presupuestos básicos y aproximación a sus manifestaciones en la Hispania visigoda (Fundación Instituto Castellano Leonés de la Lengua). Segovia, 2007. Vilella Masana, Josep, and Pere-Enric Barreda Edo. “¿Cánones del concilio de Elvira o cánones pseudoiliberritanos?” Augustinianum 46.2 (2006): 285–373. Ward-Perkins, Bryan. The Fall of Rome and the End of Civilization. Oxford, 2005. Ward-Perkins, Bryan. “Continuitists, Catastrophists, and the Towns of Post-Roman Northern Italy.” Papers of the British School at Rome 65 (1997): 157–176. Wickham, Chris. Framing the Early Middle Ages: Europe and the Mediterranean, 400–800. Oxford, 2005. Yasin, Ann M. Saints and Church Spaces in the Late Antique Mediterranean: Architecture, Cult and Community. Cambridge, 2009.

Chapter 2

The Late Antique City in Spania—Toledo and Recópolis Javier Arce 1

Residences of the Barbarian Kings

The kings of the different regna that were gradually formed in the West from the 6th century on chose as their places of residence cities that had previously lain within the Roman Empire but which now belonged to the areas under their control. As far as we know, there were no fixed selection criteria. These were not necessarily the urban centers that had formerly been the “capitals” of the Roman dioceses, but rather sites that reflected a range of factors such as opportunity and geographical location.1 Athaulf, forcibly settled in Barcino in 414, probably reused an earlier Roman building to house his court.2 This might have been a villa, a praetorium, or a spacious domus. In fact we know nothing about it. The Burgundians’ capital was Geneva, and the poet Avitus refers to the royal residence in the city, pointing out that there was a church in the palatium or praetorium; archaeological excavations seem to have confirmed this.3 According to Paul S. Barnwell, the

1 I would like to thank Philip Banks for the translation of the text and for his remarks, which saved me from some errors. On the residences of the Burgundian, Vandal, or Visigothic kings, see Paul S. Barnwell, Emperor, Prefects and Kings. The Roman West, 395–565 (London, 1992), 87, 118–120, and 74, and the classic study Eugen Ewig, “Résidence et capitale pendant le Haut Moyen Âge,” Revue Historique 230 (1963): 25–72, here 33–35. 2 On Athaulf in Barcino: Hydatius 32; Orosius 7.43.8; Olympiodorus, fragment 26 with discussion in Javier Arce, Bárbaros y romanos en Hispania, 400–507 a.d. (Madrid, 2005), 72–83 (with the relevant bibliography). See also Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera and Cristina Godoy Fernández, “Barcino, de sede imperial a urbs regia en época visigoda,” in Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), ed. Gisela Ripoll and Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera (Real Acadèmia de Bones Lletras. Series maior 6 = Memorias de la Real Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona 25) (Barcelona, 2000), 425–466. 3 Avitus. “Contra arrianos,” in Letters and selected Prose: Avitus of Vienne, translated with an introduction and notes by Danuta Shanzer and Ian Wood (Liverpool, 2002), 163–186, here §30/p. 183; Barnwell, Emperor, Prefects and Kings, 87; Louis Blondel, “Praetorium, palais burgonde et château comtal,” Genava 18 (1940): 69–87, esp. 82–85.

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palatium where the Burgundian king resided might have occupied the former Roman praetorium, which was adapted for use as the king’s seat. In addition to confirming the desire to maintain and imitate Roman forms of representation, the idea of re-occupying former Roman praetoria as royal residences on the part of “barbarian” monarchs is also recorded in the Vandal kingdom of North Africa.4 In fact, all the evidence points to the Vandal king’s “palace” having been in Carthage, re-using the residence of the Roman proconsul of Antiquity.5 The historian Procopius refers to the presence of a church in the palace and also mentions the existence of a prison. In addition, the poet Luxorius refers to the marble that decorated the audience chamber.6 The problem is that there is not enough archaeological evidence to identify these buildings with any degree of certainty, particularly within the Iberian Peninsula. We might of course expect there to be remains identifiable as the royal palace in Toletum, the seat of the Visigothic kings afrom the mid-6th century. However, there are none. In spite of two or three indirect references in the sources to Leovigild’s palace in a 7th-century hagiographical text, the Vitas Patrum Emeritensium, mentioning an audience chamber and the stables (stabula), and in a poem by Eugenius of Toledo, referring to the existence of a lectus in a banqueting hall (a bed or couch; probably a triclinium), and despite all the efforts made and hypotheses put forward by archaeologists, no evidence can be offered for the remains, neither architectural nor any spatial organization of the palatine complex in Toledo during the Visigothic period. It has been suggested that it must have occupied the site of the former provincial governor’s praetorium, which would have existed in the area where the Alcázar now stands. However, this is unlikely, since we have no evidence for the existence of a praetorium in Toledo, which, furthermore, was never a provincial capital in the later Roman period.7 4 Barnwell, Emperor, Prefects and Kings, 118. 5 Discussion in Barnwell, Emperor, Prefects and Kings, 119–120. 6 Anthologia Latina, vol. 1.1: Carmina in codicibus scripta, edited by David R. Shackleton Bailey (Stuttgart, 1982), SB 194 (cf. SB 206); Barnwell, Emperor, Prefects and Kings, 119. 7 Vitas Sanctorum Patrum Emeretensium, ed. Antonio Maya Sánchez (Corpus Christianorum. Series Latina 116) (Turnhout, 1992), 5.6: per fenestram eminens palatii; Eugenius of Toledo. Opera omnia, ed. Paulo J. Farmhouse Alberto (Corpus Christianorum. Series Latina 114) (Turnhout, 2005), n. 69/p. 264: allusion to a triclinium?; Venantius Fortunatus. Poems, ed. Michael Roberts (Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library 46) (Cambridge, Mass., 2017), 6.5.13–14. On the location of the palatium, see Gisela Ripoll, “Sedes Regiae en la Hispania de la Antigüedad tardía,” in Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), ed. Gisela Ripoll and Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera (Real Acadèmia de Bones Lletras. Series maior 6 = Memorias de la Real Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona 25) (Barcelona, 2000), 388, and Isabel Velázquez Soriano and Gisela Ripoll, “Toletum, la construcción de una urbs regia,” in Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), ed. Gisela Ripoll and

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John H.W.G. Liebeschuetz has stated that the kings of the barbarian peoples chose places “that were conveniently situated in the center of an area of ethnic settlement.”8 Nevertheless, this need not have been the case, since Tolosa (Toulouse), the first center of the Goths in Aquitania, was not in 418 at the center of their domains, which are known to have stretched “as far as the Ocean,” i.e., the Atlantic. 2

Toletum, Residence of the Visigothic Kings in Hispania

The choice of Toledo (Toletum) as the seat of the Visigothic king in Hispania is somewhat surprising as it was a city of limited importance in the Roman period; indeed, one might even say that it was insignificant (fig. 2.1). John M. Wallace-Hadrill was of the opinion that the arrival of Justinian’s troops in the Iberian Peninsula in 554 forced the Visigoths to move their capital to Toledo.9 The reasons were strategic: Toledo is equidistant from Narbonne in Septimania and from Seville in Baetica. In addition, the city defended and controlled the central plains of Hispania “should the Byzantines be minded to move further north.” Wallace-Hadrill’s statement suggests that he considered that there was, or had been, another royal residence before Toledo, probably Seville (where Theudigisel, Theudis’ successor, lived). This also would mean that Theudis did not establish the royal residence in Toledo, despite the suggestions of several scholars that it began to be used as a royal city under that monarch. The reason for his statement lies in the fact that a law issued by Theudis (in fact the only one extant from his reign) on judicial expenses, dated to 546, was signed in Toledo.10 This argument is, however, of limited value. Many laws included in the Codex Theodosianus, for example, mention emperors signing laws in different places—Sirmium, Serdica, Mediolanum etc.—without this implying that these places were their habitual or temporary places of residence;

8 9 10

Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera (Real Acadèmia de Bones Lletras. Series maior 6 = Memorias de la Real Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona 25) (Barcelona, 2000), 554. John H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, “Ravenna to Aachen,” in Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), ed. Gisela Ripoll and Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera (Real Acadèmia de Bones Lletras. Series maior 6 = Memorias de la Real Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona 25) (Barcelona, 2000), 20. John M. Wallace-Hadrill, The Barbarian West, 400–1000, 3rd ed. (London, 1967), 117–118. Código de Alarico ii, 35–39, in Fragmentos de la ley romana de los visigodos conservados en un códice palimpsesto de la catedral de León. With preface by Francisco de Cárdenas and Fidel Fita Colomé and epilogue by Magdalena Rodríguez Gil (León, 1991).

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Figure 2.1 View of Toledo

instead, this would suggest that these were places through which they passed and happened to be at that moment. This is the meaning that should be given to Theudis’ having signed a law in Toledo. A text by Procopius has been used to establish that Theudis’ residence was located in an “inland” region of the Iberian Peninsula. It is true that, in the year 535, emissaries from the Vandal king Gelimer, who ruled in Africa, were sent to the Visigothic king Theudis in order to ask for his assistance in view of the imminent arrival of the Imperial fleet off the coast of Africa. Procopius says that

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once they had crossed the Straits of Gibraltar and disembarked, “they found Theudis in a place situated far from the sea. And when they had come up to the place where he was, Theudis received them with friendliness and entertained them.”11 It is not possible to establish the region being referred to. However, it was clearly not in an area with seaports. Theudigisel, Theudis’ successor, was assassinated during a banquet in Hispalis (Seville), which may indicate that that was where the residence was located.12 Mérida and Seville are places where kings such as Agila or Athanagild are to be found at a later date, but it cannot be known whether these cities were their principal places of residence.13 Finally, as Isidore points out, Athanagild died a natural death in Toledo, as did his successors.14 This would seem to indicate that from that moment on Toledo became the habitual place of residence of the king and his court and, therefore, the urbs regia of the kingdom (ca. 568–9). An indirect source confirms that Toledo was the royal seat from the time of Athanagild: the king’s daughter Galswintha was raised in, and never left, Toledo until she went to marry the Frankish king Chilperic, which means that she had lived at the court with her father from 555.15 From Leovigild onwards, there can be no doubt that Toledo was the urbs regia. 3 Urbanism It is significant that the Visigoths created a “capital,” referred to as the urbs regia or civitas regia in sources. The creation of a seat where the king, his court, and his administration (palatium) resided is a sign of centralization and a single power, and is a further indication of imitatio imperii on the part of the Goths who had settled in the Iberian Peninsula. As regards the urban layout of the city in the Roman period, despite all the commendable efforts of historians and archaeologists, hardly anything can be said with any degree of certainty, and any statement must remain an

11 For Theudis living at an inland location: Procopius, Bellum Vandalicum 3.24.7. 12 Isidorus, Historia Gothorum 47. 13 Isidorus, Historia Gothorum 46–47. 14 Isidorus, Historia Gothorum 47. 15 Venantius Fortunatus. Poems, ed. Michael Roberts (Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library 46) (Cambridge Mass., 2017), 6.5.13–14, with Céline Martin, La géographie du pouvoir dans l’Espagne visigothique (Histoire et civilisations) (Lille, 2003), 211.

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­unverifiable hypothesis.16 A recent article dealing with the question of the urban layout of Toledo in the Visigothic period is clear proof that, in spite of all efforts to reconstruct its urban landscape, it is almost impossible to do so coherently and without resorting to continuous hypotheses or comparisons with general phenomena that are recorded in other late Roman cities.17 The article, however, confirms that nothing that has been said concerning Visigothic ceremonials taking place in the circus, in view of its supposed proximity to the praetorium located in the suburban area, can be sustained: there is no archaeological or textual evidence that allows such a hypothesis to be put forward.18 One point is made clear: much archaeological research remains to be carried out in Toledo, above all in the areas outside the defences, to ensure the identification of the existing remains with any guarantee of certainty. Within the city’s walls, the situation is even more difficult: Toledo is a city with a long past, and its successive phases of construction complicate all archaeological activity attempting to reach the Visigothic or Roman levels. Isabel Velázquez Soriano and Gisela Ripoll, who have devoted several lengthy articles to the question, come to the conclusion—one I fully share— that “[reconstructing the urban layout of Toletum] is an insurmountable challenge.”19 Almost nothing is known about its monuments, houses, streets, or public buildings, let alone a possible temple, curia, or basilica. Some historians have supposed that there was a praetorium, a residence for the governor, which was subsequently re-used as the seat of the royal residence (palatium) in the city. However, as has been pointed out, Toledo was never the seat of the governors in the post-Diocletianic system of administrative organization. As discussed, this palatium is supposed to have been where the city’s Alcázar is now located.20 The location at the top of the hill, however, would seem to coincide more with the presence of a temple there, one dedicated to Jupiter or the Capitoline Triad, as is often the case in other Roman colonies or municipia, rather than a supposed praetorium. 16 17 18 19 20

On the town plan of Toledo and how little is known about it, see Velázquez Soriano and Ripoll, “Toletum,” 521–578. Rafael Barroso Cabrera, Jesús Carrobles Santos, Jorge Morín de Pablos, et al., “El paisaje urbano de Toledo en la Antigüedad Tardía,” Antiquité Tardive 23 (2015): 329–352. Barroso Cabrera, Carrobles Santos, Morin de Pablos, et al., “El paisaje urbano,” 345–346. Velázquez Soriano and Ripoll, “Toletum,” 554 (citations in the main text translated). Velázquez Soriano and Ripoll, “Toletum,” 554: “suele identificarse aunque nada lo permite.” See also Jesús Carrobles Santos, Rafael Barroso Cabrera, Jorge Morín de Pablos, et al., “Topografía Toletana,” in Regia sedes Toletana. La topografía de la ciudad de Toledo en la Antigüedad Tardía y Alta Edad media, ed. Jesús Carrobles Santos, Rafael Barroso Cabrera, Jorge Morín de Pablos, et al. (Toledo, 2007), 15–42.

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The best-preserved Roman building in Toletum is the circus, precisely because it is located in the suburbium, outside the city walls. By the 6th century this building had already been abandoned; there is no archaeological or documentary evidence for the use of the circus in the Visigothic period.21 For this reason, everything that has been written on its use in the context of royal ceremonial must be considered superfluous. The situation is no better for the Visigothic period from the time of Leovigild on. What is known about the urban layout in this period is derived from literary sources. The image that emerges is a city full of churches or one dedicated to church-building, especially given the generosity of the monarchs, who by doing so sought to ingratiate themselves with the bishops or other ecclesiastical authorities, or perhaps to redeem any wrongdoing.22 This series of churches has been studied in depth by several scholars.23 As early as the year 400 we have information about the First Council of Toledo, which was held in ecclesia Toleti. This location is likely to have been the oldest in the city, subsequently referred to as the church of Santa María or Santa Jerusalén.24 It is surprising that we do not know with certainty in which church the Third Council of Toledo was held; this event was attended by (and presided over by) King Reccared himself, and was where his conversion to Catholicism was made public. The acts of this council only state that it was held in civitatem regiam.25 Many historians have considered that it took place in the church of Santa María, the main and most important and oldest in the city. Yet I wonder whether this lack of precision in the acts of the council might not imply that the assembly was not held in a church, but rather in the main chamber of the royal palace in Toledo, thereby imitating the Council of Nicaea. According to 21

Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera and Pilar Diarte Blasco, “La basílica de Santa Leocadia y el final del uso del circo romano de Toledo: una nueva interpretación,” Zephyrus 69 (2012): 149–163, here 150–152. For the circus, see John H. Humphrey, Roman Circuses. Arenas for Chariot Racing (London, 1986), 350–360, esp. 359. 22 Javier Arce, “Reyes visigodos y arquitectura,” in Élites y arquitectura en la Antigüedad Tardia, ed. Gisela Ripoll and Joan Pinar Gil (Hortus artium medievalium 13.2) (Zagreb, 2007), 255–260. 23 On churches in Toledo: Velázquez Soriano and Ripoll, “Toletum,” 550–562, almost totally dependent on textual references; Martin, La géographie du pouvoir, 220–222. See also Luis J. Balmaseda Muncharaz, “En busca de las iglesias toledanas de época visigoda,” in Hispania gothorum. San Ildefonso y el reino visigodo de Toledo. Catálogo de la exposición 2007, ed. Rafael Serrano García (Toledo, 2007), 197–214. 24 José Vives, ed., Concilios visigóticos e hispano-romanos (España cristiana 1) (Barcelona, 1963): Concilio de Toledo I. 25 Vives, Concilios visigóticos: Concilio de Toledo iii.

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Eusebius of Caesarea’s text, this great Constantinian gathering was held in the throne room of the Imperial palace in Nicaea, a building that dated from the time of Diocletian, and in a city where the emperor had on occasions resided.26 At the Third Council of Toledo, express mention is made of Nicaea, and in the chronicler John of Biclaro’s description of the event he refers to Constantine as well as to Nicaea. It was not unusual for a council to be held in a place other than a church. The Council of Carthage is known to have taken place in a public bath, and other councils in Hispania took place, according to the acts, in secretario, which was a hall adjoining the bishop’s palace or the church itself.27 The remaining councils of Toledo were held either in the church of Santa María, or Santa Jerusalén (the cathedral church and therefore within the urban area), or in that of the apostles Peter and Paul or in Santa Leocadia, both of which were martyrial churches and were thus in the suburban area. The problem lies in identifying these churches in Toledo as a result of the lack of clear archaeological evidence. The subject has been analysed by several researchers, who have reached differing conclusions. The church of Santa María, the cathedral, was situated within the city and the other two apud Toletanam urbem, i.e., outside the city proper.28 The church of Santa Leocadia was in suburbio,29 that is to say outside the city, and is known to have been built by King Sisebut in 618. However, in other occasions it is recorded in sources that it was in praetorio toletano.30 The church of the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul is first mentioned in 653, when it received the name of the Holy Apostles and later, ecclesia praetoriensis.31 Toledo was a civitas regia or urbs regia because the king resided there, except when he was campaigning. The city was the setting for religious processions and for occasions when the monarch was acclaimed as a consequence of his military triumphs or of having defeated rival usurpers. The written sources make very few references to the urban life of the city, aspects such as supplies, building repairs, the construction of new buildings, housing, internal organisation, security and surveillance. A comes Toletanus, a member of the 26

Cf. Javier Arce, Esperando a los árabes. Los visigodos en Hispania, 507–711 (Madrid, 2011), 233. 27 For example the Council of Sevilla in 619. 28 Ripoll, “Sedes Regiae,” 552. 29 Vives, Concilios visigóticos: Concilio de Toledo ii, dated to 531, specifically states this to be so. 30 Ripoll, “Sedes Regiae,” 554, considers that this location would correspond to the present-­ day Alcázar in the city, but this is impossible as the Alcázar would not have been in suburbio. 31 First mentioned in 653 (Concilio de Toledo viii); ecclesia praetoriensis: Vives, Concilios visigóticos: Concilio de Toledo xv and xvi.

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king’s officium, is known to have existed; he is considered to have been a kind of praefectus Urbis, although in fact very little is known about his functions and responsibilities.32 All aspects of urban life revolved around the church and its members, the bishops, both those who were expected to reside within it and those who went there from time to time to attend the councils, as well as the rest of the clergy and monks. In practice, its libraries and monasteries (whether inside or surroundings the city), together with their corresponding schools, made Toledo a cultural capital in the spirit of the period. Moreover, all revolved around the figure of the king, his family, and the court. Toledo was a city in which Church and State were inextricably united. Its rival, Mérida, had as many churches as the urbs regia and martyrs who were as important and effective (Eulalia) as those of Toledo, yet even though its bishops were of great importance for managing the city’s affairs and were in practice the leaders of the community, it did not enjoy the presence of the king or welcome the frequent councils that regularly brought together all the bishops of the dioceses throughout the kingdom.33 For this reason, no city in Hispania in the 6th and 7th centuries could rival Toledo, as Toledo was the ecclesiastical and, therefore, spiritual capital of the kingdom, the apt definition that should be applied to Toledo. 4 Recópolis Some historians have stated that Recópolis was “an extension of Toledo”34 (fig. 2.2). Others have spoken of Recópolis as a palatine city,35 while others36 suggest that “the city on the present-day Cerro de la Oliva (identified as Recópolis) was 32

On this figure, see Amancio Isla Frez, “El officium palatinum visigodo. Entorno regio y poder aristocrático,” Hispania 62.3.212 (2002): 823–847. 33 Mérida as a rival to Toledo: Roger Collins, “Mérida and Toledo, 550–585,” in Visigothic Spain: New approaches, ed. Edward A. James (Oxford, 1980), 189–219. Add to this the arguments of Sabine Panzram, “Mérida contra Toledo. Eulalia contra Leocadia. Listados ‘falsificados’ de obispos como medio de autorepresentación municipal,” in Espacios Urbanos en el Occidente Mediterráneo (ss. vi–viii). Congreso Internacional (Toledo 2009), ed. Alfonso García, Ricardo Izquierdo Benito, Lauro Olmo Enciso, et al. (Toledo 2010), 123–130, here 127. 34 Martin, La géographie du pouvoir, 261. 35 Lauro Olmo Enciso, “Los conjuntos palatinos en el contexto de la topografía urbana altomedieval de la Península Ibérica,” in Arqueología Medieval Española, ii Congreso. Madrid 1987. 3 vols. (Madrid, 1987), 2:345–352. 36 Luis A. García Moreno, Historia de España visigoda (Historia mayor) (Madrid, 1989), 120–121.

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Figure 2.2 Situation of Recópolis

destined to be the official residence of Reccared, who, in 573, had been made consors regni … Recópolis seemed destined to become the administrative capital and the centre of Visigothic domination in Carpetania and Celtiberia.” Gisela Ripoll and Isabel Velázquez Soriano do not reject this idea. Thus, in an ­article whose title is a clear declaration of the underlying thesis, “Toletum versus Recopolis: ¿dos sedes para dos reyes?” (“Toletum versus Recópolis: two seats for two kings?”), they defend the idea that “simply because of its name, Recópolis can be considered as a sedes regia, since Leovigild, by giving it his son’s name, converted it into a royal capital.”37 These two scholars go so far as to suggest that Recópolis was a parallel royal seat that was not in conflict with Toledo, the other capital, destined for the elder brother, Hermenegild. They insist that “as it was a city dedicated to a member of the royal family, it was therefore a sedes regia” and consider it to have been “a seasonal palatial residence for the leisure or rest of the prince who was subsequently to become king,” before ­concluding: “The aim was to create a royal seat for the second son, bearing in 37

Gisela Ripoll and Isabel Velázquez Soriano, “Toletum vs. Recópolis: ¿Dos sedes para dos reyes?,” in Recópolis y la ciudad en la época visigoda (Zona Arqueológica 9) (Madrid, 2008), 205–219.

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mind that the then capital of the regnum, Toledo, was logically expected to be the place of residence of the elder one.”38 I should like to defend here the idea that Recópolis was not an extension of Toledo (Celine Martin), nor a palatine city (Lauro Olmo Enciso), nor an administrative capital and center of control for Celtiberia and Carpetania (Luis A. Garcia Moreno), nor a royal seat or a palatial seasonal rest and leisure residence for the second son (Gisela Ripoll, Isabel Velázquez Soriano). In my opinion, all these speculations concerning Recópolis lack foundation, and are supported by neither historical nor archaeological evidence. John of Biclaro’s text describing the foundation of the city of Recópolis is very precise: “With tyrants destroyed on all sides … King Leovigild had peace to live with his own people. He founded a city in Celtiberia, which he named Recópolis after his son. He endowed it with splendid buildings, both within the walls and in the suburbs, and he established privileges for the people of the new city”;39 Isidore says exactly the same, although more succinctly.40 The “foundation,” or name change, was carried out to celebrate victory over his enemies, in the same way as Constantinople was founded, as recorded by the Anonymus Valesianus, ob insignis victoriae memoria.41 In the Roman period it was common for the name of a son, another family member, or the emperor himself to be given to a city; from the time of Alexander on, we have many “Alexandrias,” as well as cities named Pompeiopolis, Trajanopolis, Helenopolis, Basilinopolis, Theodosiopolis, Justinianopolis, etc.42 On no occasion does such a change of name, or the new foundations that adopted the name of an emperor or his lineage, indicate that these places were to be the emperor’s residences; they are a way of paying homage to, honoring, showing preference for, or commemorating this figure, not that this city was to be the royal or imperial city, the seat of the heir. If Leovigild, probably on the advice of ­someone else, was following the model of the Roman emperors in the supreme act of 38 39

Ibid. 210–214. John of Biclaro, Chronicle, ed. Kenneth B. Wolf, in Conquerors and Chronicles of Early Medieval Spain, 2nd ed. (Liverpool, 1999), 57–77, here §67. 40 Isidorus, Historia Gothorum 51. 41 “Anonymi Valesiani Pars Prior,” in Ammianus Marcellinus. History, vol. 3: books 27–31: Excerpta Valesiana, ed. John C. Rolfe (Loeb Classical Library 331) (Cambridge, Mass., 1939), 6.30. 42 Arnold H.M. Jones, The Later Roman Empire 284–602: a Social, Economic and Administrative Survey. 3 vols. and maps (Oxford, 1964), 2:719; Javier Arce, “La fundación de nuevas ciudades en el imperio romano tardío de Diocleciano a Justiniano (ss. iv–vi),” in Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), ed. Gisela Ripoll and Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera (Real Acadèmia de Bones Lletras. Series maior 6 = Memorias de la Real Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona 25) (Barcelona, 2000), 36–62.

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founding cities as a further way of demonstrating their own prestige and generosity (a point that almost all who have researched the subject agree upon), the idea that he founded a residence for his son or that the new city might have been an extension of Toletum should therefore be excluded. Furthermore, a fundamental fact should be added to this argument: in neither of the two texts that recall the event—those of John of Biclaro and Isidore of ­Seville—is there the slightest reference to the functions that some scholars have attributed to him. In addition, we might wonder whether the ruins on the Cerro de la Oliva, identified by many scholars as the remains of Recópolis, are in fact what they have been claimed to be or even form part of the city of Recópolis; we might also seriously wonder whether the building identified as a palatium might not actually be another category of structure, such as, for example, a horreum (fig. 2.3).43 In effect, the long narrow structure that has been excavated on the site identified as Recópolis is a single-nave building of enormous proportions—145 metres in length by 13.50 in width—with a row of central pillars that would have been used to support an upper level.44 From the structural and architectural point of view, it cannot be considered to have been a “palatium”; there are no spaces that might reflect such a function (fig. 2.4). Those who have proposed this interpretation suggest that all activity would have taken place on the upper level (first floor), where there would have been banqueting rooms, dormitories, reception halls. The problem is that the upper floor has disappeared completely and there is no evidence for its function. Nevertheless, Gisela Ripoll and Isabel Velázquez Soriano continue to maintain that the monumental nature of the building has led researchers to identify it as a palace, although they recognize “that there are neither constructional nor archaeological arguments to confirm it.”45 At its easternmost end, the building, which is endowed with buttresses, turns at an angle, joining the basilica by means of a range measuring 40 × 9.80 meters.46 Gisela Ripoll and Isabel Velázquez Soriano noted the possibility of this element having been a horreum or stables (stabula) for the royal troops. 43 Arce, Esperando a los árabes, 213–232, and idem, “The So-Called Visigothic ‘Palatium’ of Recópolis (Spain): an Archaeological and Historical Analysis,” in The Emperor’s House. Palaces from Augustus to the Age of Absolutism, ed. Michael Featherstone, Jean-Michel Spieser, Gülru Tanman, et al. (Urban Spaces 4) (Berlin, 2015), 63–70. 44 Ripoll and Velázquez Soriano, “Toletum vs. Recópolis,” 217. 45 Ripoll and Velázquez Soriano, “Toletum vs. Recópolis,” 217–218. 46 Lauro Olmo Enciso, “Arquitectura religiosa y organización litúrgica en época visigoda: La Basílica de Recópolis,” Archivo Español de Arqueología 61.157–158 (1988): 157–178, here 159.

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Figure 2.3 Recópolis

The excavations on the Cerro de la Oliva (Guadalajara province), identified as Recópolis, have not produced particularly rich or spectacular material (such as, for example, marble), although capitals, reliefs, pottery, and glass datable to the 6th and 7th centuries have been found. As regards the houses that stood on  the side facing the southern entrance gate, and those that lay on both sides of the street leading towards the square in front of the church, in an initial phase they were spaces devoted to artisan and commercial activities, and were subsequently converted into dwellings. These buildings in the upper part of the city have been described as “a palatine complex that dominates the whole urban environment and a large part of the surrounding territory”;47 as regards the identification of the large rectangular building, it is said that “it is logical to think of a representative function, such as that of a palace, supported by the fact that Recópolis was a royal foundation, and also by its association with a church, which recalls the Palace/ Basilica model … described in the sources.”48 These conclusions are derived 47 Olmo Enciso, “Arquitectura religiosa,” 159. 48 Ibid.

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Figure 2.4 The horreum of Recópolis

from what, in my opinion, is an erroneous a priori approach that considers Recópolis as “a royal city containing a palatine complex” and which do not hesitate to identify the Cerro de la Oliva as Recópolis, even though this is not demonstrated. Furthermore, the sources (that is to say the text of John of Biclaro) fail to mention either a palatium or a basilica in Recópolis. I have defended for some time the view that the building to be found on the Cerro de la Oliva is a horreum, which enables this walled urban complex to be

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Figure 2.5 The horreum of the city of Mediana (Serbia)

interpreted as a fiscal city, a supply and storage center for the taxation system of the region. There are many architectural models for this type of building: buildings of elongated plan, with buttresses, two levels, and central pillars for support. As a parallel, I have put forward the horrea to be found in the villa of Mediana, in Serbia, although there are many other examples (fig. 2.5).49 I now can offer further evidence.50 Efthymios Rizos has recently, in several articles, studied the problem of the Roman army’s supply centers in the Balkans and Asia Minor.51 These works demonstrate with abundant and rigorous epigraphical, archaeological, and literary evidence how Diocletian and Constantine made a great effort to organize a network intended to supply the Roman army on the Danube, the result of which was the construction of a large number of horrea in fortlets, cities, and other types of settlements between the late 3th century and the mid-4th century. Rizos notes that the rhythm of this building program declined from the mid-4th century although there was renewed activity in the 5th century and, above all, in the 6th century under Justinian (with horrea at Nicopolis, Sliven, Valiki Gradac, and Caricin Grad) (figs. 2.6, 2.7, and 2.8). 49 50

51

Sima Gušić, s.v. “Horreum,” in Roman Imperial Towns and Palaces in Serbia: Sirmium, Romuliana, Naissus: Catalog, ed. Dragoslav Srejović and Petar Petrović (Gallery of the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts 73) (Belgrade, 1993), 175. For my previous proposals, see Arce, Esperando a los árabes, 213–232, especially 226–227; idem, “La fundación de nuevas ciudades,” 31–62; idem, “Horrea y aprovisionamiento en Hispania (ss. iv–vi),” in Horrea d’Hispanie et de la Méditerranée romaine, ed. Javier Arce and Bertrand Goffaux (Collection de la Casa de Velázquez 125) (Madrid, 2011), 287–297, especially 296–297; Arce, “The So-Called Visigothic ‘Palatium.’” Efthymios Rizos, “Centres of the Late Roman Military Supply Network in the Balkans: a Survey of Horrea,” Jahrbuch des römisch-germanischen Zentralmuseum Mainz 60 (2013): 659–696, and idem, “Remarks on the Logistics and Infrastructure of the annona militaris in Eastern Mediterranean and Aegean Areas,” Antiquité Tardive 23 (2015): 287–302.

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Figure 2.6 Horrea in Gamzigrad

Figure 2.7 Horrea in Nicopolis

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Figure 2.8 Horrea in Zaldapa

These storehouses served a dual purpose: on the one hand, they were used to supply the army, while on the other, they acted as a reserve for times of inclement weather conditions or plagues, which, as is well known, were far from unusual at this time.52 Maximianopolis in the vicinity of Antalya (Turkey), a location that, like Recópolis, was named after the reigning emperor, Maximianus Herculius or Galerius Maximianus, is of particular interest as it is endowed with impressive horrea that are very similar in appearance to the building on the Cerro de la Oliva. In the 6th century, it was the church that was responsible for tax collection and its administration. What is known as Recópolis in Hispania follows the same model, the existence of the church immediately alongside the storehouse iindicative of the ecclesiastical authority’s presence and protection. If we take into account the wars waged by King Leovigild from the year 552 in order to recover areas occupied by the Imperial armies, the existence of these horrea on the Cerro de la Oliva is perfectly explained and justified, as the site was a sort of outpost close to the wars carried out in certain parts of Baetica (fig. 2.9).53 The foundation of Recópolis was an act of imitatio imperii on the part of Leovigild that denotes a special predilection for his son Reccared, and it is not surprising that this should eventually have given rise to, or even triggered, a rebellion on the part of Hermenegild, his elder son (tyrannidem assumens in 52 Arce, Esperando a los árabes. 53 See John of Biclaro, Chronicle, §20 and §17; Isidorus, Historia Gothorum 54 and 58–59.

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Figure 2.9 Area of extension of Byzantium in Hispania (2nd half of the 6th century)

Ispali civitate rebellione facta recluditur [“seized power illegitimately and broke out in open revolt in the city of Seville,”] as John of Biclaro records), an event that occurred in the year after the foundation of Recópolis. Sources “Anonymi Valesiani Pars Prior.” In Ammianus Marcellinus. History, vol. 3: Excerpta Valesiana, translated by John C. Rolfe, 27–31 (Loeb Classical Library 331). Cambridge, Mass., 1939. Anthologia Latina, vol. 1.1: Carmina in codicibus scripta, edited by David R. Shackleton Bailey. Stuttgart, 1982. Avitus. “Contra arrianos.” In Letters and selected Prose: Avitus of Vienne, translated with an introduction and notes by Danuta Shanzer and Ian Wood, 163–186. Liverpool, 2002. Eugenius of Toledo. Opera omnia, edited by Paulo J. Farmhouse Alberto (Corpus Christianorum. Series Latina 114). Turnhout, 2005. Fragmentos de la ley romana de los visigodos conservados en un códice palimpsesto de la catedral de León. With preface by Francisco de Cárdenas and Fidel Fita Colomé and epilogue by Magdalena Rodríguez Gil. León, 1991. Isidorus. Isidore of Seville’s History of the Goths, Vandals, and Suevi, translated and introduced by Guido Donini and Gordon B. Ford. 2nd ed. Leiden, 1970.

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John of Biclaro, Chronicle, translated by Kenneth B. Wolf. In Conquerors and Chronicles of Early Medieval Spain, 57–77. 2nd ed. Liverpool, 1999. Procopius. Bellum Vandalicum. In Procopius, vol. 2, edited and translated by H.B. Dewing. (Loeb Classical Library 81). Cambridge, Mass., 1916. Vitas Sanctorum Patrum Emeretensium, edited by Antonio Maya Sánchez (Corpus Christianorum. Series Latina 116). Turnhout, 1992. Vives, José, ed. Concilios visigóticos e hispano-romanos (España cristiana 1). Barcelona, 1963. Venantius Fortunatus. Poems, edited and translated by Michael Roberts (Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library 46). Cambridge, Mass., 2017.

Bibliography Arce, Javier. “The So-Called Visigothic ‘Palatium’ of Recópolis (Spain): an Archaeological and Historical Analysis.” In The Emperor’s House. Palaces from Augustus to the Age of Absolutism, edited by Michael Featherstone, Jean-Michel Spieser, Gülru Tanman, and Ulrike Wulf-Rheidt, 63–70 (Urban Spaces 4). Berlin, 2015. Arce, Javier. Esperando a los árabes. Los visigodos en Hispania, 507–711. Madrid, 2011. Arce, Javier. “Horrea y aprovisionamiento en Hispania (ss. iv–vi).” In Horrea d’Hispanie et de la Méditerranée romaine, edited by Javier Arce and Bertrand Goffaux, 287–297 (Collection de la Casa de Velázquez 125). Madrid, 2011. Arce, Javier. “Reyes visigodos y arquitectura.” In Élites y arquitectura en la Antigüedad Tardia, edited by Gisela Ripoll and Joan Pinar Gil, 255–260 (Hortus artium medievalium 13.2). Zagreb, 2007. Arce, Javier. Bárbaros y romanos en Hispania, 400–507 A.D. Madrid, 2005. Arce, Javier. “La fundación de nuevas ciudades en el imperio romano tardío de Diocleciano a Justiniano (ss. iv–vi).” In Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), edited by Gisela Ripoll and Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera, 31–62 (Real Acadèmia de Bones Lletras. Series maior 6 = Memorias de la Real Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona 25). Barcelona, 2000. Balmaseda Muncharaz, Luis J. “En busca de las iglesias toledanas de época visigoda.” In Hispania gothorum. San Ildefonso y el reino visigodo de Toledo. Catálogo de la exposición 2007, 197–214. Toledo, 2007. Barnwell, Paul S. Emperor, Prefects and Kings. The Roman West, 395–565. London, 1992. Barroso Cabrera, Rafael, Jesús Carrobles Santos, Jorge Morín de Pablos, and Isabel Sánchez Ramos. “El paisaje urbano de Toledo en la Antigüedad Tardía.” Antiquité Tardive 23 (2015): 329–352.

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Blondel, Louis. “Praetorium, palais burgonde et château comtal.” Genava 18 (1940): 69–87. Carrobles Santos, Jesús, Rafael Barroso Cabrera, Jorge Morín de Pablos, and Fernando Valdés Fernández. “Topografía Toletana.” In Regia sedes Toletana. La topografía de la ciudad de Toledo en la Antigüedad Tardía y Alta Edad media, edited by Jesús Carrobles Santos, Rafael Barroso Cabrera, Jorge Morín de Pablos, and Fernando Valdés Fernández, 15–42. Toledo, 2007. Collins, Roger. “Mérida and Toledo, 550–585.” In Visigothic Spain: New approaches, edited by Edward A. James, 189–219. Oxford, 1980. Ewig, Eugen. “Résidence et capitale pendant le Haut Moyen Âge.” Revue Historique 230 (1963): 25–72. García Moreno, Luis A. Historia de España visigoda (Historia mayor). Madrid, 1989. Gurt i Esparraguera, Josep M., and Pilar Diarte Blasco. “La basílica de Santa Leocadia y el final del uso del circo romano de Toledo: una nueva interpretación.” Zephyrus 69 (2012): 149–163. Gurt i Esparraguera, Josep M., and Cristina Godoy Fernández. “Barcino, de sede imperial a urbs regia en época visigoda.” In Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), edited by Gisela Ripoll and Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera, 425–466 (Real Acadèmia de Bones Lletras. Series maior 6 = Memorias de la Real Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona 25). Barcelona, 2000. Gušić, Sima. s.v. “Horreum.” In Roman Imperial Towns and Palaces in Serbia: Sirmium, Romuliana, Naissus: Catalog, edited by Dragoslav Srejović and Petar Petrović, 175 (Gallery of the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts 73). Belgrade, 1993. Humphrey, John H. Roman Circuses. Arenas for Chariot Racing. London, 1986. Isla Frez, Amancio. “El officium palatinum visigodo. Entorno regio y poder aristocrático.” Hispania 62.3.212 (2002): 823–847. Jones, Arnold H.M. The Later Roman Empire 284–602: a Social, Economic and Administrative Survey. 3 vols. and maps. Oxford, 1964. Liebeschuetz, John H.W.G. “Ravenna to Aachen.” In Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), edited by Gisela Ripoll and Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera, 9–30 (Real Acadèmia de Bones Lletras. Series maior 6 = Memorias de la Real Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona 25). Barcelona, 2000. Martin, Céline. La géographie du pouvoir dans l’Espagne visigothique. (Histoire et civilisations). Lille, 2003. Olmo Enciso, Lauro. “Arquitectura religiosa y organización litúrgica en época visigoda: La Basílica de Recópolis.” Archivo Español de Arqueología 61.157–158 (1988): 157–178. Olmo Enciso, Lauro. “Los conjuntos palatinos en el contexto de la topografía urbana altomedieval de la Península Ibérica.” In Arqueología Medieval Española, ii Congreso. Madrid 1987. 3 vols., 2:345–352. Madrid, 1987.

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Panzram, Sabine. “Mérida contra Toledo. Eulalia contra Leocadia. Listados ‘falsificados’ de obispos como medio de autorepresentación municipal.” In Espacios Urbanos en el Occidente Mediterráneo (ss. vi–viii). Congreso Internacional (Toledo 2009), edited by Alfonso García, Ricardo Izquierdo Benito, Lauro Olmo Enciso, and Diego Peris Sánchez, 123–130. Toledo, 2010. Ripoll, Gisela. “Sedes Regiae en la Hispania de la Antigüedad tardía.” In Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), edited by Gisela Ripoll and Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera, 371–401 (Real Acadèmia de Bones Lletras. Series maior 6 = Memorias de la Real Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona 25). Barcelona, 2000. Ripoll, Gisela, and Isabel Velázquez Soriano. “Toletum vs. Recópolis: ¿Dos sedes para dos reyes?” In Recópolis y la ciudad en la época visigoda, 204–219 (Zona Arqueológica 9). Madrid, 2008. Rizos, Efthymios. “Remarks on the Logistics and Infrastructure of the annona militaris in Eastern Mediterranean and Aegean Areas.” Antiquité Tardive 23 (2015): 287–302. Rizos, Efthymios. “Centres of the Late Roman Military Supply Network in the Balkans: a Survey of Horrea.” Jahrbuch des römisch-germanischen Zentralmuseum Mainz 60 (2013): 659–696. Velázquez Soriano, Isabel, and Gisela Ripoll. “Toletum, la construcción de una urbs regia.” In Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), edited by Gisela Ripoll and Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera, 521–578 (Real Acadèmia de Bones Lletras. Series maior 6 = Memorias de la Real Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona 25). Barcelona, 2000. Wallace-Hadrill, John M. The Barbarian West, 400–1000. 3rd ed. London, 1967.

Part 2 The City in al-Andalus (8th to 11th Centuries)

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Chapter 3

Ornament of the World: Urban Change in Early Islamic Qurṭuba Isabel Toral-Niehoff and Alberto León Muñoz As is generally known, Córdoba looks back to a long history rooted in Antiquity, but its heyday was to come when it became the thriving and splendorous capital of the Umayyad Emirate and later Caliphate (756–1031). During this period, Córdoba underwent a deep transformation that would ultimately convert the Late Antique city into a densely populated Medieval Islamic city whose urban landscape differed significantly from its Antique precursor. In the following discussion, we will present a brief outline of those changes until the end of the Caliphate, with a focus on the changes during the Conquest and early Umayyad period. The main source of written information is to be found in the Arabic chronicles, which place a strong focus on Córdoba as the Umayyad capital and the privileged locus for the political and religious elites. However, the documents confront us with a series of methodical problems that must be considered. First of all, the conquest narratives date from a much later period. Córdoba was occupied by Muslim forces in July 711, only several weeks after the arrival of the first troops on the peninsula.1 But the standard record is to be found in a 13th-century chronicle, quoting earlier reports that themselves date from the 10th century.2 According to this source, Córdoba was conquered after a threemonth siege by Berber troops led by the commander Mughīth (al-Rūmī), who was an Umayyad client (mawlā) of the ruling caliph in Damascus.3 ­Similar 1 According to Arabic traditions, the decisive victory of Guadalete over king Roderick took place between 19 and 26 July 711; the first occupation of Córdoba is dated in Shawwāl 92 (between July and August of 711), cf. Nicola Clarke, The Muslim conquest of Iberia: Medieval Arabic narrative (Culture and civilization in the Middle East 30) (London, 2013), 41. 2 The North African Historian Ibn ʿIdhārī (d.1307), translation in Nicola Clarke, “Medieval Arabic accounts of the conquest of Córdoba: Creating a narrative for a provincial capital,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 74.01 (2011): 41–57, esp. 41–42. 3 The caliph al-Walīd (r. 705–715). Umayyad clients (mawlā, pl. mawālī), would form the main power basis for the Umayyad regime in al-Andalus; cf. María I. Fierro Bello, “Los mawālī de Abd´al-Rahman i,” al-Qantara 20 (1999): 65–97 and Peter C. Scales, The fall of the Caliphate of Córdoba: Berbers and Andalusis in conflict (Medieval Iberian Peninsula 9) (Leiden, 1994), 110–132, about the importance of these clients for the Umayyads in al-Andalus. They were

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­ arratives are preserved in other late chronicles, such as the anonymous n Akhbār majmūʿa4 and the Fatḥ al-Andalus,5 texts that are also regularly quoted for these events. Unfortunately, contemporaneous historical sources that might provide a topical view of the Conquest are very scarce. This condition is in keeping with the common “evidential obscurity”6 of the eighth century7 in the Iberian Peninsula, and accords with the general opaqueness of the period of the Islamic Conquest.8 In the case of Arabic narratives about al-Andalus, we confront an additional difficulty: the first reports were not local but rather originated in Egypt.9 These

also central for the configuration of the historical narratives about Córdoba, since most historians, who were patronized by the dynasty, were also mawālī (Clarke, “Medieval Arabic accounts,” 54; Finbarr B. Flood, The great mosque of Damascus: Studies on the makings of an Umayyad visual culture (Islamic History and Civilization 33) (Leiden, 2001)). The prominence given in the Andalusī sources to the Umayyad client Mughīth is to be seen in this context. 4 Anonymous, Akhbār majmūʿa, ed. Emilio Lafuente Alcántara (Madrid, 1867) and the study with English translation by David L. James, A history of early al-Andalus: The Akhbār majmūʿa; a study of the unique Arabic manuscript in the Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris, with a translation, notes and comments (Culture and civilization in the Middle East 26) (London, 2012). The episode of Córdoba occupies several pages: ibid. 51–53. There is a large discussion about date, composition, and authorship of the Akhbār majmūʿa that cannot be quoted here, ibid. 20–33. 5 Anonymous, Fatḥ al-Andalus, ed. Luis Molina Martínez (Fuentes arábico-hispanas 18) (­Madrid, 1994), with a lengthy introductory study by the editor. 6 Roger Collins, The Arab conquest of Spain: 710–797 (A history of Spain), repr. (Oxford, 1995), 1. 7 Collins, The Arab conquest of Spain, 1: “If ever there has been a ‘dark Age’ in the history of the Iberian Peninsula it would probably be said to be co-terminous with the eighth century.” For a detailed study of the Arabic historiography of the Conquests cf. Clarke, The Muslim conquest of Iberia and Eduardo Manzano Moreno, “Las fuentes árabes sobre la conquista de al-Andalus: Una nueva interpretación,” Hispania 59.202 (1999): 389–432. 8 Most of our information for this period goes back to so-called Islamic Conquest Narratives (futūḥāt), which form a specific genre of Arabic historiography whose factual historical value has been discussed in numerous studies in the last decades, since it appears very topical and ideologically biased. Cf. the classical study by Albrecht Noth and Lawrence I. Conrad, The early Arabic historical tradition: A source critical study (Studies in late antiquity and early Islam 3), 2nd. ed. (Princeton, 1994) [Ph.D. dissertation Bonn, 1973]; Fred M. Donner, “Modern approaches to Early Islamic history,” in The New Cambridge history of Islam, vol. 1: The formation of the Islamic world sixth to eleventh centuries, ed. Chase F. Robinson and Michael Cook (Cambridge, 2011), 625–644 and the recent work by Boaz Shoshan, The Arabic historical tradition and the early Islamic conquests: Folklore, tribal lore, Holy War (Routledge studies in classical Islam 4) (London; New York, 2016). 9 Clarke, “Medieval Arabic accounts,” 46; Mahmoud A. Makkī, “Egipto y los orígenes de la historiografía arábigo-española: Contribución al estudio de las primeras fuentes de historia hispanomusulmana,” Revista del Instituto Egipcio de Estudios Islámicos 5 (1957): 157–248.

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reports were later transmitted to al-Andalus, where they were enriched by local details and modified according to the needs and concerns of the ­compilers of caliphal and post-caliphal times, many of them clients of the Umayyads and/ or patronized by them.10 That means that the standard narrative of the Conquest of al-Andalus was mainly shaped in a different chronological and geographical context. It also explains why reports about the conquest of Córdoba do not start to abound until the later 10th century, when the city had become the caliphal capital: first as part of the caliphal historiography that articulated Umayyad legitimacy, and after the disappearance of the Caliphate in 1031 by an impulse of Umayyad nostalgia—and so anachronistically projecting Córdoba’s importance into the past. Further telling examples are the many foundational narratives concerning the construction of early mosques on the sites of previously demolished churches. Susana Calvo Capilla has investigated those for al-Andalus in various studies,11 including the one about the Great Mosque of Córdoba, which tells the well-known story about the partition and later destruction of the former church of San Vicente for the site of the mosque.12 She argues convincingly that this type of report tended to be topical and symbolize the radical beginning of a new religious and political order. A further common topos is the attribution to emblematic personalities, especially to the so-called tābiʿūn (“followers” of the Prophet), in order to confer prestige on the new buildings.13 In summary, 10 11

Clarke, “Medieval Arabic accounts,” 44; see also note 3. Susana Calvo Capilla, “Las primeras mezquitas de al-Andalus a través de las fuentes árabes (92H-711-170H/785),” al-Qanṭara 28 (2007): 145–188; eadem, “Los símbolos de autoridad emiral (138/756-300/912): Las mezquitas aljamas como instrumento de islamización y espacio de representación,” in De Hispalis a Isbiliya, ed. Alfonso Jiménez Martín, Eduardo Monzano Moreno, Luis Caballero, et al. (Seville, 2009), 87–110; eadem, “Analogies entre les Grandes Mosquées de Damas et Cordoue: Mythe et Realité,” in Umayyad legacies: Medieval memories from Syria to Spain, ed. Antoine Borrut and Paul M. Cobb (Islamic History and Civilization 80) (Leiden, 2010), 281–311; Susana Calvo Capilla, “Les premières mosquées et la transformation des sanctuaires wisigothiques (92H/711-170H/785),” Mélanges de la Casa de Velázquez, n.s. 41.2 (2011): 131–163. 12 Calvo Capilla, “Los símbolos de autoridad emiral”; eadem, “Analogies entre les Grandes Mosquées de Damas et Cordoue”; cf. note 57. 13 The tābiʿūn are the second generation of pious followers after the Companions or ṣaḥāba who lived in the Prophet’s lifetime. For their legitimating function in foundation legends, cf. Calvo Capilla, “Los símbolos de autoridad emiral,” 87; eadem, “Analogies entre les Grandes Mosquées de Damas et Cordoue,” 284; Noth and Conrad, The early Arabic historical tradition, 22 and 101. Mūsā b. Nuṣayr, the govenor of Ifrīqiya during the Conquest, was a tābiʿī. Cf. for the tābiʿūn in al-Andalus; Manuela Marín, “Ṣaḥāba et Tābiʿūn dans alAndalus: Histoire et légende,” Studia Islamica 54 (1981): 5–49. See above for the discussion of the qibla in the Mosque of Córdoba.

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Arabic traditions have to be read with the utmost caution, with consideration given to problems of dating, transmission, function, and literary genre.14 Fortunately, archaeological finds in recent decades have enriched our fragmentary knowledge of the urban history of Córdoba beyond the evidence encapsulated in these historic records. The study of Cordovan topography had for a long time been based almost exclusively on written sources, or on the investigation of the Great Mosque as an emblematic building.15 But the rapid urban growth of the city in recent decades, and the consequent necessity of salvage excavations, which have been favored by the fruitful cooperation between the “Gerencia Municipal de Urbanismo” and the Universidad de Córdoba (“Convenio gmu-uco”), have given an important impulse to archaeological research and have set new standards.16 These investigations have equally widened their scope to suburban areas such as Shaqunda (Šaqunda/Secunda)17 and to rural estates in their proximity, like the numerous munya-s.18 In addition, ongoing 14

15

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These caveats do of course also apply for the historiography of later periods. For a critical study of the topographical information about emiral and caliphal times, cf. Ann Christys, “The Meaning of the Topography of Córdoba,” in Cities, texts and social networks, 400–1500: Experiences and perceptions of medieval urban space, ed. Caroline Goodson, Anne E. Lester, and Carol Symes (Farnham, 2010), 103–123. Alberto León Muñoz and Juan F. Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba,” Journal of Islamic Archaeology 1.1 (2014): 5–35, here 5. See the classical, but problematic reconstruction of Cordovan topography by Évariste Lévi-Provençal, Histoire de l’Espagne musulmane (Paris, 1953), 356–395, based only on written sources. This has been endemic in the local historiography, which has suffered from methodological problems and has paradoxically limited research about the Islamic Córdoba, cf. Antonio Arjona Castro, Urbanismo de la Córdoba califal. Tras las huellas de la Córdoba califal (Córdoba 1997); Antonio Arjona Castro, Córdoba en la historia de al-Andalus: Desarrollo, apogeo y ruina de la Córdoba omeya (Córdoba, 2001). gmu-uc, campaigns 2001–2011; cf. Alberto León Muñoz, “Hacia un nuevo Modelo de Gestión Arqueológica de Córdoba. El Convenio uco-gmu,” Anejos de Anales de Arqueología Cordobesa 1 (2008): 11–15; Alberto León Muñoz and Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil, Un nuevo modelo de gestión de la arqueología urbana en Córdoba (Hispaniae Urbes) (Seville, 2012); Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil and Juan F. Murillo Redondo, eds., El anfiteatro romano de Córdoba y su entorno urbano: Análisis arqueológico, (ss. i–xiii d.C.) (Arqueología cordobesa 19) (Córdoba, 2010); León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba,” 6. María T. Casal García, “Características generales del urbanismo cordobés de la primera etapa emiral: el arrabal de Saqunda,” Anejos de Anales de Arqueología Cordobesa 1 (2008): 109–134; María T. Casal García, Rafael M. Martínez Rodríguez, and María del Mar Araque, “Estudio de los vertederos domésticos del arrabal de Šaqunda: ganadería, alimentación y usos derivados (750–818 d.C.) (Córdoba),” Anejos de Anales de Arqueología Cordobesa 2 (2009–2010): 143–182. Glaire D. Anderson, “Villa (munya) architecture in Umayyad Córdoba: Preliminary Observations,” in Revisiting Al-Andalus: Perspectives on the material culture of Islamic Iberia

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excavations in the nearby palace city of Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ have increased our knowledge of the relationship between the two cities.19 Beyond the exponential increase in the number of archaeological excavations, breakthroughs in research have occurred when that data has been inserted into a historical discourse beyond simple topographical reconstruction, now focusing on societal changes that occurred in the capital of al-Andalus, and thus approaching the data from a new perspective. The approach by Manuel Acién Almansa20 has been crucial in this respect, as he connected the analysis of Islamic urbanism of the Umayyad capital with the process of Islamization of society as a whole. His understanding of the concept of Islamization involves issues that go beyond mere religious conversion, covering all areas of society, both public and private, affecting religious, political, economic, legal, and social practices. His main interest was the process of “acculturation” of the population, for which he made use of archaeological indicators, such as the transformation of funerial spaces and practices by the Islamized communities, the dietary changes in accordance to religious precepts, seemingly confirmed by the case of the emiral suburb of Shaqunda, and the adoption of architectural models that reflected the needs of Islamic communities. Throughout history,

19

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and beyond, ed. Glaire D. Anderson (The medieval and early modern Iberian world 34) (Leiden, 2007), 53–79; Antonio Arjona Castro, “La almunia ‘Al-Rusafa’ en el yacimiento arqueológico de Turruñuelos,” Boletín de la Real Academia de Córdoba, de las Ciencias, Bellas Letras y Nobles Artes 138 (2000): 153–184; Felix Arnold, “Eine islamische Palastanlage am Stadtrand von Córdoba. Bauanalyse und Rekonstruktion,” Madrider Mitteilungen 51 (2010): 419–456; idem, “La almunia de al-Rusafa en Córdoba,” Madrider Mitteilungen 50 (2009): 450–482; Felix Arnold, Juan F. Murillo Redondo, Alberto León Muñoz, Elena Castro del Rio, et al., “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica a través de las Transformaciones Operadas en las Áreas Suburbiales,” in El anfiteatro romano de Córdoba y su entorno urbano: Análisis arqueológico, (ss. i–xiii d.C.), ed. Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil and Juan F. Murillo Redondo (Arqueología cordobesa 19), 2 vols. (Córdoba, 2010), 2:501–547; Fernando López Cuevas, “La Almunia Cordobesa, entre las fuentes historiográficas y arqueológicas,” Revista Onoba 1 (2013): 243–260. Antonio Vallejo Triano, “Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ: Transformation of a Caliphal City,” in Revisiting Al-Andalus: Perspectives on the material culture of Islamic Iberia and beyond, ed. Glaire D. Anderson (The medieval and early modern Iberian world 34) (Leiden, 2007), 3–52; Antonio Vallejo Triano, La ciudad califal de Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ: Arqueología de su excavación (Córdoba, 2010); Christine Mazzoli-Guintard, “Remarques sur le fonctionnement d’une capitale a double polarité: Madina Zahra-Cordue,” al-Qantara 17 (1997): 43–64. Manuel Acién Almansa and Antonio Vallejo Triano, “Urbanismo y Estado islámico: De Corduba a Qurtuba-Madinat al-Zahra,” in Genèse de la ville islamique en al-Andalus et au Maghreb occidental (tables rondes, Madrid, 24–25 mars 1994 et 16–17 novembre 1995), ed. Patrice Cressier and Mercedes García-Arenal (Madrid, 1998), 107–136; Manuel Acién Almansa and Antonio Vallejo Triano, “Cordoue,” in Grandes villes méditerranéennes du monde musulman médiéval, ed. Jean-Claude Garcin (Rome, 2000), 5–11.

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cities have not only reflected forms of social organization, but have also served the ruling authorities as an effective instrument for integrating and assimilating the population. In this regard, as shown by several studies focused on the analysis of jurisprudence and cultural anthropology, it was the communal life based on religious norms that would gradually create the characteristic urban landscape of the mudun of al-Andalus. In summarizing and discussing the main topographical developments evidenced by these new findings, and combining them with textual evidence, we still have to consider that an archaeological hypothesis might depend on either a debatable interpretation of written sources or on equally questionable previous findings, or both; even rich archaeological evidence will not always resolve the problems posed by historiography. In 716–717 a.d. (99 H.), six years after its surrender, Córdoba became the capital of the governorate of al-Andalus,21 significantly enhancing the importance of the city. The reasons why the governor decided to transfer the political and administrative center from Seville22 to Córdoba are still unclear. Possibly the strong presence of Roman-Visigoth elites in Seville was a main argument in favor of Córdoba, where, in contrast, local aristocracy had departed.23

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Some Arabic sources attribute the transfer to the second governor, al-Ḥurr b. ʿAbd alRaḥmān al-Thaqafī: Christian F. Seybold and Manuel Ocaña Jiménez, s.v. “Ḳurṭuba,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam. Second Edition, ed. Peri J. Bearman, Thierry Bianquis, Clifford E. Bosworth, et al. http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/1573-3912_islam_SIM_4552. Consulted 24th April 2019; Arjona Castro, Córdoba en la historia de al-Andalus, 41, others to Ayyūb b. Lakhmī (James, A history of early al-Andalus, 57). Al-Andalus was then a governorate subordinate to Ifrīqiya, with its capital in Qayrawān. Until the assassination of the first governor ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz, son of Mūsā b. Nuṣayr, who had married a daughter of the Visigoth king Roderick and was assassinated in 717, the seat of the governor had been in Seville, cf. Eduardo Manzano Moreno, Conquistadores, emires y califas: Los Omeyas y la formación de Al-Andalus (serie mayor) (Barcelona, 2006), 47; James, A history of early al-Andalus, 57. Manzano Moreno, Conquistadores, emires y califas, 71, explains the transfer by referring to the strong presence in Seville of Visigoth aristocracy associated with king Vitiza and his sons, who in turn were on very good terms with the Muslim conquerors (which made them very powerful). Córdoba, in contrast, offered a better powerbase for the new rulers, since the local elites had been associated with the followers of Roderick, so that the Visigoth elites had left the city. These members of the local aristocracy, after the defeat, had vacated their properties, which were later exploited and arranged as the headquarters and military settlement. Meanwhile, Pedro Chalmeta Gendrón, Invasión e islamización. La sumisión de Hispania y la formación de al-Andalus (Jaén, 2003), 254–255, considers that the choice of Córdoba as capital would have freed the new rulers from the influence of the army already established in Seville, which allowed them to carry out an administrative and fiscal reorganization in al-Andalus.

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An equal incentive were the extensive rural estates in the fertile Cordovan lands, which became the main attraction of the military elite who accompanied Tāriq and, later, Mūsā b. Nuṣayr. The illegal appropriation of these ­estates, since a part was not transfered to the state as established by law, provoked the arrival of the governor al-Ṣamḥ, sent by the caliph of Damascus to recover lands for the Muslim community.24 Investigations carried out in recent years on changes in the peri-urban environment have permitted the identification of some of the rural properties where Muslim owners would later settle.25 The value and proliferation of this type of property, and the existence of a local aristocracy rooted in Roman traditions, clearly distinguishable from the ­Visigoth elites predominant in Seville, could be factors that favored the decision to locate the capital in Córdoba. The new rulers inherited a spatial configuration that had already changed significantly since Classical Antiquity: In Late Antique Córdoba, the Roman walls and the gates were still extant,26 but the earlier orthogonal urban grid had all but disappeared, giving way to narrow streets and sinuous alleys,27 with small shops invading the public space, following a trend known from many other cities in this period.28 Furthermore, the urban center had already shifted 24 25

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28

Cf. Chalmeta Gendrón, Invasión e islamización, 227. Alberto León Muñoz, Juan F. Murillo Redondo, and Sonia Vargas Cantos, “Patrones de continuidad en la ocupación periourbana de Córdoba entre la Antigüedad y la Edad Media: 1. Los sistemas hidráulicos,” in Ciudad y Territorio: transformaciones materiales e ideológicas emtre la épcoa clásica y el Altomedievo, ed. Alberto León Muñoz, José A. Garriguet Mata, and Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil (Córdoba, 2014), 137–184. Cf. the map in Murillo Redondo, León Muñoz, Castro del Rio, et al., “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica,” 526; for these changes see ibid. 525– 527; León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba,” 7–8; Manuel D. Ruiz Bueno and Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil, “Las Murallas como paradigma urbano. Investigación y diacronía en Corduba (ss. ii–vii d.C.),” Cuadernos de Aarqueología de la Universidad de Navarra 24 (2016): n.p. In accordance with the recent work carried out on the intramural urban layout, it is possible to determine that, at some points, the first transformations already happened at the end of the 2nd century and early 3rd century a.d., cf. Manuel D. Ruiz Bueno, “El entorno del decumanus maximus de Colonia Patricia Corduba: ¿evidencias de una remodelación urbanística hacia época severiana?” in Ciudad y Territorio: transformaciones materiales e ideológicas entre la época clásica y el Altomedievo, ed. Alberto León Muñoz, José A. Garriguet Mata, and Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil (Córdoba, 2014), 41–54; Manuel D. Bueno, “El kardo maximus de Córdoba en la Antigüedad Tardía,” Anales de Arqueología Cordobesa 25–26 (2015): 83–113. For Córdoba see Acién Almansa and Vallejo Triano, “Urbanismo y Estado islámico,” 108, 109; Juan F. Murillo Redondo, María T. Casal García, and Elena Castro del Rio, “Madīnat Qurṭuba. Aproximación al proceso de formación de la ciudad emiral y califal a partir de la información arqueológica,” Cuadernos de Madīnat al-Zahrā’ 4 (2004): 257–281; Murillo

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gradually from the Northeast to the Southwest, along the cardo that led to the Roman bridge (now the calle Torrijos), an area where the religious, economic, and civil foci have been located in Islamic times. This hypothesis is not only based on the few brief written references in Muslim chronicles, but also on archaeological evidence resulting from excavations carried out in recent decades in this urban sector, particularly in the “Alcázar de los Reyes Cristianos,” and in some spaces of the current Episcopal palace, results that are still unpublished. The importance acquired by the southwest area in the last centuries of the Late Empire can be deduced from the repeated remodelling carried out on the southern face of the city walls during the 3th and 4th centuries.29 The shift of the centers of power towards the southwestern corner of the city was the most decisive change within the old walled enclosure during Late Antiquity. According to the hypothesis defended by Juan Murillo Redondo, Alberto León Muñoz, Pedro Marfil Ruiz, and others,30 this shift was concomitant with the emergence there of two great complexes of civil and religious power, both of which would determine the later location of the palace and the Great Mosque in Islamic times (fig. 3.1). The main archaeological advances are directly related to the enlargement of the space traditionally assigned to the Episcopal complex of “San Vicente,”31

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Redondo, León Muñoz, Castro del Rio, et al., “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica”; Ruiz Bueno, “El entorno del decumanus maximus de Colonia Patricia Corduba” and Ruiz Bueno, “El kardo maximus de Córdoba en la Antigüedad Tardía.” For the general trend in urbanism between Late Antiquity and Early Islam see the classical study by Hugh Kennedy, “From Polis to Medina: Urban Change in Late Antique and Early Islamic Syria,” Past and Present 106 (1985): 3–27, for the peninsula, in particular, cf. Hugh Kennedy, “From Antiquity to islam in the cities of al-Andalus and al-Mashriq,” in Genèse de la ville islamique en al-Andalus et au Maghreb occidental, ed. Patrice Cressier and Mercedes García-Arenal (Madrid, 1998), 53–64. Alberto León Muñoz, Enrique León Pastor, and Juan F. Murillo Redondo, “El Guadalquivir y las fortificaciones urbanas de Córdoba,” in Las Fortificaciones y el mar iv: Congreso Internacional de Fortificaciones (Alcalá de Guadaira, 2008), 267–276; Ruiz Bueno and Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil, “Las Murallas como paradigma urbano.” León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba,” 7, with further references; cf. Murillo Redondo, León Muñoz, Castro del Rio, et al., “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica,” 504–525; Alberto León Muñoz and Juan F. Murillo Redondo, “El complejo civil tardoantiguo de Córdoba y su continuidad en el Alcázar Omeya,” Madrider Mitteilungen 50 (2009): 399–433; cf. also the summary of the arguments in Arjona Castro, Córdoba en la historia de al-Andalus, 15–17. León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo assume that there was a huge “Episcopal Complex” on the site, whose extension spread over several insulae, cf. León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “El complejo civil tardoantiguo de Córdoba”; León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba,” 8; Murillo Redondo, León Muñoz, Castro del Rio, et al., “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica,” 521–525.

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Figure 3.1 Reconstruction of the road network of Islamic madīna of Córdoba from “Plano de los Franceses” (1811) and continuity of the occupation of power places in the southwest corner of the city between Late Antiquity and Umayyad Caliphate.

which, as has been proposed in recent studies,32 would have occupied a large urban area of the Late Antique city, particularly the “civil complex,” where 32

This view has been contested with important arguments that question the interpretation of the findings underneath the Mosque as “Episcopal Complex” and so deny that the Mosque was built upon a destroyed basilica, cf. Fernando Arce-Sainz, “La supuesta basílica de San Vicente en Córdoba: De mito histórico a obstinación historiográfica,” AlQanṭara 36 (2015): 11–44, here 11, who argues that “no evidence shows that there were previous Christian buildings under the Umayyad Mosque.” The call for caution, and for avoiding uncritical assumption of data, can be found in some recent works in the context of the current trend towards “deconstructive archaeology.” Rather than proposing new interpretive readings, this tendency denies the veracity of any evidence of the existence of a previous Christian building in the Friday mosque. Nevertheless, even though it is true that the available information is old, partial, and decontextualized, the number, variety, and strength of the arguments, both documentary and materials, suggesting the existence of a Christian worship building here before the construction of the Mosque, cannot be ignored. Reasons such as the absence of burials (28) as an argument against the identification of the remains with a building of Christian worship, are not convincing, since the function of an episcopal complex is to serve as a meeting place and seat of the bishops and, therefore, it is not intended as a burial space, at least until much later.

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most of the residences and palaces belonging to the urban aristocracy would have been installed. The traditional view that saw a palace as a single building (as in the case of the episcopal complex), should be modified and expanded to include a wide range of dependences, such as reception rooms for audiences, residential and domestic buildings, warehouses, etc. On the basis of the remains documented during the complex excavation of the eastern courtyard of the late medieval Christian Alcázar (known as “Patio de Mujeres”), we can hypothesize the existence of a rectangular enclosure, projecting over the southern face of the wall and closed by a powerful wall of ashlar. According to its topographical features and its analogies to other similar buildings, this complex has been designated as a “castellum.”33 Inside is a remarkable building with a columnar structure, perhaps a portico opening onto a courtyard, composed of at least two rows of reused column shafts, and oriented ne-sw (fig. 3.2).34 Alongside these rows of columns are documented several compartmentalized walls. These were also made of reused ashlar, and were provided with several doors to rooms that could not be excavated, as they remain below the levels of the Islamic structures that reused and reconstructed them. The quality of the remains (rows of columns and walls and the recovery of some pieces of architectural decoration),35 and their location at the city wall, gives this area an architectural monumentality that allows us to interpret it as a public building, probably with functional versatility: defensive, as it controlled the river and the bridge; economic, linked to the river port; and political, as it represented the power of civil authority that governed the city. Given the limitations of the material information collected, it is not yet possible to identify buildings mentioned in the Arabic sources (“the palace of Roderick or Balāṭ Ludrīk”). Despite this, it seems logical as a working hypothesis that a building so large with so many luxurious and monumental elements, whose construction involved the cancellation of a section of the southern city walls

33 34

35

However, Christian burials are linked with the martyrdom basilicas, usually located outside the walls. The cases of Hispanic episcopal groups in which burials are documented are very specific, and have been analysed well and explained in recent studies (cf. Alexandra Chavarría Arnau, “Tumbas e iglesiasen la Hispania Tardoantigua,” Agira 7 (2015): 13–45). León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “El complejo civil tardoantiguo de Córdoba.” Under the western wall of the Christian Alcázar was found a third row of five columns, also made of reused materials, and arranged transversally to the other rows but at the same level. A fluted shaft must be distinguished, conserved under a door that was opened on that same wall during restoration interventions of the 1950s. José M. Bermúdez Cano and Enrique León Pastor, “Piezas decorativas visigodas del alcázar cordobés,” Anejos de Anales de Arqueología Cordobesa 1 (2008): 85–106.

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Figure 3.2 Aerial view of the structures of the “castellum” excavated in the “Patio de Mujeres” of the Alcázar de los Reyes Cristianos, at the south-western corner of Córdoba. It is possible to distinguish the rows of columns, walls and doors blocked off by the Late Antique building.

and, therefore, the approval of the civil authorities, could not be anything but part of the palatine Late Antique complex. Equally, the continuity in the use of this civil public building’s dependences, whose structures would be reused (in particular the eastern closing wall that marked the layout of all subsequent buildings), and the maintenance of the location for the residence of the governors, Umayyad emirs and caliphs, the Almohad governor, and, finally, the Christian kings, are clear signs of the palatine function of this building. This signifies an important addition to the history of the origin and evolution of Islamic Alcázar, as it is now possible to locate in this extramural enclosure the germ of the later palatine architectural complex. It is likely that a large part of this urban sector, occupied by public facilities, then became part of the properties reserved for the state.

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The other major transformation that occurred during Late Antiquity regarding the classical city affected the suburban areas, which assumed a special role as a result of the proliferation of martiria, which would become new poles of ideological and social reference for urban Christian communities. In the case of Córdoba, and even though archaeological information suffers from shortcomings, the data recovered in recent years point to the existence of several of these centers of Christian worship around the city,36 which favored the concentration of Christian habitation around these places of martyrdom. Eventually they would constitute notable, dynamic urban areas that would become of great interest to the Muslim rulers, transformed and integrated into the urban landscape of al-Andalus. It is difficult to evaluate the immediate impact of the Islamic Conquest. Most probably, though, we have to suppose a rather smooth transition between Late Antique and Islamic Córdoba that went hand in hand with a pragmatic policy towards the overwhelming Christian majority. As also happened in the cities of the Near East,37 the Islamic conquest initially did not signify a radical change in the Cordovan topography, but rather the continuity of Late Antique trends. This circumstance in itself (perhaps) shows that the city was conquered by a contractual surrender.38 In order to understand this dynamic it is necessary to determine the specific circumstances of the Conquest, since these conditions determined the transformation of the urban space: the appropriation and occupation of the Visigoth population’s homes and possessions was legally justified by their resistance at the time of the conquest, although we have to suppose that some 36

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Isabel Sánchez Ramos, “Cristianización de las necrópolis de Corduba. Fuentes escritas y testimonios arqueológicos,” Archivo Español de Arqueología 80 (2007): 191–206; Murillo Redondo, León Muñoz, Castro del Rio, et al., “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica,” 510–518; Pedro Marfil Ruiz, “Córdoba de Teodosio a ʿAbd alRaḥmān iii,” in Visigodos y Omeyas. Un debate entre la Antigüedad Tardía y la Alta Edad Media, ed. Luis Caballero Zoreda and Pedro Mateos Cruz (Anejos de AEspA 23) (Madrid, 2000), 117–141; Alberto León Muñoz and Saray Jurado Pérez, “La cristianización de la topografía funeraria en el suburbium occidental,” in El anfiteatro romano de Córdoba y su entorno urbano. Análisis arqueológico (ss. i–xiii d.C.), ed. Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil and Juan F. Murillo Redondo, 2 vols. (Córdoba, 2010), 2:547–561. Kennedy, “From Polis to Medina.” We do not know for certain whether the appropriation of the buildings and estates by the new rulers (in their majority Berber troops) took place according to strict Islamic legality (which, by the way, was then still in statu nascendi); but anti-Berber statements like the one by Ibn Ḥazm, who emphasizes the anarchy of the first decades of governorate under the Berbers, are to be taken with caution, since his intention is to denigrate the Berbers of his own time. Cf. Arjona Castro, Córdoba en la historia de al-Andalus, 37–39.

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properties were simply vacant when the Muslims arrived. According to the Arabic Chronicles, the new rulers occupied some properties of the SpanishVisigoth aristocracy (palaces or balāṭ) who had abandoned the city,39 and the new governor al-Ḥurr occupied the qaṣr (the later Umayyad emiral palace, the alcázar). According to Islamic legal practices, a formal surrender by capitulation meant that the properties of the vanquished remained intact and their legal status secured. The owners achieved the ruler’s protection as “people of the book” in exchange for the payment of tribute (jizya). We have only one textual reference that says that Córdoba was taken by capitulation.40 In contrast, several chronicles tell us about the exceptional resistance of a small group of noble Visigoths in the city and in one of its suburbs, which had provoked a “second” conquest in August of 711.41 Because of this, many of the properties of the old local nobility who had remained in the city would have passed into the hands of the Muslim military elite and, perhaps, some of the properties of the church as well, as has been suggested for an intramural sector of the Episcopal complex.42 The fate of the lower class urban population is scarcely mentioned in the sources, although we have to suppose that the majority of the inhabitants probably did not notice great changes in the urban landscape. They had no 39

The Arabic traditions mention, among others, the Balāṭ Mughīth and the Balāṭ of Ludhriq (Roderick), the last most probably referring to the palace which later would become governor’s palace and the emiral palace (the qaṣr); in addition, the Muslim conquerors took over some rural estates (Arjona Castro, Córdoba en la historia de al-Andalus, 17). According to Arabic sources, the conqueror Mughīth took first residence in the qaṣr; with the arrival of governor al-Ḥurr he had to move to the building which would be known as the Balāṭ Mughīth, which probably lay outside to the West of the city (Arjona Castro, Córdoba en la historia de al-Andalus, 30–31); identified with the remains documented by several archaeological interventions in the current zoo (M. Dolores Ruiz Lara, Sebastián Sánchez Madrid, and Elena Castro del Rio, et al., “La ocupación diacrónica del sector meridional del Ŷānib al-Garbī de Qurṭuba (ss. viii–xiii). Intervenciones arqueológicas realizadas en el Zoológico Municipal de Córdoba. Análisis de conjunto,” Anejos de Anales de Arqueología Cordobesa 1 (2008): 163–200). Later, this area would form the focus of a new suburban area and the place of the family residence of the famous scholar Ibn Ḥazm, who perpetuated its memory in a famous elegy (Scales, The fall of the Caliphate of Córdoba, 28). 40 Anonymous, Fatḥ al-Andalus, ed. Luis Molina Martínez (Fuentes arábico-hispanas 18) (Madrid, 1994), 21; see Arjona Castro, Córdoba en la historia de al-Andalus, 29. However, this source is quite late. 41 Cf. Arjona Castro, Córdoba en la historia de al-Andalus, 19–29; Chalmeta Gendrón, Invasión e islamización, 149–151. Cf. also Clarke, “Medieval Arabic accounts,” passim for the problems in reconstructing these events. 42 León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “El complejo civil tardoantiguo de Córdoba”; León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba.”

