ED GLAESER: Skyscrapers may define modern urban skylines,
but cities existed for thousands of years
before steel-framed structures vaulted mankind upward.
Cities exist to bring people together.
And they have always been shaped by the transportation and construction
technologies of their eras.
The pre-modern city was built for pedestrians
who walked through often filthy streets and climbed
dark stairwells to fifth floor garrets.
We have individual structures like the Colosseum
and the Tower of London that survived from ancient cities.
But we have fewer examples of whole cityscapes
that remain as legacies of the past.
Pompeii is one such example, frozen in time by the eruption of Vesuvius
in 79 AD.
It provides us with a remarkable glimpse of urban life
in the age of Imperial Rome.
The city had once been an independent ally of Rome.
But it became permanently part of the Roman world
after it was occupied by Lucius Cornelius Sulla.
The Romans built infrastructure, such as spectacular aqueducts, the multitude
of fountains that dark Pompeii testified to the importance of imported
water for daily urban life.
The local economy was, of course, largely agricultural.
The rich volcanic soil nearby produced abundant grain and good wine.
But it also had something of a tourist economy,
as wealthy Romans built villas in Pompeii.
The city is highly compact and well organized with a simple grid organizing
part of the town.
The structures are typically short.
Houses usually have one or two stories, although sometimes they
sit atop ruined older structures.
Homes will often have an interior atrium, a typical Roman feature,
because the Mediterranean climate makes outdoor living ideal.
Archaeologists have also identified about 100 benches
outside the structures, which make it possible to comfortably wait
for entrance into the home of a powerful patron.
Rooms are typically quite dark.
Glass windows seem to have been used by Romans only
after Pompeii's destruction.
Large openings would have exposed homes both to the elements and to thievery.
Exquisite paintings, both inside and out,
bring beauty into these otherwise dark structures.
Romans also saw little value in segregating work and home life.
Workshops were often inserted into the ground floor of dwellings.
Craftsman would sleep above and enjoy the shortest possible commutes
down a flight of stairs.
Bruges is a slightly more modern preserved city.
It became frozen in time not by a volcano,
but because the silting of the Zwin River in the late 15th century
radically reduced its economic importance.
Consequently, this medieval megacity became Bruges-la-Morte,
a dead town revealing its past.
Whereas Pompeii had perhaps 11,000 inhabitants at its height, by 1400,
Bruges had a population well over 100,000.
Bruges' vast wealth was built on trade in cloth
which had originally been woven from the hairs of the shaggy sheep who
live nearby.
Like Venice, Bruges is a city of canals.
In medieval times, it was easier to move goods on water than on land.
Old Bruges is compact like Pompeii, built for walking and barges.
Homes are taller, often reaching three or four stories,
reflecting abundant demand for the limited space within the city's walls.
Bruges homes like atria but compensate with glass windows.
This colder city required more protection from the elements,
including snow.
And its distinct gables are both architectural adornment
and a sensible way to avoid the accumulation of snowfall.
As the city grew richer, its wealthier inhabitants built up and out.
The Gruuthuse, which housed aristocrats, is opulent,
with four visible rows of windows.
The house of the Buerse family also rises to four stories.
That family began as innkeepers whose centrally located structure
became a meeting place for financiers, trading both knowledge and investments.
Their name, which became Borse, now labels stock exchanges
throughout the world.
Four or five stories was typically the upper limit on pre-elevator housing,
for who would want to walk up any higher?
The nicest floor, the piano nobile, was typically the second story,
enjoying some protection from sloppy street life,
but not requiring much climbing.
Upper floors were cheaper space providing
small garrets for the urban poor, such as the artistic protagonists of La
Boheme.
Bruges has an abundance of public spaces,
such as its striking market square which is loomed over
by a 270-foot belfry whose bells would toll out the time in an age
before watches.
The tower sits atop the massive Cloth Hall,
which is something of a cathedral to trade in wool.
But while the merchants of Bruges pointed forward
towards our more secular age, the city's architecture
reminds us that even in that commercial city, religion ranked first.
The tallest structure in Bruges is the 400-foot tower
of the Church of Our Lady.
Indeed, church towers were the dominant feature of most medieval skylines.
And many of the great feats of medieval architecture,
such as flying buttresses, were aimed at allowing Gothic churches to inspire
religious feeling through sacred space.
Command of glass brought light and beauty inside.
Urban Europe is filled with pre-modern structures that teach us history.
The massive Palazzi of Florence that belonged
to families such as the Medici and the Strozzi
remind us both of their mercantile prosperity and the dangers
of life in 15th century Florence.
They are built like fortresses, which is perhaps unsurprising, given
the propensity of medieval Florentines to break out into violence,
such as the Revolt of the Ciompi.
Bruges' buildings are far less secure, suggesting
that they were built in a safer city.
Paris' Place de Vosges, with its elegant four-story uniformity,
reminds us of the efforts of French rulers
to impose order onto urban chaos.
The curving Georgian elegance of Regent Street in London
or the Royal Crescent in Bath reminds us that uniformity can also
come from private developers attempting to sell aesthetic grandeur.
These structures reflect the wealth of industrializing
England that was poured into growing consumer cities.
As London grew richer and larger, the demand for space
propelled buildings upward.
The Midland Grand Hotel, built at St. Pancras Station, soars to 270 feet.
Elevators made height easier.
But the Midland Grand still has a spectacular central staircase.
The structure's vast medieval walls remind us
of the difficulty of building up before steel frames.
Today, we are charmed by pre-modern urban spaces.
They are so fundamentally different than our elevator-oriented skyscrapers
and car-based suburbs.
Yet, these pre-modern spaces were still about enabling mankind to work together
in urban agglomerations.
Older urban spaces provide a window into the lives
of the past that are both so similar and so different from our lives today.