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    Plan détaillé Texte intégral Rome: city of Churches Hierarchy and finance Furta profana: pilgrims’ bodies in late medieval Rome The urban clergy and the laity Conclusions Bibliographie Notes de bas de page Auteur

    Religious communities in Rome during the Great Western Schism

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    Table des matières

    Ideal order and lived community

    Rome’s urban clergy during the Great Western Schism

    James A. Palmer

    p. 211-240

    Résumés

    14th-century Rome has long been associated with degradation and ruin, and high-ranking clergy credited with its restoration. But before this could be achieved, the challenges of the Great Western Schism had to be overcome. The Schism involved great powers across Latin Christendom, but making the Church work during those fraught years was also a local challenge. This paper considers the particular challenges facing local clergy in Rome in the late 14th and early 15th century, meditating in particular on the intersection of clerical culture, lay piety, and the pious pragmatism required to sustain ecclesiastical institutions. The clergy most essential for the day-to-day operations of Roman Churches – the parish priests and chaplains– found themselves caught between papal and popular pressures, ultimately finding more common ground with the local laity than they did with the high-ranking ecclesiastics to whom they ostensibly owed obedience. We see here the fault lines between the ideal of a discrete clerical ordo and the necessity, facing many clergy, of living side-by-side with the laity as part of a local spiritual community.

    La Rome du XIVe siècle a longtemps été associée à la décadence et à la ruine, et c’est au clergé de haut rang que l’on doit sa restauration. Mais avant d’y parvenir, il fallait surmonter les défis du Grand Schisme d’Occident. Le schisme a impliqué de grandes puissances dans toute la chrétienté latine, mais faire fonctionner l’Église pendant ces années difficiles était aussi un défi local. Cet article examine les défis particuliers auxquels le clergé local a été confronté à Rome à la fin du XIVe siècle et au début du XVe siècle, en réfléchissant en particulier à l’intersection entre la culture cléricale, la piété laïque et le pragmatisme pieux nécessaire au maintien des institutions ecclésiastiques. Le clergé le plus essentiel au fonctionnement quotidien des églises romaines, les curés et les aumôniers, s’est trouvé pris entre les pressions papales et populaires, trouvant finalement plus de terrain d’entente avec les laïcs locaux qu’avec les clercs de haut rang auxquels ils devaient ostensiblement obéissance. Nous voyons ici la rupture entre l’idéal d’un ordre clérical distinct et la nécessité, pour de nombreux membres du clergé, de vivre côte à côte avec les laïcs dans le cadre d’une communauté spirituelle locale.

    Entrées d’index

    Mots-clés : Rome, piété laïque, spiritualité, clergé, schisme

    Keywords : Rome, lay piety, spirituality, clergy, Schism

    Texte intégral Rome: city of Churches Hierarchy and finance Furta profana: pilgrims’ bodies in late medieval Rome The urban clergy and the laity Conclusions Bibliographie Archives Primary sources Secondary sources Notes de bas de page Auteur

    Texte intégral

    Rome: city of Churches

    1Thinking of Rome during the Great Western Schism inevitably calls to mind its character as a city of Churches and the complexities of its role, however vigorously contested during the Schism itself, as the seat of the Latin Church. The story of the Schism, like so many stories about medieval Rome, tends to focus on popes, cardinals and the world of the Curia. In this story, the Roman people figure mostly as an angry mob demanding a Roman pope. Staged like this, the mob embodies a commonly imagined version of Rome, fractious and violent, while the cardinals, from behind their walls, peer cautiously out at them from a safe remove, and in so doing remind us of the ease with which the Roman Church and the Roman people are still seen as inhabiting two separate worlds. And yet, it has long been recognized that the late medieval Italian Church was one in which the laity exercised considerable influence over local Churches and their clergy. Famously, the period of the Schism is said to have inaugurated a wider “Italianization” of the Church, by which both widespread bureaucratization and the growing influence of secular values has been commonly meant. If early modern reformers framed this as evidence of the Italian Church’s failure to live up to standards, that characterization was also common among historians well into the 20th century.1 While this chapter will critique certain aspects of this tale, it must also be admitted that there is truth in it. In the years leading up to the Schism, the Curia had been, in key ways, a world apart, not only because of its lengthy absence in Avignon but also because the clergy who populated it had ever less connection to the Rome of the Romans. During the Schism, the Roman popes sought to reorient the Church from Avignon to Rome, reestablishing their city as the center of Christian authority. As part of this effort, they sought to express their authority as the city’s bishop ever more explicitly in conjunction with their power as secular rulers.2 Yet, even at the turn of the 15th century, the Christendom imagined by both the papacy and historians of this period is in many ways a traditional one.

    2From as early as the era of the Gregorian reformers, it had been suggested that the clergy should be an order apart from the lay world, an ordo clericalis whose ritual purity must be ensured in order to preserve their unique role as transmitter of the sacraments to Christendom.3 In the early 13th century, this ideal was central to the reordering of Christendom undertaken by Innocent III (r. 1198-1216) and codified at the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215. One of that council’s key priorities was protecting the priest’s role as provider of the care of souls by mandating the very purity reformers had long prized.4 Priests were to reject the trappings and culture of the secular world. Sex, gambling and drunkenness were condemned; proper education, dress, and comportment enjoined. The sacred space of the Church itself and the purity of its liturgical materials was to be similarly assured. The Church was to be neither warehouse nor marketplace. The Eucharist, that perfect embodiment of the sacrality that lay at the root of all these measures, was to be kept secure under lock and key.

    3But whatever Innocent’s goals may have been, they were countered by the demands of the world. If measures were taken to prevent the inappropriate involvement of lay patrons in Church affairs, their influence could not be totally excised.5 If the sacred space of the Church was evoked as a thing to be protected from lay intrusion, Church naves still became the site of all manner of lay business.6 Furthermore, just as with efforts to protect sacred space, attempts to promote clerical purity also ran afoul of lay norms, as demonstrated by the failure to keep concubines out of priests’ homes.7 It is clear that the local clergy were implicated in lay society in countless ways, sharing many of its values and expectations.8 Crucially for this investigation of the Roman case, Innocent’s reforms also left largely unaddressed the question of how clergy were to manage Church patrimony or navigate the economic and social obligations that confronted them in this role. It is clear, above all, that in the 13th and 14th centuries the limits of reform reflected an unspoken fact; the laity had their own opinions about the proper role and social place of the clergy, as well as the character and proper use of Church property. In many cases, moreover, there were those among the clergy who agreed with them. Furthermore, whatever limited success Innocent and his successors had in limiting lay influence on the Church was challenged in the later medieval world by an ever larger and savvier urban laity, perhaps above all in the city communes of Italy.

    4It is crucial to consider that Rome was a late example of just such a commune. Augustine Thompson has made clear that the Church was an integral part of all such polities, its sacred spaces and liturgical rhythms inseparable from those of everyday urban life.9 Furthermore, recent work suggests that the structural unities elucidated by Thompson were not static. Janine Larmon Peterson has recently reminded us that by the late 14th century, the laity of Italy, perhaps even those of little to no formal education, had become familiar enough with the normative expectations and legal procedures of the Church, to manipulate them to their own ends.10 This laity and above all the notaries who were their most important experts in matters of practical law, were happy to push the normative boundaries imagined by the Church in service to their own goals as proprietors, testators and creditors. This is a matter of no small importance for the history of Rome. We need think only of Laurie Nussdorfer’s important observation that notarial practice in Rome played a fundamental part in the city’s transformation between 1300 and 1700.11 As Roisin Cossar has pointed out, notaries were tasked with interpreting law “for the benefit of their clients”.12 In the words of Thomas Kuehn, we can think of them “clothing” the sometimes questionable goals of their clients “in legal garb”.13 As we shall see, the Roman evidence indicates that among the endeavors for which the laity sought the help of notaries were their varied interests as parishioners. As with other intersections of lay and clerical worlds, these were interests that local clergy understood and with which they may often have sympathized. After all, the Church’s place in the Rome of the Romans was given its most important physical expression not by its great but geographically peripheral basilicas but rather in the smaller Churches integrated into the fabric of the city’s neighborhoods.

    5This urban communal Church constituted a community that may not have been Curial but was very much both Christian and Roman, shaped and reshaped by laity and clergy alike with each stroke of the notary’s pen. Consideration of how the Schism impacted this Rome presents us with an opportunity to complement and enrich our heretofore primarily papal and Curial sense of that history. This chapter will contemplate both the community of Rome’s urban clergy and their relationship to the Roman Church and the Roman people, considering how they negotiated the tensions between the norms and expectations of the Church, on one hand, and both financial and administrative pragmatism and the expectations of the laity on the other. The Roman clergy faced several common challenges: rivalries with other ecclesiastics, management of the demands of superiors, and the need to claim and protect various rights and privileges. It will be shown here that the return of the papacy and the subsequent Schism exacerbated these challenges, inflecting them with the demands of the moment. Financial troubles became more pressing and harder to address, while questions of right relations within the Church became more loaded. In the face of this reality, the working relationship between the urban clergy and the laity became all the more important and we see signs of clerical willingness to accommodate the laity and work with them through the flexible medium of notarial practice. While popes and cardinals sparred over the right order of Christendom, Rome’s urban clergy and its laity negotiated the right order of things locally through a variety of documents, from leases to testaments.

