■ M 11th - 16th Century WORKS FROM THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY AND the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston Edited by nancy Netzer MCMULLEN MUSEUM OF ART BOSTON COLLEGE SECULAR SACRED: I I TH — I 6TH CENTURY WORKS FROM THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY AND THE MUSEUM OF FINE ARTS, BOSTON Published in conjunction with an exhibition of the same title at the McMullen Museum of Art from February i 9 to June 4, 2006, this volume explores multiple ways in which medieval and early modern objects communicated both sacred and sec- ular messages to their audiences. Focusing on paintings, illu- minated texts, tapestries, silks, sculptures, ceramics and met- alwork, many previously unpublished, from the collections of two distinguished Boston institutions, the authors of the vol- ume’s thirteen essays take an inventive and interdisciplinary approach to the study of the subjects, functions, and receptions of works of art from the eleventh through the sixteenth cen- tury. By re-thinking scholars’ traditional division of objects into secular and sacred categories and by examining the history of these classifications, the authors decode images from various perspectives, revealing how lines between the two categories blur for individual works. FRONT COVER Book of Hours (use of Rome) Flanders, ca. 1500 Illumination on vellum, i9 6 4 > e » 66-74, 76— 77a— d, 78—79, 82b— e, 84; Photographs © 2006 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston: nos. 1—5, 17—20, 35 41 ,51, 58—63, 8 1 , 85—96; Images from the collections of the Boston Public Library reproduced courtesy of the Trustees of the Boston Public Library: nos. 26, 27a, 27c, 28, 31, 65^ 77e, 80, 82a, 83; Wheaton College: no. 75. Contents Director’s preface Nancy Netzer 7 Secular Anb Sacred Objects from the CDibble Ages: Illuminating the history of Classification Nancy Netzer, Department of Fine Arts, Boston College 11 fierce Cions, Clerer foxes, Diabolical Dragons: Animals Cell Cales in CDebieoal Arts atib letters Matilda Tomarvn Bruckner, Department of Romance Languages, Boston College 19 Scrolling through history: 1’a Cbronique Univcrscllc. Boston Public Cibrary CDs.pb.CDeb.32 Lisa Fagin Davis, Independent Scholar 43 Cite Croo Smorbs: Secular CDagistracy attb Sacreb CDinistry in CDebieoal attb Renaissance Art Earle A. Havens, Curator of Manuscripts, Department ot Rare Books and Manuscripts, Boston Public Library 51 CDary as CDobel: Cite Sacreb becomes Secular in CDebieoal Art Patricia DeLeeuvv, Department ofTheology, Boston College 64 Cite Duns of the Ronceray b’Angers anb their Capestries of the tucharist Virginia Reinburg, Department of History, Boston College 68 CDarking Cime: Cite £it>es of the Young in fiftecnth-Century Cuscany Laurie Shepard, Department of Romance Languages, Boston College 74 In Vogue in fifteentb-Century florettce: the CDaterial Culture of CDarriagc Stephanie C. Leone, Department of Fine Arts, Boston College 81 lllustrateb Religious Books Virginia Reinburg, Department of History, Boston College 88 Kibtupping the Gospels M.J. Connolly, Department of Slavic and Eastern Languages, Boston College 92 Auarice, CDoney, anb fubgment Day Pamela Berger, Department of Fine Arts, Boston College 98 Status. Sanctity, anb Silk in Cate Anglo-Saxon Cnglanb Robin Fleming, Department of History, Boston College 104 from Secular to Sacreb: Islamic Art in Christian Contexts Sheila S. Blair and Jonathan M. Bloom, Department of Fine Arts, Boston College 115 Works in the exhibition 121 IN MEMORIAM John J. McMullen i 9 i 8— 2oo j Director's Preface Haney Hetzcr Bl ^ ecularSacred is the McMullen Museum’s third interdisciplinary exploration of a 1 medieval theme. In 1 99 3, in conjunction L W with the annual meeting of the Medieval ^ Academy in Boston, the Museum gath- ered objects primarily from American collections to exam- ine how such works embodied the concept of an exhibition entitled Memory and the Middle Ages. Again, in 2000, in cel- ebrating the beginning of the third millennium of Christi- anity, the McMullen selected objects from the Schniitgen Museum in Cologne to examine in Fragmented Devotion sto- ries told in different eras by material fragments of the medi- eval devotional world. In the present exhibition, many of the same scholars, joined by others, take a fresh look at mes- sages conveyed by an array of medieval and early modern objects in the process of reconsidering their traditional clas- sification into categories of the secular and sacred. In 2 00 2 Matilda Bruckner, chair of Boston College’s Medieval Forum, initiated the idea for undertaking an exhi- bition to encourage the Medieval Academy to convene once again in Boston. Bruckner asked colleagues at several other area institutions to co-sponsor the Academy meeting and then approached Richard Emmerson, executive director of the Medieval Academy, who happily embraced the idea. The Museum then gathered medievalists from various dis- ciplines at Boston College to formulate a theme for the exhibition. Laurie Shepard proposed that examination of the secular sphere of medieval and early modern life would resonate with current concerns of scholars in a number of fields. In a series of meetings, excerpts from which have been captured in a film that documents the organization of the exhibition, the group then began to ponder how secu- lar messages reinforce sacred ones, or vice versa, in medi- eval and early modern art works of art. The result was the decision to examine closely objects that transmitted, in var- ious ways, both types of messages. The group was espe- cially pleased when the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston and the Boston Public Library enthusiastically agreed to par- ticipate as partners. This has been a most fruitful collabo- ration among three institutions: (1) a private museum of art with one of the largest medieval collections in North America, (2) a public library with outstanding collections of manuscripts and early printed books, and (3) a research university with one of the country’s largest and strongest faculties in medieval and early modern studies across mans disciplines. Each contributed its own strengths, making the project a model of its kind. On field trips, the Boston College professors viewed collections with Museum of fine Arts, Boston curators Tracev Albainv, Marietta Cambareri, Frederick Ilchman and Pamela Parmal, and Boston Public Library curator Earle Havens. A large number of objects attracted their schol- arly attention, from which each chose items related to the theme of an essay for this volume and a section of the exhi- bition. The team made this entire undertaking — exhibition and catalogue — possible. Thus, it is to them, my co-curators Pamela Berger (art history), Sheila Blair (art history), Jona- than Bloom (art history), Matilda Bruckner (french), M. J. Connolly (Slavic), Lisa Fagin Davis (independent scholar), Patricia DeLeeuw (theology), Robin Fleming (history), Earle Havens (curator of manuscripts at the Boston Public Library), Stephanie Leone (art history), Virginia Reinburg (history), and Laurie Shepard (Italian), that we owe our greatest gratitude for participating in this challenging col- laborative project. The range of those involved in the exhibition has extended in numerous directions and drawn on the exper- tise and generosity of many at our lending institutions. Director Malcolm Rogers, the trustees, Tracey Albainv, Ronni Baer, Marietta Cambareri, Meta Chavannes, Karen Gausch, Katie Getchell, Andrew Haines, Pamela Hatch- field, Abigail Hvkin, Frederick Ilchman, Will Jeffers, Jean- Louis Lachevre, Patricia Loiko, Meredith Montague, Ingrid Neuman, Chris Newth, Kim Pashko, Pamela Parmal, and Jennifer Riley, all from the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, deserve special thanks. We are extremely grateful to our partners at the Boston Public Library: director Bernard Margolis, the trustees, curator Earle Havens, conservators Stuart Walker, Aaron Schmidt, and Deborah Evetts as well as the staff of the Department of Rare Books and Manuscripts. We extend thanks also to additional lenders Stephen Scher and Amy friend and Evelyn Lane at Wheaton College. The staff of the McMullen Museum and others from across the University have brought this complex project to fruition. In particular, Diana Larsen, designed the installa- tion to provide an appropriately sacred secular experience. Mark Esser, Alston Conlev, Vincent Marasa, Stacey Small, Giovanni Buonapane, Joseph Figueiredo, and James Slattery contributed their expertise to the installation. In designing this volume Keith Ake has created a sacred object in the most secular sense. Naomi Blumberg’s editing and over- sight of the catalogue and exhibition texts were invaluable. Interns Charisma Chan, Vivian Carrasco, Emily Neumeier, 7 and Debra Pino aided in the exhibition’s overall organiza- tion. John McCoy designed the texts for the exhibition and its website and produced the audio tour. Naomi Rosenberg edited several of the essavs with extraordinary discernment; Keith Ake, Paul Dagnello, and Hallie Sammartino followed the evolution of this exhibition to produce the accompany- ing hint, which was completed under the guidance of Ben Birnbaum. We are grateful also to Stephen Vedder for pho- tographing all of the works in the Boston Public Library that are reproduced in this catalogue, to Michael Prinn and Rose Breen for arranging insurance, to Rosanne Pellegrini for publicity, to John Sage for recording the audio guide, and to the members of our Development office, especiallv James Husson, Katherine Smith, Catherine Concannon, Mary Lou Crane, and Johanna Wald, who aided our funding efforts. We could not have attempted such an ambitious proj- ect were it not for the generosity of the administration of Boston College. We especially thank President William P. Leahy, S.J., academic vice-president Cutberto Garza, former academic vice-president John Neuhauser, associ- ate academic vice-president Patricia DeLeeuw, and dean of arts and sciences Joseph Quinn. For major support of the exhibition we are indebted to the Newton College of the Sacred Heart Class of i 96 j, led in this endeavor bv Priscilla Durkin; to the Samuel H. Kress Foundation particularlv Lisa Ackerman andWvman Meers; Elizabeth and Robert Pozen and the Patrons of the McMullen Museum chaired bv C. Michael Daley. Finally, we wish to acknowledge our esteemed and beloved chief benefactor, the late Dr. John J. McMullen, a secular man who, through his kindness, warmth and thought- ful deeds, conveyed the sacred. In dedicating this volume to his memory, we hope that it will serve as a lasting tribute to his contribution to this Museum and to Boston College. 8 NOTE TO READER Numbered plates (no.) are works in the exhibition. Additional images in the essay are designated as figures (fig.). Works cited in the text are listed in full at the end of each essay. Attributions of works in the exhibition were supplied by lending institutions and generally do not reflect research by contributors to this volume. SccuUr auC* SacccO Objects from the CDibMe Ages: lllumitiAting tbe history of ClASsificAtion nancy Detzer g ome of the objects discussed in this book, and in the exhibition it accompanies, are valued primarily for their visual appeal. Others, like reliquaries, vessels, books, textiles, decoration and furnishings, are functions, as well as their visual appeal. Nearly all date from the eleventh through the sixteenth centuries, a time some observers have called the “Age of Faith.” Most of these objects served piety, belief and devo- tion, having been intended to confirm, clarifv, and “make visible” Christian doctrine. Modern scholars consider them sacred works of art. Some of the pieces examined here, however, emanate from, and functioned primarily within the mundane (secular) sphere of medieval and earlv modern life. Within these societies such distinctions between eccle- siastical and secular jurisdictions were often vague, thus the materials thev produced also often defv strict classifica- tion or may have functioned in different spheres at different times. Indeed, art historians have tended to use these clas- sifications loosely without carefully defining them. Perhaps the most public attempt to demonstrate the scope of secu- lar medieval art came in i 97 j in the groundbreaking exhi- bition Secular Spirit at the Metropolitan Museum in New York. The organizers selected secular works from 1300 to 1 550 (roughlv the period from which most objects in this exhibition originate) whose “design, iconography, and the- matic presentation were neither dictated nor restricted by ecclesiastical dogma and tradition.” In their minds secu- lar art from the late medieval and earlv modern periods “expresses to a much greater degree the personal attitudes and needs of the individuals bv whom and for whom it was made” (Metropolitan 1 1). Objects made for non-ecclesi- astical use often depict quotidian subjects: hunting, sport, science and technology, commerce and trade, personifica- tions, imperial ceremony, chivalry, military campaigns, and topographv. Expanding upon what scholars increasinglv rec- ognize as the blurred boundaries between the two groups, the present exhibition takes as its premise that the tradi- tional division of artworks dating from the Middle Ages and early modern period into categories of sacred and secular is too rigid to accurately reflect the multiplicity of messages that most of these objects convey. Just as there is no clear dividing line between sacred and secular medieval texts, neither can such a boundarv be established between objects. Essays in this book revisit the conventional wisdom, seek- ing to articulate the secular and sacred discourse engen- dered by each object in the exhibition. The essayists exam- ine from various disciplinary perspectives the secular and sacred sources of the objects’ multivalent meanings. They show how some artists depicting biblical narratives inject sensual details front contemporary secular life, like sumptu- ous clothing, jewels and architecture, to impress the viewer with the subject’s relevance. Or, thev reveal how seduction works in reverse bv infusing a scene from contemporary life with spiritual meaning to awaken the viewer to higher concerns. This essay aims to uncover the roots of secular/ sacred division by tracing milestones that led to it, from the Middle Ages into the twentieth century, when the collec- tions of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston and Boston Public Library took shape. Most of the objects in this exhibition come from those collections. CIk (DtoMc Ages The accumulation of objects produced throughout the Middle Ages by monastic or cathedral workshops, or received as gifts from secular patrons for decoration of ecclesiastical foundations, for liturgical use or for preser- vation in their treasuries represent the first segregation of sacred medieval works of art. Church treasuries, like the splendid examples still in the cathedrals ofTrier, Cologne, Sens, and Hildesheim, were often repositories represent- ing great ecclesiastical wealth and power. They comprised many of the types of objects discussed in this book, includ- ing reliquaries, textiles, manuscripts, paintings, and sculp- tures. The most famous, and perhaps the richest, of these treasuries belonged to the roval Abbey of Saint-Denis, near Paris. In the twelfth century its abbot, Suger, enriched the treasury with a group of hard stone vessels from the ancient and Islamic worlds, which he turned into sanctified Chris- tian liturgical receptacles by adding elaborate gold mounts (Alcouffe).^ Medieval inventories of church treasuries, like those of secular, primarily royal, collections that emerged in the fourteenth century, reveal little interest in classi- fication except bv function and material and no distinc- tion between religious objects and others. 3 Inventories of collections belonging to King Charles V ( 1 3 3 8—8 o ) and his brother Jean, Due de Berry (1340 1416), for example, 11 list thousands of works, most made from precious mate- rials, under categories like reliquaries and crosses (Lab- arte; Guiffrey). CIk tAiiy CDoi>em Vision Long before the mid-nineteenth centurv, when art history became an academic discipline, a small group of Chris- tian archaeologists in Rome, where classification of certain medieval objects as sacred seems to have originated, took an interest in the study and collecting of medieval antiq- uities. Beginning in the mid-sixteenth centurv, during the Catholic Reformation, these archaeologists, unlike other contemporary humanists, valued the tangible vestiges of Christian Rome ( Roma arnica cristiana) on a par with those of the classical past ( Roma antica). This new breed of“pre- scientific” archaeologist sought to reconstruct the lives of earlv Christians by examining textual sources in conjunc- tion with material artifacts. They began to explore the cat- acombs, derelict and forgotten during the later Middle Ages, and other Christian monuments. From these sites thev assembled and/or made drawings of inscriptions, frescos, sculptures, and metalwork from earlv Christianity attempting to construct a material history of the Church and of its cult of early saints and martyrs. At the same time, thev focused attention on the relics and shrines preserved in medieval church treasuries to inspire renewed reverence and devotion. These works of art became powerful ammuni- tion for Catholic polemicists to contradict Protestant argu- ments in support of iconoclasm. For Catholics, the paint- ings in the catacombs, especially, provided incontrovertible evidence that the first Christians used images in their sacred spaces (Ditchfield 167— 70 4 ; Haskell 100—02). The first of these scholars is thought to have been the Augustinian monk Onofrio Panvinio ( 1 530— 1 568) 5 , who, under the patronage of the cultivated Cardinal Alessandro Farnese (1 520—1589), published surveys 6 of the basilicas and cemeteries of earlv Christians in Rome. Introducing evi- dence garnered from investigation of the remains of monu- ments in combination with archival and epigraphic sources, these publications provided Christian archaeologists with a new methodological model. Panvinio ’s novel intellec- tual enterprise was spawned, at least in part, bv Protestant challenges to the practices and authority of the Church of Rome. Surveys of early Christian monuments Gelded sacred objects that now found a home in the “cabinets” of collectors like Cardinal Farnese. Such assemblages of sacred objects resonated with current Catholic Reformation needs, serv- ing as assertions of the ancient presence, continuity, and authority of the Church of Rome and as reminders of the heroic faith of Christians demonstrated in the face of ear- lier persecutions. 8 Later in the sixteenth centurv and during the first decades of the seventeenth centurv, a new generation of archaeologists connected to the Roman Oratory founded bv Philip Neri (1 51 5—1 595) generated interest in explora- tion of the Roman catacombs and in the recording of their contents. 9 The leader of this group, Antonio Bosio (157 5 — 1 629), had been educated bv the Jesuits at the Collegio Romano in Rome. Bosio and his scholarly circle penetrated the underground labyrinth of several suburban catacombs; 10 thev studied the buried tombs and, along the way, collected objects and commissioned drawings of catacomb paintings, some of which Bosio displayed in a small museum in his villa in Parioli just outside Rome (Osborne I 44—45). Bosio chronicled and illustrated these systematic explorations of the subterranean citv in his manuscript Roma Sotterranea , 11 published posthumously in 1 6 3 2 . 12 The text remained the basic resource on these earlv Christian monuments for at least two centuries. In it, Bosio employs the inscriptions, sarcophagi decorated in relief (many found above ground in Rome’s churches), and painted images to determine the martyrs and eminent Christians buried in each catacomb, all in an effort to reconstruct the lost history of early Chris- tianity. He discusses the meaning ot this newly discovered world of images: lambs, doves, trees, and Orpheus, identi- fying the latter pagan image as a type for Christ that he used to counter Protestant assertions that burial of pagans had sullied the catacombs. Concurring with Bosio ’s interpreta- tion of the Orpheus image, the Jesuit physician and con- noisseur, Giulio Mancini (1558— 1630), in fact, expresses surprise at the mixture of such a“profane”(/e profane ) image with what he calls “sacred things” (le cose sacre ) in the cata- combs (Mancini 49). Bosio used inscriptions as keys to the world of early church hierarchies. Believing that the cata- combs were the setting for martyrdoms as well as liturgi- cal and devotional practices, he saw in paintings evidence of dress and gestures of prayer of early Christians supply- ing proof of antiquity to legitimize present Roman Catho- lic devotional practices (Ditchfield 178—89; Haskell 107— 11, 1 2 3). Bv virtue of his systematic studies, Bosio became known as the founder of Christian archaeology, the disci- pline that marks the beginning of scholarly interest in medi- eval objects, if onlv those that came to be viewed as sacred. Following in Bosio ’s footsteps, other Romans, the papal ser- vant Francesco Gualdi (c. 1 576— 1657), the papal antiquary and theorist Giovanni Pietro Bellori (1613—1696), Cardinal Gaspare Carpegna (1625—1714), and Cardinal Flavio Chigi (1631-1693) assembled in their house museums various objects found in the catacombs including sarcophagi, lamps, and gold glasses. 13 Bv the end of the sixteenth century and continuing through the seventeenth centurv, sacred monuments and 12 objects, used together with textual evidence, had become a principal tool for historians, as demonstrated in works like the Martyrology of Roman Saints ( i 586) and Annales ecclesiastici (1588—1 607), twelve volumes with inserted engravings in which the influential Catholic scholar Cardinal Cesare Bar- onio (1538—1 607) traced the historical continuity of the Church through 1198 (Osborne 1 46- 47; Ditchfield 1 7 1 — 78; Haskell 102— 07). Around the same time, Alfonso Ciaco- nio (1530—1599), a Spanish Dominican in Rome, assem- bled a museum to house pagan and Christian antiquities, including copies of paintings from the catacombs (de Rossi 1 879, 3 1 ). The Vatican librarian, Cardinal Francesco Barber- ini (1 597—1679), commissioned watercolors documenting medieval paintings and sculptures in Roman churches; he and others like the brothers Carlo Antonio ( 1606—1689) and Cassiano dal Pozzo (1 588—1657) created virtual muse- ums-on-paper of medieval religious art/ 4 During the final decades of the seventeenth century, a kev figure in Roman intellectual circles, the Christian archaeologist Giovanni Ciampini ( 1633—1698), took a keen interest in earlv medi- eval and Bvzantine antiquities, especiallv mosaics like those in the churches at Ravenna. Clerics throughout Italy made drawings of these monuments which Ciampini collected and then had engraved for publication in the five volumes of his Vetera Monimenta ( 1 690). One purpose of such collec- tions of sacred art, Giovanni Baglione wrote in 1 639, was to “revive in the memory of the faithful the dress and the rites of the early Church.” 15 Reclaiming the material culture of earlv Christianity provided a conduit for re constructing and, thus, re-imagining the practices of early Christians as part of Rome’s religious rebirth during the Catholic Ref- ormation (Ditchfield 167—70). The seventeenth century also saw a few significant chance discoveries of what would later fall into the cat- egory of secular medieval artifacts. The famous inscribed gold enameled jewel commissioned by the Anglo-Saxon King, Alfred the Great (871—899), possibly used as part of a pointer for reading or as a Htting for an item of royal rega- lia, was unearthed at North Petherton, England, in 1693 and received attention in an illustrated publication shortly there- after. 16 The most spectacular of the secular finds resulted from excavations for construction of a hospital inTournai, in 1653, which accidentally uncovered the tomb of the earliest of the great Frankish rulers, C’hilderic (d. 482). This discov- ery yielded, among other objects, his signet ring, swords, buckles and mounts of gold and inlaid garnet, horse trap- pings, and hundreds of gold cicadas sewn to his cloak. The physician John-Jacques Chifflet (1588 1660) immediately recognized the historical importance of the find and pub lished it with drawings and descriptions in Antwerp, in 1655. Chifflet entitled the work Anastasis Childerici / Fran- corum Regis, revealing his intent to use the evidence of the objects to “resurrect” ( anastasis ) the Frankish king (Burke 285—86; Lasko 25— 32). 17 Cbc Eigbteentb-Century Enlightenment Consistent with the Enlightenment imperative to provide a systematic philosophical dimension to the collection of objects, the early eighteenth centurv brought the Hrst insti- tutional museum of sacred medieval art. Pope Clement XI ( 1 700—1 721) appointed Francesco Bianchini ( 1662—1729), one of the most learned men in Rome, to form a Museo Ecclesiastico in the Vatican Cortile. Bianchini collected early Christian and medieval inscriptions from the surround- ing gardens and from churches and monasteries through- out Rome. At the same time, he marshaled many of these works and others as “proof” for the historical narratives in his many scholarly studies, including his L'istoria universale provata con monumenti (universal historv based on the evi- dence of monuments) hrst published in 1697. The Museo Ecclesiastico was short-lived, however, the objects having been disbursed by 1 7 1 6 . 18 Shortly thereafter, between 1719 and 1722, L’antiquite expliquee et representee en figures, the fifteen-volume picto- rial encyclopedia of antiquity by the archaeologist, phi- lologist, and paleographer Abbe Bernard de Montfaucon (1655— 1741) appeared. 4 Here, in an essentially philo- logical attempt to synthesize classical and earlv medieval monuments with historical text (“ concilier les monuments avec 1 ’histoire”), Montfaucon illustrates thousands of ancient and early medieval objects on printed plates containing multiple images with accompanying text. He pays little attention to chronology. Rather, for instance, he distinguishes artifacts useful for the study of gods and religion, his hrst two catego- ries, from those that support inquirv into secular domestic customs, commerce and military institutions, and funerary practices (Schnapp 235 37). Thus he devised a svstem for arranging objects by the spheres in which they functioned, an initial step in developing a method for classifying early medieval objects. Les Monumens de la monarchic framboise (1729—1733), Montfaucon’s next magnum opus, assembled illustrations of hundreds of what came to be known as secular medieval works from the hfth through the fifteenth centuries. Many of the hve volumes’ illustrations were based on drawings commissioned by the antiquary Roger de Gaignieres ( 1 642— 1 7 1 5), who had close connections to the French court. Illus- trations of each monarch (from the Merovingians to Henry IV), his tombs, regalia, armor, rituals, and battles follows a description of the events of each reign in an attempt to, as stated in the subtitle, “encompass the history of France” (qui comprennent l'histoire de France). When Montfaucon deemed 13 images of historical events contemporary with the events themselves, like the Bayeux Tapestry’s narrative illustration ot the Norman Conquest of England in 1066, he assumed their accuracy. Rather than allowing for the types of political motivations that he recognized as informing certain texts, he extracted details from contemporary works of art to settle disputes in conflicting historical narratives (Haskell 13 3 - 44 )- It was not until the mid-eighteenth centurv, under the patronage of the erudite and cultured Bolognese pope, Benedict XIV (1 740—1 7j8), 2 ' who had alreadv established several academies for the study of antiquities and the historv of the Church, that the systematic assemblage of scattered and neglected medieval objects, relics of earlv Christianity, including sarcophagi, glass, inscriptions and has reliefs, w'as revived within the Vatican Library. A museum of the Chris- tian Church, the Museo Sacro (also referred to as the Museo Cristiano), opened in 1 757. As secretarv of the Accademia di Storia Ecclesiastica, Giuseppe Bianchini (1704—1764) labored to amass objects for this new Christian museum in conjunction with his efforts to complete and publish his uncle Francesco’s Demonstratio historiae ecclesiasticae quadri- partite. Bianchini’s vision for the composition of the new museum was inspired by the drawings of early Christian monuments contained in the “Paper Museum” of Cassiano dal Pozzo. 2 “ In a single gallerv, the Vatican’s Museo Sacro combined several important private collections. The nucleus of the museum comprised objects collected by Cardinal Gaspare Carpegna. As Vicar of Rome, Carpegna oversaw the cata- combs. From their excavations he collected gold decorated glasses, ivories, and stone and metalwork (Morello 67—68). The Florentine antiquarian Filippo Buonarroti (1661 — 1753) supplied an important group of gold glasses, whose crude execution “did much to achieve the true purpose of sacred images” by impeding distraction from the spiritual ( Buonar- roti 84— 8j as quoted bv Haskell 1 26). Buonarroti’s associa- tion of coarse artistic execution w ith spiritual impact fur- thered contemporaneous appreciation of medieval religious art. The Vettori collection contributed gems, ivories, enam- els, metalwork, and painted panels. Cardinal Chigi’s collec- tion of gold glass, previouslv displayed in the Casino Chigi in the outskirts of Rome, was also transferred to the new museum, and the sculptor, restorer and dealer Bartolomeo Cavaceppi ( 1 7 1 7— 1 799) sold a group of Christian sarcoph- agi and inscriptions to the Vatican just before the opening of the new r museum (Pietrangeli 40— 47). The inscription over the entrance ' refers to the objects in the “new museum” as “sacred monuments of Christianitv” preserved there to provide historical confirmation of the origins of the religion and to prevent their dispersal. On the ceiling, the Triumph of the Church and the Triumph of the Faith paintings bv Ste- tano Pozzi convey the overriding message of the assembled objects below. Non-Christian objects, e.g. bronzes, cameos, coins, medals, and stone sculptures, acquired as part of the constituent private collections, were moved to a separate Museo Profano (Pietrangeli 40—47, 1 10). Somewhat later in the eighteenth century, beginning in about 1772, the epi- graphic scholar Gaetano Marini ( 1 742—18 1 5) undertook to install hundreds ot ancient inscriptions in a corridor of the Vatican bv systematically dividing, in the tradition of the Enlightenment, the Christian examples on one side and the profane on the other (Pietrangeli 70— 7 2). This classification of medieval Christian objects and inscriptions as separate from all others reveals the prioritv of the earliest and most important institutional collector of medieval artifacts, the Vatican, to preserve sacred objects as material evidence of the earlv historv of the Church. CIk nineteenth Century As excavations of the catacombs continued throughout the nineteenth century, the number of sacred objects (especially sarcophagi, mosaics, and inscriptions) in the Museo Sacro, then under the direction of the most distinguished Christian archaeologist of his generation, Giovanni Battista de Rossi (1822—1894), grew' to such an extent that a second museum of the same name was opened in the Lateran in 1854. Added to these excavated works were medieval liturgical objects and reliquaries made of various precious and non-precious materials. Largely due to de Rossi’s efforts, the field of Christian archaeology, which examined medieval artifacts as sacred documents of a “great age of faith .’’blossomed into a “science” in the mid-nineteenth centurv. De Rossi’s compre- hensive study, Roma Sotterranea, published in three volumes between 1 8 64 and 1877, included a groundbreaking exami- nation of the sacred symbolic character of early Christian art. De Rossi’s travels to confer with scholars as well as his publications, including the Bollettino d’archaeologia cristiana, which he inaugurated in 1863, ignited interest throughout Europe in Christian medieval archaeology and artifacts. He inspired disciples like J. Spencer Northcote (1831 — 1907) and W.R. Brownlow ( 1 830— 1 901 ) in England, and Edmond Frederic Le Blant ( 1 8 1 8—1 897) in France; he corresponded and collaborated with Louis Duchesne 24 ( 1 843—192 2), and Theodor Mommsen (1817—1903). Around the same time, the earliest studies devoted to Christian medieval art appear. Between 1872 and 1881, the Jesuit Raffaele Garrucci (1812— i8jj) published six folio- sized volumes comprising the first comprehensive history of “Christian” art to about 800 ad, richly illustrated with five hundred plates reproducing line drawings (often inaccurate) of all know n sacred mosaics, paintings, manuscript illustra- 14 tions, sculptures, sarcophagi, gold glasses, ivories, and met- alwork with descriptions of each (Garrucci). The German archaeologist and priest Joseph Wilpert (1857 1 944) also followed in de Rossi’s footsteps with a series of publications illustrating, classifying, and analyzing the sacred symbolic meanings of earlv Christian frescoes, mosaics, and sarcoph- agi. 25 Concurrently in France, a group of scholars seeking to revive religiosity, led bv the archaeologist and journalist Adolphe-Napoleon Didron ( 1 806-1 886) 2 ' and followed by the archaeologists Fernand Cabrol (1833—1937) and Henri Leclercq 2, (1869—1943), and the amateur art historian/ theologian Emile Male ( 1 862— 1 9 £4),' embarked upon iconographic studies of the sacred art of the later Middle Ages. These scholars systematized the study of medieval Christian symbolism, stressing its didacticism. Periodicals that prominently featured specifically sacred medieval objects appeared in the mid-nineteenth century. In the 1840s and 1830s, Christian archaeologi- cal journals, often supported by the ecclesiastical hierar- chy, who feared the momentum of secularism, sprang up all over Europe. ‘"These were followed in the later nine- teenth century by a second wave of journals dedicated to religious art, much of which was medieval. The latter pub- lications constituted a response to what was viewed as the de-sanctification of medieval art posed by study of these objects bv an emerging group of art historians. Not surpris- ingly, the religious publications focused on sacred medieval objects, their iconography, and their theological meanings (Brush 22-23; Germann 99—163), as did a new breed of “Christian” museums that emerged primarily in Germany. Many of these museums were connected to dioceses ( dioc- esan museum in German), like one in Cologne that had a particularly rich collection of sacred paintings and metal- work. 30 One of the most significant collections of medi- eval art was formed, also in Cologne, by a canon of the cathedral, Alexander Schniitgen (1843 — 1918). During the last third of the nineteenth century, Schniitgen assembled hundreds of medieval artifacts to trace the development of various types of sacred objects (e.g. , chalices, patens, and vestments) and Christian representations like the Cruci- fixion and the Madonna and Child. The goal of this collec- tion was to visually preach Catholic values and impart a sense of the imposing history of Catholicism ( Westermann- Angerhausen; Netzer-Reinburg). At the same time, there also developed, primarily among a small group of professors within the German- speaking academy, the discipline of medieval art history. Unlike their colleagues in Christian archaeology, art histo- rians, like Adolph Goldschmidt (1863-1944) and Wilhelm Voge (1868—1932), strove to arrange medieval works of art into an empirically-based systematic narrative sequence. Following methods adapted from the study of the natural sciences, they employed, among other approaches, icono- graphic analysis and careful scrutiny of the formal proper- ties of an object, a method dubbed connoisseurship, to clas- sify medieval objects historically, nationally, regionally, and chronologically. Several earlv art historians, like Carl Sch- naase (1798—1873), took a more contextualized approach that viewed medieval works of art as indicators of the intel- lectual and social milieus of the periods and places that pro- duced them, thereby integrating art and cultural history. For medieval art historians, works of art served the same aim of “objective” proof of the chronological and geographic order- ing that documents provided for contemporary historians in constructing their narratives (Brush 1214, 21, 37—1 1 1). For art historians (as opposed to Christian archaeologists) then, works of art that functioned primarily in the secular (the domestic, commercial, military, or political) spheres of medieval life would have held interest equal to that of objects that served religious functions. Because stylistic and iconographic analysis and historical contextualization, the critical approaches employed by art historians, could be applied equally well to these secular works, the materi- als, styles, methods of manufacture, and functions of secu- lar medieval objects began to be studied alongside those of their sacred counterparts. Art historians strove to integrate works front both spheres into a single narrative of chrono- logical stylistic development. While secular medieval works, like weapons and house- hold implements, might have been included with “curiosi- ties” of similar types in earlv modern collectors’ cabinets ( IVunJerkammern ), within this context, they would have been prized for their didactic function as material evidence of a historical truth, technical virtuosity, rarity, and/or preciousness.' 1 Secular medieval objects also found their way, along with their sacred counterparts, into the hap- hazard mixture selected to decorate Romantic houses of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century antiquarians, primar- ily in England. ' 2 Among such, the late-Gothic Paris town- house of Alexandre du Sommerard ( 1 779- 1 842), previously owned bv the abbots of Cluny (and now the Musee National du Moven Age), had perhaps the richest collection of medi- eval and Renaissance objects presented in its period rooms. Within Sommerard ’s historical reconstruction, ecclesias- tical artifacts (liturgical objects, reliquaries, stained glass, etc.) were installed in the original chapel separated front secular household objects displayed in the original dining room (Bann 86—92). After the 1830s, following the example of the South Kensington Museum in London (now the Victoria and Albert Museum), public museums of decorative and indus- trial arts arose in cities across Europe. The mandate of these 15 institutions was to assemble collections that would educate the public, primarily those involved with industrial produc- tion, in the techniques and aesthetics of the finest artifacts of the pre-industrial age (Conforti 33— 3 7). Works were not arranged according to the art historical method of period and nationality, but instead bv medium. Within these insti tutions, then, as might be expected, medieval objects found prominent place, and secular and sacred examples of various types were collected and displayed together as canonical aes- thetic models for mimesis. Although founded in 1870 with the intent of following the model of Europe’s museums of applied arts, both the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston and the Metropolitan Museum in New York paid little attention in their early decades to medieval art, perhaps because they considered it predominantly sacred. In the wake of massive foreign immigration, especially from Ireland, anti- foreign sentiment and virulent anti-Catholicism raged in both cities. It was, however, around this time in Boston that the secular sphere of medieval art attracted the attention of the Harvard University art historian Charles Eliot Norton (1827—1908). Revising the view of the Middle Ages dissemi- nated bv his close friend, the English moral critic and ardent socialist John Ruskin (1819—1 900), Norton focused, not on the classical world, but on medieval Italy and specifically thirteenth-centurv Florence and the Republic ofVenice, as models of art, architecture, civic pride, and political struc- ture for modern America. He inspired one of the first Amer- ican collectors of medieval art, his student and fellow Bosto- nian, Isabella Stewart Gardner, in the 1 890s, to construct an elaborate Venetian Gothic palace /museum within which she incorporated medieval stone sculptures. Largely architec- tural fragments and, in Ruskin ’s words, “stones ofVenice,” 4 the sculptures were chosen for their ornamental quality and power to evoke the past, rather than for sacred messages (Shand-Tucci 38—39; Smith 46—31). CIk Civcntictb Century auO the ‘Development of Collections for the CDuseum of fine Arts, Boston AnC' the Boston public HibrAry The segregation of the study of sacred medieval art from the secular gained momentum in the twentieth centurv as the focus of the art historical discipline, especially in Amer- ica, shifted to iconographic investigation. The same bifur- cated classification was debated bv scholars in other disci- plines, largely in response to the French sociologist Emile Durkheim’s Les formes elementaires de la vie religieuse (191 2), which divided all things “real and ideal , of which men think” into “opposed groups ,” the “profane” and “sacred” (32). Per- haps the most significant reinforcement for the dichotomy in art historical circles came from the classification of the depiction of Christian iconographic subjects (now num- bering more than 26,000 categories) up to the year 1400, undertaken by the Index of Christian Art founded in 1917a! Princeton University by the archaeologist and art historian Charles Rufus Morey ( 1 877— 1 933). Its thousands of catego- ries of Christian subjects, ranging from “Annunciation” to “St. Zwentibold,” represent to this day a highly-developed system of sub-classifications of medieval Christian art (Hou- rihane 1999, 3—10; 2002, 3—16). If secular medieval objects begin to play a significant role within larger public collections in the mid-nineteenth century, it is not until the next centurv that they are sub- jected to inquiry bv art historians as works of art. In 1931 — 1932, in his lconographie de l’art profane au Moyen-Aae et a la Renaissance, et la decoration des demeures, the Dutch art histo- rian Raimond van Marie (1887—1936) undertook the first comprehensive studv of representations of dailv life and alle- gories. Developing the methodology pioneered bv Abv War- burg (1866—1929) and adapting it to medieval art, Erwin Panofsky (1892—1 968), bodi in his native Germany and after he moved to the Institute of Advanced Studv at Princeton, became perhaps the greatest exponent and theoretician of the iconography of secular medieval art. Panofskv enlarged the Christian vision of iconography as practiced bv Male and his followers when he introduced an “iconology” that sought the meaning of a work of art in a broader cultural context bv anchoring it to earlier theological and/or liter- ary texts. 35 Van Marie’s and Panofsky ’s publications precede the amassing of the medieval collection at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts. Formation of the collection was almost exclu- sively the work of two German-Jewish medieval art histo- rians, from 1939 to 1 937 Georg Swarzenski ( 1 876— 1 937) and, from 1948—1971 his son Hanns (1903—1983), who had, in fact, come to America in 1938 as a research assis- tant to Erwin Panofskv at Princeton. Georg Swarzenski had been the director of the municipal museums in Frankfurt until he was dismissed bv the Nazis in 193 7. There he had built, among others, a superb collection of medieval and later sculpture for the Liebieghaus Museum. Both in Frank- furt and Boston, the collecting pattern of the Sw'arzenskis followed an art historical model of categorization by origin and date, focusing on the taxonomy of style and paying less attention to iconographic meaning and original function than to formal qualities. Father and son used their famil- iarity with private European collections that had recently come on the market to gather works for Boston. With the modest funds available, and informed bv their educated and ecumenical taste, they assembled a representative well- considered collection of unusual medieval and early modern sculptures and “minor” arts. 36 They displayed these works, for the most part, chronologically, separating miniature 16 from monumental, primarily as a matter of convenience of installation, declining to separate secular works from the sacred or to create period rooms. As conceived bv the Swarzenskis, the contiguities of the objects in the Brahmin institution’s medieval galleries spoke volumes, hut avoided visually preaching Catholic values in the way that thev did, for example, in Cologne’s Schniitgen Museum. The collection of medieval and Renaissance manuscripts at the Boston Public Library conveyed a similar message. Around the turn of the century, probablv at the instiga- tion of the library's trustee and dedicated collector of earlv Anglican Books of Common Prayer, Josiah Henrv Benton, the institution contracted with English manuscripts expert, another close friend of Ruskin, Sydney Cockerell (1867— 1962), to purchase manuscripts and earlv printed books that would rival those in European libraries ( Whitehill 1 86— 8 7). 37 The result was a world-class selection of Christian and a smaller number of secular texts from the twelfth through the sixteenth centuries. It follows that these two venerated Boston institutions, overseen by almost exclu sivelv Episcopalian Brahmin boards of directors, seemed to have had no religious agenda informing the assemblage of what, for the most part, would have been viewed as Cath- olic medieval artifacts. That may be why the scholars par- ticipating in this project found within the resulting collec- tions so manv objects that inspired a re-evaluation of the utility of the secular/ sacred categorization. What precedes has provided an idea of how and why acceptance of these categories evolved; what follows in this volume’s essavs are subtle insights involving complex distinctions that decode, from various disciplinary vantage points, the mixture of secular and sacred messages embodied in a wide variety of works of art. I thank Virginia Remburg and Stephanie Leone for comments that improved this essay. Errors are my own. tnCmotes 1 For a recent discussion, see Kessler, esp. 1 3 1 — 50, with additional bibliography. 2 For discussion of Christian sanctification of Islamic objects in the Middle Ages, see Blair and Bloom in this volume. 3 For discussion of treasuries, see Bischoff. I am grateful to Charles Little for this reference. 4 I am grateful to Virginia Reinburg for this ref- erence. 5 On Panvinio, see Jacks 2 1 6—2 3 . 6 See Panvinio 1568, 15:70. 7 On the history of evidence in earlv modern Europe, see Burke. 