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prominence in the process, so it is likely that some sort of pact allowed them to maintain, at least at first, a situation similar to the previous one, only paying the obligatory jizya. Both communities living together in the same spaces must have been a common practice, as evidenced by the collection of legal documents from the mid-9th century studied by Ana Fernández Félix and María Isabel Fierro Bello,43 which reflect the many questions raised by the close relations between Christians and Muslims, who sometimes even lived in mixed households. Another factor that probably contributed to this closeness was that the Christian population was far more numerous than the new converts to Islam, at least until the second half of the 9th century. No mosques were built; the few first Muslims seem to have prayed since the middle of the 7th century in a small church converted into a mosque.44 The majority of the churches would have been still in use—we have evidence that the Christians could keep churches intra-muros at least until caliphal times.45 The first building measures 43

44

45

Ana Fernández Félix and María I. Fierro Bello, “Cristianos y conversos al islam en al-Andalus bajo los Omeyas. Una aproximación al proceso de islamización a través de una fuente legal andalusí del s. iii/ix,” in Visigodos y Omeyas. Un debate entre la Antigüedad Tardía y la Alta Edad Media, ed. Luis Caballero Zoreda and Pedro Mateos Cruz (Anejos de AEspA 23) (Madrid, 2000), 415–427. According to Manuel Ocaña Jiménez, “La basílica de San Vicente y la gran mezquita de Córdoba,” al-Andalus 7 (1942): 347–366 and idem, “Precisiones sobre la historia de la mezquita de Córdoba,” Cuadernos de Estudios Medievales 4–5 (1979): 275–282, who based his assumptions on the excavations of the thirties by Félix Hernández (never published), the governor Yūsuf al-Fihrī expropriated between 748 and 756 the (small) church of San Vicente and converted it into a mosque. Cf. also Acién Almansa and Vallejo Triano, “Urbanismo y Estado islámico,” 113 and Arce-Sainz, “La supuesta basílica de San Vicente en Córdoba,” 13–14. As Calvo Capilla, “Los símbolos de autoridad emiral,” 87, emphasizes, we cannot attest the systematic construction of early mosques. The first mosque to be built for certain in Córdoba was the Great Umayyad mosque in 786. The usual pacts of surrender between Muslim troops and cities conceded the maintenance of functioning churches, also intra muros (so the so-called ʿUmar Convenant), as was the case in Damascus (until nowadays, cf. The Christian district of Bāb Tūma). There is even evidence for the construction of new churches in Islamic times in al-Andalus (breaking Islamic law), cf. Calvo Capilla, “Les premières mosquées et la transformation des sanctuaires wisigothiques,” 143–145. The mosque built upon the Byzantine basilica St. Catalina (now the Convento St. Clara) dates from 976, which suggests that it might have served as church until then, cf. Pedro Marfil Ruiz, “La iglesia paleocristiana de Santa Catalina en el Convento de Santa Clara,” Caetaria 1 (1996): 33–45. However, its interpretation as a basilica has been questioned by María de los Ángeles Utrero Agudo, “Las iglesias cruciformes del siglo vii en la Península Ibérica. Novedades y problemas cronológicos y morfológicos de un tipo arquitectónico,” in El siglo vii frente al Siglo vii, ed. Luis Caballero Zoreda, Pedro Mateos Cruz, and María de los Ángeles Utrero Agudo (Anejos de AEspA 51) (Madrid, 2009), 133–154; the same applies to the identification as a Byzantine building.

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of the Muslim authorities actually affected the damaged infrastructure, when the governor al-Ṣamḥ repaired the bridge and the wall between 719–721.46 At the same time, he dedicated space on the southern bank of the Guadalquivir for installing the first Muslim cemetery (maqbarat al-rabaḍ) and the muṣallā or oratory outdoors.47 Despite a probable continuity, part of the Visigoth population were likely displaced from their intramural properties to residences situated in neighbourhoods that had emerged scattered around centers of Christian worship in suburban areas, where they could live dependent on agriculture. Therefore, some of the residential areas (vici) existing before the Islamic conquest were revitalized, and new living spaces appeared close to the madīna environment. This would have been the case for rabaḍ al-Burj (or vicus Turris), rabaḍ Furn Burrill, and Qūt Rāshah, whose place names refer to a pre-Islamic origin: the suburb with Mozarab population next to the church of San Acisclo and, a little farther from the city, the settlement of Tercios. Material elements that allow us to assign domestic structures to the Christian community, so far, have not been identified. The new Islamic suburbs would spread across some of these areas, especially from the early 9th century on. In the process of Islamization of the Cordovan population, largely stimulated by the Umayyad state since the times of ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. Muʿāwiya (r.756–788), one of the most important measures was the transformation of the city’s image by establishing the road infrastructure and erecting mosques and cemeteries.48 All this would be reflected in the growth of suburban areas, especially from the reign of ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ii (r. 822–852) on, until the emergence of a great Cordovan conurbation in the transition from the 10th to the 11th century. After the period of the governors, the first radical change is to be dated to the takeover by the young Umayyad prince ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. Muʿāwiya (r. 756–788), who conquered the province of al-Andalus in 756–757 and established the Umayyad Emirate with the firm support of Umayyad clients already present in the peninsula.49 The Eastern Umayyad dynasty, which had been ruling since 656 in Damascus, had been deposed in 750 by the ʿAbbasids, and the young prince had managed to escape the enemy forces that sought his life. The arrival of this prestigious personality and the establishment of Umayyad rule signified a central turning point in Córdoba’s urban history. It elevated the status of the governorate to the level of a semi-independent emirate and transformed 46 47 48 49

Acién Almansa and Vallejo Triano, “Urbanismo y Estado islámico,” 111. Chalmeta Gendrón, Invasión e islamización, 263/n. 39. León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba.” For the Umayyad clients, cf. note 3.

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its capital Córdoba into a flourishing residencial city and a ­privileged space for Umayyad political representation, power display, and b­ uilding ­activities (“Symbolic Articulation of Legitimacy”).50 A main element of the visual idiom of the Umayyads in Spain would be the reference to the Eastern Umayyad legacy, since the claim to represent (global) Islamic and caliphal legitimacy51 in continuation of their ancestors in Syria would be at the core of the Umayyad ideology in al-Andalus.52 From the mid-9th century on, the Umayyad reference became enriched by the emulation of Baghdadī cultural models, which represented the epitome of caliphal court culture.53 The reference to the Eastern part of the Islamic world would determine the Andalusī Umayyad visual idiom, which intended either to imitate Syrian models (especially in their dynastic building, the Great Mosque) or to emulate the s­ plendorous caliphal court of Baghdad (with regard to their palatial architecture).54 Probably inspired by the model of the Great Mosque in Damascus55 and by other emblematic Umayyad buildings like the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān proceeded to construct the first Great Friday Mosque of 50

Janina M. Safran, The second Umayyad Caliphate: The articulation of caliphal legitimacy in al-Andalus (Harvard Middle Eastern monographs 33) (Cambridge, Mass., 2000), 51–97. The importance of monumental architecture for the effective representation of power was already well known to the Eastern Umayyads, cf. the study by Flood, The great mosque of Damascus, with further references. 51 The Umayyads in al-Andalus never abandoned completely the idea that they were the legitimate representatives of (universal) caliphal rule, and the proclamation of the Caliphate in 929 would give a final expression to this claim. Cf. Safran, The second Umayyad Caliphate, 1–19 and passim; María I. Fierro Bello, “Sobre la adopción del título califal por ʿAbd al-Rahman iii,” Sharq al-Andalus 6 (1989): 33–42. 52 Safran, The second Umayyad Caliphate, 141–184 and passim; Gabriel Martínez Gros, L’idéologie omeyyade: La construction de la légitimité du Califat de Cordoue (xe–xie siècles) (Bibliothèque de la Casa de Velázquez 8) (Madrid, 1992); Calvo Capilla, “Analogies entre les Grandes Mosquées de Damas et Cordoue”; Safran, The second Umayyad Caliphate, 111–140 and passim. 53 For this process cf. José Ramírez del Río, La orientalización de al-Andalus: Los días de los árabes en la Península Ibérica (Serie Historia y geografía 83) (Seville, 2002). 54 Although there are occasional references to the local Pre-Islamic past through the use of spolia and other local elements, as the Visigoth horseshoe arch, cf. Calvo Capilla, “Analogies entre les Grandes Mosquées de Damas et Cordoue”; Jerrilynn D. Dodds, “The Great Mosque of Córdoba,” in al-Andalus: The art of Islamic Spain, ed. Susana Calvo Capilla (New York, 1992), 12–15; Susana Calvo Capilla, “The Reuse of Classical Antiquity in the Palace of Madina al-Zahra and its Role in the Construction of Caliphal legitimacy,” Muqarnas 31 (2014): 1–34, who argues that the use of antique spolia in Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ point to a “revival of Classical Antiquity.” 55 For the construction of the mosque in Damascus (around 715) cf. the brilliant interpretation of the whole building in Flood, The great mosque of Damascus, passim.

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Figure 3.3 Aerial view of the historic complex of Córdoba with Guadalquivir, Roman bridge, Great mosque and the “alcázar” (Christian castle). Detail of the facade and architectural decoration of the “Puerta de los Visires” of the Great Mosque, built by ʿAbd al-Raḥmān i.

­ órdoba in 785/786 (fig. 3.3), when he had consolidated his position as new C ruler of al-Andalus.56 According to a story inspired by earlier accounts about Damascus, Christians and Muslims had until then shared the Church of San Vicente on the site of the present mosque; later on, the emir would have this building demolished for the new mosque.57 However, it is more plausible that both communities 56 57

This first building was concluded after his death, under the emir Hishām i (788–796). Cf. Dodds, “The Great Mosque of Córdoba,” 12–15; see map 2. Calvo Capilla, “Analogies entre les Grandes Mosquées de Damas et Cordoue,” 283–292, translated ibid. 289; eadem, “Les premières mosquées et la transformation des sanctuaires

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had been using different smaller buildings in the same area.58 We also have evidence that the first mosques were rather constructed in unedified spaces in the center of the cities as symbols of power display, as in in Zaragoza, where the Friday Mosque was constructed in the forum, reusing building material that lay around.59 The new mosque was a nearly quadratic walled courtyard that opened onto a wide hypostyle hall and followed an early typology of mosques that we find in Qayrawān and Damascus. The southern or qibla wall indicated to the worshippers what was then thought to be the direction of Mecca, which would be maintained.60 Later, this incorrect orientation of the qibla became a problem and was legitimized by declaring this direction as the “qibla of the tābiʿūn,” here also following a strategy well known from other contexts.61 West of the Mosque and on the other side of the street (the former cardo that led to the bridge), ʿAbd al-Raḥmān established the civil administration and the emiral residence by occupying and refurbishing the existing civil complex from Pre-Islamic times, which had then become the Muslim governor’s palace.62 From this moment on, the Alcázar and the Great Mosque, located in the southwestern sector of the medina, would become, under the figure of the new al-Andalus independent emir, the great symbols for recovering the

58

59

60 61

62

wisigothiques.” 150–152. The parallel with the partition story of Damascus is obvious and even made explicit in the source. For the parallel episode in Damascus cf. eadem, “Analogies entre les Grandes Mosquées de Damas et Cordoue,” 292; Flood, The great mosque of Damascus, 1–14; Ross Burns, Damascus: A history (London, 2005), 111–120. Cf. also note 44 and the references above to the debate about the “Complejo episcopal de San Vicente.” Cf. note 57. Ocaña Jiménez, “La basílica de San Vicente y la gran mezquita de Córdoba”; Ocaña Jiménez, “Precisiones sobre la historia de la mezquita de Córdoba.” The same was the case in Damascus, where Muslims had been sharing the temenos (i.e., the sacred area) with the Christians, but not the church itself. For Zaragoza, see Calvo Capilla, “Los símbolos de autoridad emiral,” 97–98 and eadem, “Les premières mosquées et la transformation des sanctuaires wisigothiques,” 135–136, similarly in Tolmo de Minateda, see eadem, “Los símbolos de autoridad emiral,” 88/n. 5; for Seville cf. eadem, “Les premières mosquées et la transformation des sanctuaires wisigothiques,” 136–140. Cf. map 2. Calvo Capilla, “Analogies entre les Grandes Mosquées de Damas et Cordoue,” 286; eadem, “Los símbolos de autoridad emiral,” 87; for other “tābiʿūn” qiblas in the East, cf. Suliman Bashear, “Qibla musharriqa and Early Muslim Prayer in Churches,” The Muslim World 81 (1991): 267–282. The Mosque of Damascus does also have a prayer niche of the tābiʿūn that served later to justify the wrong orientation of the qibla, which in fact followed the previous arrangement of the former temenos. Apparently, the first mosques just followed roughly the orientation vs. Mecca, later on, parameters and techniques changed. For the history of the qaṣr before ʿAbd al-Raḥmān, see notes 33–35 and 39.

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lost legitimacy of the Umayyad dynasty. Additionally, he meliorated the urban infrastructure by refurbishing the fortification and constructing the first urban water supply system.63 The placement of the seat of government (dār al-imāra) near to the Great Mosque basically followed the model of the “mosque—dār al-imāra” complex as we find it in other early Islamic cities such as Kufa, Damascus, and Basra, but adapting it here to a previous Visigoth arrangement.64 As in the East, this concentration of political and religious power in the surroundings of the Friday Mosque would increasingly attract commercial and economic activities and condition the site of the main market. The structure would further serve as a model for other Islamic cities in al-Andalus and function as a main focus of Islamization.65 The mosque-market combination would also be repeated on a smaller level in the peripheral districts in and outside the walls and would form the focus of the suburbs (rabaḍ = Spanish arrabal). In the long term, this process would contribute to a concentration of the Muslim population in a densely populated area inside the city walls or madīna, whereas the Christians lived in the suburbs and rural areas; this explains the distribution in areas along confessional boundaries without the need to suppose a policy of forced resettlement.66 In general, the relative proportion of 63

64

65 66

This hydraulic system that brought water from the sierra to the city has been attested by archaeology and dated to 772 by a dirham (Acién Almansa and Vallejo Triano, “Urbanismo y Estado islámico,” 113–114). Water supply was seen as a main symbol of power, cf. Amira K. Bennison, “Power and the City in the Islamic West from the Umayyads to the Almohads,” in Revisiting Al-Andalus: Perspectives on the material culture of Islamic Iberia and beyond, ed. Glaire D. Anderson (The medieval and early modern Iberian world 34) (Leiden, 2007), n. 15. The usual arrangement of this complex put the seat of the government directly attached to the south of the qibla side of the central mosque, as for example in Damascus. See Jere Bacharach, “Administrative complexes, palaces and citadels: changes in the loci of medieval Muslim rule,” in The Ottoman city and its parts: Urban structure and social order: Conference entitled “Power and structure in the Islamic urban arts.” Papers, ed. Irene A. Bierman, Rifaat A. Abou-el-Haj, and Donald Preziosi (Subsidia Balcanica, Islamica et Turcica 3) (New Rochelle, N.Y., 1991), 113, and passim, who coined the term of “Mosque-Dār al-Imāra complex.” The slightly different arrangement in Córdoba suggests an accommodation to the previous order. Cf. also Bennison, “Power and the City in the Islamic West,” 65. See map 1. Calvo Capilla, “Los símbolos de autoridad emiral”; the same would be the case in the East, e.g., in Palmyra, Ruṣāfa, Amman, and Ayla, cf. eadem, “Les premières mosquées et la transformation des sanctuaires wisigothiques,” 138. There was no forcible displacement of Christians (Christys, “The Meaning of the Topography of Córdoba,” 104), and it would have contradicted the usual terms of surrender. The

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Christian population in al-Andalus decreased over the course of time due to the dynamics of conversion and migration, in particular of monks and priests; this progressive diminution led to an abandonment of churches and Episcopal dependencies.67 Munya-s would become a determinant factor for the origin and configuration of the peri-urban landscape, and would act as the backbone in the process of recruitment and Islamization of the urban population and the immediate environment, who settled there attracted by the dynamism of the emerging city. They functioned as key factors for the integration between the madīna and her territory, which explains why many of them were built by the emirs, their wives, and other prominent figures closely linked with the Umayyad family. The written sources mention several cases in which these facilities (like some mosques and cemeteries) were built as waqf or ḥubus, (pious foundations),68 around which new suburbs eventually emerged (fig. 3.4). These large rural estates, the munya-s, combined an official character, similar to some palatine buildings erected inside the madīna built in the Umayyad oriental architectural tradition, with a strict agricultural and economic role, since they were surrounded by extensive orchards and gardens irrigated by a varied cast of reused hydraulic infrastructures from Roman times,69 an aspect that so far has largely been overlooked. In the northwest of the city, outside the walls, at the site of the monastery of San Francisco de la Arruzafa, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān established one of these country estates or munya-s. It was constructed above the ruins of a former

67

68

69

concentration of Christians in the suburban areas was rather a process that had probably started in the Pre-Islamic period, but was accelerated in Islamic times. Textual and archaeological evidence at least shows that the churches extra muros were functioning in Islamic times, whereas we do not have clear evidence for those intra muros, but we may assume they were, since this also happened in cities like Damascus (cf. note 45). Cf. Acién Almansa and Vallejo Triano, “Urbanismo y Estado islámico,” 113, with reference to Ocaña Jiménez, “La basílica de San Vicente y la gran mezquita de Córdoba”; idem, “Precisiones sobre la historia de la mezquita de Córdoba.” Mikel de Epalza, “Mozarabs: An emblematic Christian minority,” in The Legacy of Muslim Spain, ed. Salma K. al-Ǧaiyūsī and Manuela Marín, 2 vols., reprt. (Leiden, 1994), 1:147–175; Murillo Redondo, Alberto León Muñoz, Elena Castro del Rio, et al., “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica.” Ibn Ḥayyān, Crónica de los emires Alhakam Iy Abdarrahmàn ii entre los años 796 y 847 (Al-muqtabis ii–1), translation by Maḥmūd ʿAlī Makkī and Federico Corriente (Saragossa, 2001), 93; cf. Alejandro García Sanjuán, Hasta que Dios herede la Tierra. Los bienes habices en al-Andalus. Siglos x al xv (Huelva, 2002). Cf. León Muñoz, Murillo Redondo, and Vargas Cantos, “Patrones de continuidad en la ocupación periourbana de Córdoba.”

Figure 3.4 Reconstruction of Córdoba’s urban topography in the mid-ninth century.

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Figure 3.5 1. Location of remains of the almunia al-Ruṣāfa regarding the Islamic madīna of Córdoba. 2. Results of geomagnetic archaeological survey which has identified the remains of palatial al-Ruṣāfa sector. 3. Comparison between plans of palaces al-Ruṣāfa and al-Zaytūna.

­Roman-Visigothic residence70 and took over its fine hydraulic infrastructure.71 The name al-Ruṣāfa (= Spanish Arruzafa) was clearly intended as reference to its namesake in Syria close to the Euphrates,72 Ruṣāfat al-Hishām, which was an area marked by intense Umayyad building activity and which had been the regular residence of Umayyad caliphs (fig. 3.5). 70

71

72

Al-Rāzī indicates that “el solar de la almunia de al-Rusafa (Ruṣāfa) perteneció a Razīn alBurnusī, uno de los notables beréberes que entraron en al-Andalus con las tropas de Ṭāriq” (Chalmeta Gendrón, Invasión e islamización, 164). It would be, therefore, one of those large properties of the Cordovan aristocracy seized by the Muslim troops at the time of the Conquest (see note 23). Arjona Castro, “La almunia ‘Al-Rusafa’ en el yacimiento arqueológico de Turruñuelos”; Murillo Redondo, “La almunia de al-Rusafa en Córdoba”; Clifford E. Bosworth, Claus P. Haase, and Manuela Marín, “al-Ruṣāfa,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam. Second Edition, edited by Peri J. Bearman, Thierry Bianquis, Clifford E. Bosworth, et al. http://dx.doi. org/10.1163/1573-3912_islam_COM_0943. Consulted 24th April 2019; Bennison, “Power and the City in the Islamic West,” 67. Cf. Bosworth, Haase, and Marín, “al-Ruṣāfa,” in the EI2 about the different places with this name in Iraq, Syria, and al-Andalus.

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Figure 3.5.2 (cont.)

There were, apparently, even more connections to Umayyad precursors, as geophysical surveys discovered in 2005 which revealed a building that resembles Umayyad desert castles. If confirmed by excavations, this would yield an exciting perspective on the interconnectedness between Western and Eastern Umayyad traditions.73 Al-Ruṣāfa served as a prototype for many munya-s that were sponsored by members and clients of the Umayyad dynasty and which 73

León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba,” 15.

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Figure 3.5.3 (cont.)

would become an essential element in the landscape around Córdoba. These were country residential estates that were distributed near ancient routes and made use of the Roman hydraulic infrastructure. These munya-s established a poly-nuclear model of settlement that integrated town and hinterland and that became foci of Islamization in the countryside.74 In contrast with the caliphal chronology of many of these facilities, the analysis of some sites has led scholars to hypothesize an Emiral origin; these were initially distributed alongside historic roads and among scattered p ­ roperties provided with areas of agricultural exploitation. The subsequent evolution of these properties, due to the rapid growth of the caliphal conurbation, caused their farmland to become absorbed by new constructions, and reduced ­exclusively to residential space. This seems to be the case, among others, of the monumental munya documented in the Fontanar area, which has Emiral origins. It was organized into three large patios, equipped with a ḥammām

74

León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba,” 13–17. There are 30 munya-s attested in the textual sources, and archaeology has found the evidence for ca. 50; however, identification is still a problem. For a thorough evaluation of the munya phenomenon, cf. Anderson, “Villa (munya) architecture in Umayyad Córdoba”; Glaire D. Anderson, The Islamic villa in early medieval Iberia: Architecture and court culture in Umayyad Córdoba (Farnham, 2013). See López Cuevas, “La Almunia Cordobesa, entre las fuentes historiográficas y arqueológicas.” See map 3.

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(­public bath) and possibly with a mosque; to the north, there was a cemetery, and in the southern sector, suburbs would spread. (fig. 3.10.1) Several decades later, the Umayyad emirs Hishām i (r. 788–796), al-Ḥakam i (796–822), and especially ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ii (822–852), and their followers, Muḥammad i (852–886), al-Mundhir, and ʿAbd Allāh (886–912), would further push the configuration of an Andalusī Umayyad political and cultural identity. They fostered the incorporation and adaption of Eastern cultural and political models of Baghdad in the pursuit of consolidating their position, while increasing the cohesion and centralization of the emirate, thus favoring an acculturation process in the 9th century that has been called the “orientalización” of ­al-Andalus,75 which preconditioned the cultural primacy of caliphal Córdoba in the 10th century. This process also had a strong impact on building activity in Córdoba. In particular, the emiral residence was transformed into a v­ eritable palace, accommodating Abbasid State ideas: the main Gate, the Bāb al-Sudda, was greatly enlarged, the palace was enriched with a viewing platform (saṭḥ), and the Treasury and the Mint were relocated to a associated building.76 This integral transformation of the palatial complex was primarily carried out during the reign of ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ii, when the outer perimeter of the site was finally defined, with slight reforms during the caliphate. The eastern face of the wall, still conserved, and the northern one, preserved in the courtyard of the Provincial Library, belong to this period. Inside the enclosure, intensive reforms were carried out, similar to the ones documented in the “Patio de Mujeres” of the Alcázar. Spaces between columns of the Late Antique building were closed, and the building was divided into minor rooms.77 The urban reform project also affected the whole southeastern part of the city, on the shores of the Guadalquivir. Furthermore, the emirs ameliorated the urban infrastructure significantly, e.g., by the construction of the raṣīf (827–828), a quay that protected the Southern part of the city from inundations.78 The most emblematic Umayyad building, the Great Mosque, was further extended with eight bays to the south and a large, rectangular outline;79 ­however, 75 76 77

78 79

Ramírez del Río, La orientalización de al-Andalus. Bennison, “Power and the City in the Islamic West,” 69–70. León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba,” 11. According to Bennison, “Power and the City in the Islamic West,” 68–69, following Arabic sources, the palace had five gates, a fine water supply, and a place where the Umayyad emir received the bayʿa or oath of alliance. León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba,” 12. Cf. Manuel Nieto Cumplido, La Catedral de Córdoba (Córdoba, 1998); Pedro Marfil Ruiz, Las puertas de la Mezquita de Córdoba durante el Emirato Omeya (Córdoba, 2010).

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the architectural language and the orientation of ʿAbd al-Rahmān’s first mosque was maintained to symbolize continuity with Umayyad traditions.80 Under the rule of the following emirs, the Great Mosque underwent a gradual monumentalization through several important additions, such as the covered passage (sābāṭ) leading from the palace to a door of the Mosque.81 In short, the urban duo formed by the Great Mosque and the palatine underwent a process of monumentalization following the model initiated by ʿAbd al-Raḥmān i, and was designed to legitimize the Umayyad dynasty in al-Andalus. In fact, despite tackling the construction of the palatine city of Madīnat ­al-Zahrāʾ, the courtly and dynastic character of this architectural complex would be maintained during the caliphate. Synchronous to this power-driven program of monumental Islamization of central buildings and structural improvements, Córdoba’s urban landscape also became increasingly Islamiziced as the proportion of the Muslim ­population grew significantly. In addition to a densification of the ­Muslim population in the central districts, Muslims inhabited more and more the surroundings of munya-s, small mosques, public baths, and cemeteries extra muros sponsored by members of the ruling elite. The more or less planned suburbs or arrabales82 (= Arabic rabaḍ) which grew around these epicenters became important vehicles of Islamization. The most important early suburb was Shaqunda/­Secunda on the southern shore of the river, in front of the bridge (fig. 3.6). It had been established before 756, and grew notably after its restoration in the late 8th century, and the building of a munya in the area.83 In 818, Shaqunda was 80

81 82

83

Cf. note 61 about the maintenance of the “wrong” orientation of the qibla. This first extension of the Mosque took place under ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ii and was completed under Muḥammad, who also built the first maqṣūra (Dodds, “The Great Mosque of Córdoba,” 15–16). The great maqṣūra above of the precious miḥrāb of caliphal times was built under al-Ḥakam in the tenth century. Dodds, “The Great Mosque of Córdoba,” 16; Guadalupe Pizarro Berengena, El abastecimiento de agua a Córdoba. Arqueología e historia (Córdoba, 2014). For all these measures cf. Bennison, “Power and the City in the Islamic West,” 71. See map 2. The written sources attest the existence of 21 arrabales, and archaeology has identified 6: Murillo Redondo, León Muñoz, Castro del Rio et al., “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica.” They were located along the old Roman highways, sometimes at a very large distance from the city (up to 1000m, although these seem to date from caliphal times). Cf. León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba” (see above, n. 15), 20. The cemetery and the prayer place (muṣallā) had already been conditioned in 720, and the suburb was established before 756. It reached its heyday after the restoration of the bridge in 788–796: León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba” (see above, n. 15), 18; Murillo Redondo, León Muñoz, Castro del Rio, et al., “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica” (see above, n. 18), 504

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Figure 3.6 General plan of excavated areas belonging to the suburb of Shaqunda, detailing the structures of sector A.

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Figure 3.6 (cont.)

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Figure 3.6 (cont.)

destroyed after a revolt of its mostly newly converted Muslim population,84 which provides us with a unique opportunity to study early Islamic urbanism, since the area was thereafter abandoned. Recent excavations have shown that the arrabal of Shaqunda followed an orthogonal grid with regular streets with

84

and 530, fig. 250; cf. in particular Casal García, “Características generales del urbanismo cordobés de la primera etapa emiral” (see above, n. 17) and Casal García, Martínez Rodríguez and Araque, “Estudio de los vertederos domésticos del arrabal de Šaqunda” (see above, n. 17). The analysis of food garbage in Shaqunda does not contain any pork remains, which indicates a homogeneous Muslim population, cf. Casal García, Martínez Rodríguez and Araque, “Estudio de los vertederos domésticos del arrabal de Šaqunda” (see above, n. 17). The revolt of the arrabal of Shaqunda in 805 and 818 and the cruel repression by emir al-Ḥakam (796–822) was a very important event in the early Umayyad story. Cf. Francisco Girela, “El acontecimiento que desencadenó la revuelta del arrabal, según el Muqtabis de Ibn Ḥayyan,” Anaquel de estudios árabes 16 (2005): 219–225; Maḥmūd A. Makkī, “The political history of al-Andalus,” in The Legacy of Muslim Spain, ed. Salma K. al-Ǧaiyūsī, 2nd ed. (Leiden; New York; Köln, 1994), 3–87.

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Figure 3.7 General plan of Qurṭuba and Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ in the mid-tenth century.

a width of six meters and small piazzas, which indicates a certain amount of planning.85 Córdoba would reach its greatest extension in the 10th century as the capital of the Umayyad Caliphate, when it became one of the most important and celebrated Islamic cities of its time (fig. 3.7).86 At the end of the century, the city of Córdoba had finally evolved into a large Islamic metropolitan area, whose extension spread over more than ten kilometers from east to west along the

85 86

Casal García, “Características generales del urbanismo cordobés de la primera etapa emiral,” 17; cf. also note 90. It is complicated to calculate its real size; the calculation of the number of inhabitants varies from 100.000 to 1.000 000. Cf. The discussion in Acién Almansa and Vallejo Triano, “Urbanismo y Estado islámico,” 107/n. 2. Cf. also the comparison with other Islamic cities in terms of extension in Pierre Guichard, “Les villes d’Al-Andalus et de Occident musulman aux premiers siecles de leur histoire. Une hypothese recente,” in Genèse de la ville islamique en al-Andalus et au Maghreb occidental, ed. Patrice Cressier and Mercedes García-Arenal (Madrid 1998), 44.

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river Guadalquivir, if we include the walled city, the more or less densely inhabited suburban areas, and the immediate hinterland. Juan Murillo Redondo even speaks about the “conurbation” of three cities, namely of the Madīna of ­Córdoba and of the palatial cities of Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ in the West and of Madīnat al-Zahīra in the East.87 As in earlier periods, the architectural planning by the Umayyad rulers played a major role in this process. The most important measure was without doubt the construction of the palatial city of al-Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ (936–960), since it gave an enormous impulse for the development of the western suburban area of Córdoba. The foundation of this enormous conglomeration sponsored by the caliph attracted artisans, merchants, and intellectuals, and fostered new settlements in the west of the city along the streets and highways that connected the two cities, and which ran along the earlier Roman network.88 The foundation of Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ was part of a systematic imperial building policy that went along with the claim of universal rule inherent to the establishment of the Umayyad Caliphate in 929. The second pillar of this program was the modification and extension of the Mosque, first as an echo of the Umayyad Mosque of Damascus,89 and second as a mirror of Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ, so that both—Mosque and palatial city—ended up forming a complex web of cross-references which ultimately alluded to Damascus.90 Both cities were further interconnected with new streets that also served in the context of caliphal ceremonies and processions.91 One important measure ­under 87

Murillo Redondo, León Muñoz, Castro del Rio, et al., “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica,” 540–547. Cf. map in Bennison, “Power and the City in the Islamic West,” fig. 5.2, and Acién Almansa and Vallejo Triano, “Urbanismo y Estado islámico,” 125, plate 1. 88 Murillo Redondo, León Muñoz, Castro del Rio, et al., “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica,” 544; León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba,” 20. 89 It echoes various motifs we find in the Mosque of Damascus: the qibla, the miḥrāb with Byzantine mosaics, and the maqṣūra; cf. Calvo Capilla, “Analogies entre les Grandes Mosquées de Damas et Cordoue,” 282. 90 For Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ and its connections to Córdoba cf. Vallejo Triano, “Madīnat alZahrāʾ: Transformation of a Caliphal City”; Vallejo Triano, La ciudad califal de Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ; Mazzoli-Guintard, “Remarques sur le fonctionnement d’une capitale a double polarité”; Calvo Capilla, “The Reuse of Classical Antiquity in the Palace of Madina al-Zahra”; Antonio Vallejo Triano, “Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ: the triumph of the Islamic State,” in al-Andalus: The art of Islamic Spain, ed. Jerrilynn D. Dodds (New York, 1992), 27–39. 91 Safran, The second Umayyad Caliphate, 51–98, and the references to ceremonies in Christys, “The Meaning of the Topography of Córdoba.”

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ʿAbd al-Raḥmān iii in the Mosque was the refurbishment of the courtyard in a sequence of columns that recalled the Mosque of Damascus, another the ­construction of the first true minaret.92 His son al-Ḥakam ii monumentalized the Mosque even more, further adding twelve bays and constructing an elaborate maqṣūra or enclosure for the ruler.93 The enlargement of the prayer room towards the south involved the replacement of the old sābāṭ of ʿAbd Allāh with a new flyover, supported by three main pillars of ashlar, recently documented in Torrijos street, which connected the Alcázar with the double qibla wall of the extension of al-Ḥakam ii.94 An important element was the decoration of the new miḥrāb of the Mosque with Byzantine mosaics that had been requested directly from the Byzantine Emperor (in imitation of the Byzantine mosaics in Damascus) and displaying a sophisticated program of Quranic inscriptions which document the first use of Quranic writing to embellish a qibla.95 On the other hand, Paradise motifs in Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ echoed similar decorations in Damascus and alluded to Quranic notions of the afterworld.96 Finally, the eastern enlargement of the prayer room under the rule of the chamberlain Ibn Abī ʿĀmir al-Manṣūr determined the cancellation of the structures attached to the original facade and required the erection, between 999 and 1000, of three new buildings for hygiene and the purification ritual of the faithful (mīḍa`a). The eastern one has been partially documented, and is now integrated into one of the rooms of Hotel Conquistador.97 Since the self-proclamation of the Umayyad Caliphate of ­ al-Andalus (929), the city experienced an extraordinary urban development, documented through numerous archaeological excavations in contemporary urban 92 93 94 95

96 97

Dodds, “The Great Mosque of Córdoba,” 17–18; Nuha N. Khoury, “The Meaning of the Great Mosque of Córdoba in the Tenth Century,” Muqarnas 13 (1996): 80–98, esp. 84–86. See map 2. Dodds, “The Great Mosque of Córdoba,” 18–22. See map 2. Guadalupe Pizarro Berengena, “Los Pasadizos Elevados entre la Mezquita y el Alcázar Omeya de Córdoba. Estudio arqueológico de los sābāṭāt,” Archivo Español de Arqueología 86 (2013): 233–249, esp. 239–245. Calvo Capilla, “Analogies entre les Grandes Mosquées de Damas et Cordoue”; Susana Calvo Capilla, “Justicia, Misericordia y Cristianismo: Una relectura de las inscripciones coránicas de la Mezquita de Córdoba en el siglo x,” al-Qanṭara 31 (2010): 149–187; and the study about the Quranic allusions in the inscriptions, cf. Khoury, “The Meaning of the Great Mosque of Córdoba in the Tenth Century”; Dodds, “The Great Mosque of Córdoba,” 22–23. María I. Fierro Bello, “Madina al-Zahra, el paraíso y los fatimíes,” al-Qanṭara 25 (2004): 299–327. Alberto J. Montejo Córdoba, “El pabellón de abluciones oriental de la Mezquita Aljama de Córdoba correspondiente a la ampliación de Almanzor,” Cuadernos de Madīnat al-Zahrā’ 4 (1999): 209–231.

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e­ xpansion areas. The urban area became a large conurbation from the second third of the 10th century with the proclamation of the caliphate and the construction of the new state cities of Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ (936–940) and Madīnat al-Zāhira (979–981). This was the time when the impulse for urban development became more powerful and intense, reflected in the great “public works” promoted by the Umayyad court (bridges, mosques, munya-s, etc.), which created a megalopolis that encompassed a dense urban fabric composed of twenty suburbs distributed around the old madīna.98 In this way the caliphal city spread over a considerably wider area than the current cit. The repeated references to the works undertaken under the surveillance of the members of the Umayyad court within the walled madīna, and which were focused on the reform and monumentalization of dynastic palaces and the most emblematic spaces of the city, clearly show the interest of the state initiative in creating an urban scene according to the new caliphal dignity, even before, during, and after the founding of the two new caliphal palatine cities. This is demonstrated by the limited but very revealing archaeological data recovered during recent decades in the southern half of the city. Besides these actions of ennoblement of the palace and of the mosque’s area, the great bridge also received priority attention during the caliphate. AlḤakam ii himself directed personally, in 971, the works to repair the bridge’s pillars and foundations. It is most likely that in the times of al-Manṣūr, a fortified gate was built in the southern access, in order to guard the entrance, supported by pillars crowned by a horseshoe arch, later on much modified by Almohad reforms. It was all built in stretcher and header bond ashlars (fig. 3.8). The southern sections of the wall that are preserved in the eastern and western flanks of the madīna were repaired, reinforced with fronts of ashlar in stretcher and header bond. Similarly, in the southwestern part they undertook reforms to the so-called Almodovar Gate, the only one of the entrances to the madīna’s walled enclosure preserved today. In this renewal of urban defences, the propaganda function seems to have been more important than the strictly military. The qaṣr, or palatial residence, would also be subject of several reforms. With the proclamation of ʿAbd al-Raḥmān iii as Caliph, the greatest urban project was focused on the construction of the palatine city of Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ. However, as happens with the Great Mosque, the Umayyad caliphs continued to carry out works and to enlarge the political ­headquarters of the dynasty within

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Arjona Castro, Córdoba en la historia de al-Andalus.

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Figure 3.8 North side of the Calahorra tower of Córdoba, with the caliphal arch.

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Córdoba. Thus, the sources mention new palaces and buildings.99 All these constructions might have been pavilions organized around central courtyards, following the model applied in the new caliphal city. In fact, in the excavation undertaken inside the qaṣr we can document different reforms. Some of them were of a structural nature, such as the reinforcing of structures for the Emiral elements, which were covered by ashlars and show the same bonding used in Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ. In addition, some of the previous spaces were rearranged and transformed, and were now organized around courtyards with perimetral platforms and paved with marble slabs. Later on, still within the caliphate, the foundations for stairs to the second floor were built. Other areas of the qaṣr also reveal renovation and monumentalization works, such as the disposition of the ḥammām in the north of the palatine complex (known as “Caliphal Baths”). The construction of these new structures required modifications to the northern end of the old Umayyad palace with a new zigzag layout and a gateway to the enclosure. This wall, more than three meters thick, was made entirely of ashlars arranged with characteristic caliphal bonding. The wall was dismantled in the last third of the 12th century and the door was blocked at that time. Given the dimensions of the entire complex, it is difficult to attempt any kind of toponymical identification because the areas excavated are just a small percentage of the total enclosure, with no physical connection between them. In the final moments of the caliphate, in the late 10th and early 11th centuries, some reforms were carried out to ensure the safety of the palace within the building, which involved the closure of some existing gates.100 Something similar has been documented in the new caliphal city of Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ. As is shown by these few but significant archaeological findings of official urban projects, the old madīna of Qurṭuba never lost its role of Umayyad c­ apital

99

Among the new pavilions mentioned, there are the Qaṣr al-Ḥā’ir (= Alcázar of the garden/ pond), al-Kāmil (= the Perfect), al-Mujaddad (= the Renovated), el Alcázar de la Rawḍa (= Garden), al-Zāhir (= the Shining), al-Maʿshūq (= the Beloved), al-Mubārak (= the Blessed), al-Rashīq (= the Elegant), the Qaşr al-Surūr (= the Alcázar of Joy), al-Tāj (= the Crown), y al-Badīʿ (= the Splendid); al-Maqqarī Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad, Analectes sur l’histoire et la littérature des Arabes d’Espagne, ed. by Reinhart P.A. Dozy, Gustave Dugat, Ludolf Krehl, et al., 2 vols. (Amsterdam, 1967), 1:303, lines 7 to 20; Alberto J. Montejo Córdoba and José A. Garriguet Mata, “El Alcázar andalusí de Córdoba: estado de la cuestión y nuevas hipótesis,” in I Congreso Internacional “Fortificaciones en al-Andalus” (Algeciras, 1998), 303–332. 100 Emilio García Gómez, “Notas sobre la topografía cordobesa en los Anales de al-Ḥakam ii por ‘Isà Razi,” Al-Andalus 30 (1965): 319–379, esp. 334.

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despite the founding of Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ,101 and maintained its function of legitimating the ruling dynasty, particularly with the combination of the former civil palace and the mosque.102 In fact, the caliphs still preferred to be buried in the rawḍa (garden) located inside the Cordovan fortress,103 as were their predecessors, and they continued remodeling and ennobling both buildings throughout the caliphate. Although most of these architectural elements have been documented over the last two decades, major advances in archaeological research have come from the excavation and analyses of the suburbs developed around the madīna (fig. 3.9), is mainly due to the exponential increase in archaeological interventions carried out in the areas of urban expansion from the mid-1980s and, in particular, during the first decade of the present century. The approval of Córdoba’s Urban Planning General Plan at the beginning of this decade unified registration criteria and intervention, allowing the establishment of a ­minimum quality standard for archaeological information. The application of these measures has at least provided research with planimetric documentation of large excavated areas (although not always accompanied by proper stratigraphic information) from which it is possible to make a systematization of the urban characteristics of this conurbation. Urbanized areas at this time, from the second quarter of the 10th century on, were more homogeneous in comparison to those belonging to the Emiral phase, with a more united and compact urban development, characterized by a fairly regular layout and hierarchy of streets with suburbs distributed along existing roads and organized around architectural elements such as munya-s, unique buildings, mosques, cemeteries, baths, and souks. Regarding the basic structure of this planning, we have already seen that many suburbs had their origin in large munya-s, i.e., older agricultural properties. In the early stage of formation in Emiral times, these neighbourhoods were formed as settlement centers of little importance, with a low level of urbanization, without major facilities, formed around the residential and monumentalized area of the munya, surrounded by orchards and farmland, alternating with cemeteries and a mosque or bath constituting a pious foundation. With the emergence of caliphal planning, the occupation of these areas would progressively absorb productive terrain, which became transformed into densely urbanized areas. This process has been confirmed through the ­excavation of a 101 Acién Almansa and Vallejo Triano, “Urbanismo y Estado islámico.” 102 Manzano Moreno, Conquistadores, emires y califas. 103 Alberto J. Montejo Córdoba, “La rauda del Alcázar de Córdoba,” in Espacios y usos funerarios en la ciudad histórica, ed. Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil, José A. Garriguet Mata, and Alberto León Muñoz (Anales de Arqueología Cordobesa 17), 2 vols. (Córdoba 2006), 2:237–256.

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Figure 3.9 Hypothesized reconstruction of a sector of the western suburbs, of Yānib al-Garbī.

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Figure 3.10.1 General plan and aerial view of the “almunia” of Fontanar.

plot of municipal property located northwest of the El Fontanar sport ­facilities (fig. 3.10.1). The architectural complex, interpreted as a munya, structured around large courtyards equipped with a private bathroom and, probably, a mosque, lay in an urban area formed by a cemetery to the north and a s­ uburb extending towards its southern and western sides.104 Something similar occurred to the suburb that emerged around the old munya, bath, and mosque in Ronda Oeste.105 Apart from the maintenance of these older facilities, the urbanization process in caliphal times involved the building of new and large aristocratic residences which, by convention, kept the name al-munya, although in most cases there is no evidence of the agricultural productive activity that had previously characterized them. These buildings usually became the central elements of the new urban planning. This is the case, for example, with the buildings excavated in the area of “Plan Parcial Renfe.”106 Among these the easternmost stands 104 Murillo Redondo, León Muñoz, Castro del Rio, et al., “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica,” 543. 105 León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba.” 106 Murillo Redondo, Casal García, and Castro del Rio, “Madīnat Qurṭuba. Aproximación al proceso de formación de la ciudad emiral.”

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Figure 3.10.2 Virtual reconstruction of the original appearance of the residential caliphal complex of the “Vial norte del Plan Parcial renfe”.

out, recently analysed by Felix Arnold (fig. 3.10.2), who has proposed a brilliant reconstruction of the whole complex structured around several ­patios, each provided with gardens and other services. The building has been interpreted as the residence of a distinguished civil servant of the Umayyad court in the second half of the 10th century.107 Such buildings appear frequently in written sources,108 and are now beginning as well to be gradually documented through archaeology, such as those documented in “Ronda de Poniente”109 or those excavated at “Carreterra de Trassierra”110 and at Reina Sofía Hospital. The second group of architectural elements that, in our view, articulate the caliphal urbanism are the so-called neighbourhood mosques,111 such as the one 107 Felix Arnold, “El edificio singular del Vial Norte del Plan Parcial renfe. Estudio arquitectónico,” Anejos de Anales de Arqueología Cordobesa 2 (2009–2010): 247–274. 108 López Cuevas, “La Almunia Cordobesa, entre las fuentes historiográficas y arqueológicas,” 244–252. 109 Cristina Camacho Cruz, Teresa Cabellos Panadés, Miguel Haro Torres, et al., “Intervención Arqueológica de Urgencia en Yacimiento Carretera del Aeropuerto. Almunia (Campaña 2003–2004). Ronda Oeste de Córdoba,” Anuario Arqueológico de Andalucía 2004.1 (2009): 1143–1159. 110 Santiago Rodero Pérez and María J. Asensi Llácer, “Un sector de la expansión occidental de la Córdoba islámica: el arrabal de la carretera de Trasierra (ii),” Romula 5 (2006): 295–336. 111 Carmen González Gutiérrez, Las mezquitas de barrio de Madinat Qurtuba. Una aproximación arqueológica (Córdoba, 2012); eadem, Las mezquitas de la Córdoba Islámica: concepto, tipología y función urbana (Córdoba, 2016).

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excavated in Fontanar.112 The mosque is documented on the site where the Bus Station113 is located today, and is interesting as having been an urban sector occupied by an Emiral suburb linked to one of the city’s Christian cemeteries. The construction of this mosque would incontestably reflect the progress of Islamization, even in a sector with such an evident Christian past.114 As part of this dense urban landscape, cemeteries (maqābir) were extended in the vicinity of some of these mosques and among residential areas.115 Although cemeteries from Emiral times remained in use, in the process of urbanization there were broad areas reserved for funerary use linked to individual suburbs, sometimes delimited by the facade walls of the houses or by footpaths that traversed these neighbourhoods. When conditions allowed, for scatological reasons, these were situated next to streams or rivers, some of which have the adequate infrastructure for channelling water through these suburbs.116 The way in which cemeteries were integrated into the urban fabric shows that no regulations segregated them from other urban structures generated by the expansion of the Umayyad Caliphate’s capital. This dense network of suburbs spread particularly along main historic roads, whether of Roman origin or new paths that emerged due to the construction of Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ in the second quarter of the 10th century (see fig. 3.7). These main roads issued from the main city gates117 and their layout conditioned the orientation of the suburbs’ structures, sometimes more decisively than the mosques themselves. Around this main network, a secondary one of roads and streets was distributed hierarchically. The main urban elements and residential areas were arranged around it. 112 M. Dolores Luna Osuna and Ana M. Zamorano Arenas, “La mezquita de la antigua finca ‘El Fontanar’ (Córdoba),” Cuadernos de Madīnat al-Zahrā’ 4 (1999): 145–173. 113 Maudilio Moreno Almenara, Silvia Carmona Berenguer, Marina L. González Vírseda, et al., “Seguimento arqueológico del vaciado del sótano de la estación de autobuses de Córdoba y de la urbanización de los viales adyacentes,” Anuario Arqueológico de Andalucía 3 (2000 [2003]): 268–282. 114 Cyrille Aillet, Les mozarabes. Christianisme, islamisation et arabisation en Péninsule Ibérique (ix–xii siècles) (Madrid, 2010). 115 Alberto León Muñoz and María T. Casal García, “Los cementerios de Madīnat Qurṭuba,” in El anfiteatro romano de Córdoba y su entorno urbano. Análisis arqueológico (ss. i–xiii d.C.), ed. Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil and Juan F. Murillo Redondo, 2 vols. (Córdoba, 2010), 2:651–685, here 655 and 663. 116 Pizarro Berengena, El abastecimiento de agua a Córdoba. 117 Among these historical roads, the one to the north linked to the Ruṣāfa almunia (Ruṣāfa) has been documented archaeologically, as has the so-called “camino viejo de Almodóvar” in the central area, and, to the south, the one known as “camino de las abejorreras” (­Murillo Redondo, León Muñoz, Castro del Rio, et al., “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica,” 543–544).

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There is a wide variety of water resources in these neighbourhoods. Given the hydrological characteristics of the Cordovan territory, a wealth of underground rivers and a shallow water table meant that the most common solution for providing fresh water was the opening of wells in the courtyard of houses.118 Another supply system, one that was exceptional, involved the construction of cisterns beneath courtyard pavements. Different solutions for the disposal of sewage and rainwater were utilized. The elimination of sewage often was the responsibility of each owner. This was frequently resolved by the evacuation of sewage through small conduits that delivered the waste to a black well, usually located on the street next to the facade itself, using for it for the right of finā.119 The collection and channelling of rainwater in the suburbs of the madīna of Córdoba, however, relied on a more elaborate community infrastructure. Usually, a hierarchy of channels drained water towards a main piping located on the street, which allowed the evacuation to streams or for irrigation use. Sometimes there were exceptional solutions, such as the one documented at the site of the “Piscina Municipal de Poniente,” where there are double walls and corridors to the rear of the houses with channels to collect and evacuate rainwater.120 This could point to the existence of second floors in these houses, or gabled roofs with slopes towards the rear of the houses or courtyards. The individual characteristics of these urban areas lead us to distinguish suburbs. These new districts have distinctive characters that seem to indicate the existence of various agents apart from the Caliphate State. So far, it has not been possible to link these sectors excavated with the names transmitted by the Arabic texts; in any case, this is not the priority in the current state of research. It seems more significant to determine who these agents were, what their motivations were, and what archaeological remains may illustrate this process. Beyond the description of these general features and name identifications, the fundamental question, in our opinion, lies in reconstructing the process of

118 Belén Vázquez Navajas, “La gestión del agua en los arrabales occidentales de Madinat Qurtuba,” in El anfiteatro romano de Córdoba y su entorno urbano. Análisis arqueológico (ss. i–xiii d.C.), ed. Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil and Juan F. Murillo Redondo, 2 vols. (Córdoba, 2010), 2:643–651, here 644. 119 Vázquez Navajas, “La gestión del agua en los arrabales occidentales de Madinat Qurtuba.” 120 Álvaro Cánovas Ubera, Elena Castro del Río, and Maudilio Moreno Almenara, “Análisis de los espacios domésticos en un sector de los arrabales occidentales de Qurṭuba,” Anejos de Anales de Arqueología Cordobesa 1 (2008): 201–220; Belén Vázquez Navajas, “El agua en la Córdoba andalusí. Los sistemas hidráulicos de un sector del Ŷānib al-Garbī durante el Califato Omeya,” Arqueología y Territorio Medieval 20 (2013): 31–66, esp. 42.

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constitution, promotion, and authorship of the process. The traditional interpretation has suggested state promotion for most of these urban areas,121 given the spatial layout of their streets, the homogeneity of many of the buildings (private and communal), the provision of sanitary infrastructure, the presence of community buildings for worship, preservation of space for cemetery functions: that is, a continuity with Emiral procedures. Although the city already had a repertoire of previous infrastructure, gradually conceived during the preceding centuries, both inside and outside the walls. It seems clear that there was a common guiding hand in many of these neighbourhoods outside the walls, as can be seen for example in the northwest sector of these suburbs, in the vicinity of the old munya of al-Ruṣāfa.122 This is one of the residential areas of the al-Ruṣāfa suburb, whose last phase of urbanization is dated to the last quarter of the 10th century.123 It shows a careful regular arrangement of streets, with a notable orthogonal layout, which contrasts with what has been observed for the previous phases of other suburbs. The typology of houses, usually small and with a single gallery,124 also responds to highly standardized models, clearly designed as part of a single project. In addition, these houses are alongside four larger buildings distributed along the path of the enclosure of Turruñuelos, two of which date to the ­caliphate. The most unique of which has been interpreted as a great stable, organized around a large rectangular courtyard carefully paved with cobblestone, around which narrow rooms are arranged. The other facilities would have been auxiliary. According to this hypothesis, this complex could correspond to the facilities built by al-Manṣūr in his munya of al-ʿĀmiriyya for breeding horses and manufacturing weapons. Around it, the suburb was ­erected for the

121 Specifically by “miembros vinculados a la familia omeya … y altos funcionarios del aparato administrativo” (Acién Almansa and Vallejo Triano, “Urbanismo y Estado islámico,” 127). 122 In Plan Parcial O-4; cf. León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba”; Juan F. Murillo Redondo, Fátima Castillo Pérez del Siles, Elena Castro del Rio, et al., “Los arrabales del sector septentrional del Ŷānib al-Garbī,” in El anfiteatro romano de Córdoba y su entorno urbano. Análisis arqueológico (ss. i–xiii d.C.), ed. Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil and Juan F. Murillo Redondo, 2 vols. (Córdoba, 2010b), 2:589–615; Juan F. Murillo Redondo, “Qurṭuba Califal. Origen y desarrollo de la Capital Omeya de al-­Andalus,” Awrāq 7 (2013): 81–103. 123 Murillo Redondo, “La almunia de al-Rusafa en Córdoba”; idem, “Qurṭuba Califal. Origen y desarrollo de la Capital Omeya de al-Andalus.” Awraq 7 (2013): 81–103. 124 Murillo Redondo, Castillo Pérez del Siles, Castro del Rio, et al., “Los arrabales del sector septentrional del Ŷānib al-Garbī,” 589–605.

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i­nstallation of Berber troops, which were the basis of power for this Hishām ii’s chamberlain.125 Unlike this neighbourhood, sectors closest to the river do not seem to follow the guidelines set by the state authority, which had less influence on the formation of these suburbs. For example, in the southernmost sector of these suburbs documented so far, in what is currently the zoo, the disposition of caliphal streets and houses is strongly influenced by preceding structures, some of which had been reused and integrated into the new buildings.126 There may have been intermediate situations in which the role of promoters would have been limited to the installation of basic infrastructure, such as mosques and cemeteries, while subsequent urbanization would have fallen into the hands of new owners. Thus, for example, the mosque documented in the current sport facilities of Fontanar127 may have been a construction serving the community through a waqf or pious foundation. Its orientation and arrangement could have marked the route of the streets. The same situation could be applied to the cemetery documented in Ronda Oeste (Córdoba’s west beltway), probably donated as a pious foundation by the remarkable owner of an ancient agricultural installation.128 This cemetery (fig. 3.10.3) had access at its southern end, through a wooden gate, that could initially provide access to an agricultural growing area equipped with irrigation systems.129 With this resource, aside from the spiritual benefits, these lands became inalienable and, therefore, safe from urban speculation or confiscations by the authorities. This example shows how the productive sectors of some old munya-s were absorbed by the urban development. In any case, within the broad causality we find in caliphal suburbs, it seems clear that, in general terms, constitutional processes differ from those explained for the Emiral stage. Although it is likely that the development of some sectors

125 Murillo Redondo, Castillo Pérez del Siles, Castro del Rio, et al., “Los arrabales del sector septentrional del Ŷānib al-Garbī,” 612. 126 Ruiz Lara, Sánchez Madrid, Castro del Rio, et al., “La ocupación diacrónica del sector meridional del Ŷānib al-Garbī de Qurṭuba.” 127 Luna Osuna and Ana M. Zamorano Arenas, “La mezquita de la antigua finca ‘El Fontanar’ (Córdoba).” 128 León Muñoz and Casal García, “Los cementerios de Madīnat Qurṭuba.” 129 Cristina Camacho Cruz, “Nuevos vestigios arqueológicos de la Córdoba Omeya. Actuaciones Arqueológicas en el trazado de la ronda Oeste,” Arte Arqueología e Historia 9 (2002): 118–132, here 129/n. 12.

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Figure 3.10.3 General plan of a sector of the maqbara (cemetery) of Ronda de Poniente.

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were determined by guidelines established by the immediate environment of the Umayyad Caliphate court, the regularity in design and the establishment of an infrastructure for community use may well be the result of the Cordovan elite’s works in development and construction. This elite was composed of high dignitaries and owners of old suburban agricultural facilities which found lucrative business in the high demand for houses by a population experiencing rapid growth, one favored by the proclamation of the caliphate and the capital status of the city. This would explain the common characteristics of the houses, streets, and facilities in these neighbourhoods, with distinctive elements but with fairly homogeneous characteristics in general.130 This Cordovan splendor would not last for long. The rule of caliph Hishām ii (976–1009 and 1010–1013)131 took place in the shadow of his powerful minister, the chamberlain (ḥājib) al-Manṣūr (d. 1002), whose power was based on an increase in the number of Berber troops. This final period is seen as marking the progressive crisis of the Umayyad regime that led to its end. The young caliph was secluded in the palace city of Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ, which was now surrounded by a circular wall,132 while al-Manṣūr himself had constructed a new palace city to the east of Córdoba, al-Madīnat al-Zāhira, where all administrative affairs were organized, the location of which is still unknown.133 Soon after the death of al-Manṣūr in 1002, a devastating civil war (known as al-Fitna al-Qurṭubiyya,134 the “Cordovan civil war”), which lasted from 1009 until the final disappearance of the Caliphate in 1031, would reconvert the city into a provincial capital at the shore of the Guadalquivir. 130 Murillo Redondo, León Muñoz, Castro del Rio, et al., “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica.” 131 Hishām ii was born in 965 and was still a child when his father al-Ḥakam died, so the powerful chamberlain al-Manṣūr (Spanish, Almanzor), who was his tutor, de facto took over political power. Hishām ruled by name between 976 and 1009 and again between 1010–1013, during the confusing period of the civil war between 1009 and 1030 that marked the fall of the Umayyad Caliphate, cf. the survey in Scales, The fall of the Caliphate of Córdoba. 132 Scales, The fall of the Caliphate of Córdoba, 38; cf. Safran, The second Umayyad Caliphate, 98–110. 133 Built between 979 and 987; al-Manṣūr moved to this new city with his family and entourage; he was followed by numerous officials, courtesans, artisans, and merchants. In 1009, the city was sacked and completely destroyed (Scales, The fall of the Caliphate of Córdoba, 61–67), so archaeologists still do not know its actual location. Cf. Leopoldo Torres Balbás, “al-Madīna al-Zāhira, la ciudad de Almanzor,” al-Andalus 21 (1956): 92–97; fig. 10 in León Muñoz and Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba,” 20. 134 Scales, The fall of the Caliphate of Córdoba, 3 and passim.

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Kennedy, Hugh. “From Antiquity to islam in the cities of al-Andalus and al-Mashriq.” In Genèse de la ville islamique en al-Andalus et au Maghreb occidental, edited by Patrice Cressier and Mercedes García-Arenal, 53–64. Madrid, 1998. Kennedy, Hugh. “From Polis to Medina: Urban Change in Late Antique and Early Islamic Syria.” Past and Present 106 (1985): 3–27. Khoury, Nuha N. “The Meaning of the Great Mosque of Córdoba in the Tenth Century.” Muqarnas 13 (1996): 80–98. León Muñoz, Alberto. “Hacia un nuevo Modelo de Gestión Arqueológica de Córdoba. El Convenio UCO-GMU.” Anejos de Anales de Arqueología Cordobesa 1 (2008): 11–15. León Muñoz, Alberto, and María T. Casal García. “Los cementerios de Madīnat Qurṭuba.” In El anfiteatro romano de Córdoba y su entorno urbano. Análisis arqueológico (ss. i–xiii d.C.), edited by Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil and Juan F. Murillo Redondo. 2 vols, 2:651–685. Córdoba, 2010. León Muñoz, Alberto, and Saray Jurado Pérez. “La cristianización de la topografía funeraria en el suburbium occidental,” in El anfiteatro romano de Córdoba y su entorno urbano. Análisis arqueológico (ss. i–xiii d.C.), edited by Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil and Juan F. Murillo Redondo. 2 vols, 2:547–561. Córdoba, 2010. León Muñoz, Alberto, Enrique León Pastor, and Juan F. Murillo Redondo. “El Guadalquivir y las fortificaciones urbanas de Córdoba.” In Las Fortificaciones y el mar iv: Congreso Internacional de Fortificaciones, 267–276. Alcalá de Guadaira, 2008. León Muñoz, Alberto, and Juan F. Murillo Redondo. “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba.” Journal of Islamic Archaeology 1.1 (2014): 5–35. León Muñoz, Alberto, and Juan F. Murillo Redondo. “El complejo civil tardoantiguo de Córdoba y su continuidad en el Alcázar Omeya.” Madrider Mitteilungen 50 (2009): 399–433. León Muñoz, Alberto, Juan F. Murillo Redondo, and Sonia Vargas Cantos. “Patrones de continuidad en la ocupación periourbana de Córdoba entre la Antigüedad y la Edad Media: 1. Los sistemas hidráulicos.” In Ciudad y Territorio: transformaciones materiales e ideológicas entre la época clásica y el Altomedievo, edited by Alberto León Muñoz, José A. Garriguet Mata, and Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil, 137–184. Córdoba, 2014. León Muñoz, Alberto, and Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil. Un nuevo modelo de gestión de la arqueología urbana en Córdoba (Hispaniae Urbes). Seville, 2012. Lévi-Provençal, Évariste. Histoire de l’Espagne musulmane. Paris, 1953. López Cuevas, Fernando. “La Almunia Cordobesa, entre las fuentes historiográficas y arqueológicas.” Revista Onoba 1 (2013): 243–260. Luna Osuna, M. Dolores, and Ana M. Zamorano Arenas. “La mezquita de la antigua finca ‘El Fontanar’ (Córdoba).” Cuadernos de Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ 4 (1999): 145–173. Makkī, Maḥmūd ´A. “The political history of al-Andalus.” In The Legacy of Muslim Spain, edited by Salma K. al-Ǧaiyūsī, 3–87. 2nd ed. Leiden, 1994.

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Makkī, Maḥmūd ´A. “Egipto y los orígenes de la historiografía arábigo-española: Contribución al estudio de las primeras fuentes de historia hispanomusulmana.” Revista del Instituto Egipcio de Estudios Islámicos 5 (1957): 157–248. Manzano Moreno, Eduardo. Conquistadores, emires y califas: Los Omeyas y la formación de Al-Andalus (serie mayor). Barcelona, 2006. Manzano Moreno, Eduardo. “Las fuentes árabes sobre la conquista de al-Andalus: Una nueva interpretación.” Hispania 59.202 (1999): 389–432. Marfil Ruiz, Pedro. Las puertas de la Mezquita de Córdoba durante el Emirato Omeya. Córdoba, 2010. Marfil Ruiz, Pedro. “Córdoba de Teodosio a ʿAbd al-Raḥmān iii.” In Visigodos y Omeyas. Un debate entre la Antigüedad Tardía y la Alta Edad Media, Anejos de AEspA xxiii, edited by Luis Caballero Zoreda and Pedro Mateos Cruz, 117–141. Madrid, 2000. Marfil Ruiz, Pedro. “La iglesia paleocristiana de Santa Catalina en el Convento de Santa Clara.” Caetaria 1 (1996): 33–45. Marín, Manuela. “Ṣaḥāba et Tābiʿūn dans al-Andalus: Histoire et légende.” Studia Islamica 54 (1981): 5–49. Martínez Gros, Gabriel. L’idéologie omeyyade: La construction de la légitimité du Califat de Cordoue (xe–xie siècles) (Bibliothèque de la Casa de Velázquez 8). Madrid, 1992. Mazzoli-Guintard, Christine. “Remarques sur le fonctionnement d’une capitale a double polarité: Madīnat Zahrāʾ-Cordoue.” al-Qanṭara 17 (1997): 43–64. Montejo Córdoba, Alberto J. “La rauda del Alcázar de Córdoba.” In Espacios y usos funerarios en la ciudad histórica, edited by Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil, José A. Garriguet Mata, and Alberto León Muñoz. 2 vols., 2:237–256 (Anales de Arqueología Cordobesa 17) Córdoba 2006. Montejo Córdoba, Alberto J. “El pabellón de abluciones oriental de la Mezquita Aljama de Córdoba correspondiente a la ampliación de Almanzor.” Cuadernos de Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ 4 (1999): 209–231. Montejo Córdoba, Alberto J., and José A. Garriguet Mata. “El Alcázar andalusí de Córdoba: estado de la cuestión ynuevas hipótesis.” In I Congreso Internacional “Fortificaciones en al-Andalus,” 303–332. Algeciras, 1998. Moreno Almenara, Maudilio, Silvia Carmona Berenguer, Marina L. González Vírseda, and Alberto León Muñoz. “Seguimento arqueológico del vaciado del sótano de la estación de autobuses de Córdoba y de la urbanización de los viales adyacentes.” Anuario Arqueológico de Andalucía 3 (2000 [2003]): 268–282. Murillo Redondo, Juan F. “Qurṭuba Califal. Origen y desarrollo de la Capital Omeya de al-Andalus.” Awraq 7 (2013): 81–103. Murillo Redondo, Juan F. “La almunia de al-Rusafa en Córdoba.” Madrider Mitteilungen 50 (2009): 450–482. Murillo Redondo, Juan F., María T. Casal García, and Elena Castro del Rio. “Madīnat Qurṭuba. Aproximación al proceso de formación de la ciudad emiral y califal a

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partir de la información arqueológica.” Cuadernos de Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ 4 (2004): 257–281. Murillo Redondo, Juan F., Fátima Castillo Pérez del Siles, Elena Castro del Rio, María T. Casal García, and Teresa Dortez Cáceres. “Los arrabales del sector septentrional del Ŷānib al-Garbī.” In El anfiteatro romano de Córdoba y su entorno urbano. Análisis arqueológico (ss. i–xiii d.C.), edited by Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil and Juan F. Murillo Redondo. 2 vols., 2:565–615 (Arqueología cordobesa 19). Córdoba, 2010. Murillo Redondo, Juan F., Alberto León Muñoz, Elena Castro del Rio, María T. Casal García, Raimundo Ortiz Urbano, and Antonio J. González Torrico. “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica a través de las Transformaciones Operadas en las Áreas Suburbiales.” In El anfiteatro romano de Córdoba y su entorno urbano: Análisis arqueológico, (ss. i–xiii d.C.), edited by Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil and Juan F. Murillo Redondo. 2 vols., 2:501–547 (Arqueología cordobesa 19). Córdoba, 2010. Nieto Cumplido, Manuel. La Catedral de Córdoba. Córdoba, 1998. Noth, Albrecht, and Lawrence I. Conrad. The early Arabic historical tradition: A source critical study (Studies in late antiquity and early Islam 3). 2nd. ed. Princeton, 1994 [Ph.D. dissertation Bonn, 1973]. Ocaña Jiménez, Manuel. “Precisiones sobre la historia de la mezquita de Córdoba.” Cuadernos de Estudios Medievales 4–5 (1979): 275–282. Ocaña Jiménez, Manuel. “La basílica de San Vicente y la gran mezquita de Córdoba.” al-Andalus 7 (1942): 347–366. Pizarro Berengena, Guadalupe. El abastecimiento de agua a Córdoba. Arqueología e historia. Córdoba, 2014. Pizarro Berengena, Guadalupe. “Los Pasadizos Elevados entre la Mezquita y el Alcázar Omeya de Córdoba. Estudio arqueológico de los sābāṭāt.” Archivo Español de Arqueología 86 (2013): 233–249. Ramírez del Río, José. La orientalización de al-Andalus: Los días de los árabes en la Península Ibérica (Serie Historia y geografía no 83). Seville, 2002. Rodero Pérez, Santiago, and María J. Asensi Llácer. “Un sector de la expansión occidental de la Córdoba islámica: el arrabal de la carretera de Trasierra (ii).” Romula 5 (2006): 295–336. Ruiz Bueno, Manuel D. “El kardo maximus de Córdoba en la Antigüedad Tardía.” Anales de Arqueología Cordobesa 25–26 (2015): 83–113. Ruiz Bueno, Manuel D. “El entorno del decumanus maximus de Colonia Patricia Corduba: ¿evidencias de una remodelación urbanística hacia época severiana?” In Ciudad y Territorio: transformaciones materiales e ideológicas entre la época clásica y el Altomedievo, edited by Alberto León Muñoz, José A. Garriguet Mata, and Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil, 41–54. Córdoba, 2014.

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Ruiz Bueno, Manuel D., and Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil. “Las Murallas como paradigma urbano. Investigación y diacronía en Corduba (ss. ii–vii d.C.).” Cuadernos de Aarqueología de la Universidad de Navarra 24 (2016): n.p. Ruiz Lara, M. Dolores, Sebastián Sánchez Madrid, Elena Castro del Rio, Alberto León Muñoz, and Juan F. Murillo Redondo, “La ocupación diacrónica del sector meridional del Ŷānib al-Garbī de Qurṭuba (ss. viii–xiii). Intervenciones arqueológicas realizadas en el Zoológico Municipal de Córdoba. Análisis de conjunto.” Anejos de Anales de Arqueología Cordobesa 1 (2008): 163–200. Safran, Janina M. The second Umayyad Caliphate: The articulation of caliphal legitimacy in al-Andalus (Harvard Middle Eastern monographs 33). Cambridge, Mass., 2000. Sánchez Ramos, Isabel. “Cristianización de las necrópolis de Corduba. Fuentes escritas y testimonios arqueológicos.” Archivo Español de Arqueología 80 (2007): 191–206. Scales, Peter C. The fall of the Caliphate of Córdoba: Berbers and Andalusis in conflict (Medieval Iberian peninsula 9). Leiden, 1994. Seybold, Christian F., and Manuel Ocaña Jiménez. “Ḳurṭuba.” In Encyclopaedia of Islam. 2nd. ed., edited by Peri J. Bearman, Thierry Bianquis, Clifford E. Bosworth, Emeri J. van Donzel, and Wolfhart P. Heinrichs. http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/1573-3912 _islam_SIM_4552. Consulted 24th April 2019. Shoshan, Boaz. The Arabic historical tradition and the early Islamic conquests: Folklore, tribal lore, Holy War (Routledge studies in classical Islam 4). London, 2016. Torres Balbás, Leopoldo. “al-Madīna al-Zāhira, la ciudad de Almanzor.” al-Andalus 21 (1956): 92–97. Utrero Agudo, María de los Ángeles. “Las iglesias cruciformes del siglo vii en la ­Península Ibérica. Novedades y problemas cronológicos y morfológicos de un tipo arquitectónico.” In El siglo vii frente al Siglo vii, edited by Luis Caballero Zoreda, Pedro Mateos Cruz, and María de los Ángeles Utrero Agudo (Anejos de AEspA 51), 133–154. Madrid, 2009. Vallejo Triano, Antonio. La ciudad califal de Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ: Arqueología de su excavación. Córdoba, 2010. Vallejo Triano, Antonio. “Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ: Transformation of a Caliphal City.” In Revisiting Al-Andalus: Perspectives on the material culture of Islamic Iberia and beyond, edited by Glaire D. Anderson, 3–52 (The medieval and early modern Iberian world 34). Leiden, 2007. Vallejo Triano, Antonio. “Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ: the triumph of the Islamic State.” In alAndalus: The art of Islamic Spain, edited by Jerrilynn D. Dodds, 27–39. New York, 1992. Vaquerizo Gil, Desiderio, and Juan F. Murillo Redondo, eds. El anfiteatro romano de Córdoba y su entorno urbano: Análisis arqueológico, (ss. i–xiii d.C.) (Arqueología cordobesa 19). Córdoba, 2010.

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Vázquez Navajas, Belén. “El agua en la Córdoba andalusí. Los sistemas hidráulicos de un sector del Ŷānib al-Garbī durante el Califato Omeya.” Arqueología y Territorio Medieval 20 (2013): 31–66. Vázquez Navajas, Belén. “La gestión del agua en los arrabales occidentales de Madinat Qurtuba.” In El anfiteatro romano de Córdoba y su entorno urbano. Análisis arqueológico (ss. i–xiii d.C.), edited by Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil and Juan F. Murillo Redondo. 2 vols., 2:643–651. Córdoba, 2010.

Chapter 4

The Impact of the Arab Conquest on the Planning of the Iberian Cities: Toledo inside Walls Fernando Valdés Fernández Perhaps one of the most confusing moments in the history of the city today known as Toledo was that which began in 711/12, when Arabs took control over what had until then been the capital of the regnum gothorum and the headquarters of one of the most powerful urban centers in the Christian west.1 Adding to this confusion is the degree to which the preservation of the cityscape had been carried over from the previous period. One of the most interesting scientific debates in recent years deals with the city’s morphology at the time before the Arab conquest. If we better understood the city during the Visigothic age and its development as a center of high imperial power, we would likely be able to appreciate more clearly the actual impact of its incorporation into dār al-Islām. Archaeological findings from the past twenty years have yielded a wealth of new information which nonetheless remains insufficient, as some of these findings remain unpublished or have been published incompletely. At first glance, the problem posed by the Visigothic capital’s morphology is informed by the clear presence of historical cliches and the excessive subordination of archaeological sources, however vague, to literary ones. Rather than interpreting discoveries according to an internal critique, previous scholarship resorted to adapting material evidence to fit the textual profile. Identifications and dates have only been given via the testimony of Latin sources, while Arabic sources have been handled superficially, resulting in excessive literalism. Ṭulayṭula’s archaeological investigation, if it can be considered as such, has been hampered by a tendency merely to follow the texts or, in the best case scenario, to perform simple topographical interpretations of visible remains carried out in the context of salvage operations, with everything that implies. In short, archaeological investigations of Ṭulayṭula have been biased towards certain theories originating from an excessively local point of view, and, with regards to the profile of the Islamic society that inhabited the city, the repetition

1 Roger Collins, La conquista árabe 710–797 (Barcelona, 1991), 15–16.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���9 | doi:10.1163/9789004399693_006

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Figure 4.1 Toledo. Orthophotography

ad nauseam of several cliches such as: the Mozarabes,2 the Three Cultures, the “convivencia,” the cultural brilliance of the Taifa.3 We have, I believe, assigned to the city a patently false characterization that continues an already long tradition of nationalistic historiography. The impact produced by the Arab conquest of Toletum at the beginning of the 8th century cannot be approached without outlining a minimum profile of the city from the moment it began to be a civitas regia4 (figs. 4.1, 4.2). 1

The Pre-Islamic Toletum

The Visigothic kings’ reasoning for choosing Toletum as the capital of their regnum is quite clear. Given the area’s topography, their rationale does not require much further discussion. Beyond its defensive fortress, the stronghold controlled an extremely important network of roads and the only ford of the

2 Francisco J. Simonet, Historia de los mozárabes de España, deducida de los mejores y más antiguos testimonios de las escrituras cristianas y árabes (Madrid, 1897/1903). 3 Alexander Slidell Mackenzie, A year in Spain by a young American (London, 1836); idem, Spain revisited (London, 1836); Julio Caro Baroja, Toledo (Barcelona, 1988). 4 Javier Arce, Esperando a los árabes. Los visigodos en Hispania (507–711) (Madrid, 2011), 72–75.

The Impact of the Arab Conquest: Toledo inside Walls

Figure 4.2 1. Toledo in Late Antiquity. 2. Toledo in Visigothic Times.

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Figure 4.2 (cont.)