    6This chapter, then, hews to the theme of this volume by considering how the Schism impacted Rome’s urban clergy in their guise as a distinct religious community, akin to others in Rome. Thanks to excellent recent work, the urban clergy of Rome, those tasked with caring for the souls of the Romans rather than concerned with the affairs of the Curia, are better understood now than once they were. Above all, Tommaso di Carpegna Falconieri has demonstrated that by the 14th century the Roman clergy was starkly bifurcated, split between a Curial elite with little connection to Roman society at any but the highest levels, and an urban clergy concerned with the pastoral care of the Romans and implicated in their social and political world. This latter group was well organized, bound together by their common association within the guild-like Romana Fraternitas, a fact that only serves to emphasize their easy fit within a Roman communal world organized in large part by guilds, confraternities and other forms of association.14 Despite this great step forward in our understanding of the Roman clergy, their place in late 14th- and early 15th-century Rome, best studied by Giulia Barone, remains something of a mystery.15

    7The reason so little is known about Rome’s urban clergy in the age of the Schism is simple, like that pertaining to all aspects of daily life in Trecento Rome, the evidence available is limited. Some of our best material, that provided by the protocols of Rome’s notaries, is scant and fragmentary.16 Furthermore, the urban clergy appear within it in most cases only fleetingly. But when this notarial evidence is combined with other evidence of practice, that relating to courtroom disputes, a powerfully suggestive impression of Rome’s urban clergy begins to emerge. In what follows, I will survey examples of this evidence and suggest that rather than being exceptional, the Roman clergy’s experiences mirror those of canons and parish priests throughout Italy and Latin Christendom. It must be emphasized that this is not an effort to offer a complete or conclusive picture of Rome’s urban clergy in the age of the Schism; such an endeavor, if one found a way to overcome the significant evidentiary challenges, would require a book of its own. Instead, the goal here is more modest: to survey a few particularly evocative pieces of evidence and suggest that the challenges confronting Rome’s urban clergy during the Great Western Schism, especially financial challenges, were not new but rather the product of existing tensions exacerbated by the return of the papacy and the inauguration of the Schism. We shall see that even as two popes sparred over Christendom, Rome’s urban clergy were being pulled between ideal order and lived community, between the ideals and norms of the institutional Church and the practical realities of a secular world.

    Hierarchy and finance

    8On 7 May 1379, about one year into the troubled pontificate of Urban VI, Bartolomeo di Andrea, the rector of Santa Maria de Curia (known to us as Santa Maria de Curte), and his fellow cleric Antonio appeared in the dwelling place of Poncello Orsini, titular cardinal of San Clemente. There, with the help of a notary, they formally sold a house belonging to their Church to a goldsmith named Nucio di Pallelo di Giovanni di Blaxio of rione Campitelli. The price was sixteen florins. The document that records this sale is unusual, containing not only a record of the transaction but also a justification for it. Pope Urban, the priests declared, had imposed a new financial burden on the various Churches and monasteries of Rome, an effort to extract from them a total of 100,000 florins. This tax was to subsidize the pope’s efforts to defend the Christian faith, himself, the Holy Roman Church, and the people of Rome against schismatics, infidels, military threats, and rebels against the true faith.17 In addition to a record of this transaction and the priests’ explanation for it, the document contains the text of a relevant papal letter, addressed to Cardinal Orsini and detailing the ongoing costs of the Schism inaugurated by Urban’s election to the Holy See. This simple transaction, then, was one of the many ripples spreading outward across Christendom as a result of the Schism.18

    9Santa Maria de Curia’s obligation to Urban amounted to thirty florins, a sum that proved hard to produce. Santa Maria’s property was split, in the standard way, between mobile and immobile goods. The latter comprised both land and built structures from small dwellings to large palazzi. Such property was the firm foundation of any Church’s wealth and the clergy were always reluctant to part with it.19 If cash was needed, it was far preferable to liquidate mobile goods, selling livestock, agricultural produce, wine, or the like. Unfortunately for the clergy of Santa Maria, they lacked adequate mobile wealth to meet new papal demands. Thus, they declared themselves much oppressed by Urban’s request, and by Cardinal Orsini who was the pope’s agent in this matter, and they were ultimately required to alienate part of their Church’s immobile property, which they were loath to do. Later the same day they repeated this process with the sale of another house.20

    10Over the course of the summer of 1379, Antonio Scambi, the notary who produced this document, recorded several similar instances as Poncello Orsini and the clergy of various Churches came together to work out the details of each institution’s obligations. Santi Pietro e Marcellino on 10 May, Santa Maria de Curia again on 14 May, the Lateran on 20 May, Sant’Agata of rione Monte on 5 June and 15 June, San Gregorio de Grecis and Santa Maria in Cosmedin on 7 June, Santa Maria de Grottaferrata on 12 June, the great monastery of San Paolo on 15 June, and the basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore on 2 July.21 On 8 June, Scambi documented the rector of Santa Maria in Cosmedin making a sale similar to those carried out by Santa Maria de Curia and for the same reasons.22 The great San Paolo was forced to do the same.23 Most Churches were not liquid enough to handle unexpected financial demands and we can infer that many of the other Churches whose obligations Antonio recorded were forced to take similar measures but enlisted a different notary to document the resulting transactions. Indeed, the sums collected in the instances for which records survive do not come close to fulfilling Urban’s goals. It is likely that a great many similar transactions took place as Poncello made his way through Rome’s many Churches and monasteries. He was still at it, in fact, in 1380, though he had by then been joined in his task by Filippo Ruffini, titular cardinal of Santa Susanna.24

    11All manner of Roman Churches, great and small, were included in Orsini’s brief. The Lateran, upon which an obligation of three thousand florins was imposed, was one of the twin pillars of the Roman Church, alongside the basilica of St. Peter itself. The amount extracted from Santa Maria Maggiore is nearly as great. Santi Pietro e Marcellino stood nearby the latter but was far more modest, with a staff of only four. Santa Maria de Curia corresponds to the modern Church of Santa Maria Annunziata a Tor de’ Specchi. The two priests who appear in the documents mentioned above were the entirety of its clerical staff.25 San Gregorio was similarly modest but the nearby Santa Maria in Cosmedin, located in rione Ripa and famous today as the location of the Bocca della Verità, had a larger staff of ten priests. The cardinal’s mission even took him beyond Rome’s walls; not only to the famous San Paolo fuori le mura but also to the monastery of Santa Maria de Grottaferrata, which stood about twenty kilometers from Rome, in the spot where a homonymous town can be found today.

    12Urban was likely driven to take these measures in part because the Church was facing a financial crisis even before the Schism and in part because the Schism itself had left the Avignon popes in control of many of the papacy’s transalpine income streams, leaving the Roman popes with no option but to squeeze as much as they could from holdings in Italy that they did not always firmly control.26 Similar efforts to wring money from Rome’s Churches were made by Urban’s successor, Boniface IX, who faced the same Schism along with all its financial challenges. Poncello Orsini, who had eventually abandoned Urban VI due to his severity, was by Boniface’s day an old man in his final years.27 The task of collecting money for the new pope thus fell to two new agents: Stefano, titular cardinal of San Marcello, and Iannocto, the abbot of San Paolo. Perhaps knowing Rome’s Churches had already been well squeezed, Boniface sought from them only eight thousand florins. By no later than 12 February 1393, his agents were hard at work collecting part of that sum from the Church of Santi Aquila e Prescilla.28 Likewise, on 26 June 1393, we find them collecting funds from the Church of Santa Maria in Dompnica.29 Here again we see a fairly modest Church, with a staff of only two, being asked to contribute to the papal coffers.30 Nor were nuns exempted, as we see from the sisters of San Lorenzo in Panisperna’s efforts to raise the two hundred twenty florins asked of them by Boniface.31 This was a particularly noble monastery, founded by Cardinal Giacomo Colonna and home to a number of baronial ladies.32

    13It is clear that regardless of their status, Rome’s Churches did not bear the weight of these papal exactions easily. Despite their reluctance to sell immobile property, we find that Rome’s urban clergy were, time and again, forced to do so. The burdens placed upon Rome’s Churches seemed oppressive to them but presented opportunities for the city’s more affluent lay residents. Lands purchased from Churches and monasteries might change hands repeatedly in the years that followed, moving among the Roman elite.33 Such transactions were rarely neat and tidy. The main source of ecclesiastical income from immobile wealth came in the form of rents and sometimes the property sold to one affluent layman turned out to have already been rented to another, resulting in legal conflicts. We see this repeatedly in the case of San Paolo, whose monks were forced to deal with legal troubles stemming from their alienation of property sold to meet papal demands.34 Despite all this, it was always the hope of the clergy that they would be able to recuperate alienated patrimony. Its recovery, however, was not guaranteed. In some cases, purchasers promised that Church holdings could be bought back for a set price, as Jacobello Orsini promised San Paolo upon purchase of a large casale, but such a promise could go unfulfilled for generations. In this case, we find that Jacobello’s son, Giovanni, recorded the same promise in his own testament. Recovery of property was hard, sometimes itself requiring the sale of less desirable holdings, each of which might kick off their own string of conflicts, lawsuits, and compromises.35

    14By the turn of the 15th century, Rome had come under the direct rule of the pope, something achieved by Boniface IX in 1398.36 Many Roman Churches and monasteries, including the great San Paolo fuori le mura, were in a state of disrepair. The old communal elite, no longer leading an independent commune, were now governing on behalf of the pope, overseeing the flow of testamentary bequests meant to fund repairs of the monastery. The standard reading of this would be that Rome was being resurrected, after a long period of neglect during the Avignon papacy, but that this was a process that would take time.37 Clearly, however, the financial duress of the Roman Churches was not alleviated by the papacy’s return to Rome but rather compounded by it, and above all by the Schism and the costs it entailed. The burdens placed upon Rome’s Churches were troublesome in the moment, requiring the urban clergy to sell of the patrimonies of their Churches, and the scars of such demands might linger for years, outlasting the Schism itself. It should not surprise us, then, that already by the late 14th century, Rome’s urban clergy were eager to secure any income, no matter how small, for their Churches. Indeed, they would go to great lengths to do so.

