Landscapes and Environments of the Middle Ages
Michael Bintley and Kate Franklin
Routledge 2024

Popular representations of the Middle Ages tend to veer, sometimes wildly, between depicting medieval people as setting the foundations for the enslavement of the natural world or representing them as being deeply attuned to the rhythms and complexities of the environments they inhabited.

Inevitably, as this book aims to show, matters were much more complicated, and varied across time, space, society, gender, languages, and cultures to extents that are impossible to encapsulate in a soundbite. Thus, ather than studying ‘nature’ in the Middle Ages, the book instead examines the spaces that people constructed through soil, stone, and song; water and wasteland; plants and animals; and timber, textiles, and texts, which in turn made up the medieval world.

The new book considers some of the many landscapes and environments that medieval people and their cultures created, manipulated, and exploited to different extents, both in the physical realm and in the mind’s eye. These relationships between realms real and imagined, were complex and closely interrelated. The things people encountered in the physical world around them played a significant part in determining what they wrote about them in texts, and how they depicted them in other works of art.

Likewise, the text emphasises a definition of environment that focuses on ‘living with’, inviting readers to think about the more-than-human worlds that medieval people depended on, cared for, constructed, and damaged. Bringing together a wide range of primary source material, including evidence from texts, material culture, and visual arts, the book reflects the diversity of landscapes and human responses to them throughout the course of this period and considers the role that these medieval worlds have played in shaping the modern, both physically and culturally.

Landscapes and Environments of the Middle Ages is intended as a comprehensive introduction and resource for both undergraduate and postgraduate students in medieval studies and history, offering interdisciplinary, transhistorical, and transnational insights into this period of immense change and innovation.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Michael Bintley is Senior Lecturer in Early Medieval Literature and Culture at Birkbeck, University of London. He is author of Trees in the Religions of Early Medieval England (2015) and Settlements and Strongholds in Early Medieval England: Texts, Landscapes, and Material Culture (2020).

Kate Franklin is Senior Lecturer in Medieval History at Birkbeck, University of London. She is Co-PI of the Vayots Dzor Silk Road Survey, a collaborative archaeological research project focused on the layered material worlds of Vayots Dzor, Armenia. Kate is author of Everyday Cosmopolitanisms: Living the Silk Road in Medieval Armenia (2021).

READ ALSO:

FURTHER READING

Medieval Landscapes – Two Points of View

The Frightening Landscape in Northern Europe in the Early Middle Ages

The Medieval Landscape as a Pastoral Christian Cosmos

The post Landscapes and Environments of the Middle Ages appeared first on Wilder Europe.

The River Sélune is an 86 km long river in the Manche department in Normandy and drains more than 1000 km2. It has its outspring near Saint-Cyr-du-Bailleul and empties into the bay of Mont Saint-Michel near Avranches. Until the free flow was hampered at the beginning of the 20th century, the countryside featured the typical agricultural scene of Northern France with rolling hills and hedgerows galore – the bocage landscape.

In a description from 1858, we read that the river landscape used to “abound in woods mingled with partial clearances of well-cultivated corn-land, through the midst of which winds the river, flashing in glittering pools until expanding into a broad estuary it meets the sea, which borders the horizon”. La Manche was and is a rural area where the dominant agricultural system is mixed between dairy, seasonal pasture, and the growing of fodder and grain. Although the traditional hedgerows have been largely dismantled, the remains may still be found in the landscape.

Thus, the river would eventually flow into Europe’s largest tidal basin by meandering through the hilly landscape, the deep gorges and the hinterland forests. With the rivers Sée and the Couesnon, the Sélune would become part of a wide marshy delta of considerable ecological significance.

However, since 1914 and 1927, the Sélune’s free flow has been hampered by two of the largest hydroelectric dams in Europe.

Background

Since time immemorial, people have settled on higher ground, yet near lakes, rivers and estuary landscapes. Collecting water for people and animals was always a significant consideration. Later, the use of running water for operating mills and transporting goods and people came in handy. Further, the intensive use of rivers for irrigation was known from prehistory, as was the redirection of water for constructing canals, moats or fishing dams. Finally, the fertile deltas and marshy forelands would entice people to settle on the hilly promontories.

Nevertheless, the scale of redirection and control of rivers by constructing single dams, reservoirs or cascading water flows in the 20th century took the regulation of our watercourses to a new level. Today, less than a third of the world’s largest watercourses flow freely. A recent survey (Habel 2020) reckons that more than 50% of the world’s large rivers have “lost their hydromorphological and ecological continuity”.

However, although dam projections continue, major initiatives primarily seek to demolish them and restore river courses to their former glory. In the EU, the European Water Framework Directive issued in 2000 has acted as a prompt in this direction. While some countries – for instance, Denmark – have hesitated to fulfil their obligation, others, such as France, have taken a more active stance.

The Demolition of the Dams

One such project was the plan from 2009 to demolish the two large dams at the river Sélune in Normandy. The two dams erected at the beginning of the 20th century had radically changed the landscape and the ecology. However, when the government 2009 decided to dismantle the two dams, the main argument was to allow salmon to – once again – spawn upriver. Considered to be the third-best French river in terms of “Salmon Potential”, the Sélune is a classified river for Atlantic salmon, sea trout, brown trout, European eel, pike, sea lamprey and river lamprey. More precisely, the argument was not to restore the entire riverine landscape to its former glory as a robust ecosystem. Instead, the argument was to further the local economy by restoring the river as a rich playground for European anglers. Although the vision was presented as an idea of “rewilding” or “re-naturalising” the river, the aim was minimal. Soon, the local inhabitants came to see the projected dismantling of the dams as primarily intended to further the upper-class anglers as opposed to the local fishermen, who built huts on the lakesides and used to fish in the lakes created by the dams. Most of all, though, they came to feel deprived of their “landscape.

La Paysage – The Landscape

Soon, the restoration project was met with a vocal local opposition focusing on this structural divergence. At the centre was the idea of what “the landscape” – in French, la Paysage – the Sélune was and should be. Together with the concept of “Terroir”, this idea of a “Paysage” continues to play a significant part in the history of the mentality of modern France; as was apparently the case along the banks of the river Sélune.

To understand the conflict, we thus have to note that the people living along the river and next to the lakes did not envisage their landscape as particularly unique. On the contrary, insofar as they had thought about it, their landscape was considered ordinary as opposed to the landscape in the Bay of Mont-St-Michel. Unlike this tourist trap, the upstream and hinterland landscapes were not considered particularly important. Hence, many informants believed that removing the dams and the lakes would gender a bland and banal landscape of “nothingness” of mud and invasive plants. Vocally, they feared living in a “dead” and “empty” landscape in the future. This position was voiced to counter the initial arguments for the demolition of the dams, namely the rewilding of the river in its former glory.

At this point, local officials entered the fray with an “official” alternative. According to local planners, the new valley should be turned into a zone of tranquillity and a “leisure valley”. No longer arguing for a “nature reserve” or “sanctuary”, the valley should rather offer a haven for outdoor tourism. One concern often voiced in interviews and talks was the official fear of the potential overgrowing of the landscape leading to the disappearance of “open views”. Thus, while the local inhabitants feared becoming “homeless”, the planners envisaged a gardened and controlled future of modernity filled with tourism income. As opposed to this position, those carrying out the physical dismantling of the dams (the Normandy Water Agency) argued together with NGOs to “make the river wild once again”, albeit primarily meaning letting the salmon spawn upriver. Unfortunately, we now know their vision was lost to the “outdoor tourism paradigm”.

Different Interests

Soon, the nearly vertical slopes along the riverbed were expropriated by planners and sports enthusiasts of a different ilk. Trails for mountain bikers and runners were built into the slopes offering new and splendid challenges. At the same time, anglers entered the fray reconstructing the riverbeds to lure the salmon and other lesser fish swimming up the river, while the planners sought to accommodate the kayaking people and mitigate the conflicts between the different kinds of outdoor tourists. Also, the planning of events began to feed the imagination of the local managers.

