CARTOGRAPHY
The maps of our period give us the most convincing possible
illustrations of the geographical ideas that were current.[1127] Their
bright colors, naïve legends, childlike but often skillfully drawn
vignettes, and preposterous inaccuracy take us back into the atmosphere
of a credulous and uncritical age. We can catch much more of the flavor
of the popular geography of the Middle Ages by a hasty glance at one of
the crude Beatus representations of the world than by plowing through
many of the dry pages of compilations like the _De imagine mundi_.
In this chapter there will be given a brief analysis of these maps as
specimens of the cartographer’s art and an explanation of certain points
which all, or most, of them have in common.
_INACCURACY_
What strikes us first is their extraordinary inaccuracy. It is easy to
laugh at this because subconsciously but inevitably we compare the
outlines of seas, continents, and regions as represented in these maps
with the outlines with which we have become familiar in modern atlases.
We tend to forget that the contours of Europe, Asia, and Africa as we
now know them are not images that have been stamped upon the minds of
men at all times, that their accurate representation is the result of a
series of long and laborious observations completed only at a relatively
recent date. Hence it is somewhat unjust to reproach the medieval
cartographer with his inaccuracy, for the reason that accuracy in the
present-day sense was something impossible for him to achieve. The
Greeks and Moslems, to be sure, had made far better maps than did the
men of the Middle Ages; but, unfortunately, Greek maps had perished, few
Arabic maps came through to the West, and the prevalent ignorance of
Greek made it impossible for the Occidental scholar to gain inspiration
from treatises on cartography written in that tongue.
ACCURACY NOT DEEMED NECESSARY
Furthermore, it is a mistake to regard accuracy as the goal and ideal of
the medieval map maker. To gain a sympathetic understanding of his work
we must see what purposes he intended it to fulfill. He drew maps to
accompany and clarify the written texts to which they were usually
subsidiary. The maps were more or less in the nature of diagrammatic
sketches on which the features of the earth’s surface were shown in a
general way, and the draftsman understood perfectly well that all he
could hope to give was a rough approximation to relative positions. The
medieval scribe and map maker was an artist who took pride in the beauty
of his work. The same motives which impelled him to enliven his
manuscript with a multitude of miniatures led him to relieve the coldly
geometrical outlines of his map by lines and colors pleasing to the eye,
by entertaining sketches and readable legends. He was creating something
very different from the modern cartographic or topographic sheet that
stands on its own merits as an independently useful, scientific document
and from which we can get precise information about distances, heights,
positions, and terrain. He would have branded any man a fool who thought
that one could hope to determine from his map the distance from
Jerusalem to England or from the mouth of the Ganges to the mouth of the
Nile. In other words, most medieval maps—including wall maps—were
nothing more than rough diagrams converted into works of art.
When, during the latter years of the thirteenth century, the sailors of
the Mediterranean, driven by the necessity of securing reliable aids to
navigation, began piece by piece to construct marine charts upon which
the contours of the coasts were shown with an approach to modern
correctness, we have indeed a revolution in cartographic art and
geographical science.
Bearing in mind these considerations, we see that the major inaccuracies
of medieval maps are (1) exaggeration in the scale of particular regions
at the expense of others and (2) distortion, often amounting to a
complete failure to show places in their proper relative positions. The
first of these inaccuracies was usually deliberate, the second more or
less unavoidable. Both are well-known characteristics of our modern
American railway folder maps.
EXAGGERATION
The purpose of exaggeration was, of course, to emphasize the most
interesting and significant localities. For example, on many maps of the
world, Palestine—about which a good deal was known and in which interest
naturally was centered—is shown to be almost as large as all the rest of
Asia put together. The Jerome map of the East[1128] exaggerates Asia
Minor to an enormous size, making it a greater distance from
Constantinople to Mount Ararat than from Armenia to Taprobane (Ceylon).
On the other hand, the Jerome map of Palestine itself[1129] would lead
us to believe that the district lying between the Lebanon, the Jordan,
and the sea is at least three times as large as the Anatolian peninsula.
Certainly nobody ever thought that such proportions actually obtain in
nature. Similarly, the plans of cities that are not infrequently
included in maps are often immensely enlarged in relation to the
surrounding country, as, for example, in the case of London, Rome, Acre,
and Jerusalem on Matthew Paris’ pictorial itinerary[1130] and map of
Palestine,[1131] and Jerusalem on the “Situs Ierusalem”[1132] (see Fig.