    Furta profana: pilgrims’ bodies in late medieval Rome

    15The archives of the canons of the basilica of St. Peter contain a number of documents that highlight the lengths to which Rome’s urban clergy would go to secure much needed cash, revealing how their efforts brought them into conflict with their institutional superiors. As one of the paramount spiritual centers of Latin Christendom, Rome enjoyed a steady flow of pilgrims visiting its great Churches, famous relics and holy images.38 The most famous of these are well known: the heads of Peter and Paul, the Veronica and the image of Christ in the Lateran chapel of the Sancta Sanctorum.39 But there were numerous other sites to which a pious pilgrim might be drawn. For the Roman laity, these pilgrims were an economic boon, such that they city’s leaders often pled with the papacy to allow them to hold more regularly the Jubilee that Boniface VIII had inaugurated at the turn of the 14th century.40 The urban clergy, so close to the daily life of their city, were also keen to exploit this opportunity when they could, in a manner that sometimes shocked local commentators. The Anonimo Romano, for example, declares that “pilgrims who came for the good of their souls to the holy Churches were not protected but rather killed and robbed”. Indeed, “the priests too partook in such evils. All was lechery. All was wickedness.”41 At the same time, clerics eager to take their share from the pilgrimage market were confounded by rival claims made by more powerful institutions that sought to limit their access this resource. Clerical strategies differed from lay methods of profiting from pilgrimage: collecting rent, selling foodstuffs, and the like. Rather than straightforward commercial endeavors, the clergy focused on rights and privileges that enabled them to profit, even in small ways, from the influx of pilgrims.

    16Among the rights and privileges the urban clergy were keen to protect was that of laying claim to the bodies of pilgrims who died while visiting Rome. When originally conceived, in the early 11th century, this was a duty rather than a privilege; dead pilgrims needed funerals and incurred funerary costs that the relevant institution covered for the good of any who died in the midst of their pious journey.42 The tenor of conflicts over just who should have claim over such bodies in the late 14th century, however, indicates that things had changed. Several such cases are to be found in the archive of the canons of St. Peter’s, dating from 1361 to the late 1380s. Conflict over the bodies of pilgrims was clearly a recurring problem, one that consistently pitted the clergy of basilicas famous throughout Christendom against the urban clergy of Rome’s parish Churches. These conflicts both predated the Schism and continued after it had begun. We have seen that the papacy’s return and the subsequent Schism served to exacerbate the financial struggles of Rome’s Churches and it is likely that conflicts over pilgrims’ bodies would be inflected by this reality. In order to appreciate how, it will be helpful to examine an exemplary case in detail.

    17On 23 November 1362, Francisco Brundusini of Manfredonia, the archpriest of San Vincenzio and the official guardian of the rights and properties of the basilica of St. Peter’s, confirmed that two days prior, he had excommunicated the canons of San Lorenzo in Damaso, a Church located near the Campo de’ Fiori.43 He further declared that they should remain excommunicated. The reason for their punishment had been what Francisco saw as rebellious and disobedient behavior, as well as contumacy in failing to send a representative when he adjudicated a dispute between them and the canons of St. Peter’s.44 The excommunication, Francisco’s confirmation of it, and subsequent events all related to a squabble over a pilgrim’s body, one claimed by the canons of San Lorenzo despite assertions by the canons of St. Peter’s that the claim constituted a transgression of their own special privileges.

    18Francisco had been dragged into this dispute on 19 November 1362, when a Roman citizen named Pietro di Lello had appeared before him. An agent of the canons of St. Peter’s, Pietro described how early in the previous summer one Hugo, a former abbot of the Benedictine monastery of San Lorenzo in Aversa, had come to Rome as a pilgrim. Mere days later, Hugo had died. In his final days, Hugo had attended a religious festival in the neighborhood of Campo de’ Fiori, in the parish of the Church of San Lorenzo in Damaso. Pietro alleged that after Hugo’s death, as his body lay in the hospitio where he had stayed, the canons of San Lorenzo had crept in under cover of darkness, spirited the corpse away to their Church, and buried it in secret. Upon hearing these accusations, the guardian sent a nuncio to the canons of San Lorenzo, demanding their obedience in all things pertaining to the dead Hugo. Damage to the relevant manuscript occludes the details of his commands but, as we shall see, the outcome of similar cases suggests that he likely reminded the canons of San Lorenzo that they had no right to bury pilgrims, commanded them to exhume the body for burial by the basilica of St. Peter’s, and demanded the forfeiture of the pilgrim’s goods and money. The prior and canons of San Lorenzo, Francisco complained, had received this message in an openly scornful manner and in response to this blatant disrespect he had excommunicated them.

    19A few days after their excommunication, the canons of San Lorenzo presented an appeal. They argued that the Francisco had no right to excommunicate them and that the deed, motivated by causes unknown to them, had been done contrary to the law of God and justice. In fact, they declared that Francisco was not the legitimate guardian of St. Peter’s because he had been given the office by a pope now dead. They further asserted that there was no evidence their act had significantly damaged the canons of St. Peter’s. They demanded to see written evidence of the guardian’s authority and of the papal privileges that pertained to the rights to pilgrims’ bodies that the basilica’s canons were claiming. Understandably reluctant to admit any doubt about his own authority, Francisco responded by confirming his excommunication, forcing the warring canons to seek other avenues for a solution. Prior to exploring that solution, however, some context will be useful.

    20San Lorenzo in Damaso was not the only Roman Church to run afoul of St. Peter’s. Santa Maria in Traspontina, located in the Leonine City and subject to St. Peter’s, had buried the body of a Pisan named Pietro in the summer of 1361, appropriating twenty-five florins worth of goods and cash.45 Sant’Apollonaris buried Guglielmina, a Lombard, during that same summer, taking twenty florins.46 In 1385, Santi Celso e Juliano, of rione Ponti, incurred the wrath of the canons of St. Peter’s by burying one Andrea di Hugolino of Florence. All these Churches were clustered around either end of the Ponte Sant’Angelo, a high traffic area for pilgrims, the primary location of Rome’s moneychangers and, by the 1380s, a zone in which many inhabitants were not Romans but rather foreigners, especially Florentines.47

    21In all these cases, the canons of St. Peter’s presented themselves as defending traditional privileges, for which they had written evidence. Most commonly, they referred to a Bull of Leo IX, but they alluded as well to other documents without identifying them precisely. As noted above, the underlying concern of these early documents was the charitable provision of burial for pilgrims who died far from home and often intestate. Someone had to cover the cost of the winding cloths, coffins, candles and other things that were required, and the pilgrim’s property was often sequestered for use in paying these expenses. While the contests of the late-14th century were still oriented around the question of who would bury such pilgrims, the situation on the ground had changed considerably.48

    22It was traditionally forbidden for anyone to hold a sick pilgrim in their house, in hopes that they would die intestate, or to otherwise conceal the death of a pilgrim from those whose obligation it was to bury them.49 The strong implication of these 12th- and 13th-century injunctions seems to be that this was something that might be done by individual bad actors. By the late 14th-century, however, the transgressors were Churches. It was, after all, the canons of San Lorenzo who had stolen and buried the body of brother Hugo. Furthermore, it seems likely that the other Churches whose cases are known to us were equally eager to bury pilgrims and other foreigners who died in their vicinity. While the burial of pilgrims may formerly have been a charitably inflected obligation, it had become a financially useful right. The pilgrim’s property and cash were key in every surviving case. When the amount of property in question was considerable it might surpass what was necessary for burial.50 In a time of financial duress, that surplus mattered. Of course, not all pilgrims were carrying significant wealth, but even in such cases it remained important for Rome’s clergy to defend their asserted rights against the claims of rivals, even, as we have seen, in the face of legal and spiritual consequences.

    23This is most clearly indicated by the negotiations between the canons of St. Peter’s and those of Santa Cecilia in Trastevere in November of 1374, roughly ten years after the conflict with San Lorenzo and only a few years before the Schism.51 In this case, we have no documents detailing the conflict. Instead, we have the document that ended it: a pact drawn up by representatives of the two Churches and relating to the burial of pilgrims. Significantly, it opens with the observation that fights over this matter had been numerous and costly both for the basilica and its more modest rivals.52 The pact was meant to prevent such conflicts and even required both parties to defend one another in court if any outside party were to raise a suit related to its provisions. Those details were as follows. The two sets of canons agreed that if any pilgrim died in the parish of Santa Cecilia the canons of St. Peters were to be notified immediately. There would then be a division of the “goods, spoils, and gold and silver coins.” If Santa Cecilia buried the body, they were due a sum up to three florins but if the body was buried by St. Peter’s then the basilica took one florin from this to cover their costs, with whatever remained, up to three florins, still going to Santa Cecilia. St. Peter’s had no claim on any sum relating to burial if they did not bury the body themselves. But this did not mean that they got nothing. No matter who did the burying, whatever remained after burial costs had been covered was divided as well, with one third going to St. Peter’s and two thirds to Santa Cecilia. This was true for any sum up to six florins. If more than six florins were at stake the shares were flipped, with two thirds going to the basilica and only one third to Santa Cecilia. All of this complex bookkeeping pertained, of course, only in the case of pilgrims.