To some extent, these interventions were hampered by another group, the farmers, who likewise tried to appropriate the land, adopting it (if possible) for grazing purposes (both seasonal and year-round) while working the relatively flat and fertile fields alongside the new riverine banks. One fear they voiced was that the new vegetation would soon spring up and hinder cultivation. Also, some farmers were anxious that the “weeds” the naturalists passively let burst forward would spread into their cultivated fields. Some farmers complained that controlling these pests was impossible, even when using pesticides. As farmers had abandoned 10-15% of their land since 1980, their concerns were carefully registered by the local administration and allowed to curtail the passive rewilding otherwise envisioned.

Finally, the hunters experienced a setback. Formerly, the wild boars had been held back on the northern side of the river by the dams or lakes. Now, the new landscape allowed the animals to swim across the river, exploring the farming land and forests to the south and making the hunting grounds less easy to exploit.

Missed opportunity?

While the “Wild West” takeover of the riverside for sports and entertainment began, the practicalities of emptying the lakes and rebuilding the riverbeds and slopes used up the energy of the engineers and conservationists. In practice, this led to a period of passive rewilding, and after 2017 a mosaic of new plant communities colonised the banks and wetlands. Although “agricultural” species dominated, a rich and diversified pool of species did come about. According to the biologists studying the riparian assemblages of plants which cropped up along the restored riverbanks, they differed markedly from the “older” riparian landscapes of the tributaries. This passive restoration led to the conclusion that it would create a mosaic landscape offering up different profiles of plant communities in the riverine landscape.

However, a discussion about the consequences of the continuing eutrophication appears not to have been raised. Consequently, the environmental restoration remains unfinished, and as yet, the future of the drained space – 200 ha in all – has not yet been decided.The question thus remains: to what uses should this new landscape be put? Agriculture, mountain biking, hiking, or kayaking? Or should it be rewilded and turned into a new habitat for wildlife?

National Controversy

Then again, the battle on the dams at Sélune may seem local but are, in fact, part of a broader national controversy fought over the embattled nature, the natural heritage of water mills, fishing wears and ancient property rights.

This story reaches back into Antiquity when watermills became a crucial technological innovation brought to the Roman provinces to be adopted widely in the successor-kingdoms. By the 7th century, water mills had been established in most of Western Europe, reaching into Ireland, and in Carolingian sources, references became legio. Two hundred fifty years later, Doomsday Book from 1086 counted more than 6500 in England. Most of these mills came with a weir creating dams, precious fish waters and a privileged status for the miller and his family. The importance of these visual and economically essential elements in the local landscapes is witnessed by the 100.000 mills and weirs built in the French landscape in the 18th century.

Around these millponds, a particular lifestyle and culture developed, part of which was local food featuring specialities such as bream, bass, carp, catfish, pike etc. In the 20th century, many of these mills were turned into riverside cafés which later metamorphosed into luxurious Michelin-starred hotels serving delicacies from the terroir. In short: they were fabricated as a treasured part of the heritagescape favoured by the privileged middle class. No wonder the Greens chose the free migration of salmon as one of their symbolic “fights”. Thus, a “Salmon Plan” was one of the first acts passed by the new French Ministry for Environment in 1971. Naturally, the dam owners took the bait, and battle commenced.

With the adoption of the European Water Framework Directive from 2000 into French law in 2004, the restoration of French Rivers to good ecological status became obligatory. This implied the restoration of “the free streamflow”, leading to a free and unhindered circulation of fish species and sediments. In practice, the removal of all old fish weirs – and the great dams at Sélune – impeding the migratory fish were the next logical step. Now, the fight was taken to another level, with a line drawn between on one hand the traditionalists with their local economic interests, and on the other hand the ecologists. The result was the formation of numerous factions and associations publishing reviews, monitoring laws, recruiting local people, and organising hearings, meetings and moratoriums.

At Sélune, these initiatives successfully drew out the dam demolition from 2009 to 2017. In the end, the lack of success led to the final shapeshifting of the anti-movement, now focusing on the “undemocratic and technocratic” decision-making process, which they believed undermined local interests and destroyed “la France profonde” with its heritage and landscapes. Vitriolising the debate, this new force occasionally even took to semi-violent harassment of local technicians and managers. Even regular violent attacks were orchestrated, leading to widespread fear of these opponents and their “attitudes”. This may have delayed and compromised the “achievement of environmental quality objectives”, wrote Barroud (2017).

Likely, this is the real reason why the ecological arguments for the demolition of the dams were subsumed by politicians beneath a version of a leisurely landscape filled with sports. And why the rewilded Sélune has been reduced to a late modern dream of a Parks & Recreation venue.

The Sélune River may once again flow freely. And yet, it has so far not turned into the fluid transient landscape nor the “natural backwater”, we may dream of. On the contrary, it remain a seasoned battleground for different stakeholders, upping the ante against the proposed EU Nature Restoration Law.

Karen Schousboe

SOURCES:

Biodiversité végétale précoce de cinq affluents de la Sélune dans la vallée renaturée de Vezin (Normandie)
By Charlotte Ravot, Didier Le Coeur, Simon Dufoir; Ivan Bernez.
In: Naturae (2021) Vol 26, pp.351-361.

Dam and reservoir removal projects: a mix of social‐ecological trends and cost‐cutting attitudes
By Michal Habel, Karl Mechkin, Krescencja Podgorska, Marius Saunes, Zygmunt Babiński, Sergey Chalov, Damian Absalon, Zbigniew Podgórski & Krystian Obolewski
In: Nature Scientific Reports (2020) 10:19210. Open Source.

Ecological restoration of the Selune River. Understanding ecological restoration mechanisms following dam’s removal
INRA 2018

Entre désir de nature et peur de l’abandon : quelles attentes paysagères après l’arasement des barrages hydroélectriques de la Sélune?
By Marie-Anne Germaine, Ludovic Drapier, Laurent Lespez, Marie-Jo Menozzi et Olivier Thomas
In: Projets de Paysage. Revue scientifique sur la conception et l’aménagement de l’espace (2019) vol 20.

New Sélune River (Normandy, France) margins following large dam removal: ecological restoration perspectives considering the successional vegetation dynamics of alluvial deposits
By C. Ravot, M. Laslier L. Muller L. Hubert-Moy , S. Dufour and L Bernez
I. S. Rivers (2018)

Removing Mill Weirs in France: The Structure and Dynamics of an Environmental Controversy
By Regis Barraud
In: Water-Alternatives (2017) Vol 10 No 3

The Failure of the Largest Project to Dismantle Hydroelectric Dams in Europe? (Sélune River, France, 2009-2017)
By Marie-Anne Germaine and Laurent Lespez
In: Water Alternatives (2017) Vol 10, no 3

The post The River Sélune – Restoration of an Ancient Landscape? appeared first on Wilder Europe.

But still nearer to the dawn and the abode of Eurus, in the flowering bosom of the earth lies a region upon which the sun, still mild in its first rising shines lovingly, for its fire is in its first age, and has no power to harm. There, a tempered heat and a favouring climate impregnate the soil with glowers and rich greenery. This little retreat harbours the scents, produces the spices, contains the riches and delights of all the regions of the world. This little retreat harbours the scents, produces the spices, contains the riches and delights of all the world. In this soil ginger grows… The crocus pales beside the purple hyacinth, and the scent of mace competes with the shoots of cassia. Amid the flourishing wilderness strays a winding stream, continually shifting its cours, rippling over the roots of trees and agitated by pebbles, the swift water is borne murmuring along. In this well-watered and richly coloured retreat, I believe, the first man dwelt as a guest – but too brief a time for a guest. Nature created this grove with affectionate care; elsewhere the wilderness sprang up at random.
(From: Bernardus Silvestris: cosmographia, verse 317 ff. Translated by Nigel Palmer 1994)

The essential source to grasp the Christian approach towards nature is Genesis, which came in two Biblical versions – the Priestly and the Yahwist accounts, with the former recounting the story of the creation of the world and the latter focusing on Adam and Eve and The Fall of Man.

