sehepunkte 26 (2026), Nr. 9

Evan A. Gatti / Angelo M. Silvestri (eds.): Episcopal Power and Patronage in Medieval Europe, 998-1503

'Patronage' can refer to the promotion of people (even by simply giving gifts) or the support of artistic production. Moreover, a bishop could be a patron or its object. This volume's editors themselves indicate that their subject is best understood in local contexts (these essays all concern bishops in three modern countries: England, Italy, or Spain). That variety does not detract from the merits of these essays. A stress on patronage as sponsorship of the creation of objects means that art and architectural history gets a fair amount of attention; BREPOLS illustrates the volume generously.

First, bishops as patrons. Philippa Byrne asks What was Episcopal about Episcopal Patronage? Her answer, focused on twelfth-century English evidence: not much. When, for example, Bishop Henry of Blois gave a pall for the tomb of his uncle the king, was he doing so as a bishop or as the king's nephew? Indeed, she argues, who was giving a gift - a bishop or someone else - could also be fuzzy. Bishops' gifts could also be tainted by the suspicion, growing in the twelfth century, that wealth corrupted. Should bishops, secular clergy worried, have such wealth to give away in the first place? By contrast, she sees monastic writers less bothered by gifts from bishops. I can see why the editors put Byrne's essay first after their introduction. It serves as a useful prolegomenon for what follows.

Jesús Rodríguez Viejo argues, in particular based on its illuminations, that the tenth-century León Antiphoner stressed the work and authority of bishops and kings, and was probably commissioned by a bishop or someone who wanted to be one. Rodríguez Viejo's discussion is complicated, or enriched, by illuminations being added after the manuscript left its first recipient's hands.

Mariel Pérez argues that Bishop Pelayo's later eleventh-century restoration of León's cathedral enhanced his authority. This (symbolic) move in turn, she argues, forwarded episcopally-sponsored reform. Reform here could be Gregorian, in the sense of a move reining in Eigenkirchen by asserting episcopal control. Such reform also brought episcopal income from churches, helping finance the cathedral's reconstruction. (I find the latter connection clearer.) But reform also meant establishing proper cult in the building itself - hence its need for reconstruction and proper furnishing.

Angelo M. Silvestri synthesizes various studies to argue that bishops of Lincoln expressed their preoccupations in architectural changes at their cathedral ca. 1072-ca. 1253. To ca. 1200, its bishops kept military matters in mind. Hence, renovations to the cathedral under Bishop Hugh of Avalon (1186-1200) carefully avoided breaching Lincoln's defensive wall. Bishops Remigius (1072-1092) or Alexander (1123-1148) - both leaders in war - are credited with machicolation on the cathedral's West facade. Remigius also added a triple-arched facade, apparently inspired by the arch of Constantine and the atrium to Old Saint Peter's that Remigius likely saw on his visits to Rome. The cathedral's affiliation with Saint Mary means those arches evoked her virtues: chastity, strength, and impregnability, thus uniting military and religious concerns. Silvestri argues that Bishop Alexander's choice of friezes for that facade continues the military theme. He also finds that the mathematics of Bishop Grosseteste (1235-1253) underlay the cathedral's 'crazy vault' and some of the window tracery. He tops this off by using Henry of Avranche's Life of Hugh of Avalon to elucidate the meaning of Hugh's rose windows.

Julia Faiers argues that Louis d'Amboise, bishop of Albi (1474-1503) did not give his cathedral an elaborate choir enclosure and jubé simply out of piety. Rather, he plastered these additions with his coat of arms; even after subsequent destruction, more than 350 instances remain. Other ecclesiastics used their coats of arms in this way, but not on this scale. D'Amboise may have gone overboard because he was an often absentee bishop and was disliked in Albi because of his judicial reforms. So he had pressing reason to remind the chapter and visitors of himself and his dynasty.

Michele Baitieri argues that Arnulf II, archbishop of Milan (998-1018), drew on his diplomatic missions to Constantinople in his exercise of patronage to create a new identity for Milan's archbishops: Italy's chief bishops because their see was founded by St Paul's companion, Saint Barnabas. The tradition that Saint Barnabas traveled to Milan, or even Italy, is found only in Byzantine works, so it was presumably from Byzantium that the story appears in the Libellus de situ civitatis Mediolani, produced during Arnulf's episcopate and, so Baitieri implies, under his patronage. Similarly, a prayerbook produced for Arnulf betrays Byzantine stylistic influence in its illuminations.