    24Defining who was and was not a pilgrim was, thus, a bone of contention between disputants in cases like these. This was an old question that now took on a new currency. Most early discussions of this question were oriented around making pilgrimage a truly penitential act and argued that a true pilgrim ought not to travel in comfort, with a heavy purse. Instead they should live on alms. The 14th-century disputes examined here parsed matters a bit more finely, making more allowances for heavy purses. A pilgrim was someone who came to the city to visit the limina apostolorum and publicly declared themselves advenas, i.e. strangers or foreigners. Furthermore, true pilgrims were those who stayed in hospitals or other communal hospices rather than in houses that they owned or rented. Unsurprisingly in cases aimed at appropriating said property, other evidence of wealth was not treated as disqualifying. This is shown in the 1385 arbitration of a conflict between the canons of St. Peter’s and those of Santi Celsus and Giuliano, located in rione Ponti.53 This arbitration, carried out by a mutually chosen legal expert named Nicola di Nucio di Matteo de Calvis, was focused on the body and goods of Andrea di Hugolino of Florence. As in all these cases, the canons of St. Peters claimed rights over Andrea on the grounds that he was a pilgrim. The arbiter, however, declared that Andrea should not be exhumed because this had not been adequately demonstrated. While he was obviously a foreigner, Andrea’s primary purpose in Rome had not been a pious one.

    25Our original example, the fight over the body of Hugo over two decades earlier, was ultimately resolved via a similar arbitration between the canons of St. Peters and San Lorenzo in Damaso. In the spring of 1364, these canons agreed to turn arbitration of their dispute over to Poncello Orsini and Francesco Tebaldeschi. How these two came to be selected is uncertain but we can speculate based on what is known about these two men. The Orsini had strong ties to St. Peter’s and were the dominant baronial family in both Ponte and the area around Campo de’ Fiori, where most of the Churches attested as having fought with St. Peter’s were located.54 As a baronial clan whose star was ascendant, they had already begun to transcend any simple Roman identity in favor something greater. Poncello, then, was the arbiter most closely affiliated with the basilica.55

    26Francesco Tebaldeschi, on the other hand, was a member of the non-baronial, urban nobility of Rome. He was a close relation both of the prior of San Lorenzo and one of the basilica canons, both of whom, to the historian’s dismay, were named Tebaldo dei Tebaldeschi. The Tebaldo associated with St. Peter’s was, in fact, Francesco’s brother.56 In addition to pitting a great basilica against a smaller Church, the conflict over Hugo’s body, it seems, was something of a family affair. Tebaldeschi was already old when he presided over this case and would die in 1378. But, as the titular cardinal of Santa Sabina, he was also an important player in the Curia. Perhaps the best illustration of Francesco’s place in Roman society came when the infamous angry mob broke into the conclave of 1378 to demand the election of a Roman pope. In order to buy time for the cardinals to escape, the mob was briefly placated by a deception that involved presenting Francesco Tebaldeschi as the newly elected pope.57 Francesco, then, despite being a Curial figure, was perhaps a bit closer to the Rome of the Romans than was his Orsini co-arbiter, having status enough not to be overwhelmed by the baron while also being likely to make sure that San Lorenzo got a fair shake. Together, these two Romans were expected to resolve what Francesco, the non-Roman guardian, could not; Roman Churches would be judged by Roman ecclesiastics.

    27Pacts like this one and the one between St. Peter’s and Santa Cecilia make clear that Rome’s urban clergy were sometimes able to secure at least some rights against usurpation by the city’s basilicas, if only through time consuming and costly legal processes. Yet we have evidence of such agreements in only some surviving cases. We might justifiably wonder what made them possible. In the case of Santa Cecilia in Trastevere, we see no evidence of conflict prior to the accord, though conflict clearly occurred. Santa Cecilia was ancient, dating back to Christianity’s early days in Rome, and its titular cardinal in the Middle Ages was often the abbot of Montecassino.58 Furthermore, Trastevere itself had an odd relationship to Rome in the Middle Ages. The neighborhood was in some ways tied far more strongly to Ostia and Porto than to the Campidoglio. It was also home to many of the city’s Jews, a population that lived in Rome but did not number among its citizenry.59 We are dealing, then, with an old and prestigious Church, important to what was, in many respects, a neighborhood apart. This may have been the source of its leverage.

    28There may be a twofold explanation for the success of San Lorenzo in Damaso. First, we must consider the Tebaldeschi tie, with members of that family on both sides and in one of the two arbitrator’s seats. The caliber and sacred association of the pilgrim on whom this conflict was centered may also have made a difference. Other Churches that butted heads with St. Peter’s did so over the bodies of relative unknowns: a woman from Lombardy or a man from Pisa, people about whom the most significant detail was the weight of their purses. San Lorenzo, conversely, had in their possession the body of the one-time abbot of a respectable Benedictine monastery, San Lorenzo of Aversa. It was perhaps the venerability of this pilgrim, the respect due to his corpse, and perhaps even the watchful gaze of the saint himself, that emboldened the canons of San Lorenzo in Damaso and enabled them to achieve victory of a kind in their conflict with the canons of Rome’s greatest basilica. It was, though, a limited victory, not without cost. The arbiters found the disrespect shown to Francesco Brundusini to have been unjustified and that both his authority and his excommunication of the canons of San Lorenzo were legitimate. The canons of San Lorenzo were given a choice: they could persist as excommunicated priests or humble themselves before Francesco and beg his forgiveness.60 This choice was really no choice at all, especially since failure to seek forgiveness also meant that they would be required to exhume the corpse of brother Hugo, which had been buried for months and which the arbiters preferred should remain where it was.

    29The main business of the case resolved, the arbiters laid out a set of standard practices closely resembling those established between the canons of St. Peter’s and Santa Cecilia two decades later. They declared that if any pilgrim died in the parish of San Lorenzo with goods worth twenty solidi provisini or less, the canons were free to bury them, which right St. Peter’s granted them as “a special grace”. If the pilgrim had more money than this, up to a sum of two florins, then the body and goods were to be brought to St. Peter’s unless special permission to the contrary was granted. Indeed, the basilica was to be notified immediately upon the pilgrim’s death and an inventory of their goods was to be made. Once the body was buried at St. Peter’s, a division of this property was to take place, with three quarters going to the basilica and one to the Church of the parish in which the pilgrim had died. This division was to occur separately from the equal sharing of the costs of wax and other funeral expenses between the two Churches. This was meant to cover the cost of administering the sacraments and was also an effort to maintain a sense of “fraternal charity among the involved parties”. Even if the pilgrim died with a testament and elected to be buried in the parish rather than the basilica, St. Peter’s was owed the initial report and inventory, and was due their half of the cost of wax and funerary expenses. This was because all pilgrims were the special parishioners of the basilica and it was therefore owed a canonical portion of their pious bequests.61

    30This evidence suggests several things. Rome’s urban clergy, like clergy everywhere, often had a strained relationship with their superiors. The main avenue open to them for exercising and protecting some measure of autonomy was the law, through which their rivals could sometimes be forced to compromise. But processes were lengthy, expensive, and bore spiritual risks. During the period of the Avignon papacy, we see examples of effort along these lines, and sometimes of success. Rome’s urban Churches were at times able to ensure that even a great basilica like St. Peter’s would cede them at least some ground. Upon the return of the papacy to Rome in the late 14th century, conflicts like those examined here would have taken on a new tenor. Getting their share when a pilgrim died in their territory was no longer a matter of simple priority or autonomy. As we have seen, for the urban clergy the outbreak of the Schism meant sustained financial pressure from a newly proximate pope. In this environment, they would have been all the more eager to secure their rights to at least some of the money to be gained with the death of a pilgrim. Where once Rome’s clergy had sought to secure autonomously held rights, perhaps primarily on principle, they were driven to redouble their efforts during the Schism. Such conflicts show the strains and tensions inherent in the Church, despite the Fourth Lateran Council’s suggestion of an air tight system of hierarchical governance and legal regulation. But this was not the only concern of Rome’s urban clergy. As they navigated their complex relationship with superiors and rival ecclesiastics, the clergy of Rome had another relationship to which they had to attend, that with the laity.

    The urban clergy and the laity

    31The return of the papacy to Rome has long been heralded as the beginning of the city’s rebirth after nearly a century of neglect. The evidence examined so far suggests, however, that papal expenses driven by the Schism compounded challenges posed for Rome’s urban clergy by an already competitive financial world. Rome’s Churches, from the greatest basilicas to their humbler peer institutions, competed to secure their rights to even trivial income streams and struggled to bear the burden of mounting papal impositions, sometimes permanently losing portions of the patrimony that sustained them. It is unsurprising, then, that smaller parish Churches, and the urban clergy who staffed them, faced significant financial challenges during these years. Beyond reflecting this broader reality, the challenges they faced and the ways they responded, reveal important aspects of the late medieval urban clergy’s relationship to the laity.