Of these two approaches, the Yawist account of the history of Adam and Eve (Gen., II –III) fired up the imagination in the first millennium, while the Priestly account of the creation of the world (Gen., I, 1 -27) became more prominent in the 11th century to peak in the 12th and 13th centuries. This shift in theological priorities coalesced with the 12th-century Renaissance, the growth of academic institutions and the early pursuit of scientific studies.

Late Antiquity and Early Christianity

As usual, thinkers and learned people in the Early Middle Ages took their point of departure in the inherited wisdom from Antiquity. The primary input came from Empedocles via Plato and Aristoteles and was “scientific” in that it focused on the interplay between the four elements: Earth, water, air, and fire. Later, Aristoteles added the fifth aether. The world in Antiquity was created and continuously recreated from these ingredients. In the writings of Plato, another common denominator was the Demiurge: The Craftsman, Opifex, or Artifex, who forged the world. Plato argued in Timaeus that creation was an emanation based on pre-existing ideas that proceeded from the pre-existent, chaotic and eternal “matter” to become the four elements.

However, the Christian cosmogeny differed from these Platonic and Aristotelian models in so far as Christian thinking was obliged to ponder the text – Genesis. To some extent, Plato was more straightforward to accommodate than Aristoteles with his studies of the physical realities of the world. Yet both foundered upon closer Christian inspection. Filtered through this Christian lens, creation was obliged to be considered a process which took place ex nihilo, “out of nothing”. Also and according to Scripture, recreation would occur as for-ordained in Revelation. Further, the transcendent God speaking (the Word of God) performed this creation and recreation. Thus, while early Christian thinkers leaned towards Neo-Platonism more than Aristotelian thought, they were nevertheless more interested in explicating Genesis than aligning this text with the thinking of pagan philosophers.

The early tradition

In the 1st century AD, Jewish philosophers such as Philon of Alexandria pondered the conundrum concerning “ex nihilo”. Later, in the fourth century, Basileus the Great and St. Ambrose wrote theological exegetical works to explain how the world came into being. At the same time, Basileus expounded the text of Genesis in nine Lenten sermons in Greek – later translated by Eustathius – and St. Ambrose wrote the first poetic rendition of an Hexaemeron in Latin, a written exposé concerning the biblical narrative in Genesis. Later, St. Augustine of Hippo, Isidore of Seville and the Venerable Bede built on these texts in their commentaries. Curiously, the Greek title of the genre, Haxaemeron – or the six-day’s work – was kept. The Latin equivalent – De operibus sex dierum was never in common use.

The Vienna Genesis

A common denominator for these texts was the focus placed on the Yahwist version of Genesis, emphasising the creation of mankind and what followed. As opposed to this, the story of the creation of the physical world – the light and darkness, heaven and earth, sea and land, plants and animals- was largely ignored.

One of the earliest illuminated manuscripts solely touching upon Genesis, the Vienna Genesis from the 6th century, is an exemplary illustration of how the story of Adam and Eve was placed in the foreground. The Greek manuscript must be characterised as Byzantine. The preserved part opens with the creation of Adam and Eve, the Fall, and the Expulsion. Another, albeit only fragmentarily preserved manuscript, The Cotton Genesis, is complicated to compare since it was burnt to ashes in the Cotton-fire, and only a few fragments are preserved. Furthermore, these two manuscripts appear to be unique. A corresponding type of manuscript has not been found in Latin.

As opposed to this, the West favoured manuscripts paraphrasing Genesis, but in the vernacular. An early example is the so-called Caedmonian or “Old English Genesis” in the Bodelian (Bodelian Library,ms Junius 11). Other examples are the Millstatt Genesis in Old Middle High German (Kärntner Landesarchic, MS 6/19), The Second Wiener Genesis (Österichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod, 2721) and finally, the Egerton Genesis in the British Library (MS Egerton 1894). Apart from the late Egerton Genesis, the focus in these texts was on the narrative of Adam and Eve; as was the case in the great Carolingian Bibles such as the ‘Moutier-Grandval Bible (BL, Add MS 10546), The Vivian Bible (BnF, Lat. 1), The Bamberg Bible (The Staatliche Bibliothek, Msc. Bibl. 1), and Charles the Bald’s Bible (the Bible of San Paolo fuori le mura). Behind the frontispieces of these manuscripts lies a tradition where the story of the Creation begins with the forming and enlivening of Adam and ends with Abel’s murder.

The Creation of the World

In the 11th century, however, the Priestly version of Genesis superseded the Yahwist, emphasising the actual creation of the natural world. One result was an explosion in the “new” genre of the Hexaemeron. Scholars have registered more than 200 different hexamera, most of which can be dated to the 12th or early 13th century when Aristotle was rediscovered, and the scientific exploration of the physical world became the talk of the town in academic circles at the burgeoning universities. It seems as if all the great philosophers and theologians in the 12th and 13th centuries participated in a hexameral community. Among many, Adelard of Bath, William of Conches, Hugh of Amiens, and Thierry of Chartres might be mentioned. The latter’s work inspired Peter Abelard, when Heloise asked for such a text to inspire her congregation of nuns at the Paraclete (The Expositio in Hexaemeron). Other famous examples were the Cosmographia of Bernardus Silvestris, the prosimetrum De Planctu Naturae by Alan de Lille (ca. 1160-1170) and the Architrenius of John of Hauville from c. 1184-85. A late example is the Hexaemeron of the Dane, Anders Sunesøn, writing in Paris and Lund ca. 1200. However, just as many may be mentioned demonstrating the proliferation of the fashion.

One of the central questions raised by this literature was how to grapple with the historicity of Genesis, so to speak, “the Truth of What Happened”. Increasingly, Genesis should not be understood as a neoplatonic or allegorical text but as a scientific and literal text. At this point, the 12th-century scientists and theologians (as said) became profoundly inspired by Aristoteles, which meant that following the initial creation ex nihilo, a manifestation of a force of nature, the “vis naturae”, entered the equation. In general, all had to agree that what happened during the six days of creation was the manifestation of God’s Will. However, when God had established the nature of things, the forces of nature were believed to keep the wheels running. And what’s more, out of this “plasma”, even new forms of beings and animals might come into being. For instance, Abelard wrote of how mules must be considered a new animal and how the phoenix might be reborn out of flames. However, the different writers of hexaemera did not agree on when this “vis” became operable – when creatio stopped, and generatio took over. Thus, Christian de Thierry thought the “vis” worked its way after the first day, while Abelard was more reticent. On the other hand, the latter wrote polemically on the physical determinism of the astrologers, as did Anders Sunesøn. Definitely, the jury was still out.

In the first half of the 12th century, these questions led to vitriolic debates among the “old” and the “new” theologians concerning the status which should be given to this “vis”. The problem was that with this new perspective, the creative force of science came afore to the detriment of the role of God and humans – thus challenging the need for redemption and salvation, and – not least – the church’s central role. If nature ruled the roast, the question was, which role played humans? This question was central to the great schismatic debates between Pierre Abelard and the old theologians in 1120 at Soissons, when in the end, he was obliged to throw his book into the flames.

The art of creation 1000–1200

With Chartres and Paris as the intellectual hotspots, an intellectual war raged among a group of people reaching from north to south. Later, at the end of the 13th century, the more public pictorial and artistic framing of the story of Genesis came to reflect this debate, spreading the idea among the common man that Adam and Eve did not just live through their Creation, Fall, and Expulsion. Simply put, setting the scene led to a popular reimagination of the landscape as Paradise.

Evidence of this was uncovered in 1999 when an art historian, C. Rudolph, published a preliminary inventory of illuminations in Biblical manuscripts. While only seven extant images telling the Priestly version of Genesis can be counted in the 11th century, this grew to 61 in the 12th century and 233 from the 13th century. Also, these many illuminations came from France, Germany, England, Italy and elsewhere. And some of these images did indeed create a new and more scientific approach towards Genesis, such as the one presented in the so-called Caedmonian from c. 1000, which shows the creation of the earth on a double page (pages 6 and 7).  However, the endless fascination of the story of Adam and Eve did not falter. It continued to dominate in early wall paintings, such as those preserved in Hardham in Sussex, England, and Råsted Church in Jutland, Denmark, both from the early 12th century. However, at the end of the Middle Ages, the foreshortened motifs of these murals were expanded into pictorial cycles, such as the one from Fjanefjord in Denmark, depicting the creation of the physical world, the story of Adam and Eve and ending with Judgement Day (ca. 1500).

