Panzram, The Visigothic Kingdom of Toledo. Current Perspectives On The Negotiation of Power in Post-Roman Iberia
Panzram, The Visigothic Kingdom of Toledo. Current Perspectives On The Negotiation of Power in Post-Roman Iberia
Panzram, The Visigothic Kingdom of Toledo. Current Perspectives On The Negotiation of Power in Post-Roman Iberia
Sabine Panzram
Panzram, S. and P. Pachá (eds.). The Visigothic Kingdom: The Negotiation of Power in Post-Roman
Iberia. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press 2020
doi: 10.5117/9789463720632_ch01
18 Sabine Panzr am
transform the palace into a place of remembrance from which Spain could
be envisioned (pensar España). 4 The Benedictine described in detail what
the statues were to resemble, their clothing as well as such things as their
types of crowns and weaponry. The faces were not be idealized, but true
to nature. This enthusiasm for documentation and didactism can be seen
in the figures of martyrs, saints, and city patrons, such as San Lorenzo,
San Juan de la Cruz, San Isidro, Santa Leocadia, and Santa Teresa, as well
as poets such as Martial, Quintilian, and Lucan, and philosophers such as
Averroes and Maimonides or ‘military types’ such as Viriathus, the Cid,
and Cortés.5 Sarmiento had stones fetched from every quarry in Spain
for the construction, so that the representation of the Iberian Peninsula’s
thirty-two provinces could be realized through a presence from across
the kingdom. The elaborate iconographic programme reflects Sarmiento’s
understanding of his nation’s continuity, which was contingent on its terri-
tory, geography, and ultimately its history. The didactic impetus is obvious:
the Benedictine was convinced of architecture’s ability to unleash positive
effects in the beholder and educate him through the need for guidance and
moral emulation.6 When Charles III reached Madrid, in December 1759, he
found himself facing a huge construction site. He gave priority to completing
the residence, which had been delayed for years, and was able to move in
at the end of 1764. Iconographically, Charles III distanced himself signifi-
cantly from his predecessors’ guidelines. First, he had the statues of all the
Spanish kings who had been erected on the facades as part of Sarmiento’s
programme removed, an order he gave on February 1760, even before his
ceremonial entrance to Madrid.7 They were then distributed across the city’s
gardens – Plaza de Oriente, Sabatini, Retiro, Glorieta de las Pirámides – with
some sent to various cities: Toledo received a few, Burgos, Ronda, Vitoria,
Logroño, and San Fernando de Henares others, while Aranjuez, El Ferrol, and
Pamplona received a few. Charles was not attempting to make the nation an
ideological centre of his sovereignty by didactically instrumentalizing the
royal palace. Rather, his rule sought to raise a universal claim by means of
eulogies and self-dramatization to harken back to antiquity. The discovery
of Herculaneum and Pompeii in the 1740s was propitious, as it served to
validate his buon regno.8 The prologue of the luxurious volume Antichità di
Ercolana – which published the paintings, statues, and bronzes – was gifted
to members of the European aristocracy,9 and celebrated him as Hercules.
Charles also secured the services of the notable Anton Raphael Mengs
to decorate the royal palace with ceiling frescoes and historic images.10
This Dresden court painter’s iconography was rooted in an inventory of
images related to Trajan. Meanwhile, Charles’s generous renovation and
beautification, even re-design, of entire neighbourhoods in the capital,11
induced Ramón Pignatelli y Moncayo to compare his achievements with
those of the first Roman empire – perhaps surpassing Augustus!12 Finally,
Charles was inspired by the Roman street network when developing his
Spanish example. In 1787 he organized the colonization of Sierra Morena,
in celebration of which a medal was minted showing him as Romulus, the
city founder.13 In contrast to Sarmiento, Charles was not concerned with
presenting the past as an entirety, as a closed system in order to display a
national identity. By referring to antiquity, he modeled an entire epoch as the
starting point of socio-political transformations at a time of political conflict
and social change, presenting the past as an open frame of reference.14
The nineteenth-century nation state was long in search of itself. After
the Napoleonic wars, those with political responsibilities in European
states strove to accomplish political unity by means of cultural identity.15
Questions arose as to whether a nation defined itself more as a state or a
culture, whether laws and institutions were the crucial elements by which
citizens could govern themselves, or whether a community’s members
needed to possess the same ethnic culture and history. In any case, the
origins of nationalism flourished in parallel with the rise of liberal forces.