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river Tagus for many kilometres.5 The opinion of Javier Arce,6 who explains the choice for its distance from Gaul and the Franks as well as allowing control over the Meseta and the old province of Baetica, is perfectly acceptable from a strategic perspective. But how was the city itself organized?7 Without a doubt, the great hydraulic infrastructure projects carried out during the High Imperial and Late Antique8 periods suggest a settlement of certain dimensions that, since its origins, may have possessed a military zone in its highest part.9 It must be concluded that the same processes of transformation initiated by the adoption of Christianity10 in the 4th century throughout the rest of the peninsula can likewise be attributed to the city, whatever its structure at the end of the 7th century may have been. After all, the standardization of codes of behavior followed by western Roman emperors, in the first place, and the kingdom’s conversion to Catholicism following the Third Council of Toledo (589),11 in the second, appears to have produced an imitation of sacred topography between the urbs regia and Constantinople.12 In the wake of the Council, it became necessary to end the duality between the Arrian and Catholic churches.13 According to the texts, Toletum possessed three major ecclesiastical structures: the basilica of Santa María,14 probably containing a baptistery;15 the pretoriense 5

Rafael Barroso Cabrera, Jesús Carrobles Santos, Jorge Morín de Pablos, et al., “El paisaje urbano de Toledo en la Antigüedad Tardía,” Antiquité Tardive 23 (2015): 329–352, here 329. 6 Jesús Carrobles Santos and Santiago Palomero Plaza, “Toledo, un vado y una ciudad estratégica,” Revista del Instituto Egipcio de Estudios Islámicos de Madrid 30 (1998): 245–261; Jesús Carrobles Santos, “Prehistoria e historia antigua. El origen de Toledo,” in Historia de Toledo, de la Prehistoria al Presente, ed. Julio de la Cruz Muñoz (Toledo, 2010), 7–89. 7 Arce, Esperando a los árabes, 73. 8 Carrobles Santos, “Prehistoria e historia antigua. El origen de Toledo,” 7–89. 9 Carrobles Santos, “Prehistoria e historia antigua. El origen de Toledo,” 60–61; Carlos Fernández Casado, Historia del puente en España. Puentes romanos (Madrid, 1982). 10 Francisco J. Sánchez-Palencia Ramos and M. Jesús Sáinz Pascual, El circo romano de Toledo: estratigrafía y arquitectura (Toledo, 1988); idem, “El circo de Toletum,” in El circo en Hispania romana (Madrid, 2001), 97–115. 11 Luis A. García Moreno, “Cristianización de la topografía de las ciudades de la península Ibérica durante la Antigüedad Tardía,” Archivo Español de Arqueología 50/51 (1977/78): 311–321. 12 José Orlandis Rovira and Domingo Ramos-Lisson, Historia de los concilios de la España romana y visigoda (Colección Historia de la Iglesia 13) (Pamplona, 1986); Eduardo Vadillo Romero, “Los concilios de Toledo,” in Hispania Gothorum. San Ildefonso y el reino visigodo de Toledo (Toledo, 2008), 220–221; Arce, Esperando a los árabes, 246–248. 13 Arce, Esperando a los árabes, 75. 14 Luis J. Balmaseda Muncharaz, “En busca de las iglesias toledanas de época visigoda,” in Hispania Gothorum. San Ildefonso y el reino visigodo de Toledo (Toledo, 2007), 200–201; Arce, Esperando a los árabes, 75. 15 José Vives, ed., Concilios visigóticos e hispano-romanos (España cristiana 1), (Barcelona, 1963), 297; Fidel Fita Colomé, “Indicciones griegas en lápidas visigóticas,” Boletín de la

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of San Pedro and San Pablo;16 and the martirial of Saint Leocadia, constructed outside the city walls.17 Additional structures included the basilica of San Vicente18 and the monastic churches of San Miguel, Santa Eulalia, and Santa Cruz.19 Along with the policies of foundations, refoundations, and restorations, we must also take into account the construction works of Wamba (646–688) on the city wall,20 which had existed since the previous period though little has been known about it.21 Consequently, we can deduce that in 711/712 Toletum Real Academia de la Historia 21 (1892): 5–19; Isabel Velázquez Soriano and Gisela Ripoll, “Toletum, la construcción de una urbs regia,” in Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), ed. Gisela Ripoll and Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera (Barcelona, 2000), 521–578, here 550; Balmaseda Muncharaz, “En busca de las iglesias toledanas,” 200; Barroso Cabrera, Carrobles Santos, Morín de Pablos, et al., “El paisaje urbano,” 342–343. 16 Pedro de Palol i Salellas. “Resultado de las excavaciones junto al Cristo de la Vega, supuesta basílica conciliar de Toledo: algunas notas de topografía religiosa de la ciudad,” in: Actas del Congreso Internacional del xiv Centenario del iii Concilio de Toledo (Toledo, 1991), 787–832; Ángel González Palencia, Los mozárabes de Toledo en los siglos xii y xiii, 4 vols. (Madrid, 1926–1930), 3:276, doc. 960 and 2:331, doc. 716; Balmaseda Muncharaz, “En busca de las iglesias toledanas,” 201; Barroso Cabrera, Carrobles Santos, Morín de Pablos, et al., “El paisaje urbano,” 343. 17 Marius Ferotin, ed., Le Liber Ordinum en usage dans l’église wisigothique et mozarabe d’Espagne du cinquième au onzième siècle (París, 1904), 151; Vives, Concilios visigóticos, 223; García Moreno, “Cristianización de la topografía de las ciudades,” 320; Julio Porres Martín-Cleto, Historia de las calles de Toledo (Publicaciones del Instituto Provincial de Investigaciones y Estudios Toledanos), 3 vols. (Toledo, 1971), 2:230–232; Palol i Salellas, “Resultado de las excavaciones junto al Cristo de la Vega,” 787–832; Balmaseda Muncharaz, “En busca de las iglesias toledanas,” 201; Barroso Cabrera, Carrobles Santos, Morín de Pablos, et al., “El paisaje urbano,” 329–352. In the acts of the councils xv and xvi the title of “praetoriensis” is given (Velázquez Soriano and Ripoll, “Toletum, la construcción de una urbs regia”). This suggested that it stood at the highest point of the city, near the palace of the Visigothic kings. However, a paragraph of the canons of the twelfth Council of Toledo (Vives, Concilios visigóticos, 390) puts it in suburbio. 18 Palol i Salellas, “Resultado de las excavaciones junto al Cristo de la Vega”; Josep M. Gurt i Esparraguera and Pilar Diarte Blasco, “La basílica de Santa Leocadia y el final del uso del circo romano de Toledo: una nueva interpretación,” Zephyrus 69 (2012): 149–163; Balmaseda­Muncharaz, “En busca de las iglesias toledanas,” 202; Barroso Cabrera, Carrobles Santos, Morín de Pablos, et al., “El paisaje urbano,” 351. 19 José Vives, Inscripciones cristianas de la España romana y visigoda (icerv) (Monumenta Hispania Sacra 2), 2nd ed. (Barcelona, 1969), n. 67; García Moreno, “Cristianización de la topografía de las ciudades,” 314; Balmaseda Muncharaz, “En busca de las iglesias toledanas,” 206. 20 Eugen Ewig, “Residence et capitale pendant le Haut Moyen-Âge,” Revue Historique 230 (1963): 25–72; García Moreno, “Cristianización de la topografía de las ciudades,” 314; Balmaseda Muncharaz, “En busca de las iglesias toledanas,” 206. 21 Vives, Inscripciones cristianas de la España romana y visigoda, no. 361; José E. López Pereira, ed., Crónica Mozárabe de 754 (Madrid, 1980), 26–27; Barroso Cabrera, Carrobles Santos, Morín de Pablos, et al., “El paisaje urbano,” 344–345, n. 86.

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was walled and that several buildings or archaeological ensembles existed outside the city at the foot of the mountain and to the north of the walls. One of these buildings was certainly the basilica of Santa Leocadia.22 There has been much speculation regarding the location of the church of San Pedro and San Pablo, above all due to the fact that in the acts of the councils it was said to be located in suburbia.23 Perhaps the most relevant opinion related to this point is that of Pedro de Palol i Salellas24 (and ostensibly shared by Luis J. Balmaseda Muncharaz25 and, more recently, Rafael Barroso Cabrera26) who insists that the suburban character of the basilica is a result of it being contrasted with and differentiated from the cathedral of Santa María, which was an urban example. Pedro de Palol i Salellas has noted that in Rome temples located within the walls were also referred to as suburban.27 2

The Arab Conquest

The previously mentioned28 centralizing tendency provoked annoyance, if not open rebellion, among certain oligarchies of both Roman and Visigothic origin. Finding themselves at the margins of dynastic struggles, the biggest ethnic oligarchies viewed with scepticism the inclination of Toledan monarchs to give up their privileges. There also seems to have existed an influential but strongly suppressed and perhaps sizable Jewish minority.29 For these reasons it is not surprising that, independent of the perception of the Arabs and their intentions on this side of the strait, the peninsular dissidents, for one reason or another, could not question what they may have perceived as offers for help once contact had been made with the Arabs.30 Given what had already occurred in 22

Rebeca Rubio Rivera and Vassilis Tsiolis, “El primer recinto amurallado de Toledo,” in Los muros de Toledo, ed. Jesús Carrobles Santos (Madrid, 2004), 225–249; Rebeca Rubio Rivera, “Toledo romana: balance y nuevas perspectivas en la investigación,” in Arqueología romana en Toletum, 1985–2004, ed. Antonio Romero Rabadán (Toledo, 2005), 137–139. 23 Orlandis Rovira and Ramos-Lisson, Historia de los concilios, 197–226; Vadillo Romero, “Los concilios de Toledo,” 215–230. 24 Palol i Salellas, “Resultado de las excavaciones junto al Cristo de la Vega”; Gurt i Esparraguera and Pilar Diarte Blasco, “La basílica de Santa Leocadia y el final del uso del circo romano de Toledo: una nueva interpretación,” 149–163. 25 Balmaseda Muncharaz, “En busca de las iglesias toledanas,” 204–206. 26 Barroso Cabrera, Carrobles Santos, Morín de Pablos, et al., “El paisaje urbano,” 346. 27 Palol i Salellas, “Resultado de las excavaciones junto al Cristo de la Vega.” 28 Balmaseda Muncharaz, “En busca de las iglesias toledanas,” 205. 29 Collins, La conquista árabe, 40; Arce, Esperando a los árabes, 72, 75, 231. 30 Luis García Iglesias, Los judíos en la España Antigua (Madrid, 1978); idem, “Los menores de edad hijos de judíos, en los cánones y leyes de la época visigoda,” El Olivo (n.d.): 18–33.

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other regions of the Mediterranean basin, they may have believed that a hypothetical invasion of the kingdom would be short-lived and its weight more easily carried than the policies of the Visigothic monarchs. Just as in Syria, Egypt, or North Africa, the conquest of the regnum gothorum does not seem to have provoked “widespread destruction.” Instead, it happened in all places in a similar pattern: a certain number of isolated, violent confrontations, then the collapse rather than defeat, of the existing political systems in each region. Sieges of important cities followed, and were generally resolved via negotiation ending in an agreement between the contending sides. These pacts had a long perduration,31 as was customary for the time. Regardless of how much their tactical capabilities have been exaggerated,32 the Arab armies possessed military superiority at specific times and at specific places due, above all, to the atrophy of the military systems of their powerful enemies. In both the short and long term, they never ended up obtaining partial victories without the support of local powers and populations. For this reason, the conquest was not as violent, since it used diplomacy more than force.33 On an equally large scale, these tactics conditioned not only the future development of events but also the political practice of Islam with regards to religious minorities.34 The complaints of the cleric who redacted the so-called Cronica Mozárabe of 75435 gives us an idea of how the Arab conquest was perceived by the defeated

31 Collins, La conquista árabe, 32–37; Arce, Esperando a los árabes, 291. 32 On the general problems of the Arab conquest: Georges H. Bousquet, “Observations sur la nature et les causes de la conquête arabe,” Studia Islamica 6 (1956): 37–52; Marius Canard, “L’expansion arabe: le problème militaire,” in L’Occidente e l’Islam nell’Alto Medioevo (Spoleto, 1964), 37–63; Demetrios J. Constantelos, “The Moslem conquest of the Near East as revealed in the Greek sources of the viith and viiith centuries,” Byzantion 42 (1972): 325–357, here 355–357; Richard W. Bulliet, The camel and the wheel (Cambridge, Mass., 1975); Donald R. Hill, The termination of hostilities in the Early Arab conquest (London, 1971). 33 Archaeology has shown that at some specific places there was destruction, but it can not be demonstrated whether this was a generalized process. See Pedro de Palol i Selellas and Rodrigo Pita Mercè, “La basílica de Bobalá y su mobiliario litúrgico,” in Actas del viii Congreso Internacional de Arqueología Cristiana (Barcelona, 1972), 345–401; Pedro de Palol i Salellas, “Las excavaciones del conjunto de ‘El Bovalar,’ Serós (Sagriá, Lérida) y el reino de Akhila,” in Los visigodos. Historia y civilización (Antigüedad y Cristianismo 3) (Murcia, 1986), 513–525. 34 Pedro Chalmeta Gendrón, “España musulmana: la sociedad andalusí, la economía, instituciones,” in Historia General de España y América, vol. 3 (Madrid, 1988), 466. 35 Arce, Esperando a los árabes, 256.

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side,36 or at least some of the defeated, considering that all social classes must not have had the same reaction. Not everyone suffered in the same way, nor did everyone malign the conquest. We must also keep in mind the religious nature of the Chronicle, which attributes the conquest to the sins of the Christians themselves.37 This same tone can be read in other western Christian chronicles penned under similar circumstances.38 Without denying the reality of the narrative as far as violence is concerned, we are able to appreciate how the Cronica Mozárabe is not exempt from the concerns of its western counterparts and, as much as the comparison helps us to understand its historical context, it also obligates us to read with caution. In any case, the easy conquest and relatively fast assimilation of the indigenous populations can be explained, among other reasons, from an elevated degree of fatalist acceptance of the new circumstances on behalf of the social groups possessing decision-making powers. Despite the tendency of historians to highlight the role of the Arab element, from a Hispanist point of view, the conquering armies at this time were in fact composed primarily of North African contingents who were superficially Islamized and certainly not Arabic speakers. They were most likely recent ­converts and many, if not the majority, were Christians—orthodox or not— and Latin speakers39 or at least with knowledge of Latin, given their origins. 3

The Conquest of Toledo

It is worth considering why some cities of Hispania mounted a prolonged resistance to the invading forces while in others resistance was barely attempted. An example of the first case was Augusta Emerita/Mérida, and of the second Toletum itself, whereas Corduba/Córdoba found itself in an intermediate situation. If the members of Rodrigo’s royal army who did not defect to the enemy were defeated, those who resisted in Mérida could have formed part of the deserters. Eventually, the city surrendered and the conditions of this surrender are known.40 In Córdoba, a double action occurred where one group, 36 López Pereira, Crónica Mozárabe de 754, 71–73. 37 Ibid. 38 Sébeos, Histoire d’Heraclius (Paris, 1905), 104, 129; Jean de Nikiou, “Chronique,” in Notices et Extraits des manuscrits de la Bibliothèque Nationale, xxiv, ed. Hermann Zotenberg, translated by Frédéric Macler (Paris, 1883), 448–449. 39 Chalmeta Gendrón, “España musulmana,” 457. 40 Al-Rāzī. Crónica del moro Rasis, ed. Diego Catalán Menéndez Piedal and María Soledad de Andrés (Fuentes Cronísticas de la Historia de España 3) (Madrid, 1975), 359; Diego

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the Visigoth garrison (perhaps aided by those fleeing the battle of the Guadalete River) mounted resistance while another group, probably related to the local oligarchy, reached an agreement. This was the same attitude documented in the first siege of Damascus when the Byzantine garrison attempted to resist, disregarding the opinion of the local aristocracy who agreed to surrender to the Arabs.41 Insofar as we can give a modicum of credibility to such a late account,42 the description of the conquest given by the Akhbār majmūʿa reports that the general Mughīth al-Rūmī battled the Toledo garrison. However, the first part of the story describes the entry of the Arabs thanks to the assistance of a shepherd who provided the necessary information to access the main square via a hidden, unprotected area.43 Similar conduct was noted in Seville and Zaragoza.44 Ultimately, it can be expected that the same model was employed in agreements signed within the peninsula as those drawn up outside it.45 For this reason, the conquest of the large Hispanic cities following the Battle of Guadalete was relatively peaceful and subject to established rules of warfare. This would explain an archaeological finding that, for now, is undebatable: the absence of generalized levels of destruction dateable with some accuracy to between 711 and 714.46 Toledo does not appear to have mounted any resistance to the Arab conquerors and, in this sense, seems to corroborate all known written testimonies (apart from legends about the riches found there47), which to the present day have not been contradicted by archaeology. In view of the desertion that occurred within the ranks of Rodrigo’s army and the defection of an important number of his political opponents, it is reasonable to expect that Toledo would end up in the hands of the conquerors, and its properties subject to an inviolable agreement with the victors. It can be deduced from written ­documentation

Catalán Menéndez Piedal and María Soledad de Andrés, eds., Crónica General de España de 1344 (Madrid, 1971), 152. 41 Ibn ʿAsākir, La description de Damas, translated by Nikita Elisséeff (Damascus, 1959). 42 Évariste Lévi-Provençal, “Akhbār Madjmūʿa,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, vol. 1, 2nd ed. (Leiden, 1960), 330–331. 43 Akhbār majmūʿa, Colección de Noticias, edited and translated by Emilio Lafuente y Alcántara (Madrid, 1867), §10/p. 23. 44 Collins, La conquista árabe, 44. 45 Chalmeta Gendrón, “España musulmana,” 466. 46 See note 32. 47 Arce, Esperando a los árabes, 284–285; Maḥmūd ʿA. Makkī, “Egipto y los orígenes de la historiografía árabe española: Contribución al estudio de las primeras fuentes de historia hispanomusulmana,” Revista del Instituto Egipcio de Estudios Islámicos 5 (1957): 157–248, here 174–180; Julia Hernández Juberías, La Península imaginaria. Mitos y leyendas sobre al-Andalus (Madrid, 1996), 199–208.

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that some type of surrender agreement was signed.48 The text of Jiménez de Rada seems to imply that those who surrendered the city were the enemies of King Rodrigo. The remaining members of the upper class who stayed would not have expected to be harmed by those who were at this point their allies. Departing towards the north, Ṭāriq b. Ziyād left behind a garrison of Jews to guard the city in his name.49 The archbishop Sindered50 and Romulo, younger son of King Egica, met in Toletum. Without a doubt, this was involved with the anti-Rodrigo desertion and, as compensation, numerous properties were conceded to Romulo and his brothers, or that those already in his possession were respected. This figure accompanied Mūsā b. Nuṣayr to Damascus, where he pledged allegiance to the caliph al-Walīd [I] b. ʿAbd al-Mālik (705–715). The archbishop soon fled the city and sought refuge in Rome.51 In Hispania, the Arabs did not employ the method of founding a new capital completely their own and located in proximity to the former capital, as we knew occurred inMesopotamia—Ctesiphon/Baghdad—o en Ifrīqiya—Carthage/Qayrawān— though there is no lack of examples of cities where the conquerors acted in this way: Ilvīra/Iliberris, Mārida/Baṭalyus, Illu/Mursiyya. Nevertheless, this clearly did not occur with Toledo; there is no alternative capital located nearby. From the beginning, the conquerors’ interest was focused on the Guadalquivir basin. It must be expected that soon after the conquest, the new masters began to transform the city, not because their entrance provoked serious material harm, but rather because they needed to adapt the new territories to their own needs, in their own way, above all in the sphere of religion. Religious, rather than civic, topography was probably the first to change. Islam imposed its laws and at least some Christian temples were converted into mosques, though we are not sure whether this process was immediate or affected all religious buildings in the same way. It does seem likely that the first three affected in Toledo were the basilica of Santa Leocadia, for its location beyond the city walls and its martirial character; the basilica of San Pedro and San Pablo, for its relation with the palatium; and, significantly, the basilica of Santa María, whose cathedralesque nature demanded that it be transformed into the main mosque. Yet based on the conserved remains, it is difficult to interpret the way in which Islamic culture was created in the city following the moment of conquest. It is important 48 49 50

51

Rodrigo Jiménez de Rada, Historia de los hechos de España, ed. Juan Fernández Valverde (Madrid, 1989), 163. Akhbār Majmūʿa, Colección de Noticias, 184. Ricardo Izquierdo assumed that Sindered could have led the resistence against the Arabs and then fled to Rome when the Arabs entered in the city. See Ricardo Izquierdo Benito, “Edad Media,” in Historia de Toledo. De la Prehistoria al Presente, ed. Julio de la Cruz Muñoz (Toledo, 2010), 97. López Pereira, Crónica Mozárabe de 754, 71; Collins, La conquista árabe, 34, 45, 192.

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to remember that one part of the material culture of the conquerors was essentially Syrian, meaning Eastern Roman, and that many of the blueprints (especially architectural) were not introduced for the first time nor reintroduced, because they had already existed on the Iberian peninsula since the Visigothic period. It is difficult to ascertain the genealogy of certain stylistic and morphological elements with a common origin and slightly more than a century of difference between them. In order to outline the influence that the Arab conquest potentially had on the Visigoths’ urbs regia, we first must evaluate the degree of transformation exerted upon the components of the city itself. 4

The City

Different dimensions of the late-ancient old city have been given. According to Rafael Barroso Cabrera,52 the pre-Islamic period of the city must have contained approximately 60 hectares, although it is unknown if it occupied merely a portion or practically the entire surface of the meseta, as today, or if the settlement was walled, especially on its southern end. The organization of Toledo’s urban planning could not have varied widely until rather advanced dates. For the time being, we possess only a few facts and, accordingly, must approach the matter with some caution. The facts we have are deduced from two events: the construction process of the Bāb al-Mardūm mosque, which interrupted one of the main thoroughfares of the RomanVisigothic city a few years before the end of the Caliphate of Córdoba, and the appearance (resulting from the destruction provoked by the S­ panish civil war of 1936–39) of the lower part of a large wall stretching from the hill of the Alcázar to the northern edge of the meseta, which separated the military and student area from the rest of the old city. This organization may have contained a degree of internal subdivision, which would explain the apparent textual contradiction of situating the church of San Pedro and San Pablo in the suburbio and the praetorium simultaneously. This division must have been maintained until long after 711, and was reinforced when the governor ʿAmrūs b. Yūsuf (c. 760–813/14), in times of the emir al-Ḥakam i (796–822) carried out a reform of the civilian area (806)53 that, according to chronicles was raised in mortar, a 52 53

Barroso Cabrera, Carrobles Santos, Morín de Pablos, et al., “El paisaje urbano,” 330. Ibn al-Athīir, Al-Kāmil fi l-tārīj, ed. Carl J. Tornberg, 13 vols. (Leiden, 1851/1876), 6:330; Ibn ʿIdhārī, Al-Bayān al-mugrib, ed. Georges S. Colin and Évariste Lévi-Provençal (Leiden, 1948/1951). Translation: Ibn ʿIdari, Histoire de l’Afrique et de l’Espagne intitulée Al-Bayano ‘l-Mogrib, ed. Edmond Fagnan (Argel, 1901/1904), 10; Félix Hernández Giménez, “The Citadell and Walls of Toledo,” in Early Muslim Architecture, vol. 2: Early ʿAbbāsids. Umayyads of Cordova. Aghlabids, Ṭūlūnids, and Semānids (a.d. 751–905) (Oxford, 1940), 205. There was

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strange but not improbable material in the usual proceedings of Toledo’s structural history. This could be explained if its true function was to expand and complete a part of the old pretoriense wall that may have disappeared. What until that point had been called praetorium went from being al-qaṣaba—from alcazaba—or military zone to, afterwards, alcázar. Years later (932), the reigning caliph ʿAbd al-Raḥmān iii (891–961) organized the ḥizām (or ringroad) whose structure was not distinct from that which was present since at least the Visigothic period. The project may have been considered superb by court chronicles, but the behavior of the sovereign of Córdoba was limited to isolating this area of the city completely and satisfactorily protecting its entrances in order to prevent rebels in the main square from gaining access to the bridge to control and eventually block it off. This is why the project would have reinforced, or possibly expanded, the extant late ancient walls. Furthermore, it is highly likely—to the point that no contradictory information has yet been published—that a terrace would have existed between the official zone and the settlement’s old city (although the borders of such an area are currently not able to be defined). In this regard, Islam’s urban planning did not differ from that of the prior period. The traveller Ibn Jubayr (1145–1217) noted this organization when describing the cities of Mosul and Harran (Iraq) in the middle of the 12th century.54 In both cases there existed a large terrace between the citadel and the old city, with the sultan’s residence located next to the citadel. Although possessing a unique urban structure, Baghdad itself, founded in 762/3 by the caliph Abbasí al-Manṣūr (r. 754–775), contained a terrace between the walls, surrounding the caliph’s palace and the mosque and separating both from the occupied neighborhoods.55 This method of organization seems to have been maintained in Morocco until at least the 18th century, as can be observed in the city of Meknes after its conversion to the capital of Ismaʿīl i (1672–1727).56 In al-Andalus, this phenomenon has been documented archaeologically in Badajoz,57 whose foundation under ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Jillīqī most likely

54 55 56

57

another reform in the time of ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ii for which the details are unknown. See Clara Delgado Valero, Toledo Islámico: ciudad, arte e historia (Toledo, 1987), 206–208. Ibn Jubayr, A través del Oriente. El siglo xii ante los ojos. Rihla (Barcelona, 1988), 277, 291. Keppel A.C. Creswell, Early Muslim Architecture, 2 vols. (Oxford, 1932/1940), 2:1–38. Marianne Barrucand, L’Architecture de la Qasba de Mouley Ismail à Meknes (Études et Travaux d’Archéologie Marocaine 6) (Rabat, 1976); eadem, Urbanisme princier en Islam: Meknes et les villes royales islamiques post-médiévales (Bibliothèque d’ études islamiques 13) (París, 1985); eadem, “Die Palastarchitektur des Mulay Ismaʿil: die Qasaba von Meknes,” Madrider Mitteilungen 30 (1989): 506–523. Rodrigo O. Tirado Salazar, Análisis urbanístico de Batalyaws (Master Thesis, Universidad Autónoma de Madrid, 2013).

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Figure 4.3 Zocodover Place and Arco de la Sangre. Entrance to the palatium area

occurred between 785 and 790.58 A large terrace also existed there, where it was used as a market area and is perfectly identifiable today. In my view, the vestige of this space in Toledo is the present Zocodover plaza—Sūq al-dawwār (saddle market) which consists merely of fossilized remains (fig. 4.3). 5

The Palace

There is little to be added about the non-religious buildings of the city. After the conquest, the royal palace (wherever its location) was never spoken of again beyond a few descriptions of mythical character, aimed at magnifying the Arab victory and the scope of the plunder.59 The historiographical tradition has maintained the reasonable idea that the royal visigothic palace—the aula regia—occupied the same area that afterwards served as the residence 58 59

Fernando Valdés Fernández, “Acerca de la islamización de Extremadura,” in La islamización de la Extremadura romana, ed. Fernando Valdés Fernández and Augustín Velázquez Jiménez (Cuadernos emeritenses 17) (Mérida, 2001), 335–368. See note 46.

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of the sovereign Taifas of Toledo:60 i.e., the grouping formed by the convent of Santa Fe, the Hospital de Santa Cruz, and the convent of the Concepción Francisca. De los Rios believed that the bizarre location of the palatium could have contributed to its mention of being located in suburbio. Arguments have been made in favor of the walling of the palace zone based on two miniatures reproduced in the Albeldense or Vigiliano (976) y Emilianense (992), codices stored in the Escorial Library61 (fig. 4.4). In both, the city of Toletum is illustrated in the upper section of the page, representing a city with towers and battlements, with two gates possessing horseshoe arches. The gate situated on the left appears to be named ianna ­urbis and that of the right ianna muri. In the lower section of the drawings, the ecclesia Maria virginis is shown on the left while the basilica sancti Petri is on the right. It has been suggested that the arrangements of both churches (the basilica of Santa María is in front of the city gate itself while the basilica of San Pedro is in front of what may be the pretorio62) before each of the upper area gates may be indicating that one was located within the pretoriense enclosure (the basilica of San Pedro) while the other was in an urban setting (the basilica of Santa María). It would make sense that the pretoriense church of San Pedro and San Pablo was re-Christianized afterwards, according to documentation, as Santa María del Alficén.63 In a will dated 1209, Rivera Recio cited the mention of several nuns from San Pedro en Alhicem.64 6

The Wall and Urban Roadways

Not even the urban wall of Toletum attracted the attention of the Arab writers, which complicates the issue of its true dimension.65 To begin with, the 60 61

62 63 64 65

Rodrigo Amador de los Ríos y Villalta, Toledo (Monumentos arquitectónicas de España. 2nd series 1) (Madrid, 1905), 43; Porres Martín-Cleto, Historia de las calles de Toledo, 2:644–645. Roger E. Reynolds, “The civitas Regia Toletana before the Reconquista: a mozarabic vision in the Codices Vigilanus and Aemilianensis,” in ii Congreso Internacional de Estudios Mozárabes. Estudios sobre Alfonso vi y la reconquista de Toledo, 3 vols. (Toledo, 1987/1989), 3:153. Velázquez Soriano and Ripoll, “Toletum, la construcción de una urbs regia,” 562; Balmaseda Muncharaz, “En busca de las iglesias toledanas,” 206. Delgado Valero, Toledo Islámico, 195–229; Rubio Rivera and Tsiolis, “El primer recinto amurallado de Toledo,” 562; Balmaseda Muncharaz, “En busca de las iglesias toledanas,” 200; Barroso Cabrera, Carrobles Santos, Morín de Pablos, et al., “El paisaje urbano,” 347. Juan F. Rivera Recio, La iglesia de Toledo en el siglo xii (Rome, 1966), 96–97. Rubio Rivera and Tsiolis, “El primer recinto amurallado de Toledo,” 225–249.

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Figure 4.4 Miniature in the Codex Vigilianus

monumental character of its gates derives more from reports prior to 711 than after this date, and they must not have undergone many modifications until the 9th century, when political anxiety precipitated action. It is difficult to imagine that the improvements carried out by the Umayyad dynasty of Qurṭuba had any relation to the city’s level of Islamization. On the contrary, it may be interpreted as a rejection of this process. Starting from the reign of al-Ḥakam i, the

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revolts in Ṭulayṭula, as well as those in Mārida/Mérida and other places, are due more to the rejection of the centralizing policies that the Umayyads were imposing, thereby violating the initial agreements of the conquest.66 The first references to the fortifications date back to the 9th century (797/8– 807 and 837). Nevertheless, they reveal little about the old city’s evolution, and accomplish little more than reinforcing the idea of the existence of a military zone on the site currently occupied by the Alcázar; perhaps, as has been noted by Latin sources, the same space where the praetorium was constructed. Although we possess a relatively detailed description of the city’s defenses, the intervention of Córdoba must have been limited to military matters, as much in the 9th century as in the 10th. The major intervention of the caliph ʿAbd alRaḥmān iii (who in 932 strengthened the urban precincts, especially the area through which the bridge led into the main square) was not so pronounced. The wall’s location and characteristics could not have been very different from those of the late antique walls of Toletum, which had a common Roman-­ Byzantine67 tradition. Though it cannot be considered more than a hypothesis, perhaps the ḥizām (ring road) referred to by Ibn Ḥayyān68 was no more than a transformation or adaptation of the suburbium or military zone of the Visigothic praetorium.69 Likewise, little is known about the city’s streets. The tendency of researchers has been to search for traces of the original Roman street plan70 in today’s winding layout, always attributed to Arab influence, despite scant evidence. Recently, upon excavating the church of Cristo de la Luz (the former mosque Bāb al-Mardūm) (fig. 4.5) and its immediate area, it has been demonstrated that this building, dating from 999/1000, interrupted and caused the diversion of the street that passed in front of it.

66 Collins, La conquista árabe, 36–37. 67 Fernando Valdés Fernández, “El propugnaculum de Mérida y la tradición arquitectónica bizantina en al-Andalus,” Revista de Estudios Extremeños 52 (1996): 463–485; idem, “Un puente sobre el Tajo: el proceso de islamización de la ciudad de Toledo,” in Regia Sedes Toletana, vol. 1: La topografía de la ciudad de Toledo en la Antigüedad tardía y Alta Edad Media (Toledo, 2007), 165–206; idem, “El recinto urbano de Toledo,” Beiträge zur islamischen Kunst und Archäologie 1 (2008): 55–59. 68 Ibn Ḥayyān, Al-Muqtabis v, ed. Pedro Chalmeta Gendrón, Federico Corriente, and Mahmud Sobh (Madrid, 1979), §188–189/p. 213–214, §214–215/p. 239–240, §216/p. 240, §217/p. 242. Translation: Ibn Ḥayyān, Crónica del califa ʿAbdarrahman iii an-Nasir entre los años 912 y 942 (al-Muqtabis v), ed. M. Jesús Viguera and Federico Corriente (Zaragoza, 1979). 69 Velázquez Soriano and Ripoll, “Toletum, la construcción de una urbs regia,” 550–563; Arce, Esperando a los árabes, 76–78. 70 Rubio Rivera and Tsiolis, “El primer recinto amurallado de Toledo,” 231.

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Figure 4.5 Church of Cristo de la Luz, former mosque of Bāb al-Mardūm

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The church, whose paving of large slabs is conserved in perfect condition, follows a south-to-north route from inside the old city and apparently leads northwards into a double-arched gate71 which was transformed long afterwards (perhaps at the end of the 12th century or the beginning of the 13th) in order to give it an appearance similar to that which is seen today. It is possible that the passage from the double-arch to the single arch was constructed beforehand. This was most likely the main access to Toletum, at least until the Arab conquest, and was shared with the passage that crossed the Tagus from the west via the Alcántara bridge,72 which it substituted in symbolic importance.73 Perhaps today’s Valmardon bridge (Bāb al-Mardūm) was the same which Ibn Bashkuwāl refers to in his Kitāb al-Ṣila, referring to it as Bāb al-Shāqra (Gate of the Sagra) and which scholars who have dealt with the topic have confused with the earlier phase of the gate known as the gate of Nueva de Bisagra.74 The most likely scenario is that Bāb al-Mardūm was the main access to the urbs regia. The royal entourage had to pass through there when they were leaving for or returning from missions75 and, additionally, the defeated ranks of dukes Petrus and Archemundo were paraded there.76 As I have indicated, there is no doubt that the gate maintained its role as the main access to Toletum until the gate of Alcántara was constructed or, possibly, it shared with that gate the very same directions, north and east, respectively. Although the principal roads of Toletum maintained the orthogonal trajectory, it is clear that the morphology of the hill and its immediate district appeared to present a 90-degree angle to whoever was crossing the city. Over time, the Alcántara gate surpassed the symbolic importance of the Valmardon gate by virtue of being the one that looked towards Qurṭuba, the capital of al-Andalus, and gave access to the bridge which crossed the Tagus. As previously indicated, its control obligated ʿAbd al-Raḥmān iii (932) to construct the enclosure that isolated it from the city and whose memory is conserved in the place name Alficén. Until 999/1000, the road which leads to the gate, whether or not its two openings were modified, had to continue being used as the main northern access. The construction of the Bāb al-Mardūm mosque at the end of the Caliphate period broached the Roman road and forced its rerouting. 71

Arturo Ruíz Taboada, Arquitectura residencial y religiosa: Toledo (ss. x al xviii) (Madrid, 2012), 165–169. 72 See Fernández Casado, Historia del puente en España. 73 Fernando Valdés Fernández, “Puertas de recintos urbanos y cambio político. Los casos de la muralla urbana de Toledo y de las alcazabas de Mérida y Badajoz,” in Stadttore: Bautyp und Kunstform (Iberia Archaeologica 8) (Mainz, 2006), 407–429. 74 Delgado Valero, Toledo Islámico, 173. 75 Marius Ferotin, Le Liber Ordinum, 150–155. 76 Arce, Esperando a los árabes, 153, 154, 157.

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From this information, I can surmise that the gate was modified afterwards but that Toledo’s road network, at least the main streets, remained scarcely altered from its original Roman trajectory. Only a religious building (the mosque of Bāb al-Mardūm) constructed under the patronage of a figure belonging to an important Toledo family77 was able to interrupt and divert one of the main roads. Despite the road’s importance, this observation cannot be confirmed as long as further evidence remains unavailable and it is unknown whether in the final moments of the Umayyad Caliphate this urbanistic anomaly constituted an exception agreed to by the authorities, or whether we can consider it a sign of the dismemberment of the Roman street plan. 7

The Transformation of Places of Worship

7.1 The Main Mosque The first recorded statement we have that relates to Islamic places of worship comes to us from Ibn Ḥayyān. Referring to an event he did not experience personally, this historian describes how in 870/71 the inhabitants of Toledo requested permission from the emir Muḥammad i to use funds from the kharāj78 for the reconstruction of the main mosque’s minaret, which had caved in, and at the same time asked him to permit the annexation of an adjacent church.79 Eduardo Manzano Moreno80 approached this text from a fiscal and political perspective, but from an archaeological point of view it is clear that what was being described was a situation already documented in Resafa (Syria),81 in Damascus (Syria)82 and in Córdoba itself:83 the shared use of an earlier religious building. In my opinion, this would have been the cathedral of Toletum. One of the most characteristic processes of the Islamic conquest in the Mediterranean area was repeated: the shared use of the main churches of the city, or to be more exact, the obligation of the Christian communities to cede them partially to the Muslims. While this was not always the case, in significant cases it was required. Furthermore, this process demonstrated who 77

Manuel Ocaña Jiménez, “La inscripción fundacional de la mezquita de Bab al-Mardum,” Al-Andalus 14 (1949): 175–183. 78 Claude Cahen, “Kharaj,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, vol. 4, 2nd ed. (Leiden, 1978), 1062–1066. 79 Ibn Ḥayyān, Al-Muqtabis min anbā’ ahl al-Andalus, ed. Maḥmūd ʿAli Makkī (Beirut, 1973), 327; Évariste Lévi-Provençal, Histoire de L’Espagne Musulmane, vol. 3: Le siècle du califat de Cordoue (Paris, 1950), 224, n. 4. 80 Eduardo Manzano Moreno, La frontera de al-Andalus en época de los omeyas (Madrid, 1991), 216–297. 81 Dorothée Sack, Die Groβe Moschee von Resafa—Rusafat Hišam (Mainz, 1996). 82 Creswell, Early Muslim Architecture, 1:128–135. 83 Al-Maqqarī, Nafḥ al-ṭīb min ghuṣn al-Andalus al-raṭīb, ed. Iḥsān ʿAbbās, 2nd ed. (Beirut, 1968), 368.

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the triumphant power was. With time, the growth in the number of believers and the consolidation of the conqueror’s regime caused all of these buildings to be expropriated in order to convert them into mosques. Once transferred, they were adapted to the new use or demolished in order to raise others with new foundations via the use of spolia—certain materials originating from the older buildings—which were more or less practical as well as symbolic. In 1980, under the direction of Guido Conrad von Konradsheim, several geophysical investigations were carried out on the floor of the Toledo cathedral.84 The result of these investigations, which attempted to identify the supposedly preserved structures of the great mosque, was a graphic that (broadly interpreted) resulted in the apparent presence of remains of a rectangular building divided into various naves and oriented approximately south to north,85 drawing a supposed rectangle of 61 × 39 meters, more wide than deep. It contained 11 naves, the central one being wider and the qibla slightly oriented towards the southeast. This theory has been reported in successive projects which have improved the representation of the remains, and ended up turning what was once a vague hypothesis into a near certainty.86 Nevertheless, nothing new has come from within the cathedral that would confirm Guido Conrad von Konradsheim’s theory. The only clear advance has been the excavations overseen by Martín Almagro Gorbea in the building’s cloister,87 which has brought to light a part of the northern wall of the old mosque88 and has been able to prove that the two cisterns situated in the subsoil of the patio formed part of it, though we cannot recognize with certainty when it was constructed. Several inscriptions carved into its plaster certify that it was already excavated in 1075,89 and certainly in 1032. This last date appears confirmed in the curb ordered by al-Ẓāfir, the first monarch of the Taifa of Toledo, in order to place it at the source of one of the aforementioned cisterns.90 Furthermore, it can be accepted that some constructive elements used as spolia in the retrochoir of 84 85 86 87 88 89 90

R. Ortiz Ramis and A. García García, Memoria del proyecto “Studio geofísico de zonas arqueológicas” (Programa 1980) (Madrid, 1980), apartado 1.1, with Delgado Valero, Toledo Islámico, 348, n. 26. Guido Conrad von Konradsheim, “Exploration géophysique des soubassements de la cathédrale de Tolède,” Annales d’Histoire de l’Art et d’Archéologie, Université Libre de Bruxelles 11 (1980): 95–99. Tom Nickson, Toledo Cathedral. Building Histories in Medieval Castile (University Park, Penn., 2015), 36. Martín Almagro Gorbea, José-María Barranco Ribot, and Markel Gorbea Pérez, Excavaciones en el claustro de la catedral de Toledo (Bibliotheca Archaeologica Hispana 33) (Madrid, 2011). Ibid. 98–99. Martínez Núñez, María A., “Los grafitos árabes del aljibe S4,” in Excavaciones en el claustro de la catedral de Toledo (Bibliotheca Archaeologica Hispana 33) (Madrid, 2011), 281–288. Évariste Lévi-Provençal, Les inscriptions arabes d’Espagne (Leiden, 1931), 65–67, no. 57.

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the cathedral and in the chapel of Santa Lucía91 come from the mosque itself, but nothing, much less the electromagnetic prospecting, shows the original structure of the Islamic building or the much-debated orientation of its miḥrāb and qibla, neither of which have been discovered.92 We move forward without having more than the certainty of the conversion of the Visigothic basilica into a mosque, perhaps with a period of shared use during the reign of Muḥammad i (823–886). It comes as a surprise, then, that at least one of the cisterns may have been constructed in 1032, as the inscription on its well-curb demonstrates.93 We can suppose the existence of another previously, but the dates of 1032 and 1075 indicate that the process of Islamization and Arabization would have been almost fully concluded in the city around the time the first monarch of the Banū Dhī-l-Nūn saw the necessity of amplifying the water resources of the capital’s mosque. In any case, the transformation of a cathedral into a mosque, with or without an earlier period of dual use, cannot be considered an immediate symbol of Islamization. It was made necessary in order to demonstrate the identity of the victors, and by extension, the triumphant religion. The expropriation of the part occupied by the Christian community comes to be above all a symbol of political control, not a way of calculating the number of converted, although without a doubt this aspect must have been influential as well. We do not possess evidence about the process of transformation of churches into mosques beyond what is described in relation to the mosque. It does not reveal whether other places of worship, some as important as the church of San Pedro and San Pablo, were transformed. If this was the case, as has been asserted, with a building so closely linked to the Visigothic aristocracy, neither a continuity of use nor a transformation into a mosque should be assumed without archaeological evidence. Neither do the texts reveal anything. The fact that Ṭulayṭula went from being urbs regia to occupying a subordinate category in the territorial organization of al-Andalus leads us to picture an abandonment of the building, at least as a place of worship. Although it cannot be confirmed, it is more than likely that the relics of Saint Leocadia were not in their usual place by the time the Arabs arrived in Toledo, independently of whether or not the archbishop Sindered still remained in the city. We lack evidence to suppose that the basilica continued in use, as it had prior to the conquest, or was destroyed in that moment. It may have maintained a waning religious activity until being abandoned once 91 92 93

Several marble columns—46 grooved and 8 smooth. See Delgado Valero, Toledo Islámico, 274. Monica Ríus Piniés, “Orientación de las mezquitas en Toledo,” Tulaytula 4 (1999): 67–75; eadem, La alquibla en al-Andalus y al-Magrib al-Aqsà (Barcelona, 2000), 118–119; Alfonso Jiménez Martín, “La qibla extraviada,” Cuadernos de Madīnat al-Zahrā’ 3 (1991): 189–209. See note 90.

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and for all. Nor can we confirm its transformation into a mosque. The saint’s relics were eventually removed from storage in Ṭulayṭula and transferred to Oviedo.94 Whether or not the relics returned, the initial move would inevitably have encouraged its gradual abandonment and subsequent conversion into a source of construction materials. An analogous process has been ­documented in the basilica of Santa Eulalia, in Augusta Emerita.95 Its abandonment would have been attributed more to lack of use than a deliberate policy of destruction based on ideological reasons. The basilica of Santa Leocadia would remain in ruins until its reconstruction, in 1166, after the Leonese conquest of the city.96 The study of historische Bauforschung carried out by Rütenik97 has shown that several of the oldest Toledo churches were mosques, but although some of their structural elements are recognizable, it is difficult to ascribe to them an absolute date. Though they demonstrate the progressive transformation of the Christian temples of Visigothic origin into Islamic oratories, the information they provide is too general to add precision to the problem we are dealing with.98 As far as the monasteries situated beyond the walls are concerned, it is difficult to make assertions given the present state of investigations. They must have suffered a generalized process of abandonment prior to the imminent Arab conquest, and were perhaps never reinhabited. Some could have been maintained, but this is currently unknown. All signs indicate that, similar to what occurred with the archbishop, the monks either emigrated from the city or abandoned their religious dedication. 8

The Interior of the Old City

Recent years have seen an increasing number of excavations carried out in ­Toledo’s urban center, which has allowed the recuperation of a significant

94

95 96 97 98

The relics belong, at least in theory, in the Toledo temple until those of Alfonso ii moved to a chapel dedicated to them in Oviedo. See Carmen García Rodríguez, El culto de los santos en la España romana y visigoda (Monografías de historia eclesiástica 1) (Madrid, 1966). Pedro Mateos Cruz, “La cristianización de la Lusitania (ss. iv–vii). Extremadura en época visigoda,” Extremadura Arqueológica 4 (1995): 239–263. Balmaseda Muncharaz, “En busca de las iglesias toledanas,” 202. Tobias Rütenik, Transformation von Moscheen zu Kirchen in Toledo (Ph.D. thesis; Technische Universität Berlin, 2006/2007). According to Juan Zozaya Stabel-Hansen, the present church of El Salvador, which was a mosque, is the oldest in Toledo, al-Andalus, and the medieval Islamic world, see “La transición del mundo visigótico a la época islámica,” in Hispania Gothorum. San Ildefonso y el reino visigodo de Toledo, ed. Luis J. Balmaseda Muncharaz (Toledo, 2007), 115–128, here 123.

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quantity of historical information related to the development of the city. Among the most important, it is worth calling attention to two convents: San Pedro Mártir el Real and Madre de Dios. Both were raised to an elevated height (the former being higher than the latter) and spread across a substantial surface which forms a slope in an east-to-west direction. The convent of San Pedro Mártir el Real comprises several buildings that were incorporated in successive phases.99 Little has been published with respect to the results of the investigations into this convent. Although only the zones marked for constructive intervention were excavated, but the results are nonetheless surprising from an archaeological point of view: a magnificent grouping of high imperial mural paintings was recovered, dating from the second part of the 1st century or the beginning of the 2nd century a.d.100 It is possible that they formed part of the decoration of a Roman house. This leads us to imagine a lavish home, preceding other low medieval homes which were the origins of the primitive Dominican convent. Especially during the years of the excavations, the absence of a level of clearly Islamic occupation is surprising. The only ceramic Andalucian finding, dated between the 11th and 12th centuries, was found in the archaeological fill of one of the buildings. By these characteristics, we can clearly deduce its origin in sediment brought to fill in a concrete zone from one of the nearby testares.101 Nothing studied thus far corresponds to an area of late ancient or high medieval inhabitance. According to the authors of the excavation,102 two Roman phases were able to be documented in the Madre de Dios convent (fig. 4.6): one from the 1st to

99

María P. López del Álamo, San Pedro Mártir el Real (Toledo): Las cerámicas medievales, ss. xi–xiii (unpublished doctoral thesis; Universidad Autónoma de Madrid, 1995); eadem, “El proceso de mudejarización en la cerámica de al-Andalus,” in Actas v Semana de Estudios Medievales de Nájera, Instituto de Estudios Riojanos (Logroño, 1995), 217–226; María P. López del Álamo and Fernando Valdés Fernández, “San Pedro Mártir el Real,” in San Pedro Mártir. Rehabilitación del antiguo convento dominico (Toledo, 1993), 113–122. 100 Carmen Guiral, “Pinturas romanas procedentes del convento de San Pedro Mártir (Toledo). Estudio preliminar,” Cuadernos de Prehistoria y Arqueología de la Universidad Autónoma de Madrid 18 (1991): 211–225; Rafael Barroso Cabrera and Jorge Morin de Pablos, “Materiales visigodos de la excavación de San Pedro Mártir (Toledo),” Cuadernos de Prehistoria y Arqueología de la Universidad Autónoma de Madrid 22 (1995): 199–223. 101 José Aguado Villalba, La cerámica hispanomusulmana de Toledo (Madrid, 1983); Fernando Valdés Fernández, José Aguado Villalba, Carmen Bosch Ferro, et al., “El testar del puente de San Martín (Toledo),” in Fours de potiers et “testares” médiévaux en Méditerranée occidentale (Publications de la Casa de Velázquez. Serie archéologie 13) (Madrid, 1990), 117–130. 102 Juan M. Rojas Rodríguez-Malo, Antonio J. Gómez Laguna, and Javier Pérez López-Triviño, et al., “El convento de Madre de Dios. Evolución histórica de una manzana de Toledo a

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Figure 4.6 Convento de Madre de Dios (Toledo). Top left, Arabic house

2nd century a.d., which appears to have had greater construction activity, and another late ancient one between the 4th and 5th centuries. The former is characterized by a preparation of the land based on sculpting rock in order to establish a system of terraces or steps above those that laid down the constructions of a new foundation. In a large area of the investigated surface appear diverse vestiges of water infrastructure—piping, cisterns— which were also carved into the rock.103 The creation of this network would have influenced the development of the city’s urban network which, it can be supposed, would have been fossilized to some extent in the existing streets. One aspect this book’s authors have emphasized is the absence of remnants través de la arqueología,” in Actas del ii Congreso de Historia y Urbanismo Medieval, ed. Jean Passini and Ricardo A. Izquierdo Benito (Castilla-La Mancha, 2007), 281–319. 103 Ibid. 315–316.

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of a settlement that could be considered as belonging to the political period of the Visigothic kingdom. Vestiges of living quarters considered to be Islamic were brought to light at the edge of the studied area. However, they are so scarce elsewhere that they cannot provide evidence of any area of tangible inhabitance.104 Limited to what was described by the excavators, we cannot speak of a continuous ­urban network with the exception of the so-called House 1, where there appears to be a link between the angle of the house and a hypothetical previous Roman route, which would have influenced the survival of the old road system. It is not clear whether the findings were in reference to a constructed area of the Islamic city or isolated building elements constructed upon an almost empty space but which was already urbanized in the Roman period.105 Nevertheless, we lack the publication (even a mere outline) of the collected archaeological material indispensable to dating the older phase—i–ii a.d.—the late ancient—between iv and v—and the Islamic—between x and xi—which would without a doubt lend authority to the authors’ hypothesis. As far as this last period is concerned, too many events have subsequently taken place in the history of Toledo106 to be able to confirm categorically the existence, over three centuries, of an urban network on this part of the Toledo meseta, including its own continuing amplification and not subject to periods of expansion or contraction. If the results obtained from both convents are compared, it appears to support the existence of a specific anomaly concerning the occupation of the interwall space of Toledo during the Islamic period. We do not possess vestiges of buildings from this time in San Pedro Mártir, but even considering the discovery of a house, the few exhumed in Madre de Dios are not sufficient to demonstrate the existence of a consolidated urban fabric in this zone of Toledo’s old city between the high imperial period and at least the beginning of the 8th century, leaving a geographic and chronological space too broad to cover. Can we imagine that one part of Toledo’s area was primarily empty until the lower Middle Ages? Can we affirm without a doubt that the entirety of the hill was surrounded by a wall prior to 711? The location of an industry as polluting as pottery in the highest part of the hill between the beginnings of the 11th century and, at least, the 12th century (moved from the area of the circus107) assumes the difficulty of supplying the 104 Ibid. 316. 105 Ibid. 319. 106 Julio Porres Martín-Cleto, Historia de Tulaytula (711–1085) (Publicaciones del Instituto Provincial de Investigaciones y Estudios Toledanos 2.11) (Toledo, 1985). 107 Sergio Martínez Lillo, “Hornos califales de Toledo,” in Fours de potiers et “testares” médiévaux en Méditerranée occidentale (Publications de la Casa de Velázquez. Serie archéologie 13) (Madrid, 1990), 45–61.

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site with water, clay, and fuel, although it was compensated by the protection offered by the topography and the facility of clearing out the manufacturing residues which were carried away by the hillside slopes.108 This finding leads us to believe that the urban fabric’s extension was not as broad as has been thought.109 The zone occupied by the two convents does not seem to have covered a network of any density towards the end of the 8th century. 9

The Institution of the ḥubus as an Expression of Islamization

Beyond the obligatory direct references to transformations or new architectural foundations, acknowledgement of the use of Islamic institutions as a way of understanding the degree of change produced in a particular society, in this case that of Toletum, was of utmost importance in Muslim law, the waqf (pl.: awqāf) is the act of founding a charitable institution. The jurists of the Mālikī school, the dominant one in al-Andalus, referred to it as ḥubus (pl.: aḥbās). For the creation of a ḥubus, an individual declared a portion of his goods inalienable and appointed them to someone—whether it is another individual or public service—as the beneficiary of their use.110 This was a means of protecting a property from confiscation and against the division of inheritance. In the hands of the oligarchies it became a propaganda tool as well. In terms of mosques, there existed two types of aḥbās: one that permitted the implementation of a project and one that allowed the charitable institution to supply the funds for the project’s operation.111 It could be assumed that the permission solicited by the inhabitants of Toledo (870/71) asking that the emir of Córdoba permit the reconstruction of the minaret of the main mosque was a way of asking for the use of ḥubus in a project of community interest. We do know of its use in the city with certainty, thanks to the Arabic inscriptions conserved in the chapel of Saint Catalina in the cathedral of Toledo,112 though its origin is unknown. The inscription refers to the construction of the nave (balāṭ) of a mosque under the supervision of two administrators of the aḥbās—ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. Muḥammad b. A ­ lbirula

108 See note 101. 109 Barroso Cabrera, Carrobles Santos, Morín de Pablos, et al., “El paisaje urbano,” 330. Ascribes a mínimum length of 60 hectares. 110 Rudolph Peters, s.v. “Waqf,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, vol. 11, 2nd ed. (Leiden, 2003), 65–70. 111 Ibid. 66. 112 Francisco Codera y Zaidín, “Inscripción árabe de la capilla de Santa Catalina de Toledo,” Boletín de la Sociedad Española de Excursiones 3 (1895): 74–80; Lévi-Provençal, Les inscriptions arabes d’Espagne, 68, no. 60.

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Figure 4.7 Hypothetical reconstruction of sabīl-kuttāb of Tornerías

and Qāsim b. Qahlān—in 432 H./1041, the last year of the reign of the sovereign al-Ẓāfir (r. 1023–1043). Another case that possibly demonstrates the use of ḥubus is that of the so-called mosque of the Tornerías, also in Toledo, that could have been, from the first 20 or 30 years of the 9th century until the Leonese­ conquest (1085), a sabīl-kuttāb113 (fig. 4.7) constructed under the patronage of the monarch al-Ẓāfir, the first of the dynasty of the dhū-l-nūníes. This same one appears quoted in the inscription on the chapel of Santa Catalina and in two others, respectively, originating from the parapet that was 113 Fernando Valdés Fernández and Carlos Varona Narvión, “La llamada mezquita de las Tornerías, un ejemplo de fundación (ḥabūs) en el Toledo islámico,” in Wasserversorgung in Toledo und Wissensvermittlung von der Antike ins Mittelalter/El suministro de agua a Toledo y el saber hidráulico durante la Antigüedad y la Edad Media, ed. Thomas Schattner and Fernando Valdés Fernández (Iberia Archaeologica 19) (Tübingen, 2017), 275–298.

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Figure 4.8 Arabic inscriptions from Toledo (xi Century). 1. Well-curb inscription of the Friday mosque of Toledo; 2. Well-curb inscription, probably from the sabīl-kuttāb, known as the Mosque of Las Tornerías

placed upon the cistern of the main mosque114 and another similar one that, in my opinion, comes from the building of Tornerías itself115 (fig. 4.8). The second piece would serve in dating the building, which must have been a religious foundation (ḥubus). The first piece appears to date from 1032 and the second from between 1032/35 and 1075.116 We can deduce from these three examples, especially the second, that the institution of the waqf / ḥubus had already taken root by the beginning of the 9th century, which is sufficient to prove the complete or majority Islamization of the city of Ṭulayṭula, certified by the presence of the two overseers of the aḥbās mentioned in the inscription in the chapel of Santa Catalina. The matter of petitioning Muḥammad i to rebuild the tower, if not dealing with the use of a ḥubus, demonstrates that, as in Córdoba and Damascus, Islamic control was consolidated enough to risk expropriating or purchasing a building that could very well have been shared from the beginning with the Christian community. We would thus be 114 See note 90. 115 Lévi-Provençal, Les inscriptions arabes d’Espagne, 65–67, no. 56; Valdés Fernández and Varona Narvión, “La llamada mezquita de las Tornerías,” fig. 15.2. 116 Ibid. 292.

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documenting two phases of Muslim domination over the ancient urbs regia: conquest and acculturation. This very process has been verified by the same dates in other cities of al-Andalus.117 It is more than likely that the mosque of Bāb al-Mardūm was built by means of the institution of ḥubus; the mosque, known afterwards as the church of Cristo de la Luz, whose inscription dates from 999/1000, was constructed under the initiative of an individual member of a distinguished Toledo family, Aḥmad al-Ḥarīrī. Nevertheless, we do not have any direct evidence of it being the result of a ḥubus. 10 Conclusion The impact that the Arab conquest had in Toledo, and on the transformation of the old city, not to mention its motives, is almost completely unknown. In contrast to what happened in other conquered regions, the capital of the ancient Visigothic monarchy did not become the capital of al-Andalus first, and the western Umayyad dynasty second. What is clear is that the city lost political importance in the previous period, and did not constitute a source of worry for the Cordobes Umayyad dynasty before they began the aforementioned process of centralization. It is at the end of the 8th century or the beginning of the 9th when growing internal anxiety, manifested in a series of rebellions, was translated to the carrying out of certain projects (erecting or reforming a citadel, reforming bridges) that conclude with the definitive submission to the caliph ʿAbd al-Raḥmān iii (932) and the construction of the so-called al-ḥizām, which may have been either a reform or a total or partial adjustment of the old enclosure of the praetorium. The goal of the project was the segregation of the area of the head of the bridge from the rest of the city. Between this space and the old city of the settlement I believe a terrace was inserted. The present Zocodover plaza would be the only surviving remnant. This is similar to what can be seen in other Islamic cities of the Middle East, in the Magrib al-Aqṣā, and in al-Andalus. We do not know either the area of the pre-Islamic city or the Islamic city, which seems not to have occupied more than a portion of the meseta. Nor do we know entirely the extent of its walled structure. It was certainly on its

117 An inscription from the first mosque in Seville, the church of El Salvador, describes the reconstruction of the minaret, damaged by an earthquake, in the days of the King al-Muʿtamid (ca. 1079). The head of the Works was the “Ṣāhib al-aḥbās,” responsible for the pious foundations. Lévi-Provençal, Les inscriptions arabes d’Espagne, 38–40, no. 31.

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northern side and on the eastern side by the praetorium.118 It is also unknown whether this half wall was expanded over time. The discoveries of the Madre de Dios convent published up to now only testify to the presence of a single Islamic house, rather than an urban grouping, and perhaps one road axis of Roman origin. The street structure excavated next to the church of Cristo de la Luz (former mosque of Bāb al-Mardūm) leads us to suspect that not only was the Valmardon gate the main access to Toledo in the Visigothic period, but it continued being one of the two principal entrances, sharing this role with the gate of Alcántara in the Islamic period. Only in the year 900/1000 was this layout interrupted by the construction of the aforementioned mosque, independent of whether or not the double-arch of the entry point was already transformed. This is yet another issue of debate in need of subsequent comparative examples about the preservation of the Roman street plan (or at least its principal roads) until the end of the 10th century or beginning of the 11th. We know that the main mosque was located where the cathedral of Santa María had been before, but until the recent appearance of its north wall and the Arabic inscription recorded in one of its cisterns, we lack archaeological confirmation since it appears decontextualized in one of its parapets. The petition to emir Muḥammad i (871) for the reconstruction of the mosque’s minaret and the annexation of the neighboring church indicates the advance of the process of Islamization in the city, but in dealing with such a symbolic building, it is advisable to be cautious, since its occupation by the Muslims (the victors) is not indicative of a mass conversion on the part of the indigenous population, but rather the expression of the power of a dominant group. One of the most prominent pieces of evidence to demonstrate the changes made to the Islamic city is the presence of projects subject to the system of the aḥbās or religious foundations. Perhaps the petition to Emir Muḥammad i implied its use, but this is not certain. I do believe that the existence of a sabīlkuttāb in what was afterwards the mosque of the Tornerías (dated according to my judgement from the first half of the 11th century) is another argument in favor of the construction of the Bāb al-Mardūm mosque according to what can be derived from its foundational text. Above all, however, it is the description of unknown origin found in the cathedral’s chapel of Santa Catalina which is most persuasive. At this site two well-known administrators of the aḥbās in charge of the construction of a nave in an unnamed mosque are mentioned. Independent of the precision with which we have been able to date the different material testimonies, it seems clear that the process of the Islamization of the city, or alternatively the moment in which Islamic culture transformed 118 Rubio Rivera and Tsiolis, “El primer recinto amurallado de Toledo,” 232, 242–243.

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Toledo’s city planning, should not be situated at a moment much prior to the middle or end of the 10th century, remaining as it was completely finished in the first years of the 11th century. This process can be understood not as a radical destruction of the prior network, but rather the definitive acceptance of its urban blueprints. And, as can be deduced from this assertion, we must not speak of a rapid change, but of a gradual one. Inherited structures were continually being transformed, and being adapted to their new religious, administrative, or military uses. The degree of transformation varied according to its new use, and many years probably passed before it could have been perceived with the naked eye. Perhaps the first important transformation affected the cathedral of Santa María, converted very early into the main mosque, but if we also accept the relative ease with which Toletum passed into the hands of the Arab conquerors, we should also consider (by analogy with other known cases) the shared use of the building until at least the reign of emir Muḥammad i (871). However, the total appropriation of the building by the Muslim community cannot be accepted as definitive proof of the change in social structures, but rather understood in context. In reality, it was more a symbol of the absolute triumph of one religious community over another. Many more remains that can be attributed to the Islamic period lie in Toledo, but their dates are merely relative, at times debatable, and contribute little to the consideration at hand. Whatever the case, all indications point in the same direction: the total change of the city would have concluded around the first years of the 11th century. This would mean that Ṭulayṭula already had a completely Islamic profile, regardless of the continuance of significant minorities of dhimmis or protected ones and the highly likely preservation of some or many urban traits inherited from the civitas regia of the Goths. Sources Akhbār majmūʿa. Colección de Noticias, edited and translated by Emilio Lafuente y Alcántara. Madrid, 1867. Al-Maqqarī. Nafḥ al-ṭīb min ghuṣn al-Andalus al-raṭīb, edited by Iḥsān ʿAbbās. 2nd ed. Beirut, 1968. Al-Rāzī. Crónica del moro Rasis, edited by Diego Catalán Menéndez Piedal and María Soledad de Andrés (Fuentes Cronísticas de la Historia de España 3). Madrid, 1975. Catalán Menéndez Piedal, Diego and María Soledad de Andrés, eds. Crónica General de España de 1344. Madrid, 1971.

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Part 3 The City in the Territories of the “Reconquista” (11th to 15th Centuries)

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Chapter 5

Conquered Cities: Continuity and Transformation of Urban Structures in the Castilian “Reconquista” Territories (11th–14th Centuries)—Toledo and Seville Matthias Maser During the last third of the 11th century the so-called Iberian “reconquest”1 (“reconquista”) entered a decisive period: after decades of stagnancy, in 1072 King Alfonso vi of Castile-León resumed a large-scale Christian expansion into the Muslim-ruled territories of al-Andalus.2 Within a few years he was able to push the frontier of his realm southwards from the river Duero as far as the river Tajo; finally, in 1085 the conquests of Alfonso were crowned by the capture of Toledo.3 The loss of this important border city, however, aroused the Muslim world: in 1086 the North-African Almoravids had already crossed 1 As the terms “reconquest” and its Spanish equivalent “reconquista” are well established in scientific parlance, they will be used in this paper (always in quotation marks) despite their problematic ideological connotations. For a critical examination of the concept of “reconquista” in Iberian history, see among others: John Tolan, “Using the Middle Ages to construct Spanish Identity: 19th and 20th Century Spanish Historiography of Reconquest,” in Historiographical Approaches to Medieval Colonization of East Central Europe. A Comparative Analysis against the Background of other European Inter-ethnic Colonization, ed. Jan M. Piskorski (East European Monographs 611) (Boulder, Colo., 2002), 77–97; Nikolas Jaspert, “‘Reconquista.’ Interdependenzen und Tragfähigkeit eines wertkategorialen Deutungsmusters,” in Christlicher Norden—Muslimischer Süden. Ansprüche und Wirklichkeiten von Christen, Juden und Muslimen auf der Iberischen Halbinsel im Hoch- und Spätmittelalter, ed. Matthias M. Tischler and Alexander Fidora (Erudiri sapientia 7) (Münster, 2011), 445–465. 2 Francisco García Fitz, “La reconquista y formación de la España medieval (de mediados del siglo xi a mediados del siglo xiii),” in Historia militar de España 2: Edad media, ed. Miguel Á. Ladero Quesada (Madrid, 2010), 142–216; Bernard F. Reilly, The kingdom of León-Castilla under King Alfonso vi. 1065–1109 (Princeton, 1988), 116–135. 3 José Miranda Calvo, La Reconquista de Toledo por Alfonso vi (Toledo, 1980); Reilly, The kingdom of León-Castilla, 161–184; María de la Paz Estevez, “La conquista de Toledo en 1085. Génesis y desarrollo de una frontera a través de sus fuentes,” in ¿Qué implica ser medievalista? Prácticas y reflexiones en torno al oficio del historiador, ed. Andrea V. Neyra and Gerardo F. Rodríguez, 2 vols. (Mar del Plata, 2012), 2:23–44, esp. 38–43.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���9 | doi:10.1163/9789004399693_007

Figure 5.1 Phases of the Iberian Reconquest

202 Maser

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the strait of Gibraltar with their Berber troops, eliminated the many ­quarrelling principalities of the so-called Taifa-kings of al-Andalus, and reunited shattered Muslim Spain under their rule. This brought the Christian “reconquest” to a halt for several generations: apart from minor and in most cases untenable territorial gains4 in the immediate frontier zone, it was not before the second quarter of the 13th century that the Castilian expansion movement was able to traverse the river Guadiana securely and to advance into the valley of the Río Guadalquivir and its neighbouring regions. The fall of Córdoba and Seville in 1236 and 1248, respectively, marked the milestones of these “reconquests” on the Andalusian mainland.5 Eventually, after 1264 only the small Naṣrid Emirate of Granada survived as the last remainder of Muslim rule in al-Andalus, whose capture in 1492 finally brought the end of the Spanish “reconquest.” Although the military efforts of the Christian expansion were enormous, they were only the prelude to the more challenging endeavour of the so called repoblación.6 Having savoured their military triumph, the conquerors faced the complicated task of securing the newly won towns and territories, and integrating them into the political, societal, economic, and religious structures of the expanding Christian realms: minus est acquirere forte quam tueri—as Guillermo Pérez de la Calzada, abbot of Sahagún, put it in a poem dedicated to King Fernando iii of Castile-León two years after the fall of Seville in 1250.7 Cities, in particular, proved to be highly effective instruments for dealing with this task,8 though the boom of urban settlement in the frontier zone of the “reconquista” from the late 11th century on was quite a new phenomenon. During preceding phases of the Iberian “reconquest” other instruments had usually been favoured to secure and exploit the conquered territories, e.g., military 4 Joseph F. O’Callaghan, Reconquest and crusade in medieval Spain, (The Middle Ages Series) (Philadelphia, 2003), 23–77. 5 O’Callaghan, Reconquest, 78–123. 6 Claudio Sánchez Albornoz, Despoblación y repoblación del Valle del Duero (Buenos Aires, 1966); Manuel González Jiménez, “Alfonso x, el repoblador,” in El mundo urbano en la Castilla del siglo xiii, ed. idem, 2 vols. (Seville, 2006), 1:17–32; idem, “La repoblación del reino de Sevilla (1248–1350),” Clio [Lisbon] 16/17 (2007): 119–135; idem, En torno a los orígenes de Andalucía. La repoblación del siglo xiii (Colección de Bolsillo 83), 2nd ed. (Seville, 1988). 7 Un poema latino a Sevilla. Versos de Julia Rómula o la urbe Hispalense de Guillermo Pérez de la Calzada (1250), ed. Rocío Carande Herrero (Biblioteca de temas sevillanos 36) (Seville, 1986), 50. 8 Jean Gautier Dalché, “La ville hispanique au moyen âge,” in Concejos y ciudades en la Edad Media hispánica. Actas del ii Congreso de Estudios Medievales. Madrid 1989 (Madrid, 1990), 7–18, here 14, describes cities as “forme primordiale et l’élément moteur de l’occupation du sol et de l’organisation de l’espace” in the Castilian expansion zone.

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forts, watchtowers, and castles,9 which were to be built, maintained, and garrisoned by the crown or by local feudal lords at their own expense. Compared to these military border posts, cities and towns had several advantages. They, too, were able to provide in a reliable manner the military forces required both to secure the frontier lands, which were continually threatened by potential Muslim assaults, and to press the Christian territorial expansion into Muslimruled al-Andalus. In addition, however, they were also able to generate most of the resources necessary for the fulfilment of these military tasks by cultivating and exploiting their urban hinterlands (alfoces). This capability for economic self-sufficiency, combined with a high degree of self-organization in military and administrational matters, made cities ideal instruments, particularly for the crown, in its policy of colonization in the “reconquista” territories10— instruments, however, which had in each case to be adjusted to temporal and regional circumstances. During its centuries-long progress the Christian “reconquest” on the Iberian Peninsula pushed forward into regions characterized by differing degrees of settlement, colonization, and urbanization. The lands south of the river Duero, for example, had been a virtual no-man’s-land until long into the second half of the 11th century.11 Neither the Christian nor the Muslim side had been able to establish a stable rule over this sparsely inhabited buffer zone. So when Alfonso of Castile-León in 1072 began to expand his reign into the regions beyond the Duero (extrema Durii or Extremadura), he encountered a land largely void of urban settlements, Toledo being the only major exception. Ancient Roman towns, e.g., Salamanca, Ávila, or Segóvia,12 which had once populated the area, 9

10 11

12

José M. Monsalvo Antón, “Frontera pionera, monarquía en expansión y formación de los concejos de Villa y Tierra. Relaciones de poder en el realengo concejil entre el Duero y la cuenca del Tajo (c. 1072–c. 1222),” Arqueología y Territorio Medieval 10.2 (2003): 45–126, esp. 65–66. Monsalvo Antón, “Frontera pionera,” 66. Older hypotheses, based on the influential writings of Claudio Sánchez-Albornoz, often suggested an almost complete depopulation of the Duero regions until the 11th century: Sánchez-Albornoz, Despoblación. More recent approaches, however, have been able to show the biased ideological premises of this assumption, which is no longer tenable, cf. Gautier Dalché, “La ville hispanique,” 11; Monsalvo Antón, “Frontera pionera,” 52–53. María Asenjo González, “Sociedad urbana y repoblación de las tierras de Segovia al sur de la Sierra de Guadarrama,” En la España medieval 8 (1986): 125–150; Ángel Barrios García, “Conquista y repoblación: el proceso de reconstrucción del poblamiento y el aumento demográfico,” in Historia de Ávila 2: Edad Media, siglos viii–xiii, ed. Ángel Barrios García (Ávila, 2000), 227–270; idem, “Repoblación y colonización: la dinámica de creación de paisajes y el crecimiento económico,” in Historia de Ávila 2: Edad Media, siglos viii–xiii, ed. Ángel Barrios García (Ávila, 2000), 271–336; idem, “Una tierra de nadie: los territorios abulenses en la Alta Edad Media,” in Historia de Ávila 2: Edad Media, siglos viii–xiii, ed.

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had either disappeared completely sometime after the Muslim conquest of alAndalus, or had declined to mere rural villages. Therefore, in the 11th century the so-called Castilian Extremadura had to be re-colonized, either by revitalization of long-deserted sites or by the foundation of new settlements in the form of the comunidad de villa y tierra.13 In contrast, when several generations later the Castilian conquerors of the 13th century expanded into the Andalusian mainland along the Guadalquivir valley and in the Reino de Murcia, they found a dense and vibrant network of cities and their respective hinterlands, a network they used for the integration and exploitation of the conquered territories. With regard to these conquered cities of former Muslim al-Andalus, the question of continuity, transformation, or disruption of urban structures and traditions across the Christian conquest can be posed on two different levels: on the one hand, one has to consider phenomena of factual continuity, i.e., examples of persisting urban structures, buildings, and topographies, forms of communal and societal organization, as well as municipal institutions and functions that survived the military capture of the respective towns and the subsequent change of rule. Of equal importance, however, are the mental concepts, the notions by which the new Christian settlers perceived and reinterpreted the urban structures and traditions they encountered in the cities taken from their Muslim predecessors.14 In many cases these two dimensions—facts and mental interpretations—differed remarkably, e.g., when fictitious lines of tradition and continuity were invented in order to legitimate political claims and establish a collective identity; or when, conversely, factual continuities were deliberately ignored or even rejected for the purpose of self-demarcation and discrimination against an alien “other.” As the Christian expansion was a venture highly charged with ideology, the continuance of pre-reconquest structures and traditions was not only pragmatically accepted by contemporaries,

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Ángel Barrios García (Ávila, 2000), 193–229; José M. Mínguez Fernández, “La repoblación de los territorios salmantinos,” in Historia de Salamanca 2: Edad Media, ed. José M. Mínguez Fernández (Salamanca, 1997), 13–74. Gonzalo Martínez Díez, “La repoblación de la Extremadura castellana y las Comunidades de Villa y Tierra,” in Las comunidades de Villa y Tierra. Dinámicas históricas y problemáticas actuales, ed. Victor Muñoz Gómez (Murcia, 2012), 19–36; Balbino Velasco Bayón, “La Comunidad de Villa y Tierra de Cuéllar: evolución histórica,” in Las comunidades de Villa y Tierra. Dinámicas históricas y problemáticas actuales, ed. Victor Muñoz Gómez (Murcia, 2012), 205–220; Monsalvo Antón, “Frontera pionera,” 60–68 and passim. For a Toledan example, see Jean-Pierre Molénat, “Tolède vue par les chroniqueurs Rodrigo Jiménez de Rada et Pero López de Ayala, rapprochés de leurs prédécesseurs, de langue arabe, latine ou romane,” in La tolerancia religiosa en la España contemporánea, ed. Manuel Suárez Cortina (Mélanges de la Casa de Velázquez 44.1) (Madrid, 2014), 179–197.

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but in many aspects required an active re-interpretation according to prevailing master narratives. For example, the understanding of the Christian expansion as an act of legitimate re-conquest,15 or the crusading idea that sacralized military confrontations with the Muslims as holy wars against God’s infidel enemies,16 promoted narratives of discontinuity, cleansing, and recommencement, rather than of permanence, duration, and continuity. Remembrance and traditions—actual or invented—were attached to the glorified Visigothic period prior to the lamented pérdida de España of 711, rather than to the denigrated Muslim dominance. Thus, fact and fiction, likewise, formed the victors’ perceptions of the conquered cities. The question of continuity and discontinuity of urban structures during the period of the Iberian “reconquest” from the 11th to the 14th century can be seen in the two exemplary cases of Toledo and Seville. Both cities provide significant examples of unbroken continuity across the Christian conquest as well as significant alterations which fundamentally changed the affected towns and their respective societies. Moreover, as the cities were conquered at different stages of the Castilian “reconquista,” they allow for a comparative perspective on diachronic developments, as well as on temporal and regional differences. Both cities have been the subject of considerable research in the past, providing a wealth of comprehensive literature on various aspects of the medieval history of the towns, both before and after their respective Christian “reconquest.”17 Altogether, it is the aim of the following pages to pick up current scholarly discussions about the development of urban settlement in the Castilian expansion zones of Southern Spain and thereby to critically assess to what degree the continuance of pre-reconquest structures determined the captured cities’ 15 Jaspert, “‘Reconquista,’” 447–450, 452–455; O’Callaghan, Reconquest, 3–7. 16 O’Callaghan, Reconquest, 17–22. 17 For Toledo see, in particular, Julio Porres Martín-Cleto and Ricardo A. Izquierdo Benito, Un espacio desordenado: Toledo a fines de la Edad Media (Madrid, 1996); for the Islamic city of Ṭulayṭula see Clara Delgado Valero, ed., Regreso a Tulaytula. Guía del Toledo islámico (ss. viii–xi) (Toledo, 1998) and Julio Porres Martín-Cleto, Historia de Ṭulayṭula (711–1085) (Publicaciones del Instituto Provincial de Investigaciones y Estudios Toledanos 2.11) (Toledo, 1991). For Seville see Miguel A. Ladero Quesada, Historia de Sevilla 2: La ciudad medieval (1248–1492) (Colección de Bolsillo 49), 3rd ed. (Seville, 1989); Antonio Collantes de Terán Sánchez, Sevilla en la baja Edad Media. La ciudad y sus hombres (Seville, 1977). For comparative approaches see, e.g., Joaquín Núñez Fuster, “Toledo y Sevilla en la baja edad media. Urbanismo y sociedad,” in Ars longa, vita brevis. Homenaje al Dr. Rafael Sancho de San Román (Toledo, 2006), 339–363 and Miguel Á. Ladero Quesada, “Toledo y Córdoba en la Baja Edad Media. Aspectos urbanísticos,” Revista de Instituto Egipcio de Estudios Islámicos Madrid 30 (1998): 181–219.

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evolution and affected their functions in the colonization and repopulation of the newly won territories. Three aspects of urban life in the “reconquered” towns of Toledo and Seville address these considerations: firstly, aspects of material continuity, i.e., the continuance of architectural structures and constructed urban topographies; secondly, human and social factors such as the demographic composition, functional differentiations, and internal hierarchies; and thirdly, political and juridical structures, such as forms of communal governance, municipal constitutions, and public administration. Though these fields of study necessarily exclude other interesting aspects (such as urban economy and commerce, distribution of property, power relations between the city and its hinterland, or religious life), it still allows—pars pro toto—a valid evaluation of both continuities and discontinuities in the urban life of the Spanish “reconquista” territories following the disruption of military conquest. 1

Buildings and Built Urban Topography: Continuance and Transformation

Since Late Antiquity Iberian cities had functioned as political, administrative, and economic centers of their respective hinterlands. The ancient network of urban settlements on the Iberian Peninsula had survived several Barbarian invasions of the early Middle Ages and the Muslim conquerors, who overran the Visigothic kingdom in 711, used many of the existing cities as bases for their own rule over al-Andalus. Over the following centuries, however, these cities underwent a profound transformation of both their appearance and their internal structures. When, in the 11th century, Northern Christians began to “reconquer” Muslim-ruled territories in the Iberian South, they encountered cities that now represented models of Islamic and Oriental urbanism.18 18

The traditional concept of an “Islamic city” has come under heavy criticism for two reasons in particular: first, the term suggests an unhistoric and rather static ideal type of urban settlement all over the Islamic world, which largely ignores temporal or regional differences and developments; second, the notion of an “Islamic” city inappropriately declares religion to be the most determinant factor of urban development. Essentialist concepts of an “Islamic city” have therefore been rejected as a Western orientalist construct: Janet L. Abu-Lughod, “The Islamic City—Historic Myth, Islamic Essence, and Contemporary Relevance,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 19.2 (1987): 155–176; André Raymond, “Ville musulmane, ville arabe. Mythes orientalistes et recherches récentes,” in Panoramas urbains. Situation de l’histoire des villes, ed. Jean-Louis Biget and Jean-Claude Hervé (Fontenay, 1995), 309–336. Nonetheless, the cities of Muslim ruled al-Andalus developed certain peculiarities, which clearly distinguished them from urban settlements in

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Toledo was the first Muslim city of considerable size in al-Andalus to fall to the Christian conquerors. In 1085 the city above the river Tajo was taken by capitulation.19 After years of siege the last Taifa-king al-Qādir surrendered on the 25th of May and handed over the city to King Alfonso vi of Castile-León. The Christian conquerors entered a city remarkably undamaged by war. King Alfonso took control of all urban sites and facilities of political or strategic importance, such as the citadel (alficén), the outer walls, and the city gates. Furthermore, he seized the private estates of the exiled Muslim prince al-Qādir, whereas the Christian troops and succeeding colonists seem to have moved into houses that had been abandoned by their former tenants during the long years of siege or in the immediate aftermath of the conquest. Contemporary sources, however, do not indicate forced expropriations or expulsions of the previous Muslim residents of the conquered city. The new Christian settlers retained the fundamental urban structures of former Muslim Ṭulayṭula, such as the subdivision of the town into quarters and zones of distinct character and function. While the crown and its local ­representatives took residence in the fortified castle district in the north-­ eastern corner of the town, which in Umayyad times had already been the seat of royal authority and had therefore been protected by a wall against potential uprisings of the urban population,20 the common Christian settlers dispersed themselves over the different quarters of the town, largely respecting the established separation of residential areas from commercial zones, typical for cities in the Islamic world but unknown in the towns and villages of Christian Northern Spain. Soon after the “reconquest,” quarters of relative ethnic homogeneity (politically organized in so called colaciones) emerged within the city, as many new settlers, who had immigrated to Toledo from various regions after 1085,

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the Christian North of the Iberian Peninsula. The scientific perspective on these “oriental” cities of al-Andalus has been dominated for decades by the influential work of Leopoldo Torres Balbás, Ciudades hispanomusulmanas, 2nd ed. (Madrid, 1985). Torres Balbas’ concepts have also come under criticism: Christine Mazzoli-Guintard, “Urbanisme islamique et ville en al-Andalus: autour de nouvelles propositions méthodologiques,” in Actas del ii Congreso Internacional: La Ciudad en al-Andalus y el Magreb, ed. Inmaculada Cortés Martínez (Granada, 2002), 49–74, esp. 55–56 and passim. For a revised vision of the urban history of Muslim al-Andalus see the articles in the two seminal volumes: Patrice Cressier and Mercedes García-Arenal, eds., Genèse de la ville islamique en al-Andalus et au Maghreb occidental (Madrid, 1998), and Patrice Cressier, María I. Fierro Bello, and JeanPierre van Staëvel, eds., L’urbanisme dans l’Occident musulman au Moyen Âge. Aspects juridiques: Tables rondes. Madrid 1997 (Madrid, 2000). Miranda Calvo, La Reconquista; Paz Estevez, “La conquista.” Julio Porres Martín-Cleto, “La ciudad de Toledo a mediados del siglo xv,” Anales Toledanos 28 (1991): 33–54, esp. 39–40.