8 In a similar response to Protestant chal- lenges, in 1 607 a Belgian Jesuit scholar, Heri- bert Rosweyde, began collecting and studving documents of the lives of the early Chris- tian saints and arranging them according to their feast days. The resulting Acts of the Saints ( Acta Sanctorum) was published in Antwerp in a series of volumes beginning in 1643 by a group ol Jesuits calling themselves the Societe des Bollandistes after their founder John van Bolland. 9 See de Rossi 1879, 32—41 and Osborne I, 44-4 ^ for discussion and additional bibliogra- phy. 10 Catacombs of Domitilla, Ponzio, Saint Valen- tino, Saints Peter and Marcellinus, and Saint Ermete. 11 The manuscript (Rome, Biblioteca Vallicel- liana MS G3 1) is preserved in the library attached to the Roman Oratory. The same library also contains a manuscript (MS G6) with some drawings of artifacts from the cat- acombs that Bosio collected. 12 On Bosio, see De Rossi 1879, 26-39; Ditch- field 1 79—89. 13 For examples of works in these collections, see Osborne passim. 14 On the dal Pozzo collection, see Osborne; for the drawings from the Barberini collec- tion now in the Vatican Library, see Osborne 1 , 47 * 15 “per rawinvare nella memoria de’ fedeli gli habiti e i riti della primitive chiesa” as quoted by Osborne I, 48. 16 Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society , December 1698, p. 441 . For discussion, see Keynes. 17 Most of the objects subsequentlv were stolen from the Imperial Art Gallery in Paris in 1831. 18 Bianchini’s inventory of the Museo Ecclesi- astico from 1 706—1 707 survives in a manu- script in Verona. When the museum was dis- assembled many of the objects w ent to the Museo Capitolino and the Villa Albani. For discussion, see Pietrangeli 37. 19 In preparation for these volumes, Montfau- con gathered between 30,000 and 40,000 prints and drawings of ancient and early medieval objects as well as the objects them- selves. The encyclopedia became a primary source for scholars and artists. 20 Born Prospero Lorenzo Lambertini in Bolo- gna 1 673—1 738, probablv the most academic of the eighteenth-century popes, Benedict XIV was in close contact with many of the leading scholars of his day, including Mont- faucon. 21 Giuseppe Bianchini’s papers describing the completion of the book and the procuring of works for the Museo Cristiano, including lists of neglected antiquities with their locations are preserved in the Biblioteca Vallicelliana in Rome. See Osborne II, 19—22. 22 On the Paper Museum of Cassiano dal Pozzo, see Osborne. 2 3 Benedictus XI V r. M. / Ad augundum urbis splen- dorum/Et asserendam religionis veritatem / Sacris christianorum monumentis / Alusei Carpinei Bonar- rotii Victorii aliisque plurimis undique conquisitis/ et ab interitu vindicates/ novum museum / adorna- vit, instruxit, pe fecit/ anno MDCCLV 1 . 24 Martyrologium hieronymianum 1894. 25 SeeWilpert 1891, 1896, 1903, 1917. 26 Especially his Iconographie chretienne: Histoire de Dieu, Paris, 1 843 . 27 Dictionnaire d'archeologie chretienne et de litur- gie, Paris, 1907. 28 See Male 1898, 1908, 1922. 29 See Brush 2 2—2 3 and 1 63 for a list of journals and other publications. 30 Recently renamed the Kolumba Diocesan Museum. 31 For discussion, see Pomian, esp. 34—44 and Pearce, esp. 1 09—2 1 . 32 For discussion, see Wain wTight 3—8, 71-146. 33 For examples of earlv stray acquisitions bv gift in these collections, see Smith 92—97. 34 John Ruskin, The Stones of\'enice, London, 1831. 35 On Panofsky, see Holly, esp. 103— 1 3; on War- burg, see Gombrich. 36 On the medieval collection at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, see Cahn-Seidel; Swarzen- ski-Netzer, esp. xv-xvii, Netzer; Gillerman; and Smith, esp. 203—08. 37 1 am grateful to Earle Havens for information on the Boston Public Librarv collection. 17 Works CiteC' Alcouffe, Daniel, and Musee du Louvre. Le Tresor de Saint-Denis: [ Exposition j Musee du Louvre, Paris, 12 Mars—l 7 Juin, 199 1 Paris, 1991. Bann, Stephen. The Clothing of Clio: A Study of the Representation of History in Nineteenth-Century Britain and France. Cambridge, 1984. Baronio, Cesare. Martyrologium Romanum, ad novam kalendarn rationem, et ecclesiaslicce histories veri- tatem restitutum. Rome, 1586. . Annales ecclesiastic 1. Rome, 1588—1607. Bianchini, Francesco. La lstona universale: Provat a con monumenti efgurata con simholi de gli antichi. Rome, 1697. Bianchini, Giuseppe, et al. Demonstratio histonae ecclesiasticae quadripartitae comprohatae monu- mentis pertmentihus ad fdem temporum et gesto- rum. Rome, 1752—1754. Bischoft, Bernhard. Alittelalterliche Schatzverzeich- nisse. Mtinchen, 1967. Bosio, Antonio, and Giovanni Severano. Roma sot- terranea: Opera post uma. Rome, 1632. Brush, Kathryn. The Shaping of Art History: Wilhelm Voge, Adolph Goldschmidt, and the Study of Medi- eval Art. Cambridge, 1996. Buonarroti, Filippo. Osservazioni sopra alcuni fram- menti di vasi antichi di vetro ornati di figure tro- vati ne' cimiten di Roma. Florence, 1716. Burke, Peter. “Images as Evidence in Seventeenth- Ccnturv Europe T Journal of the History of Ideas 64.2 (2003): 273—96. Cabrol, Fernand, and Flenri Leclercq. Diction- naire d’archeologie chretienne et de liturgie. Paris, 1907. Cahn, Walter, and Linda Seidel. Romanesque Sculp- ture in American Collections. New England Muse- ums. New York, 1979. Chifflet, Jean-Jacques. Anastasis Childenci I. Fran- corvm Regis. Antwerp, 1655. Ciampini, Giovanni Giustino. Vetera Monimenta: in quibus praecipu musiva opera sacrarum, profa- narumque aedium structura, ac nonnulli antiqui ritus, dissertationibus, iconibusque illustrantur. Rome, 1690. Conforti, Michael. “The Idealist Enterprise and the Applied Arts.” in Baker, Malcolm, et al. A Grand Design: The Art of the Victoria and Albert Museum. New York ( 1 997): 23—48. Ditchfield, Simon. “Reading Rome as a Sacred Landscape, c. 1 5 8 6— 1 6 3 5 ” Sacred Space in Early Modern Europe. Eds. Will Coster and Andrew Spicer. Cambridge, 2005: 167—92. De Rossi, Giovanni Battista. La Roma sotterranea cristiana. Rome, 1864—1877. De Rossi, Giovanni Battista, W. R. Brownlow, and J. Spencer Northcote. Roma Sotterranea: Or, an Account of the Roman Catacombs, especially of the Cemetery of San Callisto. London, 1879. De Rossi, Giovanni Battista, L. Duchesne, and Pat- rick Saint-Roch. Correspondance de Giovanni Battista de Rossi et de Louis Duchesne : 1 87 1894. Rome, 1995. De Rossi, Giovanni Battista, and L. Duchesne. Martyrologium hieronymianum ad fidem codicum adiectis prolegomems. Brussels, 1894. Didron, Adolphe Napoleon, lconographie Chretienne. Histoire de Dieu. Paris, 1843. Durkheim, Emile. Les formes elementaire de la vie reli- gieuse, Le systeme totemique en Austral le. Paris, 1912. Garrucci, Raflaele. Storia della arte cristiana nei primi otto secoli della chiesa. Prato, 1872-1881. Germann, Georg. Gothic Revival in Europe and Brit- ain: Sources, Influences and Ideas. Cambridge, 1972. Gillerman, Dorothy W. Gothic Sculpture in America. New York, 1989. Gombrich, E. H. Aby Warburg: An Intellectual Biogra- phy. Chicago, 1986. Guiffrey, J. Inventaires de Jean due de Berry ( 1401 — 1416). 2 vols. Paris, 1894—1896. Haskell, Francis. History and its Images: Art and the Interpretation of the Past. New Haven, 1993. Hollv, Michael Ann. Panofsky and the Foundations of Art History . Ithaca, 1984. Hourihane, Colum, et al. Image and Belief: Studies in Celebration of the Eightieth Anniversary of the Index of Christian Art. Princeton, 1999. . Insights and Interpretations: Studies in Cele- bration of the Eighty-Fifth Anniversary of the Index of Christian Art. Princeton, 2002. Jacks, Philip Joshua. The Antiquarian and the Myth of Antiquity: The Origins of Rome in Renaissance Thought. Cambridge, 1993. Kessler, Herbert L. Seeing Medieval Art. Peterbor- ough, Ont., 2004. Keynes, Simon. “The Discovery and First Publi- cation of the Alfred Jewel.” Proceedings of the Somerset Archaeological and Natural History Soci- ety 1 36 ( 1 992): 1—8. Labarte, Jules, et al. lnventaire du mobilier de Charles V, R01 de France. Paris, 1879. Lasko, Peter. The Kingdom of the Franks: North- West Europe before Charlemagne. New York, 1971. Male, Emile. L’art rehgieux du Xllle siecle en France; Etude sur I’ iconographie du Moyen Age et sur ses sources d’ inspiration. Paris, 1898. . L’art religieux de la fn du Moyen Age en France ; Etude sur 1 ’iconographie du Moyen Age et sur ses sources d’ inspiration. Paris, 1908. . L’art religieux du Xlle siecle en France; Etude sur les ongines de T iconographie du Moyen Age. Paris, 1922. Mancini, Giulio. Considerazioni sulla pittura. Rome, 1956. Marie, Raimond van. Iconographie de Tart profane au Moyen Age et a la Renaissance, et la decoration des demeures. The Hague, 1931. Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Secular Spirit: Life and Art at the End of the Middle Ages. New York, 1975. Montfaucon, Bernard de. C Anti quite expliquee et representee en figures. Paris, 1719—1722. . Les Monumens de la monarchic frantjoise. Paris, 1729—1733. Morello, Giovanni. “11 Museo ‘Cristiano’ Di Bene- detto XIV.” Bollettino Monumenti, musei e gal- lene pontifcie 2 (1981): 53—89. Netzer, Nancy. Catalogue of Medieval Objects in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston: Metalwork. Boston, 1 99 1 • Netzer, Nano, and Virginia Reinburg. Fragmented Devotion: Medieval Objects from the Schniitgen Museum, Cologne. Chestnut Hill, 2000. Osborne, John, and Amanda Claridge. Early Chris- tian and Medieval Antiquities. 2 Vols. London, 1996. Panvinio, Onolrio. De Ritu Sepeliendi Mortuos Apud Veteres Christianos Et Eorundem Coemeteriis Liber. Cologne, 1568. . De Praecipuis Urbis Romae, Sanctionbusque Basilicis, Quas Septem EcclesiasVulgoVocant, Liber. Cologne, 1 570. Pearce, Susan M. On Collecting: An Investigation into Collecting in the European Tradition. New York, l 995 - Pietrangeli, Carlo. TheVatican Museums: Five Centu- ries oj History. Rome, 1993. Pomian, Krzysztof. Collectors and Curiosities: Pans andVenice, 1500—1 800. Cambridge, 1990. Ruskin, John. The Stones of Venice. London, 1851. Schnapp, Alain. The Discovery of the Past. New York, 1997. Shand-Tucci, Douglass. The Art of Scandal The Life and Times of Isabella Stewart Gardner. New York, 1997. Smith, Elizabeth Bradford, et al. Medieval Art in America: Patterns of Collecting. 1 800—1940. University Park, 1996. Swarzensld, Hanns, and Nancy Netzer. Catalogue of Medieval Objects in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston: Enamels 8^Glass. Boston, 1986. Wainwright, Clive. The Romantic Interior The Brit- ish Collector at Home, 1750—1850. New Haven, 1989. Westermann-Angerhausen, Hiltrud, et al. Alex- ander Schniitgen: colligite fragmenta ne pereant. Cologne, 1993. Whitehi 11 , Walter Muir. Boston Public Library: A Cen- tennial History. Cambridge, 1956. Wilpert, Josef. Die Katakombengemalde und lhre alien Copien. Eine ikonographische Studie. Freiburg im Breisgau, 1891. . Ein Cyclus chnstologischer Gemalde aus der Katakombe der heiligen Petrus und Marcellmus. Freiburg im Breisgau, 1891. . Fractio Panis: La plus ancienne representa- tion du sacrifice eucharistique a la “Capella Greca; ” Decouverte et expliquee. Paris, 1896. . Die Malereinen der Katakomben Roms. Freiburg in Breisgau, 1903. . Die Romischen Mosaiken und Malereien der kirchlichen Bauten vom IV. bis XHI.Jahrhundret: Unter den Auspizien und mit allerhochster Forde- rung seiner Majestat KaiserWilhelms II. Freiburg im Breisgau, 1917. 18 fierce £ions, Clcoer Soxcs. Diabolical Dragons: Animals Cell Calcs in CDebienal Alts anb letters CDAtil^A Conuryn Bruckner ature and human nature — these terms set the parameters of an urgent dialogue that human beings have pursued with the world and themselves, from Lascaux cave paintings and Sumerian epics to the latest in science fiction, biogenetics, and evolutionary polemics. The overlapping expressions translate our paradoxical sense that we are both in and outside nature, subsumed as part of her (she is inevi- tably feminine, Natura, la nature, Mother Nature) and yet distinct. The part of reason, the image of the divine should differentiate us, at least potentially, from the merely animal. Yet nature acts on us, through terrible forces that press in from the world around us or emerge from within our own deepest recesses. 1 One ot the privileged ways in which we express our sense of being caught in between, in a life and death struggle with forces inside and out, is our kaleido- scopic representation of animals that play across the spec- trum of the sacred and the secular. Serving as a common denominator that offers easy access to a broad audience (Ziolkowski 6), animals figure our relation to the human and the not human, whether above, below, or beyond the natural. That affiliation takes many faces; it is multiple, complex, ambiguous, and ambiv- alent. Different cultures across time and geography have explored this rapport to produce shockingly diverse con- ceptions of what nature is, who we are, how we and the world relate. Yet there are equally surprising constants in the human imaginary. During a recent trip to the Museum of Anthropology at the University of British Columbia, I saw not only wooden carvings of thunderbirds and whales, totem poles and masks, transferred from ancient villages to a modern museum, but also living people from First Nations dancing, singing, and drumming a memorial service for one of their dead. At one point, three ravens appeared in lively play, as the masked dancers crouched down, cocked their heads, and flapped their wooden beaks with a quick chop, chop, chop. “Their dance reminded me of my own totemic relationship to birds, established by some twenty- years of living with a parrot, combined with a bit of loyal dog, my sign in the Chinese zodiac, consecrated by family pets. Small Zuni fetishes, fox, porcupine, badger and bear, a Japanese netsuke carved in the form of a dancing cat, a medieval lion and slithering snake reproduced in miniature from the collection ot the Metropolitan Museum of Art, all gather on my desk. I am surrounded by a small menagerie, not unlike the bestiary of assorted animals that animate the Middle Ages and emblematize myriad facets of nature and human nature. “C’est un repoussoir, un miroir, un ennemi et un allie. C’est un instrument capital dans la quete de soi-meme de l'homme, une piece essentielle de l’humanisme medieval.” So the great medievalist Jacques LeGoff summarizes the importance of animals to the medieval imagination. The adjectives accompanying each beast enumerated in my title begin to delineate how human beings categorize them, but these attributes should be understood as a provisional sum- mary that will require nuance, additions, qualifications. Mul- tiple symbolic systems that account for animals in nature and human nature aim to describe their value for medieval people who encounter them in life and art; they develop positive and negative valences that crisscross the intersec- tion of what we designate with this exhibit’s problematized but seminal distinction between secular and sacred. Oppo- sitions of good and evil may emerge in the confrontation between different animals, or even within the portrait of a given beast, as positive and negative traits surface, sepa- rate, or mix, depending on the animal, depending on the context. As the many examples explored in this study will demonstrate, any given animal may straddle the boundaries we moderns expect to operate between the sacred and the secular. The multiple uses of beastly imagery in medieval arts and letters suggest a need to conceptualize secular and sacred along a continuum, rather than assume their opposi- tion. They may operate together or separately in a specific text or a particular image. The interpreter, reader or viewer, is advised to look carefully to follow the interplay across shifting values, as animals carry a variety of possibilities that resist anv neat categorization into secular or sacred. Of course, like Freud’s cigar, sometimes an animal is only an animal, yet its image- in carvings and enamels, metalwork and manuscripts — inevitably enters into a dia- logue that draws it into human and divine dramas. In a Flem ish Psalter (ca. i 2 jo) from the Boston Public Library, folio yv shows a full-page miniature of the Nativity (no. ioa), its rich reds and blues set against warm tan and light drapery, enhanced by gold leaf . The Virgin’s hand, boldly outlined 19 FIG. 1 La Chronique Universelle, (no. 1 6) detail of King Pepin of France in black, reaches up to Jesus’ cradle and directs our eves to the friendly heads of donkey and bull. They exchange glances over halo and swaddling, just as the baby and mother lovingly gaze at each other. Traditional animals that signal the setting of a stable, donkev and bull participate in the Bible’s topical play on reversing normal expectations for the sublime and the humble. They set a baseline for treating beasts as such and remind us that the book of books in the Middle Ages is the Bible, a continual source and resource for animal stories, images, parables, and metaphors. Calendars add illustrations of monthly activities where animals also take their place, as in the Psalter’s December slaughter of pigs (no. 10b). These are domestic animals, part of everyday experience in Europe’s rural economv, but exotic beasts are also familiar inhabitants of medieval texts and images — like the camel and monkev that appear in a miniature represent- ing the Adoration of the Magi (no. 82b) in an Italian picture Bible, ca. 1 3 7 5. Their foreignness is underlined by the Ori- ental character of the cap and clothing worn by the third king who leads them, the monkey’s antics visually signaled bv the drum on which he sits. CD At! AUv' BcASt An animal that mirrors us too exactly may elicit disapproval and disgust. The monkev, “called simia in the Latin language because people notice great similitude to human reason in them,” draws a medieval bestiary’s scorn tor its “hideous countenance with wrinkles lewdly puffing like bellows.” 4 We need some distance to measure ourselves with and against, less a copvcat and more a model to be absorbed, rivaled, or vanquished. The king of the beasts fulfills the role par excellence. We see him denoting Pepin of France’s king- ship on the French scroll (fig. 1), which matches in parallel columns Biblical, classical, and medieval history to produce a “Genealogy ot the Bible and universal history” (no. 16). According to an ancient historiographic tradition, retold in a chanson de geste entitled Bcrte aus grans pies, the young Pepin the Short killed a lion at his father Charles Martel’s court when it escaped from its cage (Stanesco 1 1 j). The history figured bv the lion is thus both literal (according to tradi- tion) and symbolic, while the incident reported reminds us that lions, though not native to the European continent, were not unknown as exotic pets in the Middle Ages, were included in the animal collections of great lords at least from the twelfth century, and seen on pilgrimages or crusades to the Middle East (99— 100). The lion who lies peaceably at Pepin’s feet has an alert face and regal stance; his full mane and arching tail express his pride and link the crowned and sceptred Pepin to his genealogical tree represented down the columns of the scroll as a series of circles connected by descending lines. This positive correspondence between man and lion contrasts sharply with more negative confrontations else- where. Richard de Fournival (b. 1201, d. before 1260) explains in his Bestiaire d' amour that, when eating his prey, a lion who sees a man passing will not attack if the man is not looking at him because “figure d’ome porte aussi come uns enseignes le signor del monde” (Hippeau, ed. 1 2; “the face of man bears . . . the imprints of lordship,” Beer, trans. 8). “But because the lion has natural boldness and feels shame at having fear, it attacks the man as soon as he looks at it” (Beer, trans. 8— 9). This dynamic is illustrated in a northern Italian manuscript (ca. 1 290) of the Bestiaire d’amour trom the collection of the Pierpont Morgan Library, Ms. 459. On folio 6v (fig. 2), two images appear: a tawny lion is shown first, threatening a man (upper right column), who seems to happen bv and sees the lion ready to eat a stag already lying dead before him. The man’s innocently smiling face and raised hands facing out in front ot him, as he turns back slightly, aim to fend off the lion’s threat, visibly couched in his stance. Rearing up on his hind legs with forepaws pulled back readv to spring, mane crested, the curls creating a series ot flames that ripple behind his head, the lion appears to be roaring at him with mouth open and tongue thrust out. His power radiates across the page, as his tail thrusts down behind him and extends considerably below his back legs, thus marking with its vertical line the margin of the opposite text, like the extensions from the enlarged capitals that embellish the margin on the other side. In the second image on folio 6v (bottom right), another man appears, his blue robe distinguishing him from the first man in a rose colored tunic. His head facing away from the lion and his right hand raised in a gesture that con- nects him with something off stage beyond the page, this 20 man walks nonchalantly bv, his spear on his shoulder, as the lion, mane calmly waving back over his neck, tail relaxed, continues to concentrate on devouring the stag. The bright red blood that cascades in droplets spraying out around the stag’s neck appears in both images and translates the vio- lence of the lion’s kill, his appetite for the prev. In the second image, the lion bites into the stag’s neck, his one visible eve fierce. 6 The rivalry is clear between man and lion, two figures at the top of their respective hierarchies. They may share courage, physical prowess, even ferocity, but man cre- ated in the image of God retains the edge of divinity over his lion counterpart. In Marie de France’s Fables, the first Old French collec- tion in the Aesopian fable tradition — more or less contem- porary with the oldest branches of the Roman de Renart (late twelfth century), which popularized and launched beast fables into the vernacular — the lion is always king and gen erallv garners the sympathy of an aristocratic public whose predatory pastimes, hunting and war, make it the mirror image of “the master predator” (Salisbury j 2). The next most popular animal in the fables is the fox, whose status as preda- tor makes up for what it otherwise lacks in stature (33—34). Marie’s foxes plav a variety of roles including victim, as well as master of ruse. Tricks serve to gratify his appetite for the cock (fable 60), but they may also compensate for limita- tions, when the eagle steals his young (fable 1 o), or the sick lion plans to use him for a cure (fable 68). Indeed the fox’s wiliness is such that his wit is a match for the lion’s force. In fable 36 he observes that each of the animals called to the king one bv one has failed to reappear and shrewdly con- cludes that avoidance is the better part of valor. Clever foxes, fierce lions: these two beasts appear in some respects at opposite ends of the animal spectrum, one the epitome of strength and authority', the other small, weak, treacherous, a trickster who yet compels admiration. Their popularity in the medieval imaginary, their shared status as predators, as well as the ambivalence they provoke, invite comparison through an analysis of two outstanding objects from Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts: the Samson and lion aquamanile (no. 1) and the preaching fox spoon (no. 3), which furnish a starting and endpoint to struc- ture this essay. The path between them arcs bv way of the dragon, legendary beast yvhose body forms a handle on the back of the MFA’s mysteriously compelling bust aquama- nile (no. 2c). Its pour spout, too, takes on a dragon shape, a head that seems to burst through the front of the aquama- nile, as it projects from the middle of the man’s forehead. Anyone who has paged through Falke and Meyer’s reper- toire of candlestick holders and aquamanilia cannot fail to be struck bv the horde of dragons and lions who inhabit the Romanesque and Gothic imagination, finding count- less shapes and expressions in art. If each of these animals draws positive and negative associations, each does so in a distinctive distribution. As Jan Ziolkowski observes, “[tjhere was no single medieval Christian view of animals, any more than there is one today” (32). The values associated with the lion tend to be polar- ized between good and evil: the ferocious destroyer, whose bloody jaws bespeak carnage (as in Ovid’s Pyramus and Thisbe), or the humble say'ior, Christ-like figure or figure for Christ himself. In the thirteenth-centurv Queste del saint Graal, Perceval dreams of two ladies riding a serpent and a lion; their meaning is subsequently glossed by a priest with tvpical medieval anti -Judaism. The one riding the lion that is Jesus Christ symbolizes the New Law, Faith, Hope, belief, and baptism; the other ladv represents the Syna- gogue, the Old Law, whose serpent signifies the Scriptures misread, hypocrisy and heresy, iniquity and mortal sin, the enemv himself who seduced Adam and Eve (97— 1 03). That nightmarish serpent undoubtedly appeared in the form of a dragon, the biggest of the serpents according to bestiary lore, whose reputation in clerical culture is exclusively neg- ative and linked to biblical serpents from Genesis to Rev- elation: “Et proiectus est draco ille magnus, serpens anti- quus, qui vocatur diabolus, et Satanas, qui seducit universum orbem” (the great dragon, the primeval serpent, known as the devil or Satan, who had deceived all the world (Rev- elation 1 2:9) 8 But, as this essav will demonstrate, there is a folkloric tradition that surfaces through the Middle Ages jcuft mu, etc cn .trno: 14 mtr. te am axbct A cels ecu vuirc \ncoc 1 'Mngc. cnco'jc iccoibvl 4WSC iu mSSHtun: qiu \ oi a?tc net ide Ct .ir.wuit csWMI.C-ir Cl it eft- q flhr xvora c Ivnrc mojr. Upicmieit civic tt] qiLcunumuciitimr tcfv*l$ y .luarilucc rmvait lutrudc. J fon tceart.ovv pjtc o 1Un.1tvitcttl7.1vX ment n a \jenct oauo\r licDxr fuo alomc fttujb co‘ me 1 uicggroc. FIG. 2 Restiaire d' amour. Northern Italian (ca. 1 290). The Pierpont Morgan Library, New York. MS M. 439, f. 6v 21 and recognizes a potential beneficence tied to the dragon (along with its menace) as the incarnation of natural forces. The fourteenth-centurv romance of Melusine (the founder of the house of Lusignan, part-time woman, part-time mer- maid, transformed into a flying dragon by her husband’s violation of the taboo not to spy on her bath) gives voice to that repressed but persistent tradition, which appears ear- lier and in other forms, as well. Encounters between lion and serpent will occupy us further below, but foxes stay strictly in a realistic landscape with no dragons in forest or chicken coop. On the other hand, the foxes of fable and beast epic frequently have deal- ings with lions. As king, Noble the Lion is called upon to judge Renart the Fox, accused of killing the children of Chantecler and Pinte. Found guilty, Renart escapes hang- ing when Noble allows him to do penance on a pilgrimage instead. As predators, fox and lion seem to have a special affinity for each other, and Renart ’s trickster charm, how- ever treacherous, commands a certain admiration in the comic and amoral world of the Roman de Renart. Renart’s guile may be more negatively charged, however, in the later versions of his story (Flinn 5). Satiric, moralizing, didactic, and allegorical uses can be seen in the numerous represen- tations of the preaching fox found in sermons and exem- pla, on the margins of manuscripts and the decoration of churches, from carved choir stalls (Maeterlinck) and bench fronts to pulpit and capitals, paving stones and roof bosses (Vartv ji, y 7). This fox satirizes monks, symbolizes reli- gious hypocrisy, and serves as a figure of the devil, whose wily ruses deceive the unwitting sinner and lead to death. Nothing to admire there. But the proliferation of these images, and most especially the beauty of a precious object like the enamel fox spoon, invite us to speculate that some enjoyment still lurks in the figure of the preaching fox. CIk £ion’s Share We can begin to see in greater detail the ramifications of this beastly potential by focusing first on the lion, as befits the animal represented in the plastic arts more than anv other (Stanesco 1 1 y). We frequently encounter him on the margin or in the miniatures of manuscripts. Consider how he crouches in front of his prey on the bottom of folio y 1 in a Book of Hours from France, ca. 1400—1420 (no. 8b). A bestiary copied in England, Ms. Bodley 764 (ca 1 220- yo), provides an apt quotation for such an image (I Samuel 17:34): ‘“The lion and the bear shall come and take the ram from the flock ” (Barber 60). Or is that rather friendly looking lion peaceably lving down with the horned ram in anticipation of a Paradisiacal Christian future that may be reflected from the Adoration of the Three Kings in the min- iature above it? Lions found in the margins of an Italian char- ter of the fifteenth century, folios 1 3 V and 26 (nos. i4a-b), are more clearly heraldic figures, one a lion passant stand- ing on all four legs, the other rising up in the more typical figure of the lion rampant (Pastoureau). They wear red or green scarves around their necks, giving them a rakish air and underlining the pride they may symbolize, valued or despised depending on the context. There is no doubt in interpreting the two figures who grapple in the Samson and lion aquamanile (no. 1): moved by the Holy Spirit, Samson attacks more ferociously than the beast, whom he literally tears from limb to limb. A popular biblical story, especially in the twelfth and thirteenth cen- turies, Samson’s encounter with the lion was interpreted as a prefiguration of Christ conquering the devil and rep- resented in a variety of media and forms. This powerful piece remains distinctive among the many aquamanilia with animal designs produced between the eleventh and fifteenth centuries (Netzer 96; Falke and Meyer). The lion’s mane forms a mirror image parallel to but below the cover of Samson’s hair, his most distinctive feature. The beautiful short curls that shape the mane cover the lion’s thick neck and chest; thev bespeak a strength that has been paralyzed by the head’s unnatural turn, twisted like a bottle cap ready to pop off. The effect is dramatically enhanced by a kind of collar formed by the lion’s beard to separate it from his mane. 9 Samson’s own luxuriant hair is bound by a cord that holds back the front locks from his face, leaving his hair to flow freely and abundantly over his shoulders and back, all the way down to his waist where it ends elegantly in three, neat curls that spread over his cloak. The lion’s eyes stare as in a wide-open glare, but their gaze misses Samson, given the way his head has been bent. Their potential to frighten has been deflected; they antic- ipate instead the glassy stare of death. The four sharply pointed incisors sticking out of his upper and lower jaws cannot grasp their foe, and his tongue hangs out over the side, as if the lion has already begun to lose strength, unable to breathe as Samson twists with all his might. Although the biblical account (Judges 1 4: ^ — 6) simply states that Samson tore the lion to pieces, the artists who frequently show Samson grabbing the lion by his open mouth may have been inspired by another lion slayer, the youthful David. 10 Volunteering to go up against the giant Goliath, David reas- sures Saul by explaining how he looked after his father’s flocks. Whenever a lion or bear took a sheep, he rescued it from the animal’s mouth: “if he turned on me I seized him by the hair at his jaw and struck him down and killed him” (I Samuel 1 7: 3 y). This scene from David’s life as shepherd easily conflates with the earlier one from Judges: Samson and David are both figures for Christ in the typological read- ing of the Old Testament. 11 22 In the aquamanile, Samson’s eves are fixed on the lion’s head as he concentrates his strength. They are nose to nose, but while Samson looks forward, clearly the victor in this wrestling contest, the lion has been forced to look back- ward. A striking contrast appears between the obvious ele- gance of this Samson — with his beautiful cloak decorated in a pattern that makes it look like a Near Eastern tex- tile (Netzer 96) — and his equally clear exertion of force, demonstrated in the way his sleeves have fallen back to his elbows, his hands violently twisting the lion’s head and opening his jaws while he squeezes the lion’s body, right knee akimbo and right foot (in an elegant pointed shoe) firmlv planted with his heel on the lion’s ribcage. Samson’s left leg lavs back straight against the lion’s haunches, as if representing the moment when he first leaped on . 12 The lion’s own strength can be sensed in its stance: rear legs braced, forelegs (note the lines of the muscles) digging in at an angle, all four paws, bones and muscle delineated, spread out to grip the ground. The lion serves as an obvious symbol of strength and is frequently invoked as such. Consider Jacob’s final blessing to Judah, which uses the lion to signal both kingship as well as the fear aroused by this fierce predator: “Judah, . . . you grip your enemies bv the neck, vour father’s sons shall do you homage, /Judah is a lion cub, / you climb back, mv son, from vour kill; /like a lion he crouches and lies down,/ or a lion- ess: who dare rouse him?/The scepter shall not pass from Judah . . .” (Genesis 49:8—10). Likewise, in the medieval context, Chretien de Troyes praises Erec, the first Arthurian hero in romance, by comparing him to Absalom, Solomon, a lion (or Samson, in Hartman von Aue’s translation), and Alexander: the initiated reader easily translates these names into beauty, wisdom, courage, and generosity. 13 The aquamanile ’s representation of the lion’s genitalia may be interpreted as another sign of his strength — and mav allude as well to Samson’s proclivity for amorous entangle- ments that get him into trouble. In fact, trouble is precisely Samson’s role in the Bible, a device for God to “rescue Israel from the power of the Philistines” ( 1 3 : 5). The incident with the lion is one of his early adventures, as he returns from Timnah where he saw a Philistine woman he wants to marry. After killing the lion, he tells no one and later finds honev in its carcass, which he eats and shares with his family. Based on that secret knowledge, Samson makes up a riddle to test the young men at his marriage feast: ‘“Out of the eater came what is eaten,/ and out of the strong came what is sweet’” ( 14: 1 4). The answer is betraved bv his wife, as later Delilah will betray to the chiefs of the Philistines the secret knowl- edge that Samson’s strength is tied to his hair. But the answer in the form of a question poses another riddle for the reader: ‘“What is sweeter than honev, /and what is stronger than a lion?’”( 14: 1 8). What sweetness comes from the death of the lion? Does this foreshadow Samson’s ow n dramatic death when he will kill more Philistines than in his lifetime? Or is the sweetness a reference to the lion slaver’s attraction to the sweetness of w omen? Just as the first part of the riddle plavs with a reversal of categories (eater/ eaten), a confusion of who is the prev and who the hunter, so the appearance of opposition betw een the two parts of the riddle, the sweet and the strong, is sub- verted at the level of action. First, the lion’s force is over- come bv superior strength from God; later, sweet women show the strength to betray, and strong Samson succumbs to weakness as the betraved. Presented bv the biblical author as a plot designed by God, Samson’s story inextricably inter- twines sw-eetness and strength. Twice the victim of his pro- pensity to fall in love with the wrong woman, Samson’s defeats are also the motivation for his acts of destruction, culminating in a final and mortal act of revenge. As this essay will demonstrate, the intertwining of strength and weakness, success and failure, lion and man, will also plav a crucial role in Chretien’s Chevalier au lion (“The Knight of the Lion”). The lion’s genitals and “flame tail” date the MFA aqua- manile toward the mid-thirteenth to earlv fourteenth cen- tury (Netzer 98). With its three vertical curls and strong knob at the end, the lion’s tail traces an arc, which curves back, away from Samson’s cloak after lashing up to strike his back. Thus forms a graceful curve for the handle, so the user can pour out water from the spout behind the lion’s ear, twisted so far around that it appears where his snout should be. The lion’s owti snout is mimicked and burlesqued by the pour spout which has taken the form of a curious little animal head: ears laid back, mouth open, eves and fur indicated bv etched lines that give detail to the head, the bump of its snout echoing the bold curve of the lion’s round ear. The same dragon head appears on the bust aqua- manile (no. 2) and, indeed, animal head pour spouts (not limited to dragons) are a common feature of Gothic ewers, aquamanilia, and lavers ( Secular Spirit 43). Here, the dragon head may highlight the negative connotations of the lion as Samson’s enemy. Given the weight of this aquamanile, its asymmetri- cal balance and the awkwardness of the handle (despite the visual elegance of its arabesque), we may wonder to what extent this object is didactic, functional, or esthetic in intent. Or rather, it seems clear that the functionality of an object like this, used for hand washing in both secular and sacred settings, serves as an invitation to display on a lord’s table or a bishop’s, at mass or in the great hall, in a period when sculpture per se has not yet appeared. Such display would offer leisure to interpret its dramatic story. 23 FIC. 3 Chretien de Troyes’s Chevalier au lion. (Northwest France, ca. i 290—1300) Robert Garrett Collection of Medieval and Renaissance Manuscripts 123. Manuscripts Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections. Princeton University Librarv. f. 37r Qtt Mini jrtiGuf n w core nc Ane Vt»e if gnat* ai wait* Mlttviif » baur 1 JArttba ifcif n«rC If m C etc puff "V it Iff 0 t «•«-- 7 if anp -' ,re ' » tdxv-y- «•**■ mciniCtlf j (in mctCmf <*' tmi Co Re j t 41 tcf-ti* tl oiorrj - - I f»f am- i< .mnr ««r in«r ^ U. in p»»r uftur .w»f tf jr«jrtp tncthcr liofftTfai ? .'junryp *Aiai>e l f itnwrhgn* grtraUabc « enftfpiot •S fen .tnu 4 j*n4 nf I \aicrv> qtir StthttO nrpuer (1 9pqtir fttan «c W tm«cr j tnfcnC ra ariwc coitr* cv hjjmilnf nrmfc lutanr C Wf de* .nnonoic- «- 5 4 &TS a*V-f pci ttn«p C tvC Jqnr .1911 Jnulnr 5 cnv to«cr Iff Jtoir j (J luwtmr tw »tc*hi i e wuVe f itrf dicnufiif CjW” * 1 fduoifr Unf ft t tfptCf * W mflinC ^ tvnaf 4 «•*»■ tnmnef- 6 eblcf * mrtigicf * veto if f ttctuflanr metier Mf kfnf t imC odif * fift t tftiflf ( t rw na*C i> talc aiiCOir tnnr q pnf ttoio«r O q true fan tuner f 11U uilmr uf oiatnanir dot U* nm.tr t lc nam 3 cmlnr W pjitr rmi j) amfr hgnt*nf * enf - A I pufemmf q U odfie mi ftre 01 »»c UUilIc A jfcllr g-.mlvmauie ~ I ( lutrret Jl adore Cilnf ijtmc nc ne pnto C.' tanr Cr 2*Jff*i.ilb jmUtcr ^ cgsnhonf Ana-t tmUiCr 4 tier b Cenror fniruii *- C trr Ccnmr pdu » au &nr aim oc* q lc pt tutor to one c menu -o hnict -» CrtlncLi morr 0 quiinr fil net ftthcdic aim me al inter Cilmcnnr m«r 4 ,u ^ r Concur Cc d-rm»c atof |Motc t CtCofyitC » tjnr h arnimcudta .i>«t : fnt » tifiauf n tolf « tnir 1 efttmf FIG. 4 Chretien de Troyes’s Chevalier au lion. (Northwest France, ca. 1 290—1 300) Robert Garrett Collection of Medieval and Renaissance Manuscripts 123. Manuscripts Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections. Princeton University Library, f. j6v 25 FIG. 5 Chretien de Troves ’s Chevalier au lion. (Northwest France, ca. i 290—1300) Robert Garrett Collection of Medieval and Renaissance Manuscripts 123. Manuscripts Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections. Princeton University Librarv. f. 58V n Ir elk ti de* niittnav U t ctF unnif |t at- (cut toiiC •**• ■*> 4 if u tile n u unta.-r . a m t H (cC .ttF.nnrf WOatr T* al t tl 3tfb d fie rent* j t-neir * ntlh*.' o»if Cc ffrfb I 41 C enr- 4U1 CtuiGi - , kond- jja , .. rnr Cc(V nvuT mto'ft tojpic m-onr firlf.u- 16 (MUnt^m* Uf idodtrf pnifr | 4 4 («ti^tiir d Vjirnuuimr K pa* ai- inxtcr uc fe uctorp.w Cf micK ®lf ttf .ingDifcct- b » *» f 40 0 Uf 1 «* t * ' «* i JV 3 «* . ®t T 4' » u a C«i 1 »tc . a* r *r 3 < t a e ar T jni «• in » »4 * m t Ml e tft 3 in 1 f. C U| C a larlv on folio j8v (fig. 5), in order to defend Lunete, his lady’s confidant and aid, accused of treason by Laudine’s sen- eschal, Y vain exercises justice against knights who abuse the standards of chivalry by requiring a champion to defend her against three knights at once. Sword on his shoulder, Y vain accepts the conditions of this unfair judicial combat, as sug- gested here by the lion sagely seated beside him, while his master sits astride a horse whose straight legs indicate that he is not yet on the attack. The aggression is clearly on the side of the three knights who rush atYvain.The miniaturist has created a visual sign of their movement in the rhvthm of multiple knights (three heads, two shields) and superim- posed horses, their legs extended for the charge, the front horse alreadv butting heads withYvain’s. Only when the lion judges thatYvain needs his aid does he subsequently join the fray to equalize the numbers (v. 4527), an increase of strength that may symbolize Y vain’s necessary doubling of courage to overcome the injustice of human treachery, the seneschal’s inhuman violation of the chivalric code met by a corresponding violation in the service of justice (cf. Stanesco 1 1 9—20). The graduated series ofY vain’s exploits as the Knight of the Lion leads him next to the Castle of the Worst Adven- ture (Pesme Aventure), where he is required by custom to fight against two JUs de netun, devils’ sons, represented in the miniature on folio 26v (fig. 6). 1 This image returns to the issues raised in the combat between the noble lion and the evil dragon, but nowYvain and his lion operate as allies against demonic figures, twins in red and blue with threat- ening clubs raised (like the giant’s) and round shields (typ- ically given to Saracens in medieval illustrations 18 ). One wears a cone shaped helmet with a pattern of concentric circles that recalls the decoration of Near Eastern inspira- tion on Samson’s cloak. The rectangular shape of the frame squeezes toward the top to emphasize the motion of arms and weapons, as an angrvYvain gallops his horse in from the left margin, its tail parallel to the lion’s, which stretches out into the margin as he attacks from beneath Y vain’s horse . 19 Once again Yvain’s sword strikes down, as if to symbolize the superior justice he represents against an evil custom that requires countless knights to die in unequal combat, while three hundred damsels in rags weave cloth for the wealth of the castle lord. Aninul €mblcms And Portraits The association of dragons and demonic figures of evil requires further analysis in conjunction with the bust aqua- manile and its dragon handle, but let me first emphasize the extent to which Yvain and his lion have become emblems for one another through their mutual exchange of services and qualities. Pisanello makes similar use of the lion on one of his portrait medals (no. 6a-b), fashioned for Leonello d’Este (b. 1407, marquess of Ferrara 1441— jo) and com- missioned at the time of his second marriage with Maria of Aragon in 1444 (Scher 16, 44, jo).The proud initia- tor of this new Renaissance art form, Pisanello (c. 139^— 1433) made nine medals for Leonello, including this large one signed in prominent block letters, OPUS PISAN 1 PIC- TORIS, the work of Pisano the painter (cf. the patron’s name and titles similarly arranged on the obverse, flanking his bust). The marquess of Ferrara liked to distribute his medals to “a cultural elite” (Scher jo), who would be able to decode their meaning: an initiated public that brings to mind the aristocratic and courtlv audience of twelfth-cen- tury romance, expected to recognize and decipher Chre- tien’s own play with images and language. In the scene invented for the lion on the reverse (no. 6b), Pisanello responded to Leonello’s taste for symbolism with allu- sions to classical art and learning, operating on the level of form as well as content (Scher 47, jo). A very naturalistic and serious lion stands in profile on a rockv ledge facing a winged Cupid who holds a scroll of music: the lion’s open mouth suggests that it is singing the music that unscrolls before it. Behind the lion on a stele, whose solid mass is suggested by the shape of the rectangular top, shown in perspective, and the slightly modeled surface marking the left side, the date appears under one of Leonello’s devices (a column set on the ground and turned into a mast with a wind filled sail, signifying his steadfastness). To the left, an eagle (the Estes’ heraldic charge) sits quietlv on a bare tree 26 that juts out from a barren peak, and to the right, filling the skv above Cupid’s head, is the artist’s signature. The lion’s body is beautifully modeled, giving it volume and weight. Its fur is finely detailed and differentiated into various shapes: beard, mane, chest, and tufted tail. The tail curving around its rump forms the left most border (giving its body a striking sense of three-dimensionalitv, as the lion stands out against the rocks behind it) and then wraps back and underneath to anchor him on the rocky ground like a fifth leg. 20 Leonello’s name and portrait bust on the obverse (no. 6a) have clearly given birth to his alter ego on the reverse. Both are shown in profile; both are stifflv upright (note the necks). Leonello, facing the opposite direction from the lion, shares its look of sober concentration, eyes gazing ahead and ears listening attentively. Both have a mane of curly hair: Leonello’s tight curls cropped above the ear in the contemporary fashion look like a helmet; the lion, by contrast, has let its hair down a bit while sing- ing under naked Cupid’s tutelage. A lover of literature and the arts, as well as model ruler trained in military and humanistic traditions (Scher 47), Leonello combines music and might. He is the lion scion of a family of eagles, rep- resented by two exemplary predators at the top of their hierarchies, two symbolic animals prestigious in both clas- sical and biblical traditions (though no religious overtones appear to be evoked here). On the occasion of Leonello’s marriage, Love teaches the lion to sing — an image that may have been suggested bv Leonello himself (Scher 30), in which case the portrait is doublv personalized in both form and content. As a new medium in the fifteenth century, portrait medals are inevitably linked to contemporary individuals’ desire for fame and a kind of earthly immortality that will keep their memory alive for posterity (Scher 13, 44), a renown as much sought bv Pisanello as bv his patron. The particular link between Leonello and the lion recalls the bond that evolves between Yvain and his lion, eventually absorbed into the transformed hero’s new identity. Yvain becomes the Knight of the Lion, as Leonello assumes the image of the “dear little lion” bestowed bv his proper name secundum naturam: humble with his tail beneath him and vet magnificent in his strength. In each case, the lion represents specific traits of the man emblematically associated with the noble beast, though of course we have passed here from fiction to history, from universalizing identities to the por- trait of a very definite individual, who also claims a tradi- tion of heroism, however humorously inflected here on the reverse of the obverse’s proud portrait. His is a graciously leonine identity, linked to classical and medieval traditions that include, as thev do forYvain, the model of courtly love tied to the courageous performance of a lion. 21 Another imposing beast stands on a medal made by Matteo de’ Fasti (active 1441 — 1467/ 68, nos. 7a-b), a man- uscript illuminator, painter and architect, who also worked for Leonello and thus knew Pisanello in Ferrara. Matteo worked in Rimini, as well, where both he and Pisanello were patronized by Sigismondo Malatesta (Scher 1 8; Luchs, Currency 63— 64). 