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The principal types of regional and local maps in the Middle Ages were itinerary maps, maps of regions like England or Palestine, city plans, and, especially from the very late Middle Ages, maps of disputed lands or boundaries of properties. Written itineraries were well known in the Middle Ages and were apparently used both as travelersa€™ aids and for armchair travel, often for the purpose of either actual or mental pilgrimage.
The other significant extant example of an itinerary map is the one that appears in various redactions in manuscripts of Parisa€™s Chronica majora.
In addition to these surviving examples of itinerary maps, the significance of the itinerary a€” especially the written or narrated itinerarya€”is demonstrated by the frequency with which itineraries served as at least one source for other types of maps. Paris created a number of regional maps of England and Palestine, as well as two historical maps representing features of early Britain. Matthewa€™s so-called Itinerary from London to the Holy Land, which has been reckoned with his map of Palestine, is not really a connected whole; it is the result of combining two different works, a pictorial representation of the route between London and Apulia (in southern Italy), and a sketch of the Holy Land. Matthew Parisa€™s maps of Palestine are best described as maps not so much of the Holy Land as of the Crusader kingdom, especially since a plan of the city of Acre, the principal port of the kingdom, dominates the coastline. The Itinerary to Apulia is not, therefore, part of a pilgrima€™s guide to the Holy Land; but rather appears to be a political sketch, with the following history (from Beazley). The text of this map of Palestine is, in fact, closely related to various Intineraries of the period of Latin domination in Syria, such as Les pelerinages pour aller en Jerusalem, Les chemins et les pelerinages de la Terre Sainte, or La deuice des chemins de Babiloine (viz. Itinerary Map from London to Bouveis, Cambridge, Corpus Christi College Library, MS 26, f.ir. Matthewa€™s little red lines become roads, inches become miles, vignettes become cities to be traversed by the viewers of his manuscripts. With the actual city lost to travelers, labyrinths created a space for virtual travel, much in the same way as Matthewa€™s maps do.
The maps Matthewa€™s manuscripts contain, even the a€?lineara€? itinerary pages like the one that opens CCCC 26, are not as straightforward as they at first appear. These labyrinthine maps of Matthew Paris are quite different from those of his contemporaries in important respects. On the Psalter Map, beginning at the top and proceeding clockwise, we encounter the Garden of Eden, the Red Sea, a band of monstrous peoples, Britain, and the gates in the Caucus Mountains, retaining the hordes of Gog and Magog. Matthew was not immune to the common medieval interest a€“ monastic and secular a€“ in marvels like the monstrous peoples of Africa and Asia, reflected not only by their presence on the Psalter, Hereford and Ebstorf maps, but also by their near ubiquity in texts and images of all types. Just as audiences flocked to see Henry IIIa€™s elephant, they may also flocked to see some of the world maps, such as the Hereford Map, likely displayed in Hereford Cathedral as part of a pilgrimage route dedicated to Bishop Thomas Cantilupe, who died in 1283. Matthew also chooses not to dwell in his maps on the horrifying hordes of Gog and Magog, lurking behind the Caspian Mountains, which is surprising, given his millennialism. Matthewa€™s maps a€“ from the first legs of the itinerary, branching out from London along two paths, to the (nearly) pathless tracts of the Holy Land a€“ present a range of spatial options to the ocular traveler moving through them. But again, this invites a question: If these maps, which were likely made just after 1250, are millennial, why not populate them with prodigies, with monstrous births heralding doom, with monsters of the sorts found on the Psalter Map, or with images of the people of Gog and Magog, who appear three times on the Hereford Map, once behind their wall and twice already outside of it, released into and upon the world? Not only is the Holy Land to be inexorably lost, despite the valiant efforts of these last Crusaders, but the invasion of Europe itself is threatened by the apocalyptic Mongol hordes, believed to be Gog and Magog unleashed beyond the frontiers of civilization as harbingers of the end of the world. This is, indeed, the moment of production for the maps, but this is not the moment (or moments) depicted on the maps, themselves.