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Figure 5.2 Muslim Ṭulayṭula in 1085

tended to seek dwellings in the vicinity of their compatriots.21 The Franks, for example, preferred to gather in the central district between the citadel and the cathedral,22 while the immigrants from Old Castile (castellanos) mostly populated the southern parts of the town—also popular among these castellanos was the suburb El Arrabal in the North of the city. The wall which was built around 1101 to protect this previously unsecured area23 was to remain the only 21

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A typical phenomenon in the “re-populated” towns of Castile: Jean Gautier Dalché, “La place et les structures municipales en Vieille-Castille,” in “Plazas” et sociabilité en Europe et Amérique latine. Colloque 1979 (Publications de la Casa de Velázquez. Recherches en sciences sociales 6) (Paris, 1982), 53–54. Miguel Á. Ladero Quesada, “Toledo en época de la frontera,” Anales de la Universidad de Alicante. Historia medieval 3 (1984): 81–82; Porres Martín-Cleto, “La ciudad de Toledo,” 40. Anales Toledanos i, in España sagrada 23, ed. Enrique Florez (Madrid, 1767), 381–400 (386, ad a. 1101); Pedro López de Ayala, Crónica del Rey Don Pedro y del Rey Don Enrique, su

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major intervention in the townscape of “reconquered” Toledo for many generations. The Jewish quarter in the Western part of the town, the judería, which already in Islamic times had been enclosed by a wall and gates, also remained untouched by the immigration of Christian settlers;24 a morería, i.e., Moorish ghetto, however, was never to exist in Toledo. On the whole, the basic patterns of the urban topography of Toledo, which had evolved over centuries under Muslim rule and culture, were kept virtually unaltered by the new Christian settlers from 1085 until long into the 14th century.25 Archaeological field surveys and research on the building history of medieval Toledo have been able to demonstrate the long-standing persistence of the basic topography of the oriental medina and its typical architectural forms.26 This research on Toledo’s medieval building history is substantial, some selected aspects of which apparently contrast the typical patterns of urban settlement to be found at the same time further to the North in Old Castile and the kingdom of León. These contrasts help identify specific characteristics of the conquered towns of New Castile, where Christian immigrants had to adjust to the urban structures of their Muslim predecessors.

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hermano, hijos del Rey Don Alfonso Onceno. Edición crítica y notas, ed. Germán Orduna (Incipit. Ediciones críticas 1–2), 2 vols. (Buenos Aires, 1994–1997), Chap. xvii, 55; see also Porres Martín-Cleto, “La ciudad de Toledo,” 34–37, here 41. For the Toledan judería see now the articles in Jean Passini and Ricardo A. Izquierdo Benito, eds., La judería de Toledo. Un tiempo y un espacio por rehabilitar. Actas del xxi Curso de Cultura Hispanojudia y Sefardí (Humanidades 127) (Cuenca, 2014); for the building history of the Jewish quarter during the later Middle Ages see in particular Jean Passini, “Reconstitución de la Judería de Toledo,” in La judería de Toledo. Un tiempo y un espacio por rehabilitar. Actas del xxi Curso de Cultura Hispanojudia y Sefardí, ed. Jean Passini and Ricardo A. Izquierdo Benito (Humanidades 127) (Cuenca, 2014), 37–49. Porres Martín-Cleto, “La ciudad de Toledo,” 40; Jean-Pierre Molénat, “L’urbanisme à Tolède aux xivème et xvème siècles,” En la España medieval 7 (1985): 1105–1108. Julio Porres Martín-Cleto, Historia de las calles de Toledo, 3 vols. (Instituto Provincial de Investigaciones y Estudios Toledanos 1.2) (Toledo, 1971); Rafael del Cerro Malagón and Diego Peris Sánchez, eds., Architecturas de Toledo 1: Del Romano al Gótico (Patrimonio histórico de Castilla-La Mancha 4), 2nd ed. (Toledo, 1992). See in particular the many works of Jean Passini, among others, “El espacio edificado en la edad media,” Anales Toledanos 31 (1994): 67–88; Jean Passini, ed., La ciudad medieval. De la casa al tejido urbano. Actas del i Curso de Historia y Urbanismo Medieval organizado por la Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha. Toledo 1999 (Cuenca, 2001); idem, Casas y casas principales urbanas. El espacio doméstico de Toledo a finales de la Edad Media (Toledo, 2004); Jean Passini, ed., La ciudad medieval. De la casa principal al Palacio Urbano. Actas del iii Curso de Historia y Urbanismo Medieval organizado por la Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha (Toledo, 2011); idem and Ricardo A. Izquierdo Benito, eds., La ciudad medieval de Toledo. Historia, arqueología y rehabilitación de la casa. ii Curso de Historia y Urbanismo Medieval organizado por la Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha (Toledo, 2007).

Figure 5.3 Map of early modern Toledo by El Greco (c. 1608–1614), digital reconstruction and new edition by Cesáreo Bas Vivancos and Rafael del Cerro Malagón (2014)

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There was no functional need for the Christian conquerors to change the built topography they encountered at Toledo or elsewhere in formerly Muslim-­ ruled cities of al-Andalus. Even though many elements of the conquered towns, which had developed during the Islamic period, must have struck the immigrants from Northern Spain as peculiar, these essentially oriental towns nevertheless provided all the urban infrastructures necessary to comply with the requirements of the Christian settlers, such as fortifications, streets and alleys, housing areas, zones suitable for commerce and artisanry, and a functioning water supply system. The only thing lacking for Northern immigrants in the aftermath of the conquest must have been Christian churches, as the few Mozarabic cult places27 would not have sufficed to satisfy the spiritual needs of the numerous arrivals. In the case of Toledo, however, this specific lack was, until the late 12th century, remedied not by the construction of new church buildings,28 but by the rededication and consecration of former mosques,29 a practice that required no intervention into the established topography of the 27 28

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Miquel Dels Sants Gros Pujol, “Les sis parròquies mossárabs de Toledo,” Revista Catalana de Teologia 36 (2011): 523–534. The first churches to be built in post-conquest Toledo were San Román and San Andrés, both dating from the late 12th and early 13th centuries. San Román was consecrated in 1221: Anales Toledanos ii, in España sagrada 23, ed. Enrique Florez (Madrid, 1767), 405; San Andrés may in turn have been reconstructed after a fire had destroyed an older building in 1150, see del Cerro Malagón and Peris Sánchez, Arquitecturas de Toledo, 533–538. Tobias Rütenik, “Transformaciones de mezquitas a iglesias en Toledo, desde la perspectiva de la arqueología arquitectónica,” Anales de arqueología cordobesa 20 (2009): 421–444. For a case study of the Toledan mosque of Bāb al-Mardūm/San Christo de la Luz see Susana Calvo Capilla, “La Mezquita de Bab al-Mardum y el proceso de consagración de pequeñas mezquitas en Toledo (ss. xii–xiii),” Al-Qanṭara 20.2 (1999): 299–330. See further on the conversion of mosques in conquered towns of al-Andalus in general: Ana Echevarría Arsuaga, “La transformación del espacio islámico (ss. xi–xiii),” in À la recherche de légitimités chrétiennes. Représentations de l’espace et du temps dans l’Espagne médiévale (ixe– xiiie siècle), ed. Patrick Henriet (Cahiers de linguistique et de civilisation hispaniques médiévales. Annexes 15) (Lyon, 2003), 60–66; Amy G. Remensnyder, “The Colonization of Sacred Architecture: The Virgin Mary, Mosques, and Temples in Medieval Spain and Early Sixteenth-Century Mexico,” in Monks and Nuns, Saints and Outcasts. Religious Expression and Social Meaning in the Middle Ages, ed. Sharon A. Farmer and Barbara Rosenwein (Ithaca, N.Y., 2000), 18–219; Pascal Buresi, “Les conversions d’églises et de mosquées en Espagne aux xie–xiiie siècles,” in Religion et société urbaine au moyen âge. Études offertes à Jean-Louis Biget par ses anciens élèves, ed. Patrick Boucheron and Jaques Chiffoleau (Histoire ancienne et médiévale 60) (Paris, 2000), 333–350; Julie A. Harris, “Mosque to Church. Conversions in the Spanish Reconquest,” Medieval Encounters 3 (1997): 158–172, and José Orlandis Rovira, “Un problema eclesiástico de la Reconquista española: La conversión de mezquitas en iglesias cristianas,” in Mélanges offerts à Jean Dauvillier (Toulouse, 1979), 595–604.

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conquered town and its quarters.30 Only in 1222/1226 did the Toledans begin to erect a new cathedral in Gothic style at the central site of the former Muslim Friday mosque,31 which in 1086 had been converted into a Christian church dedicated to the Virgin Mary. For more than 140 years this main episcopal church of the city must have been clearly recognizable for its outer appearance and decoration as originally an Islamic prayer house. However, when the former mosque was torn down in 1226, this decision was primarily motivated by the heavy damage the building had suffered from an earthquake, and not by a putative wish to ban traces of the Islamic past from the city.32 The same seems to hold true for Seville. Here, too, the central Friday mosque was converted into a Christian cathedral in 1248, with the original Almohad building remaining for another one and a half centuries without major changes to its architecture. Only in 1401 was the decision made to replace the ­Islamic-style building due to its partial ruination, also caused by earthquakes which had afflicted Seville several times since the middle of the 14th century.33 However, since prominent parts of the old mosque’s architecture,34 such as the famous Almohad minaret known as La Giralda or the Patio de los Naranjos, which had once served as a forecourt to the Muslim prayer hall, were integrated into the new cathedral complex (even including Qur’anic inscriptions in Arabic),35 one can assume that among late medieval Sevillians no urgent need was felt to eliminate completely the architectural traces of the city’s Islamic

30 31

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Echevarría Arsuaga, “La transformación,” 59. Rafael del Cerro Malagón and Peris Sánchez, Arquitecturas de Toledo, 421–465; María José Lop Otin, “Catedrales y vida urbana en el siglo xiii castellano: el ejemplo de Toledo,” in El mundo urbano en la Castilla del siglo xiii, ed. Manuel González Jiménez, 2 vols. (Seville, 2006), 2:157–167; Geneviève Barbé-Coquelin de Lisle, “De la Gran Mezquita al la catredral gótica,” in Toledo, siglos xii–xiii. Musulmanes, cristianos y júdios. La sabiduria y la tolerancia, ed. Louis Cardaillac (Memoria de las ciudades) (Madrid, 1992), 153–163. Harris, “Mosque to Church,” 166. The Anales Toledanos i, 405, report a devastating earthquake in 1221; only in the following year archbishop Rodrigo Jiménez de Rada began to secure the financing of a new cathedral, see Rafael del Cerro Malagón and Peris Sánchez, Arquitecturas de Toledo, 426–427. Alfonso Jiménez Martín, “Las fechas de las formas. Selección crítica de fuentes documentales para la cronología del edificio medieval,” in La catedral gótica de Sevilla: fundación y fábrica de la ‘obra nueva,’ ed. Alfonso Jiménez Martín (Seville, 2006), 42; Harris, “Mosque to Church,” 166. For the seismic history of Seville in medieval times and the impact of earthquakes on built structures within the town see Jonathan Ruiz Jaramillo, Comportamiento sísmico de edificios históricos: las iglesias mudéjares de Sevilla (n.p., 2012), 276–284. Basilio Pavón Maldonado, Tratado de arquitectura hispanomusulmana 4: Mezquitas (Madrid, 2009): 547–612. For example on the doors of the so called Puerta de Perdón, see fig. 6.

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Figure 5.4 Toledo, El Cristo de la Luz (former Mosque of Bāb al-Mardūm)

history.36 On the contrary, in the 14th and 15th centuries Muslim architects and craftsmen (probably from Granada) were hired in great numbers by the church, the crown, and many private clients to embellish the city with representative buildings in the prestigious Mudéjar style, marked by its characteristic oriental forms and decorations.37 A typical feature that characterized the essentially oriental town38 Ṭulayṭula in 1085 was the virtual absence of unwalled open spaces: the only publicly accessible place within the city was the ṣūq ad-dawābb, the “market for pack 36

37

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The only noteworthy exception from this usual pattern of a continuing use of Islamic mosque buildings as Christian churches in the territories of the Spanish “reconquista” seems to be the case for Valencia. Here the edificial traces of the Islamic cult in the city were extinguished rather early, only 25 years after the “reconquest.” Already in 1262 the former Friday mosque, which in 1238 had been converted into a Christian church, was torn down in order to make way for the construction of a new building in an unmistakably Christian architecture, cf. Robert I. Burns, The Crusader Kingdom of Valencia. Reconstruction­on a Thirteenth-Century Frontier, 2 vols. (Cambridge, Mass., 1967), 1:19–20; Harris, “Mosque to Church,” 167 and 172; Remensnyder, “The Colonization,” 219. Juan L. Ravé Prieto, “El mudéjar en Sevilla: Arquitectura religiosa mudéjar en Sevilla,” Ars sacra: Revista de patrimonio cultural, archivos, artes plásticas, arquitectura, museos y música 39 (2006): 64–73; Manuel González Jiménez, “El trabajo mudéjar en Andalucía: El caso de Sevilla (siglo xv),” in Actas del vi Simposio Internacional de Mudejarismo. Teruel 1993 (Teruel, 1995), 39–56. Cf. see note 18.

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Figure 5.5 Minaret of the former Almohad mosque of Sevilla (La Giralda)

animals,” in the north-east of the town, whose name survives in the somewhat distorted form “Plaza de Zocodover.”39 Initially built probably for strategic reasons as an open area in front of the castle gates, this square was used in Islamic times for cattle trade and a weekly market for agricultural products, while most other forms of trade and commerce took place in—sometimes enclosed40—bazaars and shopping streets. In the medina of Muslim Ṭulayṭula 39 40

Julio Porres Martín-Cleto, “Pequeña historia de Zocodover,” Provincia 55–56 (1964): 26. At least two Alcaicerías, closed markets usually for luxury goods, existed in Toledo; at least one of them was restored as late the 14th century: Jean Passini, “Algunos aspectos

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Figure 5.6 Arabic inscriptions from the Almohad mosque on the cathedral gate in Seville (13th century, Puerta del Perdón)

there had been no central market place, which would have served for political, communal, or representative­purposes41 as the plaças del mercado usually did in the cities of Old Castile and the kingdom of León.42 Only in the 14th century can one observe efforts to convert this original topography of the former oriental town in order to create public spaces.43 In 1339 archbishop Gil de Albornoz gave his permission to demolish several houses in front of the western façade

41

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43

del ­espacio doméstico medieval en la ciudad de Toledo,” in El espacio urbano en la Europa medieval: Encuentros Internacionales del Medievo. Nájera 2005, ed. Beatriz Arízaga Bolúmburu and Jesús Á. Solórzano Telechea (Logroño, 2006), 247–255; Molénat, “L’urbanisme,” 1109–1110; Jean-Pierre Molénat, “Places et marchés de Tolède au Moyen-Age (xiième– xvième s.),” in “Plazas” et sociabilité en Europe et Amérique latine. Colloque 1979 (Publications de la Casa de Velázquez. Recherches en sciences sociales 6) (Paris, 1982), 49–51. In the “Islamic” city the mosque was the center of such socio-political functions: Pedro Chalmeta Gendrón, “Les fonctions de l’Agora-Forum dans la cité arabo-musulmane,” in “Plazas” et sociabilité en Europe et Amérique latine. Colloque 1979 (Publications de la Casa de Velázquez. Recherches en sciences sociales 6) (Paris, 1982), 10–12. José L. Sáinz Guerra, La génesis de la plaza en Castilla durante la Edad Media. La plaza y la estructura urbana (Colección Tesis doctorales de arquitectos 2) (Valladolid, 1990), esp. 201–263. See also Gautier Dalché, “La place,” and Juan C. Martín Cea, “Las funciones ­sociales de la plaza pública en la Castilla del siglo xv,” in Sociedades urbanas y culturas políticas en la Baja Edad Media castellana, ed. José M. Monsalvo Antón (Estudios históricos y geográficos 156) (Salamanca, 2013), 143–164. Molénat, “Places et marchés,” 45–47, 51–52. In Seville it is not until the late 15th century that we observe efforts to create public spaces: Collantes de Terán Sánchez, Sevilla, 78–80; idem, “De la Ciudad Andalusí a la Castellana. El espacio urbano en Andalucía Bajomedieval,” Minervae Baeticae 37 (2009): 185–189.

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of the cathedral in order to make room for a new public square.44 Originally known as the “plaza de las casas del arzobispo,”45 this square was soon to play an important role in the representation of communal governance: a royal charter of King Juan I indicates that the city’s government (ayuntamiento), which had usually gathered in the private houses of the respective functionaries or in front of the cathedral’s main entrance, had begun sometime before 1380 to meet regularly in the adjacent Hospital de Santa María de la Paz.46 As of 1411 this building was officially defined as the exclusive seat of the Toledan city council,47 and the area in front of it soon became known as the “Plaza del Ayuntamiento.” The lack of significance generally attributed to public life in medieval Islamic communities and the strict exclusion of the public from the sphere of domestic privacy as a characteristic trait of the historic oriental city can be observed in the case of Toledo on the level of single dwelling houses: walled off from the outside, the typical town houses centered around an internal courtyard.48 It is noteworthy that this architectural pattern was not only still in 44

45 46

47

48

“… para fazer plaça delante de la dicha nuestra eglesia faze la piuerta que dizen del perdon” (cited in María M. Merlos Romero, “El palacio arzobispal de Toledo, su entorno urbano en la edad media,” in La ciudad medieval. De la casa principal al Palacio Urbano. Actas del iii Curso de Historia y Urbanismo Medieval organizado por la Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha, ed. Jean Passini [Toledo, 2011], 247–249); see also Molénat, “Places et marchés,” 47; Luis J. Gordo Peláez, “Concurrencia de poderes en los espacios públicos en el Renacimiento: La plaza del Ayuntamiento de Toledo en el siglo xvi,” Anales de Historia del Arte 12 (2002): 65–66. At the same time one can also observe the first efforts to enlarge the Plaza del Zocodover: Molénat, “Places et marchés,” 45–47. Merlos Romero, “El palacio arzobispal,” 250. … nos fue dicho e denunçiado que vos otros los dichos alcalles e alguazil e cavalleros e escuderos e algunos de vos que agora nueva mente quando vos avedes de ayuntar en uno sobre vuestros negocios quando acaesçen de vos ayuntar que fazedes los tales ayuntamientos en las casas de las moradas de algunos de vos los dichos alcalles e alguazil e cavalleros e escuderos e que lo non queredes fazer en la eglesia cathedral de la dicha çibdat o en las casas de sobre el ospital de Santa María de la Paz que fueron ordenadas para en que fizieredes vuestros ayuntamientos… (cited in Gordo Peláez, “Concurrencia de poderes,” 66 n. 27); see also Porres Martín-Cleto, “La ciudad de Toledo,” 37–38; Molénat, “L’urbanisme,” 1109–1110; Molénat, “Places et marchés,” 47. All gatherings of the council were henceforth to be held at the casa publica de la dicha ciudad que llaman el Ayuntamiento e non en otra parte (cited by Merlos Romero, “El palacio arzobispal,” 252). After 1435 the former hospital to all appearances devolved to the Toledan commune: Molénat, “Places et marchés,” 47–48. Jean Passini, “Una casa medieval del Adarve de Atocha, Toledo,” in La ciudad medieval. De la casa principal al Palacio Urbano. Actas del iii Curso de Historia y Urbanismo Medieval organizado por la Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha, ed. Jean Passini (Toledo, 2011), 303–316; Molénat, “L’urbanisme,” 1106–1108. The same building pattern survived in Seville: Collantes de Terán Sánchez, Sevilla, 107–129, esp. 118–121.

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pragmatic use more than 300 years after the Christian “reconquest” of Toledo, but that it was to a certain extent prescribed by communal statutes. The Ordenanzas of Toledo,49 a compilation of the statutes codified for the first time between 1398 and 1400,50 contain a series of prescriptions on matters of building and urban architecture.51 These so-called ordenanzas del alarife (the alarife [arab. al-ʽārif, “the expert”] being the communal official responsible for the supervision of all public and private building activities within the city since Islamic times whose office and appellation survived under Christian rule) regulated that new buildings within the city walls had to maintain the outlines of the preceding edifice,52 and that windows and doors in the external walls of any building had to be placed in a manner that would not permit a view into the interior of neighbouring houses.53 It is highly probable that many of these prescriptions, which had been in force in an almost identical form in Seville

49

50 51

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53

Pilar Morollón Hernández, “Las ordenanzas municipales antiguas de 1400 de la ciudad de Toledo,” Espacio, Tiempo y Forma. Ser. iii: Historia Medieval 18 (2005): 265–439, esp. 279– 439. See also ibid. 265–278; María Asenjo González, “Las ordenanzas antiguas de Toledo. Siglos xiv y xv,” in “Faire bans, edictz et statuz.” Légiférer dans la ville médiévale. Sources, objets et acteurs de l’activité législative communale en occident, ca. 1200–1550. Actes du Colloque international tenu à Bruxelles les 17–20 novembre 1999, ed. Jean-Marie Cauchies and Eric Bousmar (Publications des Facultés Universitaires Saint-Louis 87) (Bruxelles, 2001), 85–115. Morollón Hernández, “Las ordenanzas municipales,” 267–268; Ansejo González, “Las ordenanzas antiguas,” 89–90. Morollón Hernández, “Las ordenanzas municipales,” 429–439. See also Rafael Cómez Ramos, “Ordenanzas urbanas de la construcción en la Baja Edad Media castellana,” in História da Construção—Os construtores, ed. Arnaldo Sousa Melo and Maria do Carmo Ribeiro (Braga, 2011), 49–74, esp. 58–61. Morollón Hernández, “Las ordenanzas municipales,” 435: Capítulo xxviii de los çimientos viejos e delos rastros viejos dellos. See also Jean Passini, “L’urbanisme médiéval tolédan: décisions des juristes mâlikites et ordonnances municipales chrétiennes de la construction,” in L’urbanisme dans l’Occident musulman au Moyen Âge. Aspects juridiques: Tables rondes. Madrid 1997, ed. Patrice Cressier, María I. Fierro Bello, and Jean-Pierre van Staëvel (Madrid, 2000), 201–214, esp. 201–203; Molénat, “L’urbanisme,” 1106–1108; Cómez Ramos, “Ordenanzas urbanas,” 61. Morollón Hernández, “Las ordenanzas municipales,” 436: “Capítulo xxxiiii que fabla de las puertas que son abiertas de nuevo: Non deve fazer ninguno puerta de su casa delante puerta de su vezino si non si fuere a su grado del vezino ….” See also Jean-Pierre Molénat, “Les ‘Ordenanzas de los alarifes’ de Tolède, comme tèmoignage sur la permanence de traditions d’èpoque islamique,” in L’urbanisme dans l’Occident musulman au Moyen Âge. Aspects juridiques: Tables rondes. Madrid 1997, ed. Patrice Cressier, María I. Fierro Bello, and Jean-Pierre van Staëvel (Madrid, 2000), 195; Passini, “L’urbanisme médiéval tolédan,” 206–207.

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since the 13th century,54 initially originated in Islamic law,55 though in the case of Toledo they do not prove an uninterrupted continuance of pre-reconquest norms, as the ordenanzas del alarife were in all likelihood introduced no earlier than the 13th century under Alfonso x.56 Like Toledo, Seville fell virtually undamaged into the hands of the Christians in 1248; here too the conquerors established themselves in the Muslim medina and adopted the urban topography developed over centuries under Islamic dominance.57 However, over the course of the later Middle Ages Seville was to face a much more rapid and far-reaching transformation of its original urban townscape than had Toledo. One reason for this may be found in the different geographic and topographic conditions58 to which both towns had to adjust. The city of Seville had been erected on sandy ground on an alluvial plain. In this environment quarry stone was in short supply, so stamped clay (tabiya) or bricks were predominately used as building material for houses and fortifications, though this material poorly withstood the frequent floods of the Guadalquivir river: recurring inundations59 repeatedly destroyed large parts of the city and thus permitted large-scale remodelling of the urban topography.60 In Toledo, on the contrary, the use of rubble stone as the predominant building material for fundaments made edifices more durable.61 Furthermore, due 54

55 56

57 58 59

60 61

Cómez Ramos, “Ordenanzas urbanas,” 58–61: The so called Ordenanzas de los Alarifes of Toledo repeat with only minor changes the prescriptions of the older Libro del Peso de los Alarifes of Seville: Rafael Cómez Ramos, “El Libro del Peso de los alarifes,” in Actas del i Simposio Internacional de Mudejarismo (Madrid, 1981), 255–267. Molénat, “Ordenanzas de los alarifes,” 195–199; Cómez Ramos, “Ordenanzas urbanas,” 51–53 and 60–61. Morollón Hernández, “Las ordenanzas municipales,” 272, 285, sees “directamente el espíritu del rey Alfonso x,” as some of the ordenanzas also clearly betray the influence of the Alphonsine Siete Partidas. For the ordenanzas slowly replacing the older fueros as basic communal law as of the second half of the 13th century see Miguel A. Ladero Quesada, “Ordenanzas locales en la Corona de Castilla,” Revista de historia Jerónimo Zurita 78–79 (2004): 29–48. See Collantes de Terán Sánchez, Sevilla, 63–81. Núñez Fuster, “Toledo y Sevilla,” 346; Ladero Quesada, “Toledo y Córdoba,” 191–192. Mariano Barriendos Vallvé and Fernándo S. Rodrigo, “Study of Historical Flood Events on Spanish Rivers Using Documentary Data,” Hydrological Sciences Journal 51.5 (2006): 765–783, here 768, 771–773. For the later medieval period see Francisco de Borja Palomo, Historia crítica de las riadas o grandes avenidas del Guadalquivir en Sevilla: desde su reconquista hasta nuestros días (Seville, 1878), 9–38. Núñez Fuster, “Toledo y Sevilla,” 346, 352. Núñez Fuster, “Toledo y Sevilla,” 346. For the predominant building materials at Toledo see Ricardo A. Izquierdo Benito, “Materiales constructivos en las viviendas toledanas. La vivienda en Toledo a fines de la Edad Media,” in La ciudad medieval. De la casa principal

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Figure 5.7 Panorama of early modern Seville (c. 1588)

to its position above the Rio Tajo, Toledo was threatened far less by alluvial floods62 than was Seville; in fact, the greatest danger to Toledo, aside from earthquakes, proved to be conflagrations, which during the later Middle Ages occasionally devastated parts of the predominately wooden town,63 thus allowing a certain reshaping of the townscape. After 1389, for example, the area of the burnt commercial district of Alcaná in the immediate neighbourhood of the cathedral was used to erect a new cloister64 in Gothic style and to enlarge considerably the episcopal palace.65 However, given the specific geographic conditions of Toledo—situated on rugged and uneven terrain in a U-shaped insinuation of the Tajo—the scope of such urbanistic remodellings

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63 64 65

al Palacio Urbano. Actas del iii Curso de Historia y Urbanismo Medieval organizado por la Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha, ed. Jean Passini (Toledo, 2011), 284–291. However, according to Gerardo Benito, Andrés Díez-Herrero, and María Fernández de Villalta, “Magnitude and Frequency of Flooding in the Tagus Basin (Central Spain) over the Last Millennium,” Climatic Change 58 (2003): 178, 181–182, Toledo faced a phase of recurring floods between 1168 and 1211 with extreme river stages in 1168, 1178 and 1181; Barriendos and Rodrigo, “Study of historical flood events,” 768. The Anales Toledanos i, 391, report an inundation in 1172, which destroyed las tiendas del Rey Moro; in 1204 and 1209 a pier of the Tajo bridge was swept away, and in 1207 a city gate was damaged; further high waters were recorded for the years of 1181, 1200, and 1202. According to the Anales Toledanos ii, 404–405, major conflagrations afflicted Toledo, e.g., in 1187 and 1220. Further blazes occured in 1389 and 1467. Amalia M. Yuste Galán and Jean Passini, “El inicio de la construcción del claustro gótico de la catedral de Toledo,” in Actas del séptimo Congreso Nacional de Historia de la Construcción. Santiago 2011, ed. Santiago Huerta Fernández, 2 vols. (Madrid, 2011), 2:1477–1488. Merlos Romero, “El palacio arzobispal,” 245–246.

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Figure 5.8 Panorama of early modern Toledo (engraved by Georg Hofnaegel c. 1566)

was ­generally rather limited. Only in the 15th century did Toledo began to experience major interventions into its traditional townscape, still clearly marked by an altogether oriental appearance, when religious congregations increasingly strengthened their presence in the city.66 2

Societal Structures: Demographic Continuity

Apart from topographic factors and architecture, it was the urban population and its respective composition in both cities that had the greatest bearing on the continuance of established urban structures during the Christian “reconquest.” In 1085 the surrender treaty of Toledo, which unfortunately has not survived in its original form and whose details, therefore, must be deduced from later historiographical traditions,67 guaranteed to the autochthonous Muslim population freedom and the safety of life and limb, the right of residence in

66 67

Porres Martín-Cleto, “La ciudad de Toledo,” 48–51. Aḥmad Ibn-Muḥammad Ibn-ʿIdārī al-Marrākušī, La caída del califato de Córdoba y los reyes de Taifas (al-Bayān al-muġrib), ed. Felipe Maíllo Salgado (Estudios Árabes e Islámicos) (Salamanca, 1993), 232–234; Roderici Ximenii de Rada Historia de rebus Hispanie sive Historia Gothica, ed. Juan Fernández Valverde (Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Medi­ aevalis 77) (Turnhout, 1987), vi:22; Primera crónica general de España que mandó componer Alfonso el Sabio y se continuaba bajo Sancho iv en 1289, ed. Ramón Menéndez Pidal, 2 vols. (Madrid, 1955), 2:538–540 (chaps. 867–869) (herafter cited as pcg).

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the Christian ruled city, as well as the inviolability of their property.68 With these concessions King Alfonso vi clearly pursued a strategy of demographic continuity: the inhabitants of former Muslim Ṭulayṭula were expected to remain in their ancestral city and to adapt themselves to the changed conditions of Christian governance. However, this strategy was quickly abandoned by Alfonso and his successors on the Castilian throne: in the aftermath of 1085, and until the 13th century, the Muslim populations of conquered towns were usually expulsed.69 This was the case in 1248 in Seville, where the surrender treaty obliged all Muslim inhabitants to leave the city within one month.70 The Castilian conquerors seem to have taken over a virtual ghost town. In Toledo, where the autochthonous population in 1085 had initially been given permission to stay, most of the Muslim inhabitants preferred emigration to an inferior social status as members of a religious minority, and left the city within weeks of the Christian conquest.71 In contrast to Seville, this demographic loss was ­somewhat mitigated by small “Mozarabic” Christian72 and Jewish communities,73 which in Toledo remained after 1085 and thus provided a certain demographic continuity following the Castilian conquest. By contrast, in Seville the Almohads by the middle of the 12th century had ejected all members of non-Muslim minorities from the city.74 In 1248, therefore, there were 68

Ana Echevarría Arsuaga, “La ‘Mayoría’ mudéjar en León y Castilla: legislación real y distribución de la población (ss. xi–xiii),” En la España medieval 29 (2006): 7–30, esp. 12–13; Gonzalo Martínez Díez, “Las capitulaciones de Fernando iii con las ciudades musulmanas conquistadas,” Archivo hispalense 77.234–236 (1994): 267–269; Joseph F. O’Callaghan, “The Mudejars of Castile and Portugal in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries,” in Muslims under Latin rule. 1100–1300, ed. James M. Powell (Princeton, 1990), 11–56, here 14. 69 Martínez Díez, “Las capitulaciones,” 268–273, 279–280; González Jiménez, Los orígenes de Andalucía, 37–42; Echevarría Arsuaga, “La ‘Mayoría’ mudéjar,” 11 and 13. 70 pcg, 766–767 (chap. 1123). See also Wiebke Deimann, Christen, Juden und Muslime im mittelalterlichen Sevilla. Religiöse Minderheiten unter muslimischer und christlicher Dominanz (12. bis 14. Jahrhundert) (Geschichte und Kultur der iberischen Welt 9) (Münster, 2012), 180–181 and 202–205; Martínez Díez, “Las capitulaciones.” 71 Jean-Pierre Molénat, Campagnes et Monts de Tolède du xiième au xvème siècles (Collection de la Casa de Velázquez 63) (Madrid, 1997), 27–37, esp. 30. 72 Ibid. 37–53. 73 Ibid. 53–58. 74 Deimann, Christen, Juden und Muslime, 59–67; Alejandro García Sanjuán, “Declive y extinción de la minoría cristiana en la Sevilla andalusí (ss. xi–xii),” Historia. Instituciones. Documentos 31 (2004): 279–286; Jean-Pierre Molénat, “Sur le rôle des Almohades dans la fin du christianisme local au Maghreb et en al-Andalus,” Al-Qanṭara 18 (1997): 389–413.

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no local non-Muslim communities able to attenuate the radical break in demographic continuity caused by the eviction of Muslim settlers from the city. The immense drain of the autochthonous population, which both cities suffered after their respective conquests, had to be compensated for by the immigration of new settlers from the Christian North. However, the strategies applied by the Castilian crown in order to encourage this immigration had wide-ranging ramifications for both the constitutional forms of the “reconquered” cities and the composition and internal organization of their societies. As in the 11th and 12th centuries, military forces were needed to secure the newly won border towns and their exposed surroundings.75 The royal policy of colonization and repopulation in the conquered territories of the Castilian Extremadura focused predominately on the recruitment of soldiers. The foral (fueros) law codes of Sepúlveda and Toledo, both dating to the early phase of the Castilian expansion in the 11th century, demonstrate the inducement used for this recruitment.76 New settlers were attracted by the prospect of land, individual rights, and the autonomy of communal self-administration; in return, they were required to render military service for the defence of the town and its adjacent frontier zones, as well as for the frequent royal campaigns against al-Andalus.77 The economic resources necessary for such military operations were essentially to be generated by the settlers themselves from the

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Gautier Dalché, “La ville hispanique,” 12–13. The foral laws (fueros) of Sépulveda (codified in 1076) and Toledo (confirmed in 1118) became the archetypes for the other municipal law codes in the Castilian expansion zone until the late 13th century: While the fuero of Toledo was to become the usual model for urban law codes, the fuero of Sepúlveda was regularly granted to communities of rural settlements in the Castilian Extremadura: Monsalvo Antón, “Frontera pionera,” 60–64; Cristián I. Jiménez Acuña, “Sepúlveda en la documentación foral. El contexto de la política de repoblación hacia la segunda mitad del siglo xi,” Historias del Orbis Terrarum, Extra 4 (2012): 34–42; María M. Martínez Almira, “El derecho de los pobladores de Sepúlveda y la pervivencia de la tradición islámica,” in El municipio medieval: nuevas perspectivas, ed. Javier Alvarado Planas (Madrid, 2009), 109–143; Manuel González Jiménez, “La creación del derecho local y territorial andaluz: de Alfonso x a los Reyes Católicos,” Initium 9 (2004): 127–221. In the Andalusian expansion zone, however, the fuero of Cuenca was also to become a model law for the repoblación of rural regions, cf. Manuel González Jiménez, “Ciudades y concejos andaluces en la Edad media: Gobierno urbano,” in Concejos y ciudades en la Edad Media hispánica. Actas del ii Congreso de Estudios Medievales. Madrid 1989 (Madrid, 1990), 240–243; Antonio Collantes de Terán Sánchez, “La Andalucía de las ciudades,” Anales de la Universidad de Alicante. Historia medieval 16 (2009–2010): 113–114. For the military obligations of the settlers see James F. Powers, A Society Organized for War. The Iberian Municipal Militias in the Central Middle Ages (Berkeley, 1988), 112–135.

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tracts of land which were granted to them in the environs of the city.78 In consequence, these methods of recruitment created a highly militarized society79 in the “reconquered” border towns of New Castile (Castilla La Nueva), where the typical inhabitant was a free, land-owning warrior who made his living predominately from farming, animal husbandry, and—to a lesser degree—from the spoils of war.80 The social hierarchies within the urban population at an early stage essentially followed military categories.81 The more prosperous group of so-called caballeros villanos,82 who could afford a war horse and the equipment necessary to render their military service in the mounted contingents of the urban militias, began to distinguish themselves from the infantry men called peones. Yet in the 11th century, at the time when Toledo and other cities of the Castilian Extremadura between the rivers Duero and Tajo were re-populated, the categories of caballeros and peones to all appearance primarily indicated a functional distinction and were not yet expressions of social hierarchies.83 During the 12th and early 13th centuries, however, the caballería villana of New Castile was able to obtain a superior social status and to slowly 78

In the early phase of the “reconquest” individual land seizure would be effected in the rather unregulated form of the presura, which basically allowed colonists to take possession of unappropriated land: Esther Peña Bocos, “Las presuras y la repoblación del valle del Duero. Algunas cuestiones en torno a la atribución y organización social del espacio castellano en el siglo ix,” in Seminario: Repoblación y Reconquista. Actas del iii Curso de Cultura Medieval. Aguilar de Campoo 1991, ed. José L. Hernando Garrido and Miguel A. García Guinea (Aguilar de Campóo, 1993), 249–260. In the 13th century this model was replaced by systematic procedures for allotment organized by appointed officials, the so called repartimientos, see e.g., Manuel González Jiménez, “Repartimientos andaluces del siglo xiii, perspectiva de conjunto y problemas,” Historia. Instituciones. Documentos 14 (1987): 103–122; Julio González, Repartimiento de Sevilla. Estudio y edición preparada, 2 vols. (Escuela de estudios medievales. Textos 15–16) (Madrid, 1951), 1:227–302. 79 Powers, Society, 93–111; Gautier Dalché, “La ville hispanique,” 13–15. 80 Powers, Society, 162–187. 81 Gautier Dalché, “La ville hispanique,” 14–15; Monsalvo Antón, “Frontera pionera,” 82–83. 82 Carlos Astarita, “Sobre los orígenes de las caballerías en Castilla y León. Siglos x–xii,” Olivar: Revista de Literatura y Cultura Españolas 8 (2007): 279–312, esp. 291–298; Julián Clemente Ramos, “Estructura concejil y sociedad feudal, en la transierra extremeña siglos xii y xiii,” Hispania: Revista Española de Historia 51.177 (1991): 41–71. The caballeros villanos must not be confused with the noble caballeros de linaje or infanzones, who clearly dominated the society of Old Castile and León but at the same time played only a minor role in the repoblación of the Castilian Extremadura and the establishment of municipal forms of governance in the conquered cities of New Castile. 83 When Alfonso vi in 1101 issued his famous charter to the “Mozarabs” of Toledo, he addressed tam cavalleros quam pedones alike, and granted the status of miles to everyone who could afford the equipment necessary for service in the city’s light cavalry: Alfonso García-Gallo de Diego, “Los fueros de Toledo,” Anuario de Historia del Derecho Española 45 (Madrid, 1975): 459–461; 460 § 2: Et do eis libertatem, ut qui fuerit inter eos pedes et ­voluerit

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assimilate nobility (infanzones) by making the privileged status of caballero or hidalgo (hijo de algo) a hereditary prerogative.84 Later, in the 13th century, this social dichotomy was exported, along with the foral law codes and models of communal governance which had evolved since the 11th century in the Castilian Extremadura, to the new expansion zones of Andalusia. Even though after the middle of the 13th century military requirements had lost priority and now played only a secondary role in the colonization of conquered cities,85 the urban societies of Castilian-ruled Andalusia organized themselves according to established social categories and hierarchies, which had originally reflected a man’s strategic value on the battlefield. When, for instance, after the conquest of Seville in 1252 the booty was distributed among the conquerors, it was a matter of course that caballeros would receive preferential treatment according to their superior social status.86 Thus, in the conquered cities under Castilian rule the originally strategic requirements of “reconquista” and repoblación created a new type of urban society whose internal structures, hierarchies, and forms of organization differed markedly from the societal models to be found in the Iberian North.87 There feudalism and manorialism stabilized vertical stratifications and thus strengthened the dominance of the lay nobility and the church, whereas in the repopulated cities South of the river Duero and in Andalusia forms of horizontal societal organization dominated, along with the communal self-­ administration of free and land-owning townsmen. 3

Constitutional Forms and Governance

In the repopulated cities of New Castile and Andalusia, caballeros and peones together formed urban communities which at an early stage were granted the right of collective self-administration and far-reaching autonomy in internal militare, et posse habuerit, ut militet. See further Monsalvo Antón, “Frontera pionera,” 82–83. 84 Monsalvo Antón, “Frontera pionera,” 100–103. 85 While in the 11th and 12th centuries the Castilian Extremadura had been conquered by the crown, which afterwards depended on mass recruitment of individual settlers to populate and secure the frontier zones, the “reconquests” of the 13th century were carried out to a great extent by military orders and feudal lords who could later mobilize feudal resources for the protection of the newly won territories. Thus in the repopulation of Andalusia the military duties of the individual colonists played a far less important role than they had in New Castile. 86 González, Repartimiento de Sevilla, 1:285–290. 87 Astarita, “Sobre los orígenes,” 281–300.

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affairs. Though all territories conquered by the crown were regarded as realengum, i.e., as royal property under nominal control of the king,88 the actual governance in the frontier cities was conducted by the communities themselves. The main institution of communal representation and resolution was the so called consejo (from Latin consilium), originally an assembly open to all free, male, land-owning citizens (vecinos urbanos)—caballeros and peones alike— who elected the municipal magistrates (e.g., alcaldes, alguaziles) from their own ranks.89 Even though access to this consejo abierto became more restricted over time, both for reasons of practicality90 and for the successful efforts of the urban caballero elites gradually to monopolize their political control,91 the consejo principally remained the major political organ of communal governance in the towns of New Castile and Andalusia until it was finally replaced by the closed regimientos in the second half of the 14th century. In Seville a regimiento was already established under King Sancho iv,92 while in Toledo this constitutional innovation was introduced only in 1411/1422.93 88

89

90

91 92 93

This applies in particular to the conquests of the 11th century in the Castilian Extrema­ dura between the rivers Duero and Tajo, whereas the expansion southwards beyond the river Tajo in the 13th century was predominately carried out by the military orders which thus created vast domanial estates: Monsalvo Antón, “Frontera pionera,” 57–59 and 91–93. Monsalvo Antón, “Frontera pionera,” 68–70; Carlos Astarita, “Desarollo institucional en dos áreas del sistema feudal,” Actas y Comunicaciones del Instituto de Historia Antigua y Medieval (Revista electrónica anual) 8.1 (2013): 9–13; González Jiménez, “Ciudades y concejos.” See also the articles in Concejos y ciudades. Many open consejos were soon replaced by smaller assemblies of elected and sworn delegates (jurados), who represented their respective parish (collación) in the city council: González Jiménez, “Ciudades y concejos,” 244–246; Monsalvo Antón, “Frontera pionera,” 108–111. In Seville, e.g., a committee of 24 appointed cavalleros was installed in 1286: Deborah Kirschberg Schenck and Marcos Fernández Gómez, El Concejo de Sevilla en la Edad Media (1248–1454). Organización institucional y fuentes documentales, 2 vols. (Seville, 2002), 1:44–46. Gautier Dalché, “La ville hispanique,” 15–16; Monsalvo Antón, “Frontera pionera,” 111–116. Kirschberg Schenck and Fernández Gómez, El Concejo, 1:44–46. José A. Jara Fuente, “Estructuras formales de poder y de organización de las clases dominantes urbanas en Castilla: el regimiento: una crisis del siglo xiv en el siglo xv,” Edad Media: Revista de Historia 8 (2007): 225–241, esp. 232–233; Oscar López Gómez, “Paz social y marginación gubernativa en Toledo: siglos xi–xv,” in La convivencia en las ciudades medievales. Encuentros Internacionales del Medievo 4. Nájera 2007, ed. Beatriz Arizaga Bolúmburu and Jesús Á. Solórzano Telechea (Logroño, 2008), 435–440; González Jiménez, “Ciudades y concejos,” 246–253; Juan R. Palencia Herrejon, “Las relaciones de poder en Toledo a comienzos del siglo xv (1406–1422): Pedro López de Ayala, la oligarquía local y la monarquía castellana,” Anales Toledanos 36 (1998): 48–52; Francisco J. Aranda Pérez, “Juan ii crea el Regimiento y el Cabildo de Jurados de Toledo en 1422,” Beresit 4 (1992): 47–55; Rosa M. Montero Tejada, “La organizacion del Cabildo de Jurados de Toledo (1422–1510),” Espacio, Tiempo y Forma. Serie iii, Historia Medieval 3 (1990): 213–258.

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This early communal autonomy constituted an important uniqueness of the urban landscape of New Castile.94 Compared to the emergent towns of Castilla La Vieja (North of the Sistema Central) and the kingdom of León in the late 11th century, the “new” cities of the Southern border zones may have had perhaps only one or two generations over their Northern counterparts in developing communal forms of self-administration and representation.95 In the Northern regions of the Castilian-Leonese realm, political participation of the burghers in the cities’ governance was to become more and more accepted during the 12th century, though seigneurial dominance was to remain much stronger than in the vast expansion areas of the South.96 Yet it was in comparison with the typical models of urban regime in Muslim-ruled cities that the establishment of municipal forms of self-governance in “reconquered” Toledo, Seville, and elsewhere in former Muslim al-Andalus constituted a sharp contrast. Other than the urban communes of the ideal occidental city, the population of medieval Islamic towns did not typically constitute a political or legal entity; urban residents in Muslim-ruled territory were considered as subordinate to the command of the respective territory’s ruler and his local delegates and did not form a collective legal body of their own, and could not claim any rights of political representation, let alone of autonomous municipal self-administration.97 The establishment of communal regimes in the “reconquered” cities of former al-Andalus therefore constituted an obvious breach of continuity with respect to the preceding forms of political organization and administration of urban life under Muslim rule.98 The legal foundation for the communal rule of the consejos was initially provided by the municipal law codes of the fueros. The fuero of Toledo, which was later exported, in elaborated versions,99 to many conquered cities of Andalusia 94 95 96 97 98

99

Astarita, “Desarollo institucional,” 11–13. Ibid. 4–5, 13–14; Gautier Dalché, “La ville hispanique,” 12–13 and 15. Astarita, “Desarollo institucional,” 4–6; Astarita, “Sobre los orígenes,” 281–291; Gautier Dalché, “La ville hispanique,” 12–13 and 16. Gautier Dalché, “La ville hispanique,” 10; Chalmeta Gendrón, “Les fonctions de l’AgoraForum,” 12–14. Even though many public offices in the communal administration and their originally Arabic titles clearly derived from pre-reconquest models, cf. Mohamed Meouak, “La organización administrativa y las leyes desde el año 711 hasta el año 1085,” in Regreso a Tulaytula. Guía del Toledo islámico (ss. viii–xi), ed. Clara Delgado Valero (Toledo, 1998), 161–166. A striking example is the title of alcalde which corresponds to Arabic al-qāḍī, cf. Amparo Ricós Vidal and Adela García Valle, “Alcalde y sus variantes: Influencia del árabe en el romance,” Revista de Investigación Lingüística 1.2 (1998): 85–104. María Asenjo González, “Acerca de los linajes urbanos y su conflictividad en las ciudades castellanas a fines de la Edad Media,” Clio & Crimen 6 (2009): 52–84: In 1248, Seville

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such as Córdoba and Seville,100 shows certain features that resulted from the specific circumstances under which the city had changed hands in 1085, which are significant to the question of the continuity of city life following the Christian “reconquest.” The Fueros of Toledo combined several privileges that had originally been granted separately to different population groups present in the city at the moment of its conquest in 1085 or shortly after. Only in 1118 were these different privileges combined and confirmed by King Alfonso vii as the foral law code of Toledo.101 The oldest component of this communal law must have been those clauses of the surrender treaty by which Alfonso vi had originally allowed the long-established Muslim residents to stay in the now Christian-ruled city of Toledo and to retain their possessions.102 However, presumably in consequence of the almost complete emigration of all Muslims from Toledo shortly after the Christian conquest, this treaty did not become part of the codified Toledan fuero. Within a few years,103 however, the nucleus of Toledo’s foral law was successively supplemented by several legal grants directed at other communities of the town, the most influential of which were the respective charters given to the so-called castellanos,104 i.e., the newly arrived Christian settlers coming to Toledo from regions in the North of the Castilian realm, as well as to the “Mozarabic” Christians,105 who appear to have been residing in the town before 1085. Further charters, which have also not survived in their original form, can be deduced and partly reconstructed for the so-called francos,106 an common appellation for all Christian immigrants from outside the Iberian Peninsula, as well as for the cathedral and its clerics.107

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r­ eceived an abrigded version of the Toledan fuero which strengthened royal control over communal governance: In Seville, for instance, it was the king who appointed the urban alcaldes for life, while according to the original fuero of Toledo the consejo elected the city’s magistrates in annual rotation. González Jiménez, “Ciudades y concejos,” 240–243; Julián Hurtado de Molina Delgado, “El Fuero de Toledo y su influencia en le texto foral cordobés,” Ambitos 21 (2009): 55–62; González Jiménez, “La creación del derecho”; Collantes de Terán Sánchez, “La Andalucía,” 113–116. García-Gallo de Diego, “Los fueros,” 351–363 and 473–483; Ricardo A. Izquierdo Benito, El libro de los privilegios de Toledo. Estudio y reproducción facsímil, 2 vols. (Archivo municipal 5) (Toledo, 2005), 1:41–43 (app. 2). García-Gallo de Diego, “Los fueros,” 408–410. See also note 67. The privilege granted to the Toledan castellanos is mentioned in the charter issued for the city’s “Mozarabs”; thus the 19th of March 1101 constitutes a terminus ante quem. García-Gallo de Diego, “Los fueros,” 412–419. Ibid. 346–351, 419–430; English translation: Medieval Iberia: Readings from Christian, Muslim, and Jewish Sources, ed. Olivia Remie Constable (Philadelphia, 2012), 136–137. García-Gallo de Diego, “Los fueros,” 363–365 and 467–468. Ibid. 365–369 and 468–469.

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With regard to the question of continuity and discontinuity throughout the Christian conquest of the city, the foral charter for the Toledan “Mozarabs” is of particular significance. By contrasting the “Mozarabs” to the Castilian immigrants, the royal privilege explicitly acknowledged the distinct legal status of this specific group of Christian residents who had not come from abroad and had seemingly been living at Toledo under Muslim rule before 1085. The charter was issued in 1101 in the context of a conflict between long-established and newly arrived groups from conquered Toledo about the distribution of the city’s resources.108 It appears that Alfonso had found it necessary to confiscate “Mozarabic” property in the town and its environs in order to endow the many immigrant castellanos with adequate land and lodgings.109 In 1101, when the disputes had been settled to the satisfaction of both sides, Alfonso confirmed the now stipulated apportionment of property among the different communities,110 and compensated the “Mozarabs” somewhat for their losses by granting them their own jurisdiction on the basis of the original Visigothic Liber iudiciorum.111 Under Muslim rule the autochthonous Christians of Toledo had already constituted a distinct community within the city’s society. In accordance with the Islamic dhimma law112 the Muslim authorities in the town (before whom the “Mozarabic” community had been represented by their own al-qāḍī) had granted the Christian minority juridical autonomy in internal affairs and a high degree of communal self-organisation.113 When Alfonso, therefore, constituted the Toledan “Mozarabs” in 1101 as a distinct legal community under the jurisdiction of their own alcalde, he may have approved a status that 108 Ibid. 459: “Cum preteritis temporibus fuerint factas in Toleto multas pesquisitiones super cortes et hereditates, sic de pressuria quomodo et de comparato, et cum tollerent ad illos qui magis habebant et darent ad eos qui nichil aut qui pauco habebant, nunc ego iam quero ponere finem ad istam causam, et nolo ut amplius fiat (…).” 109 Ibid. 459: “… ut (…) inter Mozarabes et Castellanos, ipsemet cum eis exquireret et equaret et cortes et hereditates inter totos illos dividere.” 110 García-Gallo de Diego, “Los fueros,” 459: “… firmiter habeant semper quantas cortes et hereditates sive vineas ac terras hodie in suo iure retinent.” 111 Ibid. 460: “Et si inter eos fuerit ortum aliquod negotio de aliquo iudicio, secundum sententiam in Libro iudicum antiquitus constitutam discutiatur.” 112 José Aguilera Pleguezuelo, Estudios de las normas e instituciones del derecho islámico en al-Andalus. Dirāsāt fī qawāʿid wa-mabādiʾ ‘l-fiqh fi ‘l-Andalus (Seville, 2000), 112–118; Yohanan Friedmann, s.v. “Dhimma,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam Three, Brill Online (2012) http:// dx.doi.org/10.1163/1573-3912_ei3_COM_26005. Consulted 24th April 2019. 113 Matthias Maser, “Christen im umayyadischen al-Andalus. Zwischen diskriminierender Beschränkung und kultureller Profilierung,” in Integration—Segregation—Vertreibung. Religiöse Minderheiten und Randgruppen auf der Iberischen Halbinsel (7.–17. Jahrhundert), ed. Klaus Herbers and Nikolas Jaspert (Geschichte und Kultur der iberischen Welt 8) (Berlin, 2011), 83–108, esp. 92–98.

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the autochthonous Christian minority of Ṭulayṭula had already enjoyed under Muslim rule, before the Castilian influx. This seems to have been the understanding of the well-known 14th-century chronicler Pedro López de Ayala, who praised the “Mozarabs” as merited warrantors of an unbroken continuity of Christian faith and culture in the town on the Tajo during the long centuries from 711 to 1085, legitimizing their privileged legal status within the Toledan society of the later Middle Ages.114 Furthermore, it is a plausible assumption that the royal privilege of 1101 confirmed the very law code by which the autochthonous Christian minority had been regulating their internal affairs already in Islamic times. Such a supposed living tradition of the Visigothic Liber iudiciorum in Toledo before 1085/1101, however, cannot definitely be proven.115 In fact, the famous “Mozarabic” charters,116 a voluminous corpus of legal documents from Christian-ruled Toledo still being written in Arabic until the end of the 13th century, betray the dominant influence of certain Islamic legal practices and formulas of the Mālikī school,117 which must have found their way into local private law before 1085. Although many traces of the Visigothic Liber iudiciorum are detectable in the Toledan legal documents,118 none of them dates to before the Christian “reconquest” and the subsequent re-establishment of the original Visigothic law code under King Alfonso vi. Nonetheless, current research seems to allow that the Christian community of Muslim-ruled Ṭulayṭula had already developed a customary law which combined elements of both the Islamic and the Visigothic traditions.119 At least for private legal acts, such as sale and purchase agreements, this hybrid law with its characteristic Arabic formulas stayed in use for more than two centuries after the “reconquest” of

114 López de Ayala, Crónica, Chap. xviii, esp. Chap xix; for a contrasting interpretation of this passage see Molénat, “Tolède vue par les chroniqueurs,” 188–191. 115 Manuel Cecilio Diaz y Diaz, “La lex Visigothorum y sus manuscritos. Un ensayo de reinterpretación,” Anuario de Historia del Derecho Español 46 (1976): 191–192, supposed a putative Toledan provenance for at least one “Mozarabic” manuscript of the Liber iudiciorum dating before 1085. See also Cyrille Aillet, Les Mozarabes. Christianisme, islamisation et arabisation en péninsule ibérique (ixème–xiième siècle) (Bibliothèque de la Casa de Velázquez 45) (Madrid, 2010), 201–202, who is rather sceptical. 116 Ángel González Palencia, Los Mozárabes de Toledo en los siglos xii y xiii. 4 vols. (Madrid, 1926–1930). 117 Howard D. Miller, According to Christian Sunna. Mozarabic notarial culture in Toledo, 1085–1300 (Ph.D. dissertation; Yale University, 2003); Diego A. Olstein, La era mozárabe. Los mozárabes de Toledo (ss. xii y xiii) en la historiografía, las fuentes y la historia (Acta Salmanticensia. Estudios históricos y geográficos 135) (Salamanca, 2006), 73–74. 118 María L. Alonso Martín, “La perduración del Fuero Juzgo y el Derecho de los castellanos de Toledo,” Anuario de Historia del Derecho Español 48 (1978): 335–378. 119 Olstein, La Era mozárabe, 75–76.

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Toledo and was even adopted by Northern immigrants to the city who had no autochthonous “Mozarabic” background.120 The coexistence of several distinct legal communities within one urban society was generally not exceptional in medieval cities, which often housed Jewish populations, for example. However, what makes the case of Toledo peculiar is the fact that two communities—the “Mozarabs” and the castellanos—could claim equal participation in the city’s governance. This resulted in a unique constitutional situation:121 at least until the late 14th century the city’s government was led by two alcaldes, one of whom was to be a member of the “Mozarabic” community, while the other would represent the castellanos.122 Though this constitutional construction originally aimed at the equal participation of both communities in the city’s government, in the long run it strengthened the political influence of the “Mozarabic” group disproportionally, which originally must have been clearly outnumbered by the immigrated castellanos and francos. From the 13th century, however, it becomes difficult to determine, according to what criteria, a person was actually acknowledged as a member of the “Mozarabic” community of Toledo. While in 1101 Alfonso vi could still address as mozarabes those inhabitants of his newly won city who had been living in Toledo before 1085,123 only three generations later such a distinction would have failed to apply to a greater part of the Toledan “Mozarabs,” many of whom would have immigrated recently from al-Andalus,124 fortunate to have escaped the Almohad pogroms of the 1140s.125 It was not before the middle of the 12th century that the local “Mozarabic” community of Toledo reached a significant numeric size as a consequence of a mass arrival of Arabized Christians 120 Aaron M. Moreno, Arabicizing, Privileges, and Liturgy in Medieval Castilian Toledo. The Problems and Mutations of Mozarab Identification (1085–1436) (Ph.D. dissertation; Los Angeles, 2012a), 99–147; Miller, According to Christian sunna. 121 For a concise overview over the constitutional history of medieval Toledo see Francisco J. Aranda Pérez, Poder y poderes en la ciudad de Toledo. Gobierno, Sociedad y Oligarquías urbanas en la Edad Moderna (Humanidades 33) (Cuenca, 1999), 40–55. 122 Christian Saßenscheidt, “Mozarabes und Castellanos im Toledo des 12. Jahrhunderts: Die Entwicklung des Toledaner Doppelalcaldentums,” in Die Mozaraber. Definitionen und Perspektiven der Forschung, ed. Matthias Maser and Klaus Herbers (Geschichte und Kultur der iberischen Welt 7) (Münster, 2011), 125–150, esp. 137–140. Saßenscheidt identifies a charter dating from March 1115 as the earliest document to mention the double magistrate of the two Toledan alcaldes (= Francisco J. Hernández, ed., Los cartularios de Toledo. Catalogo documental [Monumenta ecclesiae Toletanae historica 1 = Regesta et Inventaria Historica 1] [Madrid, 1985], no. 19). 123 García-Gallo de Diego, “Los fueros,” 459–460. 124 José A. Dávila García-Miranda, “Emigraciones mozárabes del sur a Toledo, en el siglo xii,” Crónica mozárabe: boletín informativo de la Ilustre Comunidad Mozárabe de Toledo 75 (2010): 3–11. 125 See note 74.

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from the South, who could hardly claim autochthony in Toledo.126 But neither linguistic nor cultural Arabization can be regarded as a reliable marker of a person’s “Mozarabic” identity, as we know of several cases from Toledo where immigrant castellanos or even francos from beyond the Pyrenees adopted Arabic names and personally signed their legal contracts using Arabic letters.127 In fact, as of the late 13th century, being a “Mozarab” in Toledo no longer seems to have been a matter of one’s cultural habits or legal status: “Mozarabicity” (mozarabía) was rather a propagandistic argument by which certain factions of the city’s elites defended their exclusive claims to political leadership against rival clans.128 This can be clearly shown by the case of the aforementioned Pedro López de Ayala (1332–1407) and his son of the same name (d. 1450), who both held the office of an alcalde mayor de los Mozarabes in Toledo, even though they were descended from a castellano family which had immigrated to Toledo. Only in the later 13th century had the Ayalas married into the leading “Mozarabic” circles in the city129 and fought their way to the pinacle of urban society against competing clans.130 Such rivalry among urban linajes131 for control of the political and economic resources affected virtually all cities in the Castilian “reconquista” territories without exception from the late 13th century on.132 Eventually these conflicts would usually result in the “closing” of the municipal consejo and the establishment of an exclusive and oligarchic regimiento.133 Again the case of Toledo offers a good example to demonstrate the fundamental constellations and 126 Molénat, Campagnes, 42–44. 127 Aaron M. Moreno, “The problem of ‘arabicized’ non-Mozarab Christians in medieval Castillian Toledo: towards some new thoughts on ‘mozarabization,’” Parole de l’Orient 36 (2011): 157–168; idem, “What’s in a name or signature? The anthroponymy, autography, and communal identification of Christian communities in early Castilian Toledo and Norman Sicily,” Journal of Medieval Iberian Studies 4.2 (2012): 141–165; and in more detail: idem, Arabicizing, 24–56. 128 Richard Hitchcock, “Mozarabs in Toledo from 16th to 18th Centuries: A continuing Polemic,” in Von Mozarabern zu Mozarabismen. Zur Vielfalt kultureller Ordnungen auf der mittelalterlichen Iberischen Halbinsel, ed. Matthias Maser, Klaus Herbers, Michele C. Ferrari, et al. (Spanische Forschungen der Görresgesellschaft 41) (Münster, 2014), 123–130. 129 Pedro López (1278–1331), an ancestor of the 14th century Ayala family, had married a daughter of the illustrious “Mozarabic” Barroso family. 130 Jean-Pierre Molénat, “La noblesse à Tolède au xve siècle,” in L’univers de la chevalerie en Castille, ed. Jean-Pierre Sanchez (Paris, 2000), 121–124; Palencia Herrejon, “Las relaciones de poder,” 46–48. 131 For the linajes see Asenjo González, “Acerca de los linajes urbanos.” 132 José Antonio Jara Fuente, “Ciudad, poder y territorio: la pugna por el control de los alfoces urbanos y la definición del señorío concejil en la Baja Edad Media,” in Las comunidades de Villa y Tierra. Dinámicas históricas y problemáticas actuales, ed. Victor Muñoz Gómez (Murcia, 2012), 55–84; González Jiménez, “Ciudades y concejos,” 246–250. 133 Jara Fuente, “Estructuras formales”; López Gómez, Paz, 434–445.

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patterns of these conflicts and their repercussions for the city’s constitutional forms. As has been mentioned, Toledo, along with other towns of the New Castilian frontera, had developed forms of governance and societal organization that mirrored the military structure of the border zones. As long as Toledo and its hinterland had served as an important base of military operations in central Spain, these forms of organization had proved functional. But in the 1220s when the territorial gains of the “reconquest” extended the military border far to the South, Toledo lost its strategic position. This could not remain without consequences for the city’s highly militarized society.134 With the frequent (sometimes annual) war campaigns, the rich revenues from booty to which the people of Toledo had grown accustomed over generations, dissolved.135 The residents found the basis of their subsistence reduced to the resources that were available in their town and its immediate environs. Thus, agriculture and pasture farming now became the predominant sources of revenue and, in consequence, made land property the main key to wealth and social prestige within the urban society. However, in the cities of the comunidad de villa y tierra type,136 control over the communal territory (alfoz) traditionally lay in the hands of the local consejo,137 which fell prey to the rivalries among the leading urban lineages.138 In the medium term this caused two important structural changes in urban societies within the Castilian expansion zones. The communities underwent an increased vertical differentiation of their social strata and an aristocratization of their upper classes. An exclusive elite of urban-residing caballeros villanos, whose often considerable wealth was based on large estates and their extensive agrarian exploitation, gradually adjusted their social and juridical status approaching that enjoyed by the blood nobility (caballeros de linaje) in the Castilian-Leonese realm.139 Moreover, far-reaching royal privileges allowed them to exclude other groups within urban society from their corporate prerogatives (even from the lower ranks of the caballería). At the same time, these prosperous urban caballero-elites managed successively to monopolize 134 135 136 137

Ibid. 431–433. Seville was to face the same situation after 1264: Jara Fuente, “Estructuras formales,” 229. See note 13. Gautier Dalché, “La ville hispanique,” 18; Collantes de Terán Sánchez, “La Andalucía,” 116–119. 138 Asenjo González, “Acerca de los linajes urbanos,” 75–76; Jara Fuente, “Ciudad, poder y territorio.” 139 Jara Fuente, “Estructuras formales,” 229–232 (“proceso de elitización”); Asenjo González, “Acerca de los linajes urbanos,” 60 and 65–66; Collantes de Terán Sánchez, “La Andalucía,” 120–121. For the Toledan examples of the Ayala and de Silva families see Molénat, “La noblesse à Tolède,” 121–124.

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control over the cities’ magistrates and their leading positions.140 Thus, an increasing oligarchization marked constitutional development in the cities of the Castilian expansion zone in the later Middle Ages.141 4

Recapitulation and Conclusions

Between the 11th and the 13th centuries cities on the medieval Iberian Peninsula proved their value in the context of “reconquest” and repopulation as effective instruments for the military protection of a constantly threatened frontier, for the colonization of conquered territories, and for the integration of these territories into the political structures of Castile-Leon. However, in the sparsely inhabited border zones of the Castilian Extremadura, the Christian conquerors of the first expansion phase in the late 11th century were hardly able to build on living urban traditions. Therefore, new models of municipal organization, of collective representation and self-administration, as well as of communal resource management had to be developed to meet the specific requirements of the colonization of a contested border zone. Thus, the decades following the capture of Toledo in 1085 can be regarded as a formative phase of new urban models, ones that were transferred to the Christian expansion zones further to the South where the conquerors of the 13th century encountered a dense and flourishing network of urban settlements. Toledo, in particular, with its constitutional forms and its foral law, soon became a model for the repopulation of other conquered cities of former al-Andalus, such as Córdoba and Seville. The question of continuity, discontinuity, and transformation of urban structures in the re-populated towns of the Christian “reconquista” territories differs with respect to various aspects of urban life. A high degree of continuity is to be found in the urban topography, architecture, and buildings. As the examples of Toledo and Seville demonstrate, the new Christian settlers usually preserved the established urban structures of the formerly Islamic cities of alAndalus. This survival of the appearance of the oriental city under Christian 140 González Jiménez, “Ciudades y concejos,” 244–245: in Seville, for example, only cavalleros could hold offices on the city’s council. From 1255 the political participation of the peones was restricted to the local level of the respective city quarters (collaciones), each of which was represented in the urban consejo by two elected delegates, one caballero and one ordinary vecino: Collantes de Terán Sánchez, “La Andalucía,” 123–124. 141 Asenjo González, “Acerca de los linajes urbanos,” 75–76; María Asenjo González, “Urban Systems as an Oligarchy Structuring Process in Fifteenth-Century Castilian Society,” in Oligarchy and Patronage in Late Medieval Spanish Urban Society, ed. María Asenjo González (Studies in European Urban History 19) (Turnhout, 2008), 29–50; González Jiménez, “Ciudades y concejos,” 246–247; Collantes de Terán Sánchez, “La Andalucía,” 24–125.

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rule can partly be explained by pragmatic acceptance, as the conquerors found all the urban infrastructure necessary for their needs and, therefore, had no immediate reason for remodelling the urban townscape. The Christian settlers usually accepted the Islamic architecture and decoration of public buildings, in former mosques, for example, which were converted into Christian churches and were not replaced for another one and a half centuries. Only by the 14th century can one observe efforts for an adjustment of the established urban space to the changing needs of a communal society. In 1339, for instance, the first public square was built in the center of Toledo, which soon was to gain importance for the political representation of the town’s consejo-governance. It was not before the 15th century that both Toledo and Seville underwent a deliberate urbanistic remodelling. Prior to that, substantial changes to the cities’ topographies were usually the unintended consequences of catastrophic events such as earthquakes, fire, or inundations. By contrast, no real continuity can be traced during the “reconquest” of Toledo and Seville with regard to the two cities’ populations and their social makeup. As was the case with all Muslim cities of al-Andalus that had been conquered by Christians since the capture of Toledo in 1085, in Seville all autochthonous inhabitants were expelled from the city within weeks of the Christian takeover. Thus, in 1248 no demographic continuity mitigated the transition caused by the Christian “reconquest,” and the city’s population had to be rebuilt by immigration from outside. In Toledo, even though the autochthonous population had been granted the right to stay, virtually all Muslim residents had also left the city shortly after the Christian conquest. There, however, a certain demographic link between the periods of Islamic and Christian rule was provided by the local community of the “Mozarabic” Christians, whose continuing presence constituted a peculiarity of Toledo’s societal organization during the 12th and 13th centuries. The Toledan “Mozarabs” were, nonetheless, soon absorbed into the strata of a new urban society, whose composition, functional differentiation, and vertical hierarchies were predominantly determined by military categories and the strategic requirements of the “reconquista,” especially during the first phase of the expansion in the Castilian Extremadura. In the late 11th and throughout the 12th centuries, the conquered and repopulated towns functioned as self-dependent border posts, inhabited and administered collectively by land-owning urban militiamen. In such “societies organized for war”142 social hierarchies reflected military ranks and categories. This allowed the better-equipped members of the light cavalry, the

142 Powers, Society.

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caballeros villanos, gradually to acquire superior status over the common peones. This vertical differentiation between caballeros and peones was to become a standard pattern of urban societies in the Spanish “reconquista” territories, even after the original military justification for such discrimination had ceased to exist. Altogether, the “reconquest” thus led to a complete reconfiguration of the conquered cities’ populations and their societal organization. The constitutional institutions and legal systems in the conquered cities developed in close connection with the new societal conditions. In the 11th century, the Castilian kings granted far-reaching municipal autonomy to the new settlers in the frontier lands of New Castile. All free and land-owning residents of a city constituted the consejo as the main political organ of communal selfgovernance. The consejo’s authority over the town and its environs was founded in the municipal law codes of the fueros, which in many cases in New Castile and Andalusia basically followed the influential model of Toledo. The municipal constitution of Toledo, however, reflected certain peculiarities that derived from specific societal formations at the moment of the city’s “reconquest” and during its immediate aftermath. the coexistence of long-established, as well as newly immigrant population groups, resulted in a peculiar dual leadership of two alcaldes, one for the “Mozarabs” and one for the castellanos. Whereas the consejos had originally been open to all citizens, as of the 13th century the caballería villana succeeded in restricting access to this assembly and gradually monopolizing their control over the cities’ government. Thus in the later Middle Ages the social elitization in the conquered cities was paralleled by a political oligarchization as the caballeros managed to establish themselves as the exclusive leading class within the municipal consejo-system. Compared to the typical forms of urban governance in the Muslim ruled towns of al-Andalus, where the inhabitants did not constitute a legal entity but rather were regarded as individually subject to the ruler’s authority, the corporate regime of the consejos represented a radical innovation without parallel in the oriental city, even though the magistrates of the conquered towns in many respects still resembled the urban authorities of formerly Muslim-ruled cities with regard to their functionaries and titles. Sources Aḥmad Ibn-Muḥammad Ibn-ʿIdārī al-Marrākušī. La caída del califato de Córdoba y los reyes de Taifas (al-Bayān al-muġrib), revisited, translated, and annotated by Felipe Maíllo Salgado (Estudios Árabes e Islámicos). Salamanca, 1993. Anales Toledanos i. In España sagrada 23, edited by Enrique Florez, 381–400. Madrid, 1767.

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Anales Toledanos ii. In España sagrada 23, edited by Enrique Florez, 401–409. Madrid, 1767. López de Ayala, Pedro. Crónica del Rey Don Pedro y del Rey Don Enrique, su hermano, hijos del Rey Don Alfonso Onceno. Edición crítica y notas, edited by Germán Orduna. 2 vols. (Incipit. Ediciones críticas 1–2). Buenos Aires, 1994–1997. Primera crónica general de España que mandó componer Alfonso el Sabio y se continuaba bajo Sancho iv en 1289, edited by Ramón Menéndez Pidal. 2 vols. Madrid, 1955. Roderici Ximenii de Rada Historia de rebus Hispanie sive Historia Gothica, edited by Juan Fernández Valverde (Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Medievalis 77). Turnhout, 1987. Un poema latino a Sevilla. Versos de Julia Rómula o la urbe Hispalense de Guillermo Pérez de la Calzada (1250), edited by Rocío Carande Herrero (Biblioteca de temas sevillanos 36). Seville, 1986.