    32Santa Maria in Campo Carleo was yet another Roman Church fallen on hard times in the late 14th century. It was a modest Church, located in rione Monti, and endowed with a staff of a rector, Guglielmo, and one cleric, Filippo di Tucio.62 Modest as it may have been, however, it would have been increasingly important to the life of its neighborhood, as most Roman parish Churches were in this period.63 By the 1390s, however, Santa Maria in Campo Carleo was in need of significant repairs. Likely lacking the resources of even Rome’s middling Churches, the clergy of Santa Maria struggled to pay for them. Lacking good alternatives, they took a loan of nineteen florins from one of their own parishioners, a man by the name of Iacobello di Lorenzo di Ceccarello. With that money they purchased wood and acquired the services of Andrea di Bartolomeo, a master carpenter from Viterbo then resident in rione Pigna. Andrea set to work, only to find that the repairs needed were more extensive than expected. After replacing various beams and doing other necessary work, Andrea found himself over budget with the work contracted unfinished. He continued working at his own expense and before long the two clergymen of Santa Maria were in debt to him for twelve florins in addition to the original nineteen florins owed to Iacobello.64

    33By now, it is not surprising that a Roman Church was struggling with debt in the 1390s. Of more interest are the details of the relationship between the clergy of Santa Maria and the laity to whom they turned for aid. By the time the Church’s debt to the carpenter had reached twelve florins, he appears to have grown impatient, as did Iacobello, whose initial loan had made hiring him possible. Both men pressured the Church to make good on its debts. Eventually, Guglielmo and Filippo were forced to admit that the only way to manage this was by selling property, a step they had likely been trying to avoid. Having selected a likely property, however, they were unable to simply sell it. They first had to get permission, not from ecclesiastical superiors but rather from the leading men of their parish.65 This they obtained. The sale was for only seventeen florins, which Iacobello charitably declared was adequate repayment of his loan. Andrea, it seems, would have to keep waiting. The evidence does not reveal whether Guglielmo and Filippo eventually managed to complete the repairs to their Church, or if the carpenter was ever paid in full. But that they were required to check with their parishioners before acting hints at a key reality faced by Rome’s clergy, pressure applied by a lay flock that expected a more negotiated and interactive relationship with their clergy than envisioned by the Church, and who claimed proprietary rights of a kind over at least some of its resources. Indeed, the expectation that parishioners would play a key part in transactions like this is attested not only for Santa Maria in Campo Carleo but many other Roman Churches as well. As much as a century earlier, in 1263, a similar process is recorded in connection to the sale of property in order to raise funds for the construction of the monastery of Sant’Urbano.66 If the urban clergy struggled to find ways to manage the demands put on them by ecclesiastical superiors and rivals, then, they did so while simultaneously managing lay expectations and demands, which, we shall see, could extend to almost every aspect of the Church, including its liturgical implements, its lands, and the sacred space within its walls.67

    34Such lay expectations clearly conflicted with ecclesiastical notions of the clergy as a distinct ordo clericalis overseeing similarly distinct sacred space, an ideal common among reform minded ecclesiastics enjoined by the Fourth Lateran Council. Despite the clarity of such injunctions, however, the real functioning of the Church was more complex. The laity had their own ideas about the right ordering of Christendom, ideas they sought to realize whenever possible in matters ranging from the proper forms of charity and asceticism, to the canonization of saints, and even the uses of and claims upon the sacred space of the Church. Nor is it clear that the local clergy always disagreed.68 Like the laity, the parish clergy of the later Middle Ages often strove to manage and mitigate the impact ecclesiastical expectations, expressing their own sense of what the clerical ordo was and how the economies in which it was engaged should function. Liturgical objects and clerical vestments might, for example, be stored not in a sacristy but in the priest’s home, blurring the lines between sacred and profane space.69 When it came to disjunctions between lay expectations, with which they often sympathized, and the expectations of the Church, local priests were often, to use Michelle Armstrong Partida’s apt term, openly, even systematically defiant.70 Rome’s urban clergy, like all priests engaged in the day-to-day duties, cares, and relationships bound up with the care of souls, stood halfway between their superiors and their flock, and sometimes their sympathies lay with the latter.

    35The range of lay expectations is clearly visible in the case of the Church of Sant’Angelo in Pescheria. Located in rione Sant’Angelo amongst the remains of the ancient Porticus Octaviae and home to Rome’s greatest fish market, Sant’Angelo in Pescheria appears to us far more vividly than of its peer institutions because records of its affairs are preserved in the extensive notarial protocols of Antonio Scambi.71 Scambi’s records show us details of the Church’s inner workings but, due to his regular employment by residents of the neighborhood, they also reveal a great deal about the local laity’s relationship to their parish Church. As is so often the case, testamentary practice is particularly telling.72

    36Two testaments from the 1390s are particularly salient. The first, from 1392, is that of Petrucio di Nucio di Mattucio Grassi, also known as Piczo. Piczo had a special affection for Sant’Angelo in Pescheria, leaving fifty lire provisini for repairs to its campanile.73 The second is that of a local woman, Donna Caterina, wife of the fish seller Cecco Ceconis and widow of his colleague, Cola Buzzacchi.74 In her testament, from 1393, Caterina left ten florins to Sant’Angelo in Pescheria to subsidize the making of liturgical objects. Piczo’s will did not include such a gift, but he did set aside 100 florins to be distributed by his executors in order to make up for any ill-gotten gains not otherwise addressed in his testament. The executory history of the two testaments intersects on 2 July 1393.75 By that date, both Piczo and Caterina had died, and the executors of their testaments had decided to pool their bequests in order to obtain a fine liturgical chalice for Sant’Angelo in Pescheria.

    37Bequests of money for liturgical objects were extremely common in Roman testaments, but details of their execution are not, nor do we normally have any information on the final product. In this case, we have both. On that July day, the executors purchased from Pucio, rector of San Bartolomeo de Insula, a silver chalice for Sant’Angelo in Pescheria. It is described in detail. Made of forty-four ounces of silver, it was decorated with the representations of the saints as well as with the figure of a crucifix. From the executor of Caterina, Pucio received the ten florins she had left, and from that of Piczo he was given twenty, with another six florins and twelve denari to be paid later. Possession of the chalice was granted to two canons of Sant’Angelo, who were present to receive it. As part of the transaction, the canons promised that the chalice would not be sold, pawned, or otherwise alienated. If it was, the canons would be obliged not only to the executors of the two testaments (and thus the dead testators themselves) but also to all their parishioners to replace it with a chalice of similar value, without delay or legal wrangling. The implications are clear. This chalice was not simply the property of the Church. Instead, it bound the Church’s clergy and its parishioners together in a relationship dictated to the shepherds by their flock. Nor were testamentary bequests the only such transactions. Roman priests’ reception of clerical vestments from representative groups of parishioners are also attested without any suggestion that they come from such a bequest.76 Either way, the use of the liturgical objects or vestments would honor the Church, the local community, and often the memory of its dead. This reflected lay investment in and claims on the Church, a fact that its canons accepted without comment or complaint.77 That parish clergy accepted obligations accompanying gifts from an appreciative flock is not shocking, even if it suggests that on some level official notions about the relationship between the lay and clerical world were being renegotiated locally. After all, gifts ultimately meant to honor the Church were not too great a threat to the distinction enjoyed by the clerical ordo and the sacred space it oversaw. But it is worth noting that parishioners in good standing were not the only ones who imposed such obligations.

    38In 1383, two parishioners of San Sebastiano made wills in which they admitted that they had previously damaged that Church in some way.78 The details of the damage are unclear; possibilities range from actual violence, attested but fairly rare in this period, to more common acts of financial malfeasance. One of the men, Petrucio di Lello of rione Sant’Angelo, left the Church a silver chalice worth six florins.79 The other, the nobleman Antonio di Paolo Poli, left twenty florins. Antonio’s will reveals that Petrucio was living in one of his houses, granting him use of it after his death.80 Here we have two men, one clearly the client of the other, who had both been menaces to San Sebastiano in life and sought to make amends via pious bequests. This alone is unremarkable. More noteworthy is the fact that Petrucio, the lesser of the two villains, expected that his funeral rites would be carried out in the Church (for which he left four florins) and forbade the clergy of the Church to sell the chalice he gave. Testaments are aspirational documents. We do not know if these bequests were executed as intended, but the implication is clear. Even a layman who had been at odds with the Church in life expected that he could impose obligations on it in death just like Piczo and Caterina, who were in better standing. Negotiating their relationship with the laity was not, then, always uncomplicated for Rome’s urban clergy.