The founding edict of the Real Academia de la Historia, which Philipp V had
founded as early as 1738 in response to universities’ untenable conditions,16
charged it with ‘purging’ the nation’s fábulas by publishing a Diccionario
Histórico-crítico-universal de España, and preparing a ‘verdadera Historia
9 Cf. Bayardi, Prodromo delle Antichità d’Ercolano, pts. I–V, 1752, pp. v–xlviii, as well as the
praefatio of the introductory volume on the publication of the papyri found in Herculaneum
by Carlo Maria Rosini, Dissertationis isagogicae ad Herculanensium Voluminum explanationem,
pt. I, 1797.
10 Roettgen 1999 and 2003; Ehrmann 2010.
11 Moleón Gavilanes 2017.
12 Blech 2009, pp. 355–356.
13 Almagro-Gorbea 2012.
14 Späth 2015.
15 Esdaile 2000; Álvarez Junco 2001; Álvarez Junco and Fuente Monge 2013.
16 Almagro-Gorbea and Maier Allende 2003; Anes y Álvarez de Castrillón 2010.
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Nacional’.17 Yet the necessary profession that would establish the search
for ‘objective truth’, with the instrument of positivism, only developed
in the course of the nineteenth century. Modesto Lafuente y Zamalloa’s
Historia General de España desde los tiempos más remotos hasta nuestros
días, published in Madrid in thirty books between 1850 and 1866, became
paradigmatic for the developing genre of historical writing. The politically
active journalist-historian claimed that he had been motivated by the
lack of a national history. Until deep into the twentieth century, his work
was accounted ‘la historia nacional por antomasia’;18 his periodization of
Spain’s history into edades – ‘Antigua, Media, Moderna y Contempóranea’
– remains valid to this day. The localization of Spain’s transition from
antiquity to the Middle Ages in the early eighth century, rather than in
the f ifth as in the rest of Europe, is due to his work; he considered the
Arabic invasion of the Iberian Peninsula of more impact than the fall of
the West Roman Empire. He places the beginnings of modernity in the year
1492 and not, as was customary, in 1453 with the fall of Constantinople,
and judged the Catholic kings’ conquest of Granada, the expulsion of the
Jewish inhabitants, and Columbus’s discovery of America to be of more
significance. And lastly, he did not initiate ‘contemporary history’ with
the French Revolution of 1789, as was common practice, but rather with
the Spanish rebellion against Napoleon’s troops in 1808. Even the Spanish
nation’s founding date, which he cites as the III Council of Toledo in 589,
in the fourth book of his opus magnum,19 is still occasionally considered
valid.20 As such it was the Visigoths who founded Spain as a nation. Lafuente
y Zamallao believed that ‘Spaniards’ had existed before the arrival of
Rome, and that it was this culture that ‘hispanicized’ the Romans and
Visigoths and converted the latter to the Catholic faith. It was, however, the
Visigoths who created a monarquía española by introducing the relevant
institutions. Liberals consider not just political, religious, and territorial
unity fundamental, but also the juridical unity gained through the Fuero
Juzgo. Councils functioned like a parliament; it was the Hispano-Gothic
kingdom in which Spain established its constitutional foundations as
those of a ‘state’.
17 Sempere y Guarinos, Ensayo de una biblioteca española de los mejores escritores del Reynado
de Carlos III, vol. 1, 1787, pp. 63–71. – Almagro-Gorbea 2010.
18 Álvarez Junco and Fuente Monge 2013, esp. 264–283, here p. 265.