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Moreno, Aaron M. “What’s in a name or signature? The anthroponymy, autography, and communal identification of Christian communities in early Castilian Toledo and Norman Sicily.” Journal of Medieval Iberian Studies 4.2 (2012): 141–165. Moreno, Aaron M. “The problem of ‘arabicized’ non-Mozarab Christians in medieval Castillian Toledo: towards some new thoughts on ‘mozarabization.’” Parole de l’Orient 36 (2011): 157–168. Morollón Hernández, Pilar. “Las ordenanzas municipales antiguas de 1400 de la ciudad de Toledo.” Espacio, Tiempo y Forma. Ser. iii: Historia Medieval 18 (2005): 265–439. Núñez Fuster, Joaquín. “Toledo y Sevilla en la baja edad media. Urbanismo y sociedad.” In Ars longa, vita brevis. Homenaje al Dr. Rafael Sancho de San Román, 339–363. Toledo, 2006. O’Callaghan, Joseph F. Reconquest and crusade in medieval Spain (The Middle Ages Series). Philadelphia, 2003. O’Callaghan, Joseph F. “The Mudejars of Castile and Portugal in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries.” In Muslims under Latin rule. 1100–1300, edited by James M. Powell, 11–56. Princeton, 1990. Olstein, Diego A. La era mozárabe. Los mozárabes de Toledo (ss. xii y xiii) en la historiografía, las fuentes y la historia (Acta Salmanticensia. Estudios históricos y geográficos 135). Salamanca, 2006. Orlandis Rovira, José. “Un problema eclesiástico de la Reconquista española: La conversión de mezquitas en iglesias cristianas.” In Mélanges offerts à Jean Dauvillier, 595–604. Toulouse, 1979. Palencia Herrejon, Juan R. “Las relaciones de poder en Toledo a comienzos del siglo xv (1406–1422): Pedro López de Ayala, la oligarquía local y la monarquía castellana.” Anales Toledanos 36 (1998): 45–52. Passini, Jean. “Reconstitución de la Judería de Toledo.” In La judería de Toledo. Un tiempo y un espacio por rehabilitar. Actas del xxi Curso de Cultura Hispanojudia y Sefardí, edited by Jean Passini and Ricardo A. Izquierdo Benito, 37–49 (Humanidades 127). Cuenca, 2014. Passini, Jean, ed. La ciudad medieval. De la casa principal al Palacio Urbano. Actas del iii Curso de Historia y Urbanismo Medieval organizado por la Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha. Toledo, 2011. Passini, Jean. “Algunos aspectos del espacio doméstico medieval en la ciudad de Toledo.” In El espacio urbano en la Europa medieval: Encuentros Internacionales del Medievo. Nájera 2005, edited by Beatriz Arízaga Bolúmburu and Jesús Á. Solórzano Telechea, 245–272 (Actas). Logroño, 2006. Passini, Jean. Casas y casas principales urbanas. El espacio doméstico de Toledo a finales de la Edad Media. Toledo, 2004. Passini, Jean. “Una casa medieval del Adarve de Atocha, Toledo.” In La ciudad medieval. De la casa al tejido urbano. Actas del i Curso de Historia y Urbanismo Medieval

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o­ rganizado por la Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha. Toledo 1999, edited by Jean Passini, 303–316. Cuenca, 2001. Passini, Jean, ed. La ciudad medieval. De la casa al tejido urbano. Actas del i Curso de Historia y Urbanismo Medieval organizado por la Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha. Toledo, 1999. Cuenca, 2001. Passini, Jean. “L’urbanisme médiéval tolédan: décisions des juristes mâlikites et ordonnances municipales chrétiennes de la construction.” In L’urbanisme dans l’Occident musulman au Moyen Âge. Aspects juridiques: Tables rondes. Madrid 1997, 201–213. Madrid, 2000. Passini, Jean. “El espacio edificado en la edad media.” Anales Toledanos 31 (1994): 67–88. Passini, Jean, and Ricardo A. Izquierdo Benito, eds. La judería de Toledo. Un tiempo y un espacio por rehabilitar. Actas del xxi Curso de Cultura Hispanojudia y Sefardí (Humanidades 127). Cuenca, 2014. Passini, Jean, and Ricardo A. Izquierdo Benito. La ciudad medieval de Toledo. Historia, arqueología y rehabilitación de la casa. ii Curso de Historia y Urbanismo Medieval organizado por la Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha. Toledo, 2007. Pavón Maldonado, Basilio. Tratado de arquitectura hispanomusulmana 4: Mezquitas. Madrid, 2009. Paz Estevez, María de la. “La conquista de Toledo en 1085. Génesis y desarrollo de una frontera a través de sus fuentes.” In ¿Qué implica ser medievalista? Prácticas y reflexiones en torno al oficio del historiador, edited by Andrea V. Neyra and Gerardo F. Rodríguez. 2 vols., 2:23–44. Mar del Plata, 2012. Peña Bocos, Esther. “Las presuras y la repoblación del valle del Duero. Algunas cuestiones en torno a la atribución y organización social del espacio castellano en el siglo ix.” In Seminario: Repoblación y Reconquista. Actas del iii Curso de Cultura Medieval. Aguilar de Campoo 1991, edited by José L. Hernando Garrido and Miguel A. García Guinea, 249–260. Aguilar de Campoo, 1993. Porres Martín-Cleto, Julio. Historia de Ṭulayṭula (711–1085) (Publicaciones del Instituto Provincial de Investigaciones y Estudios Toledanos 2.11). Toledo, 1991. Porres Martín-Cleto, Julio. “La ciudad de Toledo a mediados del siglo xv.” Anales Toledanos 28 (1991): 33–54. Porres Martín-Cleto, Julio. Historia de las calles de Toledo. 3 vols. (Instituto Provincial de Investigaciones y Estudios Toledanos 1.2). Toledo, 1971. Porres Martín-Cleto, Julio. “Pequeña historia de Zocodover.” Provincia 55–56 (1964): 17–49. Powers, James F. A Society Organized for War. The Iberian Municipal Militias in the Central Middle Ages. Berkeley, 1988. Ravé Prieto, Juan L. “El mudéjar en Sevilla: Arquitectura religiosa mudéjar en Sevilla.” Ars sacra: Revista de patrimonio cultural, archivos, artes plásticas, arquitectura, museos y música 39 (2006): 64–73.

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Raymond, André. “Ville musulmane, ville arabe. Mythes orientalistes et recherches récentes.” In Panoramas urbains. Situation de l’histoire des villes, edited by Jean-Louis Biget and Jean-Claude Hervé, 309–336. Fontenay, 1995. Reilly, Bernard F. The kingdom of León-Castilla under King Alfonso vi. 1065–1109. Princeton, 1988. Remensnyder, Amy G. “The Colonization of Sacred Architecture: The Virgin Mary, Mosques, and Temples in Medieval Spain and Early Sixteenth-Century Mexico.” In Monks and Nuns, Saints and Outcasts. Religious Expression and Social Meaning in the Middle Ages, edited by Sharon A. Farmer and Barbara Rosenwein, 189–219. Ithaca, New York, 2000. Remie, Olivia Constable, ed. Medieval Iberia: Readings from Christian, Muslim, and Jewish Sources. Philadelphia, 2012. Ricós Vidal, Amparo, and Adela García Valle. “Alcalde y sus variantes: Influencia del árabe en el romance.” Revista de Investigación Lingüística 1.2 (1998): 85–104. Ruiz Jaramillo, Jonathan. Comportamiento sísmico de edificios históricos: las iglesias mudéjares de Sevilla. Sevilla, 2012. Rütenik, Tobias. “Transformaciones de mezquitas a iglesias en Toledo, desde la perspectiva de la arqueología arquitectónica.” Anales de arqueología cordobesa 20 (2009): 421–444. Sáinz Guerra, José L. La génesis de la plaza en Castilla durante la Edad Media. La plaza y la estructura urbana (Colección Tesis doctorales de arquitectos 2). Valladolid, 1990. Sánchez Albornoz, Claudio. Despoblación y repoblación del Valle del Duero. Buenos Aires, 1966. Saßenscheidt, Christian. “Mozarabes und Castellanos im Toledo des 12. Jahrhunderts: Die Entwicklung des Toledaner Doppelalcaldentums.” In Die Mozaraber. Definitionen und Perspektiven der Forschung, edited by Matthias Maser and Klaus Herbers, 125–150 (Geschichte und Kultur der iberischen Welt 7). Münster, 2011. Tolan, John. “Using the Middle Ages to construct Spanish Identity: 19th and 20th Century Spanish Historiography of Reconquest.” In Historiographical Approaches to Medieval Colonization of East Central Europe. A Comparative Analysis against the Background of other European Inter-Ethnic Colonization, edited by Jan M. Piskorski, 77–97 (East European Monographs 611). Boulder, Colorado, 2002. Torres Balbás, Leopoldo. Ciudades hispanomusulmanas. 2nd ed. Madrid, 1985. Velasco Bayón, Balbino. “La Comunidad de Villa y Tierra de Cuéllar: evolución histórica.” In Las comunidades de Villa y Tierra. Dinámicas históricas y problemáticas actuales, edited by Victor Muñoz Gómez, 205–220. Murcia, 2012. Yuste Galán, Amalia M., and Jean Passini. “El inicio de la construcción del claustro gótico de la catedral de Toledo.” In Actas del séptimo Congreso Nacional de Historia de la Construcción. Santiago 2011, edited by Santiago Huerta Fernández. 2 vols., 2:1477–1488. Madrid, 2011.

Chapter 6

The City in the Image/Images of the City: The Lost Tapestry of Valladolid María Asenjo González 1 Introduction Images of the city are generally perceived in its unique spaces and components, such as walls, ramparts, and towers, that have been preserved in sculpture, painting, and other means of visual representation. However, the image of the city is also understood in conceptual terms that designate the abstraction that reflects, represents, and records changes in its political and institutional life. Representation of these transformations is often linked to changes in urban government and in its inhabitants. In images of Castilian cities various forms of expression can provide windows into these abstractions. The scope and transformation of its expression have been manipulated for a variety of purposes over time. The city serves as a receptacle for the dissemination and projection of images into its urban surroundings, and provides a framework for the collection of messages from diverse origins and types.1 Cities are particularly attractive spaces for displaying status and pre-eminence, where similarities, differences, and rivalries unfold in rituals of legitimisation and political propaganda. The nature of the urban environment and the density of people living there make it a center for economic activity and a magnet for those living in the surrounding countryside. Notable events in medieval cities provided a platform for the dissemination of designs that suited those in power.2 At the end of the 15th century, local 1 Patric Boucheron, Denis Menjot, and Marc Boone, La ciudad medieval (Valencia, 2010); Alberto Grohmann, La città medievale (Rome, 2003). This paper is part of the project “Las ciudades de la Corona de Castilla. Dinámicas y proyección de los sistemas urbanos entre 1300 y 1600” (HAR2017-82983-P), funded by the Ministry of Economy, Industry and Competitiveness of the Government of Spain and coordinated by the author. 2 María Asenjo González, “Las ciudades,” in Orígenes de la Monarquía hispánica: Propaganda y legitimación (ca. 1400–1520), ed. José M. Nieto Soria (Madrid, 1999), 105–141. For propaganda in the late medieval era, see Paolo Cammarosano, ed., Le forme della propaganda politica nel Due e nel Trecento Relazioni al convegno di Trieste (2–5 marzo 1993) (Collection de l’École française de Rome 201) (Rome, 1994).

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mentalities were being shaped by a number of means: theatrical productions, town criers and preachers, and the narratives in the songs of minstrels. These messages often made use of common expressions rooted in people’s minds, linked to symbols, places, images, and specific events that had been planted in the collective memory. Connections between urban identity and its perceivable image became an acknowledged identity that could be used by the governing oligarchy to achieve its political aims. Identification with the city was not restricted solely to city dwellers, but also to those in the surrounding villages and rural territories, or alfoz.3 Over the course of the 13th and 14th centuries, however, the inhabitants of surrounding villages lost ties to the city, and therefore the status of city-dwellers took on a more distinct, elitist meaning. The process through which collective identities were constructed during the Middle Ages is obscure and difficult to establish as it depended on several sources; it is likely, however, that the image of the city actively served this purpose. In the 16th century there was a drastic change in both myths and symbolic representation. Studies by early modernists claim that at the end of the Middle Ages old myths and popular traditions were appropriated by the church and secular elites, who then adapted them for popular consumption in a way to preserve existing social hierarchies. Changes in the 16th and 17th centuries can be deduced in the way behaviour was ritualized in order to adapt it to the society of the time. However, in many cases it was more a matter of emphasis and interpretation and not a radical alteration of perception and experience, since some of these elements identifying an urban image already existed in the late Middle Ages. These changes confirm that political alterations were connected to urban identity. Common tasks and responsibilities functioned as the foundations for the community’s cultural identity. Common defence work made it possible to build walls, control the territory, and preserve local charters and privileges. These types of work provided robust references to urban identity, which would have been instrumental in overcoming division, conflicts, and internal struggles, and helped to guarantee internal cohesion of the group as it faced a range of threats. Urban identity was built on common responsibilities and efforts, which promoted qualities such as support and abilities in working together. The cities faced challenges collectively by keeping their costly walls in good repair and preserving their territory from threats and unlawful appropriation, activities that safeguarded their very existence. As a provision of the common 3 María Asenjo González, “Urban identity in Castile in the 15th century,” Imago temporis. Medium Aevum 8 (2016): 287–308.

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need, the council’s demands for taxes had political justification. Identity also had the negative effect of excluding anything outside the urban political construct. City walls encompased communities that did not form part of its common identity, such as Mudejars, Jews, and foreigners. The choice to differentiate and exclude could also apply to peer rivalry, such as between councils and cities within the kingdom. The cohesion provided by a common identity made the city stronger, while at the same time curbing the population’s capacity for dissent by putting the interests of the group and the “common good” first.4 This type of collective urban experience likely promoted social peace by reinforcing and giving meaning to the rules of respect and status that ensured social discipline. Within this social framework, collective participation also provided each individual with an additional identity, defining them by facets of their lives that contributed to the group. Each individual’s social, economic, emotional, and religious ties created a separate identity that gave them recognition and a place in society. This identity accompanied them throughout life, beyond the realm of the city to the territory of group memory. These details of an individual identity needed to be recognized by people from nearby cities and, perhaps, from other areas of the kingdom, since the combination of their city’s identity and their legal and social status allowed them to be accepted in society. Foreigners’ recognition parameters were also influenced by the urban identity of their home city.5 Beginning in the 11th century, messages issued by towns and cities were linked to certain images and symbols that expressed values or what made them identifiable to competing powers. By the end of the 13th century, towns and cities had become aware of the power these perceptions yielded for political 4 Peter Blickle, “El principio del ‘bien común’ como norma para la actividad política. (La aportación de campesinos y burgueses al desarrollo del Estado Moderno temprano en Europa Central),” Edad Media. Revista de Historia 1 (1998): 29–46. 5 María Asenjo González and David Igual Luis, “Mercaderes extranjeros en Valladolid. Una ciudad entre dos mares. 1475–1520,” in La Península Ibérica entre el Mediterráneo y el Atlántico. Siglos xiii–xv, ed. Manuel Gonzalez Jimenez and Isabel Montes Romero-Camacho (Seville, 2006), 55–72; José M. Bello León, Extranjeros en Castilla (1474–1501). Notas y documentos para el estudio de su presencia en el reino a fines del siglo xv (La Laguna, 1994); Máximo Diago Hernando, “Integración social de los hombres de negocios italianos en Valladolid a comienzos del siglo xvi,” in Valladolid. Historia de una ciudad. Congreso Internacional. Tomo ii. La ciudad moderna (Valladolid, 1999), 669–678; Miguel Á. Ladero Quesada, “Los genoveses en Sevilla y su región (ss. xiii–xvi): elementos de permanencia y arraigo,” in Los mudéjares de Castilla y otros estudios de Historia Medieval andaluza (Granada, 1989), 283–312; Jesús Solórzano Telechea and Beatriz Arízaga Bolumburu, “Protéger et contrôler la présence et les activités des étrangers dans les villes portuaires du Nord de la Couronne de Castille au Moyen Âge,” Annales de Bretagne et des pays de l’Ouest 117.1 (2010): 209–222.

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purposes. Until then, Castilian city councils had operated on the belief that what identified and safeguarded them were the charters and privileges they had acquired. To defend themselves, councils called upon the privileges granted by kings at the beginning of their reigns and organized themselves into hermandades (brotherhoods) to stand against any monarch who threatened to change the legal status quo. These privileges and customary law defined cities collectively, while within the kingdom as a whole individual cities set their own privileges.6 A council’s symbol was a banner, which functioned by means of some recognizable mark of identification to represent the town or city.7 These symbolic references to the councils were notable for their simplicity, but also for their forcefulness since they alluded to the legislation upon which the council was based. This identification was so strong that, when a city had to be reprimanded, there was no hesitation in destroying or vilifying its symbols as a way of publicizing the punishment.8 When the council of Alba, in the province of Salamanca, wished to humiliate and punish the council of Santiago de la Puebla in 1284, it took away its charters, privileges, as well as the council’s symbol. Shortly afterwards, king Sancho iv ordered that everything be re-­established.9 The means by which a city managed its image was consistent with the interests of the governing elites, which provides us with a perspective into changes in the late medieval period, particularly at the end of the 15th and beginning of the 16th centuries. It was a time in which the impact of aristocratic models and growing rivalries among the cities in Castile altered key elements of these perceptions, while at the same time strengthening the 6 Ana M. Barrero García and M. Luisa Alonso Martin, Textos de derecho local español en la edad media. Catálogo de fueros y costums municipales (Madrid, 1989); Tomás Muñoz y Romero, Colección de fueros municipales y cartas pueblas de los reinos de Castilla, León, Corona de Aragón y Navarra (Madrid, 1970 [1847]); María Asenjo González, “Ciudades y hermandades en la Corona de Castilla. Aproximación sociopolítica,” Anuario de Estudios Medievales 27/1 (1997): 103–146, here 143–145; eadem, “Political dissent through complaints and petitions to the royal power in the towns and cities of Castile-León (13th–14th Centuries),” in Disciplined Dissent. Strategies of Non-Confrontational Protest in Europe from the Twelfth to the Early Sixteenth Century, ed. Fabrizio Titone (Rome, 2016), 65–88. 7 Antonio Collantes de Terán Sánchez, “De nuevo, sobre el pendón real de la Catedral,” Archivo Hispalense 291–293 (2013): 197–214. 8 For the use of symbols for punishment, see Marc Boone, “Destroying and Reconstructing the City. The Inculcation and Arrogation of Princely Power in the Burgundian-Habsbug Netherlands (14th–16th Centuries),” in The propagation of Power in Medieval West, ed. Martin Gosman, Arie Johan Vanderjagt, and Jan R. Veenstra (Groningen, 1997), 1–34. 9 Archivo Histórico Nacional, Diversos (Colecciones), 284, N° 4. Valladolid, 27 de noviembre 1284: Don Sancho… al concejo de Alba. Bien sabedes de cómo yo enbié mandar muchas veses por mis cartas e mio portero que entregasedes la seña, los fueros e los privilegios e las otras cosas que le tomastes. Agora, la infanta mi sobrina fíxome relaçion.

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monarchy as a standard against which urban comparisons and authority were measured. 1.1 Charters and Privileges Charters and privileges, it an early stage, were most prized as they dealt with a city’s very existence. The charters were a set of legal regulations and agreements, while the privileges that were granted and ratified by kings and their heirs provided the basis for common law, essential to regulating urban life until the mid-14th century. In 1348, the Ordenamiento de Alcalá laws established preference for the Fuero Real (Royal Charter) and the Partidas enacted by Alfonso x (1252–1284) over local or regional laws. Local regulations were not repealed, but came to play a secondary role in legal actions.10 Until that time, cities and towns had been eager to preserve their local charters by having them upheld in parliament or in any matters involving the king.11 The hermandades of the towns and cities of the kingdom rose against King Alfonso x, believing that their preservation and safety depended on the survival of their charters.12 The justice system most concerned the councils and the new codes and royal legislation in the Royal Charter (Fuero Real) and Partidas were seen as questioning the validity of the charters. Cities openly sought to re-establish the situation prior to king Alfonso’s reforms, which meant resorting to historical memory to validate their claims.13 The brotherhood’s letter approved in Valladolid on 8 July 128214 was a statement of disciplined dissent against the royal will regarding legal actions in exercising justice. The brotherhood expressly undertook to defend the populace of member towns, and to assure that no man would be imprisoned or executed by mayors or district 10 11

12 13

14

Alfonso García Gallo, Manual de historia del derecho español (Madrid, 1967), 373. Rafael Gibert, “El derecho municipal de León y Castilla,” Anuario de Historia del Derecho Español 31 (1961): 635–753; David Torres Sanz, “Teoría y práctica de la acción de gobierno en el mundo medieval castellano-leonés,” Historia. Instituciones. Documentos 12 (1985): 9–87; Barrero García and Alonso Martin, Textos de derecho local español en la edad media. Asenjo González, “Political dissent through complaints and petitions,” 65–88. Cesar González Mínguez, “Aproximación al estudio del ‘Movimiento Hermandino’ en Castilla y León,” Medievalismo 1,1 (1991): 35–55, app. 1, Valladolid 8th July 1282: Compromiso de ayuda mútua entre la hermandad de León y Galicia y la de Castilla, entregado al concejo de Nájera: mantenernos en nuestros fueros en nuestros privilegios e en nuestras cartas e usos e costumbres e en nuestras libertades e en nuestras franquezas que oviemos en el tiempo del rey Alfonso (Alfonso viii) su bisabuelo, que vençio en la batalla de Merida, e en tiempo del rey don Fernando su abuelo e del tiempo del Emperador e d los otros reyes de España que fueron ante dellos. It is interesting that the term “España” is used in connection to the kings that governed the country. Ibid. 54–58.

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judges, or by the king or his heir Prince Sancho, or by any succeeding kings, without first being heard and judged according to local law.15 The letter guaranteed compliance with its provisions; the brotherhood undertook to put to death any royal official who applied punishment imposed by the king’s justice, as they would be committing the crime of perjury and of “homenaje,” and would be held as an enemy of the brotherhood. The seriousness of this affront was comparable to the most heinous crimes resulting in the heaviest punishment.16 This first set of provisions that focused on preventing royal justice from being enacted, required the full might of the brotherhood. Charters (fueros) remained in use in some places until the beginning of the 16th century, although they were gradually discarded when new local laws were enacted, and when royal laws were applied either to specific location or to the entire kingdom.17 1.2 The Wall Walls were meant to be emblematic symbols; they were the preeminent urban fortification, designed to enclose the city boundaries, and therefore identified as the most prominent image of the city.18 The wall defined city limits and affected the future expansion of living space. It was made to be recognizable due to its high façades, square or round towers, and wide base topped with machicolations and battlements. These structures contributed to confirming the image of the city, and as such were used as emblems on seals and coats of arms. The extent of the walls was to vary considerably as they were to surround 15 16

17 18

Ibid. 56, line 26. Ibid. 56, line 27. See Asenjo González, “Political dissent through complaints and petitions,” 71–80. The expression “del omenage” refers to the spread of a hierarchical integration model with connections to feudal vassalage, from which the ritual display of ties of dependence were expressed in an homage ceremony. The question of feudalism in Castile and León has various interpretations, from institutional to economic and social. See Luis García de Valdeavellano, El feudalismo hispánico y otros estudios de historia medieval (Barcelona, 1984); José M. Mínguez Fernández, “Feudalismo y concejos. Aproximación metodológica al análisis de las relaciones sociales en los concejos medievales castellanoleoneses,” En la España Medieval 2 (1983): 109–122; José M. Monsalvo Antón, “Concejos castellano-leoneses y feudalismo (ss. xi–xiii). Reflexiones para un estado de la cuestión,” Studia Historica. Historia Medieval 10 (1992): 203–243. Soria maintained the validity of its wide-reaching charter in order to settle various matters. See María Asenjo González, Espacio y sociedad en la Soria Medieval. Siglos xiii a xvi (Soria 1999), 381–436. For the development of studies on urbanism in Spain, see Pilar Martínez Taboada, “Historia del urbanismo medieval hispano: cuestiones metodológicas e historiográficas,” Anales de Historia del Arte 21 (2009): 27–59.

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and include strategic positions and, occasionally, plots of land for crops and pasture. Over the centuries the walled-in areas were extended as the settled population grew, and adapted as new strategies for military attack made them less safe. Other urban fortifications existed within the medieval city; fortified towers were built as places of refuge and as symbols of the power of the families or groups of oligarchs who had paid for them. In addition to their necessity for defence, their maintenance acted as a cohesive element in those cities whose social structure was fragmented.19 Maintaining the wall, which was assigned to the concilium assembly, initiated ­collective responsibility in urban society as it involved the whole community. This task was appealed to for divine help and the protection of the saints, whose patronage of the most impressive gates, such as the gate of Santa María in Burgos, was sought after (fig. 6.1).

Figure 6.1 The Gate of Santa María in Burgos built in the 14th century 19

María Asenjo González, “Espacio urbano y sociedad. De las ‘collaciones’ a los barrios en las ciudades castellanas (ss. xii al xv),” in Morfologie urbaines et identité sociale dans l’arc méditerranéen au Moyen Âge (xe–xve siècles), ed. Flocel Sabaté and Christian Guillere (Chambery-Lérida, 2012), 129–172.

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The wall was the populace’s guarantee of refuge, but also defined the use inhabitants made of the enclosed space it created. In many European cities, religious centers, such as monasteries or large abbeys, were located outside the enclosure, necessitating merchants to leave the protction of its walls. Entrance was gained through immense gates, in some cases preceded by a drawbridge: the most secure design being that of a bent entrance, a feature of city walls in al-Andalus.20 Apart from these gates providing fortication, beginning in the 14th century they were used as meeting rooms for the city council, as was the Santa María gate in Burgos. The people living outside the inner city grouped themselves around the gates forming the first burgos or suburbs, which in some matters were more important than the city itself. As the suburbs grew more enclosures were needed; early work on extending walls in Burgos dates back to the mid-12th century, with the later ones being built in the 15th century. The wall lost its usefulness as defence at the beginning of the 14th century when new artillery was developed that made it easier to attack and take a city. In spite of this, the walls were still maintained and, in the late Middle Ages nobles and kings utilized walled cities and urban defence structures to contain violence and keep the peace.21 The wall as an element of urban identification was of such common concern that it was maintained and supported by the efforts of townspeople. Because of the high construction and maintenance costs and the collective nature of their function, walls have always involved a public component, although there were times when nobles or specific social groups attempted to appropriate the walls for their own interests. The collective security that walls provided was mentioned in Alfonso x’s Partidas, which stated that good walls not only added splendour to cities and towns, but also provided “great safety and great support for everyone as a community for all time.”22 20

Christine Mazzoli-Guintard, Villes d’al-Andalus. L’Espagne et le Portugal à l’époque musulmane (viii–xv siècles) (Rennes, 1996), 162 and passim. 21 The king, in applying the law of the Cortes of Toledo of 1480, surveyed the city of Soria and towns of Agreda and Molina on whether towers or fortified houses were being built, and whether bridges, pontoons, and paving were in good repair: Archivo General de Simancas/Cámara de Castilla (Pueblos), Leg. 20. Soria 9 de octubre 1481. Ricardo Izquierdo Benito, “Datos sobre la muralla de Toledo en el siglo xv,” in Las murallas de Toledo, ed. Jorge Carrobles Santos (Madrid, 2004), 75–85. 22 Alfonso x el Sabio, Las Siete Partidas del rey don Alfonso el Sabio cotejadas con varios códices antiguos por la Real Academia de la Historia. ii: Partida Segunda y Tercera (Madrid, 1972 [1807]): Partida 2, title 11, law 2. See Juan Antonio Bonachía Hernando, “La imagen de la ciudad en las Partidas: edificación, seguridad y salubridad urbana,” Cuadernos de historia de España 85/86 (2011/2012): 115–134.

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The wall as a symbol of status and privilege was linked to the city’s past, and its display strengthened feeling of belonging to a community, that of citydwellers as well as that of neighbouring areas.23 The wall did make distinctions between the inner and outer city, however, in terms of exclusion as it demarcated where the suburbs began. It also marked the distance between city and countryside. As a display of city pride, its symbolism was greater than its other functions. With its vertical construction, the wall symbolised the desire to reach to the heavens and become closer to God, an urge of supreme importance in a society dominated by Christianity. Cities were conscious of its effects and often highlighted them by putting images of the wall on their seals and most prized emblems. The wall as a part of the urban imagery became a type of “logo” (fig. 6.2). Between the end of the 11th century and the mid-12th century, splendid walls were raised in many of the kingdom’s cities, including Ávila, Segovia

Figure 6.2 The Town Walls of Ávila

23

For thoughts on symbolism and urbanism, see José L. Corral Lafuente, “Significado y símbolo de la ciudad medieval: elementos semióticos en el mundo urbano de Europa occidental (1350–1550),” Revista Historia Jerónimo Zurita 56 (1975): 131–160.

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(1120), Salamanca, Soria, Sepúlveda, and Almazán. Valladolid developed with the intention of becoming the revival of an oppidum, a walled city home to merchants, knights, and the general population alike. Extended walls built in the 12th century were roughhewn, using poor materials as was the wall surrounding the new suburb of Leon, documented in 1199 and described in the sources as “murus terrae.” The second military wall in Valladolid enclosed over 120 ha, seven times larger than the original wall built by Count Pedro Ansúrez24 (fig. 6.3). The robust defence implemented in these towns seems to have had an influence on constructions further north. The wall protecting the suburb of Zamora showed influences from the Ávila model. Towards the south, according to the annals, Alfonso vi (1040–1109) rebuilt entire sections of the Toledo

Figure 6.3 The Roman Aqueduct of Segovia 24

Appraisal based on the History of Valldolid by Juan Ortega y Rubio (1881) and the plan of the city in 1738. Venturao in Manuel Martínez Martín, “Claves para una tesis: las murallas medievales de Vallodolid,” Historia, instituciones, documentos 33 (2006): 365–421, here 401.

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wall, in ­anticipation of a final attack by the Almoravids. He was also required to reinforce the walls in other places, such as Maqueda and Oropesa.25 During the 13th century, building continued on walls in cities in the north and center of the country, even though there was no longer any danger from the Moors. However, the chronicles relate that cities were still concerned to enclose their perimeters for better defence. As one chronicle from the mid-14th century states: “the city of Burgos was not then well enclosed, as it had a very low wall.”26 In some cities, the walls followed the lie of the land, crossing river beds, as seen in Segovia with the Eresma River, in Palencia with the Carrión River, and in Burgos with the Arlanzón River. In Soria, a 4,000 meters wall enclosed over 100 hectares containing several empty plots of land; while in Segovia, the 3,500 meters long, 12th-century wall left many churches and people outside. Cities in Andalusia followed the model of Moorish fortifications by building impressive citadels within the city walls, which left empty spaces inside. Maintaining the walls demanded a great deal of attention and the Partidas had provided for this by prohibiting houses from being built near the walls: “Roads near the walls of towns and cities must be unencumbered and free … so that no houses or buildings can obstruct or be close to them”; fifteen feet had to be left between the building and the wall. This was to ensure that “men could approach and guard the walls of the town in times of war.” Due to its sturdy construction walls proved to be a good location for prisons. This was the case in Valladolid and Burgos and also in Palencia, a city under episcopal rule where the bishop’s prison was located in the wall. Local council meetings and legal proceedings could also be held in the wall, as was the case in Salamanca and Burgos. The wall that had provided protection and cohesion had also been an emblem of the city from early times, acquiring the symbolic dimension of a status symbol associated with the group of nobles who made up the council in the late Middle Ages. 1.3 Seals and Other Emblems Council seals with images of the city they reresented were widely disseminated and inbeing easily identifiable.27 Seals authenticated things from diplomas to

25 26 27

Ibid. 369. In 1366: Pedro López de Ayala, Crónica del Rey don Pedro (Madrid, 1953), 540. For anthropological studies on the scope of symbolic representation, see Michel Pastoreau, Coleurs, images, symboles. Études d´histoire et d’anthropologie (París, 1992).

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autheticating the quality of goods made in the city, disseminating the city’s image far afield. The council seal was stamped on all documents issued by the city and appeared on weights and measures used at fairs and markets. The seals of towns and cities in Castile replicated past glories chosen to stir the collective memory.28 Seville selected on its seals the figure of King Fernando iii, who had conquered the city, but also images of local figures San Isidoro and San Leandro. Segovia used its most emblematic monument, the Roman aqueduct, known as the “dry bridge.” Other cities followed suit in representing commonly recognizable images (fig. 6.4). The banner was a symbol with military connotations. It was displayed by cities as an identifying image and became one of the most representative symbols. It was the equivalent of the city’s flag raised on the battlefield to rally the soldiers. The banner was exhibited to make the city well known and to assume certain attributes, similar to the intentions of nobles or the king.29 It was displayed for royal proclamations, which from 1379–1390 were made by public proclamation in all cities and towns of the kingdom,30 as well as being displayed at important religious ceremonies, such as the town’s main festival. This was the case of Cáceres during the festival of San Juan. The custom was to

Figure 6.4 Sigillvm Concilii of Escalona

28

29 30

Julio González González, “Los sellos concejiles de España en la Edad Media,” Hispania 20 (1945): 339–385. The recent work by Marcos Fernández Gómez, Los sellos de Sevilla (Seville, 1996) presents a modern approach to these studies. For royal seals, see Teófilo Ruiz, “L’image du pouvoir à travers les sceaux de la monarchie castillane,” in Génesis del Estado Moderno: Castilla y Navarra (1250–1370), ed. Adeline Rucquoi (Valladolid, 1987), 217–227. For the royal standard, see Amando Represa, El pendón real de Castilla y otras consideraciones sobre el reino (Valladolid, 1983). Ibid. 25.

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exhibit the city’s standard which, known as the conquest standard, had been a gift from Alfonso ix. It was decried, according to a ruling handed down in 1500, to be accompanied along its route by knights.31 The standard became a call for the citizens to rally around the city when it was threatened.32 2

The City of the Regimiento and Government by Oligarchs

The regimiento was established early in cities in Andalusia, even in some that hadn’t created councils after their conquest. In Castile, it was not until 1345 that the first privileges were granted in recognition of town councillors (regidores) to govern the city. The number of regidores ranged from six in some regions to twenty-four in Andalusia and Murcia.33 They were recruited from among knights, hombres buenos, and nobles. The monarchy’s involvement in setting up the regimiento offered an opportunity for kings to influence municipal politics; from the beginning posts were granted by royal appointment. The job of alderman was already a lifelong appointment in the 15th century, and eventually became hereditary.34 Town councillors came to power in the mid-14th century, after more than a hundred years of rivalry in which they had asserted the effectiveness of horizontal organizations, such as the lineage of knights who dealt with internal differences and preserved the unity of the group in preserving control over

31 32

33

34

Biblioteca Nacional, Ms. 430 f° 142 (444 modern), Cáceres. Historia y privilegios de esta ciudad. Archivo General de Simancas/Cámara de Castilla (Pueblos). 6-321-13, Córdoba 20 de febrero 1516. The city supported the king and distanced itself from unrest among nobles: Y visto quanto escandalo se sigue a este reyno, espeçialmete a esta provinçia del Andaluçia, e mucha turbaçion de la paz e sosiego della y como conviene al serviçio de la reyna e prinçipe nuestros señores, y al bien del reyno e a la paçificaçion del que se provea con mucha diligençia en el remedio como çesen las asonadas e escandalo, que dello se siguen. cabsadas por el dicho don Pedro Giron. E como esta çibdad tenga esèçial cuidado de entender en el serviçio de sus altesas, acordose de aperçibir toda la gente desta çibdad e su tierra para questén a punto de guerra para salir e yr con el pendon de la dicha çibdad, a donde sus altezas mandaren los governadores en su nombre. Manuel González Jiménez, “Ciudades y concejos andaluces en la Edad Media: gobierno urbano,” in Concejos y ciudades en la edad media hispánica. ii Congreso de estudios medievales (León 1989) (Madrid, 1990), 237–260; Deborah Kirschberg Schenck, “La reforma municipal en Sevilla: la oligarquía hispalense y la implantación del regimiento en 1286,” Archivo hispalense: Revista histórica, literaria y artística 78.237 (1995): 11–40. vvaa, Concejos y ciudades en la Edad Media Hispánica. ii Congreso de Estudios Medievales (Léon, 1989) (Madrid, 1990).

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political rivals and retaining control of the council. This period of struggle taught them the value of mutual supervision and maintaining a balance among the various members of the oligarchy. The results of this experience were felt during the regimiento, which hindered individual ambition and, in most cases, adopted decisions agreed upon by the majority. Abuses by the preponderance of knights in some towns and cities, however, gave rise to strong political affiliations with specific members of the upper aristocracy, and to small feudal estates that had been created by the use of individual power provided by their participation in the regimiento.35 These abuses were often reported and arguments against them alluded to “the good of the republica,” a term describing the political formation that included the city and its region. At the beginning of the 14th century, economic and political changes in council society began to affect the relationship between town and country. The city began to assume the center of activity for governance and judicial decisions. The countryside was divided into sexmos and ochavos, territorial divisions created for governance and fiscal purposes.36 Consequently, a hierarchical construction was created. The city—the seat of government, justice and taxation, inhabited by oligarchs, some of the nobility, and tradesmen, merchants, and service providers—gradually imposed itself over villages in the country, the alfoz, which were subjugated to the city in the framework of what is known as collective urban lordship.37 At the end of the 13th century, a new political role of parliamentary representation, with legal and executive authority, was established for cities and towns which protected them through privileges recognizing their powers. This framework of authority and responsibilities afforded members of the oligarchy to rise politically and socially, as their involvement in government and defence offered them a chance to become wealthy and gain prestige. Once this disaggregation process was halted, which had seriously threatened the integrity of most towns and cities in Castile as well as their control over the land, the incentives previously reserved for powerful members of the city provided a

35 36 37

José M. Monsalvo Anton, “Parentesco y sistema concejil. Observaciones sobre la funcionalidad política de los linajes urbanos en Castilla y León (ss. xiii–xv),” Hispania 53.185 (1993): 937–969. Asenjo González, Espacio y sociedad en la Soria Medieval, 131–138. See José Manuel Mangas Navas, El régimen comunal agrario de los concejos de Castilla (Madrid, 1981), 35–58. Juan A. Bonachía Hernando, “El concejo como señorío (Castilla, siglos xiii–xv),” in Concejos y ciudades en la edad media hispánica. ii Congreso de estudios medievales (León 1989) (Madrid, 1990), 431–463.

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new collective motivation.38 Castile was one of the most urbanized regions in Europe at the end of the 15th century; the demographic trend during that century favoured population increases in both town and country. These new circumstances revitalized medium-size towns which played a key role in the economic and social development of the kingdom by consolidating the urban network in Castile.39 The urban population accounted for just 20% of the total, but it was located in highly active, organized hubs that united the urban fabric in playing a dynamic role in Castilian society.40 Demographic growth and an improved economy created social instability, as the nouveaux riche sought promotion. This made cities unstable, questionng the global perception of unity transmitted by chronicles and medieval writings. Actually, cities, which continued to be fragmented constructions, were able to function due to steps taken by the political oligarchy led by knights, noblemen, and hombres buenos. The perceptions of these political circles regarding citizens were in flux, which would open new opportunities for expressing views and participation in the 14th and 15th centuries. In cities, it was of prime importance to form fraternitates, guilds, and merchant corporations, which beginning in the 13th century would revive the corporate spirit in Europe. These groups provided a social and economic base that helped secularize society and gave rise to new ways for citizens to collaborate.41 Moreover, a different theory of the city as a political model was gaining ground, derived partly from Aristotle, for whom the city was the perfect political community, not just a community whose members had the same interest 38

39

40

41

The division of districts in Castilian councils was due to rivalry among the hierarchy because of the economic advantages granted by the king to commoner knights. See Maria Asenjo González, “La repoblación de las Extremaduras (ss. x-xiii),” in Actas del Coloquio de la v Asamblea General de la Sociedad Española de Estudios Medievales (Zaragoza, 1991), 73–100. Political vitality had been documented at the end of the 15th century, as well as new models of verbal and visual communication in the relationship between cities and standards: María Asenjo González, “Demografía. El factor humano en las ciudades castellanas y portuguesas a fines de la Edad Media,” in Las sociedades urbanas en la España Medieval, xxix Semana de Estudios Medievales. Estella 15–19 julio 2002 (Pamplona, 2003), 97–150. Miguel Á. Ladero Quesada, “Processi di urbanizzazione. Comentario,” in 20a Settimana di Storia Economica: Metodi, risultati e prospettive della Storia Economica.c. xiii–xviii, ed. Simonetta Cavaciocchi Le Monnier (Florence, 1989), 248–257; Paulino Iradiel Murugarren, “Ciudades, comercio y economía artesana,” in La historia medieval en España. Un balance historiográfico (1968–1998) (Pamplona, 1999), 603–658, here 618; Jan de Vries, La urbanización de Europa 1500–1800, translated by Ramón Grau (Barcelona, 1987), 110. Walter Ullmann, Medieval Foundation of Renaissance Humanism (Ithaca, 1977), 52.

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or activity but rather a natural community. It is possible that the term civitas in the Middle Ages lost the meaning of a political body to simply become the space occupied by an urban center.42 Civitas also had a theological significance in reference to a community of the faithful: the city of God and the community of mankind. Thus, several writers inspired by St. Augustine and the Bible presented their particular vision of the city.43 The resurgence of the Aristotelian idea of civitas reached the West through St. Thomas Aquinas. The city’s objective was to be human happiness based on reason. While the return of Aristotelian thought provided a new perspective on politics and its inner workings, it was not a completely new view since concepts of politics associated with the city had been preserved since ancient times.44 Roman law had some influence by elaborating the legal notion of cives, a concept also used by lawyers and students.45 The humanists of the 14th and 15th centuries benefited from the reintroduction of these previous theories and the impetus provided by practical experience gained by participation in public affairs in cities in Italy. The polemics of these ideas, although not necessarily innovative, were certainly persuasive and spread widely throughout Western Europe. They restored the idea of humanitas and, therefore, of the citizen and state. This led to studia humanitatis, of language and classical literature, which complemented the studia divinitatis.46 While these theoretical ideas were being discussed, a historical process had begun that gave citizens a legal status that distinguished them. City dwellers received privileges that gave them greater freedoms, as they were permitted to engage in trade and other activities without their overlord approval. Abolition of the rights of inheritance prevented the nobility from interfering with 42

The term civitas had a solid pedigree; Cicero had defined it as constitutio populi who obeyed a government. David Luscombe, “City and politics before the coming of the politics: some illustrations,” in Church and City 1000–1500. Essays in honour of Christopher Brooke, ed. David Abulafia, Michael J. Franklin, and Miri Rubin (Cambridge, 1992), 41–55, here 43–44. 43 Ibid. 45: Otón de Frisinga (1143–1146) described humanity moving to an end in which the empire was a stage before the arrival of the Anti-Christ. For Alcher de Clairvaux (12th century), for the city of the Church to have a soul, it must benefit from the advice of intellectuals, be defended by reason and knights, and maintained by workers and peasants. William of Auvergne, bishop of Paris in 1228–1229, identified it with a spiritual city administered by priests of the King of Kings and inhabited by Christians. 44 Ibid. 55. This to explain the speed and ease with which Aristotelian theses adapted and operated in several schools of thought. See Ullmann, Medieval Foundation of Renaissance Humanism, 90. 45 Julius Kirshner, “‘Civitas sibi faciat civem’: Bartolus of Sassoferrato’s doctrine on the making of a citizen,” Speculum 48 (1973): 694–713. 46 Ullmann, Medieval Foundation of Renaissance Humanism, 201.

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the transfer of money and assets. The nuclear family became a fiscal unit and economic agent. Citizens of the Middle Ages were to contribute to the development of the modern state for years to come. Townspeople came to be new figures in the social order, and their position as members of urban society gave them freedom of choice and mobility.47 3

Reworking the Discourse: The Image of the City from the New Urban Political Model at the Beginning of the 16th Century

The urban regimiento contained networks whose sub-networks of clients grew up within the city’s power structure, constituting the structure’s lifeblood. In general, city governments managed internal affairs, but resorted to requesting the king to intercede. This provided the king with the opportunity to manage political change and secure his power in local councils. During the first half of the 15th century, cities turned to the king on a number of occasions, appealing to his royal power of arbitration to settle disputes affecting the city and its people. They would also inform the king of wrong-doing by his officials and servants, and called on him for the restitution of charters and privileges that were being threatened, or to prevent excesses against the city’s citizens and residents. In this respect, cities were political structures in permanent contact with the monarchy through its institutions and officials. This fluid relationship affected many of the city’s internal affairs and decisions. The force and frequency in which the king intervened in cities were mainly the result of internal contradictions and disputes caused by royal officers whose job it was to maintain the peace: the judge, royal aides, and corregidor (town keeper). In return, cities were obliged to serve the kings and support them. This support included paying for the services of the court, and support for military campaigns by bolstering the fonsado attack force. Common knights, with their horses and weapons, had to participate regularly at reviews named alardes as proof of their profession and to maintain the tax-exempt status that made them equivalent to the aristocracy.48 47 48

Gerhard Dilcher, “La communauté citadine comme exemple d’individualisation en Europe,” in L’individu dans la théorie politique et dans la pratique, ed. Janet Coleman (París, 1996), 323–347, here 336–337 and 347. In the 16th century, if such an exemption continued for three generations, it was consolidated and became permanent. This path to promotion in medieval Castile was aided by the fact that the nobility made up about 10 percent of the population. See María Asenjo González, “Foreword,” in Urban Elites and Aristocratic Behaviour in the Spanish Kingdoms at the end of the Middle Ages, ed. María Asenjo González (Turnhout, 2013), vii–viii.

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The stationary nature of the Castilian monarchy was a factor to consider when assessing the relationship between the king and the cities. In most European kingdoms, kings had a stable court where they spent most of their time. According to Bernard Guenée, this made the display of opulence around the king possible, with his courtiers playing a ceremonial role.49 Proximity to the king was a benefit that pertained, in particular, to the upper aristocracy, and was known as privanza, or favouritism. The Trastámara kings, however, played on the desire of the petty nobility and the rising oligarchs who wished to gain his favour50 by facilitating opportunities for collaboration that what was known as “service.”51 This amalgam of incentives and options underpinned large-scale political participation with the monarchy, which reinforced itself with theoretical arguments beneficial to royal power.52 4

Urban Historical Memory and Representation in Imagery

The political handling of historical memory and its representation in images is a matter of great interest. Appeals to historical memory must not have been unknown in the late Middle Ages,53 but images that provide information on the mechanisms used in its construction are difficult to find. The discovery of aquarelles painted for the creation of tapestries, therefore, is an interesting opportunity for the purposes of studying the subject.54 The aquarelles, sketches for a pair of tapestries ordered by the city of Valladolid, once crafted, presumably in Flanders, would have been displayed in the city council chamber. Unfortunately, the tapestries were destroyed by the fire that razed the political and commercial center of Valladolid in 1561. Fortunately, the sketches 49 50

51 52 53 54

Bernard Guenée, Occidente durante los siglos xiv y xv. Los Estados (Barcelona, 1973), 88–89. María Asenjo González, “Aristocratic ambitions in oligarchic urban society. Social and political consequences in fifteenth-century Castilian towns,” in Urban Elites and Aristocratic Behaviour in the Spanish Kingdoms at the end of the Middle Ages, ed. María Asenjo González (Turnhout, 2013), 49–60. Rosemary Horrox, “Service,” in Fifteenth-century attitudes. Perceptions in Late Medieval England, ed. Rosemary Horrox (Cambridge, 1994), 61–78. José M. Nieto Soria, Fundamentos ideológicos del poder real en Castilla (ss. xiii–xvi) (Madrid, 1988); idem, “Sobre los orígenes de la idea de ‘comunidad política’ en la Corona Castellano-leonesa,” Memoria y Civilización, 6 (2003): 5–41. For the peasantry, see Hipólito R. Oliva Herrer, Justicia contra señores. El mundo rural y la política en tiempos de los Reyes Católicos (Valladolid, 2004). Biblioteca de la Real Academia de la Historia (B.R.A.H.)/Colección Salazar y Castro. M-76, f° 65 and 66 and f° 77 to 79.

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were preserved and show four scenes on two tapestries that recreated historical highlights of Valladolid. The events from medieval times that were chosen for the tapestries range from the origin of the town, when the Muslims were in power in the Iberian Peninsula, to the most recent event during the reign of John ii (1444). The events depicted to present this period were specifically chosen in an attempt to benefit from the king’s largesse. The paintings were historical recreations of political services rendered to the monarchy, based on specific episodes enhancing the city’s role in its loyalty to the kings.55 Three of the four scenes depict events showing the support and protection Valladolid provided to the monarchy and to the Crown of Castile at critical moments when the continuity of the dynasty was in danger, when bellicose representatives of the aristocracy posed a menace to the kings when minors. The order for the tapestries took place during the reign of Charles v (1516–1556), probably in 1524, as shown by the emperor’s two-headed eagle next to the coat of arms of Valladolid.56 Texts accompany the preserved images and eluidate the scenes that may have been included in the tapestries. 5

The Creation of an Urban Past in Images

The first scene in the tapestry sequence shows the mythical origins of the city of Valladolid at the time of Muslim rule. It relates the tale of a lion living in a cave in the city attacking and killing the captain of the Muslims and how prisoners of the Arabs then killed the lion and founded Valladolid. The scene links the bravery of the Christians who killed the lion to the origins of the city. The depiction connects the arrival of the Muslims and the violence attributed to the lion that mediated in the transfer of power in the city from Muslim to Christian rule.57 The account does not mention Count Ansúrez, or refer to the Castilian aristocrat’s relationship with the city, which only later held him to be its founder. Instead, it was brave and anonymous Christians who established the city.

55 56

57

Royal attention, in the form of sanctions and favors, became important for cities rivalling each other. María Asenjo González, “Arguments politiques et culture urbaine. Dans la controverse entre Tolède et Grenade après 1492,” Histoire Urbaine 35 (2012): 107–130. María Asenjo González, “Mémoire historique de l’origine de la ville et sa représentation. Le cas de Valladolid, une ville médiévale,” in Colloque Ab urbe condita. Fonder et refonder la ville : récits et représentations (seconde moitié du Moyen Âge–premier xvie siècle). Pau 14–15 mai 2009, ed. Veronique Lamazou (Pau, 2011), 90–103. Ibid. 90–103 and 99–100.

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The story has a legend that reads: “How Olid the captain of the Arabs was killed by a lion that lived in a cave near Valladolid. And afterwards, the Christians he held captive killed the lion and rebuilt Valladolid.” As with many cities in Europe, Castilian cities were founded in the Middle Ages, although few indicated a well-known founder.58 We know little about how cities arose in Castile, but during the 16th century, when the circumstances surrounding their foundation were recreated, the stories made use of a fabricated past. This eagerness for an articulated urban past is linked to the cultural and political influence of humanism, and was encouraged by the monarchy to establish a communication channel that did not require intermediary messages.59 Versions preserved from the 15th century on prefer a narrative style emphasizing the city’s fame and highlight illustrious men. Created by humanist authors, who were influenced by classical literature and by Christian writers, they drew upon the details of great exploits from the chronicles.60 This interest in the history of cities began at the end of the 15th century and the beginning of the 16th, and there are records of published works dedicated to the cities of Barcelona, Ávila, Seville, Burgos, Alcántara, Toledo, Mexico, and Valencia. Except for Alcántara, they were all cities under royal jurisdiction, or realengo. The largest number of works of this type have been documented to be from the first twenty years of the 17th century. The most common literary style was that found in annals, which focused on the origins of the town from distant eras. A decline in interest in urban history occurred in the 17th century and continued throughout the 18th, until it’s revival in the 19th century marked by either the new values of Romanticism or subject to the erudite empiricism of the time. Narrative discourses on the origins of the cities made use of symbolic, ethical, and aristocratic values and were usually divided into three parts. First, they generally alluded to the significant contribution made by settlers, such as the

58 Gautier-Dalché, Historia urbana de León y Castilla and Juan I. Fortea Pérez, “Les villes de la couronne de Castille sous l’Ancien Régime : une histoire inachevée,” Revue d’Histoire Moderne et contemporaine 41.2 (1994): 291–312. 59 María Asenjo González, “Las ciudades castellanas al inicio del reinado de Carlos v,” Studia histórica. Historia moderna 21 (1999): 49–115, and Bartolomé Yun Casalilla, “Economic cycles and structural changes,” in Handbook of European History 1400–1600. Late Middles Ages, Renaissance and Reformation, ed. Thomas A. Brady, Heiko A. Oberman, and James D. Tracy (Leiden, 1994), 113–146. 60 Isabel del Val Valdivieso, “Imagen de la ciudad en las crónicas castellanas del siglo xv,” in Colloque Ab urbe condita. Fonder et refonder la ville : récits et représentations (seconde moitié du Moyen Âge–premier xvie siècle). Pau 14–15 mai 2009, ed. Veronique Lamazou (Pau, 2011), 474–491; Quesada Casajuana, Idea de la ciudad en la cultura hispana, 3. The author studied 127 works from the 16th and 17th centuries.

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Romans, Goths, and Muslims.61 Secondly, political plots were added which were combined with representations, legends, poems, and other imaginary allusions (metaphorical, symbolic, and mythical) in order to construct a sense of solidarity based on a shared memory.62 The legend most frequently referred to in the origins of the cities was that of Hercules and his arrival in Hispania. His name is linked to the origin of several cities: Cádiz, Seville, Toledo, Ávila, Segovia, and Barcelona. Another significant founder was Osiris, the descendant of Noah, and father of Hercules. This was the same mythical Egyptian hero who destroyed the Titan Geryon, who had held Hispania in his thrall.63 Finally, there is the figure of the mythical hero who defeats the tyrant and his sons. The civilizing role of the founder was emphasized; in the story this was imposed by the hero introducing new policies and promoting better laws. The civilizing role of the founders was, according to tradition, imposed through authority, a law, or a contract. Society thus established itself as a political entity and devised a form of power that promoted, developed, or transformed peace. The notion of a contract as part of the political process was a way of presenting the city as a voluntary and free institution.64 Descriptions of the origins of Valladolid are distinct from others and require a different interpretation. We only know that the city was founded in medieval times, with documentary evidence dating back to 1062, but with no earlier references.65 At the end of the 15th century, theories on the founding of cities abounded among intellectuals and continued into the 16th century, with an incentive from humanism and an interest in classical literature. This explains the proposed Roman origin for Valladolid, comparing it to the Roman Pintia, a town of the Vaccei, a Celtiberian people living in the region at the time.66 A study on the subject of the origins of Valladolid in 1956 showed rather that Vaccaen Pintia was the town of Cabezón, and not Valladolid.67 The Vaccei lived in the Douro and Pisuerga valleys. Possible precursors to Valladolid could have 61 62 63 64 65 66 67

Ibid. 61. For more on Muslim cities, see Patrice Cressier and Mercedes Garcia-Arenal, eds., Genèse de la ville islamique en al-Andalus et au Magreb occidental (Madrid, 1998). Jean Jacques Wunenburger, “Mythe urbain et violence fondatrice,” in La fundación de la ciudad. Mitos y ritos en el mundo antiguo, ed. Pedro Azara (Barcelona, 2000), 21–27, and Bartolomé Yun Casalilla, Imaginaires du politique (Paris, 2001), 14. Quesada Casajuana, Idea de la ciudad en la cultura hispana, 62. Jean Jacques Wunenburger, Imaginaires du politique (Paris, 2001), 13–14. Adeline Rucquoi, Valladolid en la Edad Media, 2 vols., vol. 1: Génesis de un poder (Valladolid, 1987), 1:65. Manuel Sangrador Vítores, Historia de la muy noble y leal ciudad de Valladolid: desde su más remota antigüedad hasta la muerte de Fernando vii. 2 vols. (Valladolid, 1851–1854), 1:20. Ibid. 1:19.

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been three nearby towns: Simancas, Cabezón, and Tudela de Duero that played a prominent role before the town was established at the confluence of the Esgueva and Pisuerga Rivers.68 The city’s exact origins are thus unknown, although there are still remains of a Visigothic necropolis on the site of Santa María del Prado on the banks of the Pisuerga River. The city of Valladolid, as it was known in the Middle Ages, was organized into collaciones and governed by hombres buenos in a concilium, like the surrounding councils.69 As for a mythical past, it was confirmed by the intellectual Fernand Nuñes de Toledo to be recreated in the Vaccaen Pintia.70 Other writers, such as Fray Prudencio de Sandoval (1553–1620), thought that the true founder was Count Ansúrez.71 6

Representation in Imagery of the Origin of Valladolid

The origin of Valladolid was a subject of discussion in the 19th century. Sangrador Vitores, who denied that it was of Roman origin, neither did he believe that it was founded by Count Ansúrez.72 Ortega Rubio was of the same opinion, although he made mention of the Moor Ulit (or Olit) in one paragraph. Antolinez de Burgo referred to the same individual as Captain Abdelaziz who, after the conquest by the Muslims, established himself in the valley, captivated by its beauty and its many resources. He was said to have built the city and called it Valle de Olit.73 This name remained until the year 929, when the city was destroyed by Ordoño ii. Its memory, however, was said to have been preserved since there was a column with a lion and an inscription reading: Olit oppidi conditor. The column was preserved until the 16th century and was used as a public post where edicts were proclaimed, confiscated goods were auctioned, and prisoners and criminals were chained to it.74 Rubio corroborated the Muslim origin by stating that Muslim writers in the 13th century, such as Aben-Zaid, as well as others in the 14th century, such as Albufeda, called it Madina Olit. All this is shown graphically in the iconographic sketches used to weave the tapestry that hung in the council chamber, until it was likely destroyed by the 68 69 70 71 72 73 74

Ibid. 1:35. Ibid. 1:64 and 66. Ibid. 1:22. Juan Ortega Rubio, Investigaciones acerca de la historia de Valladolid (Valladolid, 1887), 104. Count Pedro Ansúrez received the city from King Alfonse vi in “iuri hereditarii.” Sangrador Vitores, Historia de la muy noble y leal ciudad de Valladolid. Ortega Rubio, Investigaciones acerca de la historia de Valladolid, 28. Ibid. 29.

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fire that razed the city in 1561.75 The drawings were saved and are of great historical value; they show important events in the city in broad strokes and faded watercolors. Each sketch contains two scenes on different themes, moving forward in time from left to right. The one on the left depicts events connected to the foundation of the city and the death of Olit and demise of the lion. The city of Valladolid is seen in the background in all its splendour, and, on the far left, the Pisuerga River. It is surprising that an episode of the Muslim invasion was represented. Christian captives, both men and women, are on the right-hand side and likely represent urban society. This is taking place against a background of architectural elements from the Christian city of Valladolid, with sacred buildings and crosses among the emblems. A noteworthy feature is the violence expressed by the figure of the lion which has just killed Olit, the enemy of the Christians. The violence continues with the Christians’ attack of the lion, symbolizing the destructive and regenerative force of mythical animals. Details given to clothing is strange, as the Christians are wearing 16th-century dress and carrying the cross that identifies them. Their killing of the lion gives rise to the city, depicted in the background and by the shield opposite the king’s arms. The choice of the mythical animal as the sacrificial victim is surprising as the lion is the heraldic symbol of the king, and that with its demise the city would emerge. The use of a mythical animal can be related to Valladolid’s contribution to keeping the peace, which was a continued commitment of the men in power in the government. This locates the city within the imaginary of a political utopia, which beginning in the 16th century was linked to the lost paradise.76 In general, myths on the founding of cities correspond to the collective imaginary that recreates a historical and geographical situation to reinforce a sense of community. In this respect, the sketches bear witness that, in the 16th century, the memory of a common past was required to strengthen urban life. The leaders did not hesitate to construct just such a story, strengthened by recognizable elements, such as the column still standing in the city at the time and the mythical figure of the lion. The action of the Christians in bravely ending the life of the lion that had killed their Muslim jailer would be the start of the urban settlement; they 75 76

Filemón Arribas Arranz, El incendio de Valladolid en 1561 (Valladolid, 1960). José M. Martínez Val, ed., La fundación de Ciudad Real. Antología de textos históricos (Ciudad Real, 1955), 24; Gian P. Brogiolo and Bryan Ward Perkins, The Idea and the Ideal of the Town between Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (Leiden, 1999); Pierre Ansay and René Schoonbrodt, Penser la ville. Choix de textes philosophiques (Paris, 1989), 20.

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would be the forebears of the people of Valladolid. The scene reinforced the idea that the Muslims could be overcome, at a time when Spain was in open confrontation with Islam in North Africa and Eastern Europe. The use of myths also reinforced a sense of belonging and gave substance to a collective reality. Such a sense had become essential for the construction of new political and social circumstances.77 The narrative sought to instruct members of the regimiento and its townspeople of the importance of their commitment to supporting the war with their taxes.78 The scene compares archetypes and how they respond to situations of danger, the core of mythical thought.79 The sketches for the tapestries, in addition to recreating the past, attempted to make use of their primary structures to relate to recent events as well. The founding of cities becomes a sacred matter, to establishing a mundus representing the urban endeavor, a complex, artificial social structure that imposes change on the lives of its inhabitants and acquires its real meaning only when associated with a sacred symbol.80 Another aspect to be considered with regard to the mythical birth of the city, the suggestion that a new order can only take place after the defeat of disorder. Thus, death and violence are constituted as a dialectic in which nature and culture, law and transgression clash, without which no institution is possible. Founding myths, in the eyes of Jean Jacques Wunenburger, fulfill a civilizing purpose in building an imaginary reality in which another type of humanity can face danger and emerge victorious. Violence, of course, is constantly present in the city, but resorting to violence in the foundational act has the double significance of destruction and creation. Here, it is not inter-social violence, but the recognition of an outside danger that undermines society, one displayed for ritual exaltation, leading to the arrival of a new order.81 In this respect, the myth functions as a remedy against chaos.82 It appears in this representation of the origin of Valladolid that the narrative sought to strengthen the rational covenant of coexistence in Christian society in order to make the people aware of their mutual responsibilities 77 78 79 80 81

82

Gervase Rosser, “Myth, image and social process in the English medieval town,” Urban History 23.1 (1996): 5–25. Wunenburger, “Mythe urbain et violence fondatrice,” 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid. 23. María Asenjo González and Andrea Zorzi, “Facciones, linajes y conflictos urbanos en la Europa bajomedieval. Modelos y análisis a partir de Castilla y Toscana,” Hispania. Revista española de historia, Dosier: Conflicto y discordia en ciudades bajomedievales. Italia y Reinos hispánicos 15 (2015): 331–364. Wunenburger, “Mythe urbain et violence fondatrice,” 23.

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and ­commitment to renouncing violence. By uniting the sacred, the urban movement, and violence, the mythical culture of the city becomes a sublime invention of civilization, enabling an understanding of the challenges faced in ­urban life. The scene is depicted as a continuum, separated at the ends by columns supporting the coat of arms of Valladolid. In the center, the division is made by a beautiful column with a capital displaying the coat of arms of emperor Charles; hanging from the shield is the Golden Fleece, the symbol of the Burgundian order of knights that he headed which he received from his grandfather, Philip i. Philip had inherited it from his father, Maximilian i, who married Maria of Burgundy, who, as a woman, could not be head of the order. People in the scene are dressed in contemporary fashions in the style of Renaissance portraits. Early Renaissance techniques were also used to depict the Moor Olid, fallen from his horse with the lion tearing his bloodied body. The image of the lion is repeated in the same scene, showing its demise at the hands of the Christian captives, who appear horror-struck. The wounded lion bares his reddened jaws as the Christian lances pierce it. Among the captives in the foreground, there is a knight (recognizable by his helmet), a priest with a large cross on his chest, and a woman with a headdress observing the events. Behind them, two smaller figures represent the remaining captives watching in astonishment. The profile of the city surrounded by the river shows solid, imposing buildings stretching to a bridge over the water that separates them from the city, and at the top center is a tiny banner reading “Valladolid.” 7

The Image of Valladolid’s Contribution to the Union of the Kingdoms of León and Castile

The events in the second scene for the tapestry, which, together with the founding of the city, formed its whole, depict the problems faced by Queen Berengaria. She was separated from her husband, Alfonso ix of Leon, by papal order (Celestine iii and Innocent iii), which rejected the dispensation they had received to marry and forced the couple to live apart, under threat of excommunication. The separation was imposed in 1204 after six years of marriage and five children, which included the future king Fernando iii who was responsible for uniting the kingdoms of Leon and Castile.83 The daughter of 83

It may refer to the break-away by Valladolid in 1217: Julio González González, Reinado y diplomas de Fernando iii, 3 vols. (Córdoba, 1980), 1:71–72.

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Alfonso viii and Eleanor Plantagenet, Berengaria was also a granddaughter of Henry ii of England on her mother’s side, and of another important woman of the time, Eleanor of Aquitaine.84 Before coming to the throne of Castile, she was guardian to her younger brother, Henry, who died as a minor three years after the death of Alfonso viii. She married Alfonso ix of Leon, and became regent for her son, Fernando, through the rights invested in her by the kingdom of Castile. This was extremely complicated due to the interests of the aristocracy and certain cities who favoured the king of Leon, her husband, whose reign would unite the two crowns. The queen’s resolute decision not to agree to this solution was of key importance; she was supported in this decision by Valladolid, as shown in the sketch for the tapestry. The legal background refers to the treaty of Caberas, signed on 26 March 1206, which recognized Fernando as heir to the kingdom of Leon, since in Castile his grandfather Alfonso viii had two heirs (Prince Fernando and his brother Henry). The annulment of the marriage made it difficult for the sons to inherit from their father. Upon seeing the support of nobles and clergy in both kingdoms, Pope Innocent iii agreed to recognize the treaty of Caberas, and Honorius iii ratified it in 1218, declaring that Fernando had not been named heir through his parents’ marriage (which had been annulled), but rather because Alfonso ix had adopted the young prince. The treaty ensured the young man’s future in the kingdom of Leon. In Castile, Berengaria was the guardian of her younger brother, Henry, but tutelage of the boy king went to don Alvaro, a nobleman of Lara. In 1216, Alvaro had succeeded in removing young Fernando from Castile to Leon. However, the death of young Henry on 6 June 1217 made Berengaria queen of Castile and she immediately sent for her son, Fernando, from the court of Leon. She likely decided to do so because the throne of Alfonso ix was vacant and she wished to seize it, since the treaty of Sahagún in 1158 stipulated that should either of the kings die without legitimate heirs, the other monarch would inherit the kingdom. Berengaria did not want to wait and when the former regent, don Alvaro, arrived and demanded custody of Prince Fernando, Berengaria 84

Georges Martin, “Berenguela de Castilla (1214–1246): en el espejo de la historiografía de su época,” in Historia de las mujeres en España y América Latina, ed. Isabel Morant Deusa (Madrid, 2005), 569–594; Georges Martin, “‘Régner sans régner.’ Bérengère de Castille (1214–1246) au miroir de l’historiographie de son temps,” e-Spania 1 (June 2006) : Femmes et gouvernement. Gouverner en Castille au Moyen Âge. La part des femmes, https:// e-spania.revues.org/326, text translated into Spanish in http://e-spania.revues.org/21608. Consulted 24th April 2019; Patricia Rochwert-Zuili, “De Sancie à Bérengère: les femmes et le pouvoir dans l’historiographie alphonsine et néo-alphonsine (xiiie–xive siècles),” e-Spania 1 (Juin 2006) : Femmes et gouvernement. Gouverner en Castille au Moyen Âge. La part des femmes, https://e-spania.revues.org/335. Consulted 24th April 2019.

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Figure 6.5 The mythical origins of the city of Valladolid and the queen’s arrival of Berengaria in the city

and the Castilian nobles refused. The “Second Story” shown next in the sketch refers to Queen Berengaria, mistakenly called María in the text, and her son, ­Fernando iii85 (fig. 6.5). On 2 July 1217, after sending emissaries to Segovia, the queen arranged a meeting of the kingdom’s city representatives in Valladolid, who had remained loyal to her, and proclaimed herself Queen of Castile.86 The chroniclers of the age do not give much importance to the city’s role in these events, but in the historical imagination of Valladolid the city was influential in promoting the union of Castile and León due to the defence of the queen and her son provided by the people from the town and surrounding countryside against the King of Leon’s army. This record attaches so little importance to the queen that it confuses her with María in the text included in the sketch. 85 86

Gonzalo Martínez Díez, Fernando iii (1217–1252) (Palencia, 1993), 16–38. Georges Martin, “Negociación y diplomacia en la vida de Berenguela de Castilla (1214– 1246). Cuestionamiento genérico,” e-Spania 4 (Decembre 2007): La parole des rois/Pratiques politiques, http://e-spania.revues.org/21609, 20, notes 55 and 56. Consulted 24th April 2019.

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The left-hand side of the drawing for the tapestry shows the queen’s arrival in Valladolid. She is depicted as a female figure with a headdress and crown, riding on horseback, but the text on the sketch does not identify the three armies that besieged the city. These were the troops of Alfonso ix who, upon learning that his son had ascended to the throne of Castile behind his back, went to the city with his army. The other army may be that of Alvaro de Lara, tutor to the defunct King Henry. The scene depicts the queen’s confidence in Valladolid’s loyalty and does not show acts of war. Instead, majestic figures represent the confidence and serenity they provided for the queen and her son until the siege was lifted.87 The recreation credits the people of Valladolid (who had been long-time supporters of the queen) with raising the siege and protecting the queen and her son. The legend reads: “How Queen María with King Fernando the Third, her son, a boy, were besieged by three armies in Valladolid. Trusting in the loyalty of the people who defended her and raised the siege.” The agreement with the King of Leon resulted in the truce of 26 November 1217, but events put the loyalty of Valladolid to the test when the same agreement was rejected by other cities, such as Coca and Segovia.88 The sketch for the tapestry recreates a special moment in the history of the kingdom of Castile. The outline of the city in the background shows a part of the walls and some of the entrance gates. Scenes also represent the inner space of the city, an interior room in which a frame with a canopy marks Berengaria’s royal status, with three women looking after the princes. They wear headdresses denoting their high status and emphasizing the role of the women of Valladolid, who cared for the queen’s children at times of danger. The women are seated in a solemn pose, placed in the calm atmosphere of daily life. The scene is designed to be observed from a position that includes happenings outside the walls, where the main action takes place. Large figures of knights riding carry standards and stand guard. Horses in the foreground are rearing against a calm, static background, which merges on the right with sketches of ­townspeople in positions of defence, on foot and brandishing pikes and other weapons. All of this emphasizes the importance of the historic moment, re-enacted in scenes that recover the imaginary of the city’s loyalty, in an episode of great 87 88

It was not a matter of a prolonged siege, as the troops moved to Arroyo, near Valladolid. M. Valentina Calleja González, “La personalidad histórica de doña Berenguela la Grande,” Publicaciones de la Institución Tello Téllez de Meneses 36 (1975): 45–56, here 54. Martínez Díez, Fernando iii (1217–1252); Martin, “‘Régner sans régner.’ Bérengère de Castille (1214–1246).”

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importance in the political construction of the kingdom of Castile: the union of two kingdoms that would be forever joined. This reinforced the civic awareness of the political value of citizens’ loyalty and the prominent role of Valladolid in the political construction of the kingdom in the past. It was all done with the rational desire to gain political advantage in the future. 8

The City of Valladolid as Guardian of Alfonso xi

The tapestry that followed in chronological order depicted another episode from Valladolid’s medieval history in serving the monarchy: the death of Maria de Molina (1 July 1321) and Valladolid being entrusted with the guardianship of her grandson, Alfonso xi, who was three years old at the time. On the death of her son, Fernando iv, in 1312, Maria had become Alfonso’s guardian, along with her mother-in-law, Queen Constance, who died on 18 November 1313, leaving Maria in charge of the upbringing and care of the heir. This continued until 1321.89 Before her death, Maria entrusted the care of her grandson to the hombres buenos (boni homines) of Valladolid.90 The tapestry depicting this significant event probably hung in the city council of Valladolid. The scene shows a time of anxious anticipation, with the queen on her deathbed attended by a lady-in-waiting offering her a dish of food. Nine-yearold Alfonso stands before her, affectionately cared for by a seated woman together with an old bearded man kneeling before him. The right-hand side of the room depicts male figures who were likely the town councillors of 89

90

Cesar González Mínguez, “El perfil político de la reina María de Molina,” Espacio, tiempo y forma. Serie iii, Historia medieval 25 (2012): 239–254, here 246–252; Patricia RochwertZuili, “La reina como mediadora entre lo temporal y lo espiritual: un rasgo ­esencial del ‘molinismo’ (ss. xiii–xiv),” in xiiie Colloque international organisé par l’aeihm (Asociación Española de Estudios de Historia de las Mujeres) les 19, 20 et 21 octobre 2006 à Barcelone sur le thème “La Historia de las mujeres: perspectivas actuals,” halshs.archives -ouvertes.fr/halshs-00693150/document. Consulted 24th April 2019. Ferrand Sanchez de Valladolid, “Crónica de Alfonso xi,” in Crónicas de los reyes de Castilla. Desde Don Alfonso el Sabio hasta los Católicos Don Fernanado y Doña Isabel, edited by Cayetano Rosell, vol. 1 (Biblioteca de autores españoles 66) (Madrid, 1953 [1875]), 192a: … pero á la Reyna agravósele tanto la enfermedad, que ella entendió bien que era mortal. Et por esto mandó llamará todos los caballeros, et Regidores, et omes bonos de la villa de Valledolit, et dixoles como ella estaba muy al cabo, et en las manos de Dios, et que su vida sería muy poca: por tanto, que les queria dexar en encomienda al Rey don Alfonso su nieto, et que le tomasen et le guardasen et criasen ellos en aquella villa, et que non le entregasen á omes del mundo fasta que fuese de edad complida, et mandase por sí sus tierras et regnos; otrosi á la Infanta Doña Leonor su hermana.

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Figure 6.6 Valladolid being charged with the tutelage of the minority of Alfonso xi and the liberation of King John ii by some knights of Valladolid

­ alladolid along with other women. The scene is capped by the pink canopy of V the queen’s bed (fig. 6.6).91 The legend for the sketch reads: “Third story. How Queen Maria being close to death gave her three-year-old grandson, Alfonso the Eleventh, to the care of the Valladolid council, to tutor his upbringing, which they did with great loyalty until he came of age to govern the kingdom.”92 The image highlights the city’s collaboration in the kingdom’s politics and the significant role played by the hombres buenos of Valladolid, to whom the queen granted the highest recognition and from whom she expected the greatest loyalty. The effect is achieved by combining the fragile state of the dying queen with the devotion and apparent affection shown by the loyal citizens of Valladolid. The hombres buenos represented the urban power rooted in the hierarchies of the early settlers. This was at a time when these hierarchies were in dispute. The conflict spread across the entire kingdom, having its worst 91 92

Marie de Molina (d. July 1321). See Rafael del Valle Curieses, María de Molina (Madrid, 2000), 277–279. Biblioteca Nacional, M-76, f° 65 y 66.

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c­ onsequences in Valladolid where revolts took place around 1325, shortly after Alfonso xi rose to the throne.93 The use of this episode to emphasize the hombres buenos collaboration with the queen, which was soon to be seen as royal favouritism, reveals that the image and text were part of a new political discourse, advertising that differences that had arisen at the beginning of the 14th century between the two rival elites had been overcome. The discourse collectively proclaimed the merits of the action on the part of the hombres buenos and sought reward in privilege and recognition from the city of Valladolid. 9

Valladolid and the Liberation of King John ii, Taken Prisoner by the Nobility in Portillo

The fourth and last story in the tapestry is from the time of the king’s detention in Portillo. It draws on the memory of the thorny affair of King John ii having been taken prisoner by enemy nobles, who had attacked his chamber and chapel and plundered his supporters’ property. John ii, king of Castile, was kept in a gilded prison by his noble enemies, was deprived of his advisers and friends, and was at the mercy of his captors’ hidden plots. The conflicts and tensions in the kingdom worsened after the Rámaga coup on 9 July 1443, when he was separated from the last few men he trusted and was overcome by sadness. From that time on, the liberation of the king became an urgent matter for his former advisers and for Constable Alvaro de Luna and his supporters. However, the king was not freed from Portillo until June 1444, with the assistance of the Count of Castro Diego Gómez de Sandoval y Rojas and knights from Valladolid.94 The text of the quarta istoria was included in the tapestry in a scene separated by a column and the shield of Charles v, with the two-headed eagle. The legend reads: “Fourth story: how the council of Valladolid released King John the Second who was in Portillo and brought him to Valladolid where he was obeyed by the whole kingdom.” In the background is seen the violent combat between two knights on rearing horses. Buildings are grouped on the right, with machicolations that may 93 Rucquoi, Valladolid en la Edad Media, 1:373–377. 94 Pedro Porras Arboledas, Juan ii rey de Castilla y León (1406–1454) (Gijón, 2009), 267–269; María Asenjo Gonzalez, “La representación del conflicto y las adhesiones urbanas a la política regia (1441),” in El conflicto en escenas. La pugna política como representación en la Castilla bajomedieval, ed. José Manuel Nieto Soria (Madrid, 2010), 105–142 and 141–142.

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represent the fort of Portillo, while on the left are smaller houses without recognizable details. These elements frame the main scene. The foreground is filled by a distressed rider who might possibly be the king, although he is not wearing distinctive symbols of royalty. He is accompanied by knights and a prince clearing the way for a retinue of people of aristocratic appearance. This salvaged historical record recounts the noble actions of the knights of Valladolid, who put themselves at risk to defend the king. The context of this action follows that of similar brave deeds by the knights of the city, who defended Henry iv when he was a prisoner in Valladolid during the events in 1464 called the farce of Ávila.95 The chose of the events of Portillo, which date earlier than those events, could be to recall the damnatio memoria and the propagandistic manipulation regarding Henry iv that had taken place during the reign of the Catholic Monarchs.96 If the scene of the queen’s last wishes commended the hombres buenos of Valladolid and the episode at Portillo highlighted the bravery of the knights of the city to free the king, they also stressed the conduct of the aristocracy who were being criticized and discredited during the last few decades of the 15th century, especially during the revolt of the Comuneros in 1520. 10 Conclusion The visual perception of cities using certain representative elements emphasize emblematic features of urban reality, best identified with collective life. This recognition in the everyday urban setting is difficult, given social fragmentation and the diversity of the population. Acknowledgment of urban life can be demonstrated through symbolic elements that have been preserved, such as images of city walls as an urban icon. Preservation can be seen also in charters and privileges, which shaped legal and political life. Social and economic change in Castilian cities in the 14th and 15th centuries were determined by new political messages in line with oligarchic forms of

95

96

María Asenjo Gonzalez, “Ciudades y poder político en la Castilla Trastámara (1400–1450),” in Coups d’État à la fin du Moyen Âge ? Aux fondements du pouvoir politique en Europe occidentale, ed. François Foronda, Jean P. Genet, and José M. Nieto Soria (Madrid, 2005), 365–401. Ana I. Carrasco Manchado, Isabel i de Castilla y la sombra de la ilegitimidad: propaganda y representación en el conflicto sucesorio (1474–1482) (Madrid, 2006) and eadem, “El rumor político: Apuntes sobre la opinión pública en la Castilla del siglo xv,” Cuadernos de historia de España 80 (2006): 65–90.

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government, which were imposed with varying degrees of haste in the ­councils under royal and feudal jurisdiction. Policies introducing favouritism and patronage spread throughout the cities and region, gradually adapted to the demands of the new times. Additionally, urban oligarchs were undergoing a process of increasing ennoblement that placed the monarchy at the center and shaped their expectations and actions according to the rules and guidelines of royal politics. This, however, did not prevent cities in Castile from rejecting kings and aristocrats, or from forming their own ideas regarding royal jurisdiction and the person of the king. The revival in images of the historical memory that placed the city of Valladolid at the center of important events in the kingdom situated the king as the focal point. The sketches for the tapestry that hung in the council chamber of Valladolid revived old stories highlighting the prominent role of its powerful elites, whether knights or hombres buenos. Their exemplary actions were utilized as a vehicle for citizens to identify the action of “service” to the king. This conception brought with it a secular political discipline, not requiring moral or ethical principles beyond those of responsibility to the king and the interests of the kingdom. This secular construction demonstrates a modern political approach, one in line with Italian and European urban models.97 Sources Alfonso x el Sabio, Las Siete Partidas del rey don Alfonso el Sabio cotejadas con varios códices antiguos por la Real Academia de la Historia. Tomo ii: Partida Segunda y Tercera. Repr. Madrid, 1972 [1807]. Archivo General de Simancas / Cámara de Castilla (Pueblos): Leg. 20. Soria 9 de octubre 1481; 6-321-13. Córdoba 20 de febrero 1516. Archivo Histórico Nacional, Diversos (Colecciones), 284. N° 4. Valladolid 27 de noviembre 1284. Biblioteca Nacional, Ms. 430 f° 142 or 444 modern. Cáceres. Historia y privilegios de esta ciudad; M-76, f° 65 and 66 and f° 77 to 79.