    39Liturgical objects were clearly legible as physical signs of a range of possible relationships negotiated between the clergy and the laity, in which the former might accept obligations imposed on them by the latter despite tensions between such ties and efforts to limit the influence of lay patrons. Even more than liturgical objects, though, immobile property was infused with such obligations and tensions. Here we can return to where we began, Guglielmo and Filippo’s attempt to finance repairs to Santa Maria in Campo Carleo. We saw that they did this by selling property but that they required permission from the leading men of their parish. This was because the land in question, like Piczo and Caterina’s chalice, was not simply the property of the Church. Instead, it pertained to a chapel inside it, dedicated to San Biagio and created and endowed by a notary name Giordano de Zappis. The land generated an annual income of ten solidi, which was supposed to subsidize the chapel and its chaplain.81 Chapels like this one were extremely important to the laypeople who created and sustained them. They were also the starkest example of the laity’s sense of its rights vis-à-vis the Church, and of clerical willingness to negotiate with them on these grounds.82

    40Here again, the records of Sant’Angelo in Pescheria are illustrative. Like all Churches, Sant’Angelo in Pescheria was possessed of a patrimony comprised of various agricultural lands and urban structures, mostly houses that could be used by its clergy or rented out. More uniquely, it also leased out a cluster of stone slabs just outside its walls, from which Rome’s fish sellers had long sold their wares. Each slab was a valuable property and fish selling families rented them just as laity throughout Europe were accustomed to rent property from ecclesiastical landlords. The standard document produced for this purpose was a locatio, like those the canons of Sant’Angelo in Pescheria formalized with Cecco Zorre and Andreozio Ponziani, each of which extended for one year.83 These leases for these stones were often renewed by a single lineage for generations. This was the case with the stone rented by Tozzolo di Giuddatucio, a prominent fish seller who appears in many notarial acts from the 1360s. In 1400 we find his grandson, Stefanello, still making payments for the family’s stone.84 As with Church lands, conflicts sometimes arose when multiple people understood a stone to have been rented to them. This was the case with one adjacent to Tozzolo’s, over which two different members of the Grassi family fought.85 Other Churches, like Santa Maria Rotunda (the Pantheon), rented out stones similarly.86 Ultimately, renting Church property could bind one to the Church in innovative ways. Nucio Gibelli was undoubtedly the greatest of Rome’s fish sellers, affluent and prominent in communal politics. When he rented a house from Sant’Angelo, he agreed to an upfront cost of 20 lire provisini and then a much lower annual rent. Half of the upfront payment was in cash. The other half came in the form of repairs to the Church’s roof that Nucio agreed to finance.87

    41Along with their stone slabs, many of these fish sellers, like their more prominent neighbors, acquired another important asset from their Church: space within its walls for tombs and private chapels just like the one in Santa Maria in Campo Carleo. In 1367, for example, the canons of Sant’Angelo in Pescheria granted a space within its nave to Tozzolo, to serve as a tomb. The space is carefully described: near a particular column and facing the crucifix and holy water, adjacent to the tombs of several of his colleagues, including the family of Cecco Ceconis, the widower of the aforementioned Donna Caterina.88 A tomb was often the first step in chapel construction, which the patron or their heirs might subsequently undertake. Nucio Gibelli’s chapel evolved in precisely this way, his father having at some point converted the family’s tomb into a chapel dedicated to the Annunciation. The document describing the Gibelli chapel’s proper functioning is very clear about the relationship between Nucio, his family, and the clergy of Sant’Angelo. The canons of the Church forsook any claim to the lands that endowed the chapel. Furthermore, they were explicitly prohibited from circumventing this by becoming its chaplain. Instead, they were limited to confirming a chaplain after examination of his qualifications and character. If they delayed in this, they could lose even their right to this limited oversight. Once approved, the canons were to treat the new chaplain as one of their own, giving him a room, including him in the celebration of divine offices, and allowing him to accompany them in processions. To further integrate the chaplain with the community of canons, Nucio ordered the chaplain to pay each canon two solidi if they attended masses at the chapel.89 All of this falls within the norms of contemporary chapel patronage in Rome but is especially relevant for us.90

    42If we imagine rione Sant’Angelo, and Rome’s other rioni, as a crazy quilt of carefully demarcated properties, ranging from great palaces to a single stone slab, we see a pattern fairly representative of much of late medieval Christendom, ecclesiastical and lay properties densely imbricated with one another in complex, enduring ways. By the late 14th century, furthermore, it is clear that the walls of a Church were no barrier to this parcelization of the world. Considering Sant’Angelo in Pescheria in this way, we see it as notarial documents do: a territorial body extending beyond its own walls and even beyond the walls of Rome itself. Its patrimony dispersed but with the Church itself at its center, surrounded by a dense thicket of urban holdings. This patrimonial body was at once unified and divided, some parts held directly and others rented, perhaps for years at a time, to lay tenants. Together with the practice of letting out space within the walls for chapel creation, this resulted in a continuous series of parcels, each the site of a negotiated relationship between the laity and clergy that flew in the face of the distinctions crucial to ecclesiastical notions about the right order of Christendom. The delineation between the secular and the sacred was tenuous and permeable. With each transaction inscribed on a notarial page, the laity reinforced its claims on the Church and rearticulated its sense of the lay and clerical ordines.

    43For the Roman clergy, this reality meant that pressure from the laity in many ways equaled or even surpassed that from ecclesiastical rivals and superiors. But these lay relationships were also more easily negotiated, partnerships from which both parties benefitted.91 During the age of the Schism, then, it is clear that for Rome’s urban clergy, the demands of the laity were easier to negotiate and accommodate than were those made by fellow ecclesiastics. Finding themselves in a state of financial duress that the return of the papacy and the eruption of the Schism only exacerbated, the urban clergy would have had good reason to favor the laity. Perhaps the ordo clericalis imagined by such priests was closer to that imagined by a Roman fish seller than it was to that imagined by the Fourth Lateran Council. Lived community was more immediate and easier to manage than the Church’s imagined order.

    Conclusions

    44The evidence considered here cannot tell us all we would like to know about Rome’s urban clergy during the age of the Schism. The field remains, as Giulia Barone described it, in need of further research. But the cases considered here point to several conclusions. First and foremost, we can dispel any assumption that Rome’s urban clergy were unique or even atypical in most ways that mattered. The presence of the Curia may have meant that Rome sometimes hosted clergymen who had little to no real connection to its populace, but the urban clergy were the face of the Church as the laity experienced it. As in all communes, local Churches and lay elites were bound together by many ties. By having easier, more productive relations with their lay neighbors than they did with the wider Church, Rome’s urban clergy reflect a common late medieval reality. The impact of being at ground zero of the Schism meant special challenges, but the nature of those challenges and the urban clergy’s response to them does not significantly set Rome apart as unusual.

    45Secondly, insofar as ongoing debate over the right order of a Christian society was concerned, Rome was once again typical rather than exceptional. The period of the Schism appears to enable and magnify rather than disrupt. The Roman evidence presents us not with a Church in the early stages of corrupting “Italianization” but rather one in which the right order of a Christian world remained a live question. It is a sign of vitality that the laity were active interlocutors in this debate and sign of important adaptability that the urban clergy, like their rural peers, were at times sympathetic to lay demands and expectations. If court records show us a Roman clergy forced into costly legal battles with ecclesiastical rivals and superiors, the notarial evidence shows us the same clergy enjoying a more malleable, easily negotiated relationship with the laity, one mediated by the technical know-how of notaries themselves.

    46Rome’s urban clergy, during the age of the Schism, were caught between an imagined ecclesiastical community with its distinct clerical ordo and the lived community of everyday Christianitas. The Schism cast the tensions inherent in the former in stark relief by increasing burdens and raising the stakes of inter-ecclesiastic conflicts. Negotiating an acceptable situation within a wider Christian community inclusive of and informed by lay pious practice was easier, less costly, and more likely to reflect the practical necessities involved in maintaining a parish Church. In this way, it appears that the era of the Schism emphasized and enhanced longstanding truths in a manner that showcases clearly for us the new role of those truths in a changing world.

    Bibliographie

    Archives

    ASC = Archivio Storico Capitolino, Rome.
    – Notai, Sez. 1, vol. 649/11, 785/11, 785bis/1, 785bis/10.

    BAV = Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican City.
    – ACSP = Archivio del Capitolo di S. Pietro
    – SAP = S. Angelo in Pescheria
    – SMM = S. Maria Maggiore.

    Primary sources

    I Protocolli di Johannes Nicolai Paului 1982 = I Protocolli di Iohannes Nicolai Paului, Un Notaio Romano del’300, ed. R. Mosti, Rome, 1982. 

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    Notes de bas de page

    1Hay 1977.

    2Prodi 1982; Esch 1969 and 2021.

    3Blumenthal 1988.

    4Maccarrone 1984.

    5For this phenomenon prior to 1200, see Wood 2006.

    6Thompson 2005, p. 22-26.

    7Parish 2010; Frassetto 1998; Bornstein 1997; Cossar 2002.

    8See, for example, Armstrong-Partida 2020.

    9Thompson 2005. On Rome’s status as a commune, see Maire Vigueur 2011; Wickham 2015.

    10Peterson 2019.

    11Nussdorfer 2009.

    12Cossar 2017, p. 21.

    13Kuehn 2017, p. 9.

    14di Carpegna Falconieri 2002.

    15See Barone 1998 and 2001.

    16Lori Sanfilippo 1987.

    17BAV, SAP, I/11 fol. 27v-32r.

    18Rollo-Koster – Izbicki 2009.

    19Hubert 1990 and 1993.

    20BAV, SAP, I/11, fol. 34r-38r.

    21BAV, SAP, I/11, fol. 38v-42v, 43v-48v, 49r-53v, 54r-63v, 66r-71v, 73v-78v, 82r-86v.

    22BAV, SAP, I/11, fol. 65r-v.

    23BAV, SAP, I/11, fol. 79r-80r.

    24BAV, SAP, I/12, fol. 16r-22v.

    25Armellini 1982, p. 554-555.

    26Weiß 2009; Favier 1966.

    27Moroni 1848, p. 166.

    28BAV, SAP, I/16, fol. 4r-5r.

    29BAV, SAP, I/16, fol. 26v-28v.

    30On this Church and the evolution of its name, see Armellini 1982, p. 501-503.

    31BAV, SAP, I/16, fol. 50v-52v.

    32Graham 2017, p. 467-495.

    33See, for example, BAV, SAP, I/18, fol. 12v-15r.

    34BAV, SAP, I/18, fol. 25r, 36v-37v.

    35For this complex case involving the Orsini, see BAV, SAP, I/18, fol. 39r-40v.