22 Sigismondo celebrated Isotta degli Atti (1432/33—1 474) with a number of medals. The date 1 446 on this example, filling the edge below a cliff that marks the border of a flowerv meadow through w hich a substantial ele- phant strides, commemorates the year “when Sigismondo consolidated his political power, dedicated his new castle, and won Isotta as his mistress” (63). The obverse (no. 7a), inscribed with the dedication “To Isotta of Rimini, the orna- ment of Italy for beauty and virtue,” depicts Isotta ’s bust in profile, principally her head with a sweet expression on her beautiful face, her slightly puckered mouth closed but smiling. The elephant on the reverse (no. 7b) is obviously an emblem for the pow erful Sigismondo who has won Isotta as his prize. A prominent family symbol used bv the Malatestas (64), the elephant carries with it a number of associations particularly relevant to this medal. From the bestiary tradi- tion, the elephant evokes longevity, excellent memory, and the ability to trumpet, qualities especially appreciated bv the fifteenth-century desire for immortal fame (64, mo), along with the overwhelming strength associated with its use as a military tank (the “elephant and castle” frequently represented in crusade images, as well). 23 As Bodley 764 f a Al z jjrmllc Jftf niantff «ti MCI* t KY lT4f licpu*- dte e 5 nv|» nr Itamir 00 2 «xl ui-uior uciHr Mlo: ft» dlfnnlV ub.ittuc . i*Ihmu CV*ia»r • 1 - m.utxcl t'jwf tulirtiT jir trtViirlJtr •»! ox*l *"*icr Jt Uu fCTitiv (hmninr 0 botur 1 «nlf lipnJV .nf itpnaclc owtrifo roar tvjndv tr.mr jffwmJnr cncpsc dutitir elf V- Ul finrv tin iVr a G» P.i me pl4tft* nf afimr uc li Utrt- our clc If aur wifcmpct* u nmr ftiCcrtnf al tu.incr cranr mef q nvp <« i#r H|»wro-f Junior >ur- f frtiiinr ut art" incr Hunt a «u»r mtr «riir bourn li fltvr tntr jjife if auaftriir «qf >mif dim iijfjudmivr tl HicufonTtr a’lnof ulionf inr pcf »a»ni uor JCUlhiniC Itn-dm qnr aic r or .Humr c loud mlr tfttrtcnscur .Wind mlr oirnnmr cfitt v l 01 m efff .incur cmr .'jnitr f inffic «l tith -Hirer d-fhortnirc n lone*.* fr fjittr <1)vmr ibn enf If <**ift»ir.ilh ac cct*- peril tc iftirt- lOdni ill In bn If |Micr film cl inofticr al ill infflV tioticlr - tl aiOa aettir- a nntf li ncu*- j< 4 tf a uc Ai uhc jfon c\i if * tl dub- ftiv to mf uotf J t il nof .mo antept j mif cmv ncl tiff d«nf «|tc f- .nr It (nf Jf if aidifou 1 fit nd putf famr ^ iujCo U cn or*- c.uh’ .» clbal ’tC v ttc mlr fim dpjbF CT U 1 uc couutr ryntruu ) f ucr tVrjt toi cf»t nftm' •j grit* oVruinf 1 6 rr( i fnf if 1 nrenm* Coir v Otoif vrptt v of 'oittfiim ttof .irtticf pni-t * cua rtre r.C uof «*ficnd:r i uulxf t» v.imnr i oovttv - FIG. 6 Chretien de Troyes’s Chevalier au lion. (Northwest France, ca. 1 290—1 300) Robert Garrett Collection of Medieval and Renaissance Manuscripts 125. Manuscripts Division. Department of Rare Books and Special Collections. Princeton University Library, f. 2 6v 27 expresses it: “There is no beast greater than this. The Per- sians and Indians put wooden towers on his back and fight with arrows as if they were on the top of a wall. Elephants have a lively intelligence and memory. . . . They live for three hundred years” (Barber 40). Bestiaries also explain how elephants have no knees and so sleep against trees. If one gets knocked over it calls for help with trumpeting; after a big elephant and twelve others have failed, it is eventually the help of a little elephant that gets the fallen elephant back on his feet. For Bodlev 764, this smallest but most powerful elephant symbolizes Jesus Christ (41— 42). The bestiary tradition initiated by Physiologus in the second century (translated into Latin in the sixth) gave the natural science of the Greek philosophers a Christian gloss to transform their knowledge into moral and spiritual les- sons. With the portrait medal, the associations move in a more worldly direction. Viewed from the side with surface molding to suggest his bulk and his powerfully rounded rear prominent, Sigismondo’s elephant flaps a large ear back for a full view of his grandeur and moves his strong legs pur- posefully forward from left to right, as two long tusks point the way to the edge. His trunk descends in an arabesque to snuffle the ground in front of him . The suggestion of genitals between the rear legs also hints at virile power, which may evoke another character- istic of elephants dramatized in the bestiary tradition by their mating habits: There is an animal called the elephant, which has no desire to mate. ... If, however, they want to have offspring, thev go to the east, near the earthlv para- dise, where a tree called mandragora grows. The ele- phant and his mate go there, and she picks a fruit from the tree and gives it to him. And she seduces him into eating it; after they have both eaten it, they mate and the female at once conceives. . . .They never fight over their females, because adultery is unknown among them. (Barber 40, 42) Glossed in Bodley 764 as Adam and Eve, “who pleased God in the flesh before their sin, and knew nothing of mating or of sin” ( Barber 41 ), the elephants’ mores presumably offer a more secular compliment in the context of a powerful Ital- ian court. Sigismondo’s commanding elephant and Isotta’s beautiful face form a couple whose chastity and loyalty are thus permanently on display. Dragon ncrsus Elephant While bestiaries refer to the elephant as the biggest animal, they identify the dragon as the biggest snake. The enmity between them leads the female elephant to enter a body of water when she gives birth to avoid the dragon’s menace, as shown on folio 2 1 (fig. 7) of the Morgan Library’s Bestiaire d’ amour. As Richard’s text explains, the elephant’s nature is such that it fears only one beast, the dragon; between them is a “natural hatred” (Hippeau, ed. 45 (.Therefore, when the female elephant is ready to give birth, she enters into the waters of the Euphrates because the dragon’s fiery nature (“si ardant de nature”) prevents it from following her. If it could, the dragon would lick and poison the baby elephant. The male elephant in fear flees toward the water from the bank (a characteristic unsurprisingly absent from the asso- ciations evoked by Sigismondo’s medal). In the Morgan manuscript, a dark green dragon occu- pies the left margin, its tail curving down, its wings up. Two pointy ears wave up as well, their tips meeting the deco- rative line that extends the capital letter above. A wave of red fire emerges from its open mouth and points to the male elephant (colored in with shadings of brown to sug- gest his rounded volume), facing him on the bank. We see the river from two different points of view. Looking dow n from above, the artist has drawn and colored in a rectangle with two rounded corners to provide a frame around the mother and baby elephants. Looking from the side, he places the male on the baseline provided by the top of the frame. The other two elephants stand in the water within (indi- cated with wavy lines across the bottom of the frame) and are thus protected front the dragon in the margin. The male elephant is smaller than the female, an effect of his greater distance or the need to place the baby within the protec- tive legs of the mother’s bodv, a visual effect that plays off against the textual gloss. While the pictures remain traditional, Richard’s inter- pretations throughout his bestiarv take a novel turn toward the realm of love. I lore he establishes two equations: first, giving birth well signifies retaining the lover. Hence the lady should accept love offered and then, like the partridge, she will make the lover her child and ami (beloved). 24 Second, water denotes porveance, that is “foresight inasmuch as it has the nature of a mirror” (Beer, trans. 34). Through the rep etition of the key term porveance, this entry is linked to two previous animals, the peacock and the lion, an association to be pursued below. Such cross references are frequent in Richard’s bestiarv and help form the thread of his argument through a series of short entries designed to convince the lady to accept his love. 25 St. George auv> the Dragon Traditionally, the elephant entry is one of the longest in Latin and French bestiaries (Hassig 129). And in Bodley 764, the narrative of an elephant birthing in water to guard against the dragon enemy is immediatelv followed by the elephant trampling until death anv snake he finds. This gloss 28 clearly associates dragon and snake with the devil (Barber 41-42). In the Christian context, in general, slaving dragons is popularly associated with St. George, as can be seen on folio 1 32V of a French Book of Hours (no. 8d). Available in Europe from the eleventh century (LeGoff 252), the legend can be read in jacobus de Voragine’s thirteenth-centurv ver- sion included in the Golden Legend. George is a tribune born in Cappadocia. He goes to a city in a province of Libya where a dragon lives in a lake and poisons the city nearby with his breath. To placate him they must deliver two lambs a dav, hut when none remain, they start delivering their children until finally only the daughter of the king is left. Despite the king’s resistance, the people demand that his daughter be sacrificed like all the others. Dressed in her best finery, she goes to the lake to give herself to the dragon, when George comes bv and refuses to abandon her despite her pleas to save himself. As the dragon raises his head above the lake, George mounts his horse, makes the sign of the cross, and strikes the attacking dragon with such force that he knocks him to the ground. He then commands the maiden to tie him with her belt. Following her as docilely as a dog, the dragon is led into town, where people are frightened but reassured bv George, who tells them he was sent bv God to deliver them from the misfortunes caused bv the dragon. They need only believe in Jesus Christ, receive baptism, and he will kill the dragon. So it goes, and on that day 20,000 become Christians. While the basic story features hero, maiden, and dragon, this long version includes its own Christian moral- ization and glosses the dragon as the devil or sin. It is a ver- sion particularly appropriate for a chivalric courtlv culture, since the hero is now a figure for the knight (LeGoff 232). Indeed, a large cult developed for St. George whose cross became svnonvmous w ith knighthood. England in particular claimed him, as Edward III designated St. George the patron saint of his Order of the Garter ( The Catholic Encyclopedia online). In the miniature on folio 132V (no. 8d), a kneel- ing lady observes from the background, her figure placed against a walled castle whose spires rise above the frame, as St. George attacks the dragon with a lance. The fire- breathing dragon enters the scene from bottom right and is seen primarily as a head and crested back with tail curv- ing around into the frame. Represented as a knight wear- ing armor covered bv an elegant golden robe, St. George wears a plumed helmet that completelv covers his face. As the feather’s arc rises abruptly above the frame of the min- iature, his lance plunges deep into the dragon’s open throat, from which a stream of blood gushes out. The figures are located on a green field dotted with flowers; the knight’s flowing sleeves and robe form the border between the grass and skv. The triangular configu- one o . ^ iwf urn n * mair lcf>nr .uvr i a*r ct n aai* :ccil wagwi 1 un I'coucnpat': nil* c 3 tik ikunr • % j l- anunc rdPfsnr ti oa vjuii »»c t nuU *x( ' mot e’ rvj»nc £ viK is.nt cntriiitcr w 1 • ( * 3 fe*:*.r>* WWj-ir;: wnftur ^ ’-* eft ». • J»n o.V’C • u’OIkio: > v f.V -uttr or** C o* T-fr of. ■ 3 k: - ocru.t cc- » ter atmu’eot. t lv.l . v v)>nt U .uwem >3 a>to: 1 t a nvy uoic.trcri vs. cn; VKCC 3K OWtaf UlCllt W.” lui yv. lui (jxiiKC <5 U eft- Jinuj eclauK pei bmtee icl ottaf dull unit (Mate. nirtcn jlainruKraCuuiar pow yuc .-:i£ui\ at atfi * Bint iutuit q'nc till 11C mict aic (oirfnr. ilr fU n»ir me iiirimfionfrclolrf.'^t a lef Urltioit • 7 Ciuniiiii«n)t FIG. 7 Bestiaire d’amour. Northern Italian (ca. 1 290). The Pierpont Morgan Library, New York. MS M. 459, f. 2 1 ration suggests an effort to represent three-dimensional space receding back to where the smaller figure of the ladv kneels in front of the castle. Two triangles focus the eye, their respective pinnacles highlighting two aspects of the scene: first, the action of the knight and dragon — the knight’s helmet forms the peak with the dragon and the knight’s body forming the two sides — the second, farther back into the scene, places the lady and the castle at the top, the customary prize in romance for the knight’s heroic feats. We might compare the scene with Yvain’s combat against the dragon in defense of the lion, ultimately linked to his love for Laudine and the quest for her forgiveness. Here the castle’s gate, located between the two curving walls of the Gothic castle, opens suggestively behind the damsel’s kneel- ing figure, her profile silhouetted against the arched space, as her head bends forward to form an elegant curve with her blue dress. I ler expressive gestures, w ith one hand extended and the other held close to her heart, signal her call for help as well as her attentive observation of the combat. Appropri- ately, a praver to St. George appears below the miniature. Dragons less menacing than St. George’s appear fre- quently in manuscripts, often as fillers in a line or as mar- ginalia, as on folios 2, 9, and 33V of Ms.q.med.81 (no. 8), or folio 1 of a thirteenth-centurv Flemish Psalter (no. 12a), where a hybrid figure, a cross between a dragon (note the characteristic ears) and a dog (note the legs and tail) appears in the top margin with a sad expression, two sets of red legs, two sets of green wings, his red and blue body elon 29 gated to till the horizontal space. On the contrary, the Beast of the Apocalypse that appears in a full-page illumination on the last folio of an Italian picture Bible, from ca. i 375 (no. 82e), has taken a particularly threatening form to illus- trate the vision of the woman and the dragon from Rev- elation. According to the biblical description, the woman is in labor and will give birth to a son, which the huge red dragon, “draco magnus rufus” (12:3), with seven crowned heads and ten horns (1 2:3—4), will attempt but fail to eat. St. Michael and the angels attack the dragon in a war that breaks out in heaven ( 1 2:7—10), a war against “[t]he great dragon, the primeval serpent, known as the devil or Satan, who had deceived all the world, [and] was hurled down to the earth” (12:9) along with all his angels. The connection is thus made between the serpent of Genesis and the dragon, who goes in pursuit of the woman and vomits water from his mouth to try to sweep her away in the current. Two moments from this narrative are conflated in the minia- ture: St. Michael’s assault and the earth saving the woman by swallowing the river of water. The visual representation of the scene clearly intersects with the image of St. George and the dragon. The knight, in a white robe trimmed with red, his head haloed in gold and topped by a white dove (the Holv Spirit who also inspired Samson), attacks the dragon on horseback (no. 82e). His body twists to face us, as the horse rears up on its back legs, and St. Michael thrusts his sword straight down into a tawny dragon’s curving neck. Its single head has twisted back over two loops of long neck to face its tail over extended wings, showing eyes between the ribs of each segment. Long, pointy ears curve back from its head, which is topped by a red crest. A long, red tongue sticks out of the dragon’s mouth over sharp teeth, and blood flows abundantly from wounds on the neck and side. On the left, a maiden wearing a crown and dressed in a red robe kneels with hands clasped in praver as she watches the battle, while the dragon stands in greenish water with white lines to indi- cate the waves that stop just before they reach her kneeling figure. The background locates the scene on the edge of a forest thick with whitish gray trunks and mounds of green leaves, dramatically outlined by darker shades. Overall, the eye registers the play of white and red on the three figures framed by the greens of forest and water. It is a fearful scene that presents us with St. Michael and the Virgin Marv men- aced but ultimately triumphant over the forces of evil rep resented by the dragon. Cbc ftoly burnt In comparing this scene with an illuminated page from an antiphonarv (no. 15), written in Southern Germany or Swit- zerland in the late fifteenth century, we may wonder if there are also Apocalyptic overtones to be discerned in the drama enclosed by the large letter A. The artist has combined two traditional images, the Annunciation and the hunt for the unicorn, in order to represent the Holy Hunt, with Mary and St. Gabriel each playing dual roles. 2 The letter A (ini- tiating the response: “Aspiciens a longe ecce video . . .”), placed in the middle of the page, forms a large arc; rosy shades in darker and lighter pink form leaves that bend back and forth along the tw o bands ending in upturned blue leaves, crowned by three red flowers that turn back toward the view er. The four corners outside the arc shine brilliantly with dotted gold leaf; from two of them grow vines, now- green, now' pink or blue, which spread up and down the left margin and then out across the top and bottom, inter- spersed with beautiful birds and flowers in a variety of colors (with an especially tender green and light blue). Their varied poses are alive with movement: one is about to swallow a worm; another lands with wings outspread; others twist their heads around as if to engage in dialogue. These birds appear simply as birds, represented so realistically as to give the impression that a good guide would allow us to iden- tify each of them. But symbolism is found abundantly elsewhere on the page, as the vine curls around six figures from the Old Tes- tament, each holding a prophecy announcing the birth of Christ, the birth and death announced in the miniature at the center. The vine and its figures thus form a frame around the antiphonarv ’s music and words, laid out on five rows of staffs. The prophets, each distinctive in dress and pose, are represented as busts with their hands gesturing to repre- sent speech, figured on the scrolls they hold. Their place- ment here acts out the traditional Christian typology that transforms the Hebrew Bible into a prefiguration of the New Testament . Within the enclosure of the A, we see another enclo- sure: a blond Virgin Mary seated in a garden (represented as a green held dotted with flowers) encircled bv a wattle fence (a traditional medieval technique) with a closed gate on the bottom right side. In the garden, an inner circle of symbols from the Old Testament read as prefigurations of the New. 28 TheVirgin’s raised hand signals the attention she gives to the angel Gabriel, standing slightly lower but with face turned toward hers so that their gazes meet. His wavy blond hair complements her curls, w hile his white robe, golden cloak, and outspread wings form a visual contrast to the Virgin’s traditional blue cloak (wrapped over a gold robe) and the unicorn’s light brown body. Gabriel appears on the Virgin’s right (viewer’s left), as is traditional in an Annunciation scene; his spear point directs our eyes to the Virgin and the unicorn on her lap. The spear itself forms a triangle with her body, her haloed head at the top, off center 30 so that the burning bush (one of the many symbols of Mary’s yirginity) appears against the bright blue sky in the center, aboye and between the two figures’ heads. The burning bush thus forms another triangle with the elegantly draped bodies of Gabriel and the Virgin. Our visual reception of the scene is as highly structured as the allegorical and typological sym- bolism that explains its meaning. In his right hand, Gabriel holds a spear and the leashes of three hunting dogs, while his left hand brings a golden trumpet up to his mouth. It is an action typically associated w ith the hunt in medieval scenes, whether sacred or pro- fane, but here it may also recall the trumpeting angels in the successive visions of Revelation. The “beast” to be speared in this case is not the dragon representing Satan, but the unicorn, interpreted in the bestiaries as a figure of Christ, since it can only be captured by a virgin . 29 This rather perky unicorn lies completely ensconced on Mary’s lap, her hand affectionately placed around his neck. His head held high (frequently the unicorn simply leans his head on the Vir- gin’s knees), his horn rises above her left shoulder to echo the spear and balance the hind legs, which extend off her lap to her right. The configuration suggests the traditional image of the Madonna and Child, but the unicorn’s place- ment may also anticipate the Pieta, in w hich the Virgin holds Jesus’ body across her lap, crucified and pierced by a spear, killed so that Christian believers, like those in the legend of St. George, may be forgiven their sins and live eternally at Judgment Day. CIk £urc auC> the £ore of Dragons In this depiction, the unicorn as a figure for Christ has been substituted for the dragon: symbolizing sin or Satan, it too must also be slain in the Christian view. But other perspec- tives on dragons may be discerned in medieval texts and images. As Konrad I loffman comments, “whereas the occur- rence of fantastic animals in twelfth-century ecclesiastical art may often be interpreted as moral allegory, an ever increas- ing tendency toward aesthetic interest and curiosity is evi- dent in the production of objects like our plaque” (74), a copper gilt plaque from Limoges (early thirteenth century) with two intertwined chimeras (recalling classical sources as well as Romanesque imagery in capitals), their bodies resembling dragons found on many medieval objects. This is precisely the effect of the beasts on two enamel plaques from Limoges (France or a Limoges workshop in England), ca. 1 300, now' in the collection of the MFA (no. 5). The two rectangular pieces can be lined up vertically or horizontally thanks to the repeating pattern of alternating plants with flow'ers and paired parrots (although horizontally the design w'ould require a displacement to keep the pattern of alter- nating red and lapis blue quatrefoils containing the engraved beasts in reserve). The facing pairs of parrots are green with red beaks and legs, their feet accurately depicted with two toes forward and two toes back. In between the animals, the ground of the metal has been elaborately w orked with punched designs. While the blues and reds of the quatrefoils establish a symmetry for the overall design, within that pattern there is a certain play of fancy in the disposition and poses of the fabulous animals. Griffins appear in a variety of shapes: with eagle head and claws, a lion’s body, one w ith two bird legs, another with four legs, front bird, back lion. Dragons have webbed wings or feathered, a long snaky tail or one ending in bushy fur (bushier than the lion’s tails). The lions are rep- resented as heraldic figures, the lion rampant of blasonry, although one of them appears to be standing on three legs with one paw raised, more like a lion passant. Of course, lions are real animals; but in this company, their more fab- ulous character seems foregrounded and reminds us that griffins too are used in heraldry, seen on the shield of Judah Maccabee pictured on the French scroll, La Chronique Uni- verselle (fig. 8). While a green griffin appears against a gold background on the shield of the sixth “preux” (rather sur- prisingly given his connection to the tribe of Judah, iden- tified with the lion), Alexander of Macedonia, another of the Nine Worthies represented, is pictured with a red lion rampant (fig. 9). In some contexts, griffins and dragons are conflated ( LeGoff 2 3 3 , n . 12; 2 44—4 5 ) ; in others , the griffin was associated with the lion and thus the enemy of serpents (“Griffin, ’’“Griffins”). On the plaques, a variety of pairings among the three beasts appear, placed face to face or back to back, the irregular distribution of the animals mirrored in the variety of poses they assume. The pattern of parrots and plants forming the borders has been identified as deriving from Sicilian silks of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries (Swarzenski & Netzer 108). Interestingly, one dragon’s face is turned upward so that we see it from above, recalling dragons similarly represented in Chinese textiles. LeGoff indicates that a syncretism of animal symbolism links the Eastern and Western traditions, with the Chinese tradition of celestial and earthly dragons arriving first in the West across the steppes at the time of the Merovingians, later more directly in the thirteenth century (244—45). ha general, the effect of these plaques suggests a richly embroidered or damasqued fabric, and presumably that eff ect would have been magnified when more of them were combined on the tomb or chasse on which they were probably fastened (Swarzenski & Netzer 108). Christian symbolism and simple aesthetic pleasures do not exhaust the possibilities for medieval dragons. In an anal- ysis of Fortunatus’s sixth-century account of St. Marcel, the fifth-century dragon-slaving bishop of Paris, LeGoff traces 31 FIG. 8 [LEFT] La Chronique Universelle, (no. 16) detail of Judah Maccabee FIG. 9 [RIGHT] La Chronique Universelle, (no. 16) detail of Alexander of Macedonia a variety of medieval associations to dragons from the fifth to the late twelfth/ earlv thirteenth centuries. He identifies two sensibilities or “mentalites” (265): ( i ) clerical culture’s imposition of a uni vocal distinction, black and white, good and evil, in which the dragon has been taken as the symbol of Satan, the Demon of demons, and ( 2) a folkloric culture more prudent, more ambivalent in drawing conclusions, cognizant of associations that link dragons with powerful natural forces that may be beneficial or destructive and thus must be propitiated through primitive rituals to remain ino- ffensive or more positive in their effects. He sees the per- sistence of this folkloric dragon, or rather its re-emergence in the late twelfth/early thirteenth centuries, expressed in the custom of parading a dragon figure in Rogation proces- sions. In Paris, for example, a dragon made of wicker, into whose open mouth people would throw cakes and fruits, was carried in Rogation processions until 1730 (256—264). LeGoff speculates that the breakthrough of this ancient folk- loric view ot dragons, despite the clerical effort to eliminate their ambiguity, was made possible in the twelfth century by the development of an aristocratic lay culture with its own set of values, which thus opened a space for alternatives to clerical culture (265). QOau auC' Dragon Keeping this range of perspectives in mind sets the stage for viewing the bust aquamanile from the MFA (no. 2). Orna mental motifs and facial features associate this piece with similar aquamanilia produced in northern Germany (Mag- deburg) in the late twelfth/early thirteenth centuries, the same period identified by LeGoff . It is small, but imposing. Warm tones of brow n and gold animate the glow of the metal, mostly copper with zinc, lead, and tin (Netzer 84). The bust offers a striking juxtaposition of the human and the animal. The man stares out at us with his widely opened eyes as if transfixed and yet is animated by the incised brush lines top and bottom. These lines shape the eyebrows and lashes but especially a visual pattern that joins the tw'o eyes across the bridge of the nose. Additional features are cut into the metal: straight lines of hair end in rounded mounds of curls, forming a crown around his face. Short lines indicate what appears to be a day’s growth of beard on cheeks and chin (cf. the dots punched into the lion’s face on the aqua- manile to indicate the bristles of his snout). The decora tion on his tunic 30 crisscrosses his chest, against which the man raises his hands with palms facing out. They are too small for the scale of his head and shoulders, which gives them an especially strange quality. Although found on con- temporary bust reliquaries, they are unique on aquamanilia (Netzer 84). 11 His cuffs and sleeves indicate that the arms are bent close against his bodv.Two ears, rounded like shells, appear on either side of his face within the last sets of curls that form his full head of hair. They seem oddly placed, too low (Netzer 84). Since his hairdo would normally cover his ears, thev appear in anv case to be part of the decora- tive stylization. Incongruously, an arched dragon, as if attacking the man from behind, forms a handle, w'hile a second dragon serves as a pour spout emerging from his forehead and lined up with the point of intersection formed by the design of eyes and nose (no. 2b). 32 The two animal heads are quite similar and appear at the same angle when viewed from the side, setting up a kind of rhythm that propels them forward even as the man seems to remain still and upright. They are tvpi- 32 cal dragon heads with pointy ears thrown back. The head that attaches the top part of the handle to the center of the man's head presses its closed snout tightly against the man’s hair; the other opens his mouth to form the pour spout. The tail on the back ends in three broad, pointed lobes (no. 2c). According to bestiary tradition, the dragon’s strength is not in his teeth but in the tail used to strike blows: like the devil, who can only deceive with lies, his power is indirect. And like the devil, the dragon deceives fools “with hopes of vainglory and human pleasures,” a trait signaled bv his crest “because the devil is the king of pride” (Barber 183). We saw such a crest on the Beast of the Apocalypse; here the dragon’s adornments are limited to the fine etching that delineates the shape of his wings, round on the shoulders and elongated down the back, scales marked in short lines down his tail, and fur-like ruffles down the edges of his legs. His back rises to the shoulders anchored first bv the legs and then the head, creating a sort of double arch, the large one echoed in the smaller one formed bv the legs and the neck plus the head. How do we read this juxtaposition? Is there a narrative here, or simply a striking image? Is there some .suggestion of a psvchomachia taking place within this man, forces of good and evil that do battle, his animal nature struggling with the more angelic parts of himself expressed bv those tinv raised hands? Is he staring out at us or concentrating all his energies within? Might we read in this fashion the strange combina- tion of an apparently clean-shaven face vet covered with a stubble of beard (a sign of his maturity), the insistently fron- tal orientation of the bust pierced bv the animal pour spout, which forces us to swing around and view it from the side to follow the attack from behind and the emergence of the animal out the front? Hoffman evokes the same idea apro- pos of a lion aquamanile with a human figure in his mouth: “part of the widespread imagery of allegorical moral strug- gles in medieval art” (88). On the other hand, consider- ing the esthetic interest visibly connected to the prolifera- tion of those curving dragons on Romanesque and Gothic objects, we may notice, when we look at the dragon from the side, that his head rests on the man’s with an expression that does not look particularly threatening, unlike the open mouth of the spout. The combination of naturalistic features and decorative stylization places us on a shitting ground of interpretation: what set of criteria to use? The real or the imagined? The symbolic or the literal? Perhaps the unrealistic ears are an invitation to read the bust as a representation of the five senses: ears hearing, eves (very prominent with bulging eyeballs) seeing, mouth tast- ing (though the tightly closed, thin lips are not at all sensual), hands touching, nose (also quite prominent in both frontal view and profile) smelling. Should w'e remember those nox- ious fumes associated with dragon’s breath? An allusion to the five senses would not be out of place in an object first used to wash the diners’ hands, then left to be admired on the table. How else might we understand those little hands? The same gesture appeared in the Morgan Bestiaire d’ amour in the image of the man looking at the lion: he seemed to raise his hands to fend off the lion’s attack (fig. 2). Do raised hands with palms facing out suggest other readings, depend- ing on the context? Illustrations of the Annunciation found in The Year 1 200 include a French enamel, dated 1 200-30 ( 1 49), which shows the Virgin with hands raised, palms out, held in the same horizontal plane and placed at the end of cuffs emerging from draped sleeves very much like the bust aquamanile aims to represent, although the artist does not quite get the sleeve openings right. Hoffman interprets the Virgin’s raised hands as “a gesture of surprise and defense” (148). Praver? Or perhaps obeisance? Consider how the man’s hands are lowered when you use the aquamanile to pour, a gesture of respect before the person being served (at which angle those strange sleeve ends would appear more naturally to be hanging down, although perhaps it is just as “natural” to see them fallen back when he is upright with hands raised). 33 But what of LeGofFs suggestion that two different men- talities mav be at work simultaneously in the medieval reac- tion to the dragon? We might then consider three different readings of the aquamanile ’s connection between man and dragon. Two angles, from front and back, express the polar ized view' of good and evil, the battle of vices and virtues familiar in the tradition of the psvchomachia. A different view emerges from the side, which takes in both the dragon projecting violently through the forehead and the less fear- some dragon cozving up from the back. From this more ambivalent perspective, the dragon mav symbolize natural forces — from within as well as without — which mav be helpful or harmful. Such forces may be put to good use or bad, depending on how we negotiate our relationship with them -with ruse, flattery, violence, integration, expulsion, annihilation, and so on. LeGofl emphasizes that the dragons appearing in stories like that of the dragon slayer bishop are not to be scientifically rationalized away: Les betes monstrueuses, et specialement les dragons, sont des phenomenes legendaires reels. Ce sont des faits de civilisation . . . Elies relevent du mental collectif . . . le niveau de leur realite est celui des profondeurs du psvchisme et le rvthme de leur evolution chronologique n’est pas celui de l’histoire evenementielle tradition- nelle. (233—36) This complex view of the dragon and his folkloric past, in which he is a figure associated with natural forces bring- 33 ing benefits as well as destruction, forces that may incar- nate a particular place and are particularly associated with watery places (LeGoff 237, n. 23; 244—43), also suggests an association with Laudine’s marvelous fountain and the Knight of the Lion.Yvain’s first encounter with the lion under attack by the dragon led him to the typical clerical association of the dragon with evil, inducing him to side with the lion despite the risk. When the lion subsequently acted not as the ferocious beast Y vain anticipated, but rather as the grateful animal of fable, a kind of compagnonage was ini- tiated in which all the lion’s best characteristics became inte- grated intoYvain’s performance. Courage, prowess, fear- lessness: these are the apanage of the knight he already was in the first part of the romance, but now they are enhanced by the lion’s force and combined with new yirtues of ser- vice and loyalty associated with positive views of the lion from fables, saints’ lives, and so on. After the long series of adventures that have put to the test his transformation, the Knight of the Lion hopes to redeem his failure with his ladv and returns to Laudine’s fountain to make war against it (“A se fontaine guerroier,” v. 6509). He will continue to set off storms by pouring water on the stone bv the fountain until she takes pity on him; if not, he will just keep making it rain and blow (vv. 6309—16). As represented in the romance, Laudine’s fountain sig- nifies an irreducible fact of nature linked to violent and beautiful forces: the storm set off when water is poured on it, crashing down trees in its destructive power, is fol- lowed by brilliant sunshine and joyous bird song. This nat- ural sequence is followed by the emergence of the foun- tain’s defender, who, in an act of violence parallel to pouring the water, attacks the offender, thus suggesting a homol- ogy between nature and human nature. Natural forces are overlaid with a chivalric setting — just as the lion’s gratitude takes the form of a feudal act of homage — and so are con- jugated with a military code that requires warning, a chal- lenge, before an attack can be justified. Its absence leads to charges of treachery and cowardice, expressed in the wid- ow’s cries as her men search forYvain, invisible thanks to Lunete’s magic ring, but who must be present in the castle since the corpse of her husband bleeds in the presence of his “murderer” (cf. Kay onYvain’s treachery, 221— 2 3). The fountain requires a defender and thus links land, woman, and knight. It functions as one of romance’s automatic cus- toms that must be righted or abolished by the Arthurian hero (Kohler). Marrying the ladv of the fountain should have placed it under control, but Y vain failed to return to her in time. Now, bv making war on the fountain, Y vain uses the force of nature to force his lady’s actions and emotions, tied as she is to the fountain, that watery place frequently associated with dragons: she was clearly a fairy in older ver- sions of the source material. Laudine’s men understandably curse the founder of the castle, who placed it on this site and thus made it vulnerable to the attack of a single man (vv. 6339-45). The reconciliation is finally effected with the help of Lunete, who catches her ladv in the ambiguity of words, the unexpressed equivalence between Yvain and the Knight of the Lion, the hero who has already rendered her service bv defending Lunete against the accusation of treachery. In Chretien’s romance, words are as much a part of the action as chivalric prowess. But, however glossed in terms of feudal relationships and courtly love or finessed bv ambig- uous language, the underlying problem is one of natural forces that remain present, potentially active. They cannot be eliminated, onlv negotiated or channeled. And so, not surprisingly, even though Yvain has killed the dragon who attacked the lion, he later encounters those demonic sons who have to be killed as well, using the necessary ferocity of the lion to overcome monsters, even if the chivalric code has to be temporarily suspended in order to do so. Consider the ending of Fortunatus’ narrative about St. Marcel, who tamed the dragon to claim a place for civilization. LeGoff compares his action to the kind of friendship that develops between saints and their animal mascots, like Jerome and his lion (247). 34 The dragon is eliminated as a danger, an object of fear, not bv killing but bv banishing it: St. Marcel ordered it to stay hidden in the water or the wilderness, and so it disappeared without a trace. “Le bouclier de la patrie ce fut done un seul pretre qui de sa crosse fragile dompta l’ennemi plus surement que s’ il l’avait transperce de fleches, car frappe de fleches, il aurait pu les relancer, si le mira- cle ne l’avait vaincu!” 35 The phrasing gives the sense of an escape from a cycle of violence: if you use the instruments of violence, vou perpetuate rather than end its threat. 36 Is this why words rather than arms effect the reconciliation between Yvain and Laudine? When the natural forces thus symbolized are displaced, sent elsewhere, where do they go, inside or out? In pon- dering that question, we should consider further the open- ended character of the romance ending. If she has been tricked, has Laudine really forgiven her erring husband? Her “real” emotions for him are left unstated bv the narra- tor. Are hatred and love hiding in different chambers of her heart and mind, as thev do when Yvain and Gauvain, each incognito, must fight a judicial combat as champions rep- resenting two sisters (vv. 5993—6102)? How do you force someone to forgive or love you? Difficult questions remain a matter of debate for the readers of Chretien’s Knight of the Lion, though we are inclined by Yvain ’s identification with the lion to share in his jov now that he has been peacefully restored to the side of his lady and beloved. One miniatur- 34 ist certainly read the ending as a happy one: the final image of his copy shows Yvain and Laudine embracing under the covers, while the lion lies peacefully next to their bed. 3 Bestiary £ions and Peacocks Given his impetuousness, Yvain may still lack one impor- tant quality associated with lions in the bestiary tradition, the porveance described bv Richard de Fournival in his Bes- tiaire d' amour and used to associate the lion with the pea- cock. Foresight seems the very character trait suggested bv all those eves on the peacock’s tail feathers, seen on folio £ i in the elaborately decorated margin of a late fifteenth- century French Book ol Hours (no. 9), as a lapis blue pea- cock stares straight out at us and fans out his golden tail behind, its green and blue “eyes” intensifying the peacock’s gaze. A dragon with a particularly large and devilish face strides through the watery edge on the bottom margin below the miniature of the Visitation and the small block of text which begins “Deus adiutorum meum” ( God my help ) , a kind of refrain that also appears with the peacock on folio £9 of a Flemish Book of Hours (no. 11a), ca. 1 £00, found in the beautiful border filled with realistic representations of birds, insects and berries, backed bv warm gold. This col- orful peacock, silhouetted as it stands on its nest in a tree, has a green and gold-flecked tail folded back, as does the one on folio 70, whose gray body and green tail feathers stand out against the otherwise empty bottom margin of a thirteenth-century Flemish Psalter (no. 12b). A pagan symbol ot immortality transformed in the Christian tradition into a sign of life everlasting (Ziolkowski 4), the peacock in Rich- ard’s bestiary, whose closed tail “inasmuch as it is behind, signifies what is to come, and the fact that it is full of eves signifies the foreseeing of the future” (Beer, trans. 17), is a figure for the lover who, even if he had as many eyes as the peacock, could still be lulled into the sleep of love by the power of voice — and thus risks dying of love it the lady fails to resuscitate him. Throughout this discussion, Richard establishes links with the other animals he has presented. The first associa- tion goes to the lion, whose foresight is demonstrated by the way he uses his tail to cover his tracks. The illustration on folio 1 2 of the Morgan manuscript thus shows a man on horseback, pointing his spear toward a fleeing lion (fig. 10). He sweeps his tail along behind him to erase the footprints that appear to be traced under each foot. Placed on top of the left column (the peacock was represented on the previ- ous folio), these strongly linear drawings, painted in trans- lucent colors, plav in a lively fashion across the open space of the folio. With no frame to contain them between the columns of text, they add dramatic action to reading the words on the page. Unlike Yvain, this man is not a knight: .uffttnc diric s*>nt L:n kbuf nicror k ten kf-uGm -U k Vuaunr ti aftur q nuf ik tefo cW .ti que \*\ ivxucmcc cue utt umctc wytuic pox nuic nen.ti La Ui ULi .i£irC\T.iun hwuc qiu 4 iwir nom Argu f.Gl -vquf .1. it-c culj cnlirclk-attiK moioiT onqf qc^ufcul; mfxmbte atuit U.uine -^11 to ■Cir LULidx* . p’ poi tor oc nc vcmeiV il q JluudN neftpritV Carum h»m qiu xulr lauoir .unce t icnuou im tien 1^1 qui amcr ucUk Gaioif bicu d' truer, cnv.nc bn juc ueverc nueft . qil .uwm oKj-mn.CU ocram' coma .ipuierun^ he wears a red tunic and a hat. The placement ot his arms (note the sleeve fallen back like Samson’s) and the twist of his upper body give a good sense of the action . The brown lion faces forw ard with a fierce expression; the curls of his mane climb his strong neck, and his raised paws almost give him the stance of a heraldic lion. But Richard’s text takes the interpretation in quite a different direction. This disappearing act is used when the lion does some- thing for which he might be blamed and thus escapes the bad publicity such an action might entail. This may seem a strange association for the otherwise noble lion. The decep- tion so phrased sounds worthy of a fox and demonstrates how the configuration of animals in a given context can change their meaning. Indeed in his version, Richard does not start with the lion, as is frequently the case in the besti- ary tradition. In Philippe deThaiin’s bestiary (the earliest in Old French) and Bodley 764, the lion has pride of place at the beginning, as befits the figure of Christ. In the Bestiaire d' amour, Richard has foregrounded a series of animals linked to voice, speech, song, and silence (the cock, the wild ass, the wolf, the cricket, and the swan), in order to reflect on his role as lover/poet/writer (Beer 1 8—26). Six more ani- mals follow in quick succession; the lion finally makes his entrance after the crow. He returns later, first through the trait shared with the peacock and then again in a separate entry to report how the lion resuscitates its cubs after three days, which furnishes a lead in to the entry on the pelican. Both are typical allegories for Christ, here interpreted as the FIG. 10 Bestiaire d’ amour. Northern Italian (ca. 1 290). The Pierpont Morgan Library, New York. MS M. 459, f. 12 35 FIG. 11 Bestiaire J' amour. Northern Italian (ca. 1 2 90). The Pierpont Morgan Library, New York. MS M. 459, f. 29 D.m dr: ’u'*aci Untfbdlcit: a ivji’.u'.cj WOTPCfrrcc q.woe. L :i f -it cclc cut ->V .lu-rj JU »$r >i».:p'!!iy firurc vwur allc V*"c X OAU'S. ..ini; 05 rr Ufauv cjui eft cov Sol -umiciV »: »r bvijire. ViM ’!tj£ cfte r tucrf U tw 7 lenut Orunff xcuo tscpc M X 4irf*ncc »i nut* pragpuif. ^V,\v ll inpcgW w gem* ^naxcc nckputc amuO* n<* tilt KT» twin' |b:l tbknit ov yxif tmutrt p>i r w Ton *^.ul nc r* 1 ’ • '■ lover killed by love (or the lady herself): he needs her love to give him new life. Thus Richard picks and chooses among the various traits traditionally assigned to the lion, selects one at a time to serve his argument, returns or not at will, as he constructs his plea for the lady’s love. 38 One of the most striking characteristics of the Bestiaire J'amour is the implicit dialogue between the pictures and the text. Richard’s prologue calls attention to the interplay by referring to both text and image as important convey- ors ot knowledge for which God has furnished us memory: “memoire si a 2 portes, veoir et oir” (memory has two doors, seeing and hearing), which correspond to “painture et parole” (painting and speech) (Hippeau, ed. 2). Richard addresses the work to the lady so that he will remain in her memory through these two avenues. He even claims that this kind of writing requires pictures, because beasts and birds are better known through images rather than words. While it is true that the combination of words and pic- tures is an essential part of the bestiary tradition (Poirion 2 3—24), there is a significant difference in Richard’s use of the conjunction. If pictures are designed to make his argu- ment even better than words, what he does not point out is the remarkable contrast between the conventional character of the bestiary images included and the Bestiaire J’ amour's nontraditional use of them. While illustrated bestiaries tra- ditionally connect to the Christian and moralizing frame of the Phjsiologus tradition, Richard rewrites that tradition both at the level of form, through choice and arrangement, and at the level of content. He places his pictures in a lvric frame, the requete d'amour, love pleas transformed into a quest, a narrative of seduction and conquest. What he presents to the reader then — both die lady and the general public, since his work is clearlv not intended as a private message — is the puzzle of how to read that duality. The manuscript tradition, as well as modern critical tradition, demonstrate that different readers have reached quite distinct conclusions. Beer, for example, keeping in mind Richard’s identitv as a churchman, reads the Bestiaire d’amour through the Christian interpretations of his most direct model, Pierre de Beauvais. She characterizes the intersection of a love declaration and animal exempla as a move into bathos, though she also emphasizes at the start the difficult! 