Connolly translates jurnee, the repeated inscription on the paths throughout the itineraries, as a€?one day,a€? rather than the customary a€?daya€™s journey,a€? perhaps unintentionally conjuring a sense of longing for travel by a cloistered monk a€“ one day, one day a€“ but also for the reclamation of the Holy Land a€“ one day, one day a€“ and, of course, ultimately, the return of Jesus, the end of time, the Last Judgment, and the creation of the Heavenly Jerusalem a€“ one day, one day. Connolly characterizes the performative experience of walking a labyrinth as a€?a prolonged, sometimes frustrating process,a€? but, after all its disorienting divagations, a€?[a]t the very end of the labyrinth, a straight line appears to lead you directly to the center, to arrive, metaphorically, at the holy city of Jerusalem.a€? Returning to Matthewa€™s map of the Holy Land, (CCCC 16) we find that there is a pathway charted on its largely pathless surface, a road marked out like those of the itinerary pages that precede it. Matthewa€™s maps seem to present a maze of pathways, but like the labyrinths, present a unitary destination. Itinerary from London to Jerusalem with a description in French, similar to one in the Royal MS. Matthew Parisa€™ Itinerary from Pontremoli to Rome with images of towns, their names, and descriptions of places, with attached pieces, including the city of Rome to the right; from Matthew Parisa€™ a€?Historia Anglorum, Chronica majoraa€?, Royal 14 C.
Mascun to the Alps in Matthew Parisa€™ a€?Chronica Maioraa€?, a€?Corpus Christi College, MS 26, fol.
A A A  The principal types of regional and local maps in the Middle Ages were itinerary maps, maps of regions like England or Palestine, city plans, and, especially from the very late Middle Ages, maps of disputed lands or boundaries of properties. While monsters and marvels played an important role on mappaemundi like the Psalter, Hereford and Ebstorf, their role on Matthewa€™s maps is strongly curtailed. Albans in England possessed what may be called an historical school, or institute, which was then the chief center of English narrative history or chronicle, and with a different environment might have become the nucleus of a great university. Most of these maps appear to have belonged to separate traditions, although the extensive corpus of maps in Matthew Parisa€™s chronicles, combining as it does multiple map types, suggests the degree to which a graphically inclined author might be familiar with and able to deploy images from all the known categories of maps, in addition to other types of drawings and diagrams. Only two maps structured as itineraries survive, the more elaborate of which is the Peutinger map (Book I, #120). The map shows the route from England to Apulia, marking each daya€™s journey and prominent topographic features like mountains and rivers. For example, some of the information on the Hereford world map (#226) was based on an itinerary that may show a route familiar to English traders in France. In many ways they continue the itinerary from England to Sicily (Otranto in Apulia was a common point of embarkation for Acre).
CCCC 26 contains the annals from creation to 1188, CCCC 16 from 1189 to 1253, and Royal 14 C.viii from 1254 to 1259, when Matthew died. These contain images of cities, connected by clearly marked roads inscribed journee [a daya€™s journey]. This mode of associating travela€™s a€?microa€? with its a€?macro,a€? as it were, was of increasing significance in the 13th century, when pavement labyrinths were either first used in European churches or were newly popular.
And by presenting its audiences with a richly meaningful image of the city of Jerusalem a€“ one whose centrality in the nave mimicked that citya€™s centrality in the world and whose fundamental geometry signaled a cosmic architecture a€“ this pavement triggered associations with the city, both in its earthly and historic instance and with its future, heavenly instantiation, and it did so as it invited its audiences to perform an imagined pilgrimage to this sacred center. Labyrinths allowed church visitors to travel short distances in the densely confined knots of their paths, while simultaneously travelling to the very a€?centera€? of the world, emphatically emphasized by their symmetrical forms.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, they are filled with problems, and become a€?very muddled and confusing,a€? with cities that are a€?misplaceda€? or appear twice. The well-known Psalter Map, for example, is a typical mappamundi, displaying the entire ecumene, that is, the inhabitable world, as known to 13th century English cartographers (#223). Wonders of this sort are not incidental to the function of medieval maps like the Psalter; rather, they are essential components thereof, supplying a necessary antipode to a central Jerusalem, rooted in biblical and patristic texts.
Matthew represented marvels known from monster cycles like the Marvels of the East and the Liber monstrorum, and from contemporary narratives about cultural others like the a€?Tartarsa€? a€“ a medieval Christian term for the Mongols a€“ but also from personal observation, such as the elephant given by Louis IX to Henry III, which appears as one of the prefatory images appended to CCCC 16. As Dan Terkla writes in a€?The Original Placement of the Hereford Mappa Mundi,a€? Imago Mundi, vol. They are wholly absent from the itinerary maps, and appear in a limited scope on the Holy Land maps a€“ CCCC 16).


Roughly centered, on either side of the gutter and just above the wall of Acre, are two large blocks of text. These are not, to my observation, a common feature of the maps, and of course I cannot speculate on the date of this erasure. In contrast, the Ebstorf map, for example, gives us a gory presentation of these cannibal hordes.