    36Esch 1969; Palmer 2019.

    37Richardson 2009.

    38Birch 1998.

    39On Peter and Paul, see Palmer 2019, p. 33 and Maire Vigueur 2002, p. 327. For the Veronica, see Birch 1998, p. 114-116. On the image of Christ, known as the acheropita, see Noreen 2006.

    40Frugoni 1999.

    41Palmer 2021, p. 192. The Anonimo is exaggerating for impact here; pilgrims were probably not being killed outright in the streets and the clergy were certainly not doing such things. But the fact remains that it would have been all too easy for layman and priest alike to become fixed enough on profit that they might lose sight of the pilgrim.

    42Birch 1998, p. 144-148.

    43According to the Catalogue of Turin, this would be Ecclesia sancti Vincentii, which the text declares est capella papae, habet III clericos. Conceivably this is San Vincenzio de Papa, which stood next to the palace or houses of the Papareschi in Trastevere.

    44This case is documented in BAV, ACSP, Caps. 71, Fasc. 186, perg. 2, 4, 5.

    45BAV, ACSP, Caps. 71, Fasc. 186, unnumbered. It should be noted that, as of the time of this research, the contents of these capsulae were numbered and recorded at best irregularly. Efforts were being made to remedy this by archivists, sometimes with my collaboration, as items were requested. Irregularities in citation that readers may note here are due to this.

    46BAV, ACSP, Caps. 71, Fasc. 345, perg. 1.

    47Esch 1976.

    48Birch 1998, p. 144-148 points out that the bull in question was likely issued in 1053 and pertains to the burial of pilgrims, which it imposes not on the canons of St. Peter’s but on San Salvatore in Terrione. The first reference we see to a special privilege of St. Peter’s comes not from a pope but a Roman Senator, Pietro Annibaldi, in 1224. Other relevant documents include a privilege granted by Leo IV to the monastery of San Martino (854) and an 11th-century forged privilege of Charlemagne, dating not long before Leo IX’s privilege and borrowing some of its language. Birch does not really settle the question of whether burying pilgrims was something Churches wanted to do or whether it was a burden with which they were saddled out of necessity. The implication seems to be that it was a bit of both. The burial was a costly obligation that required sequestering of the pilgrim’s property, but also construed as charitable.

    49Birch 1998, p. 147.

    50Roman testaments offer few details about funerary practice. But most of the cost incurred was not for the basic service but rather pious add-ons like anniversary masses. See Lori Sanfilippo 1992.

    51BAV, ACSP, Caps. 71, Fasc. 355, perg. 3.

    52I take this to indicate that St. Peter’s often settled these disputes rather than winning them outright, which would likely have led to their court costs being covered by their opponents.

    53BAV, ACSP, Caps. 71, Cart. 2. See too, BAV, ACSP, Caps. 71, Fasc. 355, perg. 1.

    54On the Orsini, see Allegrezza 1998; Carocci 1993, p. 387-403. On Orsini ties to St. Peter’s, see Palmer 2019, p. 113-114.

    55Bishop of Aversa from 19 June 1370. He was created cardinal-priest of St. Clement by Urban VI on 28 September 1378. He was later a candidate for the papacy himself.

    56Like many members of the urban nobility, Tebaldeschi owned shares in various large-scale agricultural enterprises in the countryside, properties that were also owned in part by his brother Tebaldo, one of the canons of St. Peter’s, and other members of the local non-baronial nobility. On one such piece of property, see the notarial protocol of Paulo Serromani: ASC, Notai, Sez. 1, vol. 649/11. fol. 66r-72r.

    57Rollo-Koster 2008, p. 174. Previously, when Gregory XI had returned to Rome, he had lingered for five weeks in Corneto while Francesco negotiated the terms of his return with Roman authorities. See Duprè Theseider 1952, p. 686.

    58Armellini 1998, p. 669-672.

    59See Krauthheimer 1980, p. 254, 273-275. For the Jewish population of Rome, see Maire Vigueur 1983, p. 19-28; Esposito 1995.

    60For this and the details below, see BAV, SAP, ACSP, Caps. 71, Fasc. 354, Perg. 2.

    61The canonical portion was always due to the parish Church of the dead when someone opted to be buried elsewhere. See Lori Sanfilippo 1992, p. 620; For the ways that this canonical portion could contribute to conflicts that then needed arbitration, not unlike those discussed here, see Rehberg 2005.

    62Armellini 1982, p. 168-169. For the details of this story, see ASC, Notai, Sez. 1, 785/11, fol. 61r-64r.

    63Passigli 1992, p. 43-86.

    64Andrea’s generosity may have been due to a familiarity with the financial limitations of ecclesiastical employers. We find what is likely the same man being given ten florins by the Preceptor of the Hospital of SS. Andrea e Antonio in 1396, as payment owed for wood he had sold the hospital. ASC, Notai, Sez. 1, 785bis/1, fol. 110v-112r.

    65The notary calls the men in question discreti viri. Discretus was an honorific most often used in Roman sources to denote a notary. But it was also used more generally, as seems the case here. Ten men are listed, many of whom can be verified as locals in other documents. Most appear only in a few fleeting instances in surviving sources. Though one, Iacobello di Lorenzo Ciccharelli, also appears in 1426 as part of an effort to raise funds for the repairs to San Paolo. ASC, Notai, Sez. 1, I.785bis/10, fol. 150v-152v.

    66For this and several similar events are attested in the protocols of Rome’s Trecento notaries. See Passigli 1992, p. 70, n. 11.

    67Bornstein 1997.

    68On the ways lay notions of sacred space, clerical mores, piety, sanctity, spiritual economy and the like could differ from those of the Church, including in Rome, see, in addition to Bornstein, Cossar 2019; Peterson 2019; Thompson 2005; Palmer 2019.

    69This sense of the clergy’s relationship to the reform ideals of the Fourth Lateran Council has been recently argued by Cossar 2017.

    70Armstrong-Partida 2020.

    71On Sant’Angelo in Pescheria, see Lori Sanfilippo 1994. For Scambi, see Lori Sanfilippo 1987.

    72On testamentary evidence in Rome, see Brentano 1974, p. 263-288; Lori Sanfilippo 1992; Palmer 2019, p. 71-101.

    73BAV, SAP, I/15, fol. 3v-6v.

    74BAV, SAP, I/16, fol. 15r-16v.

    75For this case and the details given below, see BAV, SAP, 1/16, fol. 29v-30r.

    76See I Protocolli di Iohannes Nicolai Paului 1982, p. 32-33, documents 48 and 49.

    77For another perspective on this example of the laity’s collective identity as parishioners, see Palmer 2019, p. 145-147.

    78This is likely the now demolished Church of San Valentio or San Sebastiano de’ Mercanti. See Armellini 1982, p. 570.

    79BAV, SAP, I/13, fol. 14v.

    80BAV, SAP, I/13, fol. 39r-41v.

    81ASC, 785/11, fol. 61r-64r.

    82For a more extensive examination of the private chapels of Rome’s laity, and a fuller discussion of the themes relating to them that are discussed below, see Palmer 2019, p. 102-132.

    83BAV, SAP, I/1, fol. 145v-146v; I/2, fol. 38r-v.

    84BAV, SAP, I/20, fol. 15r.

    85BAV, SAP, I/2, fol. 84v-85r.

    86BAV, SAP, NRO, fol. 63r-64r.

    87BAV, SAP, I/3, fol. 143r-145v.

    88BAV, SAP, NRO, fol. 19v-20r.

    89BAV, SAP, I/7, fol. 71v-76v. Nucio’s is the most detailed document of this sort, but others indicate that its requirements were more or less standard. Though evidence of the chapel survives into the 16th century, there is no surviving trace of conflict over these requirements.

    90On chapel patronage in general, especially as regards to art, see Burke 2004.

    91On the importance of notarial conceptualizations of space, see Smail 2000.

    Auteur

    • James A. Palmer

      Florida State University, japalmer@fsu.edu

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    1Hay 1977.

    2Prodi 1982; Esch 1969 and 2021.

    3Blumenthal 1988.

    4Maccarrone 1984.

    5For this phenomenon prior to 1200, see Wood 2006.

    6Thompson 2005, p. 22-26.

    7Parish 2010; Frassetto 1998; Bornstein 1997; Cossar 2002.

    8See, for example, Armstrong-Partida 2020.

    9Thompson 2005. On Rome’s status as a commune, see Maire Vigueur 2011; Wickham 2015.

    10Peterson 2019.

    11Nussdorfer 2009.

    12Cossar 2017, p. 21.

    13Kuehn 2017, p. 9.

    14di Carpegna Falconieri 2002.

    15See Barone 1998 and 2001.

    16Lori Sanfilippo 1987.

    17BAV, SAP, I/11 fol. 27v-32r.

    18Rollo-Koster – Izbicki 2009.

    19Hubert 1990 and 1993.

    20BAV, SAP, I/11, fol. 34r-38r.

    21BAV, SAP, I/11, fol. 38v-42v, 43v-48v, 49r-53v, 54r-63v, 66r-71v, 73v-78v, 82r-86v.

    22BAV, SAP, I/11, fol. 65r-v.

    23BAV, SAP, I/11, fol. 79r-80r.

    24BAV, SAP, I/12, fol. 16r-22v.

    25Armellini 1982, p. 554-555.

    26Weiß 2009; Favier 1966.

    27Moroni 1848, p. 166.

    28BAV, SAP, I/16, fol. 4r-5r.