1 of pinpointing Richard’s ambivalence and his text’s ambiguities ( 1 ) . 39 As Huot points out, the Bestiaire d’amour was a seminal text that gave rise, over the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, to extremely varied responses (lvric, didactic, narrative, or combinations of all three), in verse and prose, from writers, compilers and artists, because “it embodies so perfectlv the tension between song and book, between text as theatrical performance and text as material artifact” ( 1 7 2— 73). The iconography of a given manuscript supports the interpretive slant invited, as does the combi- nation of texts in a compilation. Thus, in the Morgan manu- script, there is a clear intention to read Richard’s work as a lyric love quest that ends successfully, as the picture on the final page (fig. 11) amply illustrates. On folio 29 a large miniature across the top of two columns shows two lovers on horseback being brought together by Love, who sits blindfolded on a horse facing the viewer. The lovers appear to ride in from right and left (the different positions of their horses’ heads adds to the animation), as the god of Love stands firm in his red tunic. All are represented within a rectangular frame decorated as a castle with crenellations and towers. Three arches frame their heads and the ladv holds a Vermillion rose, a frequent symbol of love and/or the lady (or certain parts of her), which functions as an allusion to the well-known Roman de la Rose. A large parrot with a long tail fills the space of the right column below the end of the text, as he struts from right to left, dark green like the ground. Although Rich- ard’s bestiarv does not include the parrot, Bodlev 764 draws attention to the parrot’s ability to speak, w hich makes him an appropriate figure for the lover/author here. This lover is decidedly not a clerical figure (he has no tonsure, as he does in other manuscripts): the preface added to this ver- sion explained that he gave up religious orders because of his love for the ladv. We may read this as an effort to w r easel out of the implicit tension posed bv Richard’s identity as churchman and lover. Images of the lover and ladv appear 36 throughout the manuscript to frame the more traditional images of a bestiary. This happy ending for the lover coun- ters the sort of response found in other manuscripts that include the Response Je la Dame, in which the female speaker remains convinced that Richard is nothing but a deceiver. Here the blindfolded figure of Love functions as an impartial mediator and thus seems to refute that charge. Cbc Strategy of a fox In other manuscripts, Richard’s text has a strategy ready to defang in advance this not unexpected response. From the opening words he has presented his written text as an arriere ban, a military metaphor that picks up the tra- ditional association of love and war (cf. the story ofTrov he gives as an example of memory’s power to bring back the past and make the absent present). The arriere ban are those forces kept in reserve and commandeered last from the home country when the embattled lord’s need is des- perate. Richard refers to “meint bel mot dit et envoiet” ( 3 ), many fine words already said and sent to the lady without success. This missive is his arriere ban, his last and best shot, and therefore it must have more power than his previous writings. The military metaphor reappears in the closing movement initiated bv the fox. On folio 2 2 , the fox lies on his back with tongue out, feigning death in order to entice three birds hovering over it (fig. 12). This is one of the fox images most frequently illustrated in bestiaries (Hassig 63). The text describes briefly the typical scene with the fox feigning death to attract and trap magpies. Although the description explains how the fox covers himself in red mud, the fox represented here — eyes closed, belly up, arms and legs raised as if in rigor mortis — appears in brown, and the three birds flying above are in red, one coming perilously close to the fox’s open mouth. The colors are washed on, leaving the black lines of the drawing to make the stron- gest visual effect, the lines of the three successive wings flapping up, beaks pointing down to dive toward the fox whose outline plavs humorously against the skv (the empty space of the page). It is surely not without significance that the fox is pre- sented in Richard’s bestiary as the next to last animal, whose tactics show him to be a loyal follower of love. This rather surprising twist of the fox’s traditional image is achieved here bv contrasting him to the vulture, the very last animal mentioned in Richard’s catalogue. On folio 22, illustrations of whale, fox, and vulture together represent the shifting plav of meanings attached to the trickster, transformed from deceiver to loval lover. Significantly, the transition from the previous item on the whale takes place via the issue of deception. At the top of the page is an elaborate drawing of a ship perched precariously on the whale’s back. Its trian- gular sail, mast, cordage, and banner tip over into the space of the right column as the great creature, its tail flipping in the water, appears to be heading down into the sea’s blue waves. The death that awaits its four sailors is represented bv the other two images on the page, death feigned and real. Richard’s interpretation moves from the fox tricking birds to fill his hungry stomach to the world of love where men mav pretend to love and think onlv of deception. At which point, the narrator raises the possibility that this is the image he himself has in the ladv’s eves, which is indeed the tack which the anonymous Response will take as it refutes, animal bv animal, Richard's arguments. 14 His exculpatory answer — to disarm such a response — takes a detour through two images. First, the description of those who follow an army: some go out to do the work needed bv their lords, others to see the siege. That observa- tion leads to a second image, the example of the vultures: like some who follow an army, they are looking for carrion. And the ones who go out to look -thev know onlv how to speak of love when they meet someone, and so they do. It’s not trickery, but their habit: “ainz Font d’usage” (49). He, however, is like those who go out to do their lord’s work: they are the loval lovers. This declaration leads into the final closing remarks in which Richard sums up his posi- tion (although not in the Morgan manuscript, which is fol- lowed bv the continuation). He cries for mercy since reason cannot convince the ladv. Onlv if she retains him will she learn bv his deeds (par oeuvre) that he is not tricking her. 41 Like a line from a lvric poem, a plea for merev ends the Bes- fctOlt It mam" far enudvftwumo oc qui putf fcmbk (hue. car ctifi ament UncfpUif ref pr qiu .um Ktwtt.etttr pit 01 ft mutrt tommf quit nc ftnt ntmalnctntai aueccuent la 'bout cent. ' come Ictfotpil fait ttf RjjRnct’Cu'tl ftt'a'S* tnbout octogc u.r*.ttcuwrt'C$olc hMt , l , Uiieiic lutf aifl <0 me lUtuft un«knr. (ft fatfl uientnt kf pitf oui curatnt quu fait moa.ftu undent m.mpcr la Unax. ettf.qictc tefocm fitaf pit piriii tcW-Ttefoaiaac: f Vfuit n x que ter ft tut inif 1 .mepukuv mmmf nu » ik cHtut.oquincbafc.inect’i erni.COCfpirutcmuie ui ftnttwtntuenKi mafinc. (rt.« ifafiefpmt it -Car ten fait Woj par manner *0 fw-C-ir Uun laftnicnc pa; tine Ubcfaicnc fa; ihjuo;, ft Uautte It Tlucnt pa; feme lit pxu 1 pn guavgmer tpr. tobcr.q Uautte pure puU nt fcuent on afar fi uont leftc « utffir- r% \ii tut unf oricauf qui a *3 nom votorf qui pi cot o' tumc fiut ItfojpjMcqiliur tvrtmmgue. n ii FIG. 12 Bestiaire d’ amour. Northern Italian (ca. 1 290). The Pierpont Morgan Library, New York. MS M. 439, f. 22 37 tiaire d’ amour: he remains in the suspended state of the lover who desires and has not vet received . But if words are impotent and the ladv impervious to reason, will pictures be more potent in convincing her through their emotional appeal? Consider the amorphous image at the bottom of the right column. A dead animal in red: is it the slaughtered horse mentioned in Richard’s text among the corpses left behind after a battle? It is above all a lifeless cadaver on which the vulture feeds, planted bv his spread out claws on its belly, beak ripping into the entrails. With the legs, head, and tail bending out around the figure of the vulture, it is almost as if we were looking at a hideous flower of death. According to Richard’s text, this is a figure for those who prev on ladies and damsels to take advantage of them to their detriment (49). The sharply contrasting yet complementary images thus play off the disgust engendered by carrion ( false lovers) against the coyly “dead” fox who rises again in the text to take on a new disguise, that of the loyal lover. Some predators repel, others charm. Such are the ruses expected from the trickster par excellence: the fox named Renart whose renown was such that he replaced goupil, the original Old French word for fox, with his own proper name. Of course, the fox’s bad rep- utation goes back to biblical tradition: the foxes who destroy the vines in the Song of Songs (2:13), Israel’s prophets like foxes in Ezechiel ( 1 3:4), Herod the fox in Luke (13:32). But the fox of fable and beast epic gains enormous popularity in the Middle Ages: the Roman Je Renart's appeal was wider even than the stories ofTristan and Isolde and the Romance oj the Rose (Flinn 1—2). 42 The MFA’s painted enamel spoon (no. 3) shows the narrative potential of a single image to recall the well-known tales of Renart the Fox as devourer of chickens and geese. This preaching fox acts as a kind of signature image with the power to trigger memory, tell a tale, and spin a variety of interpretations. 43 A Caste for poultry and the preaching $ox Le Roman Je Renart’s earliest branches appear ca. 1 1 74-77, written by Pierre de St-Cloud, a churchman writing for a mixed lay and clerical audience. He combines a variety of sources from Latin and Lrench vernacular literature — Ysen- grimus, fables, romances, and chansons de geste — and adds individual names for animal types operating in a feudal soci- ety which the aristocratic (and eventually bourgeois) public has no problem identifying as its own. Such a public easily recognizes parodies of the courtly literature it regularly con- sumes. “Branches” proliferate with Renart at the center to unify the collections. Once the essential ingredients are put into place, many other writers will join in and elaborate the tales which spread all over the continent and England. A great part of their success is no doubt attributable to the treatment of the beasts, now human like, riding horses like knights and bringing accusations against Renart to the jus- tice of King Noble’s court, now animals with typical appe- tites, famished predators in pursuit of prey. Contemporary fables, like those of Marie de France, use animal stories to conclude with a moral lesson. Con- sider the hungry wolf with open mouth that paces across the margin of folio 2v of Ms.q.Ms. 1 6 1 . An enamel plaque from the MFA shows a ram in a face of! with two crouch- ing beasts, identified as doglike in the catalog (Swarzenski &Netzer 64), but which I suggest are the kind of wolves who populate Marie de France’s fables. Wolves appear more often than the fox (in twenty out of one hundred), primar- ily as the predator of lambs, sheep, and goats. Since dogs are generally shown with collars to denote their domes- ticity, 44 it seems likely that these are two wolves, ready to pounce. The ram is surrounded but alert to defend him- self, as the elegantlv stylized and gilded bodies of all three, noses aligned to the ground, each in a gold frame, set up a lively rhythm against the lapis blue enamel. The attraction of these beasts, as we saw with dragons, can play with and escape customary moralizations. In the beast epic of the vernacular tradition, the fox’s appetite for poultry first appears in the Chantecler epi- sode, the opening tale in the earliest version in French, where the struggle and even rivalry between Renart and the rooster — clever fox and cockv cock — establishes a pat- tern that will be repeated and embroidered in subsequent versions. 45 Fear and mistrust combine with overconfidence and trickery to fuel the machinations and reversals of the plot, in which both the fox and the cock use flattery to entrap the other or escape from the jaws of death. In these earliest tales, Renart is as often unsuccessful as he is trium- phant in his trickery. The spoon’s particular rendition of the continual contest between fox and fowl stems most directly (if not exactly) from Reinaert de Vos, the thirteenth-centurv Flemish trans- lation and adaptation of the French Renart bv Willem, the source for many subsequent versions across Europe (Flinn 398, 617, 633—36), including Caxton’s fifteenth-century English version (Varty 32). Renart’s priestlv poses were well known (Vartv 58) when Willem reworked and added many new details to the Chantecler episode (already signi- ficantly adapted in Renart le Contrefait, where Renart pres- ents himself as a hermit and pilgrim doing penance). Most significantly for the enamel spoon, Renart elaborates the ruse with a letter from the king proclaiming a general peace among animals, in order to get inside the enclosure where Chantecler and his family are safelv guarded. Joyous at the news, they go outside, and Renart emerges from hiding to eat the chicks (Flinn 6 1 6— 1 7). 38 Our fox is tricked out as a preacher (no. 3a), wearing clerical garb, his golden robe just visible over his chest, his monk’s habit with a cowl thrown back over his shoulders (with three geese alreadv stowed there, as is traditional for this image). His “hand” is placed, human like, on the rail of the raised pulpit on which he stands upright on two paws. The lighter blue ol the fox’s cloak stands out against the deep blue of the background, which forms the backdrop as well as the ground on which stand the four listening geese. Dark blue sets the tone for another fox emerging from beneath the pulpit (note the ramp staircase on the right side that mounts up to the pulpit and helps cover the fox’s exit from below). Standing on a pulpit, the preacher holds up a char- ter from which he sermonizes: a gold seal hangs down from it and onlv one word is repeated across the three parts of its opened folds: PAX, peace. Pax, pax, pax, pax, pax, pax- like the gabbling of geese. 46 The fox is a master of disguise among other tricks, especiallv those carried out through his gift for deceitful speech: “Renart . . . mout sot de favele” (Roman de Renart, II, v. 4430: Renart knew much of pala- ver / lies / flatterv) . Four geese listen attentively, the figures painted in gri saille, their feathers white with bluish shading, individually shaped around the contours of bodv and wings, their gold beaks all pointing up to the fox’s face. Sillv goose is alreadv a cliche in the Middle Ages. The other fox (or is it the same fox a moment later?), more animal-like in his stance, coming out of the hole below the pulpit, has alreadv grabbed a goose in his mouth. The victim’s neck points down to signifv its doom, while another goose with wings spread wide tills in the left background behind the others. As if he has just flown up from their midst, his feathers partlv conceal one goose’s head; he seems to be flving away to escape. An indecipher- able banner flutters over head, making a beautiful arabesque that skims the bottom of the treetops across the lines of the trunks and ends its downward curve, more or less, at the goose’s beak. Is it the goose himself who speaks to warn the others to flee? Another medieval view (Vartv 37) that pre- pares the way for Mother Goose and her tales sees geese as clever creatures. Fleeing goose and dead goose frame the scene of those who allow themselves to be mesmerized by the preaching fox. The fig shape of the spoon’s bowl encloses the entire drama: the hanging bodv dangling from the fox’s mouth points down at the bottom center while the rest of the scene expands and opens into the larger curve of the bowl at the top of which sun rays, shining down from an edge of cloud, extend through rain drops painted in gold against the deep lapis-blue of the enamel sky and ground . 47 Black lines mark out lozenges of fields whose shapes play off against the golden wood of the pulpit, its interwoven sides forming dia- mond shapes that allow us to see the drapery of the fox’s cloak as it falls. The raindrops filter down over the whole scene but with particular effect through the space between the fox and the geese. The fox's head and the charter draw the eves’ attention and form another dramatic triangle with the geese in his audience. It is an outdoor scene. Stvlized trees form a backdrop to dramatize the action, their stark white trunks leading up to forked branches (triangular shapes repeated bv the leaf structures) and treetops, each made of three triangles tri- angularlv arranged, except for the one above the fox’s head, which forms a kind of rounded cloud canopv that highlights the interplav of his pointed ears and the beaks of the geese in his hood. The mounds of hilly ground above short white cliffs at the base seem to accumulate the drops of gold rain- ing down. The back of the spoon (no. 3b) repeats the forest scene of trees and ground, sun and rain, now denselv filled in with the pattern of triangles and lines, succeeding levels of hillv ground, bands of alternating gold and darker colors patterned bv white trunks and clitfs.The drama is over: all the animal and humanized characters are absent from the scene; nature stands alone. The interplav of limited colors, white, jewel-like blues, and touches of gold brilliantly catching light, creates a strik- ing effect. 46 The design associates the spoon with the Bur- gundian court of Philip the Good ( 141 9—67), whose colors were black, gray, and white after the death of his father, John the Fearless , d . 1419 (Netzer 122—23). The dark enamel of the background pointed up with golden drops emanating from a small cloud reflects a widely accepted fashion at the Burgundian court, used on clothing, banners, gold and silver plate, texts, and paintings (Verdier 29—3 1). It was used for sacred objects like the Ara coeli medallion (with Virgin and Child on one side), as well as secular spoons and cups. The high quality and slight evidence of wear of this spoon indi- cate that, like the Samson and lion aquamanile (no. 1), it was probablv intended for use on ceremonial occasions or for display ( Secular Spirit 273). The subject represented shows how the early storv of Renart and Chantecler, the fox and the cock, developed through multiple retellings, particularly through the Flem- ish versions of the thirteenth century. The charming fox had bv then become a sharp tool of social critique exempli- fying the religious hypocrite and identified with the devil. Images of the preaching fox have proliferated in sermons and church decoration. But the extraordinary beaut v of this spoon speaks as well of the charm that Renart still exer- cises — even when we cannot quite approve of his trickery. We take pleasure in his tricks, however mortal or danger- ous they may be for the participants. Do we admire Renart despite, or because of, his deceptions? Unlike the monkey 39 who makes a mockery of its human similitude, the fox’s wil- iness and craft flatter our own. 1 ' His ingenuity, like ours, allows him to survive and sometimes even flourish in a vio- lent world where competition and deprivation are a con- stant menace. Fascinating, even mesmerizing, these animals, whether domestic or wild, real or imaginary, speak to our human need to explore ourselves and our world, the overlapping boundaries between the natural and the unnatural, the human and the nonhuman, as we trv to define ourselves and fix our identitv. These texts and images suggest that such a project was as complex and ever shifting in the Middle Ages as it remains in the modern world. Lions, foxes, and dragons may represent the best in us, or the worst, the natural forces threatening outside us or the instincts and personality traits that shape our lives from within. We mav approach their possible meanings through scientific or sym- bolic systems, allegorical, didactic, moralizing or satiric, for esthetic pleasure or courtly instruction, religious and spiri- tual lessons or amoral enjoyment. However useful in distin- guishing a romance from a Psalter, a spoon from a reliquary, the categories of the sacred and the secular are crisscrossed by all these issues and approaches, as they crisscross each other in objects like the aquamanilia used on the altar and the dinner table, or in hybrid texts like the Bestiaire d’ amour that combines animal exempla and lyric narrative, the didac- tic instruction of the bestiary tradition and the love pleas of courtly lvric and romance. Sacred and secular do not neces- sarily supply the key distinctions that structure a work like the Chevalier au lion, or an object like the bust aquamanile and its dragons; nor will choosing one vantage or the other, secular or sacred, solve in advance what an animal may sig- nify in a given context. Though they help guide us to the parameters relevant for a given image, object or text, such oppositions mav break down, as they are conflated, inter- twined, or subverted. The burden of interpretation across the continuum of sacred and secular will remain ours, as long as these animals continue to spin our tales. tnCmotes 1 Cf. the Neoplatonic quest to reach a tran- scendent God through a mystical journey into our deepest self. The history of mono- theistic religions constantly replays the ten- sion between God’s immanence and transcen- dence. For a very accessible overview, see Armstrong. For a more poetic exploration, see Dillard. 2 The Skidgate Project Percy Gladstone Memo- rial Dance, July 12-16, 2005. 3 Quoted in an unpublished paper bv Gudula Stegmann, “The Nature ofThings: Retrieved readings and Rewritings in a manuscript of the Roman de la Rose ” 4 Quoted by Young in “The Monkeys and the Peddler,” 44 1 . 5 In western tradition the bear and the lion dis- puted that title for some time (see Pastoureau 1986, i 59— 75). We might speculate that the lion won out, in part, as a result of his greater distance from physical human likeness, the disturbing resemblance between man and bear gathering more sinister overtones. 6 On the same page in the middle of the left column, we also see an image of a dead man whose eyes are being eaten by a crow. The three corpses on this page form a triangle that cuts the text into three pieces and makes a dramatic visual impression on the entire page. 7 This indeterminacy open to context can also be seen in the use of animals and colors in medieval heraldry. See Pastoureau 1986, esp. 3 £—49, i59~75- 8 Translations given will generally be taken from The Jerusalem Bible, unless they need to be modified to reflect the Vulgate text. 9 Hoffman points out for another lion aquama- nilia that “the separation of the lion’s beard hairs from his mane by a small band” is a “par- ticular motif of the group called ‘Gothic’ by Meyer” ( 1 17). 10 Cf. a number of comparable scenes repre- sented in Monuments of Romanesque Art. For example, in a manuscript illustration from Bury St Edmund’s, second quarter eleventh century, Samson grabs the lion by his jaws (pi. 60, fig. 1 34). A Champleve enamel made bv Nicholas of Verdun as part of an altarpiece matching Old Testament and New Testament scenes (Mosan 1 1 8 1 ), in which Samson is a figure for Christ vanquishing the devil in the Harrowing of Hell, shows him similarly grab- bing a lion bv the jaws of his opened mouth (pi. 2 1 8, fig. 513). 11 Two scenes from the life of David appear in the bottom margin of Cod. gall. 16, folio j\ (Munich, Baverische Staatsbibliothek), which show in the first scene on the left a lion attacking a sheep while a flute playing David guards them, and then David attacking the lion by grabbing his jaws (Randall, fig. 145). 12 In commenting on a Samson candlestick, Hoffman relates the motif of Samson’s left leg pressing on lion’s side and the jaw grabbing to the classical theme of the hero in combat (114-15). 13 Similarly, another of Chretien’s heroes, Cliges had no less heart (courage) than Samson, though he wasn’t stronger than another man (“n’ot mie mains cuer de Sanson/Ne n’estoit plus d un autre forz,” Cliges 3508—9). 14 Cf. the medieval saying cited by Stanesco “better to be the victim of a lion than a ser- pent” (95, 1 1 o). 15 In a Christian interpretation^ vain’s sym- bolic act may be read as an effort to conquer the devil or sin in mankind. Cf. allegorical readings offered by Harris and Diverres, who identify the lion as a figure for faith. In gen- eral, most scholars today agree that Chre- tien’s romances resist allegory, although their ambiguities invite varied figurative interpre- tations (cf. Haidu). 16 The giant theme appeared earlier in the romance to question and confront the bound- aries of the human. In Calogrenant’s opening recital of his failed adventure at the fountain (which inspires Yvain’s exploits and serves as a mise en abyme of the entire romance), he describes the uglv and beastlike herdsman, holding a club and guarding wild bulls in a forest clearing, who first informs him of the fountain. Having difficulty recognizing the giant herdsman’s humanity (he is seventeen feet tall), Calogrenant compares him to a Sar- acen (v. 286) and each of his features to that of an animal (horse head, elephant ears, owl eyes, cat nose, wolf mouth, and boar teeth, vv. 293-301). 17 Garrett 125’s rebound folios are not in order (Rahilly 3). 18 Cf. the diabolical beasts that figure in the iconography of the Song of Roland. Char- lemagne’s dreams include a variety of animals to represent opposing forces, either attack- ing Roland or himself . Before the battle to avenge his nephew’s death, he dreams of the confrontation ahead: Baligant, Emir of the Saracens, appears as a great lion; his attack- ing army consists of bears, leopards, ser- pents, guivres, dragons, demons, and griffins (vv. 2542—44). In the actual battle, a dragon appears on the Emir’s pennant. When one of the Christian knights strikes it down, Baligant interprets the act as a sign that he is wrong and Charlemagne is right (a varia- tion on Roland’s famous line: “pagans are wrong and Christians are right,” v. 257 — see the commentary in Brault 308—9). Kay dis- cusses Aude’s sexual and violent dreams in the rhymed version of the Roland (209—1 1 ), in which the eagle that tears off her breasts is identified with the emperor Charlemagne. As another prestigious predator, rival to the lion (Pastoureau, “Quel est le roi des animaux?” in Figures et couleur, 166—68), the eagle has both positive and negative potential. In the French scroll (no. 16, Ms.pb.Med. 32), as Julius Caesar is assassinated, he appears wearing a 40 tabard with the heraldic device of a double- headed eagle, also identified with Gauvain in some Arthurian rolls of arms (Bruckner 73). The heraldic world of animal emblems thus crosses and units all three parallel histories, biblical, classical and medieval. 19 According to the romance, although he is closed away in a room, remembering what he owes the man who saved him, the lion again disregards his master’s agreement to fight without him and escapes to return his aid with interest (w. ££91—97). 20 Scher reads it as a sign of the lion’s willing subjugation to the God of Love, represented by the diminutive winged cupid (£0). 21 Here the courtly love tradition passes in all probability through the Italian poets. 22 One of the contributing authors listed in Scher ’s Currency of Fame, Alison Luchs wrote several of the entries for Matteo de’ Pasti (£ 9 - 64 )- 23 A number ol images on Pisanello’s medals similarly evoke the bestiary tradition. For example, the medal honoring Cecilia Gon- zaga ( 1426— £ 1 ) show s a unicorn resting its head on the lap of a virgin. Its body in the form of a goat is traditional in bestiaries. In Philippe deThaiin’s 1 1 £2 version: “De buket at fa^iin” (v. 396). Associated with knowl- edge, the unicorn honors this scholarly young woman who preferred a convent to marriage (Scher, pis. 7 and 7a). On plate 8, the image of a pelican feeding its young from its own blood, a traditional representation of Christ’s sacrifice, pays tribute to the educator Vit- torino Rambaldoni da Feltre (1378—1446) who sacrificed himself for students who lacked money to pay for their education. 24 The idea of lady and lover as mother and child is one of the repeated themes of Rich- ard’s bestiary and makes it a valuable text for exploring issues of current interest related to gender, role switching, power relationships, etc. (see Beer, Solterer, Huot 142, 144—46). 25 Folio 26 of the continuation included in this manuscript returns to the elephant and tells the story of how a sleeping elephant leaning against a tree can be slain. As with other ani- mals (dog, lion, etc.), Richard or a contdnu- ator thus scatters here and there information usually given in a single item. 26 The woman in Revelation was also inter- preted as a figure of Ecclesia (Brault I, 308). 27 I would like to thank Lisa Fagin Davis for pro- viding me with her analysis of this folio. In her notes on this folio, she points out that a choir book provides an unusual setting for the Holy Hunt. Since the Einsiedeln Gradual uses the same iconography for the First Sunday of Advent, that date in the Christian calen- dar seems likely for BPL Ms. pb. Med. 206 as well. Though the Holy Hunt appears fre- quently in medieval metalwork, glass, tapes- try, and painting, Einhorn’s Spiritalis Unicor- nis lists only four examples in manuscripts. Einhorn also includes tw o illustrations of the Holy Hunt (figs. 1 1 and 1 2 , the latter in a hortus conclusus w ith a dog chasing a fox chas- ing a rabbit). All of the unicorns illustrated in his survey have the body of a horse, as in BPL Ms. 206 (no. 1 £ ) . 28 Lisa Fagin Davis deciphers them clockwise from the upper left: Virga aaron’ (rod of Aaron, Numbers 1 7:6), Rubus movsi’ (burn- ing bush, Exodus 3: 2), ‘Porta ezechielis' (the closed door of the Temple, Ezechiel 44: 1-3), 'Urna aurea’ (golden jar that held the manna, Hebrews 9:4), ‘Vellus gideonis’ (the fleece by which Gideon was tested, Judges 6:36—40), ‘Ortus conclusus’ (the enclosed garden, Song of Songs 4: 1 2), and ‘Fons signatus’ (the sealed fountain, Song of Songs 4:12). 29 Two thirteenth-centurv works use the uni- corn in more secular settings. In Brunetto Latini’s bestiary, included in his Livre du Tresor, the Christian glosses have disappeared and the unicorn hunt remains a narrative of decep- tion: unicorns are of such a fierce nature that they cannot be captured alive, only lured to sleep on a virgin’s lap: “et en ceste maniere le de£:oivent li veneor” (Jeux et sapi- ence 822: in that manner the hunters deceive it). InThibaut de Champagne’s lyric song, Ausi comne unicorne sui (I am like a unicorn), the unicorn moves into a courtly context as a figure for the lover killed like the unicorn by Love and the lady (466—67). Richard de Fournival does not include the unicorn in his bestiary. 30 With collar and v-neck opening, the tunic appears to be a secular garment (Netzer 84). 31 CL a bust aquamanile from Aachen (?), second quarter twelfth or early thirteenth century, shown in Monuments, fig. 3£8, which represents a man (Bacchus?) in roman dress, with one hand reaching toward his shoulder from inside his toga. 32 On dragon handles, see examples and dis- cussion in The Year 1 200, for example, the lion aquamanile (North Germany, Wismar, 1 200) on which the dragon arches and snakes down the lion’s back starting at his head, his mouth open on top of the mane ( 1 1 £). Also illustrated in Monuments, fig. ££7, the seated lion has two dragons underfoot (identified bv Hoffman as snakes but they are characteristic winged and pointy eared dragons). The con- frontation recalls Le Chevalier au lion . 33 I would like to thank Marietta Cambareri for pointing out the movement of the bust in the act of pouring. 34 Cf. St. Mark and his companionable lion as they appear side bv side in a miniature on folio 19 of Ms. q. Med. 82 (no. 9). 35 Fortunatus, Vita Sancti Marcelli, translated as an addendum at the end of LeGofF s article (267—68, the quotation appears on 268). 36 Cf. Kay’s discussion of destructive dyads, unceasing cycles of vendettas in chansons de geste, illumined by Rene Girart’s La violence et le sacre and especially Freud’s theory of instincts, the layering, rivalry and tensions between the id, ego, and superego (ch. 2). 37 A color reproduction of this miniature from BN, fr. 1433, folio 1 1 8 (which includes four scenes showing the process of reconcilia- tion) is included in Les Manuscrits de / The Manuscripts of Chretien deTroyes, vol. II, Pi. Vic. Based on an analysis of twelfth-century feud- ing and peace making, Cheyette and Chicker- ing also argue for reading the reconciliation as a successfully happy ending for contempo- rary audiences. 38 In the continuation, another trait (showing mercy) will serve in a new entry on the lion, illustrated on folio 2 6v, where a man kneels, begging mercy with his hands in a position of prayer before a very proud and fierce lion whose tail curves around and rises up to end in three flames, his mane proudly crested. The figures are located in the open space at the bottom of the right column: the man’s two feet pointing down nicely anchor him on a lower level as befits his entreat)', and right above them are the words “gist et crie merci” (lies down and cries mercy). 39 Cf. Poirion: “Meme en prenant ses dis- tances par rapport a la fonction religieuse de l’ecriture, le texte a destination profane garde, par le symbole, une certaine affinite avec une transcendance qui complique le jeu litteraire” (28). 40 In Solterer ’s discussion of the Bestiaire d' amour and the Lady’s Response (83 and 1 1 6), she ana- lyzes the gender shifting in the interpretations of the animals in relation to the writer and his lady. In the Response , she highlights the way the female speaker reveals the predation of the lover’s figurative language, which is that of the predator who seeks dominance even as he may identify with the victimized, weaker prey. The verbal injury associated with that language transforms women into beasts. On the question of deciding who may have been the author of the Response, Solterer argues for avoiding the trap of trying to identify a specific woman or speculating on the game of language. Instead she locates certain manu- scripts in a specific time and place to identify the social issues that speak through the com- pilation of the bestiarv and two responses in fourteenth -centurv Brabant (121—30). 41 Is this a pun plaving on the bestiarv itself as a work of literary and visual art? 42 The fox continued to appear in the para- bles and fables of Jewish tradition: e.g., the 300 fox fables mentioned in the Talmud, the fox fable recounted in his commentaries bv Rashi, the famous twelfth-century rabbi who founded a Talmudic academy at Troyes (Yassif 262-63). 43 Cf. Lancelot crossing the sword bridge as a signature image (Bruckner). Varty (102) com- ments on how few of the many episodes in the Roman de Renart are represented, which he compares to the comparable focus of Arthurian art on a few' privileged scenes. 44 Cf. another enamel plaque (Mosan 1 200— 1 o) shown in The Year 1 200 ( 1 76), where two dogs in a vine scroll are distinctly desig- nated as dogs by the collars they wear (this fragment is very similar to the MFA’s with its beaded gold frame). Likewise, on the antiphonarv leaf showing the Holv Hunt, the dogs are on leashes with collars. 45 It appears for the first time in English in Chaucer’s Nun’s Priest's Tale, ca. 1 390 (Vartv 34 )- 46 Thanks to Marietta Cambareri for the ono- matopoetic suggestion. I was not able to inspect the spoon closely enough to confirm without doubt this reading of pax as the only word on the charter, but I believe it could be verified with sufficient magnification. 41 47 According to the MFA catalog, a cast lion head joins the bowl of die spoon and the handle, the bowl “appearing to emanate from the mouth of the lion” (Netzer 1 2 2). These two predators have a natural affinity for each other, but we may wonder if this is rather a dragon head. The curly fur (a pointed tuft between the ears, three curls on the back) seems to support the lion interpretation but, the pointy ears and the snout with its bead for a nose recall the dragon heads on aqua- manilia, in which case the tuft could repre- Works CiteC> Armstrong, Karen. A History oj God: The 4000- Year Quest of Judaism, Christianity and Islam. New York, 1994. Bestiary being an English Version of the Bodleian Library, Oxford M.S. 764 with all the original miniatures reproduced in facsimile. Trans. Richard Barber. Woodbridge, 1999. Beer, Jeannette. Beasts of Love: Richard de FournivaTs Bestiaire d’amour and a Woman's Response Toronto, 2003. . , trans. Master Richard 's Bestiary of Love and Response. Berkeley, 1986. Biblia Sacra luxtaVulgatam Clementinam. Ed. Alberto Colunga, O.P. and Laurentio Turrado. Madrid, 1965. Brault, Gerard J. , ed. The Song of Roland. An Analytic Edition. 2 vols. University Park and London, 1978. Bruckner, Matilda Tomaryn. “Reinventing Arthu- rian History: Lancelot and the Vulgate Cycle.” Memory and the Middle Ages. Eds. Nancy Netzer and Virginia Reinburg. Boston College Art Museum. Chestnut Hill, 1995. 57-75. Brunetto Latini. Le Livre du Tresor. In Jeux et sapience du moyen age. Ed. Albert Pauphilet. Biblio- theque de la Pleiade. Paris, 1951. 727—823. Cheyette, Frederic L., and Howell Chickering. “Love, Anger, and Peace: Social Practice and Poetic Play in the Ending of Yvain." Speculum 80 (2005): 75-1 17. Chretien de Troves. Romans. La Pochotheque. Livre de poche. Paris, 1994. Dillard, .Annie. Holy the Firm. New York, 1977. Diverres, Armel. H. “Chivalry and jin' amor in Le Chevalier au lion." Studies in Medieval Literature and Language. New York, 1973.91-116. Einhorn, Jurgen W. Spintalis unicornis. Das Emhorn als Bedeutungstrager in Literatur und Kunst des Alittelalters. Munich, 1976. Falke, Otto von, and Erich Meyer. Romanische Leuchter und Gefasse Giessgefdsse der Gotik. vol. 1 . Bronzegerate des Mittelalters. Berlin, 1 935- Flinn, John. Le Roman de Renan dans la litterature fran^aise et dans les littcratures etrangeres au moyen age. Paris, 1963. “Griffin.” TheWikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Sep- tember 20, 2005. http://en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/ Griffin “Griffins — The Eagle and the Lion.” Crystalinks. 1995—2005. http://www.crvstalinks.com/ griffins.html. Haidu, Peter. Lion-Queue-Coupee. l’ecart symbolique chez Chretien de Troyes. Geneva, 1972. sent the dragon’s crest. Some images of the dragon seem to show fur-like (or scale-like) hatchings on the legs and around the head (see, for example, TheYear 1200, 115-16, 1 83). If it is a dragon head, then it makes a suggestive interpretation of the action on the spoon, inasmuch as the dragon’s open mouth was used as the entrance to Hell in the medi- eval imaginary, a fitting end for a religious hypocrite. Harris, Julian. “The Role of the lion in Chretien de Troyes’ Yvain." PM Li 64 (1949): 1 143—63. Hassig, Debra. Medieval Bestiaries.Text, Image, Ideol- ogy. Cambridge, 1995. Hoffman, Konrad, ed. The Year 1200: A Centennial Exhibit at The .Metropolitan Museum of Art, Feb. 1 2 through May 10, 1970. vol. i.The Metropoli- tan Museum of Art. New York, 1970. Huot, Sylvia. From Song to Book: The Poetics (f Writ- ing in Old French lyric and Lvncal Narrative Poetry. Ithaca and London, 1987. Jean d’ Arras. Le Roman de Melusine ou l’Histoire des Lusignan. Trans. Michele Perret. Paris, 1979, 1 99 1 • The Jerusalem Bible: Reader's Edition. Garden City, 1 97 1 • Kav, Sarah. The Chansons de geste in the Age of Romance: Political Fictions. Oxford, 1995. Kohler, Erich. “Le role de la coutume dans les romans de Chretien de Troyes.” Romania 8 1 (i960): 386-97. LeGoff, Jacques. “Culture ecclesiastique et culture folklorique au moven age: Saint Marcel de Paris et le dragon.” Un autre moyen age. Paris, 1 999. 229—68. Maeterlinck, L. Le genre satiriquefantastique et licen- tieux dans la sculpture famande et wallonne: Les miser icor des de stalles (art et Jolklore). Paris, 1910. Les Alanuscrits de / The Manuscripts of Chretien de Troyes. Eds. Keith Busbv,Terrv Nixon, Alison Stones, and Lori Walters. 2 vols. Amsterdam and Atlanta, 1993. Marie de France. Les Fables. Ed. Charles Brucker. Louvain, 1991. Martin, Marv Lou, trans. The Fables of Mane de France. Birmingham, 1984. McGrath, Robert L. “A newly discovered illus- trated manuscript of Chretien de Troyes’s Yvain and Lancelot in the Princeton University Library.” Speculum 38 (1963): 583—94. Netzer, Nancy. Medieval Objects m the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston: Metalwork. Boston, 1991. Pastoureau, Michel. “Le Bestiaire heraldique au moyen age.” L’ ermine et le sinople. etudes d' heraldique au moyen age. Paris, 1982. 105— 1 1 6. . Figures et Couleur: etudes sur la symbolique et la sensibilite medievales. Paris, 1986. . Traite d' heraldique. Paris, 1979. Philippe deThaun. Le Bestiaire de Philippe dc Thaiin. Ed. Emmanuel Walber. Lund, 1900. Poirion, Daniel. Resurgences : m\rhe et litterature d l age du symbole (Xlle s.). Paris, 1986. La Queste del saint Graal: Roman du XHIe siecle. Ed. Albert Pauphilet. Paris, 1967. 48 Cf. the similar design, colors and materials on the Monkey Cup, the Ara coeli medallion, etc. (Netzer 1 22— 2 3, Young, andVerdier). 49 Interestingly, foxes also appear in Samson’s story, but the ruse is Samson’s when he ties 300 foxes together two by two, with flaming torches attached to their tails, and sends them into the fields of the Philistines to revenge the transfer of his wife to another man ( Judges » 5 : 4 - 8 ). Rahillv, Leonard James. “The Garrett Manuscript No. 1 25 of Chretien’s Chevalier de la Char- rette and Chevalier au Lion: A Critical Study, with Transcription.” Diss. Princeton Univer- sity, 1971. Randall, Lillian. Images in the Margins of Gothic Man- uscripts. Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1966. Richard de Fournival. Le Bestiaire d’amour suivi de la Reponse de la Dame. Ed. C. Hippeau. Paris and Caen, 1852—77; Geneva: Slatkine Reprints, 1969. Roman de Renart. Ed. Mario Roques, vol. II, Branches II- VI. Paris, 1969. Salisbury, Joyce. “Human Animals of Medieval Fables.” Animals in the Middle Ages. Ed. Nona C. Flores. New York, 1996. 49—65. Scher, Stephen K, ed. The Currency of Fame: Portrait Medals of the Renaissance. New York, 1994. The Secular Spirit: Life and Art at the End of the Middle Ages. New York, 1975. Solterer, Helen. The Master and Minerva: Disput- ing Women in French Medieval Culture. Berke- ley, 1995. “St. George.” The Catholic Encyclopedia Online. 1997. http:/ / www.newadvent.org/ cathen/ 06453a.htm Stanesco, Michel. “D'armes et d’ amours ': etudes de litterature arthunenne" Medievalia 39. Orle- ans, 2002. Swarzenski, Hanns. Monuments of Romanesque Art : The Art of Church Treasures in North-Western Europe. Chicago, 1954. . and Nancy Netzer. Medieval Objects in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston: Enamels and Glass. Boston, 1986. Thibaut de Champagne. “Ausi comne unicorne sui.” Lyrics of the Troubadours and the Trouveres. Ed. & trans. Frederick Goldin. New York, 1973. 466-69. Varty, Kenneth. Reynard the Fox: A Study of the Fox in Medieval English Arts. Leicester, 1967. Verdier, Philippe. “A medallion of the ‘Ara Coeli’ and the Netherlandish Enamels of the Fif- teenth Century.” The Journal of theWaltersArt Gallery 24 (196 1): 8—37. Yassif, Eli. The Flebrew Folktale: History, Genre, Mean- ing. Trans. Jacqueline S.Teitelbaum. Bloom- ington, 1999. Young, Bonnie. “The Monkevs and the Peddler.” Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 26 (1968): 44 I_ 54. Ziolkowski, Jan M. Talking Animals: Medieval Latin Beast Poetry, 750— 1 150. Philadelphia, 1993 42 Scrolling through history: £a Chronique Univcrselle, Boston Public ilibmry CDs.pb.CDcb.32 £is.