7).
DISTORTION
Errors arising from distortion were due partly to ignorance and partly
to the necessity of making the map fit either the page upon which it was
drawn or else a preconceived idea of an oval, or circular world. The
“Cotton,” or “Anglo-Saxon,” map[1133] several of the Beatus
series,[1134] and even Matthew Paris’ maps of Britain[1135] (the best of
the whole period; see Fig. 9, p. 343, below) show a semi-rectangular
land mass corresponding to the pages of the codices. On the latter a
legend frankly admits that, if only the size of the page permitted, the
island would be shown longer than it is (“Si pagine pateretur, haec
totalis insula longior esse deberet”).[1136] The manner in which
geography was forced to conform to a circular or oval world is admirably
illustrated in the treatment of the islands of the ocean. On the Beatus
series[1137] and on Lambert’s _mappaemundi_,[1138] Britain and the other
islands appear as small, round, oval, or rectangular blocks more or less
regularly spaced in the circumambient ocean. Other maps, like that of
Henry of Mayence[1139] (see inset of Fig. 6, p. 245, above), fit the
islands into recesses in the oceanic shores of the continental areas so
that the smooth outlines of the whole land mass are preserved.
[Illustration:
FIG. 7—The _Situs Ierusalem_, or plan of Jerusalem, illustrating the
anonymous _Gesta Francorum Ierusalem expugnantium_ as reproduced by
Miller, _Mappaemundi_, vol. iii, 1895, fig. 14, from map in Codex of
St. Omer.
]
An extreme of confusion and disregard for reality is found in one of the
Beatus group[1140] preserved in Paris. Here it is difficult to make out
which continent is which. India, for instance, lies just across the Red
Sea from Spain (it is doubtful in what direction); Arabia would seem to
be in the farthest Orient, adjoined by Greece on one side and Thrace on
the other. Such absurdities are unusual, but even the best maps of the
period show serious errors when measured by modern standards. The
“Cotton,”[1141] for instance, in such a well-known part of the world as
Italy, locates Ravenna on the Mediterranean shore southeast of Rome and
shows an amazing eastward displacement of Arabia and the Red Sea, though
in many other respects its geography, relatively speaking, is very good.
_TECHNIQUE_
The diagrammatic character of these maps is evident in the technique of
their workmanship. They all show a tendency toward geometrical lines,
curves, and symmetry. This is carried further on some than on others
(as, for example, in the cruder specimens of the Beatus group[1142]);
but, in nearly all, the ocean is represented as a smooth circular band
of even width; and, in many, rivers and mountains follow direct lines or
regular curves. It is obvious that the ruler and compass were not
neglected.
CONVENTIONS
Moreover, certain cartographic conventions were followed. In the great
majority of cases east was placed at the top, and some authorities have
endeavored to trace this convention back to the maps of the
Romans.[1143] While this explanation of its origin may be true, the
traditions of the Church, which placed in the Orient the Garden of Eden
together with the fountain of the waters of the world and of human life,
must have had much to do toward perpetuating it. Conventions of a sort
were also observed in the use of colors on colored maps: seas and rivers
were nearly always blue or green, except for the Red Sea, which was
invariably red. Less uniform was the color used for mountains: on the
map of the world of Henry of Mayence[1144] and on one of Lambert’s
_mappaemundi_[1145] they are red; the “Cotton”[1146] shows them a
brilliant green; and one of the maps of Matthew Paris,[1147] a yellow.
SYMBOLS AND LEGENDS
Symbols representing the various features of the earth’s surface were
more or less conventionalized, though we can hardly say that any
definitely developed “conventional signs” were in use. It is the usual
intention of symbols as employed on modern maps to reproduce the
appearance of the various features more or less as they look when viewed
from above. This is relatively recent development; on medieval maps such
elements as mountains, forests, and cities were shown as they appear
from the side. In addition to symbols, legends were extensively employed
to explain details of the map’s surface, and sometimes these were
expanded to considerable length to include historical data and other
points of interest. A large variety of subjects were represented on
these maps by symbols, vignettes, and legends.
The atmosphere figures in the Turin Beatus[1148] in pictures at the four
corners of wind blowers seated astride of wind bags. On the Jerome map
of the East[1149] the names of certain of the winds are written along
the eastern border, and wind blowers were familiar figures in the
cartography of a later period than ours.