For Matthew and his contemporaries, there existed only one future, and its expected arrival was nearly coincident with his creation of the maps. One response might be that the sorts of monsters found on the Psalter Map and other mappaemundi were seen as normal elements of creation, rather than as portents of the apocalypse.
Returning to Matthewa€™s off-center image of Jerusalem, we find that the three structures it contains are not as they were at the time of the mapa€™s creation. The journey may be long a€“ at least 46 days in Lewisa€™s reckoning a€“ and the path may not be singular or even, further out on the journey, marked at all, but one day, one day, one day, for Matthew anda€?his monastic audience, one day the reader would at last arrive. Their path from town to town has the appearance of being perpetually straight and direct, but in fact would twist and turn. Just beneath Jerusalem, inscribed in red and oriented ninety degrees counter-clockwise to the rest of the map, again following our orientation from our bodies, forward, we read le chemin de Iafes a Ierusalem [a€?the road from Jaffa to Jerusalema€?]. Here we seem to see movements in space as we traverse the paths a€“ initially forking for Matthew, but ultimately as singular on his maps as on the labyrinths. This is surely the case, more often than not, but medieval maps are frequently anagogic, pointed a spiritual meaning only to be realized in a heavenly future. The extension of its city walls to the left show the fortifications constructed by St Louis during his crusade in 1252-4.
Babylon of Egypt).A  The first of these is of 1231, the second of 1265, the third of 1289-1291, but it is probable that earlier redactions of the last two already existed in Matthewa€™s time, and were used by him. The journey may be long a€“ at least 46 days in Lewisa€™s reckoning a€“ and the path may not be singular or even, further out on the journey, marked at all, but one day, one day, one day, for Matthew andhis monastic audience, one day the reader would at last arrive. A 12th or early 13th century copy of a Late Antique original, the map has usually been studied for what it can tell us of ancient cartography or of the interest in the ancient world on the part of the 15th century German humanists who rediscovered it.
Suited to its location in a chronicle, the map serves a historical purpose in demonstrating the route of a well-known contemporary diplomatic expedition, Richard of Cornwalla€™s expedition to Sicily in 1253 as the claimant to the crown, although the map contains information drawn from multiple journeys and routes.
For example, the Hereford map incorporates an itinerary through France and possibly one in Germany. Of the historical maps, one is a sketch showing the location of four pre-Roman roads in Britain.
I will concentrate on the maps appended to the beginning of the first volume, though similar maps appear at the start of all three volumes, suggesting their great importance to Matthewa€™s conception of the Chronica, his major work. Each column, then, represents a segment of the voyage from London, at the base of the first column of folio i r, through Sienna, at the top of the final column of the itinerary on f.
It is worth mentioning that the Psalter Map is only a few inches tall, and that the whole codex fits comfortably in the hand, unlike Matthewa€™s larger, more cumbersome (and ever-expanding) volume.
In essence, the center is presented as sacred and the margins as problematic, potent, and potentially monstrous, but also thereby seductive and attractive. This may result from the shift from counterpunctual arrangement of sacred center and monstrous margins on the Psalter, Ebstorf and Hereford maps, among others, to the less clearly structured arrangement of Matthewa€™s maps.
Both are of a somewhat marvelous vein: to the left of the gutter, we read of Bedouins, whose description is reminiscent of wonders texts like the Marvels of the East. In the Chronica and contemporary accounts, Gog and Magog are conflated with the two most prominent cultural Others perceived as threats to 13th century a€?Christendoma€™: Jews and Mongols.
Second, and more importantly, the choice to include or exclude such images might have been predicated on chronology. If those mental wanderings took them to the right destination, they would realize the function of the labyrinths rather than contradict them.
Very quickly however, the labyrinth focuses your concentration on the path, else you are likely to stray from it.
In walking a labyrinth, virtual pilgrims orient themselves to its shifting orientation; in traversing the itinerary, the world is bent, reorienting itself constantly to our perspective, making the shift to the trackless conclusion, the map of the Holy Land, all the more powerful.
However, since the endpoints on Matthewa€™s maps and at the centers of the labyrinths are the Heavenly Jerusalem, the motion is as chronological as it is geographical.
That is, while medieval maps are organized spatially, they are in a sense oriented temporally.
The de-centered maps of Matthew, unlike the labyrinths or the Psalter Map and its cognates, do not announce their radial orientation toward Jerusalem. At the upper left is the enclosure in which Alexander confined Gog and Magog, but Matthew notes that they have now emerged in the form of Tartars.