One of the early pictorial cycles containing this double or triple set of motifs may be found on the south portal of the Cathedral in Uppsala in Sweden, from the end of the 13th century. After a fire in 1204, the Cathedral was moved to a new location, where building began in 1272 in the French Gothic style. We know the design was supervised by a French master builder, Étienne de Bonneuil, who was invited to Uppsala according to a promissory from 1287. The frieze on top of the south portal dates from this time and shows in six roundels the creation ex nihilo leading up to the creation of Adam and Eve. Below, friezes set into the sides of the portal tell the story of the Fall and the Expulsion. Here, we find one of the earliest pictorial renditions of the more “scientific” part of Genesis, which grabbed the attention of the intellectual elite in the 12th and 13th centuries.

The 12th-century Renaissance and the reinvention of natural beauty

Out of the Hexaemera grew another genre, the cosmographies or natural histories of the high Middle Ages. One of these early works is the Cosmographia from ca. 1150 by Bernardus Silvestris, who wrote a poem about nature pleading with Noys – the divine providence – to foster a more well-ordered and pleasing form of chaos. In the first book, the megacosmos, Silvestrus told us how the hierarchies of angels, the heavens and the world’s disposition took place and what this world looked like before man entered the equation in the second book. Part of this natural world is a collection of 118 lines listing no less than 126 plants, echoing the Nature of Things by Lucretius, the Natural History of Pliny, the Etymology of Isidore and other lexicographic works of Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages. This catalogue of plants gives us a hint of how the natural world was viewed.

According to Silvestris, plants could be divided into three parts: the forest’s trees, the fruit-bearing trees and the aromatic trees as they might be found in their natural habitats. Further, among the trees listed were a number of thorny bushes, perhaps reflecting the natural landscape around the Loire. After the description of the trees followed a catalogue presenting the herbs leading to the description of Paradise quoted above, thus mixing the genres – the scientific report and the poetic rendition of the locus amoenus, the pleasance par excellence (Curtius 1953).

Although Silvestris’ work is not a full-blown Natural History such as those compiled by Albertus Magnus and Bartholomaeus Anglicus a hundred years later, it offers us a vivid picture of the Christian landscape, which he and his contemporaries saw when looking through the tinted glasses of the texts in his library. With him, we envision a remote wilderness barely commanding comments serving as background to a bucolic idyl offering running water, a pleasant climate and a well-stocked medicinal cabinet.

In this perspective, humans were recruited as partners of God, participating in upholding the earth as a microcosm of the Divine universe. By ploughing, sowing, and harvesting the land and tending to the forests, the meadows, and fishing waters, the natural and formed world became the symbol of the reclaimed Paradise, the locus amoenus (the beautiful place as venerated by in Antiquity by Theocritus, Vergil, and later Horace and Servius).

Thus, in a letter to the King of Cyprus from 1267, Thomas Aquinas wrote about where to build a city. “The site should claim the inhabitants by its beauty”(1), he wrote in 1267, adding that the best setting for beauty would be running waters through meadows and surrounded by forests, mountains, and groves.

Finally, it should be mentioned how this rediscovery also included the creation of deer parks and gardens as places for pleasure. The idea of these loci amoeni feasted on the antique poets and was widely adopted in the Middle Ages.

The Locus Horribilus and the sacralisation of the countryside

In classical literature, the untamed wilderness did not figure prominently. The Romans considered the wilds a place for harvesting ferocious predators or feral people for performances intended to stage the death and destruction of precisely this wilderness. While hunting in a Northern pre-Christian context was considered an animistic or shamanic movement through a continuum of more or less cultivated wild spaces, the Romans, copying the Greeks, considered wild animals as totems of the Gods (the owl of Minerva or the peacock of Juno). Foremost, though, they considered these animals to be either domesticated or obliterated. Some “monsters” existed, such as the Pan (faun), the Silenus (satyr), the Pegasus and the Basilisk. However, the medieval phantasies of dragons and other terrifying monsters were not a particularly prominent part of the very civilised world of the Mediterranean.

Not so in the Christian world, where Jesus followed in the footsteps of Elias and famously spent 40 days in the desert among the wild animals. Here, the prophets and saints lived in the mountains, caves and wastelands in Late Antiquity. Later, the impassable forests were added to the list in the Middle Ages. These were known as the loci horribiles, where saintly men were meant to brave the wilderness of the monsters, demons, ferocious predators and their own hearts. “And the parched ground shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs of water: in the habitation of dragons, where each lay, shall be grass with reeds and rushes”, claimed Isaiah (Isaiah 35.7, KJV). The advice was adamant. Those places were not only designed as temptations. Rather, the vast wildernesses were intended to be conquered, inhabited and cultivated, in short civilised. Numerous large monastic institutions founded throughout Europe and in the early and high Middle Ages were at their core the “invention” of a wayward hermit and saint.

In the High Middle Ages, however, the Cistercians entered this project with singular gusto and a renewed fanaticism establishing abbeys in rural hinterlands. These Cistercian foundations were known for their economic drive. As such, they became the crucibles for new agricultural technologies, such as hydraulic engineering. Surrounded by broad fields, irrigated meadows, running canals and managed forests with roaming studs of horses, the Cistercian Abbeys became favourite darlings of the European royal families, and even royal mausoleums such as the Alcobaça Monastery in Portugal. At the end of the 13th century, the Cistercian houses numbered more than 500 and might be found from Trondheim in the north of Norway (Tautra Abbey) to Sicily (the Vallebona). Vallebona means the “good valley”.

The Sacred Sites

However, in the interstices between the pagan (Germanic and Norse) ideas of landscapes and the Roman and Christian civilised and well-ordered cities, villas, villages and monasteries fell a multitude of so-called sacred sites. Marked out in the terrains by trees, springs, groves or islands – they constituted more or less vaguely remembered places where Heaven and Earth were destined to meet. As such, they were either desecrated or confiscated for Christian purposes by hermits or local religious people bent on converting the populace. Marked out by chapels, altars, crosses and later crucifixes, they often retained the spiritual connotations of whatever religious fervour was associated with the place. Also, these places were often staged as the endpoint of pilgrimages. Sought by pilgrims flocking to experience the mystique and spiritual enthusiasm attributed to the site led to the construction of the wider European network of paths leading to salvation.

FOOTNOTES:

(1) Quoted in: Traces on the Rhodian Shore: Nature and Culture in Western Thought from Ancient Times to the End of the Eighteenth Century, By Clarence Glacken. London 1967, p. 270

SOURCES:

European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages
By Ernest Curtius
Princeton University Press 1953

Nature, Man and Society in the Twelfth Century: New Theological Perspectives in the Latin West
By M. D. Chenu. (Ed. and trans. J. Taylor and L. K. Little)
Chicago University Press, 1968

Hic Homo Formatur: The Genesis Frontispieces of the Carolingian Bibles
By Herbert L. Kessler
In: The Art Bulletin (1971), Vol. 53, No. 2 (Jun., 1971), pp. 143-160

Creatio mundi: Darstellungen der sechs Schöpfungstage und naturwissenschaftliches Weltbild im Mittelalter
By Johannes Zahlten
Series: Stuttgarter Beiträge zur Geschichte und Politik)
Klett-Cotta 1979

Plant names in the Comographia of Bernardus Silvestris.
By Nigel F. Palmer.
In: Scientiarum Historia 20 (1994) 1-2, pp 39–56)

Inventing Medieval Landscapes. Senses of Place in Western Europe.
Ed by John Howe and Michael Wolfe
University Press of Florida 1996

In the Beginning: Theories and images of creation in Northern Europe in the twelfth century
By Conrad Rudolph
In: Art History (2003) Vol 22

The Place of Nature in Twelfth-Century Spirituality
By Sara Ritchey
First published: 09 July 2009

Authority and Imitation. A Study of the Cosmographia of Bernard Silvestris
By Mark Kauntze
Series: Mittellateinische Studien und Texte, Volume: 47
Brill 2014

The post The Medieval Landscape as a Pastoral Christian Cosmos appeared first on Wilder Europe.