The ocean and inland seas, usually tinted green or blue, are generally
without symbols to emphasize their watery nature, except perhaps for
pictures of fish. On two of the Beatus series,[1150] however, lines are
drawn running parallel to the coasts, showing that the medieval
draftsman had hit upon and crudely executed a modern scheme of
representing water. The Guido map of Italy[1151] represents the sea by
scalloped lines. On the Guido map of the world[1152] the size of the
Mediterranean and its branches is enormously enlarged;[1153] whereas the
worst examples of the Beatus group[1154] show the inland seas as narrow
channels bounded by straight shores.
The width of rivers is nearly always immensely exaggerated; on some maps
rivers appear to be as wide as the seas themselves. Only the
“Cotton”[1155] forms an exception in representing them (except for the
Nile) as single lines. On the whole, hydrography is drawn arbitrarily.
Streams cross each other, separate, and connect one sea with another;
though the Jerome maps,[1156] certain of the Beatus series,[1157] and
the “Cotton”[1158] place the headwaters of many of the rivers of Asia
and Europe in mountain ranges.
Lakes are generally represented as bulb-shaped bodies from which rivers
rise or into which they expand.
No attempt was made to show by symbols different kinds of land surface,
except perhaps by Matthew Paris in one of his maps of Britain,[1159]
which differentiates the marshy country of the eastern shires from the
rest of the island. On certain members of the Beatus group[1160] we read
legends in Africa and Asia calling the country “deserta et arenosa;” and
legends appearing on Matthew Paris’ maps[1161] describe the boggy, wild,
and mountainous country of northern Scotland and Wales. The Paris Beatus
No. II[1162] has a legend in a remote part of Asia indicating “land
uninhabitable on account of the abundance of water.”
Mountain ranges were generally represented by jagged, saw-tooth lines
running parallel to straight lines;[1163] particularly high or famous
peaks, by a single great pyramid. Such pyramids are prominent features
in the Beatus series,[1164] where woods are often shown growing upon
them. The Hyrcanian Forest is depicted and labeled on the Jerome map of
Palestine,[1165] and the pepper forests of India are indicated on the
Jerome map of the East.[1166]
Among the works of man cities and buildings take a foremost place,
represented by vignettes of castles, towers, and churches. On several
maps[1167] especially notable works are depicted, as the lighthouse of
Alexandria, the tower of Babel, the columns of Alexander and Hercules;
and the seas are sometimes filled with ships. As to men themselves, the
legends give the names of cities, provinces, and countries. The Jerome
maps[1168] give a series of tribal names in Scythia. Adam and Eve with
the serpent were stereotyped features enlivening the East on many but by
no means all the maps of our age; and on the Osma Beatus[1169] we see
the uniformly gloomy features of the twelve apostles distributed over
the earth’s surface (see Fig. 4, p. 123, above).
The monsters of India were also represented by vignettes of a _skiapod_,
or shadowfoot, on two of the Beatus group,[1170] where this
uncomfortable creature is shown as the most prominent inhabitant of the
austral continent (see Fig. 4) and the existence of other monsters is
hinted at by legends referring to griffons, cynocephali, and the like.
_SUMMARY_
In surveying the extant maps of our period as a whole, and in comparing
them with one another, it is impossible to detect any appreciable
development from worse cartography to better. To be sure, Matthew Paris’
three maps of Britain[1171] (Fig. 9, p. 343, below), made at the very
end of our century and a half, are probably also the best. But they
represent a limited area; and among the maps of the world the “Cotton,”
or Anglo-Saxon,[1172] which possibly dates from the twelfth century but
may be very much older, holds by all odds the highest rank so far as
cartographic excellence goes. The complex and elaborate wall map of the
late thirteenth century in Hereford Cathedral[1173] and the immense
Ebstorf map at Hanover (dated 1284)[1174] represent the culmination of a
process in the direction of increasing elaboration that had been in
progress throughout the age. They do not indicate any improvement in
cartographic standards but rather, as was the case with some of the
great works of compilation of the time, a multiplication of fabulous and
incongruous detail. Beazley dismisses them rather summarily as
monstrosities. They are the cartographic counterparts of the _Image du
monde_ and the _Livre du trésor_ of Brunetto Latino.