\ $Agin turns oston Public Library Ms. Pb. Med. 32 (no. 16), a nearly thirty-five-foot-long mid-fifteenth-centurv scroll writ- ten in French, presents the history of the Western world from Creation to the year 1 3 80. The text is accompanied by genealogical diagrams that trace the lineage of Jesus and Aeneas in the ancient world and the kings of France and England in medi- eval Europe. Known as La Chronique Universelle, a generic title supplied to the anonymous text bv modern scholars (Hurel 1992, 29), the chronicle brings together sacred and secular sources to create a “universal” history that neatly ties together Biblical stories, ancient Greece and Rome, and the roval houses of France and England. The scroll is formatted as a timeline in parallel columns, beginning at Genesis, with two columns meant to be read from left to right bv paragraphs. Once the text branches off to include ancient Greece and Rome, the biblical narrative continues down the left column, while pagan history is recounted at the right. After the completion of the New Testament, the left column continues with the historv of the papacy through Urban VI in 1378. After the destruction ofTroy and the flight of its survivors to Europe ( 1 8—2 2), the right column branches into three, giving from left to right the Roman and then Holy Roman Empire; the Merovingians and Capetian kings of France; and the ancient and Anglo- Saxon kings of Britain (fig. 1). From Adam and Eve, the biblical genealogv follows the details given in the biblical text itself. In the scroll, as in the Bible, the kings of Israel and Judah descend front Noah’s son, Shem. From King David, the line extends inevitably to St. Anne, the Virgin Mary, and Jesus. From Noah’s second son. Ham, descend the ill-fated builders of the Tower of Babel. From Noah’s third son, Japheth, descends King Aeneas ofTroy. After the destruction ofTroy, the survivors flee across the Mediterranean and become the forefathers of the Merovingians and ancient British kings, including King Arthur. The line of French kings runs from Pharamond to Clovis and Charlemagne, con- cluding with the Capetians, St. Louis, and Philip the Good. From Charlemagne, the line of Holy Roman Emperors extends to Holv Roman Emperor Albert I, who reigned from 1 298-1 308. He is mistakenly called Henry I in the text and assigned slightly incorrect dates. And from the ancient kings of Britain, the line reaches from William the Conqueror to King Henry III, concluding with a heroic retelling of Godfrey of Bouillon’s conquest of Jerusalem. The final membrane of the scroll is lacking; originally, the scroll ended with the French King Charles VI and the Eng- lish King Edward III. The fifty-seven bright and tinelv detailed miniatures in the BPL scroll preserve the same illustrative cycle found in most other copies of La Chronique, and are in turns placid and violent. 1 The first sixteen miniatures are bibli- cal: four days of Creation (1—4), the Creation and Fall of the Angels (3—6), seven miniatures for the story of Adam and Eve (713), Noah and the Ark (14), theTower of Babel (13), and portraits of Joshua (17) and King David (23). When the illustrative cycle turns to pagan history, it does so with a violent surge: Troy burns, and the four heroes, Aeneas, Priam, Turnus, and Helenus, flee by sea ( fig. 1). Twelve other miniatures are scenes of warfare, destruction, murder, or other violence: Brutus Kills the Giants (24); the Destruction of Samaria (23); the Hewing of Nebuchad nezzar by Evilmerodach (fig. 6); the Rape of the Sabine Women (30); Daniel Prophesies the Death of Balthazar (31) ; the Banishment of Queen Vashti (33); the Assassina- tion of Julius Caesar (38); the Franks defeat the Romans (42); King Anglist orders the murder of 30,000 Britons (47); King Arthur defeats Mordred (49); the Sack of Britain (32) ; and the Conquest of Jerusalem by Godfrey of Bouil- lon (37) (miniatures ofWilliam the Conqueror and of God- frey en route to Jerusalem have been cut out of this copv of La Chronique ). 2 These scenes are full of action, blood, and gore, and contrast sharply with the scenes of prog- ress and peace, the settlement and foundation of Sicam- bria (26), Rome (29), Paris (32), and London (40). A trio of miniatures represents the New Testament: the Nativity (36), the Annunciation of the Passion (fig. 4), and the Last Supper (39). Three scenes serve to establish the Christian nature of European kingship: the foundation of the church of St. Denis by King Dagobert (48); the Baptism of King Clovis (Hg. 8); and the ordination of Bishops and Archbish ops by King Lucius of Britain (43). The most numerous class of images are generic full-length portraits of leaders, kings, and popes: Joshua (17), David (23), Judah Macca- bee (33), and Alexander the Great (34); the French Kings NOTE TO READER: Numbers in parentheses refer to the facsimile of the scroll (no. 1 6) 43 FIG. 1 La Chronique Universelle (no. i6),The Destruction ofTrov, Aeneas at sea, Priam at sea,Turnus at sea, Helenus at sea Oioiuct : {cvr -u Rop fain I . OH If HQ {uVHtte fctmfi- ,a: mcviMuvqticurfiCiz a BuufiuvL HjgfC. SntciitGcCoiue -'/e K.imft-tmnCtctaCecor5s: Secular CDagistracy anb Sacred Ministry in Q.Vdietul And Renaissance Art tAt’lc A. hAtX'US I have in mv hand the sword of Constantine; you hold that of Peter; let us join our right hands, let us join sword to sword, that the sanctuary of God may be cleansed. - King Edgar of England, to the Archbishop of Canterbury, 967 ce remark Ktag Edgar of England articulated a metaphor of two distinct forms of coercive power — one that was sacred and holy, the other secular and worldly- -that reverberated through nearly every aspect of medieval political theology (Migne 51 jD-j 16A). 1 As with any metaphor, Edgar’s vision of “two swords” of power was an abstract construction, an assumed verity that was, never- theless, subject to creative interpretation, adaptation, appro- priation, and imitation over time. Here, the king asserted his right to deploy coercive power in the service ot the state, while also acknowledging, and indeed formally soliciting, the power of the Church to employ alternative forms of force to “cleanse” the “sanctuary of God.” And yet, when considered within the broader historical and theological tradition from which these words deriv e, the complexities and contradictions inherent in Edgar’s state- ment and in the political metaphor of the “two swords” of power more generally — become far more evident. Though the swords of Constantine and St. Peter were represented bv Edgar as separate but complementary powers, his very enjoinder to “let us join sword to sword” belies a reality of disjunction rather than conjunction, and the potential for competition rather than complement. In theory and in practice, evocations of the political metaphor of the two swords also draw attention to the blurry, protean and, at times, internecine relationship between sacred and secu- lar powers during the Middle Ages and Renaissance. What follows is an attempt to illustrate this phenomenon, both through a brief historical comparison of competing versions of the two swords theory, and its reification in documen- tary and artistic forms of pre- modern and early modern cultural expression. ] . C1)c PoliticAl Cbcology of the Ctt>o StDorfcs In the era of Constantine and the Christianization of the Roman Empire, the power of the Church, traditionally embodied in the sword of St. Peter, was subsumed within a much larger, unprecedented vision of Christian empire. Eusebius and other early Church Fathers represented the epochal transformation of the pagan Roman Empire into a Christian one — an empire that, according to divine provi- dence, would be turned into the service of human salva- tion on a scale never before imagined. At its head was the Emperor, a ruler appointed directly by God and, as Euse- bius famously claimed in his oration celebrating tbe thirtieth year of Constantine’s reign, the worldly reflection of God to all mankind. 2 All power emanated from God, includ- ing Constantine’s own imperial power, and was guided by the Emperor’s special relationship to God, whose will was communicated to him directly through the logos, the divine word. He was the “divinely favored emperor” who “receiving, as it were, a transcript of the Divine sovereignty, directs, in imitation of God himself, the administration of this world’s affairs,” allowing him to rule as God’s vicege- rent on earth (Schaff andWace 582). 3 When situated within this earlier imperial dispensation, Edgar’s sword, the sword of the secular ruler, would have been understood as absolute. He and his magisterial suc- cessors, much like Melchizedek, David, and Solomon and before them, would have embodied both rex and sacerdos, king and priest, a ruler of holy Church and secular state at one and the same time. 4 Such a king, much as St. Paul instructed in his letter to the Romans, was to be under- stood as a minister of divine providence as well as a secu- lar magistrate, who “beareth not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil.” 5 These biblical and Constantinian traditions of sacred magistraev constituted but one permutation, however, of a vast range of theories and formularies that elevated the power of the secular magistrate over the Church or, alter- natively, favored the authority of the Church over tempo- ral, as well as hieratic, affairs. In nearly every form, these competing claims of authority tended to raise the profile and power of the one institution at the expense of the other. While Eusebius hailed his emperor as rex et sacerdos, for example, St. Ambrose sought to reduce the imperial office to that of a fihus ecclesia, a son of the Church. It was an alternative, familial subordination of the secular ruler to 51 Mother Church that would find its clearest and most pro- found manifestation in Ambrose’s famous rebuke ofTheo- dosius 1 for his perpetration of a massacre atThessalonica, and his subsequent exaction of imperial penance for the sinful deed.' The most explicit articulation of the two swords theory, and the attendant church /state competition that it could often inspire, occurred a century later in a letter from Pope Gelasius 1 to Emperor Anastasius I in 494 crThe locus clas- sicus of the two swords theory, and one of the most endur- ing of patristic sententiae , Gelasius argued that there were exactly two forms ( Duo sunt) of rule: The world is chiefly goyerned by these two: the sacred authority of bishops [auctoritas sacrata pontificum] and the royal power [regalis potestas]. Of these the burden of the priests is greater insofar as they will answer to the Lord for the kings of men themselyes at the divine judgment. For you know, most merciful son, that although you rule over the human race in dignity, you nevertheless devoutly bow the neck to those who are placed in charge of religious matters and seek from them the means of your salvation ... in what concerns the receiving and correct administering of the heavenly sacraments you must be subject rather than in command. (Thiel 350) ' Bv formally defining the place ot the Christian Roman emperor in direct relation to the sacred priesthood ot the Christian Church in this way, Gelasius’ statement repre- sented a culmination of arguments for a more well defined place for the Church within the Roman imperium, a tra- dition that had begun decades earlier in the pontificates of Innocent 1 , Boniface I, and Leo I. The “rex et sacerdos” model of concomitant sacred and secular kingship must give way, the Church argued, to a far more complex and, as will be argued here, problematic model of a secularized and — in religious matters — subject magistracy. This vision of the Church called for a more prominent and materi- ally empowered sacred ministry in the world. Just as Luke 22:38 called attention to the two forms of power (“Lord, here are two swords”), so must the state acknowledge both instruments of coercion in relation to one another, sepa- rate in theory, but also complementary of one another, in theory and in practice. Gelasius’ dualistic model of sacred and secular sources ot authority and coercive power would become subject, over time, to competing emphases and revisions that would further blur the very lines of division and complement that he had originally outlined. Political realities, and alternative traditions of sacred kingship in the various kingdoms and principalities of Europe, militated against Gelasius’ attempt to define a clear and autonomous spiritual jurisdiction for the Church in late Roman society. Bv the Carolingian period, those lines had blurred almost beyond recognition as, on the one hand, the Eusebian model of sacerdotal kingship pre- vailed whereas, on the other, competing efforts were made to circumscribe that sacred kingship by defining it as a func- tion of, and within, the Church — the unified embodiment of Christ on earth. Coincident with the increasing power of certain medieval princes was an increasing elaboration and consolidation of power within the papal government of the Church at the same time. That transformation would cul- minate in the four Lateran Councils ( 1 1 2 3—1 2 1 3) and the elaboration and codification ot canon law, which elevated the position of the papacy and its powers relative to the privi- leges of secular rulers. 8 Bv the eleventh century a pope, Gregory VII, made bold in deposing and excommunicating a German prince, Henry IV. ? The Church, through such an extension of the personal authority and power of the papacv, was transformed from its earlier Gelasian function as a spiritual power existing along- side the secular authority, to a kind of sacred kingship in its own right. The aggrandizement of the Church’s position in the world also helped to transform its more fundamental ecclesiology. It was argued that the temporal authority of secular rulers subsisted within, and under, the larger aegis of pope and ccclesia rather than beside it. Could anyone doubt that “priests of Christ are to be considered the fathers and masters of kings and princes and of all the faithful?” asked Pope Gregory (Caspar vol.VIII, 2 1 ). 10 The Church's answer, given in the affirmative in the Decretum, went on to lend the notion of sacerdotal supremacy over secular power perma- nent expression in the canon law. 11 At the height of this hierocratic political theological tra- dition of the High Middle Ages, Pope BonificeVIII, expand- ing upon Hugh of St. Victor and others, went so far as to claim in the bull Unam sanctam ultimate papal power over both the sacred and secular swords, wholly subordinating the exercise of secular magistracy to “the will and suffer- ance of the priest”: We are informed bv the texts of the gospels that in this Church and in its power are two swords; namely, the spiritual and the temporal . . . Certainly the one who denies that the temporal sword is in the power of Peter has not listened well to the word of the Lord command- ing: “Put up thy sword into thy scabbard.” Both, there- fore, are in the power of the Church, that is to say, the spiritual and the material sword, but the former is to be administered for the Church and the latter by the Church; the former in the hands of the priest; the latter bv the hands of kings and soldiers, but at the will and sufferance of the priest. (Friedberg 1 243) 12 52 FIG. 1 [LEFT] La Chronique Universelle (no. 1 6), detail of Char- lemagne as Holy Roman Emperor FIG. 2 [RIGHT] La Chronique Universelle (no. 1 6), detail of King Dagobert, founding of Saint-Denis Just as the Church promulgated this tradition of juris- dictional supremacy over secular authorities so, too, did the monarchies of France, England and much of the rest of medieval western Europe generate alternative readings of the Gelasian theory of the two swords that advanced their respective positions at the expense of papal and ecclesiastic hierocracy. Controversial responses to Unam sanctam pointed out at least one significant direction in which states might turn to undermine assertions of universal coercive juris- diction for the Church — conciliarism.The reduction of the power of the medieval papal monarchy through the empow- ement of general Church Councils, and their promulgation of supervening decrees and canons, could threaten to dis- tribute the real power of the sword of St. Peter throughout the hierarchy of the institutional Church. Within a conciliar dispensation, the pope could conceivably be sanctioned if proven to have scandalized the Church in some way, under- mining ecclesiological unity and harmony. In such an event, it was argued, even an offending pope must be admonished to yield his office; and if he refuses, he can be charged, a general council can be convened, and he can be called before that council. In fact, to prevent the sacraments of the church from being profaned, the man ought to be removed from office forcibly when he proves to be obstinate in such a case, and an appeal can be made to the secular arm if necessary. (Monahan 1 1 9) 13 It was an anti-papal, conciliarist line of argument that reached its most systematic expression in Marsilius of Pad ua’s celebrated Defensor fidei, where the “fullness of power” (plenitudo potestatis) of the pope was fundamentally chal- lenged, and the jurisdiction of the secular magistrate over the universal body of Christian rule (universitas civium ), both lay and ecclesiastical, affirmed, “lest society be destroyed by the existence of an unordered multiplicity of governments” (Gewirth 2. 8. 9). 14 The role of the pope resided solely within the Church, and his function remained entirely pas- toral, spiritual and removed from worldly affairs. The dual- ism ol the Gelasian two swords could, in this way, wrest the previously usurped secular sword of Constantine from the hands of the high medieval papacy, while vastly diminishing the relative coercive power of the sacred sword of Peter in religious, as well as temporal, affairs. Though even this briefest survey of certain versions of the medieval political theology of the tw-o swords can be described, at best, as highly selective, it nevertheless under- scores the complexity, if not the practical impossibility, of a clearly defined Gelasian dualism between Church and state within a Christian commonwealth. It is a narrative that can be extended to the visual, as well as the theoretical, realms. The Gelasian ideal of balanced, separate, and complemen- tary secular and sacred realms, and the array of competing formulations and variations upon that theme that emerged over many centuries, also entered into traditional forms and modes of artistic expression. If less precise and more subjec- tive than a carefully laid out medieval quaestio on the relative merits of hierocracy and sacred kingship, an array of medi- eval objects and works of art can be seen to have, neverthe- less, reflected, either directly or indirectly, a similar com- plexity at the visual and allegorical levels w ith regard to the relationship of sacred ministers and secular magistrates. 11 . Cbc Cn>o Swords in O.VCnctul auC> Renaissance Art One particularly candid and conscious illustration of the two swords in the art of the Middle Ages is represented in the Boston Public Library’s illuminated genealogical scroll of sacred and secular history, from the six days’ creation to the 53 vear 1380 (no. 16). The content of the scroll appears to be based upon a variety of sacred and secular sources, includ- ing the Compendium histonae in genealogia Christi of Peter of Poitiers, Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historic 1 regem Bntan- niae, as well as the sacred text of the Bible and the Specu- lum humanae Salvationist While the manuscript’s represen- tational and textual schemes were clearly shaped by those sources, its more fundamental organization into two paral- lel histories — the history of Old and New Testaments and of the Church along the left side, and the history of secular kings and emperors along the right — derives squarely from the Gelasian dualistic tradition of the two swords occupv- ing two separate, but parallel, paths in the larger course of human history. This bifurcated representation of sacred and worldly history takes full advantage of the two swords tradition and, through the vehicle of genealogy, of royal and papal author- ity invested in lines of direct genealogical descent. For the Church, that line of descent is biblically and historically lineal. Its place in the historical past can be traced all the way back to Adam and Eve, to the verv beginning of God’s providential plan for mankind. With the close of the New Testament, that biblical history is naturally continued in the form of continuous apostolic successions from the origi- nal See of St. Peter. The representation of secular history along the right side of the scroll constitutes a third form of genealogical descent that is lineal, sacred, and also mythical. Philip the Good and the saint-king, Louis IX, could trace their ancestry, according to this arrangement, directly to Pharamond and Clovis, and Henry III of England to Wil- liam the Conqueror and, before William, to King Arthur himself. That mythical line extended even into the long shadows of antiquity, to the blood of the eldest heroes — to Brutus of Albion, Aeneas and King Priam, among others — and their legendary settlement of Europe and founding of her great cities. The implications of this dualistic narrative present sev- eral implications for the tradition of the two swords, and the particular nature of their interrelationship. Rather than take on the issue of sacred kingship and the intermingling of royal and sacerdotal authority, for example, the dilemma is avoided altogether in this presentation through the place- ment of King David and Solomon, among others exclu- sivelv within the narrative of sacred history. Though both were rulers of Israel, as well as God’s chosen instruments of divine providence on earth, their central place in biblical historv left them un vitiated bv the secular world, and osten sibly separate from the larger history of secular kingship. However, this division of human historv into sacred and secular narratives is hardly seamless, as specific por- tions of the scroll and the larger narrative also demonstrate, particularly at the moment where the historical narrative divides into parallel and separate sacred and secular divi- sions with the immediate descendents of the sons of Noah. The offspring of Noah’s sons, Shem and Ham, are subsumed within the scroll’s sacred narrative, as ancestors of the tribes of Israel and builders of the Tower of Babel. The scions of Japeth, on the other hand, include pagan heroes from the Siege ofTroy, in a line of succession that directly links the ensuing genealogv of secular kings and emperors directly back to Noah while, at the same time, silently passing bv the fundamental interrelationship of the sacred and secu- lar suggested by this larger genealogical scheme of holy, indeed biblical, descent. European kings are portrayed in their armor and robes of state and, with a few exceptions, are depicted with little or no relationship to the Christian faith or to the institution of the Church. Charlemagne, for example, stands alone (fig. 1), with his imperial crown, orb and sword in hand, wearing a blue robe decorated with the gold fleur-de-lis. It is a representation that depicts Char- lemagne in full imperial splendor after, rather than during, his historic coronation bv the pope who was said, conspicu- ously, to have declared three times on that occasion, “Caro- lus Augustus crowned bv God.” 16 Charlemagne’s own posi- tion within the sacred and secular distinctions represented bv the two separate columns of the scroll is further compli- cated, as well, bv the fact that his miniature appears within the sacred historical half to the left, rather than in the secu- lar portion along the right. A handful of the miniatures in the secular half of the scroll do draw attention to the relationship of secular rulers to the Church, two of them representing acts of volun- tarv royal patronage of the Church- a subject that did not, it may be presumed, effectively undermine the secu- lar narrative of which thev were a part. One of these, King Dagobert’s founding of the Abbey of Saint-Denis in 630 (fig. 2) and the replacement of the original chapel w'ith a large basilica — the beginnings of which are reflected in the miniature — represent an act of roval generosity tow ard the Church that was elective rather than obligatory, and no usur- pation of the Church’s authority. Despite its emphasis on the largess of the King, the image must also draw attention to the unavoidable fact, however, that the king was himself a member of the Church, in addition to his role as a secu- lar leader and, as such, theoretically subject to its spiritual offices in one form or another. Ritual confession and the issuing of the sacraments by the clergy to secular rulers are, however, almost nowhere to be seen in the scroll cycle. A similar image appears in the representation of King Lucius of Britain and the ordination of bishops and archbishops (fig. 3). The event recounts a similar act of roval support for the Church, drawing attention to Lucius’ legendary role in 54 ctvcfi)uct mvn sr inr fttntv inr ¥7011 ,^~x(btidc/cin r\ ( ^ . T FIG. 3 [LEFT] La Chronique Universelle (no. 16), detail of King Lucius of Britain FIG. 4 [RIGHT] La Chronique Universelle (no. 1 6), detail of the Baptism of Clovis personally intervening to introduce Christianity to Britain. According to Geoffrey of Monmouth, following the king’s initial petition to the pope to send priests for the conver- sion of Britain, those that came went on to baptize Lucius (an event that is not represented in the scroll) and subse- quently to ordain some twenty -eight flamwes (pagan priests) and three archjlamines as bishops and archbishops, respec- tively (Wright 46— 47). 1 In the Lucius miniature, however, the king is shown enthroned and presiding in full regalia, crowned with his scepter raised before two kneeling bish- ops — one armed with a cross staff, the other with the cro- sier that was traditionally conferred upon bishops during their consecrations — in an image perhaps more suggestive of submission and subordination on the part of the Church, than of any complementary equality or outright jurisdic- tional separation of secular and sacred powers. 15 Though the function of the Church in the world is clearly presented in the form of the bishop’s office, the allegory represents the power roval, and ecclesiastical deference to that power, in direct and historic juxtaposition. Perhaps the most provocative miniature within the sec- ular narrative of the scroll is the Baptism of Clovis, King of the Franks (fig. 4), which constitutes the most explicit blurring of the boundaries that theoretically separated the sacred from the secular in medieval political and religious thought . Vowing to convert to Christianity in exchange for victory in battle, the triumphant Clovis presented himself for baptism at Rheims bv the city’s bishop, St. Remv. As Gregory of Tours related in his Histona Francorum, the bap- tism took place on Christmas day in the year 496 ce, with St. Remv officially commanding the king to “Bow thy head, O Sicambrian” in ritual subjection to God.‘ J Though Remv is depicted in the image in the scroll beside the king, Clovis’ head appears unbowed. Emphasis is placed, neither on the sacramental role of the bishop, nor on the king’s submis- sion to the church and its jurisdiction over the administra- tion of the sacraments, but, rather, upon an act of divine intervention that would seem to confirm the providential nature of the entire occasion. Centuries afterward, accord- ing to Hincmar, Archbishop of Rheims, and the popular medieval legend of St. Remv, the church was so crowded during Clovis’ christening that he was unable to receive the chrism. Praving to God, the Holy Spirit soon arrived within the cathedral in the traditional form of the dove, mirac- ulously producing an ampulla containing an inexhaustible supply of oil — the so-called Sainte Ampoule that would con- tinue to be used in the roval sacre up to the reign of Charles X (Rvan 1 . 86 — 87). 2 The scroll’s miniaturist added to the traditional legend of Clovis and St. Remv a figure unrecorded in the most standard medieval legend — an angel standing in the back- ground bearing the secular arms of France. The figure pres- ents, at first glance, an explicit symbol of the role of the sacred in the life of the secular monarch. It is an image, however, that also draws direct attention to the symbols of secular monarchy, whose presence in this instance are suggestive of inspiring not only the miraculous presence of the Holv Spirit, but also the inauguration of one of the most traditional symbols of the divine right of the French monarchy. The angelic presence presenting the king’s arms might be interpreted in multiple providential significances that intermingle, rather than differentiate, the sacred and secular spheres in the context of Christian kingship. It may suggest that Clovis’ kingship descended upon the world, much like the Ampoule, directly from God, or, alternatively, in St. Remy’s role as baptist, it might suggest the power and authority of the Church in supporting, and lending sacred authority, to the secular ruler. 1 These interpretive permu- 55 FIG. 5 La Chronique Universelle (no. 1 6), detail of David as King and Psalmist tations, while speculative, nevertheless underscore the ten- uousness of the two swords metaphor in the context of a very real secular and roval dependence upon the Church for the official administration of the sacraments, as well as upon the traditional sacred rituals of European kingship in the Middle Ages. Another prominent miniature in the scroll is the figure of King David himself (fig. 5), represented in the sacred his- torical portion of the document. Though he was tradition- allv represented as one of the Nine Worthies — along with Joshua, Judah Maccabee, Charlemagne, King Arthur, and others — manv of w hom were represented in the scroll bear- ing their secular arms, David was endowed with no arms at all by the miniaturist. Instead, David’s dual function as sacred king, both rex and sacerdos, was illustrated in his simul taneous appearance as ruler, wearing the crown and courtly robes of his office, and psalmist, as signified by the presence of his musical instrument. 22 The iconographic representation of David as both sec- ular king and sacred psalmist pervades medieval illumi- nations of the Psalms, and presents a traditional icon for the theme of his sacred kingship. In one sixteenth-centurv French example, a fragmentary leaf with an initial repre- senting David kneeling at the beginning of the text of Psalm 6, the first of the Penitential Psalms, juxtaposes that larger representation with a smaller image of David facing Goliath at the bottom of the page (no. 30). 2 ' In the primary scene, David humbles himself before God, having placed upon the ground the instruments of his concomitant sacred and sec- ular functions — his harp and crown — while engaged in a ritual act of penitential prayer. To his left is an earlier scene in w hich he is crow ned and at the head of his army bearing a lance in a further juxtaposition of his simultaneous secular and sacred historical roles. It is unclear to w hich of David’s sins this refers, whether to his ordering of Uriah’s death in battle (2 Samuel 1 1 — 1 2), or perhaps to his penitence after having sent his army out to conduct a census of his subjects (2 Samuel 24; 1 Chronicles 2 1 ) , for which God delivered a pestilence that would affect all the people of Israel. The latter seems a likelier candidate, owing to the dark and bil- lowing cloud to the right of the penitent king, 24 though other representations of the same event differ consider- ably, as is exemplified in a hand-colored illustration from a contemporary printed Parisian Book of Hours (no. 6sf) . 25 There a penitential David kneels beyond the citv walls, his crown upon the ground, facing symbols of each of the three punishments God commanded for the sinful census, carried in the hands of an angel — the choice of either three years of famine (bundle of wheat), three months of flight from his enemies (sword), or three davs of plague (arrow). 26 As with David, so too with Jesus Christ, the ostensible separation of sacred and secular seems all but an impos- sibility, particularly in scenes involving religious persecu- tion at the hands of secular authorities — the Massacre of the Innocents, the Betrayal and Kiss of Judas, Christ before Pontius Pilate and, of course, the Passion itself. In represen- tations of the Massacre of the Innocents, the unholy exercise of secular power is perhaps most vividly portrayed in the vigorous and wanton political murder of infants. Though graphically violent, such scenes also commonly represent the physical presence of King Herod enthroned, drawing particular attention to his tremendous abuse of coercive secular power for religious and political purposes — in the case of innocenti, to prevent the birth of a newborn Jewish Messiah. Two fine examples of this iconographic tradi- tion appear among the early manuscript collections of the Boston Public Library (no. 27). 2 In the first, an illuminated initial of the Massacre within a larger Lombard manuscript antiphonarv dated 1474 (no. 27b-c) portrays a sumptuously appointed and enthroned King Herod, scepter-in-hand and stone-faced before a scene of soldiers killing infants in the streets before their mothers, while fathers beg the king for mercy. It is notable in this instance that Herod is sur- rounded by a rich blue robe covered with the fleur-de-lis, the classic symbol of the French monarchy, in what might have constituted a slight against King Louis XI of France and his son, the future Louis XII, who would lav claim to the Duchy of Milan around the time this particular manu- script was dated. The volume in which it appears (no. 27a), much as with another Lombard antiphonarv of about the same date from the same collection (no. 26), are notable, as well, for their formidable and ornate embossed monastic bindings, which include pictorial representations of saints and repeated “Maria” and “IHS” Iesus Christus inscriptions. A 56 second fragment from the same collection, also thought to come from a third fifteenth-century Lombard antiphonary, is less dramatic, but equally evocative of Herod’s kingly office and personal complicity in the persecution of the Innocents. There he is shown adorned both with his golden crown of office and scepter of power in hand (no. 57). A third version of this same Herodian theme compli cates the relationship of sacred and secular power still fur- ther. It was among the most commonly encountered images of Herod from the fifteenth century, in various versions of the popular Biblia Pauper um, represented here in a northern European block book incunabulum, ca. 1460—70, as well as in a contemporary Italian manuscript version of the same that closely resembles the traditional iconographic scheme of the printed version (nos. 24a and B 1 )- 1° one °f its signa- ture typological and prophetic juxtapositions of OldTesta- ment “types” prefiguring their fulfillment in New Testament “anti-types” in the Biblia Pauperum , one observes the famil- iar iconography of the Massacre of the Innocents, person- ally witnessed, once again, by Herod. This central image is flanked on either side by two textual references and visual representations of events from the OldTestament, the first of King Saul ordering the murder of the priests of Nobe for their support of David (I Samuel 22). The second depicts Queen Athalia, daughter of King Ahab, and ruthless mur- derer of the child heirs of KingAhazia, whose throne she usurped after his death (2 Kings 1 1:1— 20). In the first of these, the text indicates that Saul prefigures Herod and that the slain priests prefigure the massacred innocents of the New Testament. In the second image, the Queen also prefigures Herod, and the one royal child who miraculously escaped death through his concealment from her invokes Christ himself, who similarlv avoided death at the hands of Herod. In the one instance, a secular ruler executed inno- cent priests in anticipation of lay innocents meeting the same fate, and, in the other, a Queen ordered the execution of heirs to the throne in anticipation of Christ himself. In this way, both figures functioned as sinful agents of God’s providential plan. In each, the presence of the crowned ruler is clearly indicated within a theological typology that, in this particular instance, hardly reflected or maintained a clear, authoritative distinction between the two swords, despite their predominance within the larger, political theo- logical Gelasian tradition. The comparison of the Boston Public Library Biblia Pauperum manuscript and early block book is a fascinating exercise in its own right, furthermore, as the manuscript constitutes a set of fragmentary leaves in various stages of completion — some only roughly laid out, others finished and colored — offering a rare opportunity to observe the process of medieval book illustration based on existing, contemporary exemplars. The Passion of Christ represents perhaps the most spectacular occasion for the visual juxtaposition and inter- mingling of secular and sacred coercive power in the New Testament, as is exemplified in one handsome illustrated leaf recording the final portion of the Passion text accord- ing to Matthew, and the beginning of the narrative from the gospel of Mark (no. 32). Its illuminated initial portrays the Kiss of Judas and, simultaneously, Peter’s wielding of a physical sword — the antithesis of the theoretical Gelas- ian invisible, spiritual sword — at the moment he cut off the ear of a Roman soldier. Though this image is clearly driven by accounts of the event in the synoptic gospels and by the traditional visual iconography associated with it, an even more significant element of the larger representational scheme in this particular example appears in the form of four armorials that surround the text in a floriated border. There the common secular device of a coat of arms was lit- erally sanctified, representing not the arms of a lay patron or a prince, but rather the five wounds of Christ at his cru- cifixion — bloody symbols of the Roman soldiers’ nailing Christ’s hands and feet to the cross, as well as piercing his side with a spear. In another image, reminiscent of the stolid Herod seated before murdered innocents, an equally indifferent Pontius Pilate sits upon his seat of power before Christ, ritually washing his hands (no. 28). This handsome gri- saille miniature derives from a bound French vernacu- lar manuscript of the Hours of the Passion, and has been attributed to the workshop of the Flemish master Guil- laume Vrelant. 3 u Arrayed in contemporary fifteenth -cen- tury dress, the wooden composition of Pilate carried out in this dark grisaille medium, though expertly rendered, presents a cool, almost baleful scene. All but two of the soldiers appear faceless, while Pilate, for his part, looks down toward the ground, basin in hand, slightly distanced from the scene before him and set apart by his judgment seat and canopy. The only real light in the room seems to emanate from the resigned face of Christ himself, which clearly distinguishes him — the sacred figure of the Mes- siah- -from the instruments and agents of the secular Roman magistracy around him. Though Christ and Pilate are represented quite differently from one another, they nevertheless occupy the space of a single room, linked by a shared moment in sacred history, and by the ensuing scenes of the Passion that would precipitate the ultimate sacrifice of Christ on the cross at the hands of his imperial Roman persecutors.’ 1 Religious and historical illuminations in traditional text forms — antiphonaries, books of hours, Psalters, etc.- were not the exclusive visual preserves of imagery redolent of the relationship, and relative powers and jurisdictions, 57 of Church and state during the Middle Ages and Renais- sance. Such representations also appeared in the physical instruments of power and jurisdiction employed by both institutions in their everyday transactions. While certain of these do clearly represent, and consciously seek to sym- bolize, the authority of the secular ruler in a manner that was exclusive of the Church or, alternatively, elevated the jurisdiction of the Church and the prestige of the papacy, such images often, if not invariably, reflect the concomi- tant reality of their institutional interdependence. In the context of secular power, this is well represented in a finely painted book cover commissioned by the Biccherna , the exchequer of the Sienese city-state, from the collections of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (no. 20). Painted on wooden boards, these often highly secularized and politi- cally thematic pieces were designed to cover the parch- ment registers of the camerlengo, or official board, of the Biccherna and of the provvediton, who were charged with the dav-to-day supervision of revenues and expenses, at the close of their six-month terms. 32 In earlier examples, a customary Biccherna image would have been that of the executive clerk and the secular arms of his office, though later covers came to represent civic and, in some cases, religious themes. The Boston example is conspicuous in its traditional representation of civic tribute being offered to a figure sym- bolizing the Sienese government, replete with images of his scepter of office in one hand and, in his other, an orb bear- ing the black-and-white colors of the Sienese balanza The figure of Siena is shown surrounded by trumpeters and citizens of the city-state who present symbols of trib- ute, including (left to right) olive branches, keys, a forti- fied town or castle, a moneybag, what appear to be candles. Hags, and an armored figure holding up a sword. Below, a series of five armorials separate the allegory, above, from the explanatory text at the bottom of the book cover, where the names ot the officers of the Biccherna are dulv listed in the traditional manner. 4 The scene amounts to a clas- sic gesture of Italian Renaissance civic humanism and local pride, and is reminiscent of Lorenzetti’s Allegory of Good Government, which had been painted for the Sienese Pala- zzo Pubblico less than two decades before this Biccherna cover was executed. The Boston Biccherna is, however, quite conspicuous in that it appears to lack anv clearly dis- cernable religious figure or imagery in the tribute offering. It is impossible to claim that this particular scene was exe- cuted with the intention of representing the secular sword as completely separate from the Church, but the image is not inconsistent with the scriptural locus classicus of the sec- ular sword, communicated with respect to the question of civic payments of tribute to the state in Matthew 22:1 9—20: “Show me the coin of tribute,” Christ demanded, “And thev offered him a penny.” And Jesus saith to them: Whose image and inscription is this?They say to him: Caesar’s. Then he saith to them: Render therefore to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s; and to God, the things that are God’s. Other document forms generated by medieval and early modern states as instruments of power and the rule of law consciously reflected the presence of the divine in the context of secular kingship, as in the instance of two illuminated Spanish cartas executorias in the early manu- scripts collection of the Boston Public Library (nos. 22 and 25). Each of these cartas presents a subject’s pleito de hidal- guia, or claim of noble hidalgo status — a distinction that afforded an array of important privileges, including rela- tive freedom from taxation — complete with signed attes- tations from various prominent persons. The first, and earlier, of these, a Granadan manuscript dated July 1517, supports the claim of one Rodrigo de Oviedo (no. 25). 35 The customary initial illumination presents a finely exe- cuted set of religious images juxtaposed with, and oth- erwise framing, secular symbols. The initial letter repre- sents Queen Juana I and the future Emperor Charles V, with the queen seated in regalia to the right of the young Charles. Just above appears the traditional monogram of the name of Jesus Christ, “IHS,” surrounded by a wreath borne bv winged purr;, in direct vertical juxtaposition to a similar wreath borne by two angels bearing secular arms. On either side of the roval portrait, a similar horizontal juxtaposition presents the arms of the Spanish crown on one side of the page, and an armorial bearing the symbols of the passion- -the disembodied hands and feet of Christ and the sacred heart. 4 Christ was directly associated with the hidalgo, as a result, and the royal crown with Christ’s sacrifice, perhaps making reference to the obligation of members of the Spanish nobility to take up arms and sacri- fice their own lives at the behest of the secular ruler when called upon to defend the realm. In this wav, too, secular offices invariably denoted sacred obligations. The image is neatlv juxtaposed with a later carta exe- cutoria from the reign of Charles V. Where the former represented a secular claim to nobility, this sumptuously rendered instrument of law confirms the privileges of a sacred institution, the Monastery of St. Mary at Valbuena in the diocese ofValencia, dated 9 June 1 jj} (no. 22a). 37 St. Bernard appears prominently within the initial “D” (cartas executorias were traditionally announced in the name of the monarch, in this case “Don Carlos”), praving with a book before him (which is turned, notably, to a book of hours, bible, or other religious text, also beginning with a 58 large “D”), in a room contained within the cloister. Directly above him appears a miraculous infant Jesus held in the left arm of the Virgin, as she cups her naked breast with her right hand. Careful attention to the image reveals a fine white line between her breast and the mouth of Bernard, representing the so-called lactatio Bernardi — an event from the life of Bernard that is itself representative of the mirac- ulous intermingling of the heavenly mother milk of the Virgin and the physical world of mankind. 38 The exquisite border is highly classicized with swags, decorated camieu bleu medallions and female grotesques. At the base of the page, however, are sacred arms surmounted by the Abbot’s mitre and crosier, the traditional svmbols of his office. This explicitly religious armorial presents a striking compari- son with the lead seal of CharlesV (nos. 22b and 22c), which is still attached to the document by its original cord, the presence of which confirms the document as an authorized instrument of secular law. Upon the obverse (no. 22b), the Emperor is depicted enthroned; on the reverse (no. 22c) his secular arms represent his vast domains throughout Europe. This document represents, perhaps more vividly than any of the other artifacts examined in this analysis, the fundamental dependence of the Church upon secular rulers who, often alone, possessed the power to confirm the privileges of a religious house, whether through the grant of land or through exemptions from taxation, all as a matter of state. A similar instrument of magisterial rule is represented in an illuminated document conferring Power of Attorney for the citizens of two Spanish villages to Pedro de Con- treras and Christoval de Salazar, enabling them to petition the Audiencia ofValladolid for an award of 1 00,000 marave- dis in a suit against the Conde de Miranda (no. 29). ' In this image, King Philip is twice represented, first in the con- text of his secular office — seated in his throne, crowned with scepter in hand and sword at his side — and, secondly, as a devout Roman Catholic kneeling and praving before a representation of the patron Saint, Santiago Matamoros, or “St. James the Moorslayer,” a titular reference to James’ miraculous appearance at the Battle of Clavijo against the Moors during the Reconquista. 