For most of the Middle Ages, natural forces spelled numerous disasters in the form of floods, water erosions, volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, storms and droughts. In this perspective, landscapes were experienced as constantly shifting, feeding a sense of awe and fright among people suffering at the visible hand of the invisible God, the mysterium tremendum et fascinans [1].

While the Roman landscape in Antiquity had been considered an orderly construction with a peaceful centre – the villa surrounded by civilisation – the landscape of the Early Middle Ages in Northern Europe was univocally sensed as a scary place into which Christian athletes and ascetic monks might seek to find solace amid empty wildernesses, deserts, caves or among wild beasts in the arenas. Later, we may even find their ancestors battling dragons while trying to reclaim a final resting place [2].

We get a sense of this pervading idea of constantly shifting baselines in the writings of the Venerable Bede (672-735) in his famous description of the sparrow, which finds a brief moment of solace in the warm hall during winter.

Thereafter, another of the king’s chief men, approving of his wise words and exhortations, added: “The present life of man upon earth, O king, seems to me, in comparison with that time which is unknown to us, like to the swift flight of a sparrow through the house wherein you sit at supper in winter, with your ealdormen and thegns, while the fire blazes in the midst and the hall is warmed, but the wintry storms of rain or snow are raging abroad. The sparrow, flying in at one door and immediately out at another whilst he is within, is safe from the wintry tempest; but after a short space of fair weather, he immediately vanishes out of your sight, passing from winter into winter again. So, this life of man appears for a little while, but of what is to follow or what went before, we know nothing at all. Therefore, if this new doctrine tells us something more certain, it seems justly to deserve to be followed.” By Divine prompting, the other elders and king’s counsellors spoke to the same effect [3].

The Landscape in Beowulf

Another take on this “frightening” landscape may be found in the 7th-century poem Beowulf, where descriptions point out the liminal character of the outlying landscape.

At the centre is the civilised built compound featuring a grand mead hall, Heorot [4]. Attached to this dwelling are the living quarters of the king and queen and likely other buildings such as stables, a baking house and a smithy. Access to this settlement is a stone-paved road leading from the shore to the hall. In between lies the “land” through which the shoreguard guides them. The text says that Heorot shine “ofer landa fela” v. 311 (over many lands). Further, this land is bordered, fitted with a “landgemycu, literally “land-boundaries” (v. 209b) located at the cliffs – the “brimclifu, or the “beorgas steape” Later, we are told that the monster Grendel is a “mære maercstapa” – a renowned transgressor or borderliner (literally one who steps over the mark).

Three other words in the Beowulf-text expand on this cosmos with a dwelling surrounded by land and bordering on the sea.

One is -hlið, which is usually translated as (steep)slope. The word is also found in Old Norse (Old Icelandic: hlið, Danish and Norwegian: li(d). Further, the suffix may be found in a series of placenames all over Scandinavia and Anglo-Saxon England and denotes a hill or mountainside ending abruptly in a hollow or dead ground at the foot. In the poem, Grendel emerges from a misthleuðum, a damp and spooky hollow of mist. After he is fatally wounded, the monster returns to his fenleoðu, the hole in the marshes, fens. Another topographic word, -hop, also feeds our imagination with its connotation of a place outside the well-ordered world. In Beowulf, we meet the suffix as in fen-hop, an enclosure in the fens or marshes, also known in Kent and Essex. The etymology is probably “hof”, an enclosed “farm”, or “dwelling”; a fen-hop likely refers to a dwelling on higher ground in the marshes. Possibly, it means the same as a wharf, the artificial mounds erected in the marshes by Frisians. Indeed, “remote and secret” outliers in the landscape. Finally, a third topographic word, gelad, also touches upon this watery, marshy landscape. In old English, the word refers to a course, a way, a lode, a watercourse or simply a water crossing. We may imagine that the fen-gelad and the uncuð gelad in Beowulf mean difficult water crossings in the marshy fens.

To sum up: the world of Beowulf seems to consist of a sea, a marshy and misty foreland filled with monsters and challenging to traverse, and – finally – ending in a hollow beneath a steep cliff. On top of this overhang, a paved road leads inland (through the land) to Heorot, the shining hall of Hrodgar.

The layout of this land reminds us of the cosmology of the Norse people, as do other settlements.

Gudme – Cosmology in the Landscape

In Scandinavia, several places are called Gudme, Gudum, Gudsbjerg, Gudhjem (Gudhem), or Gudumlund. Meaning “the home, the mountain or the forest of God”, such places are known from both Denmark, Norway and Sweden.

In Funen in Denmark, in the Lundenborg area, a central place from the Late Roman Iron Age was excavated 9n the 1980s and 90s, documenting how people perhaps planned the location to be a visual rendition of the Germanic cosmology. At the centre of a large settlement estimated to consist of 40-50 farms lay a great hall, unique for its times as to its size and construction. In and outside the hall, more than ten hoards have been excavated consisting of Roman gold and silver coins, golden neck- and armrings, and the finished product, bracteates and other golden jewellery revealing Gudme’s character as a ceremonial and ritualised centre recasting and repurposing imported golden objects to prestige gifts visualising the cosmology and beliefs of the people living at or travelling to Gudme. Part of this cosmology is marked out by the three hills located to the north, south and west of Gudme, Gudbjerg, Albjerg and Galbjerg, meaning, respectively, the hill of the gods, the hill of the shrine and (likely)the hill of sacrifice (of galtr = boars) or enchantments (galdr). To the west was Gudme lake, fed from local springs. From northeast to southwest Gudme and its main burial ground was skirted by the river Tange, and to the east lay Lundeborg with its sheltered landing place, the gate to the Home of the Gods.

Perhaps, Gudme was a reimagination of Asgaard, a symbolically invested site mirroring the fabled “home of the Gods”? Featuring Idavoll – the high ground – with its hallowed centre with the great hall and the additional buildings, it may have mirrored Gladsheim with Hlidskjalf (Odin’s high seat), Vingolf reserved for the women, and Vallhall reserved for the (slain) warriors. Also, the smith, with his central work, cut out transforming ingots to bracteates were located at the centre. At the back to the west would have been Urd’s and Mimer’s Wells, while the entrance to the compound would have been through the burial ground along Tange Å to the southeast. May this have been understood as Niflheim or Hel? Anyway, the entrance into the “Home of the Gods”, Gudme, is believed to have passed through here from Utgard (Lundagaard) – the equivalent of the outer world of Grendel and his mother.

FEATURED PHOTO:

Lien (the hlið) bordering the foreland and the shore at Slettestrand on the Jammerbugt in Denmark © Schousboe 2021

NOTES:

[1] The expression was introduced by the German Theologian, Rudolph Otto (1869-1937), to describe a basic concept in the phenomenology of religion, that is the awe-inspiring discovery of the numinous.

[2] This fate was part of the so-called translation of St. James from Jerusalem to Santiago. After his decapitation in AD44 in Jerusalem, the story was told in the 9^th century that the Apostle was returned to Galicia on a rudderless boat. After reaching land, his apostles had to fight a dragon, tame a herd of wild oxen and overcome a local king bent on destroying them and their cargo. Luckily the bridge broke down between the king’s wilderness and the civilised resting-place they found under the “Marbled Arches”. See Translating the Relics of St. James. From Jerusalem to Compostela. Ed. By Antón Pazós. Routledge 2017.

[3] Bede, Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum, Book 2.13 (ed. Lapidge, SC 489, 364). Translation:
Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of England, A Revised translation with Introduction, Life, and Notes by A. M. Sellar. London, George Bell & Sons, 1907.