Albans, a portion of the supposed Pilgrim-road, as far as southern Italy, is given in another shape, together with the Schema Britanniae. It is, however, extremely important to remember the commitment of time and resources involved in producing the medieval copy: the question then arises of what this map meant to the society that found the human and financial resources to copy it. Parisa€™ map of Palestine draws on the kind of information about the length of the journey from city to city that would normally be found in an itinerary as an indication of scale for the map.
Harvey has suggested that the maps of England and the Holy Land might be seen as enlargements of the end points of the itinerary. Daniel Connolly in his book The Maps of Matthew Paris: Medieval Journeys through Space, Time and Liturgy writes that Matthew began the Chronica majora a€?as a fairly strict copy up to about 1235, of Roger Wendovera€™s Flores historiarum [Flowers of History].
There is, though, a more substantive manner in which the itineraries break down their apparent linearity: they a€?forka€? from the very start, with two paths diverging from London. Still, the Psalter Map remains a strong point of comparison for two reasons: first, it was made within perhaps a dozen years of Matthewa€™s maps. While Iain Macleod Higgins (Defining the Eartha€™s Center) is correct that a€?the viewer of a circular map can never quite lose sight of a well-marked center, since the very shape of the map keeps onea€™s gaze circling around it,a€? by the same logic, we cannot lose sight of the periphery for long, and the visual attention given to the monstrous peoples of the South, as well as the other peripheral points of interest, keep pulling the gaze back. Matthew managed through his texts, marginal illustrations and maps, to bring the whole of the world and its history, from Creation to the present, from sacred Jerusalem to the monstrous elephant, to himself and his monastic brethren. In contrast, a€?[t]he main audience for [Matthewa€™s] maps doubtless was the brethren at St.
Unlike these other maps, Matthewa€™s maps of the Holy Land de-center Jerusalem and, since it is not replaced with anything else, they do not have a clearly defined umbilicus. To the right, more promisingly, we find a passage that begins, in Lewisa€™s translation, a€?There are many marvels in the Holy Land, of which [only a few] shall be mentioned.a€? However, these marvels are, in comparison to the Wonders of the East and other such texts, somewhat anemic.
Indeed, these beasts a€“ fairly ordinary to modern eyes a€“ do appear just above the two- faced people in the Beowulf manuscripta€™s version of the Wonders of the East.
Muslims occupied the Holy Sepulcher, as well as the Temple of Solomon a€“ home of the Knights Templar a€“ and the Temple of the Lord by 1250.


By tracing their routes on foot or on their knees, virtual pilgrims would hope to reap spiritual rewards akin to those gained on pilgrimage, effecting peregrinatio in stabilitate a€“ that is, pilgrimage without moving. There is a second pathway, also rubricated and turned ninety degrees, at the right edge of the map. Yes, they are oriented toward the east, but on several mappaemundi, beyond the east, it is Jesus who rises. Instead, they challenge the viewer to work though them slowly, meditatively, to explore and wander as we do in life. It has been plausibly explained in the context of the strong interest in the classical world that we have already seen influencing the toponyms of later medieval world maps; however, more research should be done to elucidate the importance and the influence of this map.
In 1240, or soon after, Matthew started writing, covering the material from 1235 and continuing to the middle of 1258, at which time another hand takes over.a€? These maps, along with the marginal images throughout the Chronica, have been securely attributed to Matthew himself and, according to Suzanne Lewis in her The Art of Matthew Paris in the Chronica Majora a€?may be regarded in large part as original conceptions and inventions,a€? rather than derivatives of traditional models.
Second, unlike some mappaemundi, including Hereford (#226) and Ebstorf (#224), the Psalter Map was not freestanding.
Indeed, two of the three sites were originally Muslim structures a€“ the Temple of Solomon was a mosque and the Temple of the Lord was the Dome of the Rock a€“ and they had reverted to Muslim control by the time the maps were made.
The labyrinth is at first a challenge of some dexterity, and so it also foregrounds your sense of balance and of bodily position relative to it. The maps echo and invoke the actual experience of pilgrimage, which a€“ like modern travel a€“ was surely bewildering, disorienting, but also amazing. The Hereford, Ebstorf, and the Psalter maps are all oriented not only toward Earthly Paradise at their eastern extreme, but beyond it to the creator of that paradise. They become all the more powerful, therefore, when their off-center, deemphasized Jerusalem turns out to be the only and inevitable end.
These interconnections are especially striking in the rich cartographic production of Matthew Paris. On the peripheries of both maps, we see the Garden of Eden, the Red Sea, a plethora of monstrous peoples, and the hordes of Gog and Magog (feasting in bloody cannibalism, on the Ebstorf and also, perhaps, on the Hereford). In CCCC 26, the center would be just east of (that is, above) the crenellated wall of Acre.
