Sometimes looking through administrative records can have surprisingly rewarding results, especially if you get to learn about medieval pigs and what they were up to.
Pigs were vital to medieval food production, especially in a place like Bologna, which is famed for its salumi and cured meats. However, they were also quite disruptive to city life and could even be a bit dangerous. Medieval pigs were more boar-like than their modern descendants. That is to say, they were big, strong, and wilful. So, if you went to the market for your weekly shop and came across a pig, or maybe a sow with its young, the best advice would generally be to get out of its way.
Pigs in the records
Let’s look at one of the last pages of a register from 1309 in which a city official called the fango notary recorded incidents and offences that took place on the Bolognese streets or marketplaces. We find there an entry that gives us a glimpse into pigs’ place in city life. It was written in an odd, quite dense form of legalese which reads a bit awkwardly, but I bring it here in translation anyway:
Here are sums of money that came into the hands of Muzolo di Geri from the neighbourhood of St Benedict, the treasurer of the commune of Bologna from the selling of pigs.
January 29th
Firstly, the said treasurer Muzolo received ten small Bolognese soldi from the selling of the two small piglets of Ghino the farrier from the neighbourhood of San Fabiano which was made to Giacomo di Tomasino di Giuseppe the butcher from the neighbourhood of Santa Caterina di Saragozza, in Piazza Maggiore in an auction [conducted] by me the said Sigurano along with Tomasio the bannitor of that commune after the trumpet’s funfair has been sound.
Okay, there’s quite a lot to unpack here. We learn here of two piglets (porcelli) which belonged to someone named Ghino who kept horses and was probably a farrier (the Latin term used was mareschalchus, which is where we get the word ‘marshal’ and the Scottish title ‘marischal’). The pigs were auctioned and sold to a man called Giacomo who was probably a butcher (the text makes it sound like it was his grandfather Giuseppe who was the butcher, probably by mistake, as it would be a very odd thing to record). The auction took place in the main piazza of Bologna which doubled as a marketplace and a ceremonial space and, more generally, a place for doing business. We are also told that it was announced in the proper way with a trumpet funfair. Two officials supervised the selling, Sigurano, the notary who wrote the entry and another office-holder called Tomasio.
Belda the widow of Butiglio, from the neighbourhood of St Isaia [was charged] because two pigs of hers were found without a nose ring (sine anulo) going through a public street, against the law.
The entry also tells us that she confessed to keeping pigs illegally and that a guarantor was found for her, but luckily the case was later dropped by order of the podestà (who was the head judge and administrator in Bologna), for a reason that remains a mystery.
A wider look at the records shows that pigs were as unwelcomed as they were ubiquitous; they pop up quite often and are always presented as a problem. But why would anyone bother auctioning them? Wherever owners of pigs who were kept unlawfully could be identified, those people would receive fines, but sometimes city officials found that these unescorted pigs were less than cooperative in reporting who their owners were and where they lived. Neighbours were slightly better placed for this task, but they were not always happy to tell on their friends. So, these pigs would be taken away into the custody of the commune, and since the commune did not really have any particular use for them, they would be sold on to someone else (quite often a butcher). The buyer could pay anything between 10 and 55 soldi, which was not an inconsiderable amount of money (for comparison, you could buy 100 large prawns for less than 2 soldi). That money went, of course, into the commune’s coffers. In certain cases, pigs would be auctioned even if the owner has been identified (but perhaps could not pay their fine), like in the case of our Ghino the farrier from 1309.
One of the thorny questions that historians (including those who study animals) face nowadays is how to tell history from non-elite points of view. For those who are interested in different aspects of historical societies and cultures, it is a continuous methodological challenge to find and amplify the voices of those marginalised by gender, social rank, or religious or ethnic background, and so on. It is the case that most sources that were handed down to us were composed, compiled, and kept by the literate elite who had the inclinations and means to do so through institutions like archives, libraries, and other manners of collections. Pigs and other animals that are closely associated with humans such as dogs, horses, cats, and goats did not keep any records nor did their voices speak in any human language, which presents an even starker challenge. We find ourselves, therefore, having to scour through the records that we do have and try to reconstruct a picture that includes them whilst trying to account for the biases that the sources have towards them. The outcome is often less than ideal, but we live in an imperfect world. Thank God for medieval pigs, though!
Pigs in the city
The reason why two very busy communal officials took the time to auction some pigs was probably because they were confiscated by commune officials after they had been found wandering the street. Bologna, like many other cities, had strict restrictions on keeping pigs in the city. A compilation of urban legislation from 1288 tells us that pigs were not allowed in and around Bologna for one Bolognese mile (1.9 km or 1.18 mi), but with some notable exceptions.
For example, it was permitted to take pigs though the city to sell them in the market. Another exemption was given to butchers who had the privilege to keep pigs and other animals that they intended to slaughter. This is probably why the notary bothered to record that Giacomo (who bought the pigs) had an affiliation with butchering.
It also seems to have been important for pigs to have nose rings, which would make them easier to control. The ring could be pulled, for instance, in the unfortunate event in which a pig became disruptive and needed to be dragged away. As we learn from another entry in the same register, written by another notary named Francesco di Hondideo, from 29 March 1309:
Transcription
Below is the transcription of the entry discussed above in the original Latin.
Hii sunt den[arii] perventi ad manum Muçoli Gerii de capella sancti Benedicti massaroli comunis Bononie ex vendictionibus porcorum
Die xviii Januarii
In primis recepit dictus Muçolus massarollus ------------------- decem solidorum bononinorum parvorum ex vendictione duorum porcellorum parvorum Ghini mareschalchi de capella sancti Flabiani facta Jacobo Tomasini Joseppi beccarii capelle sancte cateline de Seragoça, in platea comunis an[=ad] incantum per me Siguranum predictum una cum Tomasio banitori dicti comunis publice sono tube premisso.
Sources:
Archivio di Stato di Bologna, Comune, Curia del Podestà, Ufficio Acque, Strade e Fango, b. 11 1309 I, reg. 2, ff. 49r, 45v.