[4] The “Beowulf”-Poet’s Vision of Heorot. By Karl P. Wentersdorf (2007). In: Studies in Philology, Vol. 104, No. 4 pp. 409-426

SOURCES

Scandinavian ‘Central Places’ in a Cosmological Setting
By Lotte Hedeager
In: Central Places in the Migration and Merovingian Periods. Papers from the 52nd Sachsensymposium, Lund, August 2001

Gudme-Lundeborg on Funen as a model for northern Europe?
By Lars Jørgensen, Copenhagen
The Gudme-Gudhem Phenomenon: papers presented at a workshop organized by the Centre for Baltic and Scandinavian Archaeology (ZBSA), Schleswig, April 26th and 27th, 2010 / [ed] O. Grimm & A. Pesch, Neumünster: Wachholtz , 2011

Gudme on Funen: a central sanctuary with cosmic symbolism?
By Olof Sundqvist
IN: The Gudme-Gudhem Phenomenon: papers presented at a workshop organized by the Centre for Baltic and Scandinavian Archaeology (ZBSA), Schleswig, April 26th and 27th, 2010
Neumünster: Wachholtz , 2011, p. 63-76

The post The Frightening Landscape in Northern Europe in the Early Middle Ages appeared first on Wilder Europe.

In a geopolitical sense, Europe was and is a peculiar appendix. Turning a physical map of the Northern hemisphere upside down, we cannot fail to see the peculiar promontory which Europe constitutes. As a mushrooming appendix, it crowns Eurasia, the largest continental landmass on earth. Traditionally and for historical reasons, we are used to considering Europe a continent. Nonetheless, this is, at best, an approximation fabricating the idea that Europe is something apart. Moreover, we lose the ability to see its basic geographical properties, which form a genuinely watery seascape.

To the South, surrounded by the Caspian, the Black Sea and the Mediterranean and to the North, The Baltic, the North and the Norwegian Seas, Europe sort of falls into the Atlantic Ocean. Finis terrae west of Lisboa is often considered the westernmost outcrop. However, similar places are located up and down the western coastline, such as the cliff called Finisterra west of Santiago de Compostela, where pilgrims throw their walking sticks into the foaming seas at the exact spot where some believe the remains of St. James landed in his coffin on his rudderless boat. Alternatively, we may point to Land’s End pushing into the Cornwallis Sea from Penwith or the cliffs at Dingle Bay in Ireland. All of these places are truly awe-inspiring. Yet, when we stand on these high cliffs, we are aware of a despairing feeling: we have nowhere further to run. At least, it must have felt like that for some of those wandering people in the Early Middle Ages, who were constantly on the lookout for a place to forge a better future than that offered as slaves to the constant influx of people pulsating through the great steppes of the Eurasian hinterland stretching from China to the Hungarian Plains.

We know from the study of historical languages that on these rocky coasts or marshy islets in the tidal wetlands, the olden people sought refuge – Norse, Frisian, British, Gaelic, Breton, Basque and Galician languages formerly spoken widely, came to be preserved as smaller or larger linguistic pockets in these landscapes bordering the Atlantic Seascapes. Here, they are still revered and (occasionally) spoken. One of these languages – Norse – even became the official language in Scandinavia when “cut” off from its common proto-Germanic roots.

Land relief in Europe shows great variation within relatively small areas. To the south hilly uplands coalesce with more mountainous landscapes which move upwards into the Apennines, the Pyrenees, and the Carpathians, circling the Alps to enter the broad, lower-lying northern plains and the fertile belt of loess. An arc of hilly and mountainous uplands also exists along the north-western seaboard, beginning in southwestern Ireland, continuing through Scotland, and up along the fjord-cut spine of Norway and Sweden.

However, each region or territory contains their own complex features with reliefs, plateaus, and river valleys petering out into deltas bordered by tidal shores and marshy fenlands. In general, the geology of Europe is multifarious and complex and exhibits a wide variety of vistas, from the volcanic landscape of Iceland to the deep Russian forests, the rolling plains of Hungary and the river delta of the Danube feeding the Black Sea.

One of the enduring and distinctive qualities of the different European people was their seafaring traditions and seaworthy capabilities. Evolved through centuries, they went by water on rivers, hugging coastlines or sailing out to conquer their neighbours. Forests and mountains would block and create borders, while water would unite.

Historically, this complex and constantly shifting physio-geographical landscape fostered a multivariate background for numerous people staking out a life and a living which eventually would be different from that of their neighbours in the next valley.

The history of Europe is the history of this nearly unfathomable diversity.

READ MORE:

Medieval Landscapes – Two Points of View

The post Medieval Europe in a Physiographical Sense appeared first on Wilder Europe.

Medieval landscapes may be perceived in numerous ways, such as, for instance:

• Geophysical landscapes (how did geography and climate set limits and create opportunities)
• historical landscapes (how did they physically shift through time)
• settled landscapes (how were they settled)
• inhabited landscapes (how were they lived in)
• farmed landscapes (how were they fenced, tilled, harvested and exploited)
• conquered landscapes (how were they subdued and exploited)
• landscapes of pilgrimages, migrations, or exile (how were landscapes set in motion)
• spiritual landscapes (how were landscapes imbued with sacrality)- and many more

Whichever way, we approach these landscapes – or reconstructions thereof – we have to remember that medieval ways of imagining landscapes differed fundamentally from ours.

We tend to think of landscapes as a given — something which is “there” and which we pass through on our way from here to hither. Occasionally, we may meet a changed sense of rhythm, discovering a tree newly felled by a storm or a brook meandering through a new hollow. Or we detect a new project or development on the cusp of being carried out. However, these shifts and modifications do not change that for modern and urbanised people, a landscape is a “thing” – a background, a stage set, a backdrop; something, through which we pass.

Such was seldom the case with medieval landscapes. The reason being that most people would spend most of their life in the open – herding cattle or sheep, tilling the fields, fishing in the rivers, walking to mill or market, going on a pilgrimage or to war, or simply just bivouacking as homeless people somewhere in the great outdoors. Anyone who has ever been out and about for more extended periods of time will know that suddenly, the landscape comes alive, shimmering and shifting with sights, sounds, smells, savours and stings. Here, the surroundings move. We should remember that in the Middle Ages most people were obliged to spend most of their lifetime outdoors.

However, delving into the meaning of such words as landscape and pagus, subtle differences might be detected. While the Germanic and Northern word vividly show the idea of landscapes as something constantly forged out of the great wilderness, the Mediterranean people moved into a more settled landscape, the pagus. At least, the elite envisioned it so.

Two Ideas about Landscape

Thus, the word landscape is impregnated with the etymologies of” land” and” shape”. Both words derive from Proto-Indo-European *lendʰ + *(s)keb via Proto-Germanic, From *landą +‎ *-skapiz, that is *landaskapiz m . As such, the word is found in all modern-day Germanic “languages”, such as English, German, Frisian, Danish, Norwegian and Swedish. Correspondingly, it may be found in any of these languages’ pre-runners such as Gothic, Old English, Frisian, Saxon, Dutch, High German, and Norse. Remarkably, also, the word seems to more or less mean the same throughout north-western Europe, where landscape means the form the land takes when shaped or wrought in a certain way according to the ideas circulated by people dealing with their land and its outer fringes in the process of becoming.

Intriguingly, though, the corresponding Latin word (with its Romanesque derivations) “pagus” has a more fixed meaning. Derived from Proto-Italic *pāgos, from Proto-Indo-European *peh₂ǵ- – “to fasten, fix”, thus perhaps “a space with fixed boundaries” – it does not involve the idea of land as something which may in any sense be wild or untamed. Rather, this word designates the already formed or shaped landscape, belonging to a “civitas”. Hence, pagus means district, province, region, area, countryside, territory – or simply village. Accordingly, in medieval Latin texts, pagus would foremost mean a settled landscape with hamlets and villages lying outside the city, while a smaller part thereof might be termed pagellus (a wapentake or a hundred) – or just about any delineated inhabited countryside. Derived from this are expressions such as “In Pago Austrasiorum” or “In Pago Allemanorum”, which is the land of the ethnic groups, in this case the Austrasians or Allemans. In classical Latin, Paganus would be a person living there, a rustic or rural person, in short, a peasant (same linguistic root). By derivation, “paganus” also came to mean “pagan”, an unlettered and accordingly heathen or uncivilised (unchristian) person. By the way, such pagans or peasants were best kept at a distance; hence “pago” might also mean a fence erected to protect tilled acres or vineyards – or the boundary between the wild north and the civilised south.