19 Lafuente y Zamalloa, Historia General de España desde los tiempos más remotos hasta
nuestros días, 1887.
20 Cañizares Llovera 2008 is an illustrative example.
Current Perspec tives on the Negotiation of Power 21
battle of Las Navas de Tolosa, or one won from the Catholic kings, and the
‘triumphant’ Spain whose discovery of America became a favourite among
painters. At the end of the long nineteenth century, the view of the past
again embodied a closed system, in which illustrious historical moments
served to construct a national identity.
It is not surprising that the declaration of the Spanish nation’s founding
date should fall in Visigothic times. The history of goticismo began virtually
at the moment when the Visigothic kingdom of Toledo was ended by the
Umayyad’s conquista, i.e. the beginning of the eighth century.25 The Christian
Asturorum regnum claimed its immediate succession, the Castilian crown
viewed itself as part of its tradition, nobles sought to trace their genealogies
back to the Visigoths, and artists attempted to visualize Visigothic daily
life. Muñoz Degrain’s reflections, however, point to the problem that almost
no material evidence from the period existed. The interior of St. Leocadia’s
basilica in La Conversión de Recaredo resembles that of Sant’Apollinare in
Classe and the Visigothic royal couple’s garments echo those of Justinian
and Theodora in San Vitale in Ravenna;26 Recceswinth’s crown was the
only element the painter could base on an original. In 1858, the so-called
treasure trove of Guarrazar surfaced not far from Toledo: votive crowns,
crosses, gems made of gold, studded with semi-precious stones and pearls
appear as artistic craftsmanship in the Byzantine tradition but were made
at Toledo’s court.27 A number of the twelve crowns and eight crosses went
to Paris, but the majority became part of the royal collection. Archaeologist
and art historian José Amador de los Ríos, who headed the Real Academia
de Historia in Madrid and was responsible for the transfer, described them
as representative examples of early medieval, Spanish Catholic art, as the
essence of seventh-century Spanish culture.28 The treasure trove unleashed a
lasting enthusiasm for Visigothic archaeology: Scarcely fifteen archaeological
digs were conducted until the 1940s. The research of the 1930s, led especially
by the prehistorian Julio Martínez Santa Olalla, following his return to Ger-
many and his appointment as head of the Comisaría General de Excavaciones
Arqueológicas, focused on the ‘época de las migraciones germánicas’; this
was clearly a sign of political alliance with national-socialist Germany.29
This association became marginalized after his removal from office in the
35 Linehan 2012, esp. 44–47; Álvarez Junco and Fuente Monge 2013, esp. pp. 405–437.
36 Arce 2009 [orig. 1982].
37 See also the case studies in Beltrán Fortes and Rodríguez Gutiérrez 2012.
38 For extensive information on this development, see Panzram 2017 and 2019.
39 For example, Orlandis Rovira 1987; García Moreno 1989; Thompson 1969; Collins 2004.
Current Perspec tives on the Negotiation of Power 25
This volume locates itself in this tradition of ‘breaking away’ and wants to
provide a contribution to Visigothic research on the Iberian Peninsula in
two respects, thematically and methodologically. Its perspective is that of
a young, dynamic research field open to developments at the intersection
between late antiquity and the early Middle Ages that has been developing
internationally since the 1990s and consistently works in an interdisciplinary
manner. Thematically, the ‘negotiations of power’ point to the revision of a
central category – ‘power’ – which has traditionally been used to postulate
the establishment of Toledo’s hegemony, yet has failed to explain why the
central power’s expansion went hand in hand with a weakening of its
hegemonic structures, which made possible the Umayyad’s conquista.