97

On civic humanism, see the classic work by Henry Baron, En busca del humanismo cívico florentino. Ensayos sobre el cambio del pensamiento medieval al moderno (Mexico City, 1993) and, on representation, Paola Ventrone, “Le forme dello spettacolo toscano nel trecento: tra rituale civico e ceremoniale festivo,” in La Toscana nel secolo xiv. Caratteri di una civiltà regionale, ed. Sergio Gensini and Pacini Editore (Florence, 1988), 497–517; eadem, Teatro civile e sacra rappresentazione a Firenze nel Rinascimento (Florence, 2016), 27 and passim.

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Ferrand Sánchez de Valladolid, “Crónica de Alfonso xi.” In Crónicas de los reyes de Castilla. Desde Don Alfonso el Sabio hasta los Catolicos Don Fernando y Doña Isabel, edited by Cayetano Rosell, vol. 1 (Biblioteca de autores españoles 66). Madrid, 1953 [1875]. López de Ayala, Pedro. Crónica del Rey don Pedro. Madrid, 1953. Muñoz y Romero, Tomás. Colección de fueros municipales y cartas pueblas de los reinos de Castilla, León, Corona de Aragón y Navarra. Repr. Madrid, 1970 [1847].

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Martin, Georges. “Negociación y diplomacia en la vida de Berenguela de Castilla (1214– 1246). Cuestionamiento genérico.” e-Spania 4 (Décembre 2007) : La parole des rois/ Pratiques politiques. http://e-spania.revues.org/21609. Consulted 24th April 2019. Martin, Georges. “‘Régner sans régner.’ Bérengère de Castille (1214–1246) au miroir de l’historiographie de son temps.” e-Spania 1 (June 2006). Femmes et gouvernement. Gouverner en Castille au Moyen Âge: La part des femmes. https://e-spania.revues .org/326. Text translated into Spanish in http://e-spania.revues.org/21608. Consulted 24th April 2019. Martin, Georges. “Berenguela de Castilla (1214–1246): en el espejo de la historiografía de su época.” In Historia de las mujeres en España y América Latina, edited by Isabel Morant Deusa, 569–594. Madrid, 2005. Martínez Díez, Gonzalo. Fernando iii (1217–1252). Palencia, 1993. Martínez Martín, Manuel. “Claves para una tesis: las murallas medievales de Vallodolid.” Historia, instituciones, documentos 33 (2006): 365–421. Martínez Taboada, Pilar. “Historia del urbanismo medieval hispano: cuestiones metodológicas e historiográficas.” Anales de Historia del Arte 21 (2009): 27–59. Martínez Val, José M., ed. La fundación de Ciudad Real. Antología de textos históricos. Ciudad Real, 1955. Mazzoli-Guintard, Christine. Villes d´al-Andalus. L’Espagne et le Portugal à l’époque musulmane (viiie–xve siècles). Rennes, 1996. Mínguez Fernández, José M. “Feudalismo y concejos. Aproximación metodológica al análisis de las relaciones sociales en los concejos medievales castellano-leoneses.” En la España Medieval 2 (1983): 109–122. Monsalvo Antón, José M. “Parentesco y sistema concejil. Observaciones sobre la funcionalidad política de los linajes urbanos en Castilla y León (ss. xiii–xv).” Hispania 53.185 (1993): 937–969. Monsalvo Antón, José M. “Concejos castellano-leoneses y feudalismo (ss. xi–xiii). Reflexiones para un estado de la cuestión.” Studia Historica. Historia Medieval 10 (1992): 203–243. Nieto Soria, José M. “Sobre los orígenes de la idea de ‘comunidad política’ en la Corona Castellano-leonesa.” Memoria y Civilización 6 (2003): 5–41. Nieto Soria, José M. Fundamentos ideológicos del poder real en Castilla (ss. xiii–xvi). Madrid, 1988. Oliva Herrer, Hipólito R. Justicia contra señores. El mundo rural y la política en tiempos de los Reyes Católicos. Valladolid, 2004. Ortega Rubio, Juan. Investigaciones acerca de la historia de Valladolid. Valladolid, 1887. Pastoreau, Michel. Coleurs, images, symboles. Études d´histoire et d’anthropologie. Paris, 1992. Porras Arboledas, Pedro. Juan ii rey de Castilla y León (1406–1454). Gijón, 2009.

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Vries, Jan de. La urbanización de Europa 1500–1800, translated by Ramón Grau. Barcelona, 1987. VVAA. Concejos y ciudades en la Edad Media Hispánica. ii Congreso de Estudios Medievales (Léon, 1989). Madrid, 1990. Wunenburger, Jean Jacques. Imaginaires du politique. Paris, 2001. Wunenburger, Jean Jacques. “Mythe urbain et violence fondatrice.” In La fundación de la ciudad. Mitos y ritos en el mundo antiguo, edited by Pedro Azara Nicolas, 21–27. Barcelona, 2000. Yun Casalilla, Bartolomé. Imaginaires du politique. Paris, 2001. Yun Casalilla, Bartolomé. “Economic cycles and structural changes.” In Handbook of European History 1400–1600. Late Middles Ages, Renaissance and Reformation, edited by Thomas A. Brady, Heiko A. Oberman, and James D. Tracy, 113–146. Leiden, 1994.

Part 4 The City in the Hispaniae (15th to 18th Centuries)

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Chapter 7

Characteristics of Castilian Cities in the 16th and 17th Centuries Antonio Irigoyen López 1 Introduction Why the Spanish Monarchy and empire neglected urbanization, one of the most characteristic phenomena of the early modern period, is not an easy question to answer. Although somewhat connected to a general decline in the Mediterranean,1 the urban crisis is a typically Castilian phenomenon.2 ­Castilian cities between the 16th and 18th centuries correspond to the historiographical stereotype of “rise and fall”; similar expressions would apply as well: “splendour and misery,” “growth and crisis.” However expressed, the concept is one of a conspicuous change. Although in the 16th century Castile was eminently an urban society,3 in the 18th century it was hardly so, as clearly shown by changes in the 1591 and 1787 censuses. The work of Jan de Vries—the key reference for the study of urbanization in early modern Europe—confirms the urban decline of Spain and, more specifically, of the Crown of Castile. In 1500 there were 20 cities in Spain with more than 10,000 inhabitants; by 1600 this number had grown to 37. By 1700, however, the number had dropped to 22, only to start growing once more, to 34 in 1800.4 The rapid urban and demographic growth of the 16th century collapsed in the 17th century, to recover slowly 1 Jan de Vries, La urbanización de Europa, 1500–1800, translated by Ramón Grau (Barcelona, 1987), 60. This work is part of the research projects “Social environments of change. New solidarities and rupture of hierarchies (xvi–xx centuries)” (HAR2017-84226-C6-1-P), funded by the Seneca Foundation: Regional Agency for Science and Technology in the Region of Murcia, and “Families and individuals: patterns of modernity and social change (16th– 21th centuries)” (HAR2013-48901-C6-1-R), funded by the Ministry of Economy, Industry and Competitiveness of the Government of Spain. The translation was made by David Govantes Edwards. 2 “Castile” and “Castilian” are used to refer to the historical Crown of Castile. 3 Oliver Zeller, Historia de la Europa urbana, iii: La ciudad moderna, translated by Imma Estany Morros (Valencia, 2010), 25–26: Spain’s urban population in 1500 was 18.4% of the total, well above the European average (10.3%), and included 58 cities with more than 5,000 inhabitants. 4 Vries, La urbanización de Europa, 46.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���9 | doi:10.1163/9789004399693_009

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throughout the 18th; the expansion of the 1500s, however, was not reached again5 until the 19th century. This, in any case, only refers to one variable of urban development: that of population. Jan de Vries established four requisites for a settlement to be defined as a city: population size, density of settlement, share of non-agricultural occupations, and diversity of non-agricultural occupations.6 The first two are demographic variables, whereas the third and fourth have to do with economic and social aspects, but as well with political and cultural factors. Any overview of Castilian cities in the 16th and 17th centuries, in order to ensure clarity, must examine demography, economy, politics, culture, and religion. According to Giovanni Botero, a city’s inhabitants and their power were the factors that made it great: A city is said to be an assembly of people, a congregation drawn together to the end they may thereby the better live at their ease in wealth and plenty. And the greatness of a city is said to be, not the largeness of the site or the circuit of the walls, but the multitude and number of the inhabitants and their power.7 Other aspects, such as centrality or functionality, may be discussed in relation to the generation of an urban system, but for the modest aim of underlining what cities in Castile had in common it must be taken into account that Castile cannot be considered a homogenous entity; cities in Andalusia and Asturias, for instance, or in Galicia and Extremadura, were considerably different. Madrid was a totally idiosyncratic case—its growth in the 17th century being wholly dependent on its role as the seat of the Spanish Crown8—having little in common with the general evolution of urbanization.9 As Fernando Chueca Goitia pointed out, the definition of a city cannot depend on a negative premise: i.e., what is not its surrounding countryside.10 José Antonio Maravall insisted on this idea when he pointed out that the 17th century was less agrarian than its economic structure would suggest, and that a city must be closely connected with its surrounding countryside, over which 5 6 7

Ibid. 59–60. Ibid. 25. Giovanni Botero, A Treatise Concerning the Causes of the Magnificence and Greatness of Cities, translated by Robert Peterson (London, 1606), 1. 8 Zeller, Historia de la Europa urbana, 21–22. 9 David R. Ringrose, Madrid and the Spanish Economy, 1560–1850 (Berkeley, 1983) is still a must-read. 10 Fernando Chueca Goitia, Breve Historia del urbanismo, 9th ed. (Madrid, 1982), 33.

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it exercised strong influence, if not domination.11 Jan de Vries maintains that there is a close connection between urban growth and territorial development; cities, in consequence, do not grow in isolation from their hinterland.12 It is, therefore, obvious that urban development cannot be understood without due consideration being given to rural demographic dynamics. Indeed, historical demographics often consider cities merely as net consumers of population;13 rural exodus and urban concentration are two elements of a single process. This was particularly true of Castile. Foreign travellers were startled by its sparse population and deserted wastelands. Population density in Castile was among the lowest in early modern Europe, and reflected enduring conditions of demographic precariousness.14 For these reasons, cities must be characterized in qualitative, rather than quantitative, terms: a human settlement can be defined as a city only when the occupation and role of its population clearly differ from those of its surrounding territory.15 Apart from recent bibliographies—including works on Spanish cities as well as general approaches to urban history—the main sources consulted for this study are 16th- and 17th-century treatises on urbanism. The Renaissance witnessed a strong surge of interest in cities, and urban iconographies underwent extraordinary development, as evidenced by two key works of the genre: Sebastian Münster’s Cosmographia, published in Basel in 1550, and Georg Braun and Franz Hogenberg’s Civitates Orbis Terrarum, published in 1572.16 In addition, chorography, a literary genre between topographic description and historical narrative, was used by governments to promote their cities,17 as well as to justify the power and privileges of the ruling urban oligarchies. A number of chorographies have been consulted,18 in combination with the 11 José Antonio Maravall, La cultura del Barroco, 9th ed. (Barcelona, 1975), 232–234. 12 Vries, La urbanización de Europa, 109–113. 13 Michael W. Flinn, El sistema demográfico europeo, 1500–1820, translated by Juan Faci (Barcelona, 1989), 39. 14 Alberto Marcos Martín, España en los siglos xvi, xvii y xviii (Barcelona, 2000), 32. 15 Rosa María González Martínez, La población española (ss. xvi, xvii y xviii) (Madrid, 2002), 39. 16 Consuelo Gómez López, “Los retratos urbanos en el Renacimiento,” in La imagen de la ciu­ dad en la Edad Moderna, ed. Alicia Cámara Muñoz and Consuelo Gómez López (Madrid, 2011), 55. 17 Richard L. Kagan, “La Corografía en la Castilla moderna. Género, Historia, Nación,” Studia Histórica. Historia Moderna 13 (1995): 49 and 54. 18 Pedro de Alcocer, Historia o descripción de la ciudad Imperial de Toledo (Toledo, 1554); Francisco de Pisa, Descripción de la imperial ciudad de Toledo, e historia de sus antigüe­ dades, y grandeza y cosas memorables, los reyes que la han señoreado o gobernado y sus arzobispos más celebrados (Toledo, 1617); Francisco de Cascales, Discursos históricos de

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more general Primera y Segunda parte de las grandezas y cosas notables de España.19 In historiographical terms, Spanish urban history has been heavily influenced by French models, most notably Huguette and Pierre Chaunu and Bartolomé Bennassar’s works on Seville and Valladolid, respectively,20 as well as Jean Paul Le Flem’s work on Segovia, and Julián Montemayor’s on Toledo.21 These works intended to provide broad historical overviews of specific cities. The late 1970s witnessed the publication of titles on Segovia, Cáceres, Ciudad Real, Murcia, Córdoba, and Santiago de Compostela.22 Progressively, this generalist approach was replaced by studies that focused on specific aspects of urban life and its oligarchies, while others began to reflect on theoretical aspects of the definition of a city.23 2

Urban Characteristics

In general, early modern Castilian cities remained heavily reminiscent of their medieval precedents. As pointed out by Lewis Mumford, the Renaissance did not introduce substantial urban novelties, while the old intermingled

19 20 21 22

23

la ciudad de Murcia y su reino (Murcia, 1622); Bernabé Moreno de Vargas, Historia de la ciudad de Mérida (Madrid, 1633); Rodrigo Caro, Antigüedades y principado de Sevilla y corografía de su convento jurídico o antigua Chancillería (Seville, 1634); Alonso Núñez de Castro, Historia eclesiástica y seglar de la muy noble y muy leal ciudad de Guadalajara (Madrid, 1653). Primera y Segunda parte de las grandezas y cosas notables de España, compuesta primera­ mente por el Maestro Pedro de Medina vecino de Sevilla y ahora nuevamente corregida y muy ampliada por Diego Pérez de Mesa (Alcalá de Henares, 1595). Huguette et Pierre Chaunu, Séville et l’Atlantique (1504–1650), 11 vols. (Paris, 1955–1960); Bartolomé Bennassar, Valladolid au siécle d’or: une ville de Castille et sa campagne au xvie siècle (Paris, 1967). María José Villalta, “El hispanismo francés y la historia de las ciudades en la España moderna,” in La historia moderna de España y el hispanismo francés, ed. Francisco García González (Madrid, 2009), 179. Ángel García Sanz, Desarrollo y crisis del Antiguo Régimen en Castilla la Vieja. Economía y sociedad en tierras de Segovia de 1500 a 1814 (Madrid, 1977); Ángel Rodríguez Sánchez, Cá­ ceres en el siglo xvi. Población y comportamientos demográficos (Cáceres, 1977); Carla Rahn Phillips, Ciudad Real, 1500–1750: Growth, Crisis, and Readjustment in the Spanish Economy (Cambridge, Mass., 1979); Francisco Chacón Jiménez, Murcia en la centuria del Quinien­ tos (Murcia, 1979); José I. Fortea Pérez, Córdoba en el siglo xvi: las bases ­demográficas y económicas de una expansión urbana (Córdoba, 1981); Juan Eloy Gelabert, Santiago y la tierra de Santiago de 1500 a 1640 (La Coruña, 1982). Villalta, “El hispanismo francés,” 178.

Characteristics of Castilian Cities (16th to 17th Centuries)

293

­naturally with the new.24 Thus, Castilian cities were largely characterized by two features: their city walls and narrow streets. Although city walls were a European-wide phenomenon since antiquity, while in Spain narrow streets were inherited from the time of Muslim domination. The wall, originally intended for defence, framed urban life and separated it from the surrounding countryside. This explains the prominent role ascribed to walls in 17th-century works—e.g., Caro’s work on Seville and Cascales’ on Murcia, where the quality of the walls is praised beyond their realities. The city wall was a symbol of identity and citizen pride. Yet walls constrained cities, limiting their growth; keeping suburban areas built outside city walls impeded the full articulation of urban quarters. For this reason, in the 18th and 19th centuries, many Castilian cities pulled down their city walls, although they survive, for example, in Lugo, Ávila, León, and Toledo. The narrow streets were another major characteristic of Castilian cities, although many took measures to correct this feature, for example Ávila, Guadalajara, and Segovia.25 One of the main contributions of the early modern period to urbanism was the construction of wide and straight thoroughfares, which served to connect main areas of the cities, as well as to enhance buildings erected according to a new aesthetic criteria.26 In addition, whereas medieval cities were dominated by pedestrians, new city planning strategies aimed to facilitate the transit of carriages and other vehicles. Streets were thus ­widened, obstacles pulled down, corners and other intrusions reduced, and layouts replaced with right angles.27 This new approach to urbanism was a way to elevate the category of the city; a description of Guadalajara published in the mid-17th century, for instance, claimed that “even if some of the city streets are narrow, others are wide and well-set, with ample squares, and carriages can circulate freely.”28 Around the same time, the traveller Jouvin indicated, perhaps somewhat hyperbolically, that in Murcia “all streets are so wide and beautiful that you’d think that the 24 25 26 27

28

Lewis Mumford, La ciudad en la Historia, translated by E.L. Revol (Buenos Aires, 1974), 482–483. José Miguel Muñoz Jiménez, “El urbanismo del Siglo de Oro en Ávila. La modernización de la ciudad medieval (1550–1650),” Butlletí de la Reial Acadèmia Catalana de Belles Arts de Sant Jordi 12 (1998): 136–138. Chueca Goitia, Breve historia del urbanismo, 116–120 and 144–162. Luis Cervera Vera, “La Época de los Austrias,” in Resumen histórico del urbanismo en Es­ paña (Madrid, 1987), 182–183; José García Mercadal, ed., Viajes de extranjeros por España y Portugal desde los tiempos más remotos hasta comienzos del siglo xx, 6 vols. (Valladolid, 1999), 2:826. Núñez de Castro, Historia eclesiástica, 4.

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city is new.” That was precisely the objective, to break with the past and create a new urban reality; the avenue became the symbol of the Baroque city. The paving of major thoroughfares from the 16th century contributed even further to these developments. Communications, both with the outside and within the city itself, improved, as did hygiene and ornamentation.29 Valladolid is a good example of this ideal of the early modern city: Every single stone and foundation declares [the city’s] role as Royal Court, such are the sumptuousness and majesty of houses, streets and the whole town. Houses are large, tall and well-built, with many grilles, balconies and galleries. The streets are wide and long.30 Yet narrow streets, cul-de-sacs, and alleyways still existed in abundance. Significantly, in the 17th century, Sebastián de Covarrubias Orozco’s Tesoro de la Lengua Castellana referred to them in the following terms: “these alleyways and lanes are unwholesome and suspicious, and are often found in suburbs and faraway districts, being as they are inhabited by contemptible and vile people.”31 That is, these streets, relics from the past, did not respond to modern urban parameters. At the same time, they did not really belong to the city, since they were located in the suburbs. Suburbs in themselves were still viewed with little regard, as demonstrated by Covarrubias Orozco’s definition of the word “arrabal”: It is the neighbourhood that is located outside of the city walls or adjacent to them; they are inhabited by common and boisterous people who, in order to live with more liberty or because they multiply in excess, are forced to build their houses outside of the city.32 The inhabitants of these suburb were not considered true citizens, largely because they were of common, if not marginal, social extraction. To an extent, they lived outside the city’s rules and laws. The city wall, therefore, can be said to have separated two different worlds: the city, a haven of order and safety, and the suburb, a lawless territory. However, as a result of demographic growth, the suburb ultimately became part of the city, leading councils to legislate and 29 30 31 32

Chacón Jiménez, Murcia en la centuria del Quinientos, 84–85. Primera y Segunda Parte de las Grandezas y Cosas Notables de España, 229. Sebastián de Covarrubias Orozco, Tesoro de la Lengua Castellana o Española (Madrid, 1611), 177. Covarrubias Orozco, Tesoro de la Lengua Castellana, 88.

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intervene. For instance, in 16th-century Cuenca, the bourgeoisie settled in the lower city and the common people in the marginal suburbs of San Antón, Tiradores, and el Castillo.33 These areas, however, soon witnessed the construction of noble houses, monasteries, churches, and administrative buildings. The suburb of San Pedro in Valladolid was said to have “very rich and large houses belonging to the Royal Chancellery and the Inquisition.”34 As a consequence, suburbs began to be regarded more positively. This is made clear by Rodrigo Caro’s words on Sevilian suburbs; of Triana he stated that “it was so large and populous that elsewhere it would be considered an illustrious city,” also pointing out that these suburbs had “so many and so large houses, warehouses and shipyards that it seems impossible to count them.”35 Squares were another key feature of Renaissance and Baroque European cities.36 Their origins in Italy were meant to raise the status of cities. Castile developed a characteristic model, the Plaza Mayor (literally, the “Main Square”), around which the whole life of the city revolved.37 In César Navascues’ words, “this was a rectangular square, with characteristically regular, porticoed facades, offering a regular and balanced perspective all around”; according to Navascues, lesser squares progressively emerged in the vicinity of the main one. In contrast with the Plaza Mayor, which was generally designed ex pro­ fesso, these lesser squares grew haphazardly over time.38 The Plaza Mayor not only connected major streets and landmarks, but was the main social meeting point and the political and administrative center. It also hosted public performances: tournaments, bullfights, greased poles, and masquerades, not to mention the infamous autos de fe (public acts of penance convened by the Inquisition).39 The ultimate objective of the Plaza Mayor was to become a dignified stage where the city could celebrate its public events.40 For these same 33

Miguel Á. Troitiño Vinuesa, “Cuenca, Patrimonio Cultural de la Humanidad: retos de futuro,” in Vivir las ciudades históricas: recuperación integrada y dinámica funcional, ed. Miguel Á. Troitiño Vinuesa and Joaquín S. García Marchant (Cuenca, 1998), 62. 34 Primera y Segunda Parte de las Grandezas y Cosas Notables de España, 230. 35 Caro, Antigüedades y principado de Sevilla, 47. 36 Chueca Goitia, Breve historia del urbanismo, 118–120. 37 Ibid. 120–125. 38 Pedro Navascués Palacio, “La Plaza Mayor en España,” Papeles de Arquitectura Española 5 (2002): 3. 39 Antonio López Ontiveros and José Naranjo Ramírez, “Representación simbólica e imagen urbana de la plaza de ‘La Corredera’ (Córdoba) a lo largo de su historia,” Boletín de la Aso­ ciación de Geógrafos Españoles 55 (2011): 346–347. 40 Cervera Vera, “La Época de los Austrias,” 176–177; Ricardo Molina, Córdoba gongorina (Córdoba, 1962), 15; Chacón Jiménez, Murcia en la centuria del Quinientos, 88–89.

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reasons, a large number of major squares were built or renovated throughout the 16th and 17th centuries; the square became the symbol of the city and the emblem of new artistic trends. There are excellent examples in Madrid, Valla­ dolid, León, Salamanca, and Vitoria; this category also includes the Plaza de la Corredera in Córdoba, and the Plaza de Zocodover in Toledo (which was never finished),41 to mention but a few. Squares played a clear economic role as a node of commercial activity. Mérida, for example, had “an excellent square, porticoed on three sides and with a pleasing fountain in the middle; every Tuesday there is a rich market, and twice a year, a big fair.”42 In Murcia, economic activity revolved around two triangles joined by the square of Santa Catalina, which acted much as its Plaza Mayor: the first was composed of the squares of Arenal and San Francisco, and the second the squares of Mercado and Arrixaca.43 3

Demographic Characteristics

Although most of the Spanish population still lived in the countryside,44 in the 16th century Castile had one of the largest urban populations in Europe. According to Jan de Vries, the number of Castilian cities with more than 10,000 inhabitants increased by 85% during the 16th century, compared with 43% across the whole continent; their overall population also increased by 123%, compared with 72% over the continent.45 Regional contrasts were, however, distinct. By the late 16th century, two regions stood out in terms of urban density, Andalusia and central Castile, which were separated by a largely depopulated strip between Extremadura and Murcia, across southern La Mancha; to the north it was difficult to find cities worthy of the name.46 The Guadalquivir valley was by far the most urbanized region, with 57% of the population living in towns of more than 5,000 inhabitants and 39% in cities of more than 10,000. At this time, Andalusia was the most urbanized area in Europe; in 1600, only 24% of the inhabitants of the Netherlands lived in cities with more than 10,000

41 42 43 44 45 46

Chueca Goitia, Breve historia del urbanismo, 118–125. Moreno de Vargas, Historia de la ciudad de Mérida, 2. Chacón Jiménez, Murcia en la centuria del Quinientos, 95. Marcos Martín, España en los siglos xvi, xvii y xviii, 41. Rosa González Martínez, La población española (ss. xvi, xvii y xviii) (Madrid, 2002), 39. David S. Reher, “Auge y declive del mundo urbano de la Corona de Castilla durante la Edad Moderna: Aspectos de un reajuste de largo alcance,” in Ciudad y mundo urbano en la época moderna, ed. Luis A. Ribot García and Luigi De Rosa (Madrid, 1997), 48–49.

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inhabitants. The explanation for such an advanced degree of urbanization lies in trade with the Americas and high agricultural productivity.47 In the Castilian plateau, three major cities—Valladolid, Toledo, and ­Madrid—were the three nodes of a true urban system integrated by commercial and administrative links. Each of the cities had its own speciality: Toledo produced silk, with Salamanca specializing in leather, and Cuenca, Segovia, and Zamora hosting other industries. Valladolid and, later, Madrid were centers of government. Toledo was the religious capital, and Salamanca, Alcalá, and Valladolid supported major universities. In consequence, the urban network of Castile around 1600 was well articulated and included 31 of the 37 Spanish cities with more than 10,000 inhabitants, as well as a large number of smaller centers that could be considered as having an urban nature.48 By the late 18th century, the situation had changed considerably. Although to a lesser extent than in the 16th century, Andalusia was still highly urbanized, but in Castile Madrid remained the only important urban center. The demographic decline in inner Castile was nothing short of spectacular;49 it was largely a consequence of the urban crisis of the 17th century, which was in turn an outcome of declining agricultural production, the subsequent industrial and commercial downturn, and the progressive ruralization of the economy.50 The most severe repercussion of this phenomenon was the total dissolution of the integrated, specialized, and hierarchical urban system that had existed in the 16th century. By contrast, small towns in the interior experienced a certain amount of growth, as did those located on the periphery. Cities in Galicia and Cantabria grew by 64% between 1600 and 1700, and by 10% in Murcia.51 Overall, the 18th century witnessed a process of demographic growth in Spain, the population of which increased from 7.5 to 11 million. Once more, the increase took place mostly at the periphery. Galicia’s population increased by 25–30%, while Asturias, Cantabria, and the Basque country by 0.40–0.45% per year, with most of the increase concentrated towards the last third of the century.52 In the Kingdom of Murcia, growth was also quite significant. It could be said that in the 18th century the region underwent a veritable repopulation, since between 1650 and 1800 the number of inhabitants increased ­fourfold. Two phases can clearly be distinguished. First, a slow process of recovery, which lasted until 1690, followed by a more rapid growth during the 47 48 49 50 51 52

Reher, “Auge y declive del mundo urbano,” 49. Marcos Martín, España en los siglos xvi, xvii y xviii, 43. Reher, “Auge y declive del mundo urbano,” 51. Marcos Martín, España en los siglos xvi, xvii y xviii, 45. González Martínez, La población española (ss. xvi, xvii y xviii), 52–54. Ibid. 52–54.

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18th ­century, especially its first half: from 82,770 inhabitants in 1694, the region reached 252,620 inhabitants in 1787.53 Inner Castile, in turn, also grew slightly in demographic terms, but in 1787 the figures still fell short of the levels registered in 1591. Finally, Andalusia grew from 1.3 to 1.9 million inhabitants during the 18th century. According to Oliver Zeller’s data, the Spanish urbanization index progressed slightly, between 18.4% in 1500 to 19.5% in 1800, largely owing to Madrid’s spectacular growth. In Castile, Andalusia maintained its high degree of urbanization, especially due to the growth of Cádiz and Málaga, while in the interior regions the development was generally focused on the primary urban sector, which propitiated the emergence of veritable agro-cities.54 4

Economic Features

The demographic decline of Castilian cities was essentially related to the economic crisis and stagnation of a productive model based on local industries and its replacement by a regime founded on the exportation of raw materials. In the early 16th century, several Castilian cities had boasted a certain amount of development in the industrial sector, especially in textiles. However, this sector lost out to its international competitors, and was ultimately incapable of satisfying even internal demand. As a result, most manufactured products in the Iberian Peninsula had a foreign origin. It is likely that the rigid organization of production imposed by the guilds had much to do with this. In Castile, urban industrial production was based on small family-run workshops, which were poorly equipped and reluctant to hire external labor;55 in addition, protectionist rules imposed by the guilds deprived these workshops of the flexibility needed to respond to fluctuations of the market and thus offer a competitive response to external competition. As a result, this promising industry collapsed, bringing Castilian commerce down with it. In the early 17th century, the Toledo merchant Damián Olivares expressed his concern for his city’s declining silk industry,56 and warned against the consequences that the economic crisis could have on the structure of the monarchy: 53

María Teresa Pérez Picazo and Guy Lemeunieur, El proceso de modernización de la Región de Murcia (Murcia, 1984), 136. 54 Zeller, Historia de la Europa urbana, 30–31. 55 Marcos Martín, España en los siglos xvi, xvii y xviii, 71. 56 Ángel Santos Vaquero, La industria textil sedera de Toledo (Cuenca, 2010), 11–112; Ángel Santos Vaquero, “Memorial del mercader toledano Damián de Olivares, de 17 de febrero de 1626,” Espacio, Tiempo y Forma, Serie iv, Historia Moderna 12 (1999): 151–180.

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It happens, Sire, that we are suffering the same with the presence of foreigners, who are taking over the trade and business of these Kingdoms, while our commerce dies away and we are plunged in poverty and misery and our life fades. The merchant that was previously wealthy is t­ oday poor, and ill, and so dies. And the artisan that could weave or something of the kind, is now carrying out miserable and heavy tasks, which he is not used to and ultimately make him sick to death. Then there are those that cannot find work of any sort, and through not eating and going through penury, also die. Sire, this is a universal problem, because I am not only arguing for the merchants, because this affects all the inhabitants of the kingdom, including the King, the Lords, the Doctors, the Knights, the Church, the Convents, the Hospitals, the Parsons and all the charitable works thereof. The King’s revenue depends on these trades and businesses, and if these fail those that depend cannot but also fare badly. And if those that own land and houses do not find anyone to rent them and work them, the Kingdom will become depopulated and poor, because revenue will cease. Little revenue can the lords expect from depopulated land, empty houses and barren fields. This is a chain, and if the commercial link is removed, the chain will inevitably go into disarray.57 In any case, the Castilian economy was still totally dominated by agriculture and stock-breeding, while other economic activities played a secondary role.58 This was reflected in the composition of urban population: in most cities of southern Castile (with the exceptions of Seville and Cádiz, which were major commercial centers), the majority of the population worked in agriculture. Castilian cities, therefore, were not quite as urban as they seemed, hence the term “agro-city.”59 Specialized trades existed, but it cannot be said that Castilian cities witnessed a true social division of labor. The urban nature of these settlements largely depended on the presence of a sector of the population that belonged to what in modern terms would be called the service industry—e.g., doctors, pharmacists, scribes, and lawyers—and a wide variety of specialized food retailers such as butchers and bakers.

57 58 59

Damián de Olivares, A la imperial ciudad de Toledo, Damián de Olivares: apuntamientos para declaración de su parecer (Toledo, n.d.). Marcos Martín, España en los siglos xvi, xvii y xviii, 244. Reher, “Auge y declive del mundo urbano,” 56–57.

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Social and Political Features

From a social and political perspective, cities are characterized by broad social differences and the existence of an oligarchy. The main variable is what is termed the “membership criteria” of this oligarchy. According to Fernand Braudel’s classic,60 and to some extent idealized, notion that the development of the national state in the early modern period harmed cities by making them submit to its own bureaucratic and fiscal apparatus, promoting commercial capitalism and creating professional standing armies. This thesis has been followed by authors such as Fernando Chueca Goitia61 and Cesare de Seta, who claim that the link between cities and municipal liberty, which characterized the Middle Ages, fractured during the early modern period. According to Cesare de Seta, the best example of this can be found in Charles V’s Universal Monarchy. The repression that followed the revolt of the Comuneros (1520–21) deeply affected Castilian cities, which were totally defeated and left devoid of any political power.62 Cesare de Seta concludes that “the war with the Catholic monarch had grave consequences for Castile, which was turned into an uninhabited, rural wasteland.”63 Traditionally, the historiographical question focused on the relationship between the municipal and the royal power, and the capacity of the former to survive and retain some degree of autonomy.64 The ultimate success of the modern state was based on the creation of a hierarchy of delegated layers of authority through which to exercise effective control over the territory. In Castile, the new system had the support of local elites, who threw in their lot with the Crown. It seems clear that the fiasco of the Comuneros had a lasting effect on the political evolution of Castilian cities, as the Crown became the main source of privilege and power; under the new conditions, only local elites with the consent of the Crown could survive, preserve their sinecures, and keep some political authority at the local level. This process was not spontaneous, 60 61 62 63 64

Fernand Braudel, El Mediterráneo y el mundo mediterráneo en tiempos de Felipe ii, translated by Mario Monteforte, Wenceslo Roces, and Vicente Simón, 2 vols. (Mexico City, 1976), 1:432–434. Chueca Goitia, Breve historia del urbanismo, 138. Joseph Pérez, La revolución de las comunidades de Castilla (1520–1521), translated by Juan José Faci (Madrid, 1977), 679–684. Cesare de Seta, La ciudad europea del siglo xv al xx, translated by I. Morán García (Madrid, 2002), 210. Francisco José Aranda Pérez, “Poder y ‘poderes’ en la Ciudad: Gobierno y sociedad en el mundo urbano castellano en la Edad Moderna,” in Ciudad y mundo urbano en la época moderna, ed. Luis A. Ribot García and Luigi De Rosa (Madrid, 1997), 137.

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but required bargaining. The notion that the multiplication of municipal offi­ ces in the 16th and 17th centuries and the practice of office-selling responded to the financial needs of the Crown needs revision. The Crown’s financial requirements were certainly a factor, but the urban oligarchy’s needs to expand their base can not be dismissed.65 Ultimately, it was a matter of saving the estatesystem by preventing social conflict and facilitating social mobility among the upper cadres of the middle class, whose economic potential could be taken advantage of by both the Crown and the local oligarchies. At any rate, in terms of the exercise of local authority, Castilian cities underwent several phases during the early modern period. The first phase witnessed the growth of the Crown’s power, starting with the Catholic monarchs and followed by Charles V and Philip ii, whose influence over the local councils was always on the rise. The new structure of urban oligarchies and local councils was fully consolidated by the 17th century, when access to power was already restricted to a few families that governed the cities and became the interlocutors between the urban population and the Crown, a role they played to their own advantage.66 The arrival of the Bourbons in the 18th century brought changes to this system as these oligarchies had outgrown their cities and saw other arenas, especially the royal court, as the natural environment for higher political ambitions. However, oligarchies are not monolithic but evolve over time. Thus, periods when social mobility was active alternated with others in which it was totally precluded. This meant the active circulation of individuals in and out of the local oligarchies, as described by Lawrence Stone,67 while some internal hierarchies crystallized within oligarchies to form stable power groups.68 Purity of blood, as an element of social discrimination, was to play a significant role in this process.69 In any case, owing to their intense political activity, cities provided significant opportunities for social promotion. An urban office was a prestigious position, no minor matter in a society such as that of Castile, in which inequality, 65 66 67 68 69

Francisco J. Aranda Pérez, Poder y poderes en la ciudad de Toledo: gobierno, sociedad y oli­ garquías urbanas en la Edad Moderna (Cuenca, 1999), 237–238. Francisco J. Guillamón Álvarez, José J. Ruiz Ibáñez, and José J. García Hourcade, La Co­ rona y los representantes del Reino de Murcia (1590–1640): necesidad, negociación, beneficio (Murcia, 1995), 9–17. Lawrence Stone, “Social mobility in England, 1500–1700,” Past and Present 33 (1966): 16–55, esp. 16–18. José Antonio Maravall, Poder, honor y élites en el siglo xvii, 3rd. ed. (Madrid, 1989), 173–184. Juan Hernández Franco and Raimundo A. Rodríguez Pérez, “La limpieza de sangre en las ciudades hispánicas durante la Edad Moderna,” Revista de historiografía 16 (2012): 71–81.

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honor, and lineage were key social factors. Social ascent in cities was created by the interplay of horizontal (family, class) and vertical (patronage) relationships. The early modern city, thus, must be viewed as a construct of links and relationships between individuals and groups; social ties are substantial structures which are not merely notional but quite real.70 For this reason, the belief that cities were places where social advancement was possible turned them into beacons for those who wished to climb to positions of power, as well as for those at the base of the social pyramid. The city was thus viewed with hope by both those who wanted to find professional betterment and for those in desperate straits. Another characteristic of Castilian cities, after all, was the concentration of charitable institutions. This concept of evangelical charity prevalent during the Ancien Régime was a lifeline for the poorest social groups. As pointed out by Alberto Marcos Martín,71 the poor played a social role: they created opportunities for charity, a duty for all Christians. Cities featured a multiplicity of charitable institutions, including brotherhoods constituted for the mutual assistance of its members, their families, and the poor in general, hospitals sponsored by the Church, local councils, brotherhoods, and private persons who took care of the poor and the sick,72 and other institutions, such as public cereal warehouses and soup kitchens. These institutions were based on Catholic doctrines of charity, but also reciprocity and paternalism. Following this logic, the primary recipients of charity were those who were closest to the givers, those who could be recognized as sharing some of the characteristics of the benefactors.73 Regulations issued in 1739 condensed the paternalistic spirit that drove charity: Murcia, thus, continued playing its role as universal mother, as the refuge of many of her children who, lacking the means to sustain their body, cannot attend to the main care, that of the soul; . . . Murcia, embodied as a Mother, was carved on the façade of the Almudí or Alhódinga (public bread warehouse), breastfeeding two children while more wait at her 70 71 72 73

José M. Imízcoz Beúnza, “Actores sociales y redes de relaciones en las sociedades del Antiguo Régimen. Propuestas de análisis en historia social y política,” in Historia a debate ii: El retorno del sujeto, ed. Carlos Barros (Santiago de Compostela, 1995), 341–353. Alberto Marcos Martín, “El sistema de caridad organizado en las ciudades castellanas del Antiguo Régimen,” in Ciudad y mundo urbano en la época moderna, ed. Luis A. Ribot García and Luigi De Rosa (Madrid, 1997), 74. Marcos Martín, “El sistema de caridad,” 84. Stuart Woolf, Los pobres en la Europa moderna, translated by Teresa Camprodon (Barcelona, 1989), 35.

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feet, besides the following inscription: Charitas quae ad creationem coe­ git. Ipsa cogat ad regendum.74 Yet Murcia, the “universal mother,” was in fact the powerful and rich, those at the top of the political and economic system. The relief of Charity sculpted on the Almudí reveals the dominant position of this local oligarchy: it was they who watched over social welfare. They were the generous, the givers, and in the corporative social context of the Ancien Régime, as pointed out by Stuart Woolf and others before him, giving and receiving were the necessary expressions of the patronage links embodied in the values of family, status, honor, and respect.75 Charity was exercised by those who could and those who wanted to, but also by those who had to, as a kind of parental obligation: oligarchy is the mother of society and the poor are her children. For this reason, it has been argued that the relief of Charity in the Almudí was a public manifestation of one of the city’s most outstanding social virtues.76 The relief, dated to the mid16th century, is still visible as a symbolic testimony of the secular domination of the urban oligarchy. 6

Social and Cultural Features

A distinguishing feature of cities is the fact that they dominate the surrounding territory, and this is equally true in the cultural sphere. In James Amelang’s definition, culture is a communicative act that involves the transmission of ideas, values, beliefs, behaviours, and perception modes.77 In the early modern period, as well as in the contemporary period, as pointed out by Pierre Bourdieu,78 urban elites attempted to monopolize cultural life, for the prestige value of the cultural products they sponsored and sanctioned; in this, they were predominant in urban society and, of course, in the countryside. 74

Archivo Municipal de Murcia, Legajo n° 951: Reglamento de la Casa de Misericordia, año 1739. 75 Woolf, Los pobres en la Europa moderna, 36. 76 Daniel Carbonell Arroyo, El edificio Almudí de Murcia. Antecedentes, conservación y usos (Murcia, 1996), 47–48; Juan Torres Fontes, “El Almudí. Crónica Concejil,” Boletín de Infor­ mación del Excmo. Ayuntamiento de Murcia 20 (1968): 22. 77 James S. Amelang, “Algunas tareas y temas en la historia de la cultura urbana moderna,” in Ciudad y mundo urbano en la época moderna, ed. Luis A. Ribot García and Luigi De Rosa (Madrid, 1997), 218. 78 Pierre Bourdieu, La distinction. Critique sociale du jugement (París, 1979).

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In this manner, a city may be defined by a set of cultural products that reflect a specific set of social and professional groups; urban culture becomes synonymous with sophisticated culture, with refined culture, in opposition to popular culture, which it attempts to dominate.79 The important thing about urban culture that was new, and therefore dynamic, was its contrast with popular culture, which was eminently rural, traditional, devoid of novelties, and, in consequence, static and less attractive. For this reason, José A. Maravall argued that Baroque was an urban culture,80 the product of a city closely connected to the countryside but over which it loomed; Maravall also pointed out that Baroque was a directed cultural trend, an elite-driven attempt to impose a certain set of behaviours and habits that would guarantee the reproduction of the prevailing social order.81 The theater may have been one of the most characteristic cultural manifestations of Castilian cities and one of the monarchy’s favourite pastimes;82 at the same time, theater proved to be an extraordinary efficient mechanism for the dissemination of the official discourse. Typically, theaters and corrales de comedia (literally “theatrical courtyards”) were among the most emblematic buildings in every city, for example in Madrid (Corral del Príncipe and Corral de la Cruz), Seville (Coliseo), Granada (Casa del Carbón), Valladolid (Corralón del patio de San Lorenzo), and Toledo (Mesón de la Fruta).83 One of the keys for the dissemination of urban culture is certainly that of religious discourse. This was essential in the Crown of Castile, which had turned the defence of Catholicism into one of its essential features. Essentially, urban culture was ecclesiastical culture.84 A characteristic of Castilian cities was the constant presence of the religious element, or perhaps we should call it “ecclesiastic.” Urban culture imposed very specific religious practices and models: these emanated from the Council of Trent, the spirit of the Counter-­ Reformation, the triumph of a Catholicism based on public celebration and ritual, a Catholicism that encouraged public participation. Alfredo Alvar ­Ezquerra put forward a perfect description of spiritual conditions in Spain in the late 16th century: 79 Peter Burke, Popular Culture in Early Modern Europe (New York, 1978). 80 Maravall, La cultura del Barroco, 233. 81 Ibid. 132. 82 Carmen Sanz Ayán, “Fiestas, diversiones, juegos y espectáculos,” in La vida cotidiana en la España de Velázquez, ed. José Alcalá-Zamora (Madrid, 1989), 196. 83 Ibid. 196 and 376. 84 Ofelia Rey Castelao, “La cultura y sus expresiones en una ciudad clerical y universitaria,” in Historia de la ciudad de Santiago de Compostela, ed. Ermelindo Portela Silva (Santiago de Compostela, 2003), 369–370.

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From the perspective of the new religion dictated by Trent, it was more important to be seen acting proper than to act proper; to restrict your private religiosity and to make it public and collective, theatrical. The Baroque wipes out any form of intimate religion. Times are changing.85 Symbolic expressions insisted on the image of the triumphant Church. The Catholic faith became the basis of the Crown’s political agenda,86 the veritable paradigm of the confessional state. The importance of the religious element in the urban sphere was such that Fernando Chueca Goitia pointed out that, during the Baroque period, Spain witnessed the emergence of a sui generis urban typology: the convent city.87 While elsewhere in Europe there were cities with convents, some Spanish cities were almost turned into convents. In the end, Castilian cities aspired to be cities of God, reflected in both the human and topographical features. This trend radicalized even further after the Council of Trent, with some Castilian cities allowing Catholicism to impregnate their very design, culture, and essence: they became true Christianopoleis. The term is borrowed from Lewis Mumford, who in turn took it from Johann Valentin Andreae’s utopia to refer to the medieval city;88 the term has also been used to refer to certain Castilian cities in the early modern period, for instance Granada and Toledo.89 Images of Castilian cities during the early modern period are inevitably peppered with religious buildings and dominated by the cathedral, the novelist Vicente Blasco Ibáñez’s “Spanish-Church-Mother.” The cathedral became the center of the city, around which were parish churches, convents, and other religious buildings such as hospitals, orphanages, and hospices. Everything revolved around Catholicism. A small city such as Murcia supported multiple religious buildings (i.e., those directly used for religious ceremonies, such as churches, oratories, altars, graveyards, as well as other religious 85

Alfredo Alvar Ezquerra, “Un año en la vida de Cardenio y Luscinda,” in Vida y Sociedad en tiempos del Quijote, ed. Alfredo Alvar Ezquerra (Madrid, 2012), 146. 86 Pablo Fernández Albaladejo, “Católicos antes que ciudadanos. Gestación de una ‘Política española’ en los comienzos de la Edad Moderna,” in Imágenes de la diversidad. El mundo urbano en la Corona de Castilla (ss. xvi–xvii), ed. José I. Fortea Pérez (Santander, 1997), 103–127. 87 Chueca Goitia, Breve historia del urbanismo, 15. 88 Mumford, La ciudad en la Historia, 443–449. 89 José L. Orozco Pardo, Christianopolis. Urbanismo y Contrarreforma en la Granada del Seiscientos (Granada, 1985); Francisco José Aranda Pérez, La construcción de un mito ur­ bano: Toledo en la época del Quijote (Cuenca, 2006), 53–79.

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establishments that were not).90 According to the information conveyed by Bishop Ximénez’s relatio ad limina from 1818, apart from the cathedral, there were ten parish churches, fourteen male convents, nine female convents, the Bishop’s palace, the Hospital of San Juan de Dios, the Casa de la Misericordia, the Seminario Mayor (Greater Seminary) of San Fulgencio, the Seminario Menor (Lesser Seminary) of San Isidoro, the Jesuit School, the School of Purísima Concepción, and the Inquisition Palace.91 These descriptions indicate that cities were vehicles for religious images and sonifications;92 the early modern Castilian city was, by definition, a sacralized space. Castilian cities, with all propriety, can be defined as ecclesiastical. This image persisted, and was enhanced by 19th-century novelists, who stressed the enormous influence of clerics in all aspects of urban life in certain cities by referring to their population as “Levites,”93 for example in Cuenca, Santiago de Compostela, Oviedo, Vitoria, Zamora, Segovia, Málaga, and Granada, among others. 7

The Cathedral Chapter as an Institution of Power in the Castilian Cities

Early modern Castilian cities witnessed a struggle for the control of religion between co-existing religious corporations. The bishop, the tribunal of the Holy Office of the Inquisition, the parochial clergy, the religious orders, and the cathedral chapter occupied the same urban space. The cathedral chapter is the institution that reflects better than any other the local component of urban religious life in early modern Castile. The study of cathedral chapters may be a suitable vehicle for undertaking the analysis of the social system of cities during the Ancien Régime. Family, kinship, lineage, patron-client relationships, social networks, patronage, p ­ roperty, 90

91 92 93

José Carlos Vizuete Mendoza, “Lugares sagrados y órdenes religiosas. Monasterios y conventos en Toledo, en los comienzos de la Edad Moderna,” in Sacra loca toletana. Los espacios sagrados en Toledo, ed. José Carlos Vizuete Mendoza and Julio Martín Sánchez (Cuenca, 2008), 158–188, here 160. To this, twenty-three subsidiary temples should be added, including chapels, shrines, sanctuaries, and three private oratories: Antonio Irigoyen López and José J. García Hourcade, eds., Visitas ad limina del obispado de Cartagena, 1589–1901 (Murcia, 2001), 523–578. Teófanes Egido, “Religiosidad colectiva de los vallisoletanos,” in Valladolid en el siglo xviii (Valladolid, 1984), 157–260, here 169–170; Antonio Peñafiel Ramón, Mentalidad y religiosi­ dad popular murciana en la primera mitad del siglo xviii (Murcia, 1988), 128–131. Vizuete Mendoza, “Lugares sagrados y órdenes religiosas,” 168–169.

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inheritance, strategies, and succession; all are fundamental variables and historical concepts in any understanding of the position and role of Church and clergy in the cities of the Spanish Monarchy. Legally sanctioned inequality was a factor in the shaping of cathedral chapters, mirroring the broader social structure. The chapter’s internal hierarchy was divided into two major groups: the upper class and the lower class. Dignitaries and canons formed the former group and prebendaries and semi-­ prebendaries the latter.94 A rigid hierarchical division separated these two worlds. The abyss between these groups were financial as well. Both of the upper groups—canons and dignitaries—drew higher rents than the lower groups: dignitaries received four times as much as semi-prebendaries, and twice as much as prebendaries. Lineage was another key social principle in Castilian cities. The peculiar Spanish caste system was reflected in the purity of blood categories that were applied in the cathedral chapter.95 Family was the basic social unit.96 In addition to attaching an individual to a particular group, it determined the individual’s role in and facilitated his or her insertion into, the social fabric of the city. It also generated a series of obligations. Family relationships constituted one of the main determining factors in people’s behaviour. However, family-related social norms were more assumed than formally enforced; as Casey points out, family was a moral system rather than an institution.97 The concept of family cannot be seen in isolation from other social factors. Apart from blood ties, individuals were entangled in social webs determined by their origin and social position, a set of social relationships essential to an understanding of the social dynamics of Castilian cities. Social networks allows an examination of individuals through their multiple social relationships.98 It is the lack of definite and precise limits of social networks—in short, their diffuse nature—that makes using them such an attractive proposition. According 94 95 96 97 98

Prebendary could be the translation of the Spanish word racionero. Juan Hernández Franco, Sangre limpia, sangre española. El debate de los estatutos de lim­ pieza (siglo xv–xvii) (Madrid, 2011); Juan Hernández Franco, Cultura y limpieza de sangre (Murcia, 1997). Francisco Chacón Jiménez, “La familia en España: una historia por hacer,” in La familia en la España mediterránea: siglos xv–xix, ed. James Casey, Francisco Chacón, et al. (Barcelona, 1986), 13–35, here 14. James Casey, Historia de la família, translated by Juan Luque (Madrid, 1991), 29–39. Giuseppe De Luca, “Mobilitá sociale e ricchezza: le protettive della ‘Network analysis’ nello studio della Milano del xvi secolo,” in Historia a debate ii: El retorno del sujeto, ed. Carlos Barros (Santiago de Compostela, 1995), 315–330.

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to Elizabeth Bott, the term “network” is opposed to that of “organised social group.”99 As a methodological tool, social network is a perfect “accessory” to family. Kinship plays a key role in the configuration of the network. Beyond family ties a wider range of social relationships, such as friendships, neighbourly relationships, godparenthood, fellowship, client-patron relationships, and even economic links allow for a broader view of social networks. Despite this, the social network is not a universal panacea to understand the operation of corporate societies of the Ancien Régime. Network analysis is not methodological individualism, as Gabriella Gribaudi has pointed out, as have other authors: the individual only becomes a unit to understand the social relationships that shape society.100 Social bonds are themselves institutions and, as such, are social structures. The social world is made up of relationships; it is the ties and relation networks among individuals and groups that constitute society.101 The individual can never be regarded as an isolated entity, and even less so in a feudal society in which “any man is what he is in society,”102 in Maravall’s words. In Castilian cities “who one was” was more important than “what one was.”103 First, the “who one was” placed the individual within the coordinates of kinship: one was “somebody’s son,” “somebody’s brother,” “somebody’s husband or wife”; in short, “somebody’s relative.” This was so much the case that one of the neighbours of the parish of San Lorenzo in Murcia was registered in the census of 1621 as Antonio Mondin, the prebendary’s brother: hidalgo.104 As such, the location of the individual in the urban landscape and how he or she was regarded within the estates-based regime was determined by his or her family ties. Kinship, an a priori feature, marked the position of people in the city. There was also a second component of identity, which was closely linked to kinship: social position, which was determined by the social group to which an individual belonged. Maravall can be quoted again in this regard: “social being and personal being are the same thing.”105 As a result, individuality appeared only after, and was based on, an inherited feature. 99

Elizabeth Bott, Familia y red social, translated by Rafael Gobernado Arribas (Madrid, 1990), 97–98. 100 Gabriella Gribaudi, “La metafora della rete: Individuo e contesto sociale,” Meridiana 15 (1992): 98. 101 Imízcoz Beúnza, “Actores sociales y redes de relaciones,” 341–353. 102 Maravall, Poder, honor y élites, 27. 103 Casey, Historia de la familia, 41. 104 Archivo Municipal de Murcia, Leg. n° 1067, n° 62. 105 Maravall, Poder, honor y élites, 29.

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Most of the members of the cathedral chapter belonged to middling urban families, who activated mechanisms in order to scale the social ladder and enter the local oligarchy. The cathedral chapter is a good proxy to examine these mechanisms. From their position in the cathedral chapter, clerics could assist their families in achieving their social aims, by agreeing to a new set of social relationships. Through their presence in the chapter, clergymen and their families increased their relational capital, a key move towards improving their status and prestige. Several factors facilitated the cathedral chapter’s prominent position in Castilian cities. First, it was a charismatic institution, as intermediary between human beings and God, a central mission in a society in which religion played a leading role. Even if bishops were recognized as the religious superiors of chapters, chapters were permanent institutions, while bishops were transitory, giving the cathedral chapter a greater religious influence on believers. Second, the chapter as an institution was a major economic agent. Most of the chapters income came from the tithe, which was supplemented by the rents generated by its own properties and by the religious services it rendered. Therefore, access to the cathedral chapter was usually limited to those who could show the proper kinship and patronage credentials. In this way, relational capital became the master key of the social system. These social relationships revolved around either individuals or families. Cathedral chapters were veritable social universes: many men who are more or less dependent and, at the same time, more or less autonomous, quoting Norbert Elías.106 8

Toledo, an Ecclesiastical City

Without doubt, the best example of an ecclesiastical city was Toledo. The Re­ laciones Topográficas—ordered by Philip ii and written by Luis Hurtado in 1576—pointed out that “the most outstanding buildings in this city are mostly churches, monasteries, hospitals and devotional houses.”107 Therefore, the religious substratum of the city has been of historiographical interest since the

106 Norbert Elias, La sociedad cortesana, translated by Guillermo Hirata (México, 1982), 48. 107 Francisco José Aranda Pérez, “El clero parroquial también se acabilda. El cabildo de curas y beneficiados de Toledo,” in Sociedad y élites eclesiásticas en la España moderna, ed. Francisco José Aranda Pérez (Cuenca, 2000), 237–288, here 251.

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16th century:108 its main mark of identity. Eugenio Larruga Boneta wrote as follows in the late 18th century: It can be called an ecclesiastical city, because despite not being much populated, with 4,400 households, it has 25 parish churches and the cathedral, 16 convents of friars, 23 of nuns, 4 schools, 1 university, 3 public chapels, 14 hospitals and several small shrines.109 Of course, the cathedral occupied a prominent place in the city, not only in physical but also in spiritual terms. The relationship between the city and the cathedral was so close that the descriptive work penned by Canon Blas de Ortiz in 1549 considered only two elements: the city and the cathedral that lives in its heart, in Felipe Pereda Espeso’s words.110 Toledo, therefore, fully identifies with its Primate Cathedral.

Figure 7.1 Georg Hoefnagel, “Toletum,” in Civitates Orbis Terrarum, Liber Primus, ed. Georg Braun and Franz Hogenberg. Cologne, 1572.

108 Francisco José Aranda Pérez, La construcción de un mito urbano: Toledo en la época del Quijote (Cuenca, 2006); José Carlos Vizuete Mendoza and Julio Martín Sánchez, eds., Sa­ cra loca toletana. Los espacios sagrados en Toledo (Cuenca, 2008). 109 Eugenio Larruga Boneta, Memorias políticas y económicas sobre los frutos, comercio, fábri­ cas y minas de España. Con inclusión de los reales decretos, órdenes, cédulas, aranceles y ordenanzas expedidas para su gobierno y fomento V: Que trata de varias manufacturas de Madrid; y del sitio, gobierno, población y producciones de la provincia de Toledo (Madrid, 1789), 93–94. 110 Felipe Pereda Espeso, “Leer en la Catedral: la experiencia de la arquitectura en 1549,” in La Catedral de Toledo, 1549: según el Dr. Blas Ortiz. Descripcion Graphica y Elegantissima de la Santa Iglesia de Toledo (Toledo, 1999), 99.

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The Alcázar also plays an important role in the city. This is relevant, as the Alcázar is a clear reference to the Catholic monarchy and the relationship between religion and state. This is clearly expressed in Georg Hoefnagel’s panoramic views of Toledo, published in the Civitates Orbis Terrarum in 1566. The city appears, as it were, framed by cathedral and Alcázar.111 Around it, under the mantle of the cathedral, the city appears full of religious buildings, as is also depicted in the picture Vista y plano de Toledo (View and Plan of Toledo), by El Greco. The painter numbered and identified sixtynine religious buildings, plus a few more. Several convents were left unidentified; the real number is seventy-five. The increase in the number of religious buildings was chiefly due to the foundation of new convents, a clear result of the Counter-Reformation. In the

Figure 7.2 Georg Hoefnagel, “Toletum,” in Civitates Orbis Terrarum, Liber Quintus, ed. Georg Braun and Franz Hogenberg. Cologne, 1598.

111 Maurizio Vesco, “Los signos de la grandeza urbana Civitates Orbis Terrarum,” in La imagen de la ciudad en la Edad Moderna, ed. Alicia Cámara Muñoz and Consuelo Gómez López (Madrid, 2011), 159–186, here 168–169.

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Figure 7.3 El Greco. View and Plan of Toledo. Museo de El Greco. Toledo, 1608.

early modern period, a total of twenty-two convents were founded in the city, fifteen in the 16th and seven in the 17th century.112 However, cities are made of people, and these religious institutions were the homes of a large number of church members. As pointed out by Pedro de Alcocer in 1554, the christianopolis of Toledo was a place full of churches, convents and clerics: And we may say without embarrassment that this city is one of the places where the most sacred places can be found, and where the most works of charity are carried out, and where the most care is taken of the worship of Jesus Christ our redeemer.113 The sacralization of urban space in Toledo was, therefore, absolute, not only because of the large number of religious establishments but also because the practice of Catholicism tended to sacralize other places too, for example with the processions that, according to Alfredo Rodríguez González, created sacred itineraries.114 The Corpus was the most important of these religious 112 Vizuete Mendoza, “Lugares sagrados y órdenes religiosas,” 163. 113 Alcocer, Historia o descripción de la ciudad Imperial de Toledo, 117. 114 Alfredo Rodríguez González, “Itinerarios sagrados en el Toledo de la Edad Moderna,” in Sacra loca toletana. Los espacios sagrados en Toledo, ed. José Carlos Vizuete Mendoza and Julio Martín Sánchez (Cuenca, 2008), 368–398.

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­processions.115 Even today, Toledo is indissolubly associated with the celebration of the Corpus Christi. In the 16th and 17th centuries, moreover, celebrations were not limited to the day of the festivity, but to the following twentyfive, when the ceremony was replicated in each of the parish churches.116 Obviously, Toledo as a veritable religious stage needed actors and especially directors, that is, clerics. An excessive number of clerics in Spain in the early modern period is a historiographical commonplace, but also a reality which everyone at the time was fully aware. In several instances in the 17th century, the parliament of Castile complained about the overpopulation of clerics. These opinions were echoed by several arbitristas such as Fernández Navarrete, González Dávila, and Sancho de Moncada, who believed that the excessive number of clerics was one of the causes of the crisis of the monarchy.117 The Council of Trent played an important role in this increase in the number of ecclesiastic personnel. The increased piety that followed the council resulted in a growing number of anniversaries, pious works, and chaplaincies, for the service of which more clerics were required. In a critical period like the 17th century, the Church became for many a relatively accessible form of making a living. According to Ruiz Martín “in the prevailing difficult conditions, there were many who sought shelter in the Church. Craftsmen and farmers who stoically persevered in their tough lot, tried for their children to improve their station by studying grammar, until this choice—shall we say e­ scape— became a veritable mania.” The advantages of an ecclesiastical career were multiple, including exemptions from numerous taxes that burdened the rest of the population. It should not, therefore, be considered unusual that the ecclesiastical population increased twofold while the overall population decreased by approximately a third, which triggered the complaints of Toledo’s local authorities. The clerical population in Toledo was particularly high. According to the Relaciones Topográficas,118 the number of clerics attached to the cathedral was

115 Fernando Martínez Gil and Alfredo Rodríguez González, “Del Barroco a la Ilustración en una fiesta del Antiguo Régimen: El Corpus Christi,” Cuadernos de Historia Moderna. An­ ejos 1 (2002): 151–175. 116 José Carlos Vizuete Mendoza, Corpus, cofradías eucarísticas y fiestas del Sacramento en Toledo (Cuenca, 2007), 10. 117 José Carlos Vizuete Mendoza, “La Iglesia en la Edad Moderna: sobre el número y la condición de los eclesiásticos,” in Iglesia y religiosidad en España: historia y archivos, 3 vols. (Guadalajara, 2002), 1:46–50. 118 Aranda Pérez, “El clero parroquial también se acabilda,” 251–253.

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616. To this we must add 213 chaplaincies and 105 other ecclesiastical posts; however, the same cleric could occupy several of these positions. These clerics were a part of the urban elite, and played an important social role as intermediaries between the people and God in crucial junctures of life and death. The city’s education and culture were their natural abode, from the archbishop119 to the simple canon.120 9 Conclusions The cities in the interior of Castile suffered a considerable demographic slump between the 16th and 18th centuries. They ceased to be attractive from an economic point of view, but from other angles cities still stood as a haven of opportunity. In the city, social promotion was possible, political power accessible, and the oligarchy permeable. In cities, education and culture were there for the taking, and the needy could find relief. In Castile, cities were still a dream for many. On the other hand, Castilian cities were essentially ecclesiastical in nature. Toledo, a paradigmatic example, was a continuous religious tableau, a constant reminder of Catholicism. The cathedral, placed in the middle of the city, totally dominated the urban space. It was its essence. When the crisis hit in the late 16th and early 17th centuries, the city’s only solution was to abide by its religious nature. The cathedral, as happened in many other Castilian cities, was to a certain extent the city’s lifeline.121 The Church became the shelter for many and the cathedral chapter as a process of upward mobility. For this reason, the foundation of convents and other religious establishments continued unabated. The economic and political collapse suffered by the city left the Church as the only place where cities could excel in the context of the old Castilian urban hierarchy, especially since Madrid laid claim to any hint of recovery. Toledo could live off its past, and it did; in the 16th and 17th centuries a new historical imaginary was created for the city, an ideological ­construction based on antiquity, nobility, loyalty, and Christianity, that allowed Toledo a place of 119 Fernando Llamazares Rodríguez and José Carlos Vizuete Mendoza, eds., Arzobispos de Toledo, Mecenas universitarios (Cuenca, 2004), 95–143. 120 Ramón Sánchez González, Iglesia y sociedad en la Castilla moderna: el Cabildo catedralicio de la Sede Primada (siglo xvii) (Cuenca, 2000), 150–155. 121 Alfredo Alvar Ezquerra, “Las ciudades españolas,” in La vida cotidiana en la España de Velázquez, ed. José Alcalá-Zamora (Madrid, 1989), 71–90, here 74.

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honor in Castile.122 The first of these pillars connected the city with the monarchy: Toledo had flaunted the title of urbs regia since the Visigothic period and had always, except for a peccadillo here and there, sided with the monarchy. However, the city, which was also the primate see, needed a new stimulus: to become not only the ecclesiastical city of reference in Spain (although this position was disputed by other cities, especially Santiago de Compostela and Seville), but a second capital of Christendom; in Fernando Martínez Gil’s words, the city turned from civitas regia to civitas Dei.123 Above all, the city was a religious stage and its space was wholly sacralized. Architecture was eminently religious and the divine (ecclesiastical, religious) were present everywhere. The power of the city was the power of the Church. Sources Alcocer, Pedro de. Historia o descripción de la ciudad Imperial de Toledo. Toledo, 1554. Archivo Municipal de Murcia, Legajo n° 951. Reglamento de la Casa de Misericordia. Año 1739. Archivo Municipal de Murcia, Legajo n° 1067, n° 62: Padrón de la parroquia de San Lorenzo. Año 1621. Botero, Giovanni. A Treatise Concerning the Causes of the Magnificence and Greatness of Cities, translated by Robert Peterson. London, 1606. Caro, Rodrigo, Antigüedades y principado de Sevilla y corografía de su convento jurídico o antigua Chancillería. Seville, 1634. Cascales, Francisco de. Discursos históricos de la ciudad de Murcia y su reino. Murcia, 1622. Covarrubias Orozco, Sebastián de. Tesoro de la Lengua Castellana o Española. Madrid, 1611. Larruga Boneta, Eugenio. Memorias políticas y económicas sobre los frutos, comercio, fábricas y minas de España. Con inclusión de los reales decretos, órdenes, cédulas, aranceles y ordenanzas expedidas para su gobierno y fomento V: Que trata de varias manufacturas de Madrid; y del sitio, gobierno, población y producciones de la provin­ cia de Toledo. Madrid, 1789.

122 Fernando Martínez Gil, “De civitas regia a civitas Dei. El imaginario histórico de Toledo en los siglos xvi y xvii,” in Sacra loca toletana. Los espacios sagrados en Toledo, ed. José Carlos Vizuete Mendoza and Julio Martín Sánchez (Cuenca, 2008), 319–368, esp. 319–320. 123 Fernando Martínez Gil, “De civitas regia a civitas Dei,” 347–355.

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Medina, Pedro de. Primera y Segunda parte de las grandezas y cosas notables de España. Nuevamente corregida y muy ampliada por Diego Pérez de Mesa. Alcalá de Henares, 1595. Moreno de Vargas, Bernabé. Historia de la ciudad de Mérida. Madrid, 1633. Núñez de Castro, Alonso. Historia eclesiástica y seglar de la muy noble y muy leal ciudad de Guadalajara. Madrid, 1653. Olivares, Damián de. A la imperial ciudad de Toledo, Damián de Olivares: apuntamien­ tos para declaración de su parecer. Toledo, n.d. Pisa, Francisco de. Descripción de la imperial ciudad de Toledo, e historia de sus antigüe­ dades, y grandeza y cosas memorables, los reyes que la han señoreado o gobernado y sus arzobispos más celebrados. Toledo, 1617.

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Burke, Peter. Popular Culture in Early Modern Europe. New York, 1978. Carbonell Arroyo, Daniel. El edificio Almudí de Murcia. Antecedentes, conservación y usos. Murcia, 1996. Casey, James. Historia de la familia, translated by Juan Luque. Madrid, 1991. Cervera Vera, Luis. “La Época de los Austrias.” In Resumen histórico del urbanismo en España, 173–212. Madrid, 1987. Chacón Jiménez, Francisco. “La familia en España: una historia por hacer.” In La fa­ milia en la España mediterránea: siglos xv–xix, edited by James Casey, Francisco Chacón, et al., 13–35. Barcelona, 1986. Chacón Jiménez, Francisco. Murcia en la centuria del Quinientos. Murcia, 1979. Chaunu, Huguette and Pierre. Séville et l’Atlantique (1504–1650). 11 vols. Paris, 1955– 1960. Chueca Goitia, Fernando. Breve Historia del urbanismo. 9th ed. Madrid, 1982. De Luca, Giuseppe. “Mobilitá sociale e ricchezza: le protettive della ‘Network analysis’ nello studio della Milano del xvi secolo.” In Historia a debate, tomo ii: El retorno del sujeto, edited by Carlos Barros, 315–330. Santiago de Compostela, 1995. Egido, Teófanes. “Religiosidad colectiva de los vallisoletanos.” In Valladolid en el siglo xviii, 157–260. Valladolid, 1984. Elias, Norbert. La sociedad cortesana, translated by Guillermo Hirata. México, 1982. Fernández Albaladejo, Pablo. “Católicos antes que ciudadanos. Gestación de una ‘Política española’ en los comienzos de la Edad Moderna.” In Imágenes de la diversi­ dad. El mundo urbano en la Corona de Castilla (ss. xvi–xvii), edited by José I. Fortea Pérez, 103–127. Santander, 1997. Flinn, Michael W. El sistema demográfico europeo, 1500–1820, translated by Juan Faci. Barcelona, 1989. Fortea Pérez, José I. Córdoba en el siglo xvi: las bases demográficas y económicas de una expansión urbana. Córdoba, 1981. García Mercadal, José, ed. Viajes de extranjeros por España y Portugal desde los tiempos más remotos hasta comienzos del siglo xx. 6 vols. Valladolid, 1999. García Sanz, Ángel. Desarrollo y crisis del Antiguo Régimen en Castilla la Vieja. Economía y sociedad en tierras de Segovia de 1500 a 1814. Madrid, 1977. Gelabert, Juan E. Santiago y la tierra de Santiago de 1500 a 1640. La Coruña, 1982. Gómez López, Consuelo. “Los retratos urbanos en el Renacimiento.” In La imagen de la ciudad en la Edad Moderna, edited by Alicia Cámara Muñoz and Consuelo Gómez López, 45–70. Madrid, 2011. González Martínez, Rosa M. La población española (ss. xvi, xvii y xviii). Madrid, 2002. Gribaudi, Gabriella. “La metafora della rete: Individuo e contesto sociale.” Meridiana 15 (1992): 91–108. Guillamón Álvarez, Francisco J., José J. Ruiz Ibáñez, and José J. García Hourcade. La Corona y los representantes del Reino de Murcia (1590–1640): necesidad, negociación, beneficio. Murcia, 1995.

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Hernández Franco, Juan. Sangre limpia, sangre española. El debate de los estatutos de limpieza (siglo xv–xvii). Madrid, 2011. Hernández Franco, Juan. Cultura y limpieza de sangre. Murcia, 1997. Hernández Franco, Juan, and Raimundo A. Rodríguez Pérez. “La limpieza de sangre en las ciudades hispánicas durante la Edad Moderna.” Revista de historiografía 16 (2012): 71–81. Imízcoz Beúnza, José M. “Actores sociales y redes de relaciones en las sociedades del Antiguo Régimen. Propuestas de análisis en historia social y política.” In Historia a debate ii: El retorno del sujeto, edited by Carlos Barros, 341–354. Santiago de Compostela, 1995. Irigoyen López, Antonio, and José J. García Hourcade, eds. Visitas ad limina del obispa­ do de Cartagena, 1589–1901. Murcia, 2001. Kagan, Richard L. “La Corografía en la Castilla moderna. Género, Historia, Nación.” Studia Histórica. Historia Moderna 13 (1995): 47–60. Llamazares Rodríguez, Fernando, and José C. Vizuete Mendoza, eds. Arzobispos de To­ ledo, Mecenas universitarios. Cuenca, 2004. López Ontiveros, Antonio, and José Naranjo Ramírez. “Representación simbólica e imagen urbana de la plaza de ‘La Corredera’ (Córdoba) a lo largo de su historia.” Boletín de la Asociación de Geógrafos Españoles 55 (2011): 343–373. Maravall, Antonio José. Poder, honor y élites en el siglo xvii. 3rd. ed. Madrid, 1989. Maravall, Antonio José. La cultura del Barroco. 9th ed. Barcelona, 1975. Marcos Martín, Alberto. España en los siglos xvi, xvii y xviii. Barcelona, 2000. Marcos Martín, Alberto. “El sistema de caridad organizado en las ciudades castellanas del Antiguo Régimen.” In Ciudad y mundo urbano en la época moderna, edited by Luis A. Ribot García and Luigi De Rosa, 73–92. Madrid, 1997. Martínez Gil, Fernando. “De civitas regia a civitas Dei. El imaginario histórico de Toledo en los siglos xvi y xvii” In Sacra loca toletana. Los espacios sagrados en Toledo, edited by José C. Vizuete Mendoza and Julio Martín Sánchez, 319–368. Cuenca, 2008. Martínez Gil, Fernando and Alfredo Rodríguez González. “Del Barroco a la Ilustración en una fiesta del Antiguo Régimen: El Corpus Christi.” Cuadernos de Historia Mod­ erna. Anejos 1 (2002): 151–175. Molina, Ricardo. Córdoba gongorina. Córdoba, 1962. Mumford, Lewis. La ciudad en la Historia, translated by E.L. Revol. Buenos Aires, 1974. Muñoz Jiménez, José M. “El urbanismo del Siglo de Oro en Ávila. La modernización de la ciudad medieval (1550–1650).” Butlletí de la Reial Acadèmia Catalana de Belles Arts de Sant Jordi 12 (1998): 133–176. Navascués Palacio, Pedro. “La Plaza Mayor en España.” Papeles de Arquitectura Espa­ ñola 5 (2002): 3–39.

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Orozco Pardo, José L. Christianopolis. Urbanismo y Contrarreforma en la Granada del Seiscientos. Granada, 1985. Peñafiel Ramón, Antonio. Mentalidad y religiosidad popular murciana en la primera mitad del siglo xviii. Murcia, 1988. Pereda Espeso, Felipe. “Leer en la Catedral: la experiencia de la arquitectura en 1549.” In La Catedral de Toledo, 1549: según el Dr. Blas Ortiz. Descripcion Graphica y Elegantis­ sima de la Santa Iglesia de Toledo, 79–125. Toledo, 1999. Pérez, Joseph. La revolución de las comunidades de Castilla (1520–1521), translated by Juan José Faci. Madrid, 1977. Pérez Picazo, María T., and Guy Lemeunieur. El proceso de modernización de la Región de Murcia. Murcia, 1984. Rahn Phillips, Carla. Ciudad Real, 1500–1750: Growth, Crisis, and Readjustment in the Spanish Economy. Cambridge, Mass., 1979. Reher, David S. “Auge y declive del mundo urbano de la Corona de Castilla durante la Edad Moderna: Aspectos de un reajuste de largo alcance.” In Ciudad y mundo ur­ bano en la época moderna, edited by Luis A. Ribot García and Luigi De Rosa, 45–72. Madrid, 1997. Rey Castelao, Ofelia. “La cultura y sus expresiones en una ciudad clerical y universitaria.” In Historia de la ciudad de Santiago de Compostela, edited by Ermelindo Portela Silva, 369–429. Santiago de Compostela, 2003. Ringrose, David R. Madrid and the Spanish Economy, 1560–1850. Berkeley, 1983. Rodríguez González, Alfredo. “Itinerarios sagrados en el Toledo de la Edad Moderna.” In Sacra loca toletana. Los espacios sagrados en Toledo, edited by José C. Vizuete Mendoza and Julio Martín Sánchez, 368–398. Cuenca, 2008. Rodríguez Sánchez, Ángel. Cáceres en el siglo xvi. Población y comportamientos de­ mográficos. Cáceres, 1977. Sánchez González, Ramón. Iglesia y sociedad en la Castilla moderna: el Cabildo cat­ edralicio de la Sede Primada (siglo xvii). Cuenca, 2000. Santos Vaquero, Ángel. La industria textil sedera de Toledo. Cuenca, 2010. Santos Vaquero, Ángel. “Memorial del mercader toledano Damián de Olivares, de 17 de febrero de 1626.” Espacio, Tiempo y Forma, Serie iv, Historia Moderna 12 (1999): 151–180. Sanz Ayán, Carmen. “Fiestas, diversiones, juegos y espectáculos.” In La vida cotidiana en la España de Velázquez, edited by José Alcalá-Zamora, 195–216. Madrid, 1989. Seta, Cesare de. La ciudad europea del siglo xv al xx, translated by I. Morán García. Madrid, 2002. Stone, Lawrence. “Social mobility in England, 1500–1700.” Past and Present 33 (1966): 16–55. Torres Fontes, Juan. “El Almudí. Crónica Concejil.” Boletín de Información del Excmo. Ayuntamiento de Murcia 20 (1968): 22.