What we “see” here are two different medieval takes on any land – something which is in the process of being created, crafted or taken under the wings of less than sedentary people, as opposed to an already well-structured and organised piece of land consisting of a civilised centre and a somewhat rougher periphery. Lurking outside would be nature and wilderness.

Keeping this in mind, to explore any medieval “landscape” or “pagus” in Northern versus Southern Europe is to investigate the “ideas” or “thinking” behind the specific form which a landscape might take in various locations and corners of Europe and at any time between AD 500-1500. Hence, it stands to reason any overview will be sketchy.

Wishing to unlock how people in the Middle Ages regarded the landscapes in which they lived or moved around, we may proceed in three different ways: one is to study the philosophy and thinking exposed by medieval theologians, philosophers and cartographers who largely inherited the classical idea of what a “pagus” might mean. Another is to delve into the poetic and artistic renditions of landscapes presented in literature and figurative art inside wider Europe, in different contexts and different languages. A third possibility is to “read” the traces of the medieval landscapes as formed by people as they moved through the landscapes and set their mark, “authoring” and “ordering” their surroundings.

SOURCES:

Inventing Medieval Landscapes. Senses of Place in Western Europe.
Ed by John Howe and Michael Wolfe
University Press of Florida 2002

Life in Medieval Landscapes: People and Places in the Middle Ages
By Sam Turner and Bob Silvester
Windgather 2011

The post Medieval Landscapes – Two Points of View appeared first on Wilder Europe.

From AD 300, weather in Late Antiquity deteriorated. Stormy, colder and less predictive, it culminated in the decades following AD 536–574, when a number of huge volcanic eruptions took place forcing a significant downturn. Reportedly, the following century was marked by the abandonment of farms and likely widespread migrations. Likely, it also harboured a profound shift in religion and belief systems.

Turning to microhistory, we now know that pre-Viking societies in Scandinavia and around the Baltic also instigated profound shifts in the settlement patterns and more comprehensive societal organisation. In particular, during the period from ca. AD 300–800, when the weather became colder and harsher, larger farms were divided into smaller production units, or settlements simply disappeared. We also know that the cultivation of rye became more widespread, while husbandry and transhumance gained importance as part of the agricultural strategies. Several explanations for these profound changes – which may be linked – have been offered, such as climate deterioration, depopulation caused by the Justinian Plague, or new warfare techniques (the introduction of equestrian elites).

However, the precise understanding of these coupled explanations and their direct impact is elusive. Understanding how the Viking societies were impacted by past climate variability and how they adapted to it has hardly been investigated until now.

Recently, a group of Norwegian scientists and archaeologists have worked together “to carry out a new multi-proxy investigation of lake sediments, including geochemical and palynological analyses, to reconstruct past changes in temperature and agricultural practices of pre-Viking and Viking societies in Southeastern Norway during the period between AD 200 and 1300.” The periods, AD 200–300 and AD 800–1300, were warmer than the AD 300-800 period, known as the “Dark Ages Cold Period” (or LALIA), they conclude. More precisely, the periods between AD 280-410, 480-580 and again 700-780 were characterised by extensive grazing activities indicated by spores from fungi living on the feces from herbivores as well as nettles, sorrels and alder-trees, all indicative of a more open and grazed landscape. More precisely, the analysis of the sediments showed the shifts in pollen and ascospores.

Between AD 680-800, the record even seems to have included a widespread abandonment of the site. Interestingly, though, this abandonment does not tally with the coldest period indicating another explanation should be sought. The scientists suggest that the involvement of a smallpox virus might be partly responsible. Another Swedish study – not mentioned here – recently argued for the role of ergotism following upon the more widespread cultivation of rye.

This cold period was punctuated by temperate intervals, which were dominated by the cultivation of cereals and hemp (before AD 280, AD 420-480, AD 580-700, and after AD 800). In between, cold intervals were dominated by livestock farming. The research results indicate that the pre-Viking societies micromanaged their agricultural strategy in response to climate variability during the Late Antiquity.

The conclusion is based on a unique multi-proxy study of carbon-14-dated sediments from Lake Ljøgottjern in the historic Romerike region. Four farmsteads in the neighbourhood of the lake – Haug, Ljøgot, Østra Hovin and Nordre Hovin – have been dated to the first century, while the largest burial mound in Northern Europe, Raknehaugen, was built in the mid 6th century on the shore of the lake. The construction of the mound is likely also detectable in the profile of the sediments.

Wider perspective

In a parallel publication, the group has also published a more long-term study of the interplay between the cultural, ecological and climatic factors driving changes in flora and fauna. These shifts are essential when trying to grasp how our modern ecosystems were shaped. The part of the study from Lake Ljøtgottjern have shown that “vegetation changes were primarily related to natural processes during most of the Holocene – ca. 8000-300 BC up until the Early Iron Age, ca. 500 BC.” At this point, human population density increased. Accordingly, overall shifts in the exploitation pattern in the region during and after the Iron Age should be explained as a reflection of the undulating population density. However, behind this coupling lies the obvious climatic shifts and their derivative consequences related to surface temperatures. The authors write:

“This led to a rapid shift in plant communities, presence of livestock, increased erosion and high charcoal concentrations. Together, the integrated multiproxy results from our study show the complex relations between environmental changes, facilitate the understanding of the coupled dynamics of climate, soils, human activities, and vegetation during the Holocene, and specifically highlight the importance of anthropogenic activities in long-term shaping of plant communities”, to which we might add: this long-term shaping of plant communities directly reflected the shifts in pastoral activities versus grain cultivation.

SOURCES

Climate adaptation of pre-Viking societies
By Manon Bajard, Eirik Ballo, Helge I. Høgh, Jostein Bakke, Eivind Støren,
Kjetil , Frode Iversen, William Hagopian, Anne H. Jahren, Henrik H. Svensen, Kirstin Krüger,
In: Quarternary Science Reviews (2022), Vol 278, 107374 (Open Access)

Anthropogenic and environmental drivers of vegetation change in southeastern Norway during the Holocene
By A.T.M.ter Schure ,M.Bajard, K.Loftsgarden, H.I.Høeg, E.Ballo, J.Bakke, E.W.N.Støren, F.Iversen, A.Kool, A.K.Brysting, K.Krüger, and S.Boessenkool
In: Quaternary Science Rewievs 2021-09-04 (Open Access)

SEE MORE

Presentation of the results: Climate variability controlled the development of the pre-Viking society during the Late Antiquity in Southeastern Norway
By: Manon Bajard

The post Climate Changes in Pre-Viking Societies had Profound Consequences appeared first on Wilder Europe.

Ecclesiastical Landscapes in Medieval Europe: An Archaeological Perspective
Ed. by José C. Sánchez-Pardo, Emmet H. Marron, and Maria Crîngaci Ţiplic.
Archeopress 2020

When was the parish system created? Why did churches uniformly come to be located inside cemeteries? How did monasteries and different monastic orders come to explore their spatial surroundings? These are only some of the questions, which are raised in an important new book published by Archeopress.

Medieval churches and monasteries are some of our best preserved and most thoroughly studied medieval structures. Numerous excavations and art historical surveys have provided a vast and literally bottomless resource of articles, books, and visual imagery as to the architecture, spatial organisation, ornamental embellishments, soundscapes and emotionality of the heart of the Christian Church.
Less studied, though, has been how these Christian buildings “influenced – and were influenced by their surrounding landscapes in physical, economic, political and symbolic terms.”

A new book edited by three historians and archaeologists from Spain, Ireland, and Romania aims to explore this new and exciting field, which has hitherto played a more peripheral role.