Susana Guijarro examines the use of patronage by Pablo de Santa Maria, the converso bishop of Burgos. The bishop's "participation in the provision" (347) - one wants to ask 'How?' - of many benefices to relatives and servants infiltrated recipients into the cathedral chapter and created a network. She argues that this network enabled him to support Observant monasteries, as she finds that relatives of the bishop supported Our Lady of Fresdelval, as did the bishop. He also used members of this network to enforce discipline among the clergy (although such efforts seem to have failed when it came to the cathedral chapter). The bishop also used other means of reform, promulgating correct doctrine, especially regarding the trinity, in his synods. Guijarro makes the point that the impact of these moves shows up in lay wills. It is unclear - to me - from the evidence adduced that these were, as implied here, wills of members of his network.

Burton J. Westermeier shows that the Liber septenarius de visitatione prelati preserves evidence of Bishop Juan Alfonso de Saavedra of Palencia (1330-1342) supporting a university student of the canon law who, in return, wrote this guide on conducting visitations. Westermeier stresses the reciprocal and long-term ties such patronage created; the Liber's author expected those ties to transcend even death.

Bishops appear as objects of patronage in Shaun McGuinness' account of the bishops of Bangor (1092-1283). They managed rival authorities, arguably at times rival patrons: English kings and archbishops of Canterbury usually on the one hand, and Welsh princes on the other - with occasional further static from Bangor's clergy. Whether Welsh themselves or not, these bishops often failed to navigate those shoals successfully, finding themselves exiled from their see.

Patronage almost fades from view in James Barnaby's persuasive account of the conflict of archbishops of Canterbury (1184-1200) with their monastic cathedral chapter of Christ Church over the archbishops' attempt to establish a rival college of secular canons. Barnaby shows that, counterintuitively, the monastic Archbishop Baldwin of Forde did not tolerate resistance from the monks because he took his role as their abbot seriously. Baldwin also used his position as abbot to build support among the convent's obedientiaries - this is where patronage comes in - moves foiled by the monks. In contrast, the secular Archbishop Hubert Walter was more willing to compromise. But both failed, in part because the monks deployed one resource that the archbishop lacked: gifts in the form of Thomas Becket's relics.

Kyle Lincoln's worthy discussion of Bishop Alderico de Palacio of Palencia (1184-1208) and his now lost sandal does not deal with patronage. Lincoln argues that Alderico's supremely competent reform of his diocese put him and his family in proximity to various saints. The result was a kind of reflected sanctity for Alderico, making his sandal a relic by the sixteenth century. And not just a relic, but a specifically episcopal one; Lincoln makes the case for the distinctive footwear of bishops and clergy, so that a bishop's sandal as a relic stressed episcopal (and in Alderico's case, quasi saintly) status. Alderico's building up of his diocese and association with sanctity meant that he could later be seen as legitimating the early modern diocese.

What to do when a patron is missing? Evan Gatti meditates on a series of eleventh-century portraits of bishops - or perhaps simply of clergy - on the walls of Aosta's cathedral. No one knows who commissioned them - indeed, the bishopric was vacant, or "weakly led" (150). Moreover, one cannot be sure that these busts were meant to represent people who had been actually present in the cathedral or even, in some cases, were of actual people at all. So without these kinds of interpretative hooks - whose absence Gatti sees as mirroring the ambiguity of the region in general in this period - what did these portraits mean to viewers over the years? Gatti points to Luke 16.29: "Let them hear them."

Edward Coleman uncovers contested patronage in the rebuilding of Modena's cathedral ca. 1100 and the translation of Saint Geminianus's remains to it through an unusual source, an eyewitness account. The source indicates that Modena's laity led the way to building a new cathedral, sede vacante. Modena had a bishop by the time of the translation; the source says that a bishop - either Modena's bishop or visiting bishop of Reggio - wanted to open the coffin, seen by Coleman as a bid for patronal rights, but that the people denied him. After some mediation, a compromise was reached. These events show the people of Modena acting in ways that read like the later, better-documented commune. Indeed, Coleman argues that the commune was already forming and that episcopal founding saints like Saint Geminianus were useful symbols in their formation.

The editors are to be congratulated on assembling a fine set of studies.