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Troitiño Vinuesa, Miguel A. “Cuenca, Patrimonio Cultural de la Humanidad: retos de futuro.” In Vivir las ciudades históricas: recuperación integrada y dinámica funcio­ nal, edited by Miguel Á. Troitiño Vinuesa and Joaquín S. García Marchant, 57–86. Cuenca, 1998. Vesco, Maurizio. “Los signos de la grandeza urbana Civitates Orbis Terrarum.” In La imagen de la ciudad en la Edad Moderna, edited by Alicia Cámara Muñoz and Consuelo Gómez López, 159–186. Madrid, 2011. Villalta, María J. “El hispanismo francés y la historia de las ciudades en la España moderna.” In La historia moderna de España y el hispanismo francés, edited by Francisco García González, 165–188. Madrid, 2009. Vizuete Mendoza, José C. “Lugares sagrados y órdenes religiosas. Monasterios y conventos en Toledo.” In Sacra loca toletana. Los espacios sagrados en Toledo, edited by José Carlos Vizuete Mendoza and Julio Martín Sánchez, 158–188. Cuenca, 2008. Vizuete Mendoza, José C., and Julio Martín Sánchez, eds. Sacra loca toletana. Los espa­ cios sagrados en Toledo. Cuenca, 2008. Vizuete Mendoza, José C. Corpus, cofradías eucarísticas y fiestas del Sacramento en ­Toledo. Cuenca, 2007. Vizuete Mendoza, José C. “La Iglesia en la Edad Moderna: sobre el número y la condición de los eclesiásticos.” In Iglesia y religiosidad en España: historia y archivos. 3 vols, 1:46–50 (Guadalajara, 2002). Vries, Jan de. La urbanización de Europa, 1500–1800, translated by Ramón Grau. Barcelona, 1987. Woolf, Stuart. Los pobres en la Europa moderna, translated by Teresa Camprodon. Barcelona, 1989. Zeller, Oliver. Historia de la Europa urbana iii: La ciudad moderna, translated by Imma Estany Morros. Valencia, 2010.

Chapter 8

Ports to “New Worlds”: Lisbon, Seville, Cádiz (15th–18th Centuries) Klaus Weber and Torsten dos Santos Arnold 1 Introduction Lisbon, Cádiz and Seville are the three most prominent Atlantic port cities of the Iberian Peninsula, dating back to ancient times. Olisippo and Gadir/Gades had been major Phoenician port cities, which were later taken over by the expanding Roman Empire. These cities were among the few Atlantic outposts of ancient Mediterranean shipping, which only meagerly extended further south along the African coast or north along the European coast. Hispalis, too, had a Phoenician background and was also taken by Rome during the Punic Wars. Although the Christian Reconquista had begun to gather momentum in the 12th century with the capture of Lisbon (1147), it was the conquest of the southern strongholds of Seville (1248) and Tarifa (1298) that made shipping through the Straits of Gibraltar more secure. As a direct result, European shipping began to connect the Mediterranean with the North Sea regions, benefiting the coastal port cities of southern and western Iberia. By the 14th century, the volume of bulk commodities being moved between these regions via maritime routes was probably 40 times larger than the volume transported on the long-established transalpine land routes.1 Portugal’s coastal areas—hitherto the poor and unsafe western periphery of Christian Europe—became a hub for maritime trade. Portuguese shipping established the role of connecting the Mediterranean with Northern European areas, aligned with the role played by Dutch shipping in commerce between Western Europe and the North Sea and Baltic region. Competing claims of the Iberian powers on newly discovered lands and seas were settled with the Treaties of Alcáçovas (1479, allocating ­Africa and the Atlantic south of Cabo Bojador to Portugal), Tordesillas (1494, 1 Wolfram Fischer, et al., eds., Handbuch der europäischen Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte, vol. 3 (Stuttgart, 1985), 794–795. The authors are indebted to José da Silva Horta, José Vicente Serrão, Carlos Martínez Shaw and Klemens Kaps for hints and critical comments, and to Claire Soulié for witty comments and for ironing their English. An overview on three major seaports, spanning four centuries, cannot avoid gaps regarding the existing literature. Any omissions or errors are the authors’.

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allocating the Americas, even though hardly discovered, to Spain), and Zaragoza (1529, allocating most of the Asian waters and lands to Portugal).2 All other European sea powers were excluded from these vast spaces. This became the underlying cause of military conflicts between the Catholic Iberian powers and northern (and increasingly Protestant) seafaring nations. Regardless of clashes, Lisbon, Seville, and Cádiz, in particular, became Europe’s first major ports to the New Worlds. Each of these ports owed its prominence to its particular topography. A common feature is their location on the Atlantic coast of Iberia. Both Lisbon and Seville are situated on major navigable estuaries, those of the Tejo and the Guadalquivir, respectively. Yet, unlike many large rivers north of the Pyrenees, from France to Russia, neither of these rivers allowed for navigation deeper inland. The River Tejo, for example, is the longest river of the Peninsula, but vessels cannot travel any further than 50 kilometers, to the vicinity of Vila Franca de Xira. The Guadalquivir is still the only navigable river in Spain, and only on a ca. 80 kilometers segment to Seville and slightly beyond. Europe’s major rivers north of the Pyrenees (Loire, Seine, Rhine, Elbe, Vistula, etc.) are, by contrast, navigable into deep inland regions. This geography explains why the majority of the trade that took place in Lisbon and Seville was not with interior provinces, but rather with the Mediterranean and the wider Atlantic basin, including Africa and the Americas. This orientation towards the sea was even stronger in the case of Cádiz. Unlike many seaports, it is not located on an estuary, but on the extreme tip of a narrow peninsula, which in turn protects the Bay of Cádiz from the Atlantic Ocean. By the late 18th century, Cádiz had barely integrated any of the interior provinces into its trade, with a high percentage of the commodity flow between Cádiz and Spanish America controlled by non-Spanish merchants.3 Another common feature between these three ports was the political economy adopted by their respective governments: each of them was “endowed with consummate mercantile privileges.”4 Portuguese colonial trade was concentrated in Lisbon, as was Spanish colonial trade in Seville and, from 1717, in Cádiz. The rationale behind this policy was the control of the flow of commodities, efficient taxation, and suppression of contraband. From the b­ eginning 2 Anthony R. Disney, A History of Portugal and the Portuguese Empire, 2 vols. (Cambridge, 2009); Walther Bernecker and Horst Pietschmann, Geschichte Spaniens—Von der frühen Neuzeit bis zur Gegenwart (Stuttgart, 1993), 39–40. 3 Ana Crespo Solana, Entre Cádiz y los Paises Bajos: una comunidad mercantil en la ciudad de la Ilustración (Madrid, 2001), 38. 4 Patrick O’Flanagan, Port Cities of Atlantic Iberia: c. 1500–1900 (Aldershot, 2008), 4.

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of the Iberian expansion into the “New World,” all non-Portuguese and nonSpanish subjects were excluded from direct commerce with the colonies, let alone from settling there. Merchants from all over Europe flocked to these three ports, which were as close as they could legally get to trade with the colonies. This was certainly detrimental to all other Iberian ports. 2 Lisbon Lisbon is located on the northern banks of the Tejo’s wide estuary, some 15 kilometers distant from the actual point of entry into the Atlantic Ocean. It has been populated since the Phoenician era when its economic wealth was based on fishing and maritime trade with the Mediterranean. Since then, and throughout the Roman, Visigoth, and Muslim occupations, the city was made up of the eastern parts of today’s downtown districts of Praça da Ribeira, Baixa, and the castle district of S. Jorge. In the Roman period, Olisippo became a municipality with economic, judicial, political, and social rights, its authority reaching far into the interior. By the mid-12th century, much of Al-Usbuna’s or Al-Lixbuna’s urban area was enclosed by a two-kilometer long wall and the city was characterized by two-storey buildings and narrow streets. The main mosque was located in the western parts of the city, close to the “Porta do Ferro,” while another house of prayer was situated in the more eastern parts of the city, near the “Porta do Sol.”5 In 1147, Lisbon was reconquered by a joint force of Portuguese military and foreign crusaders. The emergence of Christian rule imposed the creation of parishes to reorganize neighborhoods. As a consequence, the Muslim community was moved to the Mouraria, and the Jewish community to a couple of Judiarias. During the same period, the construction of the main church, the Sé, began on the site where the main mosque once stood. This process of rededication, conversion, or, as contemporary language put it, “purification,” was a phenomenon that occurred all over the Iberian Peninsula.6 The implementation of Christian rule in Lisbon followed a pattern similar to that of Seville and Toledo. D. Afonso Henriques, the first king of Portugal (1139–1185), chose 5 For a more detailed description of ancient Lisbon, see Dejanirah Couto, História de Lisboa (Lisbon, 2003), 22–54; José A. Rodrigues França, Lisboa: História Física e Moral, 2nd ed. (Lisbon, 2009). 6 See Matthias Maser, “Conquered Cities. Continuity and Transformation of Urban Structures in the Castilian Reconquista Territories (11th–14th Centuries)—Toledo and Seville,” in this volume; Rodrigues França, Lisboa, 66.

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to keep the Muslim inhabitants of Al-Usbuna as converts to Christianity in ­Lisbon, rather than expelling them from the city.7 The Jewish people, however, faced progressive marginalization within the new society. At the turn of the 15th century, they were led either to forced conversion to Christendom (NewChristians), or to their expulsion.8 Since 1255, when King D. Afonso iii (1248–1279) moved the court from Coimbra to Lisbon, the city became the “cabeça do reino” (head of the kingdom). In times of itinerant courts, the centralization of judicial, political, and socioeconomic institutions, namely the archives, the chancellery, and the treasury, reasserted Lisbon’s national importance as the kingdom’s most populated city and most prominent trade center.9 The first Portuguese University (Escola Geral) was founded in Lisbon during the reign of King D. Dinis I (1279–1325), but was permanently relocated to Coimbra in 1537 under the rule of King D. João iii (1521–1557). The medieval streets of Lisbon and its traditional wooden houses were slowly, but steadily, replaced with masonry. During the early 16th century, the systematic construction of the Bairro Alto quarter, a new residential area financed with private investment, featured geometrical layouts of streets and two-storey houses.10 During the following decades and centuries, the urban area of Lisbon was mostly extended westwards in the direction of the open sea. One of the major civil construction projects during the first half of the 18th century was that of the Aqueduto das Águas Livres, the city’s central water supply.11 On the 1st of November 1755, Lisbon was almost completely destroyed by an earthquake and tsunami that caused the loss of 15,000 to 25,000 lives. Much of Lisbon’s reorganization was carried out under the Marquis de Pombal, Portugal’s minister of foreign affairs from 1750 and prime minister from 1755 until 1780. The reconstruction of Lisbon’s city center, between the Tejo River and Rossio square, with wider, linear streets and a standardized architecture took

7 8

Maser, “Conquered Cities,” 201–246. A. Vieira da Silva, “A Judiaria Velha de Lisboa,” O Archeologo Português 11-12 (1899–1900): 305–327; Maria José Pimenta Ferro Tavares, Os Judeus em Portugal no Século xiv, 2nd ed. (Lisbon, 2000); Rodrigo da Costa Dominguez, Mercadores e Banqueiros: Sociedade e Economia no Portugal dos Séculos xiv e xv (Brasilia, 2009), 46. 9 Couto, História de Lisboa, 62. 10 Maria Helena Barreiros, “Urban Landscapes: Houses, Streets and Squares of 18th Century Lisbon,” in Cultural History of Early Modern European Streets, ed. Riita Laitinen and Thomas V. Cohen (Leiden, 2009), 15–16; for detailed information on the Rua Nova dos Mercadores and Renaissance Lisbon: Annemarie Jordan-Gschwend and Kate Love, eds., The Global City—On the streets of Renaissance Lisbon (London, 2015). 11 Barreiros, “Urban Landscapes,” 16–19.

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Figure 8.1 Lisabona magnificentissima Regia Sedes Portugalliae et florentissimum Emporium (drawn by Georg Matthaus Seutter, c. 1710–1750).

several decades.12 Also under Pombal, factories and workshops were created within the greater Lisbon area and in the rest of Portugal, which were meant to respond both to domestic and international demands. Located in quarters such as Bairro Alto, Rato, and, crucially, the Alcântara valley, these factories focused on porcelain and glass production, processing linen and woolen textiles, and refining sugar. The majority of these entrepreneurial factories were founded by foreign capitalists, who provided both the money and the expertise. This was exemplified by the textile processing, although there were also national Portuguese and transnational initiatives in this field.13 12 13

For detailed studies on the Lisbon earthquake of 1755: Ana Cristina Araújo, et al., eds., O Terramoto de 1755: Impactos Históricos (Lisbon, 2007); Barreiros, “Urban Landscapes,” 21–29. Jorge M. del Melo Viana Pedreira, “Indústria e negócio: a estamparia da região de Lisboa, 1780–1830,” Análise Social 26 (1991): 537–559; Idem, Estrutura industrial e mercado colonial: Portugal e Brasil (1780–1830) (Linda-a-Velha, 1994).

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Figure 8.2 Lisbon, Lisboa (drawn by W.B. Clarke, c. 1844).

Since the Late Middle Ages, Lisbon’s economy had been based mainly on the exchange of commodities and goods between the Mediterranean world and Northern, Central, and East Central European markets. Trade benefitted in particular from its proximity to Setúbal (less than 50 kilometers south of the Tejo estuary) and its abundant sea salt production.14 For more than half a millennium, sea salt remained Portugal’s most prominent national commodity to be exported within Europe.15 In comparison to Seville and the G ­ uadalquivir valley, a lesser supply of agricultural produce (wine, cork) from the E ­ xtremadura 14 O’Flanagan, Port Cities, 39, 41, 144. 15 Torsten dos Santos Arnold, “Hermann Kellenbenz and the German-Portuguese Economic Relationships during the Sixteenth Century,” in Renaissance Craftsmen and Humanistic Scholars: European Circulation of Knowledge between Portugal and Germany, ed. Thomas Horst, Henrique de Sousa Leitão, and Marília dos Santos Lopes (Frankfurt am Main, 2017), 91–102.

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and Ribatejo regions comprised Lisbon’s external trade before the “Age of Discoveries.” In return, Portugal imported agricultural and forestry produce (cereals, timber), as well as textiles and metal wares. Well into the 14th century, the Portuguese crown drew its revenues mainly from its own royal patrimony, whereas municipalities like Lisbon and Oporto collected local taxes, tributes, and tolls. Nationwide taxation to cover war expenditures was introduced during the Fernandine Wars (1369–1371, 1372–1373, and 1381–1382) and the War of Independence (1383–1411), all fought against Castile. Both duties, the sisas and custom duties, were originally municipal taxes which, during the 15th century, became a Crown subsidy.16 However, merchants who imported highly relevant merchandise such as food, barter goods for African and Asian markets, military equipment, and shipbuilding materials would either pay reduced duties such as the dízimas (the tenth), or were fully exempted from paying any at all. Similar to Spain, duties charged on maritime imports and re-exports became the crown’s major source of income. Portugal’s engagement within the Atlantic basin started after the conquest of Ceuta (1415) with the discovery of the Atlantic archipelagoes of Madeira (1419), the Azores (ca. 1427), and Cape Verde (1456–1460). Its maritime exploration reached its early peak with the circumnavigation of the Cape of Good Hope in 1488, and continued with expansion into Brazil, in the Indian Ocean regions, and as far as Macau. The dispute with the united Spanish kingdoms of Aragón and Castile over imperial aspirations was settled with the treaties of Tordesillas and Zaragoza. As far as the monopoly over shipping and trade was concerned, Portugal emphasized mare clausum, thus claiming jurisdiction over the newly discovered lands and seas. From the 16th century on, only Portuguese merchants were permitted to trade with the new territories. Foreign merchants wishing to skim off some of the new riches from the Portuguese expansion had to reside within Portugual or have an agent there. By then, Lisbon was already the commercial and political center of the ­Portuguese kingdom, and its most populated city. With maritime expansion proceeding, Lisbon became the link between various European realms and markets in Europe and the new lusophone worlds abroad. Increasing volumes of commodities from overseas were brought to Lisbon and reshipped to Ant­ werp. In return, copper and silver were by far the dominant barter goods in the Asian spice trade. Portugal was obliged to purchase these from European 16 Disney, History of Portugal and the Portuguese Empire, 139–140; António Castro Henriques, “The Rise of a Tax State: Portugal, 1367–1401,” E-Journal of Portuguese History 12.1 (2014): 49–66.

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merchants such as the Fuggers and Welsers, but also from Italian merchants.17 Lisbon had become the center for European trade with Asia until the creation of the Dutch and English East India companies. It also held a similar position regarding the sugar trade, until the rise of the French sugar production on Saint-Domingue. In the course of the late 15th century, the Crown proceeded with centralization of political and economic institutions relevant to foreign trade. Revenue was centralized with institutions such as the Alfândegas (customs houses), which included separate treasuries for spices, customs, and other duties. Besides the Alfândegas, new institutions were created to deal exclusively with the political and economic aspects of Portugal’s overseas trade, most prominently the Casa da Índia (Asia trade), the Casa da Mina e da Guiné (Africa trade), and the Casa de Escravos (African slave trade). The Armazéns da Guiné e das Índias (warehouse and arsenals) were responsible for maritime affairs, including cartography, shipbuilding, outfitting, and repairs.18 Later, several of these institutions would be modified and transformed into councils such as the Conselho da Fazenda (1591). Furthermore, the new royal palace, the country’s highest courts, and the mint house were constructed in close proximity to these, at the Praça da Ribeira square. Praça da Ribeira was the lynchpin of modern autocracy, municipal and nationwide, alongside the riverfront of the Tejo River. It was a government center with financial, judicial, and political institutions, and physically represented the ideals of a modern nation or state characterized by a unity of centralized administrative, judicial, political, and socio-economic structures.19 During the Union of the Two Iberian Crowns (1580–1640), Portugal was governed by either a viceroy or a governor. The Spanish king Philip ii, who ruled over Portugal as Philip I from 1581 to 1598, intended to make Lisbon the capital of both Iberian kingdoms and benefit from its geostrategic position on the Tejo, but never carried it out. Portugal in fact lost its independence and got ensnared in the Spanish-Dutch conflict. It was forced to co-finance the ­Spanish 17

18

19

Hedwig Kömmerling-Fitzler, “Der Nürnberger Kaufmann Georg Pock († 1528/29) in Portugiesisch-Indien und im Edelsteinland Vijayanagara,” mvgn 55 (1967/68): 137–184, here 139; Jürgen Pohle, Deutschland und die überseeische Expansion Portugals im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert (Münster, 2000), 169; Mark Häberlein, Aufbruch ins globale Zeitalter. Die Handelswelt der Fugger und Welser (Darmstadt, 2016), 14. Vitorino Magalhães Godinho, Os Descobrimentos e a Economia Mundial, 2nd ed. (Lisbon, 1984), iii, 53; Francisco Paulo Mendes da Luz, “Dois Organismos da Administração Ultramarina no Século xvi: A Casa da Índia e os Armazéns da Guiné, Mina e Índias,” in A Viagem de Fernão Magalhães e a Questão das Molucas. Actas do ii Colóquio Luso-Espanhol de História Ultramarina, ed. A. Teixeira da Mota (Lisbon, 1975), 91–105; O’Flanagan, Port Cities, 132–134. Barreiros, “Urban Landscapes,” 13–16; O’Flanagan, Port Cities, 132–134.

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c­ ampaigns in Flanders, and during the early 17th century it suffered from Dutch assaults on ships and territories in Asia, Angola, and Brazil.20 The Ordenações Filipinas, reforms made under Portugal’s Philip II, were ratified in 1603 and remained in force even after the restauration of Portuguese independence in 1640. How Portugal changed the European economy can be seen in the way sugar cane was cultivated, processed, and commercialized. Large plantations were installed on Madeira in the 15th century, and its sugar was channeled to the Mediterranean and Northern and Central European areas through Lisbon.21 After a period of economic and demographic stagnation, starting during the Union of the Two Iberian Crowns and lasting until the 1660s, the discovery of gold and diamond deposits in Brazil sparked another period of economic growth. Portugal complemented the sugar production with tobacco in Brazil, responding to a growing European demand, causing in turn a rise in the transatlantic slave trade. The early 17th-century decline in Portugal’s Asian trade was counterbalanced by strengthening ties with Brazil. Under Pombal, monopoly companies controlled much of the Atlantic trade, including the slave trade with Brazil. With the Methuen Treaty (1703), Portugal strengthened ties with Great Britain, which had been its ally and major trade partner since the 17th century. For decades to come, British traders provided the lion’s share of textiles destined for Portugal’s export and its domestic demand.22 Significant changes came with the Napoleonic invasions, which forced the Portuguese courts to move to Rio de Janeiro in 1808. Soon the Portuguese overseas empire experienced another major setback since its 17th-century losses in Asia to Dutch and English competitors. In return for English military support against the Napoleonic invasion of the Portuguese mainland, Portugal was obliged to grant England free access to Brazilian markets, causing profound changes. Channeling goods to and from Brazil through Lisbon and Oporto had been a core element of their economy. Now, Lisbon lost much of its position

20

21

22

Fernando Bouza Álvarez, Portugal no Tempo dos Filipes: Política, Cultura, Representações (1580–1640) (Lisbon, 2000); Jean-Frédéric Schaub, Le Portugal au temps du Comte-Duc d’Olivares (1621–1640): le conflit de juridictions comme exercice de la politique (Madrid, 2001), 19–23. Stuart B. Schwartz, “The Economy of the Portuguese Empire,” in Portuguese Oceanic Expansion, 1400–1800, ed. Francisco Bethencourt and Diogo Ramada Curto (Cambridge, 2007), 19–48; Alberto Vieira, “Sugar Islands: The Sugar Economy of Madeira and the Canaries, 1450–650,” in Tropical Babylons: Sugar and the Making of the Atlantic World, 1450–1680, ed. Stuart B. Schwartz (Chapel Hill, 2004), 42–84; James C. Boyajian, Portuguese Trade in Asia under the Habsburgs, 1580–1640 (Baltimore, 1993). Jorge M. del Melo Viana Pedreira, “Diplomacia, manufacturas e desenvolvimento económico. Em torno do mito de Methuen,” in O Tratado de Methuen (1703): diplomacia, guerra, política e economia, ed. José Luís Cardoso, et al. (Lisbon, 2003), 138–141.

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as a redistribution center between the Americas and Europe.23 With the Independence of Brazil in 1822, Portugal lost direct control of its most important overseas territory, although trade with its former colony continued. During the Middle Ages, Portugal’s society was mainly characterized by the trinity of clergy, nobility, and commoners. In contrast to this feudal structure, cities such as Oporto, Coimbra, Évora, and, even more so, Lisbon, became dominated by individuals involved in financial sectors, among them many Sephardic Jews. From the 14th century on, however, the importance of the Sephardic elite decreased, while foreign merchant families and trading companies were on the rise.24 Persecution, forced conversion, and expulsion of Jewish people, which had begun in Spain (1492) and continued in Portugal (1496–1497), deprived the country of much of its financial expertise, resulting in a long-lasting dependence on foreign credit.25 Still, Jewish merchants who had become NewChristian continued to play an important role in Portuguese overseas trade, with their networks reaching from Lisbon to other European and Asian ports, such as Bruges, Antwerp, Amsterdam, Hamburg, and Goa. Ironically, the establishment of these networks had been a result of their expulsion.26 Still, during the first half of the 17th century, German and Dutch merchants in Hamburg were more involved in trade with Portugal than were the Hamburg Sephardim community.27 Lisbon’s New-Christian community suffered reprisals, particularly by the Inquisition.28 Its members were also forced to secure the continuity of Portugal’s Asian trade. They had to share the costs of outfitting the annual fleets, and were compelled to purchase an annual allotment of pepper at a fixed price. Moreover, in 1604, King Philip ii of Portugal (and Philip iii of Spain, 1598–1621) forced the entire New-Christian community of Portugal and Spain, including members in overseas territories, to pay a pardon of 1.8 million cruzados, the largest share of which (718,377 cruzados, ca. 40%) was paid by the Lisbon community.29 23

José Jobson de Andrade Arruda, Uma colônia entre dois impérios: a abertura dos portos, 1800–1808 (Bauru, São Paulo, 2008). 24 Da Costa Dominguez, Mercadores e Banqueiros, 38–39 and 44–53. 25 Ibid. 40. 26 Boyajian, Portuguese Trade in Asia, 30–38; Jorun Poettering, “The Economic Activities of Hamburg’s Portuguese Jews in the Early Seventeenth Century,” Transversal. Zeitschrift für Jüdische Studien 14.2 (2013 [2014]): 11–22. 27 Jorun Poettering, Handel, Nation und Religion—Kaufleute zwischen Hamburg und Portugal im 17. Jahrhundert (Göttingen, 2013). 28 Isabel M. Ribeiro Mendes Drumond Braga, Os Estrangeiros e a Inquisição Portuguesa (Séculos xvi–xvii) (Lisbon, 2002), 121–150, 136–137, 366–371. 29 Boyajian, Portuguese Trade in Asia, 92.

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Portugal’s Christian merchants were organized in brotherhoods which represented their interests among municipal and national authorities. In Lisbon, since the 15th century they had been organized within the Confraria do Espírito Santo da Pedreira and the Mesa do Bem Comum dos Mercadores. These organizations were transformed over time and were finally abolished by the M ­ arquis de Pombal.30 Foreigners created their own fraternities, e.g., the Saint Bartholomew brotherhood of German and Flemish merchants and military men (bombardeiros), or the Italian brotherhood of Nossa Senhora do Loreto. Since the early 18th century, foreign merchants, namely the English, were granted the right to a separate Protestant cemetery and to build Protestant churches such as the St. George chapel in the Estrela district. Until the early 19th century, the cemetery was used not only by the English, but also by other foreign Protestants such as Germans. Generous trade privileges had been granted to Genoese and Florentine families, such as the Omberte, Bertaldi, and the Bardi. These merchants were of crucial importance in establishing the Portuguese sugar plantations and sugar processing and commercialization. When this capital-intensive agro-industry was introduced in the Algarve and then enlarged on Madeira during the 15th and 16th centuries, Lisbon-based Italians and their local agents played a dominant role. Jewish and New-Christian merchants were only secondary.31 Portugal depended on foreign networks and reciprocal relations. The kingdom’s production of barter goods for its African, Asian, and American markets, as well as commodities for its domestic demand (e.g., food), was insufficient. In turn, Portugal required European markets for its colonial products of spices, sugar, coffee, and tobacco. The policy of mare clausum prohibited direct trade between the Portuguese colonies and non-Portuguese markets. Therefore, foreign merchants had to establish branches or agents in either Lisbon or Oporto. While Dutch, English, Flemish, French, Italian, and German merchants supplied intra-European trade, Portuguese merchants (including New-Christians) covered the overseas dimension. This commercial division of labor contributed to the emergence of transnational and cross-religious networks, ones that were mutually beneficial. Of all foreign socio-economic communities in early modern Portugal, English merchants played by far the most important part. English merchants provided products for Portugal’s domestic consumption, among them manufactured goods, namely woolen and linen textiles, glassware and metal wares, 30 31

Jorge M. del Melo Viana Pedreira, “Os negociantes de Lisboa na segunda metade so século xviii,” Análise Social xxvii (1992): 407–440, here 412–413. Vieira, “Sugar Islands,” 66-67.

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but also staple food such as cod. They further supplied the Portuguese grain market whose domestic crop was insufficient. In turn, Portugal primarily exported wine, but also cork, fruits, olive oil, and vegetables. English merchants also provided manufactured goods destined for Portuguese overseas markets, but also traded themselves with Portugal’s overseas products, namely gold and diamonds from Brazil. According to Lord Tyrawly, English ambassador to Portugal in 1752, English merchants in Lisbon not only traded English products, but also French products, German-made linen, and grain from Sicily.32 Lisbon and Oporto served as stockyards for England’s trade with the Mediterranean, and repaired and outfitted English vessels in their dockyards.33 When England curtailed French imperial aspirations, Portugal sided with England. This combination of factors strengthened English influence in Portugal throughout the 18th century. At the turn of the 19th century, Lisbon, one of Europe’s main gateways to the Americas, Africa, and Asia, lost its importance. Many foreign merchants adapted their strategies and relocated their businesses to London, Amsterdam, or Hamburg. 3 Seville The urban history of Seville begins with the Roman foundation of Hispalis on the low alluvial lands of the River Guadalquivir, ca. 80 kilometers upstream from its estuary. Hispalis and Isbíliya—as the Arabs called it—thrived by this proximity to the ocean, though shipping was subject to the water level of the river, varying according to season and rainfall. The Arab city experienced significant growth during the 9th century and at the turn of the 12th century. Seven kilometers of impressive walls, sophisticated water aqueducts, and other urban infrastructure testified to its wealth and importance. These structures were not significantly affected by the Christian conquest of 1248, and remained intact for centuries. After the surrender to Ferdinand iii, King of Castile and Leon, the province was granted the status of kingdom, and the city “assumed the role of the ‘capital’ of reconquered Andalusia in the 13th century.”34 The main mosque was converted to a church. When this Almohad building was 32

Leonor Freire Costa, “Relações económicas com o exterior,” in História Económica de Portugal 1700–2000, ed. Pedro Lains and Álvaro Ferreira da Silva (Lisbon, 2005), 263–298. 33 Del Melo Viana Pedreira, “Diplomacia, manufacturas e desenvolvimento económico,” 131–156; Freire Costa, “Relações económicas com o exterior,” 272. 34 O’Flanagan, Port Cities, 41.

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demolished in the early 1400s to allow for a new cathedral, its impressive ­minaret— known as the Giralda— was preserved as the tower of the largest Gothic church in Spain. Seville and its surroundings were Spain’s most densely populated region even before the 15th century. Seville’s distance from the open ocean mitigated naval attacks, and its fertile lands gave it “the role of magnetic collector, assembler and redistributor of the rural surplus.” Its wealth was based on the “trilogy of olive oil, viticulture products and wheat.”35 This combination of assets contributed to the region’s level of commercialization, and to the development of a dense overland transport network. Agricultural surplus was exported for the most part to the Mediterranean basin, including North Africa, while staple food (legumes, grain) and exotic products such as ivory, gold, and gems, much of it coming on caravan routes via North Africa, were imported. Slaves, too, were brought from Africa. Communication with central Castile, however, was poor. The voyage to Madrid (which became the capital in 1561) took a week or more; bulk commodities could only be transported by mule train and took even longer. Nonetheless, with the Kingdom of Seville incorporated into the Crown of Castile, both were closely intertwined. Most other Andalusian port cities were, by contrast, dominated by the nobility. Prominent among these places were El Puerto de Santa María on the Bay of Cádiz, held by the powerful dynasty of Medinaceli since 1306, and Sanlúcar de Barrameda on the estuary of the Guadalquivir, which was granted to Guzmán el Bueno in 1303. Later, the dynasty of Medina Sidonia would emerge from the Medinaceli family. Seville, on the contrary, had a seat in the Cortes, alongside old Castilian cities like Burgos, Toledo, and Valladolid. The balance of political power between the Cortes and the crown shifted during the decades around 1500. During the Reconquista, the Crown had relied on substantial support from the nobility and from cities, but once the reconquest was complete, the monarchs sought to disempower these potent players in the political field. The shift was initiated by the Catholic Kings (Reyes Católicos) Isabella i (Castile) and Ferdinand ii (Aragón), who were enthroned in 1492, when Granada—the last Muslim stronghold on the Iberian Peninsula—fell. Their centralization efforts involved the creation of a royal police force (the Santa Hermandad) and the subordination of the knights’ orders (Santiago, Calatrava, and Alcántara) to the Crown. These measures had already been underway from the 1470s to the 1490s.36 A matter of conflict between the Crown and estates was taxation, which had been the most prominent issue overseen by the Cortes. The conflict culminated under the reign of Charles v 35 36

Ibid. 41–42. Bernecker and Pietschmann, Geschichte Spaniens, 46–52.

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Figure 8.3 Map of Seville (engraved by Matthäus Merian, c. 1638).

in the Revolt of the Comuneros (1520–1522). This rebellion of burghers and peasants was ignited when Toledo, Madrid, Soria, Cuenca, Ávila, Valladolid, and other old cities of Castile refused to finance wars that their Habsburg ruler was fighting abroad, as Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire.37 It is striking that most cities in the Kingdoms of Jaén, Córdoba, Seville, and Granada, which had emerged from the Reconquista, remained loyal to the monarch. Only Úbeda and Baeza joined the revolt, which was soon crushed. Charles, however, had to act as the Spanish king, Charles i, at the same time as being Emperor Charles v. The position of 16th- and 17th-century Seville is to be seen against the backdrop of this tension between national and imperial interests. The imperial dimension of Spanish politics was twofold. First and foremost, the conquest of the “New World” from the 1470s on was initiated when Spanish rule over the Canary Islands, her first colony, became firmly established and Genoese merchants situated themselves as crucial financers of the endeavour. These merchants were engaged with sugar production, traded the Canary dye

37

Ibid. 82–90; Aurelio Espinosa, The Empire of the Cities: Emperor Charles v, the Comunero Revolt, and the Transformation of the Spanish System (Leiden, 2009). See also Horst Pietschmann, “Stadt und Herrschaft im Spanien des 16. Jahrhunderts,” in Städte im Wandel: Bauliche Inszenierung und literarische Stilisierung lokaler Eliten auf der Iberischen Halbinsel, ed. Sabine Panzram (Münster, 2007), 325–360.

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orseille (for tinting textiles violet), and held municipal offices in Seville.38 Columbus’ Genoese background is to be seen in this context. With his four voyages across the Atlantic (from 1492 to 1504), he pressed the conquest. On its western shores it continued at a breathtaking pace with the conquest of Mexico by Cortez (1519–1521), of Peru by Pizarro (1531–1537), and of additional regions in Central and South America. Precious metals looted from indigenous populations in the Caribbean and on the American mainland, hitherto unknown medical drugs, dyestuffs, and stimulants such as tobacco and cocoa brought to Spain fed the Crown’s ambition to control all trade with the newly discovered lands overseas. On his second voyage, the Crown of Castile had ordered Columbus strictly to channel all goods he might bring into Spain through customs. This was to be best achieved by channeling all transatlantic trade through a single port. From that time, Seville engaged in a fierce competition with Cádiz over the lead in this hierarchy of maritime trade. In 1493, Cádiz obtained the monopoly for Spain’s African trade (including the Canaries), while Seville continued as the center of administrative and financial power. In 1503, the royal monopoly for all American trade was institutionalized within the Casa de la Contratación de Indias, established in Seville. The city was capable of fitting out large fleets for long voyages, of mobilizing skilled seafarers and maritime merchants, many of foreign descent, and leveraging both domestic and foreign capital and financial expertise. The Casa de la Contratación operated until 1790—throughout almost 300 years.39 Seville, additionally, was less prone to naval attacks than was Cádiz. The primary goal was control and efficient taxation of the commodity flows between Spain and Spanish America. A secondary goal was the enforcement of the Treaty of Tordesillas (1494), and thus pacification. The concentration of Spanish Atlantic shipping in a single port posed a difficulty for Spanish interlopers to intrude into Portuguese waters, and for Portuguese (and others) to do the reverse. The other imperial dimension of Spanish politics had come with the ascent of Charles of Ghent, which linked Spain with the Habsburg Empire. On the maternal side, he was a grandson of Isabella of Castile, and on the paternal side, a grandson of Emperor Maximilian i of the Habsburg dynasty. A coincidence 38

39

Enrique Otte, “Das genuesische Unternehmertum und Amerika unter den katholischen Königen,” in Von Bankiers und Kaufleuten, Räten, Reedern und Piraten, Hintermännern und Strohmännern. Aufsätze zur atlantischen Expansion Spaniens, ed. Günter Vollmer and Horst Pietschmann (Stuttgart, 2004), 235–263, here 235–239. Rafael Donoso Anes, “El papel del tesorero en el desarollo contable de la Casa de la Contratación,” in La Casa de la Contratación y la navegación entre España a las Indias, ed. Antonio Acosta Rordíguez, Aldolfo González Rodríguez, and Enriqueta Vila Vilar (Seville, 2003), 67–100, here 68–69.

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of childless marriages and premature deaths among monarchs and their heirs had led to his succession: as Charles i he became King of Spain in 1516, and as Charles v in 1519 he succeeded his grandfather Maximilian as Holy Roman Emperor. To finance his election, Charles had relied on the Augsburg banking houses of Fugger and Welser, who in turn enjoyed backing from Italian financiers, Genoese in particular. During the 1520s, in order to pay off his debts, Charles granted these German financiers the lease of the estates of the knights’ orders of Santiago, Alcántara, and Calatrava. The Welsers exploited Zultepec, one of the earliest Spanish silver mines in Mexico, and from 1528 to 1556 they funded and supervised the colonization of Venezuela. The Fuggers held the lease of the highly profitable mines of Almadén, in Andalusia, which produced the mercury needed for extracting silver from the ores in Mexico and Peru.40 From the 1540s, when even richer silver deposits of Zacatecas (Mexico) and Potosí (Peru) were discovered, and throughout the 17th and 18th centuries, Spanish state finance relied heavily on this supply of silver from the Americas. By 1561, the system of flotas y galeones was established, whereby large convoys sailed annually in order to minimize the risk of capture by enemy fleets. These convoys were obliged to sail from, and return to, the monopoly port of Seville.41 Nonetheless, at times of war or slumps in the productivity of the mines, the bullion flow was meagre or even interrupted for years, which increased the government’s reliance on credit. The financial needs of the Spanish Crown increased with the cost of maintaining Spanish troops in Italy and in the Netherlands, and increased further with their deployment against rebellious Dutch provinces, against Protestant powers during the Thirty Years War, and against France. Financiers from Genoa and other banking cities, already entrenched in Seville and Cádiz, became involved with this business from the first decades of Habsburg rule in Spain, sealing Spain’s reliance on foreign credit and revenue from its colonies. Only by the end of the 17th century did Charles ii, the last Habsburg ruler on the Spanish throne, manage to lessen the extent of the dependency.42 40 41

42

Mark Häberlein, The Fuggers of Augsburg: Pursuing Wealth and Honor in Renaissance Germany (Charlottesville, 2012); Jörg Denzer, Die Konquista der Augsburger Welser-­ Gesellschaft in Südamerika (1528–1556) (Munich, 2005). Carlos Àlvarez Nogal, “Instituciones y desarollo económico: la Casa de la Contratación y la Carrera de Indias (1503-1790),” in La Casa de la Contratación y la navegación entre España a las Indias, ed. Antonio Acosta Rodríguez, Aldolfo González Rodríguez, and Enriqueta Vila Vilar (Seville, 2003), 21–51. Ramón Carande y Thovar, Carlos V y sus banqueros (Madrid, 1987); Carlos Álvarez Nogal, Los banqueros de Felipe iv y los metales preciosos americanos (1621–1665) (Madrid, 1997); Carmen Sanz Ayán, Los banqueros de Carlos ii (Salamanca, 1988).

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The Casa de la Contratación was modelled along the lines of similar institutions that had been created in major Mediterranean seaports and in Portugal during the 14th and 15th century, for the administration and control of expanding maritime trade. Some of these older institutions were private, while others were semi-private.43 The Casa de la Contratación of Seville had from its inception been subordinated under the monarchy. In 1511, it was given jurisdiction over all commercial issues involving freighters and charterers, captains and mariners of the Carrera, Spain’s transatlantic shipping system. In 1524, with the creation of the Consejo de Indias (the governing body for the colonies), Charles v professionalized the Casa’s control.44 The exclusion of nonSpanish merchants and shippers was imposed in 1556. Private participation in Seville’s Atlantic trade increased, and accordingly more ship masters ceased to be capitan de la armada and became instead maestres de la Carrera.45 This contributed to disputes between the Casa and Seville’s maritime-commercial sphere. The conflict was settled in 1543 with the creation of the Consulado de cargadores a Indias—a guild of Spanish merchants officially registered for trade with Spanish America—also known under the name Universidad de ­mercaderes de Sevilla and Universidad de cargadores a Indias. By the end of the 16th century, it had acquired the responsibility for regulation and jurisdiction over most commercial issues of trade in the Carrera, including maritime assurance, credit and cashless payment, and bankruptcy—all to the deficit of the Casa, which was further weakened when Philip ii succeeded his father Charles v on the throne of Castile and Aragón in 1556. Charles had abdicated in 1555, leaving Spain virtually bankrupt. Philip gave the Consejo de Hacienda (corresponding to a ministry of finance) full powers to seize any sums that merchants and others involved with the Carrera might owe the Crown.46 This weakened both the Casa de la Contratación and the Consejo de Indias. During the course of the 17th century, the Casa became a mere institution for accounting, and the increase in the overlap between members of the Casa and the Consulado made it difficult for the Casa to fulfil one of its initial tasks: the control of the Consulado and its members. An increasing number of maritime merchants obtained the title of cargador a Indias without being regular 43

44 45 46

Antonio-Miguel Bernal Rodríguez, “Del monopolio a la negociación mercantil privada,” in La Casa de la Contratación y la navegación entre España a las Indias, ed. Antonio Acosta Rordíguez, Adolfo González Rodríguez, and Enriqueta Vila Vilar (Seville, 2003), 129–160, here 135. Donoso Anes, “El papel del tesorero,” 73, 89–90. Antonio-Miguel Bernal Rodríguez, La financiación de la Carrera de Indias (1492–1824). Dinero y credito en el comercio colonial español con América (Seville, 1992). Bernal Rodríguez, “Del monopolio a la negociación,” 139–141 and 154–156.

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members of the Consulado—among them agricultural entrepreneurs with a vested interest in the export of overpriced produce to the colonies, many Basque merchants (who were in fierce competition with Andalusian traders), Spaniards who acted as covers for foreigners who were excluded from direct trade with Spanish America, and—quietly—even foreigners.47 The internal flaws of the monopoly system had even more severe external effects. The Casa de la Contratación was intended to control ships and commodity flows, while the guild of the Consulado de cargadores a Indias was meant to admit only Spanish merchants to freight the galleons. The collusion of interests between members of both institutions resulted in an increase in prices for goods and services. This situation led to fraudulent behavior, in particular the smuggling of silver and other colonial produce to Europe, and of European manufactured products into Spanish America. Smuggling by its very nature is hard to quantify. Francisco Báez Eminente, a prominent customs and tax leaseholder since the 1670s, complained that only five percent of the cargo sent to the Americas was declared. Even if he exaggerated: remittance of silver acquired in exchange for smuggled goods also had to avoid the Aduana (the customs house). Stanley and Barbara Klein claimed that the volume of smuggled bullion was at fifty percent or more of the amount that arrived legally in Seville (of which the Crown claimed a fifth: the quinto del rey), with the peak periods of this activity being in the 17th century. Even so, the monopoly as such can be regarded as successful for those who created it. Roughly ninety percent of all legal trade with America passed through the port of Seville, to be taxed at the Aduana. These duties levied on commodities and bullion represented a vital contribution to the crown’s revenue, but the effect on the domestic economy was devastating. The imports of silver, which surged significantly during the 1560s and remained at a high level into the 1620s, led to inflation: the early modern Price Revolution (a term coined by Earl Hamilton).48 The rise of wages lagged behind prices, thus affecting the poorer classes in particular. Further, the rise of wages in Spain was steeper than in eastern and northern regions of Europe, making their i­ndustries 47

48

Antonia Heredia Herrera, “Casa de la Contratación y Consulado de Cargadores a Indias: afinidad y confrontación,” in La Casa de la Contratación y la navegación entre España y las Indias, ed. Antonio Acosta Rodríguez, Adolfo Luis González Rodríguez, and Enriqueta Vila Vilar (Seville, 2003), 161–181. José M. Oliva Melgar, “La metrópoli sin territorio. ¿Crisis del comercio de Indias en el siglo xvii o pérdida del control del monopolio?” in El sistema atlántico español (siglos xvii–xix), ed. Carlos Martínez Shaw and José M. Oliva Melgar (Madrid, 2005), 19–73, here 37–47; Stanley J. Stein and Barbara H. Stein, Silver, Trade, and War. Spain and America in the Making of Early Modern Europe (Baltimore, 2000), 23–26.

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(in  ­particular the labor-intensive textile sector) more competitive than the Spanish, contributing to the decline of manufacturing in Spain’s interior provinces. Segovia serves as an example. Like other Castilian woollen textile centers, the city had been a protagonist in the Comunero Revolt at a time when Imperial policies foreshadowed coming developments. The city was doing well throughout most of the 16th century, but by 1700 its population had shrunk from 50,000 to less than 20,000 inhabitants. Seville’s population was shrinking as well during this period, but not in the same proportion.49 Major profiteers from this economy were the directors (priores and consules) of the Consulado, among them members of powerful dynasties, such as the Guzmán and Ponce de León. A recent microstudy has shown that, at least into the 1630s, the directors were not victims of confiscation mandated by the crown (as previous literature would have it), but rather powerful financiers, who were invited to the court in Madrid to advise the Royal Councils on the feasibility of specific loans. On these occasions, they would negotiate favourable interest rates and terms. “If anyone dominated the Carrera de Indias and had a decisive influence on the agreements which, regarding commerce, were concluded in the higher spheres of government in Madrid, it was the Consulado de mercaderes de Sevilla.”50 This would explain the disempowerment of the Casa la Contratación. In state finance, these Seville merchants held a position similar to that of London merchant bankers vis-a-vis the English crown. Yet, in Spain, since loans were not subject to consent by Parliament, and given the Consulado’s control of the bullion flow from America, they were probably even more powerful than their English counterparts. During the 17th century, Seville merchants organized loans and donations to the crown totalling almost 25 million pesos. This made the crown more lenient towards the fraudulent activities among these merchants, and with the profits the more successful merchants build their own clientelist powerbase in the region. It was only around 1640, with Philip iv struggling with virtually permanent insolvency, that his minister Conde Duque de Olivárez (from the Guzmán dynasty) determined radical measures, among them confiscation of all bullion arriving from America in Seville. Since the reign of Charles v and of Philip ii, the Crown had borrowed substantial sums from the municipality, the merchants, and the ecclesiastics of Seville, causing a constant municipal debt. From the 49 50

Jan de Vries, European Urbanization, 1500–1800 (Cambridge, 1984), 278; Ángel García Sanz, Desarrollo y crisis del Antiguo Régimen en Castilla la Vieja. Economía y sociedad en tierras de Segovia de 1500 a 1814 (Madrid, 1977). Enriqueta Vila Vilar, El Consulado de Sevilla de Mercaderes a Indias. Un Òrgano de Poder (Seville, 2016), 21–25, 81–84, 95–97, quote from 83.

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1640s, such credits took the shape of extraction, hardly to be paid back.51 Seville’s loyalty was never rewarded, as further reforms of the customs system indicated. In reaction, the Cargadores a Indias sought safer havens for their capital and invested increasingly in agricultural land in Andalusia.52 In contrast with northern regions of Europe—England and Holland in ­particular— merchant capital enjoyed poor legal certainty. Spanish urban elites therefore preferred to adopt the economic and social attitudes of the nobility.53 Negative effects on the domestic economy were aggravated when the Spanish crown adopted the French organization of tax collection in order to increase the revenue from customs duties. This model was deemed to improve the Spanish fiscal system, because hitherto the competencies of corregidores, jueces conservadores, and other authorities had been unclear and intermingled, offering a leeway for inefficiency and fraud.54 “Tax farming” had been optimized in France by the minister Jean-Baptiste Colbert, Contrôleur général des finances from 1665. The operation was leased out to financiers who advanced expected receipts to the Crown for a specified future period. These tax farmers (fermiers généraux) then levied the duties and were in turn granted a percentage of the actual revenue. It was a massive incentive to the leaseholder to meet or even surpass expectations, in order to maximize profit. Francisco Báez Eminente, leaseholder of the customs of Andalusia (almojarifazgo) during the 1680s, acted accordingly. At that time, much of the commodity flow in Spanish Atlantic commerce was already handled from Cádiz. The weakness of the Casa de la Contratación was one reason, another was the ever-larger size of vessels employed. Their flotation depth did not allow for navigation on the Guadalquivir and access to Seville suffered. During these years, Francisco Báez Eminente obtained permission to reduce the rate of duties levied in Cádiz, which increased the competitiveness for foreign manufactures over Spanish domestic and colonial markets, and increased the attractiveness of Cádiz. It did help to reduce smuggling, and the total volume of imports ­increased, 51

52 53 54

José I. Fortea Pérez, “La gracia y la fuerza: el clero, las ciudades y el fisco en la Monarquía Católica,” in Ciudades en Conflicto (siglos xvi–xviii), ed. José I. Fortea Pérez and Juan E. Gelabert (Madrid, 2008), 137–161. I.A.A. Thompson, “Castile: Absolutism, Constitution, and Liberty,” in Fiscal Crisis, Liberty, and Representative Government, 1450–1789, ed. Philip T. Hoffman and Kathryn Norberg (Stanford, 1994), 181–225, here 199. Carlos Álvarez Nogal, Sevilla y la monarquía Hispánica en el siglo xvii (Seville, 2000), 42–47; Mercedes Gamero Rojas, El mercado de la tierra en Sevilla en el siglo xviii (Seville, 1993), 233. For the context, see Charles Tilly, The European Revolutions 1492–1992 (Oxford, 1993), 80–84, 101–102. José I. Fortea Pérez, “‘Principes de la república’: Los corregidores de Castilla,” Estudis Revista de Historia Moderna 32 (2006): 81–87.

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as did the i­ncome of both Crown and leaseholder,55 but the initial goals of the ­monopoly—to reduce the share of foreign commodities and of foreign ­traders—had been inverted. Such perforation of Seville’s monopoly led to the decline of its port, and to the rise of its old rival. During the last decades of the 17th century, Cádiz saw a significant increase of domestic and foreign merchants settling within its perimeters. This applied in particular to the French community, which played a significant role in the licit and illicit introduction of French textiles on the lucrative Spanish American markets. It is not surprising, therefore, that Cádiz became a determined supporter of the Bourbon pretender to the Spanish succession, providing money and regiments. Louis xiv, grandfather of the pretender Philip, made it explicit in 1709 in a letter to his ambassador in Madrid: “The principal issue of the present war [of Spanish Succession] is that of the commerce with the [Spanish] Indies and the riches it produces.”56 Again, it was foreign commercial interests that had a crucial impact on politics and economy in the Andalusian port cities and in Spain as a whole. During the 16th century, the economic strongholds of the Holy Roman Empire and powerful Italian banking dynasties had been wielding significant influence over Spanish colonial commerce, and even over the Crown. With the Empire and its banking city Augsburg weakened after the Thirty Years War, and with the ascent of France, accelerated by the defeat of hitherto unvanquished Spanish infantry in several battles of the 1640s and 50s, the tide shifted. French victory in the War of Succession led to the replacement of the Spanish Habsburg dynasty by the Bourbon king Philip V and his successors. It contributed ultimately to the transfer of the monopoly, which was sealed officially with the move of the Casa de la Contratación to Cádiz in 1717. 4 Cádiz It has been claimed that the origins of the Phoenician city of Gadir date to ca. 1,000 B.C., but archeological evidence reaches no further back than the 8th 55

56

Albert Girard, La rivalité commerciale et maritime entre Séville et Cadix jusqu’à la fin du xviiie siècle (Paris, 1935), 50–54 and 117–119 ; José L. Comellas García Llera, Sevilla, Cádiz y América. El trasiego y el tráfico (Málaga, 1992), 242; Manuel Bustos Rodríguez, Nueva Historia de Cádiz. Época Moderna: Un emporio atlántico en Europa (Madrid, 2014), 88–90. Jean Martin, “Les toiles bretagnes dans le commerce franco-espagnol de 1550 à 1830,” Annales de Bretagne et des Pays de l’Ouest 119.1 (2012): 31–60, here 47. The author quotes from Baron de Girardet, La correspondance de Louis xiv avec Michel Amelot, ambassadeur à Madrid, 1864.

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century B.C. Gadir is located on the tip of a narrow peninsula (ca. 15 kilometers in length) which protects a large bay from the open sea. Its wealth was built on maritime trade. Worship, sacrifice, and commerce were intermingled at the temple of Melqart. The region’s economy was built on fishing, on pottery (to contain salted fishery products), on agriculture, on the mining of copper, tin, lead, silver, and even gold inland, and on close commercial ties with North Africa.57 Salted fish and precious metals were in demand over the entire Mediterranean world which helped Tyre—the Phoenician metropolis—to pay tributes to the Assyrian Empire. When Gadir came under Roman rule in 206 B.C., during the Second Punic War, its importance rose. Rich urban dynasties from Gadir, among them the Balbi family, extended their political influence as far as Rome. Lucius Cornelius Balbus, a financial magnate and friend of Cicero, supported Caesar financially against Pompey, then became a partisan of Octavian. All inhabitants of Gades (its Roman name) were rewarded with Roman citizenship—the first Roman provincial city to hold this privilege.58 Under the pax Augusta, Gades extended its Atlantic shipping routes to the tin-producing south west of Britannia and the North Sea.59 Architectural evidence indicates that the city was economically vital well into the late Roman period, but was mostly destroyed during the Visigoth conquest of the early 5th century. Ít was reconquered by western allies of Emperor Justinian in 550, and then reconquered by the Visigoths in 572, leaving little prospects of recovery. It was only in the early 8th century, under Moorish rule, that the city was rebuilt and given the name Ŷazirat-Qadiš. In 844, it was ransacked once again, this time by Norman attackers who had just made a futile attempt on Muslim-held Lisbon. While the first centuries of Andalusia’s Muslim period were torn by conflicts between ethnic groups and between competing rulers and dynasties, the Almohad Caliphate (ca. mid-12th to mid-13th century) brought more stability, allowing Ŷazirat-Qadiš to prosper as a port city with a rich agricultural hinterland.60 It was still, however, no match for the splendor of Seville during the Almohad period.

57 58 59 60

Sabine Panzram, “Realität versus Paradigma. Gades und der sog. Círculo del Estrecho,” Orbis Terrarum 13 (2015): 155–190, here 168–169. Francisco J. Lomas Salmonte, “Cádiz en la Antigüedad,” in Historia de Cádiz, ed. Francisco J. Lomas Salmonte, et al. (Madrid, 2005), 15–145, here 24–26, 34–36, 71–77, 85–89, 119–125. Panzram, “Realität versus Paradigma,” 187–188. Rafael Sánchez Saus, “Cádiz en época Medieval,” in Historia de Cádiz, ed. Francisco J. ­Lomas Salmonte, et al. (Madrid, 2005), 147–281, here 151–175.

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Qadiš was taken by Christians in 1260 during the reign of Alfonso x el Sabio, son of Ferdinand iii. Like other places, it was not taken by military conquest but through a series of treaties with the Muslim rulers. The fall of Seville in 1248 had already sealed the end of their control over Lower Andalusia. Subsequently, a new castle was built on the only hilltop on the tiny peninsula of Cádiz, which rises a mere 40 meters above sea level. Alfonso x was fully aware of the strategic importance of this place and made sure that it did not fall under the domination of the Christian aristocracy, but became a possession of the Crown and a basis for further military operations against Muslim regions on either side of the Strait of Gibraltar. Raiding, looting, and enslavement continued throughout the following centuries, interspersed with periods of peaceful coexistence and trade—in particular with the Iberian regions remaining under Muslim rule. From 1262, loyal dwellers were added to the existing population of Cádiz, and medium-sized plots of land were given to Christian settlers in the rural area around the Bay, with importance given to grain production. From the 14th century, the variety of goods in places like Cádiz attracted merchants from the Basque coast, Flanders, England, and Hanseatic cities, bringing with them timber, textiles (linen, woolen), and metalware. In turn, they purchased local wine, oil, and dried fruits. Gold, slaves, gum Arabic, leather, beeswax, and spices came from Africa; silk, spices, and other luxury goods from the Levant.61 Around 1450, Genoese bankers “sponsored an ambitious expedition across the Sahara […] and two voyages along the west African coast […] all in search of direct access to African gold.” Genoese already established in Seville and Cádiz became major exporters of Castilian wool to Italy, facilitating their entrenchment in the Castilian economy.62 Christian-Muslim coexistence in Iberian frontier zones, often mutually profitable, came to an end with the fall of Granada in 1492. Reconquista was not the sole area of conflict. Rivalries between the Crown and major noble dynasties in Andalusia, between Seville and Cádiz, between ecclesiastical, royal, and aristocratic interests, and between Spain and Portugal (over access to the Guinea Coast), frequently escalated into violence. The kings of Castile had been unable to exercise firm control over their southern frontier lands. The houses of Medinaceli, Guzmán, and Ponce de León had seized considerable portions of the province from the Crown, in particular during the mid-15th century.63 In the following century, maritime trade and fisheries 61 62 63

Ibid. 175, 184–190, 194–197, 207, 231, 237–238, 246. Giovanni Arrighi, The Long Twentieth Century: Money, Power and the Origins of Our Times (New York, 2010), 117, quote from 121. Sánchez Saus, “Cádiz en época Medieval,” 204–212, 266.

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became more attractive, benefitting from the Portuguese advance along the African coast and from Spanish colonization of the Canary Islands, where the sugar cane monoculture required the import of staple food.64 The increasing Atlantic projection of Andalusia is evident from the existence of African slaves brought by the Portuguese and traded in Seville and Cádiz to be employed in agriculture, crafts, and households.65 At the same time, Genoese merchants and financiers—the most important group among the growing community of foreign merchants settling in Cádiz—maintained links with Italy and the Levant. In 1471, when the central government was still weak but economic prospects proved increasingly promising, Rodrigo Ponce de León was granted the title of Marqués de Cádiz. A system of mixed government emerged, with the municipal council (cabildo) coming under the influence of the Marqués, but with royal representatives (síndicos procuradores) exercising a certain control over the cabildo. His rivals, Medinaceli and Guzmán, controlled El Puerto de Santa María and Sanlúcar respectively, two districts located on the estuary of the Guadalquivir, which offered control over Seville’s maritime trade. While these aristocratic families channelled a large share of customs duties to their own coffers, Ponce de León began to do the same with duties levied on trade in Cádiz. In order to increase his own revenues from maritime trade, he ordered a naval blockade of the Guadalquivir. The 1470s and 80s saw privateering and piracy among virtually all power-holders along the Southern Iberian coast, from Portugal to Tarifa. In this context, Seville and Cádiz were permanent rivals.66 At the turn of the 1490s, with the fall of Granada imminent, the Crown had gained the authority to arbitrate between the competing port cities. An established division of commercial tasks between Seville and Cádiz was now more formally sealed: imports and exports in Cádiz were subject to the “almojarifazgo” (customs duties) of Seville, but in 1493, Cádiz obtained the monopoly on all trade with the Barbary Coast, explicitly banning such trade in any other Spanish seaport. In the same year, the Crown re-established its dominion over Cádiz in order to monopolize all customs revenue, duties that had increasingly been claimed by the aristocracy. This instructive example is consistent with the power struggles in Renaissance Europe, in which a monarch was opposed to the aristocrats. Furthermore, the expulsion of the Cádiz Jews in 1490 exemplified the increasingly widespread desire of princes and kings to 64 65 66

Vieira, “Sugar Islands.” Alfonso Franco Silva, La esclavitud en Andalucía: 1450–1550 (Granada, 1992). Sánchez Saus, “Cádiz en época Medieval,” 256, 263–274.

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obtain a homogeneous population in regard to faith.67 Political centralization was seen as a means to stifle violence between competing local and regional power-holders. The establishment of the 1503 monopoly in American trade for Seville is generally cited as the cause of the stagnation of Cádiz well into the 17th century. Yet, the steady growth of the population of Cádiz from the mid-16th century onwards indicates good opportunities in the established sectors of the economy (fisheries, the African trade, and shipbuilding). At the same time, Cádiz benefitted as a minor profiteer from Seville’s expanding Atlantic trade—i.e., a licit share of profits from agricultural produce (tercio de frutos) shipped to the colonies via Cádiz. The illicit share consisted in smuggling, which was more difficult to suppress in Cádiz than in Seville. During the 1620s and 30s, Cádiz obtained permission to add minor shares of cargo for the ships of the Carrera, including foreign-made textiles. When a French voyager observed in the late 1650s that the port of Seville was without ships, “because all [the maritime traffic] is going through Cádiz,” he was most likely exaggerating, but this account,

Figure 8.4 The city of Cádiz (drawn by Gabriel Bodenehr, Augsburg, c. 1700).

67

Ibid. 208, 242, 272.

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quoted by Manuel Bustos Rodríguez, is certainly an indication of the way in which things were going.68 More than Seville, Cádiz was a port city, merely by its topography. The land route from Seville to Madrid took an individual traveller one week, provided good weather and road conditions. From Cádiz it would take ten days at least; haulage of cargo took much more. Maritime destinations were a much easier reach. 17th-century ships sailed in four days to Mallorca, in eight or nine days to Genoa, and with favourable winds it took not even two weeks to North Sea waters. Commercial, cultural, and familial links with the world outside were likely more important in Cádiz than in the interior provinces, and the fishery sector produced a pool of experienced mariners for recruitment for commercial and military shipping. Exposure to the sea offered opportunities, but at the same time risks. During the 16th century, when the city was weakly fortified, it was attacked by North African corsairs in 1530, 1553, and 1574. More devastating were the assaults by the fleet of Francis Drake in 1587 and 1596, during the Revolt of the Netherlands and the Anglo-Spanish conflict. New fortifications were added in the following years, which resisted another English assault in 1625.69 With safety increasing and with ever larger portions of the Seville trade being carried out in Cádiz (due to the increase in the tonnage of ships), monopoly institutions were transferred from Seville to its rival: in 1679 the Juzgado de Indias (a court of justice for American affairs); in 1680 the full authorization to harbor the fleets of the Carrera de Indias. An indicator of the economic upturn was the value of real estate within the city of Cádiz. It was increasing to the extent that the Crown—always in search of new sources of income—imposed a special tax on it. Another indicator was the steady growth of the communities of foreign merchants: especially Italian, French, Dutch, English, and Irish. Their numbers increased steadily from the end of the Thirty Years War.70 During the Nine Years’ War (1688–1697), European sea powers fought over access to Spanish American markets, an issue also relevant to the War of Spanish Succession. Michel Morineau and Carlos Malamud Rikles have shown that huge sums were involved. In the year 1686, goods (mostly European) worth 46 million Livres tournois were sent from Cádiz to Spanish America, with French merchants contributing the largest share (17 million). They were followed by 68 69 70

Manuel Bustos Rodríguez, Cádiz en el systema atlántico. La ciudad, sus comerciantes y la actividad mercantil (1650–1830) (Cádiz, 2005), 52–53. Manuel Bustos Rodríguez, “Los siglos decisivos,” in Historia de Cádiz, ed. Francisco J. ­Lomas Salmonte, et al. (Madrid, 2005), 283–496, here 286, 405–413, 417. Ibid. 327, 332–333, 414–421.

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the Genoese (7.3 million), the English (6.2 million), the Dutch (5.1 million), and the Flemish (2.8 million). Spanish traders were at the low end, with a mere 2.4 million Livres. The share of the Hanseatic City of Hamburg was at 2.2 million Livres tournois, indicating that the lands of the Holy Roman Empire continued to participate in Spanish colonial trade, but now rather through more northern emporiums.71 During the War of Spanish Succession most of Castile supported the French pretender Philip (a grandson of Louis xiv), and the cabildo (municipal council) of Cádiz, aware of the dependence on French trade, offered substantial support to the Bourbon camp. The city was even backed by Seville, where the Consulado raised the sum of 36 million Reales, “free of interest, in order to support the city in its efforts to defend it” against the enemy.72 France, principal victor of the war, thus secured its prominence in the Spanish trade. During the years 1701–1725 alone, the extremely wealthy mercantile elite of Saint-Malo, experienced in illicit commerce with Peru, syphoned more than 54 million pesos from their Spanish trade into the French economy.73 In 1717, the Casa de la Contratación and the Consulado were transferred to Cádiz. Under the rule of the Bourbon king Philip V, the system of monopoly institutions was reformed. The mastermind of these reforms was minister José de Patiño y Morales. All naval issues (military and commercial) previously organized within the Casa were now managed by the Intendencia General de la Marina, created in 1717 in Cádiz. Administration of commodity flows and passenger traffic, customs, insurance, and postal issues remained within the Casa. De Patiño headed both institutions. In the same year, the Bay of Cádiz saw the creation of a new military shipyard for the construction of a modern Spanish navy, the Arsenal de Carraca, and a naval academy housed within the city, the Escuela de las Guardias Marinas.74 The government of Seville, however, made efforts to regain its previous status. In 1722, a royal commission was formed to scrutinize the pros and cons of moving the Casa back to the city on the Guadalquivir. The reproach was made that Cádiz was serving foreign interests, that the transfer of the institutions to Cádiz was due to the fraudulent machinations of the foreigners, and that the city built its wealth on the ruins 71 72 73 74

Michel Morineau, Incroyables gazettes et fabuleux métaux, Les retours des trésors américains d’après les gazettes hollandaises (xvie–xviiie siècles) (Paris, 1985). Bustos Rodríguez, Cádiz en el systema atlántico, 54. Carlos Malamud Rikles, Cádiz y Saint Malo en el comercio colonial peruano (1698–1725) (Jerez de la Frontera, 1986), 67; also see André Lespagnol, Messieurs de Saint-Malo: une élite négociante au temps de Louis xiv (Saint-Malo, 1991), 510. Ana Crespo Solana, La Casa de Contratación y la Intendencia de la Marina en Cádiz (1717– 1730) (Cádiz, 1996); José Quintero González, El arsenal de la Carraca (1717–1736) (Madrid, 2000).

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of the Spanish domestic industry. In order to fend off this initiative, the French Crown had her ambassador in Madrid work in favour of Cádiz. In 1726, the Court at Madrid confirmed that Cádiz would maintain the institutions of the monopoly system.75 Even though a number of privileged trading companies (e.g., Compañía de Caracas 1728 and Compañía des Barcelona 1756) were admitted to certain sectors of colonial trade, and though early liberal reform policies began to perforate the monopoly from the 1760s, admitting other Spanish seaports (La Coruña, San Sebastián), Cádiz remained unique in its maritime commerce until the Coalition Wars. In 1788, fifty-eight percent of all goods exported by Spaniards to the colonies (illicit trade excluded), and eighty-five percent of all goods exported by foreign merchants, were still channelled through its port, and in that same year it still received seventy-nine percent of all colonial goods coming into Spain.76 In the course of the 18th century, Cádiz also became an important port of call for the East India trade of the British, Dutch, and Swedish. Their ships took on board huge volumes of American silver indispensable for the purchase of goods from China and India, increasing the city’s importance on the crossroads of bullion and commodity flow:77 “Cádiz was the utmost expression of […] port, meaning port and nothing but port, where merchandise was exchanged, embarked and disembarked. Nothing was produced in Cádiz, and the presence of all the entrepreneurs was owed exclusively to the peculiar conditions of its port, and to the fact that for half of a century it was the only port permitted to trade with [Spanish] America.”78 In order to counterbalance this preponderance, factories were created in Cádiz and at other places around the Bay during the second half of the 18th century, for producing cottons, silk, hats, candles, leather, soaps, cigars. Still, most of these initiatives were short-lived and did not initiate a sustained change in the economic structure of the city and its vicinities. It is interesting that no woollen manufacturing emerged, even though the country was one of Europe’s leading producers of wool. Again, it was the very effects of colonial commerce that undermined industrial efforts: labor was extremely expensive in Cádiz and available urban space too costly. Even the shipyard of La Carraca only survived because it was a state enterprise. It produced only warships. 75 76 77 78

Bustos Rodríguez, Cádiz en el systema atlántico, 55–56. Klaus Weber, Deutsche Kaufleute im Atlantikhandel 1680–1830: Unternehmen und Familien in Hamburg, Cádiz und Bordeaux (Munich, 2004), 93. Meike von Brescius, Private Enterprise and the China Trade: Merchants and Markets in Europe, c. 1720–1760. (Leiden, forthcoming). Manuela C. García Bernal and Julian B. Ruiz vera, Cargadores a Indias (Madrid, 1992), 264.

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Merchantmen were usually acquired from abroad.79 The preponderance of maritime commerce is also reflected in the occupational structure of the city’s population. Even in late 18th-century Spain, ca. sixty-six percent of the entire population made its living in its primary sector, and ca. 18% in its tertiary. In Cádiz, the tertiary sector occupied almost sixty percent in 1713, and almost eighty by the 1780s.80 The percentage of clerics oscillated around 1.6 percent of the total population in mid-18th century Cádiz and only 1.3 percent during the 1780s, the average was more than four percent in cities under the Antiguo Régimen.81 Foreign and domestic commercial interest had substantial influence on the politics of the municipal government of Cádiz, although it remains unclear how this was exercised. During the 1760s the cabildo had 43 seats (regidurías), with its number increasing during the following decades. It is a mystery why hardly any of the more prominent representatives of the Spanish merchant elite were members of the cabildo. They became more visible in the council only in the second half of the 18th century. In 1766, at least six of its members were also members of the Consulado. More frequent among the regidores was indirect participation in colonial trade, e.g., by providing capital to the merchants. Foreigners (who controlled the lion’s share of trade) were excluded, unless they had obtained naturalization. The office of regidor had to be acquired; it was purchased at prices ranging between 20,000 and 40,000 Reales, and was a precondition to holding a noble title, which could also be acquired by buying membership in one of the knightly orders, e.g., Calatrava. The title of regidor carried considerable social prestige, but its political power must have been rather weak, otherwise there should have been fewer complaints about poor attendance at council meetings. Often these meetings were held with less than half of the members present. The interest in the office of regidor (and its monetary value) decreased over the course of the 18th century. For affluent merchants, the payment of bribes was probably a more efficient way to exert political influence for commercial issues. According to Manuel Bustos Rodríguez, the cabildo represented the city’s established patriciate rather than the agile and cosmopolitan merchant elite.82 This corresponds with Carlos 79 80 81 82

Bustos Rodríguez, Cádiz en el systema atlántico, 256–271. Julio Pérez Serrano, Cádiz, la ciudad desnuda. Cambio enonómico y modelo demográfico en la formación de la Andalucía contemporánea (Cádiz, 1992), 162. Arturo Morgado García, Iglesia y sociedad en el Cádiz del sigo xviii (Cádiz, 1989), 19; Arturo Morgado García, La Diócesis de Cádiz: de Trento a la Desamortización (Cádiz, 2008), 35. Bustos Rodríguez, Cádiz en el systema atlántico, 282–286; Bustos Rodríguez, Nueva Historia de Cádiz, 117–118.

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Martínez Shaw’s observation: even when members of this cosmopolitan elite sought investment outside the maritime trade, they chose Andalusian agriculture and viticulture rather than the industrial sector, which would have been a more adequate activity for a politically ambitious bourgeoisie. Economic conservatism and a “rentier” mentality prevailed in the economic dimension, and aspirations for nobility in the social, much the same as among the bourgeoisie in Seville.83 Many members of this elite left Cádiz during the Napoleonic Wars, when maritime trade had become extremely hazardous. The decline of Cádiz as one of Europe’s leading Atlantic seaports was sealed when the Spanish American colonies broke away from the Bourbon Empire and declared independence. Ironically, they invoked the very Spanish Constitution of 1812, which had been established by the liberal Cádiz Cortes in the city during Spain’s War of Independence against Napoleonic occupation. 5 Conclusions The political and economic history of these three major Iberian seaports has not so much to do with the power of cities, but rather with the power that was exercised through these cities. Such power was often exercised not by Iberian elites, but rather by foreign players in the rapidly expanding field of early modern globalization (or by their agents residing in these cities). Another external player was the Crown, seeking financial support in return for commercial privileges granted to the cities and to individuals from the urban elite. In Lisbon and in the two Spanish port cities of Seville and Cádiz, the monopoly on colonial trade imposed by respective Crowns had been the basis for the presence of merchants from abroad. As direct trade with the respective colonies was granted solely to Portuguese and Spanish subjects, foreigners sought partnership with local merchants. Yet Brazilian gold and Spanish American silver pouring into Europe through these Atlantic port cities had negative effects on Portuguese and Spanish domestic economies. It in no way contributed to building sustained wealth. On the contrary, the inflation that it brought undermined the 83

Carlos Martínez Shaw, “La burguesía andaluza: actividad económica y proyección institucional,” in La burguesía de negocios en la Andalucía de la ilustración, ed. Antonio García-Baquero González, vol. 2 (Cádiz, 1991), 15–32. Also see Javier Maldonado Rosso, La formación del capitalismo en el Marco de Jerez. De la vitivinicultura tradicional a la agroindustria vinatera moderna (siglos xviii y xix) (Madrid, 2000), 365–369.

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competitiveness of Iberian manufacturing. With ambitious imperial ­projects and huge overseas territories to defend, but poor domestic industry and thus poor tax revenue, the balance sheets looked bleak. A substantial contribution to royal revenue was therefore found in the customs levied on colonial trade. Efficient control of the commodity flow was best achieved when it was concentrated in a single port. Foreigners therefore flocked to Lisbon and Seville (and later Cádiz) to tap into the flow where it first touched European soil, and to introduce their own products into the Spanish and Portuguese markets. The monarchs who had established these monopoly systems suffered an ironic fate in that the availability of precious metal from the “New World” paradoxically made them dependent on credit, much of which was granted by those merchants (or at least by the most powerful among them) who were participating (licit or illicitly) in the Spanish and Portuguese colonial trade. Seville, with its agents from Genoese, Florentine, Augsburg, and Flemish banking houses, with its many hundreds of royal officials working in the trade organization, and with powerful merchants and ship owners, was a major player in colonial trade with the Americas and contributed significantly to state revenue—but the effects proved detrimental to the interior provinces. This situation did not change when the Spanish War of Succession brought Bourbon rule over Spain to replace Habsburg rule, and a transfer of the trade monopoly from Seville to Cádiz. The dominant group of foreign merchants and financiers—Italians and Germans—were replaced by French counterparts. In Lisbon, the links with Genoese and Upper German merchants and banking houses were replaced by those with England. The Methuen Treaty (1703), in particular, gave English merchants substantial advantages over other nonPortuguese competitors and granted them privileged access to Portuguese and Brazilian markets. Charles Tilly concluded, in his book on “The European Revolutions 1492–1992”: For 300 years after 1492, both Portugal and Spain were sustaining their crowns through revenue from colonies and international trade, although their local economies did not benefit enormously from those revenues. Royal borrowing from foreign lenders, purchasing consumer goods from abroad, and re-exporting commodities or silver drawn from colonies resembled the 20th-century situation of many small oil-producing states in which the rich get rich and the powerful more powerful but the mass of residents […] remain outside circuits of prosperity.84 84 Tilly, The European Revolutions, 79.

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Tilly’s comparison with small oil-rich states does match to some extent, but both Spain and Portugal were endowed with far more diverse economies; a large proportion of their inhabitants made their living independent from the maritime-colonial sector. Characteristic of the Iberian countries (and of Spain in particular) was rather the parallel existence of this sector and of a domestic economy which was poorly integrated with the former, with harmful side effects on the latter. Exceptions are the agricultural estates in the immediate vicinity of the ports, whose owners managed to export overpriced staple foods (grain, oil, wine) to the colonies. The main beneficiaries of the maritime-­colonial sector, however, were the seaports, even if the royal treasuries extracted extraordinary credits from the cities, as in the case of Seville. Cádiz occasionally provided the Crown with voluntary support, indicating that the mobilization of urban funds was not always extraction, but an element in the symbiotic relationship between city and Crown. Foreign power is illustrated by the influence exerted by the merchant communities from abroad. The three seaports provided an arena in which the static sphere of monarchy and the versatile sphere of commerce and capital met. Charles Tilly distinguished a capital-­intensive path (exemplified by the Netherlands) from a ­coercion-intensive path of state-building (exemplified by Prussia, Russia— and Spain). The mandatory participation of Portuguese Jewish merchants in the India trade, the confiscation of bullion from affluent Spanish merchants, and other practices of imposition fit this pattern, in which significantly less legal security was provided than the Netherlands or Britain offered during this period. Nonetheless, the Portuguese and Spanish colonial systems, with most commerce concentrated in the monopoly port cities, were not as inefficient as contemporary observers and historians have asserted. The system may have been harmful to a number of metropolitan and colonial regions and to specific sectors of economy, but it was successful in preserving control over distant territories for more than 300 years, longer than most British, Dutch, or French colonies existed. If scholars have, for decades, emphasized Spanish (and ­Portuguese) dependency on foreign credit, manufactured goods, and shipping, more recent investigations of merchant networks, in particular by Ana Crespo Solana, has highlighted the symbiotic interdependencies within the commercial relations.85 Further, ­Xabier Lamikiz came to the conclusion 85

Ana Crespo Solana, Mercaderes atlánticos. Redes del comercio flamenco y holandés entre Europa y el Caribe (Córdoba, 2009); Ana Crespo Solana, “Self-organizing: The Case of Merchant Cooperation in the Hispanic Atlantic Economy (1680–1778),” In Self-organizing Networks and gis Tools. Cases of Use for the Study of Trading Cooperation (1400–1800), ed. Ana Crespo Solana and David Alonso García, Journal of Knowledge Management, Economics and Information Technology (2012): 191–224.