By presenting case studies from across eastern and western medieval Europe, Ecclesiastical Landscapes in Medieval Europe aims to start a Europe-wide debate on the variety of relations and contexts between ecclesiastical buildings and their surrounding landscapes between the 5th and 15th centuries AD.

The book contains 16 papers dealing with 11 very diverse regions: Transylvania, Western Bohemia, Switzerland, Tuscany, the Po Valley, Central Spain, Galicia, England, Scotland, the Isle of Man, and Ireland. One of the more specific goals has been to overcome the often tacit idea that East and central Europe differs from that of the Western and Northern parts. Unfortunately, though, Scandinavia, Germany and France lack from the collection.

One of the more interesting questions, which are explored here, is the role, which changing social structures and new elites and episcopacies came to play in the transition from the earliest pantheons in urban cemeteries to patrimonial churches next to the manorial centres. But also the significant role which the new monasteries came to play in terms of invigorating the countryside as a Christian – sometimes paradisiac – landscape, such as may have been encapsulated in the Cistercian foundations of the 12th and 13th centuries. In connection with this one of the contributors, James Bond, provides a whole new set of observations on the changes to horticulture and monastic gardens. At the same time, Marco Panato offers the reader an inroad into the sacred wilderness of the Veneto region. Finally, the management and manipulation of water resources play a significant role in the contribution of monasteries in Transylvania.

This book is a welcome contribution to the current focus on landscapes as an essential part of the medieval world. As modern historians, we have difficulty imagining both the closeness of medieval communities, and the human need to transgress the boundaries to trade as well as to seek spiritual consolation. Also, we tend to forget the nearly superhuman effort, it took to erect churches, dig a grave, or plant and nurture an orchard.

This book offers a welcome input to this imaginative effort, which we have to muster whenever we try to visualise the lives of our medieval ancestors. Also, it sets the spotlight on the diversity of histories from different parts of medieval Europe.

Table of Contents

Introduction: Towards an Archaeological Study of Medieval Ecclesiastical Landscapes in Europe – José Carlos Sánchez-Pardo, Emmet H. Marron and Maria Crîngaci Țiplic

FIRST PART: ECCLESIASTICAL TOPOGRAPHIES

1. Lesser Churches, Kin-groups and Communities in the Early Middle Ages: Archaeological Evidence from Corcu Duibne, Ireland – Tomás Ó Carragáin

2. By Land and Sea: Medieval Places and Ways of Faith in the Isle of Man – Andrew Johnson

3. The Late Antique Ecclesiastical Settlement of Los Hitos and the Rural Landscapes of the Visigoth Capital (Toledo, Spain) – Isabel Sánchez Ramos and Jorge Morín de Pablos

4. Landscapes of Christianisation. The Emergence and Evolution of Church Power in the Tuscan Countryside During Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages – Gabriele Castiglia, Stefano Bertoldi and Cristina Menghini

5. Christianization and Transformation of Religious Landscape in (West) Bohemia – Martin Čechura

6. The Rise of the Parish System in Transylvania as Reflected by the Archaeological Discoveries – Maria Crîngaci Țiplic

7. Architectural Interferences in Medieval Transylvania (13th–15th Centuries): the Archaeology of Orthodox Churches in a Catholic Landscape – Daniela Marcu Istrate

8. The Archaeology of Romanesque Churches in Transylvania (11th–13th Centuries) – Ioan Marian Țiplic and Maria Crîngaci Țiplic

SECOND PART: MONASTIC LANDSCAPES

9. Monastic Landscapes in the Isle of Man: Ad 1100 to 1540 – Peter Davey

10. On the Edge: Excavations at Whitefriars, Perth, 2014-2017 – Derek Hall

11. Cistercian Rievaulx Abbey and the ‘Transformation’ of King Henry II’s Wasteland – Freya Horsfield

12. Evolution, Innovation and Symbolism in Medieval Monastic Gardens – James Bond

13. Ecclesiastical Landscapes in early Medieval Galicia: Physical and Symbolic Transformations – José Carlos Sánchez-Pardo and Marco V. García Quintela

14. Stone Building in the Alps: Müstair Monastery in its Landscape Context – Sophie Hüglin and Patrick Cassitti

15. Rural Monasteries and Wilderness in Carolingian Northern Italy: Forest, Water and Ecclesiastical Landscapes – Marco Panato

16. Similarities and Differences of a Benedictine and a Cistercian Abbey as Reflected in the Landscape. Beginnings for a Comparative Approach – Ünige Bencze

Karen Schousboe

FEATURED PHOTO:

Los Hitos, Orgaz, Toledo © Archeología Medieval

READ MORE:

Santa Mariña de Augas Santas

The post REVIEW: Ecclesiastical Landscapes in Medieval Europe appeared first on Wilder Europe.

Erzgebirge/ Krušnohoří is a mining region located in the border region between southeast Germany and northwest Czechia. The area, also called the Ore Mountains, is rectangular, 95 km long and 45 km wide. The district offers a variety of metals and has been mined since at least 1168. In connection with these activities mining towns were established together with water management systems, factories, training academies and other institutions. The landscape houses 22 landscape units related to the different types of metal ores extracted over time, silver, tin, iron, cobalt blue dyes, uranium and others.

Historically, the first “mining” was initiated by the Cistercian monasteries, which functioned as early outposts. On the German side, Freiburg developed by the late 12th century, while Krupka (Graupen) is mentioned in the 13th century. The discovery of silver deposits in Schneeberg stimulated the foundation of more than 50 villages and towns which not only attracted miners and craftsmen but also turned the region into an important cultural centre. “De re metallica”, a handbook on mining and metallurgy from 1556, was written by Georgius Agricola in the town of Jáchymov.

Between the 17th and 18th century, the mining stagnated due to religious wars between Catholicism and Protestantism. It was not until the extraction of cobalt dye to the growing porcelain industry at Meissen was introduced, the region was revitalised.

The site was declared UNESCO World Heritage in July 2019.

SOURCES:

2019. Evaluations and Nominations of Cultural and Mixed Properties. ICOMOS report for the world Heritage Comittee, 43rd ordinary session, Baku 30. june – 10 of July 2019.

The post UNESCO World Heritage 2019: Mining landscape and Mining towns at Erzgebirge/ Krušnohoří appeared first on Wilder Europe.

The Saale-Unstrut region lies in between the confluence of the rivers Saale and Unstrut in a hilly and steep countryside with a thousand-year-old tradition for winegrowing. This made it until recently, the northern-most winegrowing region in Germany.

Vineyards

Though it is believed wine was grown from the 7th century, the earliest exploitation of the steep hillsides for viticulture is documented for the 10^thcentury. More precisely, a donation from )98 to the monastery in Memleben lists seven locations where vineyards were cultivated. Unfortunately, the hillsides with their terraces are not workable with heavy machinery, and in recent years the landscape is marred by abandoned vineyards and loss of biodiversity. Also, the traditional dry walls bordering the terraces have been left crumbling.

Although some sites – e. g. the Kathert Vineyard in Karsdorf – have been preserved as part of the regions cultural heritage, much has been lost. The traditional wine cabins, which housed the vineyard guards when the grapes were ripe, have also been lost.

Castles and Monasteries

Another natural feature, the abundant limestones and red sandstone provided building material for the Romanesque architecture, which continue to plays such a visible role in the landscape of the region.

SOURCE:

The Saale-Unstrut cultural landscape corridor
By M. Hoppert, B. Bahn, E. Bergmeier, M. Deutsch, K. Epperlein, C. Hallmann, A. Müller, T. V. Platz, T. Reeh, H. Stück, W. Wedekind. Siegesmund
In: Environmental Earth Sciences, February 2018, 77:58

READ MORE:

Natur Stein Kultur Wein: Zwischen Saale und Unstrut
By Siegfried Siegesmund Michael Hoppert and Klaus Epperlein (Ed).
Mitteldeutscher Verlag 2014

https://youtu.be/plNo1XSRE8U

The post The Winegrowing Region of Saale-Unstrut in the Middle Ages appeared first on Wilder Europe.