On the basis of an understanding of ‘power’ in the sense of Max Weber,
these contributions seek to understand afresh the relationship between
the centre and the periphery, between the monarch and the aristocracy,
by positing agency for everyone involved in this process and inquiring into
its realization. Methodologically, this volume is breaking new ground by
taking seriously the Mediterranean world’s unity from Marcus Aurelius
to Muhammad, already postulated by Peter Brown in the early 1970s, and
implementing it on the foundation of new approaches to periodization. If
one sets the ‘long late antiquity’ as one’s period of study, 40 then it is only
consistent to examine the causes of the ‘power question’ in the Visigothic
period from Roman late antiquity to the time of the Umayyads, in order to
critically question the current debate about the end, change, continuity, or
transformation of Roman antiquity. 41
The contributions that accept this challenge of revising the traditional
narrative come from four different research fields – ‘Concepts of Central
and Local Power’, ‘Power, Identity, and Ethnicity’, ‘Representations of Power’,
‘Power and Church’. They are introduced with a prologue by Laurent Brassous
and concluded with an epilogue by Julián M. Ortega Ortega, with Paulo
Pachá finishing with an analysis of this thematic and methodological shift
in perspective. The picture the classical archaeologist Laurent Brassous
paints of the Iberian Peninsula ‘the day before’, that is, before the arrival
40 Brown 1971; cf. the more recent Brown, Bowersock, Cameron et al. 1997; Cameron 2002;
Marcone 2008.
41 A convincing narrative of the Iberian Peninsula in the ‘long late antiquity’ can be found
in Arce’s trilogy of Arce 2007, 2011; see also, now, the archaeological perspective of Martínez
Jiménez, Sastre de Diego, and Tejerizo García 2018.
26 Sabine Panzr am
more attractive because it was open and integrating rather than closed and
exclusive, and thus open to change. Urban communities, he argues, were
ultimately more significant social groupings than ethnically rooted ones.
For a fundamental understanding of how the Visigothic state functioned,
he suggests replacing Gothic-Roman duality with that of monarchy-citizen.
While the first two section’s contributions ask how power was negotiated
and how the Visigoths manifested these structures in their relationships with
various social groupings, the third section is concerned with the reproduc-
tion of power in representative forms: the organization of a landscape, the
minting of coins, the development of a literary form, and the development
of an ‘epigraphic habit’. The archaeologist Lauro Olmo Enciso shows that the
new founding of Recopolis in 578 ad signified a political act, a demonstration
of power in a moment of political consolidation and the development of a
tax system. However, the city’s founding also re-structured the territory
through the installation of a new road network, rural settlements, and the
reorganization of the agrarian system. Recopolis was to become the region’s
dynamic urban centre for almost two and a half centuries, uniting political,
administrative, and fiscal functions, and ‘disciplining’ the landscape as a
social space. Liuvigild doubly manifested his power. As a numismatician,
Ruth Pliego lays out the various possibilities for depicting power offered
through the minting of coins. The Visigoths’ minting hewed closely to that of
Rome; they imitated and transformed Roman iconography with innovative
characteristics that reflect the regnum’s development in the years from the
first settlement to the Ummayad conquista from around 418 to about 71.
The tremissis first consisted of romanitas (Victory motif), but then adopted
Christian motifs (such ‘Cross-on-steps’ motif) revealing a desire to express
‘sanctified’ power. The emergence of a specific type of literature proves
as significant as that of city founding and coin minting: Michael J. Kelly
analyses the Liber Iudiciorum (also known as the Lex Visigothorum) that
Recceswinth enacted in 653 as a ‘legal-literary text’. The medieval historian
postulates that this body of laws represents a literary character, part of a
historical narrative inherent to law. He compares two versions of this nar-
rative – those of Recceswinth and Ervig – and how strongly these depended
on concrete historic circumstances, as the Liber Iudiciorum is significant
not just as a juridical text but also as a historical narrative. In addition to
the power of individual books stood that of inscriptions both in public and
in restricted spaces. The epigraphist Javier de Santiago Fernandéz shows
how the Visigothic kingdom’s elites – both ecclesiastical and civil – used
epigraphic monuments for the purposes of self-representation. Both sought to
display their privileged social position in the medium of grave, construction,
Current Perspec tives on the Negotiation of Power 29
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