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that, in the course of the 18th century, Spanish maritime merchants improved their position within these networks.86 In his classic study from the 1930s and 40s, Earl Hamilton scrutinized the inflation that accompanied silver. Pierre and Huguette Chaunu carried out quantitative research on the Carrera de Indias of the 16th and 17th century, as did Antonio García-Baquero González for 18th-century Cádiz.87 Much of the existing literature on Iberian transatlantic trade has been synthesized in a more recent study by Niels Wiecker.88 Research on Spanish and Portuguese colonial trade and their impact on Iberia peaked during the 1980s and 90s, when public interest (and funding) was secured in the context of the “quinto centenario” of Columbus’ first voyage. In Portugal, the “quinto centenário” of da Gama’s first voyage to India and the related expo of 1998 encouraged new approaches to Portugal’s maritime history, promoted by the national committee for the commemoration of the Portuguese expansion. In Spain, collective works, such as Manuela Cristina García Bernal and Julian B. Ruiz Rivera’s study of a specific group of Spanish maritime merchants, and of Antonio Acosta Rodríguez, Aldolfo González Rodríguez, and Enriqueta Vila Vilar on Spanish monopoly institutions have elucidated the structures of trade and administration. Administration and its reforms under Bourbon rule has been studied by Ana Crespo Solana. Manuel Bustos Rodríguez provided a socio-economic analysis of a large group of merchants in the Carrera de Indias in 18th-century Cádiz.89 Eberhard Crailsheim contributed an overview on Flemish merchants in Seville, and Ana Crespo Solana on Spanish-Dutch trade in Cádiz, while Klaus Weber did so with the Germans established there. Italians, a prominent focus of research on the earlier periods, but widely overlooked for the 18th century,

86 87

88 89

Xabier Lamikiz, Trade and Trust in the Eighteenth-Century Atlantic World: Spanish Merchants and Their Overseas Networks (Woodbridge, 2010). Pierre Chaunu and Huguette Chaunu, Séville et l’Atlantique (1505–1650), 11 vols. (Paris, 1955–1960); Earl J. Hamilton, American Treasure and the Price Revolution in Spain, 1501– 1650 (Cambridge, MA, 1934); Earl J. Hamilton, War and Prices in Spain, 1651–1800 (Cambridge, MA, 1947); Antonio García-Baquero González, Cádiz y el Atlántico (1717–1778), 2 vols. (Seville, 1976); Antonio García-Baquero González, Andalucía en la Carrera de Indias (1492–1824) (Seville, 1986). Niels Wiecker, Der iberische Atlantikhandel: Schiffsverkehr zwischen Spanien. Portugal und Iberoamerika, 1700–1800 (Stuttgart, 2012). Bernal Rodríguez, La financiación de la Carrera de Indias; García Bernal and Ruiz Rivera, Cargadores a Indias; Crespo Solana, La Casa de Contratación; Manuel Bustos Rodríguez, Los comerciantes de la Carrera de Indias en el Cádiz del Siglo xviii (1713–1775) (Cádiz, 1995); Antonio Acosta Rodríguez, Aldolfo González Rodríguez, and Enriqueta Vila Vilar, eds., La Casa de la Contratación y la navegación entre España a las Indias. (Seville, 2003).

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have now been reconsidered by Catia Brilli and Klemens Kaps.90 Examples of recent scholarly approaches to Spanish colonial trade have been provided by Carlos Martínez Shaw and José María Oliva Melgar.91 In general, interest in economic dimensions prevailed in these studies, with politics being a sphere in which commercial and governmental interests were being bargained. In the case of Portugal, research in economic history has also addressed aspects of the administration and structures of maritime trade, such as the Carreira da Índia. Paloma Fernández Pérez, as an exception, has studied the importance of family networks for building and maintaining the economy, and thus social and political power.92 Jorun Poettering investigated German merchants in 17th-century Lisbon, while Portuguese and French merchants of the 18th century have been analysed by Jorge Miguel del Melo Viana Pedreira and JeanFrançois Labourdette.93 It still remains unclear, however, exactly how foreign individuals managed to influence administration and/or politics in Spain and Portugal. Antonio-Miguel Bernal Rodríguez has noted the lack of biographical studies of elite officials of institutions such as the Casa de la Contratación,94 which seems to also be the case for Lisbon. It seems that the communities of ­foreign-born merchants established in Lisbon, Seville, and Cádiz have been better researched to date than have their autochthonous counterparts. Bio-­ prosopography may be a fruitful approach to investigating how the institutions of trade and mercantile control were utilized or manipulated—how power was exerted through these institutions. With her fine study on elite merchants and financiers in 17th-century Seville,95 Enriqueta Vila Vilar has demonstrated that 90

Crespo Solana, Entre Cádiz y los paises bajos; Eberhard Crailsheim, The Spanish Connection. French and Flemish Merchant Networks in Seville, 1570–1650 (Cologne, 2016); Weber, Deutsche Kaufleute im Atlantikhandel; Catia Brilli, Genoese Trade and Migration in the Spanish Atlantic, 1700–1830 (Cambridge, 2016); Klemens Kaps, “Small but Powerful: Networking Strategies and the Trade Business of Habsburg-Italian Merchants in Cádiz in the Second Half of the Eighteenth Century,” European Review of History/Revue européenne d’histoire 23.3 (2016): 227–255. 91 Carlos Martínez Shaw and José M. Oliva Melgar, eds., El sistema atlántico español (siglos xvii–xix) (Madrid, 2005). 92 Paloma Fernández Pérez, El rostro familiar de la metrópoli. Redes de parentesco y lazos mercantiles en Cádiz, 1700–1812 (Madrid, 1997). 93 Poettering, Handel, Nation und Religion; Jorge M. del Melo Viana Pedreira, Os homens de negócio da praça de Lisboa de Pombal ao vintismo (1755–1822). Diferenciação, reproducão e identificação de um grupo social (Lisbon, 1995); Del Melo Viana Pedreira, “Os negociantes de Lisboa na segunda metade do século xviii”; Jean-Baptiste Labourdette, La Nation Française à Lisbonne de 1669 a 1790. Entre Colbertisme et Libéralisme (Paris, 1988). 94 Bernal Rodríguez, “Del monopolio a la negociación,” 131. 95 Vila Vilar, El Consulado de Sevilla.

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Lisbon, Seville, Cádiz (15th–18th Centuries) Table 8.1  Demography of Lisbon, Seville and Cádiz, 1500–1800

City

1500

1550

1600

1650

1700

1750

1800

Lisbona 30.000 98.000 100.000 130.000 165.000 148.000 180.000 Lisbonb 120.000 175.000 250.000 n.a. 270.000 n.a. 247.010 Sevillec 25.000 65.000 90.000 60.000 96.000 66.000 96.000 Cádizd 2.000 < 1.000 5.000 7.000 23.000 60.000 70.000 Cádize n.a. n.a. 7.000 22.500 41.000 50.000 50.000 a, c, d Jan de Vries, European Urbanization 1500–1800 (Cambridge, MA, 1984), 277–278; b census of the years 1527–1532, 1551, 1622, 1700, 1798 in: Ivo Carneiro de Sousa, História de Portugal Moderno. Economia e Sociedade (Lisbon, 1996), 57–80; e Manuel Bustos Rodríguez, “Los siglos decisivos,” in Historia de Cádiz, ed. Francisco J. Lomas Salmonte, et al. (Madrid, 2005), 283–496, see 301. The author confirms that the population exceeded 70,000 during the 1780s, but dwindled to 50,000 in 1800, due to the yellow fever epidemic of that year.

such a micro-historic approach can contribute substantially to our understanding of the mechanisms of power. With her special consideration of the role played by the Seville Consulado as a banking institution, she has provided a basis for further comparative studies, e.g., a comparison of the Consulado with that of 17th-century London merchant bankers with regards to state finance. Bibliography Acosta Rodríguez, Antonio, Aldolfo González Rodríguez, and Enriqueta Vila Vilar, eds. La Casa de la Contratación y la navegación entre España a las Indias. Seville, 2003. Álvarez Nogal, Carlos. “Instituciones y desarollo económico: la Casa de la Contratación y la Carrera de Indias (1503–1790).” In Casa de la Contratación y la navegación entre España a las Indias, edited by Antonio Acosta Rordíguez, Aldolfo González Rodríguez, and Enriqueta Vila Vilar, 21–51. Seville, 2003. Álvarez Nogal, Carlos. Sevilla y la Monarquia Hispánica en el siglo xvii. Seville, 2000. Álvarez Nogal, Carlos. Los banqueros de Felipe iv y los metales preciosos americanos (1621–1665). Madrid, 1997. Araújo, Ana Cristina, José Luís Cardoso, Nuno Gonçalo Monteiro, Walter Rossa, and José Vicente Serráo, eds. O Terramoto de 1755: Impactos Históricos. Lisbon, 2007. Arrighi, Giovanni. The Long Twentieth Century: Money, Power and the Origins of Our Times. New York, 2010.

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Barreiros, Maria Helena. “Urban Landscapes: Houses, Streets and Squares of 18th Century Lisbon.” In Cultural History of Early Modern European Streets, edited by Riita Laitinen and Thomas V. Cohen, 11–38. Leiden, 2009. Bernal Rodríguez, Antonio-Miguel. “Del monopolio a la negociación mercantil privada.” In La Casa de la Contratación y la navegación entre España a las Indias, edited by Antonio Acosta Rodríguez, Adolfo González Rodríguez, and Enriqueta Vila Vilar, 129–160. Seville, 2003. Bernal Rodríguez, Antonio-Miguel. La financiación de la Carrera de Indias (1492–1824). Dinero y credito en el comercio colonial español con América. Seville, 1992. Bernecker, Walther, and Horst Pietschmann. Geschichte Spaniens—Von der frühen Neuzeit bis zur Gegenwart. Stuttgart, 1993. Bouza Álvarez, Fernando. Portugal no Tempo dos Filipes: Política, Cultura, Representações (1580–1640). Lisbon, 2000. Boyajian, James C. Portuguese Trade in Asia under the Habsburgs, 1580–1640. Baltimore, 1993. Brescius, Meike von. Private Enterprise and the China Trade: Merchants and Markets in Europe, c. 1720–1760. Leiden, forthcoming. Brilli, Catia. Genoese Trade and Migration in the Spanish Atlantic, 1700–1830. Cambridge, 2016. Bustos Rodríguez, Manuel. Nueva Historia de Cádiz. Época Moderna: Un emporio atlántico en Europa. Madrid, 2014. Bustos Rodríguez, Manuel. “La topografía urbana del Cádiz moderno y su evolución.” Revista Atlántica-Mediterranea de Prehistoria y Archeologia Social 10 (2008): 413–444. Bustos Rodríguez, Manuel. “Los siglos decisivos.” In Historia de Cádiz, edited by Francisco J. Lomas Salmonte, Rafael Sánchez Saus, Manuel Bustos Rodríguez, Alberto Ramos Santana, and José L. Millán Chivite, 283–496. Madrid, 2005. Bustos Rodríguez, Manuel, Cádiz en el systema atlántico. La ciudad, sus comerciantes y la actividad mercantil (1650–1830). Cádiz, 2005. Bustos Rodríguez, Manuel. Los comerciantes de la Carrera de Indias en el Cádiz del Siglo xviii (1713–1775). Cádiz, 1995. Carande y Thovar, Ramón. Carlos V y sus banqueros. Madrid, 1987. Carneiro de Sousa, Ivo. História de Portugal Moderno. Economia e Sociedade. Lisbon, 1996. Castro Henriques, António. “The Rise of a Tax State: Portugal, 1367–1401.” E-Journal of Portuguese History 12.1 (2014): 49–66. Chaunu, Pierre, and Huguette Chaunu. Séville et l’Atlantique (1505–1650). 11 vols. Paris, 1955–1960. Comellas García Llera, José L. Sevilla, Cádiz y América. El trasiego y el tráfico. Málaga, 1992. Couto, Denjanirah. História de Lisboa. Lisbon, 2003.

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Crailsheim, Eberhard. The Spanish Connection. French and Flemish Merchant Networks in Seville, 1570–1650. Cologne, 2016. Crespo Solana, Ana. “Self-organizing: The Case of Merchant Cooperation in the Hispanic Atlantic Economy (1680–1778).” In Self-organizing Networks and GIS Tools. Cases of Use for the Study of Trading Cooperation (1400–1800), edited by Ana Crespo Solana and David Alonso García, 191–224 (Journal of Knowledge Management, Economics and Information Technology [2012]). Crespo Solana, Ana. Mercaderes atlánticos. Redes del comercio flamenco y holandés entre Europa y el Caribe. Córdoba, 2009. Crespo Solana, Ana. Entre Cádiz y los Paises Bajos: una comunidad mercantil en la ciudad de la Ilustración. Madrid, 2001. Crespo Solana, Ana. La Casa de Contratación y la Intendencia de la Marina en Cádiz (1717–1730). Cádiz, 1996. Da Costa Dominguez, Rodrigo. Mercadores e Banqueiros: Sociedade e Economia no Portugal dos Séculos xiv e xv. Brasilia, 2009. Del Melo Viana Pedreira, Jorge M. “Diplomacia, manufacturas e desenvolvimento económico. Em torno do mito de Methuen.” In O Tratado de Methuen (1703): diplomacia, guerra, política e economia, edited by José Luís Cardoso, Isabel Cluny, Fernando Dores Costa, Leonor Freire Costa, Conceição Andrade Martins, Nuno Gonçalo Monteiro, and Jorge M. del Melo Viana Pedreira, 131–156. Lisbon, 2003. Del Melo Viana Pedreira, Jorge M. Os homens de negócio da praça de Lisboa de Pombal ao vintismo (1755–1822). Diferenciação, reproducão e identificação de um grupo social. Lisbon, 1995. Del Melo Viana Pedreira, Jorge M. Estrutura industrial e mercado colonial: Portugal e Brasil (1780–1830). Linda-a-Velha, 1994. Del Melo Viana Pedreira, Jorge M. “Os negociantes de Lisboa a segunda metade do século xviii.” Análise Social 27 (1992): 407–440. Del Melo Viana Pedreira, Jorge M. “Indústria e negócio: a estamparia da região de Lisboa, 1780–1830.” Análise Social 26 (1991): 537–559. Denzer, Jörg. Die Konquista der Augsburger Welser-Gesellschaft in Südamerika (1528– 1556). Munich, 2005. Disney, Anthony R. A History of Portugal and the Portuguese Empire. 2 vols. Cambridge, 2009. Donoso Anes, Rafael. “El papel del tesorero en el desarollo contable de la Casa de la Contratación.” In La Casa de la Contratación y la navegación entre España a las Indias, edited by Antonio Acosta Rodríguez, Aldolfo González Rodríguez, and Enriqueta Vila Vilar, 67–100. Seville, 2003. Dos Santos Arnold, Torsten. “Hermann Kellenbenz and the German-Portuguese Economic Relationships during the Sixteenth Century.” In Renaissance Craftsmen and Humanistic Scholars: European Circulation of Knowledge between Portugal and

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­Germany, edited by Thomas Horst, Marília dos Santos Lopes, and Henrique Leitão, 91–102. Frankfurt am Main, 2017. Espinosa, Aurelio. The Empire of the Cities: Emperor Charles V, the Comunero Revolt, and the Transformation of the Spanish System. Leiden, 2009. Fernández Pérez, Paloma. El rostro familiar de la metrópoli. Redes de parentesco y lazos mercantiles en Cádiz, 1700–1812. Madrid, 1997. Fischer, Wolfram, Jan van Houtte, Hermann Kellenbenz, Ilja Mieck, and Friedrich Vittinghoff, eds. Handbuch der europäischen Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte, vol. 3. Stuttgart, 1986. Fortea Pérez, José I. “La gracia y la fuerza: el clero, las ciudades y el fisco en la Monarquía Católica.” In Ciudades en Conflicto (siglos xvi–xviii), edited by José I. Fortea Pérez and Juan E. Gelabert, 137–161. Madrid, 2008. Fortea Pérez, José I. “‘Principes de la república’: Los corregidores de Castilla.” Estudis Revista de Historia Moderna 32 (2006): 73–110. Fortea Pérez, José I. and Juan E. Gelabert, eds. Ciudades en Conflicto (siglos xvi–xviii). Madrid, 2008. Franco Silva, Alfonso. La esclavitud en Andalucía: 1450–1550. Granada, 1992. Freire Costa, Leonor. “Relações económicas com o exterior.” In História Económica de Portugal 1700–2000, edited by Pedro Lains and Álvaro Ferreira da Silva, 263–298. Lisbon, 2005. Gamero Rojas, Mercedes. El mercado de la tierra en Sevilla en el siglo xviii. Seville, 1993. García-Baquero González, Antonio, ed. La burguesía de negocios en la Andalucía de la ilustración, vol. 2. Cádiz, 1991. García-Baquero González, Antonio. Andalucía en la Carrera de Indias (1492–1824). Seville, 1986. García-Baquero González, Antonio, Cádiz y el Atlántico (1717–1778). 2 vols. Seville, 1976. García Bernal, Manuela C., and Julian B. Ruiz Rivera. Cargadores a Indias. Madrid, 1992. García Sanz, Ángel. Desarrollo y crisis del Antiguo Régimen en Castilla la Vieja. Economía y sociedad en tierras de Segovia de 1500 a 1814. Madrid, 1977. Girard, Albert. La rivalité commerciale et maritime entre Séville et Cadix jusqu’à la fin du xviiie siècle. Paris, 1935. Häberlein, Mark. Aufbruch ins globale Zeitalter. Die Handelswelt der Fugger und Welser. Darmstadt, 2016. Häberlein, Mark. The Fuggers of Augsburg: Pursuing Wealth and Honor in Renaissance Germany. Charlottesville, 2012. Hamilton, Earl J. War and Prices in Spain, 1651–1800. Cambridge, MA, 1947. Hamilton, Earl J. American Treasure and the Price Revolution in Spain, 1501–1650. Cambridge, MA, 1934. Heredia Herrera, Antonia. “Casa de la Contratación y Consulado de Cargadores a Indias: afinidad y confrontación.” In La Casa de la Contratación y la navegación entre

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España a las Indias, edited by Antonio Acosta Rodríguez, Aldolfo González Rodríguez, and Enriqueta Vila Vilar, 161–181. Seville, 2003. Hoffman, Philip T., and Kathryn Norberg, eds. Fiscal Crisis, Liberty, and Representative Government, 1450–1789. Stanford, 1994. Jobson de Andrade Arruda, José. Uma colônia entre dois impérios: a abertura dos portos, 1800–1808. Bauru, 2008. Jordan-Gschwend, Annemarie, and Kate Love, eds. The Global City—On the streets of Renaissance Lisbon. London, 2015. Kaps, Klemens. “Small but Powerful: Networking Strategies and the Trade Business of Habsburg-Italian Merchants in Cádiz in the Second Half of the Eighteenth Century.” European Review of History / Revue européenne d’histoire 23.3 (2016): 227–255. Kömmerling-Fitzler, Hedwig. “Der Nürnberger Kaufmann Georg Pock († 1528/29) in Portugiesisch-Indien und im Edelsteinland Vijayanagara.” In Mitteilungen des Vereins für Geschichte der Stadt Nürnberg 55 (1967/68): 137–184. Labourdette, Jean-Baptiste. La Nation Française à Lisbonne de 1669 a 1790. Entre Colbertisme et Libéralisme. Paris, 1988. Lamikiz, Xabier. Trade and Trust in the Eighteenth-Century Atlantic World: Spanish Merchants and Their Overseas Networks. Woodbridge, 2010. Lespagnol, André. Messieurs de Saint-Malo: une élite négociante au temps de Louis xiv. Saint-Malo, 1991. Lomas Salmonte, Francisco J. “Cádiz en la Antigüedad.” In Historia de Cádiz, edited by Francisco J. Lomas Salmonte, Rafael Sánchez Saus, Manuel Bustos Rodríguez, Alberto Ramos Santana, and José L. Millán Chivite, 11–22. Madrid, 2005. Magalhães Godinho, Vitorino. Os Descobrimentos e a Economia Mundial. 4 vols. 2nd ed. Lisbon, 1984. Malamud Rikles, Carlos. Cádiz y Saint Malo en comercio colonial peruano (1698–1725). Jerez de la Frontera, 1986. Maldonado Rosso, Javier. La formación del capitalismo en el Marco de Jerez. De la vitivinicultura tradicional a la agroindustria vinatera moderna (siglos xviii y xix). Madrid, 2000. Martin, Jean. “Les toiles bretagnes dans le commerce franco-espagnol de 1550 à 1830.” Annales de Bretagne et des Pays de l’Ouest 119.1 (2012): 31–60. Martínez Shaw, Carlos. “La burguesía andaluza: actividad económica y proyección institucional.” In La burguesía de negocios en la Andalucía de la ilustración, edited by Antonio García-Baquero González, vol. 2, 15–32. Cádiz, 1991. Martínez Shaw, Carlos, and José M. Oliva Melgar, eds. El sistema atlántico español (siglos xvii–xix). Madrid, 2005. Mendes da Luz, Francisco Paulo. “Dois Organismos da Administração Ultramarina no Século xvi: A Casa da Índia e os Armazéns da Guiné, Mina e Índias.” In A Viagem

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de Fernão Magalhães e a Qyestão das Molucas. Actas do ii Colóquio Luso-Espannhol de História Ultramarina, edited by Avelino Teixeira da Mota, 91–105. Lisbon, 1975. Morgado García, Arturo. La Diócesis de Cádiz: de Trento a la Desamortización, Cádiz, 2008. Morgado García, Arturo. Iglesia y sociedad en el Cádiz del sigo xviii. Cádiz, 1989. Morineau, Michel. Incroyables gazettes et fabuleux métaux: les retours des trésors américains d’après les gazettes hollandaises (xvie–xviiie siècles). Paris, 1985. O’Flanagan, Patrick. Port cities of Atlantic Iberia: c. 1500–1900. Aldershot, 2008. Oliva Melgar, José M. “La metrópoli sin territorio. ¿Crisis del comercio de Indias en el siglo xvii o pérdida del control del monopolio?” In El sistema atlántico español (siglos xvii-xix), edited by Carlos Martínez Shaw and José M. Oliva Melgar, 19–73. Madrid, 2005. Otte, Enrique. “Das genuesische Unternehmertum und Amerika unter den katholischen Königen.” In Von Bankiers und Kaufleuten, Räten, Reedern und Piraten, Hintermännern und Strohmännern. Aufsätze zur atlantischen Expansion Spaniens, edited by Günter Vollmer and Horst Pietschmann, 235–263. Stuttgart, 2004. Panzram, Sabine. “Realität versus Paradigma. Gades und der sog. Círculo del Estrecho.” Orbis Terrarum 13 (2015): 155–190. Pérez Serrano, Julio. Cádiz, la ciudad desnuda. Cambio enonómico y modelo demográfico en la formación de la Andalucía contemporánea. Cádiz, 1992. Pietschmann, Horst. “Stadt und Herrschaft im Spanien des 16. Jahrhunderts.” In Städte im Wandel: Bauliche Inszenierung und literarische Stilisierung lokaler Eliten auf der Iberischen Halbinsel, edited by Sabine Panzram, 325–360. Münster, 2007. Pimenta Ferro Tavares, Maria José. Os Judeus em Portugal no Século xiv. 2nd ed. Lisbon, 2000. Poettering, Jorun. “The Economic Activities of Hamburg’s Portuguese Jews in the Early Seventeenth Century.” Transversal. Zeitschrift für Jüdische Studien 14.2 (2013 [2014]): 11–22. Poettering, Jorun. Handel, Nation und Religion: Kaufleute zwischen Hamburg und Portugal im 17. Jahrhundert. Göttingen, 2013. Pohle, Jürgen. Deutschland und die überseeische Expansion Portugals im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert. Münster, 2000. Quintero González, José. El arsenal de la Carraca (1717–1736). Madrid, 2000. Ribeiro Mendes Drumond Braga, Isabel M. Os Estrangeiros e a Inquisição Portuguesa (Séculos xvi–xvii). Lisbon, 2002. Rodrigues França, José A. Lisboa: História Física e Moral. 2nd ed. Lisbon, 2009. Sánchez Saus, Rafael. “Cádiz en época Medieval.” In Historia de Cádiz, edited by Francisco J. Lomas Salmonte, Rafael Sánchez Saus, Manuel Bustos Rodríguez, Alberto Ramos Santana, and José L. Millán Chivite, 147–281. Madrid, 2005. Sanz Ayán, Carmen. Los Banqueros de Carlos ii. Salamanca, 1988.

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Schaub, Jean-Frédéric. Le Portugal au temps du Comte-Duc d’Olivares (1621–1640): le conflit de juridictions comme exercice de la politique. Madrid, 2001. Schwartz, Stuart B. “The Economy of the Portuguese Empire.” In Portuguese Oceanic Expansion, 1400–1800, edited by Francisco Bethencourt and Diogo Ramada Curto, 19–48. Cambridge, Mass., 2007. Stein, Stanley J., and Barbara H. Stein. Silver, Trade, and War. Spain and America in the Making of Early Modern Europe. Baltimore, 2000. Tilly, Charles. The European Revolutions 1492–1992. Oxford, 1993. Thompson, I.A.A. “Castile: Absolutism, Constitution, and Liberty.” In Fiscal Crisis, Liberty, and Representative Government, 1450–1789, edited by Philip T. Hoffman and Kathryn Norberg, 181–225. Stanford, 1994. Vicente Serrão, José. “Os Impactos Económicos do Terramoto.” In O Terramoto de 1755: Impactos Históricos, edited by Ana Cristina Araújo, José Luís Cardoso, Nuno Gonçalo Monteiro, Walter Rossa, and José Vicente Serráo, 141–163. Lisbon, 2007. Vieira, Alberto. “Sugar Islands: The Sugar Economy of Madeira and the Canaries, 1450– 1650.” In Tropical Babylons: Sugar and the Making of the Atlantic World, 1450–1680, edited by Stuart B. Schwartz, 42–84. Chapel Hill, 2004. Vieira da Silva, A. “A Judiaria Velha de Lisboa.” O Archeologo Português 11–12 (1899– 1900): 305–327. Vila Vilar, Enriqueta. El Consulado de Sevilla de Mercaderes a Indias. Un Òrgano de Poder. Seville, 2016. Vries, Jan de. European Urbanization 1500–1800. Cambridge, Mass., 1984. Weber, Klaus. Deutsche Kaufleute im Atlantikhandel 1680–1830: Unternehmen und Familien in Hamburg, Cádiz und Bordeaux. Munich, 2004. Wiecker, Niels. Der iberische Atlantikhandel: Schiffsverkehr zwischen Spanien. Portugal und Iberoamerika, 1700–1800. Stuttgart, 2012.

The Power of Cities—Rewriting the History of the Iberian Peninsula Sabine Panzram Tarraco’s power was evident. From this provincial capital on the eastern coast, Augustus had once steered the fate of Rome; it featured an impressive arx that had housed the largest complex for the provincial imperial cult in the western Imperium since the Flavian period.1 The temple on the highest terrace must have been visible to travellers arriving via land from far away, while the theater buildings cannot have failed to leave their mark on those who had chosen the sea route. Even Ausonius was still praising this arx potens in his Ordo urbium nobilium.2 Qurṭuba, too, knew how to impress: the former provincial capital on the Baetis became the capital of al-Andalus under the Umayyads, and in the 10th century was the most populated city on the Mediterranean.3 The city’s silhouette was dominated by the ruler’s residence and the cult center—the Alcázar and the Mezquita Aljama—near the bridge from the early imperial period and thus where the entrance to the city could be easily defended. Mosques and public baths, but also necropoleis and country seats in the immediate surroundings, completed the picture of a madre de las çibdades as much as the palace cities of Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ to the west and Madīnat al-Zahīra to the east

1 Xavier Dupre i Raventós, ed., Las capitales provinciales de Hispania, vol. 3: Tarragona—­ Colonia Iulia Urbs Triumphalis Tarraco (Ciudades Romanas de Hispania 3) (Rome, 2004); Ricardo Mar Medina, Joaquín Ruiz de Arbulo Bayona, David Vivó Codina, et al., Tarraco. Arquitectura y urbanismo de una capital provincial romana, vol. 1: De la Tarragona ibérica a la construcción del templo de Augusto, vol. 2: La ciudad imperial (Documents d’Arqueología Clàssica 5–6) (Tarragona, 2012, 2015). 2 Ausonius, 149,81–85 bzw. 303,233 (Decimi Magni Ausonii Burdigalensis, ed. R. Peiper (Stuttgart, 1976 [Leipzig 1886])). 3 Pedro Marfil Ruiz. “Córdoba de Teodosio a ʿAbd al-Raḥmān iii,” in Visigodos y Omeyas. Un debate entre la Antigüedad Tardía y la Alta Edad Media, Anejos de AEspA xxiii, ed. Luis Caballero Zoreda and Pedro Mateos Cruz (Madrid, 2000), 117–141; Juan F. Murillo Redondo, Alberto León Muñoz, Elena Castro del Río, et al., “La Transición de la Civitas Clásica cristianizada a la Madina Islámica a través de las Transformaciones Operadas en las Áreas Suburbiales,” in El anfiteatro romano de Córdoba y su entorno urbano: Análisis arqueológico, (ss. i–xiii d.C.), 2 vols., ed. Desiderio Vaquerizo Gil and Juan F. Murillo Redondo (Arqueología cordobesa 19) (Córdoba, 2010), 2:501–547; Alberto León Muñoz and Juan F. Murillo Redondo, “Advances in Research on Islamic Córdoba,” Journal of Islamic Archaeology 1.1 (2014): 5–35.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���9 | doi:10.1163/9789004399693_011

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of Qurṭuba.4 In Toledo as well—located approximately in the center of the Iberian Peninsula, about 100 m above the Tajo, and which had possessed the primacy in totis Hispaniarum regnis5—it was above all the Gothic cathedral and the Alcázar from the late Renaissance that reflected the city’s power.6 They were constructed from the 13th century to the 15th, or into the first half of the 16th century, a time in which Toledo with its countless churches, monasteries, and clerics turned into a civitas Dei, a second Rome, and functioned as the capital of New Castile. The silhouette of Cádiz, jutting out into the Atlantic, has been dominated by the palatial houses of wealthy merchants since the 17th and 18th centuries, when the city was an important transhipment point of the Atlantic trade. Their defining characteristic was the “torre-mirador,” which contained both an office and a storage facility: “Here one speaks only about trade and money,” the young Alejandro Ramírez y Blanco wrote laconically to his mother while travelling to the New World.7 These routes also attracted the clergy, so that Cádiz in the end possessed about 60 churches and numerous monasteries, alongside its two cathedrals. Even today, the buildings and monuments—not infrequently integrated impressively with their natural environments—continue to attest to the power of these cities. They impress as an expression of urban civilization: of wellbeing and prosperity and thus of urban economic power, of the will to fortification and representation and thus of cities setting themselves on the stage in Late Antiquity, in both the high and the late Middle Ages, and in the Early Modern period. The case studies at hand shone a series of spotlights on the multifaceted process of urban development from the 4th to the 18th centuries on the Iberian Peninsula. Like these cityscapes, they can present only a snapshot of the cities’ respective heights, but they make it clear that a complete transmission is necessary in order to render plausible the progression of each city’s history: 4 Al-Rāzī. Crónica del moro Rasis, ed. Diego Catalán Menéndez Piedal and María Soledad de Andrés (Fuentes Cronísticas de la Historia de España 3) (Madrid, 1975), chap. 2/p. 19. 5 Regesta Pontificum Romanorum, vol. 1, edited by Philipp Jaffé in colaboration with Samuel Loewenfeld, Ferdinand Kaltenbrunner, and Paul Ewald. 2nd ed. (Leipzig, 1885), reg. 5366 (4021)/p. 660; Sacrorum conciliorum nova et amplissima collectio, vol. 10, edited by Giovanni Domenico Mansi (Graz, 1960 [Paris, 2nd ed. 1901]), 522–523. 6 Julio Porres Martín-Cleto and Ricardo A. Izquierdo Benito, Un espacio desordenado: Toledo a fines de la Edad Media (Madrid, 1996); Ricardo A. Izquierdo Benito, “La Edad Media,” in Historia de Toledo. De la prehistoria al Presente, ed. Julio de la Cruz Muñoz (Toledo, 2010), 91–262; Fernando Martínez Gil, “El Antiguo Régimen,” in Historia de Toledo. De la prehistoria al Presente, ed. Julio de la Cruz Muñoz (Toledo, 2010), 263–443. 7 Manuel Bustos Rodríguez, Recorrido por la ciudad de Cádiz y su historia (Madrid, 2012), 66; Manuel Bustos Rodríguez, Nueva historia de Cádiz, vol. 3: Época moderna. Un emporio atlántico en Europa (Madrid, 2014).

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analysing the layout and architectural design alone is just as insufficient as focusing exclusively on written records. The Roman past of Qurṭuba and Cádiz as a provincial capital or main city of a conventus were just as well known as Toletum’s status as a civitas regia of the Visigothic kingdom, but the efforts of urban archaeology were necessary to uncover these, to research them in an interdisciplinary manner and, through the musealization of the remnants, to turn them into a part of our collective remembrance. In addition, taking the results of both disciplines—classical studies and medieval studies and their respective archaeologies—into account is necessary to establish a discourse that transcends the extremes that dominated only three decades ago (and continually threaten to dominate once again). It is unsurprising that the material remains of the city are regarded as an “Archiv authentischer Zeugenschaft der Vergangenheit,” solely because of their physical presence,8 but this classification does not automatically qualify them to provide answers for every topic. And in a different manner, the same applies to the literary or epigraphic records. The last decades have produced convincing research on the basis of a synthetic approach, so it is particularly surprising that the urban research remains focused on texts in the traditional way and that archaeological evidence is often used merely as illustration, if at all. In fact, the discovery of the “long Late Antiquity” (4th to 9th centuries) has led to a re-evaluation of the period from 400 to 800: in agreement with international urban research, it is now characterized above all by continuity, a so-called “slow change” and transformations, not by discontinuities or clear breaks.9 It is more a panorama than a differentiated and encompassing image that can be traced and captured schematically. Taken together, these contributions point to continuity, because no one—whether Visigoth or Arab—was interested in violently destroying the cities of this flourishing and prosperous region. On the contrary, many settled there and looked to profit from the advantages offered by this autonomous and economically independent urbanism. As urban studies show, the active context thus remained the same, cum grano salis, but the traditional forms were abandoned à la longue, filled with new content and

8 Franziska Lang, “‘Das Ganze ist mehr als die Summe seiner Teile’—Eigenlogik und archäologische Städteforschung,” in Raum und Zeit der Städte. Städtische Eigenlogik und jüdische Kultur seit der Antike, ed. Andreas Hoppe (Frankfurt am Main, 2011), 47–78, here 48. 9 A convincing narrative of the Iberian Peninsula in the “long Late Antiquity” is offered by Javier Arce’s trilogy: El último siglo de la España romana (284–409), 2nd. ed. (Madrid, 2009 [1982]); Bárbaros y romanos en Hispania. 400–507 A.D. (Madrid, 2007); Esperando a los árabes, Los visigodos en Hispania (507–711) (Madrid, 2011).

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replaced with something distinctively different.10 This long-term process of transformation proceeds according to different regional and local rhythms: in his fundamental article “From Polis to Madina,”11 Hugh N. Kennedy argued as early as 1985 that the extended, gradual social and economic change was more significant than political events and that the so-called decline of the “classical” city meant a redesign and adaptation of the urban space to fit new requirements. New findings and discoveries can only confirm this thesis, which was formulated on the foundation of a much smaller material basis.12 They clearly show that no destructive or incendiary horizons exist that can be ascribed to the Umayyad Conquista.13 The social process of Islamization was concluded in the second half of the 9th century, and barely a century later Toledo capitulated to and was captured by the King of Castille. The re-conquest of the city can be understood as setting a precedent: the topographical structure stayed largely intact and changes were made merely to the neighbourhood structure and the construction density, occurring through—in this case still voluntary— emigration of the Islamic and settlement of the Christian population. However, the change in the social order and communal law-making this repoblación brought about is obvious, and the king himself determined the process, scope, and legal basis of the settlement process. He supervised the division of the cities and their surroundings into so-called repartimientos between the settlers, nobility, Church, and himself.14 The active context of the city was in the end defined anew.

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Lauro Olmo Enciso, ed., Recópolis y la ciudad en la época visigoda (Zona Arqueológica 9) (Alcalà de Henares, 2008); see also the anthology Espacios Urbanos en el Occidente Mediterráneo (ss. vi–viii). Congreso Internacional. Toledo 2009, ed. Alfonso García, Ricardo Izquierdo Benito, Lauro Olmo Enciso, et al. (Toledo, 2010). Hugh N. Kennedy, “From Polis to Madina. Urban Change in Late Antique and Early Islamic Syria,” Past and Present 106 (1985): 3–27. Hugh N. Kennedy, “From Polis to Madina revisited: some reflections thirty years on,” in Entre civitas y madīna. El mundo de las ciudades en la Península Ibérica y en el norte de África (siglos iv–ix), ed. Sabine Panzram and Laurent Callegarin (Collection de la Casa de Velázquez 167) (Madrid, 2018), 13–20, as well as the other contributions in the anthology. See, for example, the contributions in Enrique Baquedano, ed., 711, Arqueología e Historia entre dos mundos, 2 vols., (Zona Arqueológica 15) (Alcalá de Henares, 2011) and the overview in Sonia Gutiérrez Lloret, “Early al-Andalus: an Archaeological Approach to the Process of Islamization in the Iberian Peninsula (7th to 10th Centuries),” in New Directions in Early Medieval European Archaeology: Spain and Italy Compared. Essays for Riccardo Francovich, ed. Sauro Gelichi and Richard Hodges (Collection Haut Moyen Âge 24) (Turnhout, 2015), 43–85, esp. 60–64. Francisco García Fitz, “La reconquista y formación de la España medieval (de mediados del siglo xi a mediados del siglo xiii),” in Historia militar de España 2: Edad media, ed.

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The cities on the Iberian Peninsula understood themselves as such because they fulfilled fortificative, administrative, social, and economic functions, and did so independently of the imperial constellations or ruling networks into which they were embedded.15 Nonetheless, they were dependent upon these to various degrees. Rome had created different legal statuses for municipal bodies of self-administration and thereby provided the previous resident aristocracy with a model for designing an urban world.16 They were financed partially through support from Rome—especially as far as their infrastructures went—but usually through the financial resources of the community itself or of the local and provincial elite. The cities were obliged to exercise gubernatorial jurisdiction, raise taxes and tolls, and receive payments in kind. However, this urban autonomy in the sense of self-administration independently juxtaposed to that of the legitimate rulers no longer existed in al-Andalus.17 The city was not a political unity with its own laws, but was rather subordinated to a central authority. The state was responsible for financing facilities useful to the community—such as the water supply and the market squares—as well as for the jurisdiction. While it saw itself confronted by citizens collaboratively organized according to their religious, occupational, or neighbourhood affiliations, they did not articulate a desire for autonomy. How different from the cities that constituted themselves as municipalities liable to taxation and military service with a concilium over the course of the “Reconquista”: they sent deputies to the cortes and imposed conditions for approving taxation on the king, who himself increasingly made his presence felt through officials with adjudicating or mediating functions.18 Since the Catholic kings, institutional

15 16 17

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Miguel Á. Ladero Quesada (Madrid, 2010), 142–216; Eduardo Manzano Moreno, Épocas medievales, 2nd ed. (Historia de España 2) (Barcelona, 2015), 302–304 and 468–470. Max Weber, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Grundriss der verstehenden Soziologie, ed. J. Winckelmann, 5th ed. (Tübingen, 1980), 727–741. Frank Kolb, Die Stadt im Altertum (Munich, 1984), esp. 141–270; Juan M. Abascal Palazón and Urbano Espinosa Ruiz, La ciudad hispano-romana. Privilegio y poder (Logroño, 1989); Michael Kulikowski, Late Roman Spain and its Cities (Baltimore, 2004). Christine Mazzoli-Guintard, “La gestión de las ciudades en al-Andalus,” in A 1300 años de la conquista de al-Andalus (711–2011): historia, cultura y legado del Islam en la Península Ibérica, ed. Diego Melo Carrasco and Francisco Vidal Castro (Coquimbo, 2012), 199–214; see also Patrice Cressier and Mercedes García-Arenal, eds., Genèse de la ville islamique en al-Andalus et au Maghreb occidental (Madrid, 1998); Patrice Cressier, María I. Fierro Bello, and Jean-Pierre van Staëvel, eds., L’urbanisme dans l’Occident musulman au Moyen Âge. Aspects juridiques : Tables rondes. Madrid 1997 (Madrid, 2000). María Asenjo González, “Las ciudades,” in Orígenes de la Monarquía hispánica: Propaganda y legitimación (ca. 1400–1520), ed. José M. Nieto Soria (Madrid, 1999), 105–141; Miguel Á. Ladero Quesada, Ciudades de la España medieval. Introducción a su estudio (Madrid, 2010).

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reforms had o­ bviously been shifting the precarious balance between the nobility, Church, urban elite, and the crown in favour of the latter, but political participation, legal security, and freedom for economic development continued. The urban world of Castile underwent a complete restructuring when— thanks to the Iberian ­expansion and propitious economic development—it suddenly found ­itself embedded in a global economic context.19 The parallel state-building process entered it into a different reference system, but its scope of action stayed the same. In the 18th century, the cities were forced to accept the loss of their jurisdictional and financial authority over the surrounding regions, when the cortes could no longer guarantee the taxes that the crown demanded because of its imperial ambitions and the resulting expenditures on war. In the end, it was their reduced fiscal performance that led them to political irrelevance. The research of the last three decades clearly shows that it is time to change our perspective and, for once, to write the story of the Iberian Peninsula from the perspective of the cities in the centuries addressed here. The radical historization and the comprehensive objective thematic expansion of urban history allow us to cease understanding the history of cities as a goal-oriented, rising developmental line, but rather as a conglomeration of general and structural historical changes. The case of antiquity, in which the history of the Hispanic cities presents itself as one of both successfully Romanized and peerlessly Christianized cities, clearly reveals the very idiosyncratic rhythm of this narrative, which is produced when one consciously rejects periodizations oriented on political history: alongside the cities’ imbuement with juridical privileges and the law-making around the imperial cult, it was above all the presence of the rulers that elicited a structural change with positive consequences for the city. In contrast, military-political events such as the “crisis of the third century” or the reforms of Diocletian do not seem to have affected the urban worlds. It was consequently the establishment of episcopal rule that, with its constructional enactments of martyrs significant to the communities’ tradition-­building, motivated a structural and qualitative change. Neither the invasion of the barbari nor the cities’ capture by the Visigoths bears a similar importance. The Hispanic cities thus experienced “formative phases”20 from the 1st century to 19

20

Pablo Fernández Albaladejo, “Cities and the State in Spain,” in Cities and the Rise of States in Europe, A.D. 1000 to 1800, ed. Charles Tilly and Wim P. Blockmans (Boulder, 1994), 168– 183; Herbert Knittler, Die europäische Stadt in der frühen Neuzeit. Institutionen, Strukturen, Entwicklungen (Querschnitte. Einführungstexte zur Sozial-, Wirtschafts- und Kulturgeschichte 4) (Wien, 2000), esp. 207–219. This fitting description originated with Greg Woolf, “The Formation of Roman Provincial Cultures,” in Integration in the Early Roman West. The Role of Culture and Ideology.

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the first half of the 2nd, as well as towards the end of the 5th c­ entury to the first half of the 6th: their non-formative phases from their foundings until the Arabic rule each lasted about three centuries. The persistence of once-established structures—as a result of indigenous development of ruling power, Romanization, or Christianization—is also significant. In this respect, the Iberian Peninsula seems to differ from other regions such as Gaul.21 The increase of discoveries and findings in the coming years should enable us to work out an even more differentiated and encompassing picture of the approximately 400 urban worlds on the Iberian Peninsula, and thus to create a foundation for studies that go further and which are, above all, comparative. A comparison that systematically searches for differences and similarities, for divergences and convergences within the prominent case studies can suffice to reject generalizing explanations, that is, those based on arguments by analogy.22 In so doing, the current dominance of aspects of urbanism and the consequent emphasis on obvious continuity and apparent transformations should not tempt us to lose sight of “human agency” and its changing active context à la longue, as indicated by the different justification of power and conception of authority23 or the diverging structures of belonging that must have developed during the three “formative phases” of the antique city. Roman cities were built for eternity. They needed only the circumstances of the 11th century to revive their political life and their legal status under different auspices, and the “historiographical revolution”24 after Franco’s death to bring

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22

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International Conference, ed. Jeannot Metzler (Dossiers d’Archéologie du Musée National d’Histoire et d’Art 4) (Luxembourg City, 1995), S. 9–18. Fundamental for Gaul: Steffen Diefenbach and Gernot M. Müller, eds., Gallien in Antike und Frühmittelalter. Kulturgeschichte einer Region. Internationale Tagung. Augsburg 2009 (Millenium-Studien. Zu Kultur und Geschichte des ersten Jahrtausends n. Chr. 43) (Berlin, 2013); for North Africa, which would also make for a useful comparison, we are still missing the respective studies. Heinz-Gerhard Haupt and Jürgen Kocka, “Historischer Vergleich: Methoden, Aufgaben, Probleme. Eine Einleitung,” in Geschichte und Vergleich. Ansätze und Ergebnisse international vergleichender Geschichtsschreibung, ed. Heinz-Gerhard Haupt and Jürgen Kocka (Frankfurt am Main, 1996), 9–45; Hannes Siegrist, “Perspektiven der vergleichenden Geschichtswissenschaft. Gesellschaft, Kultur und Raum,” in Vergleich und Transfer. Komparatistik in den Sozial-, Geschichts- und Kulturwissenschaften, ed. Hartmut Kaelble and Jürgen Schriewer (Frankfurt am Main, 2013), 305–339. Hendrik W. Dey, The Afterlife of the Roman City: Architecture and Ceremony in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (New York, 2015); Sabine Panzram, “¿Tarraco tardorromana sigue siendo Tarraco? A propósito de continuidad o discontinuidad de una capital de provincia,” in Academica Libertas, ed. Dominic Moreau and Raúl González Salinero (Turnhout, in press). Kim Bowes and Michael Kulikowski, “Introduction,” in Hispania in Late Antiquity. Current Perspectives, ed. Kim Bowes and Michael Kulikowski (The Medieval and Early Modern Iberian World 24) (Leiden, 2005), 1–26, here 1.

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back their urbanism. What urban research now requires is an interdisciplinary epoch-spanning approach that aims at a synthesis of both areas—the written records and the archaeological findings. For the political (self-)conception of the Latin West, the history of a region like the Iberian Peninsula regarded from the perspective of its cities would prove of central importance.25 Sources Al-Rāzī. Crónica del moro Rasis, edited by Diego Catalán Menéndez Piedal and María Soledad de Andrés (Fuentes Cronísticas de la Historia de España 3). Madrid, 1975. Decimi Magni Ausonii Burdigalensis, edited by Rudolfus Peiper. Stuttgart 1976 [Leipzig 1886]. Regesta Pontificum Romanorum, vol. 1, edited by Philipp Jaffé in collaboration with Samuel Loewenfeld, Ferdinand Kaltenbrunner, and Paul Ewald. 2nd ed. Leipzig, 1885.

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Compare Bernhard Jussen’s thought-provoking comments: “Wer falsch spricht, denkt falsch. Warum Antike, Mittelalter und Neuzeit in die Wissenschaftsgeschichte gehören,” in Spekulative Theorien, Kontroversen, Paradigmenwechsel, ed. Matthias Steinmetz (Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Debatte 17) (Berlin, 2017), 38–52.

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Index of Places, Names and Subjects Rulers (emperors, kings; caliphs, emirs) and their relatives have been formatted in small caps; both they and the antique authors appear under the names with which they are commonly referred to in Anglo-American bibliography. Other Roman personal names are sorted by gentilicia. ʿAbd Allāh 131, 138 ʿAbd al-Malik 171 ʿAbd al-Raḥmān I 20, 121–124, 126, 132 ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ii 20, 121, 131–132, 173n53 ʿAbd al-Raḥmān iii 138–139, 173, 177, 179, 190 Aben-Zaid 268 Acisclus 3, 121 Aduana 338 Afonso i of Portugal 323 Afonso iii of Portugal 324 Agila 88 agriculture 40, 121, 126, 130, 142, 144, 149, 151, 215, 233, 297, 299, 326–327, 333, 338, 340, 342, 344–345, 350, 352 aḥbās see ḥubus Aḥmad al-Ḥarīrī 190 Akhbār majmūʿa 108, 170 al-Andalus 11–12, 107n3, 108–109, 111–112, 112n23, 118, 120n45, 121–126, 128n70, 128n72, 131–132, 138, 173, 179, 182, 183n98, 187, 190, 201–205, 207, 207n18, 208, 212, 212n29, 223, 227, 231, 234–236, 254, 362, 366 Alans 2, 9 alardes 263 alarife 218–219 Albufeda 268 Alcalá de Henares/Complutum 61, 251, 297 alcalde 226, 227n98, 228n99, 229, 231, 232, 236 Alcántara 266, 333, 336 Alcáçovas, treaty of 321 Alcázar 20, 85, 89, 91n30, 114, 116, 116n34, 117, 119, 123–124, 131, 138, 141n99, 172–173, 177, 311, 362–363 Alcocer, Pedro de 312 Alemanni 1 Alfândegas 328 Alficén 179, 208

Alfonso vi of Castile-León 22, 201, 208, 222, 224n83, 228–231, 256, 268n71 Alfonso vii of Castile-León 228 Alfonso viii of Castile 251n13, 272 Alfonso ix of León 259, 271–272, 274 Alfonso X of Castile-León 219, 251, 254, 343 Alfonso xi of Castile-León 275, 275n90, 276–277 alfoz 204, 233, 248, 260 alguazil 217n46, 226 al-Ḥakam i 131, 135n84, 172, 176 al-Ḥakam ii 132n80, 138–139, 151n131 al-Ḥurr b. ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Thaqafī 112n21, 119, 119n39 allodium 41 Almadén (mines) 336 al-Manṣūr (Abbasid Caliph) 173 al-Manṣūr, ḥājib (chamberlain) 138–139, 148, 151 Almazán 256 Almohad 117, 139, 213, 215–216, 222, 231, 332, 342 almojarifazgo 340, 344 Almoravids 201, 257 Almudí 302–303 Al-Mundhir of Córdoba 131 al-qāḍī 227n98, 229 al-Qādir of Toledo 208 al-Ruṣāfa/Arruzafa see Córdoba, s.v. Rusafa al-Ṣamḥ ibn Malik al-Khawlani 113, 121 Al-Usbuna/Al-Lixbuna see Lisbon Alvaro de Lara, regent 272, 274 Alvaro de Luna, Constable 277 al-Walid i 107n3, 171 al-Ẓāfir 181, 188 ʿAmrūs b. Yūsuf 172 Amsterdam 330, 332 Ancien Régime, Antiguo Régimen 302–303, 306, 308, 349

374 Andalusia 203, 205, 223n76, 225–227, 236, 257, 259, 290, 296–298, 332, 336, 340, 342–344 Andreae, Johann Valentin 305 Ansúrez, Count (Pedro) 256, 265, 268 Anthologia Hispanica 71 Antwerp 327, 330 Aquitania 70, 86 Arabization 12, 182, 232 Arabs 23, 161–162, 167–172, 174–175, 177, 179, 182–183, 190, 192, 265–266, 332, 364 arbitristas 313 architecture 3, 7, 42n13, 50, 56, 58–62, 73, 85, 95, 98, 111, 116, 122–123, 126, 132, 137, 142, 145, 187, 207, 210, 213, 214n36, 217–218, 221, 234–235, 269, 315, 324, 364 aristocratization 42, 233 Aristotle 261–262 Arlanzón, river 257 Armazéns da Guiné e das Índias 328 arrabal/rabaḍ 121, 125, 132, 135, 209, 294 Arsenal de Carraca 347 Asia Minor 20, 98 Astorga/Asturica Augusta 23, 65 Asturias, kingdom of 290, 297 Athanagild 88 Athaulf 84 Atlantic Ocean 3, 86, 321–323, 327, 329, 335, 337, 340, 342, 344–345, 350, 353, 363 Augsburg 336, 341, 351 Augusta Emerita see Mérida Augustine of Hippo 262 Augustus 50, 362 aula regia 174 Ausonius 362 Ávila 204, 255–256, 266–267, 278, 293, 334 Avitus 84 ayuntamiento 22, 217 Badajoz/Batalyaws/Baṭalyus 13, 171, 173 Baelo Claudia/Bolonia 63 Baetis/Betis see Guadalquivir Báez Eminente, Francisco 338, 340 Baghdad 122, 131, 171, 173 Baijana see Pechina balāṭ 119, 187 Balāṭ Ludrīk 116, 119n39 Balkans 20, 98 banner 250, 258, 271

Index OF PLACES, NAMES AND SUBJECTS Banū Dhī-l-Nūn 182, 188 Barcelona/Barcino/Barchinona 19, 48, 50, 52, 54, 62, 65–66, 69, 84, 266–267, 348 ecclesiae sanctae crucis et sanctae Eulaliae 48 Palau Reial Major 62 Palau Reial Menor 62 Basque Country 297, 343 Beatus of Liébana 50 Berber 107, 118n38, 149, 151, 203 Berengaria/Berenguela of Castile 271–273, 274 Bética/Baetica 19–20, 43, 86, 100, 165 bishop/episcopus 3–4, 9, 18, 40, 42–44, 45–48, 52–53, 56–57, 59–62, 71–73, 90–92, 114, 115n32, 126, 171, 182–183, 213n32, 216, 257, 262n43, 306, 309, 314, 367 Blasco Ibáñez, Vicente 305 Botero, Giovanni 290 Bourbon 16, 301, 341, 347, 350–351, 353 Braga/Bracara 3, 72 Braun, Georg 291, 310–311 Brazil 327, 329–330, 332, 350–351 Burgos 22, 63, 253–254, 257, 266, 333 burgos 22, 254 Burgundians 84–85, 271 cabildo 22, 344, 347, 349 caballeros villanos, caballeria villana 224– 226, 233, 234n140, 236 Caberas, treaty of 272 Cáceres 258, 292 Cádiz/Gadir/Gades/Ŷazirat-Qadiš 24, 267, 298–299, 321–322, 333, 335–336, 340–345, 346–355, 363–364 Caesaraugusta see Zaragoza Calahorra/Calagurris/Qalahûrra 47 caliphate 20–21, 107, 109, 115, 122n51, 131–132, 136–138, 139, 141–142, 146–148, 151, 172, 179–180, 342 Canary Islands 334–335, 344 Cantabria 297 Carmona Calendar 19, 46, 47n27 Caro, Rodrigo 293, 295 Carpetania 93–94 Carrera de Indias 337, 339, 345–346, 353–354 Carrión, river 257

Index OF PLACES, NAMES AND SUBJECTS Cartagena/Carthago Nova ... 8, 11, 68 Carthage/Carthago 21, 71, 85, 91, 171 Casa da Índia 328 Casa de la Contratación 335, 337–341, 347, 354 Cascales, Francisco 293 castellum 41, 116–117 Castile 6–7, 15–16, 16n52, 21–24, 234, 250, 252n16, 258–261, 263n48, 265–266, 271–275, 279, 289–291, 295–301, 304, 306, 313–315, 327, 333–335, 337, 343, 347, 365, 367 Castilla La Nueva 210, 224–227, 236, 363 Castilla La Vieja 209–210, 216, 224n82, 227 castrum 41 cathedral 5, 19, 21–22, 24, 48, 53–54, 56–58, 62, 71, 91, 167, 180–182, 187, 191–192, 209, 213, 216–217, 220, 228, 305–307, 309–311, 313–314, 333, 363 Celedonius 47 Celestine iii 271 Celtiberia 93–94, 267 Charles the Bald 48 Charles i of Spain/Charles V 15–16, 265, 271, 277, 300–301, 333–337, 339 Charles ii of Spain 336 Childebert i 50 Chilperic i 88 Chlothar i 50 chorography 291 Christianization 43, 175, 367, 368 Chronicle of 754/Cronica Mozarabe 50, 168–169 Ciudad Real 63, 292 city walls 3–4, 18–20, 22–23, 50, 52, 54, 73, 89–90, 114, 116, 125, 166, 171, 218, 249, 254, 257, 278, 293–294 cives 262 civitas 41, 45, 49–50, 53, 63, 72n86, 262 civitas christiana 18, 43, 49, 52, 73 civitas Dei 24, 315, 363 civitas regia 4, 19, 24, 50, 88, 90–91, 162, 192, 315, 364 Civitates Orbis Terrarum 291, 310–311 clergy, clerics 24, 57, 61, 92, 168, 228, 272, 306–307, 309, 312–314, 330, 349, 363 Clunia/Peñalba de Castro 63–64 coat of arms 252, 265, 271 Coca (Segovia) 274

375 Codex Aemilianensis 175 Codex Vigilanus/Albeldensis, Codex Vigilianus 50–51, 175–176 Coimbra/Conímbriga 61, 324, 330 Complutum see Alcalá de Henares Colbert, Jean-Baptiste 340 collaciones 226n90, 234n140, 268 Columbus, Christopher 335, 353 comes 41 comes Toletanus 91 Comuneros 16, 278, 300, 334, 339 concilium 22, 253, 258, 268, 366 concilium provinciae 61 conflagration 220 Consejo de Indias 337 Conselho da Fazenda 328 Constantine i. 91, 98 Constantinople 94, 165 constitution 16–17, 207, 223, 225–226, 231, 233–234, 236 of 1812 350 Consulado de cargadores a Indias 337–338, 340 conurbation 121, 130, 137, 139, 142 convent city 23, 305 conventus 2–3, 364 convivencia 11, 162 Córdoba/Corduba/Qurṭuba 3, 7–8, 12, 15, 20, 22, 63, 107–110, 112–113, 115, 117–121, 123, 127–128, 130–132, 136–137, 140–142, 143, 147, 149, 151, 169, 172–173, 176–177, 179–180, 187, 189, 203, 228, 234, 259n32, 292, 296, 334, 362–364 Alcázar de los Reyes Cristianos 114, 117, 123 Calahorra tower 140 Cercadilla 63 El Fontanar 130, 142, 144–145, 146, 149–150 Great Friday Mosque 109–110, 114, 115n32, 120n44, 122–123, 124, 131–132, 137–139, 142 Madīnat al-Zahīra 20, 136–137, 139, 151, 362 Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ 20, 111, 122n54, 125, 128, 132, 136–139, 141, 146, 151, 362 Mezquita mayor/Aljama 362 Plaza de la Corredera 296 Qūt Rāshah 121

376

Index OF PLACES, NAMES AND SUBJECTS

Córdoba (cont.) rabaḍ al-Burj/vicus Turris 121 raṣīf 131 rawḍa 141n99, 142 rabaḍ Furn Burrill 121 Rusafa/al-Ruṣāfa/Arruzafa 128–130, 136, 146n117, 148 Ronda Oeste 144, 149 San Acisclo, church of 121 San Vicente, church of 109, 114, 120n44, 123–124 Shaqunda/Šaqunda/Secunda 110–111, 128, 132, 133–135 Turruñuelos 128, 136, 148 Corpus Christi 24, 313 corrales de comedia 304 corregidor 263, 340 Cortes 16, 229n108–110, 254n21, 333, 350, 366–367 Council of Trent 304–305, 313 Covarrubias Orozco, Sebastián de 294 “crisis of the third century” 1–2, 367 Ctesiphon 171 Cuenca 223n76, 295, 297, 306, 334 curatores 41 curia 41, 89 curiales 41 cursus 43

Egypt 20, 108, 168, 267 Eleanor of Aquitaine 272 Eleanor Plantagenet 272 El Greco 211, 311–312 elite 2–3, 20, 24, 43, 54, 107, 112–113, 119, 132, 151, 226, 232–233, 248, 250, 277, 279, 300, 303–304, 314, 330, 340, 347, 349–350, 354, 366–367 El Puerto de Santa María 333, 344 Elvira/Iliberris/Illiberis/Ilvīra 18, 43–44, 171 emirate 20, 107, 121, 131, 203 Empúries/Emporion/Emporiae 64 episcopal complex 19, 46, 53–55, 56–58, 59, 61, 64, 73, 114–116, 119 episcopalis audientia 60 episcopium/episkopeion 53–54, 59 episcopus see bishop Escorial Library 51, 175–176 Escuela de las Guardias Marinas 347 Eugenius of Toledo (poet) 85 Eulalia of Barcelona 48 Eulalia of Mérida 3n8, 4, 47–48, 92 Eusebius of Caesarea 91 Évora 330 exactores 63 Extremadura 204–205, 223–226, 234–235, 290, 296, 326

Damascus 20, 107, 113, 120n45, 121–122–126, 137–138, 170–171, 180, 189 damnatio memoria 278 dār al-imāra 125 dār al-Islām 161 defensores civitates 18, 41–43 depositio ad martyres 68 depositio reliquiae 68, 70 dhimma, dhimmis 192, 229 Dinis of Portugal 324 diocese 4, 45, 59, 61, 84, 92 Diocletian 91, 98, 367 domus ecclesiae 59 domus episcopalis 59, 61 Douro/Durius/Duero 3, 201, 204, 224–225, 226n88, 267–268 Drake, Francis 346

Fatḥ al-Andalus 108 Ferdinand ii of Aragon 333 Ferdinand iii of Castile-León 203, 332, 343 Ferdinand iv of Castile-León 275 Fernand Nuñes de Toledo 268 flag 258 Flanders 23, 264, 329, 343 fonsado 263 France 322, 336, 340–341, 347 franci, franks 1, 15, 22, 50, 88, 165, 209 Franco, Francisco 7, 10, 368 francos 228, 231–232 fraternitates 261, 331 frontier, frontera 22, 201, 203–204, 223–227, 233–236, 343 Fuero Real 217, 251 fueros 219n56, 223, 227–228, 236, 250–252 Fugger 328, 336 Fustel de Coulanges, Numa Denis 39

Egara see Terrassa Egica 171

377

Index OF PLACES, NAMES AND SUBJECTS Gadir/Gades see Cádiz Galicia/Gallaecia 3, 251n13, 290, 297 Galswintha 88 Gaul/Gallia 42, 165, 368 Gelimer 87 Geneva 84 Genoa 24, 331, 334–336, 343–344, 346–347, 351 Geryon 267 Gibraltar, strait of 88, 203, 321, 343 Gil de Albornoz, archbishop of Toledo (Egidio Álvarez de Albornoz y Luna) 216 Girona/Gerunda/Gerona 47 Golden Fleece 271 Gómez of Sandoval and Rojas, Count of Castro (Diego) 277 Granada 18, 203, 214, 304–306, 333–334, 343–344 Gregory of Tours 47n30, 50 Guadalajara 20, 63, 96, 293 Guadalete 107n1, 170 Guadalquivir/Baetis/Betis 20–22, 121, 123, 131, 137, 151, 171, 203, 205, 219, 296, 322, 326, 332–333, 340, 344, 347, 362 Guadiana 203 Guzmán el Bueno 333 Habsburg 15, 334–336, 341, 351 Hamburg 330, 332, 347 ḥammām 60, 64–65, 91, 131–132, 141–142, 144, 362 Heavenly Jerusalem 19, 50, 73 Henry i of Castile 272, 274 Henry ii of England 272 Henry iv of Castile-León 278 Hercules 267 hermandades 250–252, 302, 331 Hermenegild 19, 93, 100 hidalgo 225, 308 Hishām i of Córdoba 123n56, 131 Hishām ii of Córdoba 149, 151 Hispalis see Sevilla hispanidad 7 ḥizām 173, 177, 190 Hoefnagel, Georg 221, 310–311 Hogenberg, Franz 291, 310–311 hombres buenos/boni homines 259, 261, 268, 275–279 honorati 41

Honorius iii 272 horrea 19–20, 62–63, 95, 97–100 horti 19, 73 ḥubus/aḥbās 21, 187–191 Hurtado de Toledo, Luis 309 Ibn Bashkuwāl 179 Ibn Ḥayyān 177, 180 Ibn Jubayr 173 Ifrīqiya 21, 109n13, 112n21, 171 Iliberris/Illiberis/Ilvīra see Elvira Illu see Murcia Iluro/Mataró 65 imitatio imperii 19, 88, 100 Imperium Romanum 8–9, 24, 71, 84, 114, 321, 362 Infanzones 224n82, 225 Innocent iii 271–272 Inquisition 15, 23, 295, 306, 330 Intendencia General de la Marina 347 inventio 47–48 Isabella i of Castile 333, 335 Isidore of Seville 19, 88, 94–95, 258 Islamization 5, 12, 13, 21, 111, 121, 125–126, 130, 132, 146, 176, 182, 187, 189, 191, 365 Ismaʿil i of Morocco 173 Ispali/Isbíliya see Seville iudices civitatis 41 Iulia Libica see Llívia Jaén, kingdom of 334 Jerusalem 122 Jews 11, 171, 222, 231, 249, 323–324, 330–331, 344, 352 Jiménez de Rada, Rodrigo 171, 213n32 jizya 119–120 John of Biclaro 19, 91, 94–95, 97, 101 John i of Castile-León 217 John ii of Castile-León 23, 265, 276–277 John iii of Portugal 324 José de Patiño y Morales 347 judería, Judiaria 210, 323 Justinian i 86, 98, 342 Justinian of Valencia 71 Kairouan see Qayrawān Kitāb al-Ṣila 179 kharāj 180

378 Larruga Boneta, Eugenio 310 Leander of Seville 258 lectus 85 Leocadia of Toledo 21, 166, 182 León/Legio 23, 256, 293, 296 León, kingdom of 183, 188, 210, 216, 227, 233–234, 251n13, 252n16, 271–274 Leovigild 3, 19–20, 85, 88, 90, 93–94, 100 leyenda negra 15 Liber iudiciorum 229–230 Lisbon/Olisippo/Al-Usbuna/Al-Lixbuna 24, 321–325, 326–332, 342, 350–351, 354–355 Aqueduto das Águas Livres 324 Praça da Ribeira 323, 328 Llívia/Iulia Libica 62 loca sanctorum 47, 68, 72 London/Londinium 7, 332, 339, 355 López de Ayala, Pedro (father and son) 230, 232 Louis xiv 341, 347 Lugo/Lucus Augusti 23, 50, 293 Luxorius (poet) 85 Madeira 327, 329, 331 madīna 5, 20, 115, 121, 125–126, 128, 137, 139, 141–142, 147, 365 Madrid 23, 290, 296–298, 304, 314, 333–334, 339, 341, 346, 348 Magrib al-Aqṣā 190 Málaga/Malaca 298, 306 Mālikī school 187, 230 Mallorca 64, 346 maqābir 146 maqṣūra 132n80, 137n89, 138 Maqueda 257 mare clausum 327, 331 María de Molina 275 Mary of Burgundy 271 martyr 3–4, 18, 42–43, 46–48, 49–50, 52, 57, 66, 68, 70–73, 91–92, 367 martyrium 68, 118 Masona, bishop of Merida 72 mausoleum 18, 64, 66, 70 mawlā 107 Maximilian i 271, 335–336 Mecca 124 Mediana (villa) 98 Medinaceli 333, 343–344

Index OF PLACES, NAMES AND SUBJECTS Medina Sidonia/Asidona 45, 333 Meknes/Mequinez 173 memoria 68 merchant 24, 137, 254, 256, 260–261, 298–299, 322–323, 327–328, 330–332, 334–335, 337–341, 343–344, 346, 348–355, 363 Mérida/Augusta Emerita/Mārida 3n8, 4, 7, 9, 11–12, 47–48, 88, 92, 169, 171, 177, 251n13, 296 Santa Eulalia, basílica 4, 183 Sancta Iherusalen (Santa María) 4 xenodochium 4, 72 Mértola/Myrtillis 59 Mesopotamia 171 Methuen, treaty of 329, 351 Mexico 335–336 Mexico (city) 266 miḥrāb 21, 138, 182 Miño/Minius 3 monastery 3–4, 15, 18, 21, 23, 51, 61, 66, 72–73, 92, 126, 183, 254, 295, 309, 363 morería, Mouraria 210, 323 Morocco 173 mosque, Mezquita 20–22, 109, 120–126, 131–132, 137–139, 142, 144–146, 149, 171–173, 177–178, 179–183, 187–189, 190–192, 212–214, 215–216, 235, 323, 332, 362 Mozarabes 162, 224n83, 228–232, 235–236 Mudejars 214, 249 mudun 112 Münster, Sebastian 291 Mughīth al-Rūmī 107, 119n39, 170 Muhammad 5 Muḥammad i of Granada 131, 132n80, 180, 182, 189, 191–192 mundus 270 munera 43 municipia 2, 89 munya 110, 126, 129–130, 132, 139, 142, 144, 148–149 Murcia/Illu/Mursiyya 13, 171, 292–293, 296, 302–303, 305, 308 Murcia, kingdom of 205, 259, 296–297 Mūsā b. Nuṣayr 109n13, 112n22, 113, 171 muṣallā 121, 132n83, 183 Naples 16

Index OF PLACES, NAMES AND SUBJECTS Narbonne/Narbo/Narbona 19, 86 Netherlands 16, 296, 336, 346, 352 Nicaea 90–91 North Africa 23, 70–71, 85, 87, 168–169, 201, 270, 321–322, 333, 335, 342–346, 368n21 ochavos 260 officinae 61 Olid, Olit, Ulit 266, 268–269, 271 oligarchization 234, 236 Olivarez, Duque de (Gaspar de Guzmán) 339, 343–344 Olisippo see Lisbon Omberte 331 Oporto 327, 329–332 oppidiculis 41 oppidum 256, 268 Ordenações Filipinas 329 Ordenamiento de Alcalá 251 Ordenanzas 218–219 Ordoño ii of León 268 orseille 335 Oviedo 183, 306 pagus 41 palatium 4–5, 19–20, 41, 53, 57, 59, 62, 84–85, 88–97, 111, 114, 116–117, 119, 122, 124, 126, 128–130, 131–132, 137, 139, 141–142, 151, 166n17, 171, 173–174, 175, 220, 306, 328, 362 Palencia 257 parrochiae 73 Partidas 219n56, 251, 254, 257 patronus 18, 42–43 Pechina/Baijana 13 peones 224–226, 234n140, 236 Pérez de Calzada, abbot of Sahagún (Guillermo) 203 Peru 335–336, 347 Philip i of Castile 271 Philip ii of Spain 301, 309, 328–329, 337, 339 Philip iii of Spain 330 Philip iv of Spain 339 Philip V of Spain 341, 347 Pirenne, Henri 39 Pisuerga 267–269 Plaza Mayor 23, 295–296 Pollentia/Alcúdia 63–64

379 Pombal, Marquês de (Sebastião José de Carvalho e Mello) 324–325, 329, 331 Ponce de León, Rodrigo 339, 343–344 Portillo 277–278 possessores 41 Potosí (mines) 336 praefectus Urbis 92 praetorium, pretorio 4, 19, 41, 84–85, 89, 91, 165, 172–173, 175, 177, 190–191 privanza 264 Procopius 85, 87–88 Prudencio de Sandoval 268 Prudentius 47, 48 Pyrenees 15, 62, 232, 322 Qalahûrra see Calahorra Qāsim b. Qahlān 188 qaṣr 119, 124n62, 139, 141 Qayrawān/Kairouan 21, 112n21, 124, 171 qibla 21, 109n13, 124, 125n64, 132n80, 137n89, 138, 181–182 Qurṭuba see Córdoba rabaḍ see arrabal Rámaga coup 277 Ramírez y Blanco, Alejandro 363 realengo, realengum 23, 226, 266 Reccared i 19, 90, 93, 100 Reconquista 6–7, 13–14, 18, 22, 24, 201–202, 203–208, 214n36, 218–219, 221, 224n78, 225, 228, 230, 232–236, 321, 333–334, 343, 366 Recópolis/Reccopolis/Cerro de la Oliva 11, 19–20, 63, 84, 92–93, 94–95, 96–97, 100–101 rectores provinciae 41 reges Visigothorum 9 regidor 259, 275, 349 regimiento 226, 232, 259–260, 263, 270 regna 84 regnum gothorum 94, 161–162, 168 relics 42–43, 47–48, 70–71, 182–183, 294 repartimientos 224n78, 365 repoblación, repopulation 14, 203, 207–209, 223–225, 234–235, 297, 365 republica 16, 260 Roderick/Rodrigo 107n1, 112n22–23, 116, 119n39, 169–171 Romanization 1, 367–368

380 Rome 1, 7–8, 16, 24, 50, 71, 167, 171, 321, 342, 362–363, 366 Romulo 171 ruralization 297 Ruṣāfat al-Hishām/Resafa 128, 180 Russia 322, 352 sābāṭ 132, 138 Sahagún 203, 272 Salamanca 204, 256–257, 296–297 Salamanca, province 250 salutatorium 60 Sancho iv of Castile-León 226, 250 Santiago de Compostela 292, 306, 315 Saraqusta see Zaragoza seal of Escalona 258 secretarium 60, 91 sedes regia 57, 93, 325 Segóbriga/Segobriga/Saelices 8, 61, 64 Segovia 204, 255–256, 257–258, 267, 273–274, 292–293, 297, 306, 339 Sephardim 330 Septimania 19, 86 Sepúlveda 223, 256 Serdica 86 Seville/Hispalis/Ispali/Isbíliya 19, 21–22, 24, 86, 88, 101, 112–113, 124n59, 170, 190n117, 201, 203, 206–207, 213, 215–216, 217n48, 218–220, 222, 225–228, 233–235, 258, 266–267, 292–293, 295, 299, 304, 315, 321–323, 326, 332–334, 335–347, 350–355 silk 297–298, 343, 348 Simancas 268 Sindered 171, 182 Sirmium 86 sisas 327 Sisebut 91 Soria 23, 252n17, 254n21, 256–257, 334 spolia 53, 122n54, 181 stabula 85, 95, 148 standard 251, 258n29, 259, 261n39, 274 statio 41 stock-breeding 148, 299 suburbium, suburb 4, 19, 22–23, 43, 46, 49, 57, 62, 65–66, 71–72, 89–91, 94, 110–111, 118–119, 121, 125–126, 131–132, 133, 137,

Index OF PLACES, NAMES AND SUBJECTS 139, 142–143, 144, 146–149, 151, 167, 172, 175, 177, 209, 254–256, 293–295 Suebi 2, 9 sugar trade 325, 328–329, 331, 334, 344 Syria 21, 122, 128, 168, 180 tābiʿūn 109, 124 tabiya 219 Tagus/Tajo/Tejo 165, 179, 201, 208, 220, 224, 226n88, 230, 322–324, 326, 328, 363 Taifa 162, 175, 181, 203, 208 Tapestries of Valladolid 23, 247, 264–265, 268, 270–272, 274–275, 277, 279 Tarifa 321, 344 Ṭāriq b. Ziyād 113, 128n70, 171 Tarragona/Tarraco/Tarracona 7, 9, 61, 65–66, 67–68, 71, 362 tercio de frutos 345 Terrassa/Egara 54, 58–59 territorium 43, 49 theater 8, 61, 63, 304, 362 Theudigisel 86, 88 Theudis 86–88 Thomas Aquinas 262 Toledo/Toletum/Ṭulayṭula 4–5, 9, 19, 21–24, 50–51, 54, 72, 84–87, 88–95, 161, 162–164, 165–166, 169–174, 175–176, 177, 179–183, 185–188, 189–192, 201, 204, 206–209, 210–211, 212, 214–215, 217–221, 223–224, 226–236, 256, 266–267, 292–293, 296–298, 304–305, 309, 310–312, 313–315, 323, 333–334, 363–365 Alcántara, puente de 179 Alcántara, puerta de 179, 191 Bāb al-Mardūm, mezquita de/ Cristo de la Luz, church of 172, 177–178, 179–180, 190–191, 212n29, 214 Madre de Dios, convento de la 184–185, 186, 191 Bisagra Nueva, puerta de 179 circus 4, 19, 89–90, 186 Concepción Francisca, convento de la 175 Plaza de Zocodover 174, 190, 215, 217n44, 296 San Miguel, iglesia de 166 San Pedro Mártir el Real 184, 186

381

Index OF PLACES, NAMES AND SUBJECTS San Pedro y San Pablo, iglesia de (Vega Baja) 4, 21, 50, 91, 166–167, 171–172, 175, 182 San Vicente, basílica de 21, 166 Santa Cruz, hospital de 175 Santa Cruz, iglesia de 166 Santa Eulalia, iglesia de 166 Santa Fe, convento de 175 Santa Jerusalén, iglesia de 90–91 Santa Leocadia, basílica de (Cristo de la Vega) 4, 21, 91, 166–167, 171, 183 Santa Lucía, capilla de 182 Santa María del Alficén, iglesia de 175 Santa María, basílica de 19, 21, 54, 91, 167, 171, 191–192, 213 Valmardón, puerta de 179, 191 Tornerías, mezquita de las 188–189, 191 Tolmo de Minateda 63, 124n59 Tolosa/Toulouse 86 Tordesillas, treaty of 321, 327, 335 translatio 47–48 Trastámara 264 triclinium 85 tumulus 68 turris 41 tyranni 63, 94, 100, 267 Umayyads 10, 18, 20, 107, 109, 111, 115, 117, 119–122, 125–126, 128–129, 131–132, 135–139, 141, 145–146, 151, 176–177, 180, 190, 208, 362, 365 urbanization 1, 6, 23, 142, 144, 146, 148–149, 204, 289–290, 297–298 urbanism 2, 5, 15, 18, 21–23, 88, 110–111, 114, 135, 145, 207, 252n18, 291, 293, 364, 368–369 urbs 41, 43, 47, 49, 56–57, 71

urbs regia 19, 21, 88, 91–92, 165, 172, 179, 182, 190, 315 Valencia/Valentia 11–12, 19, 47, 54, 55–56, 65, 214n36, 266 Valladolid 23, 247, 251, 256–257, 264–273, 274–276, 277–279, 292, 294–297, 304, 333–334 Santa María del Prado 268 Vandals 2, 9, 85, 87 vecinos urbanos 226, 234n140 vicus 41, 121 vilare 41 villa 41, 44, 60, 60n56, 66, 72, 84, 98, 275n90 villula 41 Vincent of Saragossa 47, 50 Visigoths 2–4, 7, 10, 19–21, 24, 41, 84–90, 93, 112–113, 118–119, 121, 125, 128, 161–163, 166–168, 170, 172–174, 177, 182–183, 186, 190–191, 206–207, 229–230, 268, 315, 323, 342, 364, 367 Vitas Patrum Emeritensium 72, 85 Vitoria 296, 306 vivarium 62 Wamba 52, 166 waqf 126, 149, 187, 189 Welser 328, 336 Weber, Max 3, 39 Ŷazirat-Qadiš see Cádiz Zamora 256, 297, 306 Zaragoza/Caesaraugusta/Saraqusta 8, 50, 65, 124, 170 treaty of 322, 327