Chapter XI: 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.

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.