In a sense, this follows the logic of the mappaemundi discussed above; we appear to have zoomed in on the center of these maps, to focus on the area around Jerusalem, which would necessitate cropping the worlda€™s monstrous fringe.
Like medieval labyrinths, Matthew Parisa€™s maps were not mazes per se, in that there are not alternate routes leading to dead ends: both contain singular paths.
At the same time, there is a loss of your sense of a€?placea€? in the church as orientations are constantly shifting and revolving. So, too, while these maps are centered on Jerusalem, this umbilical point presses the viewer to consider the future.
The first columns contain cities connected by clearly marked paths; these are followed by columns with cities still arranged in clearly linear fashion, but without the marked paths. CCCC 26 opens, following the flyleaves reused from a manuscript of canon law, with a series of linked maps running from folio i recto through iv recto (the lowercase Roman numerals indicate the status of these folios as prefatory). The Psalter Map is one of two that form a sort of series, like Matthewa€™s maps, with one more geographical and one more linear, text replacing itinerary but no less clearly directional and effacing of actual geographic arrangement. Jerusalem a€“ so ardently central on the Psalter Map a€“ is shunted off to the right by Matthew. However, if we assume some consistency of geographical space from map to map, Matthewa€™s expansive map, filling the complete manuscript opening and extending out onto added flaps of vellum, does reach to the margins of the world. Matthewa€™s paths seem to fork out from London, but ultimately all converge at one geo-chronological endpoint, at a place that is also a time: the Heavenly Jerusalem, at the center of the physical world and simultaneously the end of human history. Its movements to and fro, back and forth create a regular and somewhat wearying effect that combines with the hypnotic vision of the pavement receding beneath your alternating steps. Then, the linearity ends, and we are left with images that are more conventionally a€?map-likea€? in their appearance. We are able to choose our path to the Holy Land a€“ should we, leaving London, travel via the main route, Le Chemin a Rouescestre [the Road to Rochester] or the side route, le chemin ver la costere et la mer [the road toward the coast and the sea]? Indeed, before the late-13th century insertion of additional prefatory miniatures, it was positioned before its text as a sort of frontispiece, as are Matthewa€™s, and was also one of a series of maps. He adds an inscription referring to Jerusalem as a€?the midpoint of the world,a€? which seems visually contradicted by his map, whereas such an inscription would have been redundant on the Psalter Map. At the upper left corner of the foldout flap along the folioa€™s left edge, as if to ensure the clarity of their separation from the Holy Land, are the peoples of Gog and Magog, visually implied by the wall of the Caspian Mountains, held there until the end of time, when they are to be released to rampage across the face of the earth.
Instead, it presents the period before, but also simultaneously, the period after, the transient, lost glory of the Crusader Kingdom and the immutable glory of the Heavenly Kingdom to come. Like the labyrinthsa€™ single paths, Matthewa€™s many roads can only guide the viewer toward one destination.
Most images function spatially, not linearly, but the itinerary pages present a line or course of travel; a route, much as a text would. Once in the Holy Land (CCCC 16), we are free to choose any routes we desire, as the roads themselves disappear (up until the very end, as will be discussed below). The Psalter Map, like medieval labyrinths, is emphatically centered on Jerusalem a€“ following a new 13th century trend a€“ and around its circumference, we find points of great interest. The Caspian Mountains, restraining the hordes of Gog and Magog, actually touch the very margins of the world on the Psalter and Ebstorf Maps, and nearly do so on the Hereford Map. They prepare and condition the viewer, raising an expectation that the maps will function in a linear fashion, and thereby convey motion in time as well as space. Upon hearing that the Mongols a€“ feared by Christians to be the apocalyptic hordes a€“ are making progress toward Europe, he imagines that continental Jews a€?assembled on a general summons in a secret place, where one of their number who seemed to be the wisest and most influential amongst thema€? instructs them to undertake a complex plot to smuggle arms to the Mongols, so that they can defeat the Christians.
The final segment of the path a€“ le chemin de Iafes a Ierusalem [the road from Jaffa to Jerusalea€?] a€“ realizes this expectation. Matthewa€™s fantasy is not merely xenophobic, but outright eschatological, a vital distinction in the context of the maps of CCCC 26. If the Mongols (or the Jews, or for that matter, the Mongols and Jews, or even the Jewish Mongols) are the hordes of Gog and Magog, then they have already broken out of the gate prophesied to contain them until the apocalypse.
It reads, Le chemin de laphes a Alisandre.a€? This seems to be a vestige, a latent echo of the itinerarya€™s multiple paths.




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