    29BAV, SAP, I/16, fol. 26v-28v.

    30On this Church and the evolution of its name, see Armellini 1982, p. 501-503.

    31BAV, SAP, I/16, fol. 50v-52v.

    32Graham 2017, p. 467-495.

    33See, for example, BAV, SAP, I/18, fol. 12v-15r.

    34BAV, SAP, I/18, fol. 25r, 36v-37v.

    35For this complex case involving the Orsini, see BAV, SAP, I/18, fol. 39r-40v.

    36Esch 1969; Palmer 2019.

    37Richardson 2009.

    38Birch 1998.

    39On Peter and Paul, see Palmer 2019, p. 33 and Maire Vigueur 2002, p. 327. For the Veronica, see Birch 1998, p. 114-116. On the image of Christ, known as the acheropita, see Noreen 2006.

    40Frugoni 1999.

    41Palmer 2021, p. 192. The Anonimo is exaggerating for impact here; pilgrims were probably not being killed outright in the streets and the clergy were certainly not doing such things. But the fact remains that it would have been all too easy for layman and priest alike to become fixed enough on profit that they might lose sight of the pilgrim.

    42Birch 1998, p. 144-148.

    43According to the Catalogue of Turin, this would be Ecclesia sancti Vincentii, which the text declares est capella papae, habet III clericos. Conceivably this is San Vincenzio de Papa, which stood next to the palace or houses of the Papareschi in Trastevere.

    44This case is documented in BAV, ACSP, Caps. 71, Fasc. 186, perg. 2, 4, 5.

    45BAV, ACSP, Caps. 71, Fasc. 186, unnumbered. It should be noted that, as of the time of this research, the contents of these capsulae were numbered and recorded at best irregularly. Efforts were being made to remedy this by archivists, sometimes with my collaboration, as items were requested. Irregularities in citation that readers may note here are due to this.

    46BAV, ACSP, Caps. 71, Fasc. 345, perg. 1.

    47Esch 1976.

    48Birch 1998, p. 144-148 points out that the bull in question was likely issued in 1053 and pertains to the burial of pilgrims, which it imposes not on the canons of St. Peter’s but on San Salvatore in Terrione. The first reference we see to a special privilege of St. Peter’s comes not from a pope but a Roman Senator, Pietro Annibaldi, in 1224. Other relevant documents include a privilege granted by Leo IV to the monastery of San Martino (854) and an 11th-century forged privilege of Charlemagne, dating not long before Leo IX’s privilege and borrowing some of its language. Birch does not really settle the question of whether burying pilgrims was something Churches wanted to do or whether it was a burden with which they were saddled out of necessity. The implication seems to be that it was a bit of both. The burial was a costly obligation that required sequestering of the pilgrim’s property, but also construed as charitable.

    49Birch 1998, p. 147.

    50Roman testaments offer few details about funerary practice. But most of the cost incurred was not for the basic service but rather pious add-ons like anniversary masses. See Lori Sanfilippo 1992.

    51BAV, ACSP, Caps. 71, Fasc. 355, perg. 3.

    52I take this to indicate that St. Peter’s often settled these disputes rather than winning them outright, which would likely have led to their court costs being covered by their opponents.

    53BAV, ACSP, Caps. 71, Cart. 2. See too, BAV, ACSP, Caps. 71, Fasc. 355, perg. 1.

    54On the Orsini, see Allegrezza 1998; Carocci 1993, p. 387-403. On Orsini ties to St. Peter’s, see Palmer 2019, p. 113-114.

    55Bishop of Aversa from 19 June 1370. He was created cardinal-priest of St. Clement by Urban VI on 28 September 1378. He was later a candidate for the papacy himself.

    56Like many members of the urban nobility, Tebaldeschi owned shares in various large-scale agricultural enterprises in the countryside, properties that were also owned in part by his brother Tebaldo, one of the canons of St. Peter’s, and other members of the local non-baronial nobility. On one such piece of property, see the notarial protocol of Paulo Serromani: ASC, Notai, Sez. 1, vol. 649/11. fol. 66r-72r.

    57Rollo-Koster 2008, p. 174. Previously, when Gregory XI had returned to Rome, he had lingered for five weeks in Corneto while Francesco negotiated the terms of his return with Roman authorities. See Duprè Theseider 1952, p. 686.

    58Armellini 1998, p. 669-672.

    59See Krauthheimer 1980, p. 254, 273-275. For the Jewish population of Rome, see Maire Vigueur 1983, p. 19-28; Esposito 1995.

    60For this and the details below, see BAV, SAP, ACSP, Caps. 71, Fasc. 354, Perg. 2.

    61The canonical portion was always due to the parish Church of the dead when someone opted to be buried elsewhere. See Lori Sanfilippo 1992, p. 620; For the ways that this canonical portion could contribute to conflicts that then needed arbitration, not unlike those discussed here, see Rehberg 2005.

    62Armellini 1982, p. 168-169. For the details of this story, see ASC, Notai, Sez. 1, 785/11, fol. 61r-64r.

    63Passigli 1992, p. 43-86.

    64Andrea’s generosity may have been due to a familiarity with the financial limitations of ecclesiastical employers. We find what is likely the same man being given ten florins by the Preceptor of the Hospital of SS. Andrea e Antonio in 1396, as payment owed for wood he had sold the hospital. ASC, Notai, Sez. 1, 785bis/1, fol. 110v-112r.

    65The notary calls the men in question discreti viri. Discretus was an honorific most often used in Roman sources to denote a notary. But it was also used more generally, as seems the case here. Ten men are listed, many of whom can be verified as locals in other documents. Most appear only in a few fleeting instances in surviving sources. Though one, Iacobello di Lorenzo Ciccharelli, also appears in 1426 as part of an effort to raise funds for the repairs to San Paolo. ASC, Notai, Sez. 1, I.785bis/10, fol. 150v-152v.

    66For this and several similar events are attested in the protocols of Rome’s Trecento notaries. See Passigli 1992, p. 70, n. 11.

    67Bornstein 1997.

    68On the ways lay notions of sacred space, clerical mores, piety, sanctity, spiritual economy and the like could differ from those of the Church, including in Rome, see, in addition to Bornstein, Cossar 2019; Peterson 2019; Thompson 2005; Palmer 2019.

    69This sense of the clergy’s relationship to the reform ideals of the Fourth Lateran Council has been recently argued by Cossar 2017.

    70Armstrong-Partida 2020.

    71On Sant’Angelo in Pescheria, see Lori Sanfilippo 1994. For Scambi, see Lori Sanfilippo 1987.

    72On testamentary evidence in Rome, see Brentano 1974, p. 263-288; Lori Sanfilippo 1992; Palmer 2019, p. 71-101.

    73BAV, SAP, I/15, fol. 3v-6v.

    74BAV, SAP, I/16, fol. 15r-16v.

    75For this case and the details given below, see BAV, SAP, 1/16, fol. 29v-30r.

    76See I Protocolli di Iohannes Nicolai Paului 1982, p. 32-33, documents 48 and 49.

    77For another perspective on this example of the laity’s collective identity as parishioners, see Palmer 2019, p. 145-147.

    78This is likely the now demolished Church of San Valentio or San Sebastiano de’ Mercanti. See Armellini 1982, p. 570.

    79BAV, SAP, I/13, fol. 14v.

    80BAV, SAP, I/13, fol. 39r-41v.

    81ASC, 785/11, fol. 61r-64r.

    82For a more extensive examination of the private chapels of Rome’s laity, and a fuller discussion of the themes relating to them that are discussed below, see Palmer 2019, p. 102-132.

    83BAV, SAP, I/1, fol. 145v-146v; I/2, fol. 38r-v.

    84BAV, SAP, I/20, fol. 15r.

    85BAV, SAP, I/2, fol. 84v-85r.

    86BAV, SAP, NRO, fol. 63r-64r.

    87BAV, SAP, I/3, fol. 143r-145v.

    88BAV, SAP, NRO, fol. 19v-20r.

    89BAV, SAP, I/7, fol. 71v-76v. Nucio’s is the most detailed document of this sort, but others indicate that its requirements were more or less standard. Though evidence of the chapel survives into the 16th century, there is no surviving trace of conflict over these requirements.

    90On chapel patronage in general, especially as regards to art, see Burke 2004.

    91On the importance of notarial conceptualizations of space, see Smail 2000.

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    Palmer, J. (2025). Ideal order and lived community. In M. Räsänen & K. Salonen (éds.), Religious communities in Rome during the Great Western Schism. Rome: Publications de l’École française de Rome. https://doi.org/10.4000/14iav
    Palmer, James A. « Ideal Order and Lived Community ». In Religious Communities in Rome During the Great Western Schism, édité par Marika Räsänen et Kirsi Salonen. Rome: Publications de l’École française de Rome, 2025. doi:10.4000/14iav.
    Palmer, James A. « Ideal Order and Lived Community ». Religious Communities in Rome During the Great Western Schism, édité par Marika Räsänen et Kirsi Salonen, Publications de l’École française de Rome, 2025, https://doi.org/10.4000/14iav.

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    Räsänen, Marika, et Kirsi Salonen, éd. Religious Communities in Rome During the Great Western Schism. Rome: Publications de l’École française de Rome, 2025. doi:10.4000/14ibb.
    Räsänen, Marika, et Kirsi Salonen, éditeurs. Religious Communities in Rome During the Great Western Schism. Publications de l’École française de Rome, 2025, https://doi.org/10.4000/14ibb.
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