40 The juxtaposition of the kneeling king, crownless but armed with his sword, gazing upon the triumphant St. James, whose own sword is held high in holy war against the Moors, constitutes an explicit and literal juxtaposition of the sacred and secular swords, though in a manner that hardlv functions within the con fines of traditional Gelasian dualism. The image places the two vignettes — one of the secular authority of European kingship, the other of the ruler’s self-appointed role as defensor fidei — into direct connection, with little indica- tion of their reconciliation, or of the particular nature of their distinction, within the single person and office of the most Catholic king of Spain. While these images underscore a blurring of the osten sible dualism of the two swords doctrine, other instru- ments of law and worldly authority more effectively dis- tinguish betw een the power of the Church and of the state. Two purely secular English seal matrices (nos. 17 and 18), for example, both of them representative of the secular arms of their aristocratic ow ners — one medieval and the other early modern — bear no religious imagery whatso- ever. 41 In the first of these, dating from the late thirteenth or fourteenth century, the unidentified impression displays a woman standing beside the owner’s arms, and a plumed helmet above. 42 The second, and far much more elaborate, piece represents the arms of Francis Browne, third Viscount Montague, a recusant Catholic who fled to France to avoid persecution. Seals such as these make no reference to the Church, very clearly representing purely secular tools used to seal and authenticate official and personal correspon- dence, gifts and legal documents. The Church, for its part, produced and depended upon similar instruments for the everyday representa- tion and exercise of ecclesiastical and papal authority, such as the traditional papal bull (no. 2ia). 4 ‘ The familiar term for this document form derives from the bulla, or leaden seal attached to it for purposes of authentication and legal authority. These apostolic letters were normally issued by the papal chancery, communicating the will of the papal See, functions that are further indicated in the customary titular superscription, “episcopus, servus servorum Dei.”This physical documentary manifestation of the pope’s wield- ing of the sacred sword is further adorned with the tradi- tional representation upon the lead bulla itself of Sts. Paul and Peter. The two figures are separated by a cross between them and by two small vertical inscriptions, “PA” on the left and “PE” on the right, identifying each respective portrait through the initial two letters of his Latin name. The sit- ting pope’s name was normally identified on the reverse of the seal in a simple textual inscription, as in this exemplar, “VRBANVS PAPA VIII” (nos. 21b and 21c). In every sense an instrument of the sacred power of the pope, this bull contrasts curiously with a related tradition of official exonumia — commemorative medals traditionally cast or struck in the honor of the apostolic See. More than a half dozen different genres of medals are known to have been commissioned in the late Middle Ages and Renaissance for the Church, including the so-called annuale , annually produced medals introduced on June 29, the feast day of Saints Peter and Paul. The reverse of such medals normally reflected whatever the pope elected to designate as one of the most important events relating to the Church during 59 the past year. Other medal forms were issued to com- memorate new papal elections, Washing-ol-the-Feet devo- tions on HolvThursdav, 1 lolv and Jubilee years, the erection of architectural edifices as well as papal voyages. Some of the more common papal medals to survive from the period are the so-called possessio medals, which appear to have been produced in large runs to mark a new pope’s taking pos- session of the Lateran in Rome. 4 One conventional exam- ple ot a Renaissance papal possessio marked the accession of the Borgia pope, Alexander VI, to the throne of St. Peter. 46 What is of particular interest in this example is not the pope’s portrait on the medal’s obverse, but rather the device on the reverse of the medal (nos. 23a and 23b), which dis- plays the secular arms of the Borgia family surmounted bv the triple-crown tiara and keys of the papal office. In this wav, the sacred and the secular were literallv conjoined in a single heraldic image. It was not an inappropriate gesture for one of the worldliest of worldly Renaissance popes, but closer examination of the tradition demonstrates that this conjunction of secular arms with the sacred symbols of holy office was commonplace during the Quattrocento and per- sisted well into the seventeenth century, in medals of popes as well as of lesser princes of the Church. 1 A similar device, surmounting a pope’s secular arms with the papal tiara and keys, is also strikinglv illustrated in a handsome manuscript Italian papal indulgence naming the Countess Rangone and her aristocratic family (no. 34). 48 This writ of indulgence — an extra-sacramental remission of temporal punishment for sins, effected through the power of the keys and the superabundant merit of the saints and of Christ — was issued during the pontificate of Innocent VIII, whose arms appear in the upper left-hand corner of the page. A small roundel just below the sacred /secular papal armorial was left blank, ostensibly marking a spe- cial space for the illustration of the recipient’s own secu- lar arms. In this instance, as well as in the papal medals described above, Renaissance popes repeatedlv participated in an iconographic and heraldic tradition of self-represen- tation that demonstrated little or no consistent interest in diminishing their secular familial associations and creden- tials, either in materials created for their celebration and commemoration or, for that matter, in official ecclesiasti- cal instruments for the remission of sins committed bv lav members of the Church. One final, but nevertheless evocative, arena in which one encounters the complexity and often overlapping qual- ity of secular and sacred powers in premodern and earlv modern art arose with the censorship of books. This was particularly the case with the advent of the Holv Office of the Inquisition’s promulgation of the Index of Prohibited Books during the second half ot the sixteenth century, as well as with the efforts of secular monarchs to suppress inflam- matory books and publications critical of their authority. In addition to the suppression of books deemed heretical, both the Church and the states of Europe supervised the public burning of illicit books in acts that combined their projection of coercive power into society with the enact- ment and reenactment of ritual condemnation and destruc- tion. Perhaps the most celebrated of these, the so-called “Bonfire of the Vanities,” involved the destruction of hun- dreds of books, works of art and sumptuary objects that were consigned to the flames in Florence bv the followers of the Dominican reformer, Girolamo Savanarola, during a Shrove Tuesday festival. Savanarola s leadership on that occasion, though clearly symbolic, was perhaps also rooted in the traditions of his order for, in 1 20 j, Saint Dominic, the founder of the Dominicans, was himself celebrated for a similar burning of heretical books during his travels among the Albigenisian heretics in southern France. According to the Dominican legend, “Saint Dominic preached against the heresies,” putting into writing the various theological authorities which he would deploy in condemnation of their religious heterodoxy. When Dominic’s book of authorities was thrown into the flames with other heretical books on several occasions, it miraculously leapt out of the fire while the heretical books of others were destroyed (Rvan vol. II, 4 j). This event is vividly portrayed in what is likely a six- teenth-century copy (no. 19) of an original predella panel for the church of Santo Spirito in Siena, with Dominic por- trayed to the right, his sacred book sitting on the ground beside the fire while the others burn. 4 * Pointing to heaven, Dominic is surrounded by heretics and disbelievers, with the exception of the figure directly opposite him — ostensi- bly the heretic that challenged him to throw his holv book on to the pvre — who appears to genuflect in recognition of the miracle. It is perhaps appropriate to close this survey of the wide range of representations of sacred and secular power, and their complex intermingling, in medieval and Renaissance art with a remnant of one final instrument of ecclesiastical coercion that reached far into the secular realm through the official censorship of books. Originally an antiphonal leaf illustrated with a female saint standing within a large letter “U” (no. 33), this manuscript fragment was later removed and trimmed to serve as the binding for a copy of the Index of Prohibited Books itself, as is indicated in a late sixteenth- or early seventeenth-century manuscript note along the por- tion ol the leal that covered the book’s spine . 50 Though it is surely accidental, the earlier saint’s left hand and eyes gaze directly toward the title inscription, indicating that the saintly image appeared on the back of the printed book bound by the leaf. In this silent gesture, joining one century 60 to another across the space of a single page, one encounters but one more symbol of the sacred power of the Church, and one of its most prominent instruments for the destruc- tion of both sacred and of secular texts, often effected bv the active complicity and connivance of secular authorities. Here, as in the many and various examples described above, the immediate and, at times, inextricable interrelationship that bound the sacred and secular spheres together emerges far more clearly than sustained efforts to differentiate and separate them, in theory or in practice, according to the doctrine of the two swords. In the end, theory and practice, art and artifice, seem more commonly to have conspired against the reification and confirmation of the two swords theory, either in the world of political thought and action, or in these myriad examples of medieval and Renaissance artistic expression. tnCmotcs 1 “Ego Constantini, vos Petri gladium habetis in manibus; iungamus dextras, gladium gladio copulemus, ut purgetur sanctuarium Dei.” 2 On the oration and the development of this Eusebian tradition, see esp. Timothy Barnes, Constantine and Eusebius (Harvard University Press, 1981). 3 Little of this Eusebian rex et sacerdos formula- tion can be detected in Constantine’s much earlier oration to the Assembly of Saints on the least of Easter. See Schaff and \V ace, 561 — 80, esp. chapter XXVI. 4 Carolingian and Ottoman rulers were explic- itly addressed in this way, as “rex et sacer- dos” centuries later, as in rites involving royal unction: “What Pepin created and Charles continued was, as Frankish doctrine had it, the revival of the biblical kingship of David . . . This ritual of the Old Testament and its revival were in full agreement with the ten- dency during this time toward ‘liturgifv- ing’ the secular sphere and toward theocratic solutions to political problems . . .The king began to represent a type of ruler modeled upon David. He was the not us Moses, the novus David. He was the priestly king, rex et sacerdos. He was, through his consecration with the holv oil, like David, the Anointed of God, the chnstus Domini .” Ernst Kantorowicz, Laudes Regiae.A Study in Liturgical Acclamations and Medieval RulerWorship (2nd ed.; University of California Press, 1958). 56— 57. 5 See Romans 1 3: 1-7, “Let every soul be sub- ject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God. Whosoever therefore resisteth the pow er, resisteth the ordinance of God: and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation. For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to the evil. Wilt thou then not be afraid of the power? Do that which is good, and thou shalt have praise of the same: For he is the minister of God to thee for good. But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid; for he beareth not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil. Wherefore thee must needs be subject, not only for wrath, but also for conscience sake. For this cause pav thee tribute also: for thev are God’s ministers, attending continually upon this very thing. Render therefore to all their dues: tribute to whom tribute is due; custom to whom custom; fear to whom fear; honor to whom honor.” 6 See Lester Field, Liberty, Dominion, and the Two Swords:The Origins ojWestern PoliticalThe- olog)'(l8o—398). University of Notre Dame Press, 1998. 228—32; and John Liebeschuetz, Barbarians and Bishops: Army, Church and State in the Age ofArcadius and Chrysostom. Claren- don Press, 1990. 1 £7—65. Ambrose exercised great power over the emperors of Rome, including the threat of ecclesiastical sanc- tions against Valentinian II if he attempted to restore a burned down synagogue at Cal- linicum, and several stands against encroach- ments by the civil authority in church affairs. The excommunication and penance of The- odosius following theThessalonian massa- cre was regarded bv some as a precedent for Gregory Vi’s excommunication and forced penance of the German king, Henry IV, at Canossa in 1076, perhaps the most humiliat- ing defeat of a secular ruler at the hands of the Church in medieval history, despite what- ever advantage it mav have given Henry with respect to sewing division among his politi- cal opponents. See esp. Jorgen Vogel, Gregor VII und Heinrich IV nach Canossa: Zeugnisse lhres (W. de Gruyter, 1983); and K. Morri- son, “Canossa: A Revision,” Traditio 18 (1962): 1 21-48. 7 On the early development of the two sw ords theory, see also Field, Liberty, Dominion, and the Two Swords, esp. 45—214. 8 The Lateran Councils codified numerous reforms of the Church and decrees regard- ing the office and election of the Pope, among many other major revisions and codifications of Church dogma. The codification of canon law, consisting of ecclesiastical laws on mat ters of church discipline, faith and conven- tional Catholic morality, was largely effected through the reception of Gratian’s Decretum (ca. 1 140 ce). 9 See Walter Ullmann, The Growth of Papal Gov- ernment in the Middle Ages: A Study in the Ideo- logical Relation of Clerical to Lay Power (2nd ed.; Methuen, 1961). 262—309. 10 “Quis dubitet sacerdotes Christi regum et principium omniumque fidelium patres et magistros censeri.” 11 Gratian, Decretum, d. 96, c. 1 o. These and other passages relevant to later medieval manifestations of the Gelasian two swords theory are summarized in I. S. Robinson, “Church and Papacy,” and J. A. Watt, “Spiri- tual and Temporal Powers,” The Cambridge His- tory of Political Thought, c. 350—1450. Ed. J. H. Burns. Cambridge University Press, 1988. 2 S 2 - 3 °G 3 6 7 ~ 4 2 3 - 12 For similar theological arguments along these lines, see Hugh of St. Victor, De Sacramentis Chnstianae Fidei, II. 2. 2, 4; and St. Bernard, De Consideratione, IV. 3, 7. 13 “Immo in tali casu deberet si pertinax inve- niretur cum violentia, et advocato brachio seculari, a sede removeri, ne profanarentur ecclesiae sacramenta.” 14 Alan Gewirth’s edition of the Defensor Pads in vol. 2, is preceded by a useful introduction and analysis of the treatise in vol. 1 , “Mar- silius of Padua and Medieval Political Philoso- phy.” 15 For a lull codicological description of this manuscript scroll, see Lisa Fagin Davis’s contribution to this volume. This author is indebted to Alexander Hoven, research assis- tant and graduate student in the history of art at the University of Illinois, Urbana- Champaign, for his work on provenance and bibliography relating to the Boston Public Library’s collection of Medieval and Renais- sance manuscripts. 16 “Carolo, piisimo Augusto a Deo coronato, magno et pacificio Imperatori, vita et vic- toria.” See the various historical accounts of Charlemagne’s elevation in the Annales Lauris- sense majores and Einhard’s Vita Caroli. At least one illumination from an earlier Grandes Chro- niques de France, another of the major sources for the text of the Boston Public Library scroll, juxtaposes and inverts the roles of the pope and the emperor quite explicitly. Anne Hedemen ( The Royal Image: Illustrations of the Grandes Chroniques de France, 1274—1422. University of California Press, 1991. 18—19) has drawn attention to the image, describ- ing it as follows: “In the miniature of Char- lemagne’s coronation two images invert the relationships between the emperor and pope. In the upper scene the church is supreme, and Charlemagne kneels to be crowned emperor in Rome at the hands of the pope; in the lower scene the state takes priority, and the pope pleads with Charlemagne to com- mute sentences of those condemned bv the emperor for degrading the pontiff.” See Bib- liotheque Sainte-Genevieve, Ms. 782, fol. 1 2 1 v. Other Grandes Chronique illustrations of the coronation regularly represent Char- lemagne kneeling before the Pope, as in Pier- pont Morgan Library, M. 536, fol. 83V; and Deutsche Staatsbibliothek, Phill. 1917, fol. 1 14. Hedemen, Royal Image, 1 58-59. 61 17 “Fuerunt tunc in Britannia xxviii flamines sed ct trcs archflamines quorum potestati ceteri iudices morum atquc phanatici submit - tebantur. Hos etiam ex precepto apostolici idolatriam eripuerunt et ubi errant flamines episcopos, ubi archflamines archiepiscopos posuerunt.” 18 It is not clear if the king is actually meant to be consecrating the bishops himself, or whether the two ecclesiastical figures repre- sent the two men sent to Britain by the Pope, or simply two Britons who are in the pro- cess of being, or who have already been, con- secrated. The visual suggestion of the king’s gesture, of raising his scepter up and before the two kneeling men could be interpreted as a concomitant moment of royal welcome or blessing, and due ecclesiastical respect to the king, but it nevertheless places him in a supe- rior position in relation to these representa- tives of the Church. 19 The iconography of this particular scene of the Baptism of Clovis, including the dove and ampulla seen in the BPL scroll, also tradition- ally appeared in illustrations from the various source texts for the scroll, such as the Grandes Chronigues de France. See, for example, British Library, Royal 16 GVI, fol. 16, illustrated in Hedemen, Royal Image, 69. 20 “When he [Clovis] arrived at the baptismal font, the sacred chrism was missing, but a dove flew down with a phial of chrism in its beak, and the bishop anointed the king with it. This phial is preserved in the church at Rheims, and to this day the kings of France are anointed with this chrism.” 21 Of these two interpretations, the first seems more reasonable given the miniature’s place in what is clearly a highly secularized narra- tive of European kingship. It is notable that in at least one other version in this series of genealogical scrolls, the Holy Spirit, ampulla and angel bearing arms are com- pletely absent. See, for example, the copy in Rouen, Bibliotheque Municipale, MS 1 137. In another at Tours, the angel holding the arms is also absent, but the Holy Spirit is pres- ent in the form of a dove, though it does not carry the ampulla in its beak. St. Remy holds the chrism while rays of divine light ema- nate from the dove down upon the scene. See Tours, Bibliotheque Municipale, MS 975. Thanks are owed to Lisa Fagin Davis for pointing out these iconographic variants to this author. 22 This image is ubiquitous throughout medieval and Renaissance illustrated Psalters, tradi- tionally appearing in conjunction with Psalm 1 , “ Beatus vir ,’ 'and Psalm 81 (Vulgate 80), “ Exultate Deo .” See Colum Hourihane, King David in the Index of Christian Art. Princeton University Press, 2002. 34—76. 23 A second fragment from the same Book of Hours is also in the Boston Public Library’s early manuscripts collection, Ms.pb. Med. 1 £7. 24 “So the Lord sent a pestilence upon Israel. And there fell of Israel seventy thousand men” (1 Chronicles 21:14). 25 This particular illustration also appears before a penitential psalm, the fourth. Psalm 51 (Psalm 50 in the Vulgate), “Miserere,” a not uncommon location for representations of Davidic penitence. See Hourihane, King David, 230—3 1 . 26 2 Samuel 24: 1 3; 2 Samuel 24: 16 and I Chronicles 21:12 represent the angel as the pestilential destroyer, the latter “ ange - lum Domini mterficere in universes finibus Israel ,” though God showed mercy in both accounts by sparing the city of Jerusalem itself. An ear- lier specific example of Dav id repentant after the census appears in the thirteenth-century Cambridge University Library manuscript Psalter, Ee.4.24, fol. 1 3r, in association with the third penitential psalm, Psalm 38 (Psalm 37 in the Vulgate), “Domine, ne in furore.” Thanks are owed to Professor Pamela Berger for pointing out the contemporary printed illustration of this particular Davidic icono- graphic tradition. 27 BPL Ms.pf.Med 1 20 is described in Angela Lattanzi, “Di alcuni miniatori Lombardi della seconda meta del sec. XV,” Commentari. Rivis- ita de cntica e stona dell 'arte 23 (1972): 229— 26. 28 The manuscript has been associated with the city of Verona and is believed to date from the first or second quarter of the fifteenth century. 29 In the traditional Gelasian formulation, the spiritual sword is never described as a physi- cal sword, but is invisible. In certain con- texts, the obvious challenge of representing the invisible sword in relation to the mate- rial secular sword in art was solved by plac- ing the secular sword of U iustitia n on top of, or beside, the book of the bible, the “ verbum dei ,” thereby representing the spiritual presence and divine authority of the sacred sword. See, for example, the celebrated posthumous por- trait of Queen Elizabeth I, ca. 1603, executed by Christian van de Passe after a contempo- rary portrait of the Queen by Isaac Oliver, ca. 1 £92— 99. This is illustrated and described in a forthcoming collection of essays, Earle Havens, Gloriana: Monuments and Memorials of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth I Elizabethan Club, 2oog. 14. 30 This attribution, and a further suggestion of a Franciscan association, was made in Nicole Crossley-Holland, A Fifteenth-Century Francis- can French Office. Translation and Commentary of the Hours of the Passion. Edwin Mellen Press, 1 99 1 .The BPL manuscript is one of approxi- mately three surviving manuscript exemplars of the poem that are known, and is believed to be the only illustrated version in a North American collection. The others are Paris, Bibliotheque Nationale Fonds Fran9ais 190; and Chantilly, Musec Conde 141 . 31 Though Christ is clearly the centerpiece of this illustration, and not Pilate, it is difficult to find evidence in the details of the tinv por- trait of Pilate, “the face of a frightened and weak man,” as has been suggested in Cross- ley -Holland, Franciscan French Office, 124. 32 The two major studies of the tradition are L. Borgia et al., Le Biccherne.Tavole Dipinte delle Magistrature Senesi (Secoli Xlll-XVIII) (Minis- tero per i Beni Culturali c Ambientali, 1984); and Ubaldo Morandi, Le Biccherne Senesi: le Tavolette della Biccherna, della Gabella e di altre Magistrature dell'Antico Stato Senese Corner - vate presso l’Archivio di Stato di Siena. Monte dei Paschi di Siene, 1964. Artists respon- sible for early w r orks in this tradition, which extended well into the late seventeenth cen- tury, include Duccio (though his commission was lost), and Ambrosio Lorenzetti, who exe- cuted a similar piece for the Sienese gaballa, or tax office. 33 The cover is described in Laurence Kanter, Italian Paintings in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 1994. 104; and Georg Swarzenski, “A Sienese Book Cover of 1 364,” Bulletin of the Museum of Fine Arts 48 (October, 1990): 44—46. Early tra- ditional book covers representing a figure enthroned with the arms of the office and officers are preserved in the State Archive, Siena. 34 The inscription was damaged in the process of modern restoration, but can be recon- structed from an eighteenth-centurv record: “[QUESTO E] LIBRO DE L’ENTRATE ET DE L’ESCITE DE LA GENERALE [BICHERNA] DEL COM[UNO] DI SIENA ALTENPO DE’ SAVI E DISCRETI HU[OMINI GHIN ]0 DI MA[RCH]OVALDO E DI SER PETRO LENCI E DI [MISSERE BONJINSEGNA [DI] MISSERE SANDRO DE’ NAMDO[NE]GLI E DI MAJRCHO DI CECJCHO E DI M[A]NAIA DI GHUC- CIO CHAMARLENGHO E [QUATRO DI B]ICCHERNA ADI PRIMO DI GEN- NAIO MILLE TRECENTO [LXIII INFINO A] CHALENDE [LjUGLIO MXXX- LXIIII. BA RTA LO ME [ I O ] DI SOCCO BART[AL]OM[EI] LORO SCRITTORE.” 35 The carta executona was a fairly commonplace Spanish document from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries. The tradition of having them specially illuminated is an adjunct of the larger Renaissance tradition of illuminat- ing manuscript documents (the large major- ity of them handwritten on vellum) that mark important events such as the conferral of advanced academic degrees, confirmations of knighthoods, grants of aristocratic titles and arms, and major acquisitions of lands and estates, or grants of institutions, represented by legal indentures and charters. 36 This image presents a slight variation on the armorial representation of the five wounds of Christ described elsewhere in this essay. Here the sacred heart stands at the center, rather than the large horizontal bleeding wound on Christ’s side. The medieval and early modern propagation of the devotion of the five wounds of Christ, and of the sacred heart in particular, has been associated with the Fran- ciscan order, though its dissemination appears not to have been systematic until the mid-six- teenth and seventeenth centuries when it can be found in the devotional and ascetic writ- ings of John of Avila, St. Francis de Sales and St. Aloysius, among others. 37 See note 39, above. 38 There are several variations on the Mario- logical lactatio tradition in Bernard’s legend, the oldest known example attributing this miracle to an occasion upon which the Abbot of Citeaux ordered Bernard to preach before the Bishop of Chalons. Bernard accepted the news with great trepidation and prayed intensively before a statue of the Virgin for strength and comfort. After falling asleep, Mary appeared offering her breast and moth- er’s milk, an ostensible symbol of divine rev- elation. A second version, and perhaps the most approximate to this image, relocates the event in the collegiate church of Chatillon- sur-Seine, where the Virgin similarly appears before the praying Bernard, offering him not 62 only the secrets of the Passion of Christ and the Christian faith, hut also the infant Jesus as savior and drops of her mother’s milk. The monastic context of the former, and the more specific soteriological orientation of the latter appear to have been conflated in the image in the BPL manuscript. See Alb- erich Alter matt, “Lactatio und Amplexus : Die zentralenThcman der Bernhardsikonogra- phie.” Stiftung Kloster Eberbach: Bernhard von Clairvaux. Der Zisterzienserheilige zur und in der Kunst. Ed. Jens Jacob. Bad Kreuznach, 2003. 24-28; Peter Parshall and Rainer Schoch, eds. The Origins of European Printmaking: Fif- teenth- Century Woodcuts and Their Public. Yale University Press, 2005. 269— 70. Thanks are owed to Professor David Areford for intro- ducing this author to the various sources of this Bernardine tradition. 39 The initial illuminations on this page are credited by the artist himself, one Juan Rodriguez, in the lower right-hand corner of the page. 40 The legend gave rise to the traditional Span- ish battle cry u Santiago y cierra Espanal ” (“St James, and strike for Spain!”). A fine seven- teenth-centurv historical painting of the event is preserved in the Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest, by Juan Carrcno de Miranda. San- tiago Matamoros was perhaps most famously described in Cervantes’ Don Quixote, Book 2, chapter LVI 1 I, “St. James the Moorslaver, one of the most valiant saints and knights the world ever had . . . has been given by God to Spain for its patron and protection.” 41 The earlier of these two seals is fullv described in Nancy Netzer, Metalwork. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 1991. 28. 42 The sigillographic tradition in the Middle Ages and Renaissance is well described inT. A. Heslop, “English Seals in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries.” Age of Chivalry: Art in Plantagenet England, 1200— 14OO. Eds. Jonathan Alexander and Paul Binski, Roval Academv of Arts, 1987. 1 14—17; and Brigitte Bedos Rezak, “Seals and Sigillography, West- ern European.” Dictionary of the Middle Ages. Ed. Joseph Strayer, Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1988. 1 23—3 1 . 43 This document was issued from Rome by Urban VIII, 1 8 June 1 6 3 1 , to a papal agent regarding lands and property in Portugal. Selected Works Cited Caspar, Erich, ed. “Registrum.” Das Register Gregors VII. Vol . 2 . Berlin, 1955. Friedberg, Emil, and Aemilius Ludwig Richter, eds. Boniface VIII, “Unam Sanctam ."Corpus Iuris Canonici. vol. 2. BernhardiTauchnitz, 1 879—8 1 . I 24£. Gewirth, Alan, ed. Marsilius of Padua, the Defender of Peace. New York, 1956. Migne, J. P, ed. King Edgar, “Oratio Edgari Regis.” Patrol ogi a Latina, vol. 138. Paris, 1844—64. 44 See Franco Bartolotti, Le Medaglie Annu- alc Dei Romani Pontefci da Paolo V a Paolo VI: l6o^-ig6y. Cosmi, 1967; Franco Bartolotti, “Valore Monetario della Medaglia Annu- ale Pontificia nel XVII e nel XVIII Secolo .” Rivista hahana de Numismatica e Scienze AJfini XIX (1971): 277—83. Perhaps the most famous of these was the annuale struck for Pope Gregory XIII in 1^72 in celebration of the “UGONOTTORUM STRAGES” (Mas- sacre of the Huguenots) in Paris on St. Bar- tholomew’s day. News of the massacre was received with great joy by the Pope. The bells of Rome were ordered to peal for a public dav of thanksgiving, and Georgio Vasari was commissioned to paint a mural commemo- rating the event for the Vatican. See F. Mazio, Serie dei Coni de Medaglie Pontifcie da Martino V Fino a Tutto il Pontifcato di P10 VII Esistenti nella Pontifcia Zecca di Roma. Forni Editori Bolo- gna, 1824. 1 10; Spink & Son, A Descriptive Catalogue oj Papal Medals. Spink & Son Ltd., 1 898; rpt. 2000. 697. 45 See John Varrianno, “An Introduction to Earlv Papal Medals.” Roma Resurgens: Papal Medals from the Age of the Baroque. Ed. , Nathan Wil- liams. University of Michigan Museum of Art, Ann Arbor, 1983. 1 2— ij;G. C. Bascape, “Introduzione alia Medaglistica Papale.” Rivista Italiana di Numismatica e Sciene AJfini XV (1967): I73ff. 46 This example forms part of a private col- lection. It appears to be a recasting of the original made in the earlv sixteenth century. Thanks are due to Stephen Scher for examin- ing this medal and suggesting a possible later recasting date. See Mazio, Medaglie Pontifcie. 27; Spink & Co., Papal Medals. 409. On later reproductions of earlv medals, see John Var- riano, “Some Documentarv Evidence on the Restriking of Earlv Papal Medals.” American Numismatic Society: Museum Notes 26 (1981): 21S-23- 47 Alexander Vi’s predecessor and fellow Borgia, Calixtus III, also represented the Borgia arms surmounted bv the papal tiara and kevs nearlv a half century earlier, ca. 14^5—58; as did Pier Barbo, Cardinal of San Marco, in a medal marking his cardinalate in 145$; and Nicola Maugras, Bishop of Uzes, ca. 1483—1 503, whose arms cover the episcopal crosier. See G. Hill and Graham Pollard, eds. Renaissance Medals from the Samuel H. Kress Collection at the National Gallery of Art. Phaidon Press, 1967. 208, 206 and 229, respectively. See also Hill and Pollard. 238 (Julius II) and 239 (Leo X). Evidence of the increasinglv frequent omis- sion of the pope’s secular arms in possessio Monahan, Arthur, ed. John of Paris, “De Potes- tate Regia et Papali "John of Paris on Royal and Papal Power. New York, 1974. Ryan, William, ed. The Golden Legend: Readings on the Saints. 2 vols. Princeton, 1993. Schaff, Philip, and Henry Wace, eds. Eusebius, “Oration in Praise of Constantine.” Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers: second series, vol. 1 . Pea- body, 1994. j8i— 610. Thiel, Andreas, ed. Gelasius, “Epistola XII T Epis- tolae Romanorum Pontifcum Genuinae. vol. 1 . Braunsberg, 1868. 349—^8. and annuale medals exists for the later seven- teenth century, such as in the election medal of Clement IX of 1677, and in later examples such as the combined election, coronation and possession medal of Clement XII, exe- cuted in 1730, which represents an allegory on the reverse of the chalice (vas electionis) of election, the triple-crown tiara of coronation and the keys of investiture and possession, but no secular arms. It remains to be determined whether this change in the tradition might be attributed to Catholic reforms following the Council ofTrent. See Nathan Whitman, Roma Resurgens. 103, 167. 48 On early printed forms of indulgences, see esp. Paul Needham, The Printer St^the Pardoner: An Unrecognized Indulgence Printed by William Caxton for the Flospital of St. Mary Rounceval, Charing Cross. Library of Congress, 1986. 49 This piece, done after an original work by Domenico Beccafumi, is described in Gior- gio Vasari’s life of Beccafumi as a predella panel for an altarpiece of the Mystical Mar- riage of Saint Catherine to the Christ Child. See Vasari, LeVite de’ Piu Eccellenti Pittori, Sculton e Architettori: Nelle Redazioni del 1 SS° e *56# (Studio per Edizione Scelte, 1966—97) vol. 5, 168. For discussions of the piece, see Rich- ard Townshend, The Samuel FI. Kress Collection at Philbrook. Philbrook Museum of Art, 1991. 2 1 ; and Donato Saminiatelli, “Domenico Bec- cafumi ’s Predella Panels.” The Connoisseur 138 (December 1956): 155— £9. 50 The practice of reusing limp vellum pages, even those bearing earlier manuscript notes such as this, as an inexpensive alternative to more elaborate leather boards was common- place in the earlv modern period, though pages used in this way that also bear large medieval illustrations, such as this leaf, are far less common. Watt, J. A., ed. “On Roval and Papal Power ” John of Pans. The Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1971. 6^-2££. Wright, Neil, ed. The Historia Regum Bntannie of Geoffrey of Monmouth. Dover, 1985. 63 CD Ary as CDodel: Cl)c Sack'C) Becomes SccuLu’ in CDeihetul Art PAtriciA Dc£ccutt) became man, has as its corollary that Mary, the mother of Jesus, the God-man, is a woman like no other. Defined in Christian doctrine as early as the fifth century as the ineotoKos, or mother of God (Pelikan 1996, 33— 63), Mary was understood to be mother of both the human and divine natures combined in the one person Jesus Christ. The theo- logical expression ot the special role of Mary in the Chris- tian economy confirmed what had already been expressed in Christian devotion: as a real mother, Mary was the woman who made the Incarnation, the taking on of flesh by God in Jesus, a reality. It was through his mother Mary that God entered the world, that the sacred entered the secular. In the art of the early church and early Middle Ages, it is not Mary’s humanity that is illustrated, but her relationship to the divine. From the earliest Christian art, in frescoes in the Roman catacombs where Christians were buried, scenes of Mary with the child Jesus on her lap are common (Lowrie 6 1 ). As Christianity spread to the Celtic and Germanic peo- ples of northern Europe, this image appears often: Mary as queen seated on a throne staring regally at the observer in a static, timeless way, with the child Jesus seated in her lap, also staring outw'ard, looking more like a miniature man than a child. Although Mary may have her hand on the child to hold him in place, this touch is the only contact between the two bodies (Beckw ith 3 1 , 139). The representation of Mary as queen is coincident with the representation of her Son as king; perhaps as a way of reinforcing the legitimacy of their reigns, early medieval kings who patronized the arts favored scenes of Christ enthroned as Pantocrator, and court artists portrayed kings similarly enthroned with sur- rounding supplicants (Beckwith 101). Sometimes Mary as queen and Christ as king appear together, as in an apse mosaic in the church of Santa Maria inTrastevere in Rome, where Mary, dressed as a Byzantine empress, and her Son, with his arm around her shoulders, are seated together on a throne (Miles 76). Even Crucifixion scenes in the early Middle Ages show' an idealized figure of Jesus, arms out- stretched, appearing to stand more in front of a cross than on it (Beckwith 50). In the monasteries of the eleventh century and the schools of the twelfth century, theologians began asking fur- ther questions of the Augustinian teachings on the Incarna- tion, grace, and salvation. From Anselm’s treatise asking Cur Deus Homo through the w riting and preaching of the Cister- cians, notably Bernard of Clairvaux, to the lectures of the cathedral school theologians, there arises a new focus on the human person of Jesus, the story of his life and death, and his intimate, loving relationship with believers (South- ern 2 32; Pelikan 1978, 1 38). Heightened devotion to Mary, his mother, came readily along. New attention was paid to the old doctrines of the Virgin birth and to Mary’s concep- tion without sin. The Virgin Mother was unique among all creation, and theologians called her “the queen of angels, the ruling Lady of the world, and the mother of him who purifies the world,” “mother of truth,” “mother and daugh- ter of humility,” “the fountain from w hich the living foun- tain flows, the origin of the beginning,” “the woman who uniquely deserves to be venerated, the one to be admired more than all other women, ’’“the radiant glory of the world, the purest maid of earth,” “more beautiful than all of them, more lovable than all of them, supersplendid, supergracious, superglorious” (Pelikan 1978, 1 6 1—63; Ellington 27; John- son 3 9 7—9 8 ) . As a perpetual virgin , Mary held special place for the vowed religious, but in her humility and devoted maternity she was a model for all w'omen. As first among God’s creatures and thus God’s saints, Mary was a frequent subject of sermons and hagiogra- phy. In the most widely-read collection of saints’ lives, The Golden Legend, compiled by Jacob of Voragine in the mid- thirteenth century and organized according to the annual calendar of feast days, stories rich in detail mark the feasts of Mary’s birth and her bodily assumption into heaven after her death. The daughter of Anne and Joachim, a couple who w'ere unhappily childless until late in age (though Anne, in Voragine ’s account, will marry twice again after the death of Joachim, and will become the grandmother of five of the apostles), Mary grew up in the Temple in Jerusalem, visited by angels, devoted to praying and weaving. A miraculously blooming branch designated Joseph as Mary’s spouse, and as he prepared his home in Bethlehem for the wedding, she received the angel Gabriel while praying in her parent’s house in Nazareth. The story told on the feast of her birth breaks off here, no doubt because the Gospels now take up the story of her maturity (Voragine II 149— 38). The legend of her assumption begins after the death of her son. Mary lived for twentv-four years after Jesus’ ascension, praying and “diligently visiting all the places sacred to the memory 64 of her Son (Voragine II 78).”When she was ready to die, the apostles assembled, and her son, with “companies of angels, troops of prophets, hosts of martyrs, a legion of confessors, and choirs of virgins,” came to take her soul to heaven (Vora- gine II 79). The apostles placed Marv’s body in a tomb, and on the third dav (or perhaps the fortieth; Voragine refers to a number of authorities, among them Augustine, Jerome, and Bernard, to lend credence to this tale, and notes the differences among them) her body was assumed into heaven (Voragine II 82—85). The stories of the miracles performed at Marv’s behest, with which Voragine closes his stories of her birth and assumption, demonstrate her care for those devoted to her. She helps knights with their jousting, monks main- tain celibacy, thieves escape hanging, and noblemen regain their fortunes. In one story, when the only son of a loying mother was captured and imprisoned, his mother prayed to the Virgin Mother for his release. Disappointed after a time that her prayers had no effect, the mother went to a church that housed a statue of Mary with the child Jesus, took the child from Marv’s lap, and returned home, hiding it in her cupboard and telling Mary that, as her son had been taken from her, now she would take Mary’s son from her and hold him hostage until her own son was released. The Virgin Mother soon appeared to the son and opened the door of the prison; his mother then cheerily returned the statue of the child Jesus to the church (Voragine II 1 55). The homey familiarity between Mary and her suppli- cant in this story illustrates the quality of the relationship between the Virgin Mother and medieval Christians, a rela- tionship frequently the subject of the popular sermons that brought the theologians’ teachings to the laity. From the early thirteenth century, Dominicans and Franciscans — orders founded to educate the laity through skilled preach- ing — spread Marian devotion, rituals, and festivals (Elling- ton 30; Graef 1 963, 50—5 1 ; Warner 1 79—84). Mary sat, in popular understanding, next to her son in heaven, and, as a good mother to us as well as to him, could intercede on our behalf. She was still the queen of heaven, different from us in her immaculate conception, her sinlessness, her essential role in the Incarnation, but as a real woman, someone with whom one could have an intimate relationship. In her body, Mary was the conduit for the sacred to enter the secular; now as our intercessor and model, she can link the secular back to the sacred. She is lauded by preachers as the ideal woman, one whose body was a vessel for salvation, and yet, she was also the example of behavior that reminded a woman to keep her body in check. The eloquent fifteenth- century Franciscan preacher Bernadine of Siena, for exam- ple, described Mary to his audience as if the attributes he ascribes to her were virgins in her company: the Ladies Seclusion, Domesticity, Bashfulness, Modesty, Prudence, Timidity, Purity, Diligence, Virginity, Obedience, Longing, and Faith (St. Bernadine 138—51). Although Mary’s body and its role in the Incarnation had always been the subject of Christian doctrine, in the art of the high and later Middle Ages it assumes the added meanings provided by its various representations. There are differences in the way the Virgin Mother is portrayed in northern and in southern Europe, as well as among paint- ings, sculpture, and manuscript illumination (Camille 1 996, 1 1 2— 1 5). However, because she was in an intimate rela- tionship with the viewer, a model both in behavior and in appearance, the most important differences in the way she is represented correspond with the stages of her own life. Just as secular women are expected to dress and behave in ways appropriate to their age and station, this sacred /secu- lar woman, Mary, as she was portrayed in art, dressed and behaved in age-appropriate ways. The stories of Mary’s life, told by Jacob ofVoragine and repeated in sermons, were the source for medieval artists. In art, as in the stories, she is a child, then a beautiful adolescent, a still beautiful young mother of the child Jesus, a mature woman suffering with her adult son, and finally an elderly woman at death. Medi- eval religious art was didactic: the viewer of representa- tions of thcVirgin Mother recalled the stories of her life and understood their lessons. And although preachers, in their emphasis on the spiritual and sacred, preferred to describe Mary as the model of chaste modesty, medieval artists occa- sionally appeared to revel in her secular, worldly beauty. Mary is still a model, but now a model for how the ideal woman might look as well as behave. Because she connected Jesus to a kindred, indeed, by blood to many of his apostles, St. Anne was an impor- tant figure in the Middle Ages (Bossy 9— 1 1; van Os 1994, 94—98). Medieval artists gave Anne added importance by emphasizing her formative role in shaping the character of her daughter Mary in an oft-portraved scene known as the Education of the Virgin. In a fragment of a mid-fourteenth- centurv French marble relief of this subject (no. 59; Gothic Sculpture 25 26), Mary is a small figure compared to Anne, and is an attractive girl with flowing hair and an open gaze. Her hair flows over her shoulders, and her attire is modest and simple compared with what we can see of the more complicated drapery of Anne’s garment. When Mary was fourteen, according to the legends compiled by Voragine, she was betrothed to the much older Joseph. While awaiting the wedding at her parents’ home in Nazareth, the angel Gabriel appeared to her to announce that she was to be the virgin mother of God. In medieval art, there is a standard depiction of the Annunciation. The scene takes place in a room where Mary is reading, or some- 65 times in a garden. Gabriel appears holding a banner, bearing the words of the beginning of his greeting to her: Ave Maria gratia plena (nos. 42a, 43a, 47a, and 72a; Mark 348— 49). The Virgin in this portrayal is now a beautiful young woman, modestly but richly dressed in the characteristic colors of red and blue (Herald 90—92), with eves downcast, or with hands thrown up in alarm, at the intrusion of the strange young man with his difficult message. Nativity scenes were popular decoration for liturgical texts celebrating Christmas. In antiphonals— large often lavishly decorated books containing the sung parts of the Office and Mass for use in churches — artists depicted Mary, Joseph, and the infant Jesus shortly after Jesus’ birth. Mary and the infant are lying down; he is swaddled and she, too, in her blue cloak, is wrapped (nos. 44 and 45). To illustrate the feast of the Epiphany, the Adoration of the Magi (no. 48) shows Mary and her child greeting the wise men from the East; in the interactive style of the later Middle Ages, the child leans forward and raises his hand to bless his visitors. Among the countless representations of the young Mother Mary in high and late medieval art, several types dominate. In Florentine and Sienese painting of the four* teenth century, Mary and her Child are painted half-length in a style reminiscent of an earlier period and influenced by style prevalent in Byzantium (Edgell 1939, 70). Regal colors, blue, red and gold, dominate in these paintings; Mary is a queen, sumptuously dressed and with her head modestly veiled, and her child is attired as would befit a wealthy, four- teenth century infant. However, small, intimate touches dis- tinguish these paintings: in Ambrogio Lorenzetti’s Madonna and Child (no. 38; Kanter 88—90; Rowley 42— 43; Edgell 1939, 70—73; Berenson 1968 1 , 2 1 j ) , the two figures nestle close to one another as the mother supports her child with both hands, and the child gazes out at the viewer from the secu- rity of his mother’s embrace. In Lippo Memmi’s rendition of the scene (no. 36; Kanter 86—88; Berenson 1 968 I, 269), both mother and child observe the viewer and, as they do so, the child appears to play with his mother’s extended right hand. Antonio Veneziano adds the small figure of the donor at the bottom of the scene (no. 37; Kanter 64—68; Berenson 1 963, 1 6), and a finch in the child’s hand. Here, mother and child look at one another, and Mary caresses her son’s lips with her right hand. Starting in Italy, and then throughout Europe after c. 1 3 jo, Mary was often portrayed with her child seated, not on a throne as in earlier times, but on a cushion on the ground, or on a chair. Although this theme has come to be called the “Madonna of Humility” (van Os 1994, 92— 94; Meiss 132— j6; Miles 1985, 78), this image represented more to the viewer than a humbler Mary; indeed, in many examples of this theme, Mary retains the sumptuous cloth ing of the Queen of Heaven. But now, Mary has come closer to the lived experience of the viewer; she is no longer a remote queen, but an ordinary mother. In a fifteenth- century Sienese version of this theme by Francesco di Gior- gio Martini (no. 35; Kanter 196—98; Berenson 1968 I, 140), Mary is seated on a stool with hands clasped, looking at the naked Child on her lap. In the painting of the Mother and Child by the Florentine workshop of Domenico Ghirland- aio (no. 39; Kanter 1 69— 7 1 ; Berenson 1963, 1 26), Mary is standing or kneeling, again with hands clasped in prayer, before the infant seated on a brown cushion. The sense in both of these paintings is that of a wealthy, but very human, mother and child interacting with one another. Mary is por- trayed as an elegant lady, dressed in rich fabric and wearing a transparent veil. In Ghirlandaio’s composition, Mary is a beautiful young woman with hair dressed in contemporary fashion and cloak thrown back to expose her neck. In northern European sculpture after c. 1400, another portrayal of Mary emerged, known as the schone Madonna , the beautiful Madonna (Clasen 1 9—7 1 ). Here the realism of the scene is captured in the sway of Mary’s body, standing or seated, in the folds of the drapery of her clothing, and in her interaction with her child. Mary is again a beautiful young woman with stylish contemporary dress and long uncov- ered hair; in an Austrian wood carving of the late fifteenth century (no. 40; Gillerman 89—90), Mary’s hair flows over her shoulders and down her back. She leans forward and holds the child on her knee as he raises his hand in greet- ing or blessing. Another common depiction of the young Mary is as nursing mother. The Madonna lactans, with one breast exposed to her nursing son, is found frequently in paint- ing (Van Os 1969, 108—14; Miles 1986, 202—04; Holmes 1 69—83) and in manuscript illuminations as a variant on the Madonna of Humility. The meaning of the nudity of Jesus and his mother in art, as it would have been understood by contemporary patrons and viewers, has attracted discussion among scholars (see, for example, Steinberg, 1996, with the postscript by John O’Malley, S.J., 2 1 3—16; Miles 1 989, 142—44). Since the Virgin Mother, in medieval preaching and in didactic art, was held up as an example of appropri- ate female behavior, if not fashion, her exposed breast may have been an implied rebuke to the common custom among secular middle- and upper-class women to hire wet-nurses for their children (Holmes 187—91). Or it may have just been a further reinforcement of the incarnational, indeed domestic, quality of Christianity; Jesus and his mother were complete human beings, even to the extent of his nourish- ment. In late medieval manuscript illuminations, as in paint- ings, the scene of the nursing Christ child, with his mother gazing at him fondly (no. 47b), reminds the viewer of his 66 humanity, although the nursing mother is still often por- trayed as a queen (no. 42b). The adolescent and young mother Mary, depicted as a beautiful woman attired in the fashion of the day, was intended to evoke admiration in medieval viewers, especially among women. The sometimes too-attractive young woman of medieval religious art was not always well received, how- ever. The Florentine Dominican Savonarola was not alone among preachers in railing against the overemphasis, as he saw it, on the physical beautv of the Virgin Mother: “Do you imagine that the Virgin Marv would go about dressed as you paint her? I say to you that she was dressed as a poor girl, simply, and covered up so that vou could hardlv see her face”(qtd. in Hall 499— yoo).The Council ofTrent in the six- teenth century, as part of its comprehensive effort to reform church practice, forbade “lasciviousness” in religious art and insisted that “figures not be painted or adorned with a beautv exciting to lust” (Trent, 25 th session; Smith 5 3— 55). In representations of Marv in maturity and old age, she continues to be portrayed in attire that contemporary Hew- ers would understand to be appropriate for her age and sta tion. In the thousands of representations of the Crucifix- ion that survive from the high- and late-middle ages, Marv stands at the foot of the cross to the viewer’s left, with head covered and wrapped in her blue mantle (nos. 42c and 43b). In the scene of Christ’s Ascension to heaven, Marv stands, left behind bv her son, again covered from head to foot in the blue mantle (no. 50). At Marv’s death, in a scene described bv Jacob ofVoragine, popular in the art of the Orthodox Church and depicted occasionally in the West, Marv lies on a bier surrounded bv the apostles who have come to sav fare- well. Here the blue mantle is wrapped even more closely about her head and body (no. 49). After the Council of Trent, artists who represent even the young mother Mary clothe her in the attire of this older Mother. Although other w omen saints, like Agatha and Marv Magdalene, continue to be portrayed in a sensual, secular fashion (Clifton 1 5 7— 6 1 ), despite complaints from theolo- gians, the iconography of Marv returns to the earlier empha- sis on her sacred qualities (Warner 203—05). From the six- teenth century to modern times, the Virgin is portrayed in less bodily way, no longer dressed in the height of contem- porary fashion but swathed in robes intended to recall some ancient, distant time. Lost, then, is the insight of the medi- eval artists who portrayed the schone Madonna; as the femi- nine link between the sacred and the secular, Marv could inspire admiration and emulation for the way she looked as well as the way she behaved. Works CitcO Beckwith, John. Early Medieval Art. New York, 1964. Berenson, Bernard, Italian pictures of the Renais- sance: a List of the Principal Artists and Their Works with an Index of Places. Florentine School. London, 1963. . Italian pictures of the Renaissance: a List of the Principal Artists and their Works with an Index of Places. Central Italian and North Italian Schools. London, 1968. Bossy, John. Christianity in theWest, 14OO—IJOO. Oxford, 1985. Camille, Michael. Image on the Edge. The Margins of Medieval Art. Cambridge, 1992. . Gothic Art. Glorious Visions. New York, 1996. The Canons and Decrees of the Sacred and Oecumenical Council ofTrent. Ed. and trans. J. Waterworth. London, 1848. Clasen, Karl Heinz, Der Meister der Schonen Madon- nen. Berlin, 1974. Clifton, James. “’Being Lustful, He Would Delight in Her Beauty’: Looking at Saint Agatha in Seventeenth-Century Italy” From Rome to Eter- nity. Catholicism and the Arts m Italy, ca. /550— 1630. Leiden, 2002. 143—77. Edgell, G.H. “A Newly Acquired Panel bv Ambro- gio Lorenzetti ” Bulletin of the Museum of Fine Arts 37 (1939): 70 - 73 - Ellington, Donna Spivey. From Sacred Body to Angelic Soul. Understanding Mary in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe. Washington, D.C., 2001 . Gillerman, Dorothy, ed. Gothic Sculpture in America 1 . The New England Museums. New York, 1 989. Graef, Hilda. Mary: A History of Doctrine and Devo- tion 2 vols. New r York, 1964. . The Devotion to Our Lady. New- York, 1963. Hall, Marcia, “Savonarola’s Preaching and the Patronage of Art.” Christianity and the Renais- sance. Image and Religious Imagination m the Quattrocento. Eds. Timothy Verdon and John Henderson. Syracuse, 1990. 493—522. Herald, Jacqueline. Renaissance Dress in Italy 14OO— 1500. London, 1981. Holmes, Megan, “Disrobing the Virgin: Madonna lactans in Fifteenth-Century Florentine Art.” Picturing Women in Renaissance and Baroque Italy. Eds. Geraldine A. Johnson and Sara F. Mat- thews Grieco. Cambridge, 1997. 167—291. Johnson, Elizabeth. “Marian Devotion in the West- ern Church.” Christian Spirituality: High Middle Ages and Reformation. Ed. Jill Raitt. New York, 1987. 392-414. Kanter, Laurence B. Italian Paintings in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, vol. I 13 th - 15 th Century. Boston, 1994. Lowrie, Walter. Art in the Early Church. Rev. ed. New York, 1969. Mark, Claudia Marchitiello. “Manuscript Illumi- nation in Metz in the Fourteenth Century: Books of Hours, Workshops, and Personal Devotion.” Diss. Princeton University, 1991. Meiss, Millard. Painting in Florence and Siena After the Black Death. New York, 1951. Miles, Margaret. Image as Insight. Visual Understand- ing in Western Christianity and Secular Culture. Boston, 1985. . “The Virgins One Bare Breast: Female Nudity and Religious Meaning in Tuscan Earlv Renaissance Culture.” The Female Body in West- ern Culture. Ed. Susan Rubin Suleiman. Cam- bridge, 1986. 193—208. Pelikan, Jaroslav. The Growth of Medieval Theology- (600—1300). Chicago, 1978. . Mary Through the Centuries. New Haven, 1996. Rowley, George. Amhrogio Lorenzetti. Princeton, 19^8. Saint Bernadine of Siena. Sermons. Ed. Nazareno Orlandi. Trans. Helen Josephine Robins. Siena, 1920. Smith, Jeffrey Chipps. Sensuous Worship. Jesuits and the Art of the Early Catholic Reformation m Ger- many. Princeton, 2002. Southern, R.W. . The Making of the Middle Ages. New Haven, 1953. Steinberg, Leo. The Sexuality of Christ in Renaissance Art and in Modern Oblivion. Chicago, 1996. van Os, Henk. Marias Demut undVerherrlichung in der sienesischen Malerei 1300—lSOO. ‘s-Graven- hage: Ministerie van Cultuur, Recreatie en Maatschappelijk Werk, 1969. . The Art of Devotion m the Late Middle Ages in Europe 1300— 1300. Trans. Michael Hoyle. Princeton, 1994. deVoragine, Jacobus. The Golden Legend: readings on the saints. Trans. William Granger Ryan. 2 vols. Princeton, 1993. Warner, Marina. Alone of All Her Sex. The Myth and the Cult of theVirgin Mary. New York, 1 976. 67 Cbe Huns of tbe Ronceuy 0 Angers And fbeir Qpestries of the 6 ud)Arist Virginia Reinburg rament is a series of tapestries that origi- nally belonged to the nuns of the Roncerav convent in the French city of Angers. They are choir tapestries, designed to be hung in long, norizontal panels in the nuns’ choir, the space in the convent’s church reserved for the nuns. Donated by Sister Louise Le Roux, the tapestries were probably woven in the first quarter of the sixteenth century in a workshop in Paris, Touraine, or possiblv Flanders. 1 The convent displayed The History and Miracles oj the Most Holy Sacrament in its church every year on the feast of Corpus Christi, until the time of the French Revolution. In 1790 the municipal authori- ties of Angers forcibly closed the convent and declared it “national property” under the control of the newly secu- lar French state. All thirty nuns and novices were evicted. The Eucharist tapestries were sold to a local aristocratic family, who owned them until 1 888. At that time, the long panels were cut up — divided into separate fragments of one or several scenes — and sold at auction. Five fragments of the series now belong to Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts (nos. 5ia-e). Additional surviving panels are at other insti- tutions in France and the United States. 2 While dozens of French and Flemish choir tapestries survive from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, all of them belonged to male monasteries, or the clergy of cathe- dral chapters and collegiate churches (corporations of male clerics attached to a cathedral or major urban church). 3 Nearly all of these tapestries illustrate the life and mira- cles of a community’s patron saint. They were intended for display on the major feasts of the church vear. According to Laura Weigert, “choir tapestries served as both back- drops and scripts for the celebration of high feast days,” and emphasized the bonds linking the church and clergy of a particular citv with the holy people of the citv’s Chris- tian past (2, 1 o j— 1 2). Among surviving choir tapestries, the Roncerav ’s tapestries are rare if not unique in having been created for a women’s convent, and moreover in featuring the Eucharist, a subject of singular importance for Christian life and thought. Magnificent processions held every year on the feast of Corpus Christi brought many Angers residents through the convent’s church, where The History and Miracles of the Most Holy Sacrament was on display. If choir tapestries expressed a religious community’s identity and its place in the city’s sacred and secular history, it is worth asking what the Eucharist and the feast of Corpus Christi meant to the nuns of the Roncerav and the citv of Angers. Notre-Dame-de-la-Charite, commonly known as “the Roncerav,” was one of only a few women’s convents in a citv rich with churches, monasteries, oratories, chapels, and hospitals. There had been a late antique oratory on the briarpatch ( ronceraie ) where the convent was situated, and a small community of nuns lived there from the ninth century. In 1028, Hildegard and her husband Fulk Nerra, count of Anjou, refounded the convent. 4 Over the follow- ing centuries the nuns benefited from the patronage of the counts of Anjou and other noble families of Anjou and the Loire valley. Their gifts financed the construction of a large monastery and abbey church by the late eleventh century (see fig. ij.The nuns also built the church of LaTrinite, sit- uated along the eastern arm of the abbev church, to serve as a parish church for the neighborhood. The parish was largely an extension of the convent: the nuns used LaTrin- ite for their most solemn religious rites, and by custom the abbess nominated the church’s pastor and canons. Beyond the monastic buildings and LaTrinite, the Ronceray also had extensive holdings — vineyards, agricultural lands, mills, shops, residences, parishes — in Angers, its faubourgs, and rural Anjou. 5 “The Angevin countryside was studded with enclaves of Ronceray ’s feudal jurisdiction,” John McManners commented about the eighteenth-centurv convent: “peas- ants in distant hamlets came before its lawyers’ assizes to plead their suits of debt or inheritance, bakers and butch- ers sold bread and meat at prices fixed bv the abbess, and innkeepers did not dare sell liquor during the hours of high mass or vespers for fear of her wrath” (90). Thus rather than being sealed off by walls and grilles from the city, the Ronceray played an important role in the life ot Angers. In theory, all convents were cloistered, and professed nuns permanently left the world for a life of prayer and God’s work. In practice, however, many religious communities interpreted cloister flexibly, allowing nuns to leave the convent to visit family, participate in liturgies and processions, and do business on the convent’s behalf. The nuns of the Roncerav “voluntarily” observed “a modified cloister,” according to historians. 6 Inside the convent build- ings, no grille separated nuns from their visitors. Until the 68 i 6 2 os no choir screen divided the nuns from congregants attending rites in the abbey church. Sisters regularlv left the convent grounds to visit their families and conduct con- vent business. Priests, church officials, patrons, and family members often dined and sometimes lodged at the convent. And on the feast of Corpus Christi — the day of the year when the convent was most open to the city— the bishop, clergv, municipal and royal officials, guild members, and many ordinary residents of Angers processed through the Ronceray’s church. Even after the bishops of Angers persuaded the convent to accept stricter cloister in the seventeenth century, the nuns had a surprising degree of autonomy. They had to obev the bishop, and they necessarily relied on the help of male clerics and procurators. But they were not abjectlv depen- dent. The community was largely self-governing, electing its own abbess until 1549, when the French king insisted on the right of appointment the crown acquired in the 1 j 1 6 concordat with the papacy. The nuns’ high social rank con- tributed to the confidence and authority with which they negotiated relations with the secular and religious worlds. By longstanding custom only noblewomen from wealthy and influential families were allowed to join the Ronceray. So the nuns were part of the social elite of Angers and Anjou. Their fathers, uncles, brothers, and cousins held important royal and judicial offices, and served as bishops, abbots, and canons. 7 The nuns lived like the aristocratic ladies they were, defending their convent’s interests energetically even against the bishop and powerful male monasteries. Yet high social rank did not prevent genuine spiritual vitality. The nuns of the Ronceray were known for their pietv, sobriety, and aus- tere religious observance. 8 At the time the Eucharist tapestries were commissioned, the abbess of the Ronceray wasYsabelle de La Jaille, whose coat-of-arms and initials appear on a panel in the Chateau de Langeais. She served as abbess from 1 jo j to 1 j 1 8 (Cavallo 1 : 69; Piolin 1 75; Bretaudeau 1 76— 80). The tapestries were commissioned by Sister Louise Le Roux. Her coat-of-arms is included in several panels (nos. 51a, b, c), and her portrait mav appear in another panel in Oberlin College’s Allen Memorial Art Museum. 9 Both Sister Louise and Abbess Ysabelle were from old Angevin noble families. The Le Roux and La Jaille families were linked by marriage, so Louise and Ysabelle may have been cousins. Sister Louise was the prioress of Saint-Lambert-du-Latay, one of the Ronceray’s eight priories outside Angers. In the later years of Abbess Ysabelle ’s term. Sister Louise was also the Ronceray’s decania (dean) and cam- erana (chamberlain). (Titles of these offices suggest that the convent followed an organizational model like that of the chapter at Angers’ cathedral, rather than a monastic model. In chapters the dean was usually responsible for persons in "'J- — r : r~i " - 2 m m 3 ; • m m m ! : ■ m m 10 * m 1 miir 1 . Large nave 2. Small nave 3. Small nave, transformed into cloister in 17th Century 4. Abbey’s cloister 5. Transept, now in ruins 6. Transept 7. Apses, under which are three vaults of the crypt of N. D. of the Ronceray 8. Courtyard between church and street 9. Entrances to church and street 10. Entrances to cloister 11. Church of La Trinite 12. Staircase to crypt 13. Entances to the Church of La Trinite 14. Sacristy 15. Butresses the community, and the chamberlain was responsible for property. ) As decania Sister Louise held the convent’s second highest office, and was probably Abbess Ysabelle ’s expected successor. 10 Her duties as cameraria included care for the convent’s interior space and furnishings. So it was in Sister Louise’s job description to embellish the abbey church. Like the male donors of choir tapestries, Sister Louise may have paid for the Eucharist tapestries from a private income. Or she may have drawn upon her benefice as prioress of Saint Lambert. 11 Sister Louise commissioned the tapestries between 1 and 1 j 1 8, probably in the later years ot that period. We do not know w here they were woven, or anv specifics of the contract. We do know', however, that contemporary tapestries, including some for Angers churches and mon- asteries, were commissioned through contracts with Paris merchants who acted as middlemen for artists and weavers in Paris and Flanders. 12 These contracts normally required delivery in two to twelve months. Sister Louise Le Roux commissioned The History and Miracles oj the Most Holy Sacrament because of the important role the Ronceray played in Angers’ celebration of the feast of Corpus Christi. Corpus Christi (“the body of Christ”) was first celebrated in the city ot Liege in the 1 240s. This followed centuries of theological debate about the nature of Christ’s presence in the Eucharist. 1 ’ In 1 2 1 y the Fourth fig. 1 Church and Abbey of the Ronceray Church of La Trinite 69 Lateran Council decreed that Christ’s “body and blood are truly contained in the Sacrament of the Altar under the spe- cies of bread and \vine.”Theologians, including St. Thomas Aquinas (ca. i 225—74), continued to interpret and refine this doctrine of transubstantiation. Meanwhile, popular devo- tion to the Eucharist flourished. Creation of the feast of Corpus Christi can be attributed to the tireless activism of devout women like the beguine Juliana of Mont-Cornillon (ca. 1 193— 1 258). 14 Observed on theThursday following the octave of Pentecost (a day that fell in early summer), the feast won papal approval in 1 264 and was reaffirmed in the 1310s. By the 1 320s many cities across Europe celebrated Corpus Christi annually with a daylong, citywide procession. Bv all accounts “the Sacre of Angers,” as it was called, was “one of the most magnificent processions in Europe,” “a marvel to see.” ls (The word sacre means “the anointing” or “the consecration.”) The procession was led by twelve torches, portable waxwork displays of life-size figures rep- resenting biblical stories. Each torche was built by one of the city’s craft guilds (bakers, butchers, tanners, weavers, chan- dlers, tennis racket makers, etc.), and carried by a dozen or more guildsmen. Members of all sixtv-odd guilds marched next, followed bv members of the professions (law, medi- cine, university), judges, and lower ranking officials of city, province, and kingdom. Ecclesiastical corporations fol- lowed: male religious communities; and clergy from col- legiate churches, schools, hospitals, and parishes. The cen- terpiece of the procession was the bishop, accompanied bv the cathedral clergy, each of whom was vested with every garment and emblem of his authority. The bishop carried the Corpus Christi - the consecrated host, enclosed in a mag- nificent bejeweled gold monstrance — framed and shielded by a beautifully ornate, embroidered canopy borne aloft bv the four most senior cathedral canons. They were followed by the highest ranking officials of the city and province, flanked by archers and armed guards. At the end marched “the lav faithful of both sexes.” Musicians accompanied each segment of the procession, making the Sacre a veritable the- atrical cum liturgical pageant in which every bodv in the city of Angers played a role. The Sacre was an all-day, citywide affair. It began at dawn and drew to a close in the late afternoon. The proces- sion began in the cathedral of Saint Maurice, nearly every inch of its interior and exterior spaces filled with torches, banners, candles, wreaths, and crowds of participants. From there the procession marched through the city’s streets, passing buildings decorated with tapestries and flowers, and crossed the bridge spanning the river Maine to the Doutre (Outre-Maine) district. At the heart of the Doutre was the Ronceray. On Corpus Christi, unlike most days of the year, the doors leading from the street into the abbey church were wide open. Candles and candelabras illumi- nated the church’s colorful, frescoed walls. For the Sacre the church was also decked out in its best liturgical finery: gleaming altar vessels, embroidered linens, flowers, candles, and the Eucharist tapestries. The bishop and canons entered the church, while the rest of the procession paused in the square outside. The nuns were inside, singing hymns and motets. Before the i 62 os the nuns may have occupied the choir, the space typically reserved in monastic churches for members of the community. But after that time they stood behind a grille in what was called “the nuns’ nave” or “the small northern nave” (Rondeau 23—24; fig. 1). The bishop set the monstrance with Eucharist on the high altar. Bless- ings were pronounced and hymns were sung. Carrying the monstrance and accompanied bv the canons, the bishop then left the church. Clerics and some of the others, who had been waiting outside, then processed through the church, while the nuns continued to sing. The procession ended not far from the Roncerav, in the cemetery of LeTertre Saint- Laurent. The bishop set the monstrance on the altar inside the cemetery’s chapel. But most of the action continued outside. A meal was provided for those who had marched. (The city quarreled with the cathedral chapter about who should pay and who was allowed to eat. ) After refreshments, there was a sermon on the theme of the Eucharist, followed bv benedictions, hymns, and a formal dismissal. The bishop and canons returned to the cathedral to say high mass and the monastic offices of vespers and compline. But most par- ticipants continued the festivities on a more profane note, with music, dancing, wine, and feasting. Undoubtedly they were joined by priests, and later perhaps by one or two ravenous canons. Although city and church together created the Sacre, the bishop and cathedral canons largely controlled the proces- sion. They decided the smallest details, including whether the inkwell makers should march ahead of the glaziers, and how many candles each participant was allowed to carry. I lere Angers differed from most other cities, where munici- pal authorities and guilds defined Corpus Christi. 16 But in 1513 the city of Angers finallv claimed its share: that year the mayor and city council made an agreement with the bishop and cathedral chapter through which the city gained more power in regulating the Sacre, and agreed to pay more of the cost. A century and a half later, Barthelemv Roger, a monk of Saint-Nicolas d’ Angers and a historian, wrote: “Since that time [15-13] the procession has always been done with such pomp and magnificence that it is still said today throughout France that it is a marvel to see the Sacre of Angers” (qtd. in Uzureau 129). Sister Louise Le Roux commissioned the Ronceray ’s tapestries around this time. The original tapestries were 70 meant to be hung on both sides of the nuns’ choir, possibly in four or six panels with one to three scenes or episodes per panel. There are eleven surviving fragments. 17 A total of twenty-one scenes are represented in these eleven frag- ments. The subject ot the tapestries, The History and Miracles of the Most Holy Sacrament, is divided into two parts: episodes from the bible that either prefigure the Eucharist (taken from the Old Testament or Hebrew scriptures) or show the institution of the Eucharist (taken from the New Testa- ment); and miracles demonstrating the truth and power of the Eucharist. Each scene is explained in a written legend or caption at the bottom of the panel. The captions are in French verse, which suggests an intended audience liter- ate in French but not Latin. (In the early sixteenth cen- tury, vernacular literacy was growing among the laitv; a third to half of the city ’s population mav have been able to read some French. (The French captions also suggest that the nuns might have wanted the tapestries to educate view- ers about “the most holv Sacrament” on the feast of Corpus Christi, which after all was the principal feast of the church year dedicated to the Eucharist. Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts owns five fragments of the Eucharist tapestries (nos. 5ia-e), with a total of eight scenes. One fragment, depicting the Last Supper, is from the biblical part of the series (no. 5id).The rest are from the mir- acles of the Eucharist. Miracles of the Eucharist were widely recounted bv late medieval preachers, books, mystery plavs, and works ot art. The scenes in the Roncerav tapestries are drawn from this repertoire. 18 Probably the best know n tale is The Mass of St. Gregory, different versions of which were depicted in paintings, manuscript illuminations, stained glass, and sculpture of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. In the left-hand scene of the Boston panel (no. 51b), St. Greg- ory gives communion to a woman who kneels at a table with three other people. On the altar behind St. Gregory appears the crucified Christ flanked bv the Virgin Marv and St. John. According to the storv, the woman had earlier expressed skepticism that the host — a small, white, round piece of unleavened bread truly had been transformed during mass into the body and blood of Christ. St. Gregory praved that she might believe. While the woman received communion, Jesus appeared on the altar in the flesh, thus proving that he was present in the sacrament. The right-hand scene of this fragment depicts a related story: a priest who had earlier expressed skepticism about Christ’s presence in the Eucha- rist kneels before an altar on which the Virgin Mary and child Jesus appear in a mandorla of light. A second Boston panel depicts two miracles demonstrat- ing the sacrament’s power over God’s creatures (no. 51a). On the left, a priest gives communion to a demonically pos- sessed man, from whose mouth the Devil emerges in the form of a reptile. According to the caption, it was through the power of the Eucharist that the Devil was expelled from the demoniac. 19 In the scene on the right, a horse with a rider on his back kneels before the Eucharist as it is car- ried in a ciboriunt in a procession. The caption explains that “a pagan without honor” ignored the holv sacrament as it passed through the city’s streets. But his horse “humblv” knelt, “and then the pagan firmly believed.” A third fragment recounts two tales of heretics encoun- tering the holy sacrament (no. 51c). On the left, two men flounder in a river, witnessed bv a priest, three lavmen, and the Eucharist held aloft bv angels. According to this storv, two heretics were walking on water through the power of a demon. Trying to defeat the demon, a priest brought the body of Christ (in a ciborium) to the river and threw it into the water. As soon as the sacrament touched the w ater the heretics sank into the river and drowned, while angels retrieved the body of Christ. In the scene on the right, a horse, an ox, and a donkev kneel before the sacrament, observed by clerics and lav people. According to this storv, a pious bishop was debating a heretic about Christ’s pres- ence in the Eucharist. As part of a bet, they placed the con- secrated host before the animals. Instead of devouring it, the animals knelt in adoration, and the heretic was converted. A fourth Boston panel (no. 5ie) portravs a storv of a sac- rilege committed against the Eucharist. According to this storv, a Christian w oman sold “the body of Our Savior” to a Jew. (Jews often played the role of unbeliever or desecrator in these tales.) 20 The Jew then threw the host to a dog. The dog, recognizing his creator, knelt before the host. The Jew angrilv beat the dog, but the dog “through divine vengeance” bit down on the Jew’s arm. The Jew ’s screams brought his Christian neighbors running. The Jew then repented of his sin against the Eucharist, converted to Christianity, and had himself and his family baptized. The aim of these miracle stories was to demonstrate the truth of the Eucharist, w hich at this time meant the idea that Christ was “reallv” — corporeally, substantially— present in the bread (the wheaten host) and wine that were the sacramental elements. In these stories the Eucharist defeats the attacks on it bv Jews, the Devil, sinners, skep- tics, and pagans. Although art, books, and sermons spread such miracle tales all across Europe, the Roncerav tapes- tries are sprinkled with local details meaningful to view- ers from Angers: a familiar landscape mixing city build- ings with pasture and gardens (nos. 51a, c); rivers (no. 51c); a procession through city streets (no. 51a); and visions of the Madonna (no. 51b) closelv resembling the beloved image honored in the Roncerav ’s crvpt chapel. Panels of the Ron- cerav tapestries in the Musee des Gobelins and the Chateau de Langeais portray miracles reported to have occurred in 71 Paris, tales which would have been well known in Angers. 21 By means of tales and details known to Angers viewers, the Eucharist- the church’s universal sacrament, symbol, and truth -was made local and immediate. Women play prominent roles in the Ronceray’s miracle tales. Thev witness debates, visions, and miracles (nos. 51b, c, e).Thev are communicants (no. 51b). They are skeptics and sinners (nos. 51b, e). It is tempting to wonder if Sister Louise Le Roux might have requested tales featuring women when she commissioned the tapestries. Whether or not she did, we know that women of this era were especially devoted to the crucified Christ and the Eucharist. Unlike the other religious communities in Angers, the Ronceray had no signi- ficant saints’ relics, which is probably why in the early years of the sixteenth century the nuns opened to visiting pilgrims their crypt chapel, with its image of the Virgin Mary said to have been miraculously discovered tangled in briars just outside the chapel’s wall. It may also be one of the reasons Sister Louise Le Roux commissioned new choir tapestries. Lacking notable patron saints, the nuns of the Ronceray may have decided to claim Corpus Christi as their most solemn feast, and to display their special devotion to the Eucharist on the dav the city of Angers processed through their church. But the feast of Corpus Christi did not belong to the Roncerav alone. Indeed, the convent may have wanted to display its fidelity to the Eucharist in the first decades of the sixteenth century precisely because in Prance this was a moment ol heightened attention to “the most holy Sac- rament.” Stories of miracles, crimes, and sacrilege circu- lated: lay people and priests complained to the bishop about mistakes and disrespect shown the bread and wine at mass (Paris, ca. 1 £oo); a deacon spoke to the bishop about a clumsy priest who violently overturned the chalice during mass (Brie, 1 joi); a consecrated host performed a mira- cle (Poitiers, 1 ji 6); a girl was miraculously cured during mass (Paris, 1 518); a thief who stole a ciborium with hosts and murdered a priest was miraculously punished (Poitou, 1 y 2 2). 22 Beliefs about the Eucharist became a test of reli- gious orthodoxy even before the harshest confessional bat- tles of the Reformation. This was because of the impor- tance of the Eucharist as sacrament and symbol. More than saints’ cults, which tended to express local identities and particular loyalties, the Eucharist stood for unity, univer- sality, and hierarchy. For Angers the Sacre was more than a daylong bacchanal of buying, selling, feasting, and deco- rating. And the procession was more than a meticulouslv arranged, hierarchical march across the city. The Sacre of Angers exemplifies a stational liturgy: a mobile, urban, Eucharistic rite conducted at multiple stations (the cathe- dral, the Ronceray’s church, the cemetery), with popular processions linking the stations, in which the bishop is the chief celebrant, and the city is the congregation. 23 Ideally stational liturgies and processions unite an urban commu- nity divided by class and culture, and diverse in opinions and beliefs. As John Baldovin wrote about the processions of late antique Rome: “as a kind of democratic form in a very undemocratic world, they succeeded in bringing liturgy onto the streets” ( 160). Like those much earlier rites, the Sacre of Angers brought the body of Christ and the church out into the streets, and brought the streets into the Ron ceray’s church. Small wonder Sister Louise Le Roux and the nuns of the Roncerav wanted their church to shine in its best finery on that day. tnCmotcs 1 See Cavallo i : 69—74; MacMillan;Tervarent 98-99; Marillier 232; Jarr\ 42-43; Lom- bard -Jourdain 1 34-40; Saints de choeurs 1 27- 33 - 2 Additional surviving panels of the series are in the Musee du Louvre, the Musee des Gobelins (Mobilier National et les Manufac- tures Nationales des Gobelins, de Beauvais, et de la Savonnerie (Paris)), the Chateau de Langeais (Institut de France), The Centur\ Association (New York), and Oberlin Col- lege’s Allen Memorial Art Museum (Ober- lin, Ohio). 3 Weigert; Saints de choeurs. 4 For the history of the convent, seeTuten and Piolin. 5 On the convent buildings and property see Tuten; Piolin; McNeill and Prigent; Deyres, Porcher, and Belzeaux 65—78. 6 Johnson; Lehoreau 263; Piolin 177—80; Bretaudeau 227—28. 7 See Mat/., “La noblesse angevine.” 8 Piolin 172—75, 1 80— 83; McManners 90— 9 1 . 9 Cavallo 1: 73; Marillier 233-34; Bretaudeau 274; Saints de choeurs 130. 10 At Abbess Ysabelle’s death in 1518 Sister Louise was elected abbess. But she never served and may have died — possibly in 1518 or 1 5 1 9 — before being installed. 11 All the Roncerav s priories had to be aban- doned because of constant warfare in Anjou during the Hundred Years War (1337—1453). Although they never again functioned as priories they still had incomes attached to them, which were paid to the prior- ess personally and not into the communi- ty’s common funds which were under the abbess’ control. See Piolin 172—73, 180. 12 Grodecki 284— 323; Inventaire sommaire Maine-et-Loire, serie G 1 7 1 , 1 74—75; Saints de choeurs 55, 139. Further circumstantial evi- dence suggesting a Paris connection for the Ronceray tapestries is provided by Anne Lombard -Jourdain, who argues that the tap- estries were designed and woven in Paris because one of the panels refers to an icon- ographical source known only there (134— 40). 13 On the Eucharist in the Middle Ages see Macy, Theologies of the Eucharist; Macy, Trea- sures; and Rubin, Corpus Christi 1 — 163. 14 On the feast of Corpus Christi, see Rubin, Corpus Christi 1 64-287. On devotion to the Eucharist see also Browe and Zika. 72 15 McManners 14; Uzureau 129. On Corpus Christi (the Sacre) in Angers see Matz, “Le developpement tardif”and Lehoreau. Useful accounts based largely on Lehoreau are Uzureau, Rondeau, and McManners 14—20. 16 Matz, “Le developpement tardif”; Rubin, “Small Groups”; Galpern 69—93; Diefendorf 28-48. 17 Marillier 232. One fragment (of one scene) that was documented and photographed in 1888 has since disappeared. See Saints de choeurs 133. Works CiteO Baldovin, John F. The Urban Character of Christian Worship: The Origins, Development, and Meaning of Stational Liturgy-. Rome, 1987. Bretaudeau, Leon Jean Victor. Notre-Dame du Ron- ceray. Angers, 1895^. Browe, Peter. DieVerehrung der Eucharistic 1m Mittel- alter. 2nd ed. Rome, 1967. Cavallo, Adolph S. Tapestries of Europe and of Colo- nial Peru in the Museum oj Fine Arts, Boston. 2 vols. Boston, 1967. Devres, Marcel, Jean Porcher, and Pierre Bel- zeaux. Anjou roman. 2nd ed. La Pierre-qui- Vire, 1987. Diefendorf, Barbara. Beneath the Cross: Catholics and Huguenots in Sixteenth-Century Paris. New York, 1991. Galpern, A. N. The Religions of the People in Six- teenth-Century Champagne. Cambridge, 1976. Grodecki, Catherine. Documents du Minutier cen- tral des notaires de Paris: Histoire de Tart au X Vie siecle ( 1540— 1600). Paris, 1985. lnventaire sommaire des Archives departementales ante- rieures a l~J 9 ° : Maine-et-Loire, Archives ecclesias- tiques. Serie G: Clerge seculier. Ed. Celestin Port. Angers: Imprimerie Lachese et Dolbeau, 1880. Reprint: Mayenne, 1993. Jarry, Madeleine. “La collection de tapisseries du chateau de Langeais.” Bulletin de la Societe de T Histoire de TArt Frangais (1972): 3 9— £ 2 . Johnson, Penelope D. “La theorie de la cloture et l’activite reelle des moniales fran^aises du Xle au XI lie siecle.” Les religieuses dans le cloitre et dans le monde, des origines a nous jours: Actes du deuxTeme colloque international du CERCOR . Poitiers, 19S8. Saint- Etienne, 1994. 491— £0£. Journal d'un bourgeois de Paris sous le regne de Fran- cois ler ( i£t 5—1536). Ed.V.-L. Bourrillv. Paris, 1910. 18 Tervarent; Rubin, Corpus Christi 108—29. 19 On the Eucharist and exorcism in sixteenth- centurv France, see Kalista 19—68. 20 MacMillan 62; Rubin, GentileTales. 21 On the Ronceray s image of the Virgin, see Bretaudeau 33—37, 170—79, 272— 74. On the miracle of Le Lendit or the church of Saint- Gervais (depicted on a panel of the Ronceray tapestries now at the Musee des Gobelins), see Saints de choeurs 1 3 3 and Lombard-Jour- dain. On the Paris stories — the so-called mir- acles of Les Billettes and Le Lendit — see also Rubin, Gentile Tales 40—48, 1 £9—6 1 . Kalista, Jane M. “Dangerous Demoniacs: Posses- sion, Ritual, and Politics in Sixteenth- Cen- tury France.” Unpublished senior honors thesis, Boston College, 2002. Lehoreau, Rene. Ceremonial de TEglise d’ Angers, 1692— 1J 2 1 : Analyse et extraits publies, avec une introduction et des notes, pour servir a T histoire d' Angers au debut du XVI lie siecle. Ed. Francois Lebrun. Paris, 1967. Lombard- Jourdain, Anne. “The Birth of a Parisian Legend: The Miracle of Le Lendit ” Religion, Ritual, and the Sacred: Selections from the Annales. Eds. Robert Forster and Orest Ranum. Balti- more, 1982. 128— 1 4£. MacMillan, Susan L. “Three Tapestries from the Series The Story of the Holy Sacrament Boston Museum Bulletin 73.369 (i97£): £6— 63. Macy, Gary. The Theologies of the Eucharist in the Early Scholastic Period: A Study of the Salvifc Function of the Sacrament according to the Theolo- gians c. 1080— c. 1220. Oxford, 1984. . Treasures from the Storeroom: Medieval Reli- gion and the Eucharist. Collegeville, 1999. Marillier, H. C. “The Roncerav Tapestries of the Sacraments .” Burlington Magazine £9.344 ( * I 93 1 ): 232-39. Matz, Jean-Michel. “Le developpement tardif d’une religion civique dans une ville episco- pale: Les processions a Angers (v. 14^0— v. 1 £ £0).” La religion civique a Tepoque medievale et moderne (Chretiente et Islam). Ed. Andre Vau- chez. Rome, i99£. 3£i— 66. — . “La noblesse angevine et l’eglise au temps de la seconde maison d’ Anjou (vers 1 3 £6— vers 1480).” La noblesse dans les terri- toires angevins a la fn du moyen age. Eds. Noel Coulet and Jean-Michel Matz. Rome, 2000. 619-37. McManners, John. French Ecclesiastical Society under the Ancien Regime: A Study of Angers in the Eigh- teenth Century. Manchester, i960. McNeill, John, and Daniel Prigent, eds. Anjou: Medieval Art,. Architecture and Archaeology . Leeds, 2003 . Piolin, Paul. “Abbaye de Notre-Dame de la Charite ou du Ronceray.” Revue de T Anjou 23 (1879): 1— 14, 169—88. 22 Vondrus-Reissner 43— £0, 47; Journal d’un bourgeois de Paris 3£, 60, 138—39. 23 See Baldovin s magisterial treatment of the stational liturgy in the late antique and early medieval cities of Rome, Jerusalem, and Con- stantinople. On processions, see also Zika; and Diefendorf 28—48. Rondeau, E. “Le Sacre d ’ Angers.” Memoires de l’Academie des Sciences, Belles-Lettres, et Arts d’ Angers 1902. £—44. Rubin, Miri. Corpus Christi.The Eucharist in Medieval Culture. Cambridge, 1991. . Gentile Tales:The Narrative .Assault on Late Medieval Jews. New Haven, 1999. . “Small Groups: Identity and Solidarity in the Late Middle Ages.” Enterprise and Indi- viduals in Fifteenth-Century England. Ed. Jenni- fer Kermode. Phoenix Mill [Gloucestershire, UK], 1991 . 132— £0. Saints de choeurs.Tapisseries du moyen age et de la Renaissance. Milan, 2004. Tervarent, Guv de. “Les tapisseries du Roncerav et leurs sources d’ inspiration.” Gazette des Beaux- Arts 10 (1933): 79 - 99 - Tuten, Belle Stoddard. “Holy Litigants: The Nuns of Ronceray d’ Angers and Their Neighbors, 1028— 1 200.” Diss. Emory University, 1997. Uzureau, Francis. “Le Sacre d' Angers.” Anjou his- torique 33 ( 1 933): l2 9~3T Vondrus-Reissner, Jean-Georges. “Presence reelle et juridiction ecclesiastiquc dans le diocese de Paris (fin X Verne- 1 £30).” Histoire, economic et societe 7 ( 1 988): 41 — £4. Weigert, Laura. Weaving Sacred Stories: French Choir Tapestries and the Performance of Clerical Identity. Ithaca, 2004. Zika, Charles. “Hosts, Processions and Pilgrimages: Controlling the Sacred in Fifteenth-Centurv Germany.” Past and Present 1 18 (1988): 2 £—64. 73 (Parking Cinte: C1)c Lines of the Y^ung in Fifteenth-Century Cuscatty L\uric SbepAtO rancesco di Giorgio Martini’s fifteenth- century portrait of mother and child (no. 35) conveys a timeless serenity: sur- rounded by saints and angels, the baby smiles at his mother, a pious and elegant young Virgin. In his letter to the Galatians (4:4—5), Paul describes this most human episode of Christ’s life as “the fullness of time”: the Son of God has been born to a woman to redeem mankind. Paintings like this were either objects of public w orship or private possessions, even wedding gifts to embellish bedrooms and inspire young brides. After all, the birth of a healthy son was the desired outcome of every marriage, the perfect human expression of the fullness of time, and the onlv way for a family to protect itself against the ravages of time. Various schemes describe a lifetime in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, but the prevailing model divides men’s lives into six parts: infancy, childhood (seven to fifteen), adolescence (fifteen to twenty-five), young manhood (twenty-five to thirty-five), manhood (thirty-five to fifty), and old age (fifty to seventy). 1 This essay explores represen- tations of the early phases of life: infancy, childhood, and adolescence up to the point of marriage. The topic is vast, and this discussion, necessarily selective, will focus on the lessons of a small number of objects, mostly from fifteenth- century Italy and France. Life phases were at once secular and sacred, and cere- monial rites of passage like baptism or marriage designated status rather than birthdays or anniversaries. Christian sac- raments were inscribed onto life-phase schemes developed in late Antiquity: the advent of childhood at seven coincided with the age of reason, and the 1215 Fourth Lateran Coun- cil established that seven should be the age of First Com- munion. In adolescence, faith was confirmed; bovs began apprenticeships and girls were expected to marry. Marriage was declared a sacrament at the Fourth Lateran Council and established the adult status of a female. However, it did not grant her autonomy as she passed from her father’s home to her husband’s. Young men consistently described as too impulsive to trust and too sexually promiscuous to marrv, were considered adolescents well into their twenties. The young male threatened paternal authoritv, thus fathers who could afford to do so delaved the delegation of responsibility to their sons. The sacred and the secular visions of childhood were intertwined, yet it is possible to distinguish between them. Baptism granted spiritual perfection to the child, and the child’s natural innocence is repeatedlv blessed in the Bible. Parents, on the other hand, tended to assign status to offspring on the basis of his current or potential contribu- tion to the family (Klapisch-Zuber 97). Sacred and secular visions of the young also reinforced one another. The joy and hopeful expectation that attended the healthy young child’s progress evolved into parental anxiety about the adoles- cent’s insubordination and unbridled sexuality, and ecclesi- astic censure of the sins of the flesh heightened adult fears. At the age of sixty, Gregorio Dati ( 1 362—1435), a Flo- rentine cloth merchant and politician, listed his offspring in his journal. “I have had twenty children: ten bovs and ten girls. Of these, Maso and Bernardo and Girolamo and Ghita and Betta are still alive. Praise be to God for all things, amen” (Brucker 134—35). His first wife conceived a son w ho was miscarried at six months; had the child lived for even a few' moments, Dati or the midwife could have bap- tized him. When mothers died before giving birth, Caesar- ian deliveries were performed to allow the baptism of the child. “Respite” miracles, which revived infants long enough to be baptized, were common (Lett 1 999, 28). Unbaptized children were damned, although to some extent the evolv- ing concept of Limbo for unbaptized infants mitigated this harsh sentence. 2 In contrast, the souls of deceased baptized children were precious to God and served as family intercessors. The sac- rament of baptism was a quintessential rite of passage (Muir 1 9). The infant was rescued from a liminal space by the exor- cism of Satan at the church door, then granted the gift of grace and regenerated by holy water, sprinkled on his face by the priest in a transitional phase at the baptismal font; and finally, he was integrated into the Christian community by godparents w ho recited the Credo and Paternoster in his stead and gave him a name. Naming reinforced the patri- lineal family. A boy’s given name was followed bv the name of his father and grandfather. The Virgin, portrayed as a partially swaddled new born (no. 82a), is a joyful figure in the fourteenth-centurv Italian picture Bible from the Boston Public Library. However, even if Renaissance viewers could participate in the glad tidings of the Virgin’s birth, when it came to their own families 74 thev preferred male babies to female. A daughter required a dowry and would, as an adolescent, leave her family to bear children for the family of her husband. Margherita Datini (c. 1 360—1409), the childless wife of aTuscan merchant, expressed the prejudice with a terseness that is not uncom- mon in informal discourse from the period. Girls, she said, “do not make families but rather unmake them” (qtd. in Musacchio 20). 3 The joy and pain of childbirth were projected onto the newborn as a series of contradictions. The infant was stained by original sin and the carnal sin of his parents; he was regarded as a liminal creature that might depart from this world at any point. Rituals protecting unbaptized infants from demons mirrored those of the dying; the baby was watched over by candlelight in a closed space (Lett 1997, 66—67). Successful births were celebrated with par- ties and gifts for mother, child, and godparents. Neverthe- less, some fathers failed to mention newborns to tax sur- veyors, despite the benefit of listing all dependents, and, as Christiane Klapisch-Zuber suggests, the fear of losing an infant may have been the motive for the omission (99). An affluent family might have sent the newborn to live with a wet-nurse for several years to increase the chances of con- ceiving another child. The infant who remained in the home seems to have spent most of her time swaddled and tucked in the cradle. Secular attitudes toward the infant were changing in the fifteenth century, as the portraits of the Virgin and Child in this exhibit suggest. A work from the first half of the four- teenth century, the Sienese Lippo Memmi’s portrait (no. 36) establishes a distance between the viewer and the infant Jesus that is almost insuperable; Jesus is to be adored rather than loved. The tender infant in the Sienese Francesco di Giorgio Martini’s painting (no. 35), and the animated child in the Florentine Domenico Ghirlandaio’s picture (no. 39), both works dating from the late fifteenth century, invite the viewer to respond emotionallv. These babies have more human characteristics. Christiane Klapisch-Zuber attributes this new understanding of the infant to fifteenth-centurv humanist pedagogy, which was founded on a belief in the potential for the inculcation of virtue (1 1 2—16). The Massacre of the Innocents, an icon in the cycle of Jesus’ life, exemplifies the Church’s attitude toward the bap- tized infant. The Innocents were the first Christian martvrs; they gave their lives in place of Christ’s and were baptized by their blood. Two miniatures, representing the massacre in fifteenth-centurv Lombard antiphonaries (nos. 27 and 57) from the Boston Public Library, show babes barelv stained by the blood they have shed. The red on their faces evokes holy water. The miniatures visually express the conviction that, unlike the saint, who became pure through the exer- cise of virtue, the baptized infant was innocent in his very nature (Lett 1997, 64). The scenes of the slaughter would have reminded Renaissance viewers of the humility of the infant, reiterated throughout the Scriptures: “Verily I say unto you, except ye be converted, and become as little chil dren, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Mat- thew 18:3). In one of the antiphonal depictions of the Massacre (no. 57), a boy appears to be protesting, grasping onto his mother as the executioner’s sword strikes him. Given that he is already out of swaddling and, therefore, mobile, a con temporary viewer would have seen that he was no longer an innocent infant disposed to sacrificing his life for the Son of God. The image reveals the medieval and Renais- sance understanding that the infant became more fully human at the age of three. Mobility brought new concerns about mortality, and hagiography records frequent entreat- ies to the saints to resuscitate wayward toddlers who have drowned in rivers, or been poisoned or crushed (Lett 1 997, 96— 1 03). The three-year-old was not perceived as free of carnal desire. Giovanni Dominici (1356—1420), a Floren tine cardinal and author of a treatise on raising children, recommended that boys and girls at this age be separated when they slept, and that children never see nor touch the naked bodies of their parents (144). A French Book of Hours from the early sixteenth century, which opens with a series of hand-colored woodcuts illustrating the Ages of Man (no. 65a), shows this latter phase of infancy in a scene of boys’ playing and fighting with sticks. The rhyme at the bottom of the page compares the first six years of life to January. The natural blamelessness that attended the boys in their first infancy is gone: “The first six years that man lives in the world / We compare to January / Having nei- ther virtue nor force in this month, / No more than when a child is six years old [my translation] ." The term “infant” refers to the inability to speak ( qui fan non potest ), and the loss of speech signified God’s punish- ment of Adam and Eve. Paradoxically, the baptized infant’s innocence was largely predicated on his inability to speak (Lett 1997, 103). As the infant became more human, the part of the body that garnered the most attention was the tongue. 5 Language exiled young children from the blessed state of infancy; but if the speaking child of three was no longer angelic, she was ready to learn. Theologians rec- ommended that children, even those in swaddling, be sur- rounded by sacred paintings or statues like the animated Virgin and Child from the workshop of Michael Pacher (no. 40), and that they play with infant Jesus dolls (Domi- nici 131). Parents were encouraged to teach children to imi- tate saints in their own small wavs. The merchant Giovanni Rucellai (1403 — 1481) suggested that, once children had 75 been weaned, they could learn the alphabet by using fruit or other treats both to form letters and as rewards (Conti 232—33). Most important in pedagogic schemes was the tongue. The tongue could "defile the body,” but, as theolo- gians insisted, the tongue was created to praise God. The Fourth Lateran Council ( 1 2 1 j) established that, by the age of seven, the child should know the Pater noster, the Credo, and the Ave Maria. Having attained the age of reason, the child was readv to renew the baptismal commitment his godparents had made in his name. At his First Communion, he communicated with God through praver, confession, and contact with the consecrated host. The fourteenth-centurv marble fragment portraving the Education of the Virgin (no. 59), probably from the lie de France, shows the child Mary clasping a book in her arms and following the words with a ruler, while her mother embraces her child with one hand, and points to the words with an extended finger of the other, a tender pose com- municating the transmission of authority. Jerome testified to Mary’s prodigious virtue and piety: “[...] from dawn to the third hour she devoted herself to prayer, from the third to the ninth hour she worked at weaving, and from the ninth hour she prayed until an angel appeared, bringing her food” (Voragine 523). The viewer would have known, by the crown on Mary’s flowing curls, that this was no ordi- nary girl. Most arresting is the hint of a smile, revealing that even at a very young age, Mary has received the wisdom of the book she holds. In Galatians 3:28 we are told, "There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free man, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”This spiritual vision of the child does not distinguish between the sexes, but in everyday life, gender became increas- ingly important at seven. Unless a girl was destined for the Church, her education was considered a mixed blessing in Renaissance Italy. Francesco da Barberino ( 1 264—1 348), a legal expert and author of a treatise entitled Rules on Good Behavior forWomen, was ambivalent. “If her parents so desire,” he wrote, “a girl can learn to read and also to write. . . . But on this point I do not know if I am giving good advice, because many praise it, and manv blame it when the girl becomes an adult” ([my translation); Conti 2 33). 1 ' Prevailing opinion held that a learned girl was less likely to be chaste than an unlettered girl (Grendler 87). Until they were readv to marry, girls from wealthy families lived secluded lives. They stayed with their mothers and mastered the many demanding tasks involved in the management of a house- hold, which often required basic literacy and accounting skills. Some girls from well-to-do families received their education in the humanities from private tutors, alongside their brothers. The best opportunity for women to use their education was within the walls of the convent, where thev assumed leadership and administrative roles, and expressed themselves as artists, writers, composers, and performers in liturgical celebrations. Seven-year-old girls from poor families became maids in the service of the wealthy, often with the promise of a dowry when they reached marriage- able age, while many young girls from rural areas worked in urban textile factories (Cohen 1 1 8). Boys remained in their mothers’ care until the age of seven, even though preachers like Bernardino of Siena (1380—1444) and unmarried scholars like Leon Battista Alberti (1404—1472) warned that mothers could not be trusted to raise their sons without spoiling them. Alberti subtly suggests, “Young boys should, from the first dav of life, be accustomed to life among men. There they can learn virtue rather than vice” (Watkins 62; also Mormando on Bernardino 1 30—34). Bovs who were compelled by poverty to begin apprenticeships at seven continued to live with their parents. The most important factor in a bov’s life was his father’s survival. Fathers educated their sons, oversaw their learning a trade, and established the connections necessary for future success in business and politics (Trexler 163—72). Bernardo di Antonio di Piero was, in 1480, a twenty-four- year-old linen carder, so poor that he owned no tools. He explained to a tax collector the consequence of losing his father at five: "because from such a young age we had to be apprenticed to help earn bread for our mother, we did not learn how to read or write . . .” ([my translation); Conti 63). Although the master of an apprentice was expected to assume the responsibilities of the father (Marcello 233), in this humble occupation Bernardo’s employer most likely treated the child as a dav laborer. Bernardo appears to have deemed education as normal and not exceptional. The tenu- ousness of daily life, however, precluded his acquiring both minimal literacy and a skilled trade. The second miniature of the sequence from the six- teenth-century French Book of Hours mentioned above, depicting a master in a schoolroom and labeled “February” (no. 65b), offers a scene of order and authority. Although it is unlikely that a Renaissance viewer would have had the opportunity to juxtapose this scene and the relief of the Education of the Virgin (no. 59), we are struck by the con- trast between the plurality of the secular and the singu- larity of the sacred. The miniature depicts several young males and at least two books. Master and students are richly robed and their complexions, sanguine. The child Mary, on the other hand, is blessed with a crown and she smiles. Books hold a prominent place in both works. In the minia- ture they svmbolize the child’s new rational capacities and a cultural patrimony to be acquired, in the marble relief, God’s word. 76 Education, from the maternal instruction of Christian virtue and praver to the adolescents' study of the abacus and Roman authors, was strenuously promoted. Paul Grendler estimates that at least one-third of the Florentine males attended school in 1470 (75—78), with enrollment peaking between the ages of ten and thirteen. Educating sons meant paving a local schoolmaster to teach reading, writing, Latin, and the abacus (essentially a calculator). Bernardo Machia- velli recorded having sent his son Niccolo ( 1 469— 1 5 2 7) to his first Latin teacher, who taught near the family home, at the age of seven. The child was introduced to the abacus at ten, and instructed in the Roman classics at eleven (Conti 233). A merchant like Gregorio Dati (1365—1435), whose account of his offspring is cited above, had a different educa- tion. He served an extensive apprenticeship that combined mathematics with on-the-job training (Brucker 108). Dati mav have used a treatise on commercial arithmetic simi- lar to the Boston Public Library’s “Manuscript Treatise on Commercial Arithmetic for Apprentice Cloth Merchants,” attributed toTommaso Alamanni (nos. 53a-c). 8 It is written on paper, presumably in Florence, and dates from the first decade of the sixteenth century. It uses only Arabic numer- als to instruct topics ranging from rapid arithmetic calcula- tion to cost accounting, the computation of shares and the division of profits in unequal partnerships, the calculation of interest on money lent and borrowed, and the bartering of goods. Examples focus on various products including cloth, wine, and grain. With such an array of topics, the book could have served as a teacher’s manual, or been useful to the edu- cation of the many mid-level merchants who had enough capital to enter into joint ventures, and who sought oppor- tunities for profit in every sector of the economy. If some thirteenth-centurv merchants were known to keep records of debt and profit in the margins of family bibles, the mer- chants of the Renaissance developed tools like double -entry accounting that became important components of their suc- cess (Hunt and Murray 57). This tattered treatise empha- sizes the clear layout of problems, perhaps propounding the transparent and precise recording of business deals. The Florentine merchant Giovanni di Pagolo Morelli ( 1 37 1 — 1444) admonished his sons in his journal ( Ricordi ) not to be satisfied with their merchant education, which filled the coffer but did not guide the mind to maturity. Influenced by the humanist belief that the great authors of Antiquity could inculcate virtue, Morelli recommended that his sons make a habit of spending an hour a day with Virgil, Boethius, or Seneca. “And although when you are young this might seem rather difficult and burdensome, . . . you shall derive . . . much pleasure out of it . . . once you have knowledge and can repute yourself a man and not a beast” (Branca 70— 71). His older contemporary, Cardinal Giovanni Dominici (1356—1420), also expressed humanist ideals throughout his treatise; for example, he urged parents to educate their sons in oratory to become useful members of the Republic ( 1 77 79)- Nevertheless, the Cardinal protested the human- ist focus on the pagan literature that Morelli advocated for his sons, and he particularly objected to the “meretricious” and “carnal” works of Ovid (134—35). Fifteenth-century Florentine parents’ dreams of an ideal adolescent, raised in a tradition of mercantile pragmatism and Stoicism, present a sharp contrast to the magnificent, aristocratic Narcissus depicted on the Franco-Flemish tapes- try from the end of the fifteenth century (no. 52). The Ovid- ian youth, his form reflected in a fountain and surrounded by the flowers and beasts of abundant nature, seems to be seduced as much bv his own sartorial splendor as bv his face. The cap upon his blond curls sports a jeweled scarf and three elegant plumes; his short, belted, gold brocade doublet is richly worked with gems, as are his red hose. He wears a jeweled band below his right knee, and his shoes are trimmed with more gold and gems; his billowing cape is ornamented with gold. 9 A figure like Narcissus would have horrified the old guard in Florence; this puritanical crowd, beginning with Dante in the thirteenth century, advocated sobriety in dress. As Alberti’s Giannozzo put it, “(G)ood clothing . . . must be clean, suitable and well made” (Wat- kins 194). However, by the mid-fifteenth century, spread- ing wealth and the increasingly “aristocratic” Medici govern- ment made ostentatious dress almost irresistible, and some wealthy Florentines would probably have been delighted to display the tapestry of Narcissus on a wall of their palatial homes. On the question of dress, even the prudent Alessan- dra Strozzi (1407— 1491), widow of a powerful Florentine merchant who had suffered the misfortune of exile, did not hesitate to brag that her daughter Caterina would go to her husband's home with “more than four hundred florins on her back” (Gregory 31). Sacred and secular tradition established the onset of puberty as the appropriate time for girls to marry. Jaco- bus deVoragine, author of the popular book of saints’ lives known as The Golden Legend, wrote that the Virgin, like the other girls raised in the Temple, was ordered to take a hus- band at fourteen (523), and this fact is recognized bv artists who portray the new mother Mary with a girlish freshness (nos. 37 and 39). The average age for a girl to marry in Tus- cany in 1427—30 was seventeen-and-a-half years (Klapisch- Zuber 1 10). The bride passed from the house of her father to the house of her husband with her virtuous reputation, her dowry, and her fertility. A good marriage might have enhanced her family’s social standing or created a strategic political or commercial alliance. Marriage was also moti- vated bv fear. Parents dreaded the prospect of their pubes- 77 cent daughters shaming them, and they worried that daugh- ters would become too old to be marriageable. Settling for a son-in-law of lower status, Alessandra Strozzi noted, “We’ve taken this decision for the best because she [her daughter Caterina] was sixteen and we didn’t want to wait any longer to arrange a marriage” (Gregory 31). The Florentine government encouraged parents to invest in a state-run dowry fund (the .Monte delle doti), and prudent families invested in marriage early in their daughters’ lives. Often, monev was saved for a single dowry, while younger daughters or those with physical defects were placed in con- vents, which required smaller dowries. Andrea diTommaso Minerbetti apparently acted on this logic when he enclosed his four-year-old daughter in a convent. 1 remember how, on the 2 nd of August 1497 at 4:30 p.m., that is on Tuesday, in the name of God, Maria, my wife, gave birth to a feminine child born of legitimate mar- riage and may it please God to grant her a long life. ... I baptized her on the said day at San Giovanni in Florence and I gave her the names Ipolita, Marta and Romola. . . . I placed her with the wet-nurse Tita in Mugello, the wife of Puccio Pucci da Ronta, for 4 liras ( lire Ji piccoli) a month. . . . She had scarlet fever in May 1499 and was left blind in the left eye. 1 made her a nun in Santa Marta da Montughi on April 18,1 502 . ([mv translation]; Conti 1 1 3) More typically, girls deemed unsuitable for marriage were at least nine years old when they entered the convent, pro- nouncing their final vows several years later (Klapisch- Zuber 1 09). The church was a place to put a “marriageable” daugh ter on display, and preachers ranted in vain against moth- ers who dressed their daughters “so that they appear to be nymphs; and the first thing thev do is take them into [the cathedral] Santa Reparata” (Savonarola, qtd. in Rudolf 35). The wealth and political connections of a bride’s family, and the number of her brothers — a sign of her potential for sons — were most important, but the girl had to have a virtuous reputation and passable looks. A curtain separated the sexes in church, which did not prevent the exchange of admiring glances that pierced the heart, a staple in the lit- erature of the period. In any case, it was often the mother of the groom who vetted prospective brides. For those young women whose families had not set aside monev for the dowry, there was Saint Nicholas, formerly a fourth-century bishop of Mvra. Contemporary viewers would have immediately recognized the interwoven stories illustrated in the margin of a page of a fifteenth-century French missal exhibited here (no. 56). The first, an act of charity, recalls how Saint Nicholas provided gold and jewels, illustrated as a small chest, a pot of gold and a purse, for his indigent neighbor’s daughters, who might otherwise have faced a life of prostitution. The beauty and grace of the three daughters communicated their virtue to the viewer. A mir- acle is signified in the historiated “S,” where three naked boys huddle in a tub. The original story of how Nicholas spared the lives of three innocent men condemned to die had evolved into a more sensational tale of Saint Nicholas’s revival of three boys who had been murdered and pickled by a wicked innkeeper. In adolescence, young men were sidelined because of their sexual exuberance, and voung women were married. The view of mankind as “bound by diabolic subjugation, and always immersed in sin” 10 is well represented in sacred and secular thought. It is the message of the second “chap- ter” in the Mariegola or “Mother Rule” of the Scuola Grande di San Giovanni Evangelista (no. 55). Founded in 1261, the school was one of several Venetian institutions intended to nurture the spiritual aspirations of laymen. The first folio of the Boston Public Library Mariegola reminds the viewer verbally and visually that he w-as not safe from Satan even in the holy precinct of the Church. The illumination at the bottom of the page, which dates from the early fourteenth century, depicts Saint John the Evangelist accompanied by two priests offering the Mariegola to three voung women, while an animated crowd of men stands at the door. The covered heads of the women receiving the Rule from Saint John the Evangelist in other versions of this scene guaran- teed their piety, 11 while the golden, ornamented locks of those of the Boston Public Library folio suggest diabolic machination. Much more transgressive is the woman who kneels behind the first two; she has slit her dress in the back and reveals most of her legs to the men standing at the door. The men, who point and gesture, appear to be capti- vated by the evil women. The priests, in turn, are absorbed in their own conversation. Even though this scene is well appointed with elegant architectural elements, an altar, and a background of embossed gold, the contemporary viewer would have perceived that it depicts a Christian commu- nity riven by sin. A second manuscript associated with Venice portrays the human family in the more harmonious and optimistic terms that are consistent with emerging humanist thought. The young Venetian patrician Francesco Barbaro ( 1390—1454), composed the treatise OnWifely Duties or De re uxorio (no. 54), while he was still an adolescent. He dedicated the treatise in friendship to Lorenzo dei Medici, brother of Cosimo and great uncle of the famous Lorenzo the Magnificent. Larded with citations from Greek and Latin moral philosophers, the work represents a kind of summa of his fine humanist educa- tion. Barbaro offers the view of marriage one might expect from a young, unmarried scholar; he urges spouses to love 78 and be patient with each other, and defines the wife’s role as the bearing and raising of young children and managing the household. Four years after his youthful effort, when Barbaro was twenty-nine and sufficiently mature to assume his place in society, he married a Venetian noblewoman and began an illustrious career in politics. The works in this exhibit show that attitudes toward the young in Renaissance Italy were ambivalent and evolving. Children, especially males, were ardently desired and expec- tations were high for every child who survived the trauma of birth. Nevertheless, fear of infant mortality, and later the maturing body, competed with parental pride and love. Humanist pedagogy, which cast a positive light on a child’s potential, also influenced secular ideas about the young in the fifteenth century. The sacred vision of the early phases of human life is more coherent: God’s special love for the innocent dominated all other concerns. Although separat- ing secular and sacred ideas about the young may be impos- sible, even in the wealthiest homes, it seems, the fullness of time promised by Francesco di Giorgio Martini’s Madonna and Child remained illusory. 1 would like to thank Jan Westman and Cindy White for their keen observations in the discussion oj the works in this section of the exhibit. I would also like to acknowledge and thank Michelle Nau- jeck, 2003 graduate of Boston College, who assisted me m the trans- lations from Conti under the auspices oj the Undergraduate Faculty Research Fellows Program. tnO notes 1 Augustine and Isidore of Seville both discuss the six-phase life scheme, but do not agree on the precise ages for each phase (Sears 54- 79). The Latin terms for life phases are mfan- tia. pueritia, adolescentia, iuventus, gray it as, and senecrus.The lives of females were not subject to schematization of this kind. 2 A change in attitude toward the unbaptized infant is partially attributable to Abelard’s exploration of intention. For example, Elu- cidanum, a treatise by the twelfth -century theologian Honorius of Autun, describes the unbaptized infant as impure, guilty and damned by original sin, but not responsible for this sin (Lett 1997, 65). The fourteenth- century poet Dante describes unbaptized infants in Purgatory as “the innocent little ones / seized in the fangs of death / before they could be cleansed of mortal guilt” (VII. 3 1 33 )- 3 The most famous example of this sort of suc- cinct antithesis is, of course, a literary text. In Purgatory V. 1 34, La Pia tells the pilgrim Dante, “Siena mi fc, disfecemi Maremma” (Siena made me, in Maremma 1 was undone). 4 Les six premiers ans que vit l’hommc au monde / Nous conparons a Janvier droicte- ment / Car en ce moys vertu nc force habonde / Non plus que quant six ans ha ung enfant. 5 Injunctions against wagging tongues surely predate the biblical Epistle of James 3:4—6: “And the tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity: so is the tongue among our members, that it defileth the whole body, and setteth on fire the course of nature; and it is set on fire of hell.” In secular texts from the Renaissance, the effort to suppress idle conversation sug- gests that it was perceived as more dangerous than a mere waste of time. In a society where personal reputation was determined less by lineage than by the opinions of others, the injudicious word could ruin one’s standing. 6 The translation of the title, Reggimento e cos - tumi di donna, is from of Allaire (364— 65). The treatise was composed in 1320. 7 In fact, opinions on girls’ education varied. In De studiis et litteris liber, the humanist Leon- ardo Bruni ( 1370-1444) argued that girls should receive an education in the Roman classics, but not in oratory since they had no role in public life. Fra Sabba Castiglione (1480—1 554) argued that girls should read the classics of Italian literature to become good conversationalists so that they not appear “rustic” in company (Grcndler 87- 88 ). 8 There are three names in the book. At the top of the back flyleaf, we read “Tommaso Alamanni ,” and on the same page, along with sketches of human figures and castle turrets, there is a coat of arms with the name “Buo- romei.” In the text the name “Buondelmonte” appears. The latest date in the text is 1 503. My thanks to economist and math teacher Leslie Mever, who helped me to identify some of the topics raised in this treatise. 9 According to Deborah E. Kraak, Narcissus’s clothing is representative of the “transitional period, from the late fifteenth into the early sixteenth century,” when Italians were set- ting fashion trends in Europe. Nevertheless, subtle deviations from the standard suggest that this Narcissius is intended to portray “a fancy, fashionable young blade, but not quite of our era.” It is difficult to understand why Narcissus wears a sword, except to signal his nobilitv. My thanks to Deborah E. Kraak for her assistance on the question of Narcissus’s costume. 10 Capitolo II: “Quanto la prexente vita sia flevele e caduca, in stessa la humana fragil- itade apertamentre ne amaistra e demostrada ch’el misero homo continuamente si ponto da solicitudine e si alligado de ligami de subj- ection diabolica, e sempre si involto in li pec- cadi.” [To the extent that the present life is feeble and fallen, human frailty itself rules it, and shows that miserable mankind, continu- ally stung by affliction and bound by diabolic subjugation, is always immersed in sin (my translation ) ] . http : / / www. sgiovanniev. it / istituzionale/pagine/ mariegola.htm 11 See the website in the previous note for another version of the first page of the Mar- legola of the Scuola Grande di San Giovanni Evangelista, this one with a pious scene at the foot of the page. 79 Works CitcO Allaire, Gloria. “Francesco da Barberino” Medi- eval Italy: An Encyclopedia. New York, 2004. 364—65. Barbaro, Francesco. “On Wifely Duties.” Excerpted in The Earthly Republic. Italian Humanists on Government and Society Eds. Benjamin G. Kohl and Ronald G.Witt. Philadelphia, 1991. 1 79—228. Branca, Vittore, ed. MerchantWriters of the Italian Renaissance from Boccaccio to Machiavelli. Trans. Murtha Baca. New York, 1999. Brucker, Gene. Two Memoirs of Renaissance Flor- ence. The Diaries of Buonaccorso Pitti and Gre- gorio Dati Trans. Julia Martines. Prospect Heights, 1991. Cohen, Samuel K. Jr. “Women and Work in Renais- sance Italy.” Gender and Society in Renaissance Italy. Eds. Judith C. Brown and Robert C. Davis. New York, 1998. 107—26. Conti, Elio, Alessandro Guidotti, and Roberto Lunardi. La Civiltd forentina del Quattrocento. Florence, 1993. Dante Alighieri. Purgatono. Trans. Jean Hollander and Robert Hollander. New York, 2003. Dominici, Giovanni. Regola del governo di cura Jamil - lare. Ed. Donato Salvi. Florence, 1869. Gregory, Heather, trans. Selected Letters of Alessandra Strozzi. Bilingual Edition. Berkeley, 1997. Grendler, Paul F. Schooling in Renaissance Italy: Lit- eracy and Learning 1 300— 1600. Baltimore, 1989. Hunt, Edwin S., and James M. Murray. A History of Business in Medieval Europe, 1200— 15 SO- New York, 1 999. Klapisch-Zuber, Christiane. Women, Family and Ritual m Renaissance Italy. Trans. Lydia G. Cochrane. Chicago, 1985. Lett, Didier. L' enfant des miracles. Enfance et societe au Moyen Age (XIT au XI IT siecle). Paris, 1997. — . and Daniele Alexandre-Bidon. Children in the Middle Ages. Fifth — Fifteenth Centuries. Trans. Jody Gladding. Notre Dame, 1999. Muir, Edward. Ritual in Early Modern Europe. New York, 1 997. Marcello, Luciano. “Andare a bottega. Adolescenza e apprendistato nelle arti (Sec. XVI-XVII) .” Infan/ie. Funzione di un gruppo liminale dal mondo classico all' Eta Moderna. Ed. Ottavia Niccoli. Florence, 1993. 231—51. Mormando, Franco. The Preacher's Demons: Ber- nardino of Siena and the Social Underworld of Early Renaissance Italy. Chicago, 1999. Musacchio, Jacqueline Marie. The Art and Ritual of Childbirth in Renaissance Italy. New Haven, 1 999 - Randolf, Adrian. “Regarding Women in Sacred Space.” Picturing Women in Renaissance and Baroque Italy. Eds. Geraldine A. Johnson and Sara F. Matthews Grieco. New York, 1997. 17-41- Sears, Elizabeth. The Ages of Man Medieval Interpre- tations of the Life Cycle. Princeton, 1986. Trexler, Richard C. Public Life in Renaissance Flor- ence. Ithaca, 1980. Voragine, Jacobus de. The Golden Legend. Trans. Granger Ryan and Helmut Rippcrger. New York, 1969. Watkins, Renee Neu, trans. The Family in Renais- sance Florence. A translation of "I Libn della Fami- glia” by Leon Battista Alberti. Columbia, 1969. 80 In Vogue in Jijteentb-Century Florence: the CDAterul Culture of GXuxiAge Stephanie C. £eone iorgio Vasari’s neat narrative of Ital- ian art from 1300 to ijyo has long dominated the historiography of the Renaissance. His book proposed a linear development from the rejec- tion of medieval style to the full adaptation of the ancient ideal that art should imitate nature. Jacob Burckhardt’s por- trayal of Renaissance Italy as the beginning of the modern world characterized by values like secularism, individual- ism, and nationalism has been equally influential in shaping our perception of the period. 1 Even today these models remain persuasive. 2 Yet, as revisionist historians have pos- ited more recently, fifteenth-century Florence was a more muddled reality in which the secular and sacred overlapped, antiquity and medieval culture mingled, and Republican and aristocratic ideals intersected. This cluttered cultural, intel- lectual, and spiritual world is encapsulated in the popu- lar, material object ol the cassone, the chest for the bride’s trousseau that commemorated and celebrated one of life’s most significant secular and sacred occasions, marriage. The elongated panel depicting the Meeting of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba (c. 1460), in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (no. 58), was painted to decorate one of these wed- ding chests. For wealthy Florentines, marriage was a reli- gious sacrament and a civic ritual, which forged political, social, and economic alliances between families. Carried in pairs in an elaborate procession from the bride’s home to her new husband’s residence, the cassoni symbolized the woman’s transferal from one lineage to another, linking the families in the exchange. After the procession, the object functioned as a piece of furniture in the couple’s bedcham- ber, as well as a lasting memory of the ephemeral event. Flo- rentines publicly celebrated important occasions like wed- dings, diplomatic visits, and feast days in elaborately staged festivals that merged the aristocratic world of the North Italian and French courts with Republican Florence. It was in the art associated with these rituals- the painted panels of wedding chests or the fresco cycle of the Procession of the Magi in the Medici palace — that courtly style persisted in a world increasingly fascinated by antiquity. From daily activities like visits to the marketplace to singular events like weddings, Florentines interacted with each other through “a ritual of interpersonal relations” based on contractual agreements that were often sealed with reli- gious vows invoking the Virgin Mary, saints, or holy objects (Trexler 264). In a world where the secular and sacred were indivisible, both legal obligation and spiritual condemna- tion bound the participants . 4 Ties of amici, parenti, e vicim (friends, relatives, and neighbors) shaped Florentine soci- ety. In the upper echelons of this patriarchy, marriage was one of the most important agreements made between the male heads of families. The ritual established new or solidi- fied existing alliances essential to a family’s social, politi- cal, and economic prosperity. Marriage arrangements had little to do with love.' To make the most favorable match, families hired professional matchmakers or relied on rela- tives or patrons to engage in often protracted discussions. Once a bride was deemed suitable, the negotiations became largely a business transaction, specifically concerning the amount and conditions of the dowry paid by the bride’s father (Witthoft 43— 44). After agreement was reached, the bride’s father met with the groom and his father before a notary to sign the contract, launching the courtship and the preparations for marriage. Some months later, the arrange- ments culminated in the couple’s exchange of vows, also before a notarv, followed by the ring ceremony, wedding banquet, and the bride’s procession with her trousseau from her father’s to her husband’s house (Witthoft 44—46). Amid these activities, some couples attended a wedding Mass together, although it remains unclear if the Church required the presence of a priest. As marriage represented an exchange between families, the groom reciprocated the dowry with gifts for his bride, which normally included the outfitting of the marital chamber, cassoni used to transport the trousseau, clothing, and jewelry . 8 The bride’s parade through the city streets publicized the alliance, and the appearance of the wedding chests symbolized the reciproc- ity of marriage (Witthoft 46—48). The cassoni then formed part of the domestic sphere as a piece of furniture in the chamber, the most important room in the house, where the couple slept and the husband met visitors during the day (Thornton 193—96). In the fifteenth century, Florentine residences were undergoing a remark- able change from non descript exteriors and austere interi- ors to cohesively planned facades and rooms filled with new types of furnishings and a plethora of material goods. This was the birth of the Renaissance palace. At mid-century the elaborately decorated cassone would have stood out in the chamber, which the groom would have had furnished with a 81 FIG. 1 Lorenzo Ghiberti, Meeting of Ki ng Solomon and the Queen of Sheba, from Gates of Paradise, 1425-52, gilded bronze relief, Florence, Museo dell' Opera del Duomo (formerly Baptistery) (Scala/ Art Resource, NY) bed and lettuccio (daybed). As the century progressed, cham- bers were treated as decoratiye ensembles with the addition of spallien, painted panels set into the wainscoting or pieces of lurniture (Callman 1988, 3— 18). The Renaissance home also contained devotional objects to serve as spiritual and moral guides for everyday life. 11 Since the Virgin Marv was the primary intercessor to God and an especially salient model for women, modest-sized images ol the Madonna and Child, such as the paintings bv Francesco di Giorgio Martini and Domenico Ghirlandaio in the Museum ol Fine Arts, Boston (nos. 35 and 39), became ubiquitous. 11 Patricia De Leeuw considers these and other images ol the Virgin Marv in this volume. Treatises on marriage, like Francesco Barbaras De re uxona (On wifely duties) (no. 54), taught young women to emulate Mary’s chastity and modesty. Birth, another central occasion in Florentine life, was commem- orated with its own set of objects — painted wooden travs ( deschi da parto), bowls, maiolica wares, and linens — which were displayed in the home, similar to cassoni, to remember this important moment in a family’s history. 12 Fifteenth-century Florentines stood at a crossroads between traditional values rooted in Christianity that eschewed undue profits and personal ostentation, on the one hand, and the increasing espousal of wealth and its display in shaping identity, on the other. Referencing their ancient pre- decessors, especially Aristotle, humanist writers like Leon Battista Alberti sought to justify the rise in expenditure bv linking external appearance to internal virtue. The result was a new virtue of magnificence, in which the appropriate use of wealth represented an individual’s inner dignity and magnanimity; it was a virtue that only the rich could pos- sess (Goldthwaite 204-10; Burke 1 33—1 34). Cassoni served a dual -role in the dynamics of display, as these objects were featured in the public demonstration of the wedding proces- sion and the more intimate and lasting space of the home. Although religious leaders and humanists called for sim- plicity in wedding celebrations, the parades and banquets tended to be sumptuous and costly affairs with the partici- pants outfitted in their best finery. With the bride’s goods concealed within, the cassoni represented the wealth that they contained. After the festivities, the lavishly decorated cassoni recollected the richness of the fleeting event (Wit- thoft { 1 53). Whereas the subjects on cassonc panels varied, encompassing amorous stories, battle scenes from ancient and contemporary history, mythological tales, Old Testa- ment stories, and contemporary events, opulence repre- sented a common denominator. 13 A visual feast for the eves, the surface of a tvpical panel is a horror vacui of figures, objects, details of the setting, decorative costumes, gold or silver leaf, and tooling. The Old Testament storv of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba embodies the richness of cassone panels, as well as birth travs, on which it appears frequently. 14 Intrigued bv accounts of King Solomon’s riches and wisdom, the wealthy queen travels from afar to visit the king in Jerusalem to test his renowned knowledge ( 1 Kings 10:1 — 13, 2 Chron. 9:1 — 12). On the left side of the Boston cassone panel (no. 58), the Queen of Sheba’s entourage approaches from the dis- tant hillside, passing through a walled town and finally spill- ing into the foreground, where her empty triumphal car stands; on the right, the two leaders face each other before a carefully rendered loggia, which recalls the fourteenth- century Loggia dei Lanzi in Piazza Signoria, Florence, rather than a building in ancient Jerusalem. The protagonists wear sumptuous costumes of tooled gold and conical hats that reflect their wealth and identify their Eastern origins. As Sheila Blair and Jonathan Bloom demonstrate in this cata- logue, objects imported from the Islamic-dominated Near East were detached from their original meaning and re- contextualized in the Christian West, and in some instances Western artisans reproduced Eastern goods. These objects, such as the ornate Shroud of San Pedro de Osma in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (no. 90), shaped the Euro- pean perception of the Holy Land. Western merchants and pilgrims traveled to the Near East, bringing back textiles, precious objects, and vivid descriptions. Fifteenth-century Florentines had direct contact with this exotic world during the Council of Florence-Ferrara (1438—39) when Eastern theologians, scholars, and their entourages arrived on the Italian peninsula in the hope of reconciling the differences between the Eastern and Western Churches. Through vari- ous means, Florentines developed a notion of the Holy Land as a visually rich environment, exemplified bv the sumptuous clothes worn bv King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba in the cassone panel. As Robin Fleming shows in this catalogue, 82 FIG. 2 Apollonio di Giovanni and Marco del Buono, Story of Esther, ca. 1460- 70, tempera and gold on wood, 17 'Ax 35 3 /e in. , New York, The Metro- politan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund (18.117.2) (Photograph, all rights reserved, The Metropoli- tan Museum of Art) the association between exotic, costlv silks and influential individuals, both secular and sacred, was firmly rooted in Europe by the tenth century, and Italy was a primary market for the sale of imported textiles. In the Boston cassone panel, some figures are attired in contemporary Florentine fash- ions made of rich fabrics. The queen’s attendants wear pat- terned dresses with high waistlines and corned headdresses inspired by Burgundian taste, and several courtiers toward the back of the king’s retinue wear fashionable short tunics w ith tights. 15 A man inserted in the crowd behind the female attendants stands out, as his cloak and hat have a fifteenth- century appearance and lack gold embellishment (though the white lining might indicate an expensive fur). Perhaps this contemporary individual stands for our groom, bear- ing witness to the renowned event. The sacred iconography of the Meeting of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba would have been meaningful to prominent Florentines involved in the social, political, and economic activities ot the city. Through details of the architecture and dress, Jerusalem has been translated to Florence, making the story relevant for its intended audience. As a great builder and patron of sumptuous objects, Solomon offered the ultimate model, albeit unreachable, for wealthy Flo- rentines seeking to demonstrate their status through mate- rial goods. In addition, the Queen of Sheba’s visit to Solo- mon’s court offered a sacred metaphor for the arrival ol the bride, which led to the joining of two great families (Call- man 1 974, 43). In Florence the story had assumed political significance. Richard Krautheimer argued that Ghiberti’s panel of the subject on his second set of Baptistery doors (fig. 1) recalled the meeting of the Eastern and Western Churches at the Council of Florence-Ferrara ( 1 84). Ghiberti’s square composition was adjusted to fit the narrower format of the cassone panel (Callman 43). It is possible that our groom, whose identity is unknown, belonged to a family involved in the council’s activities. At the very least, he appreciated the story as a suitable forum for presenting his family as prosperous citizens. Such pretensions commonly informed cassone panels. For instance, in a panel of the OldTestament Story of Esther (fig. 2), the queen’s marriage to Ahasuerus is shown on the left, and their sumptuous wedding banquet on the right (Pope-Hennessy and Christiansen 13, 16, 24— 2 7). The latter scene evokes the public setting of a Floren- tine wedding, as the banquet was normally held in an open loggia or piazza; the imagery links the patrons of this chest to the splendor of their OldTestament predecessors (Wit- thoft jo). More direct depictions of the city’s public life are found in panels that show contemporary festivities, such as the panel, in the Yale University Art Gallery, depicting a tournament in the Piazza Santa Croce. 16 Both cassone panels and the ephemeral celebrations they evoke attest to the enduring allure of courtly culture in fifteenth-century Florence. 1 The chivalric tradition had been introduced to the Italian peninsula three centuries earlier, and French literature continued to appear in Ital- ian libraries through the period under consideration. 1 ’ Although the ideals of equality embodied by the Repub- lican state of Florence should have clashed with an aris- tocratic milieu that promoted service to a lord, the city’s leading families emulated the w'orld of the North Italian and French courts in which men demonstrated military prow- ess, equestrian skill, and personal honor. Much revered by aristocrats, St. George epitomized chivalric behavior. In an illumination from a French Book of Hours, in the Boston Public Fibrary (no. 8d), the saint slays a menacing dragon to save his damsel in distress. Fifteenth-centurv Florentines embodied this courtly paradigm by staging tournaments, jousts, and dances. Both Forenz.o de’ Medici in 1469 and his brother Giuliano in 1473 marked their “coming of age” with tournaments that demonstrated their preeminence in Flo- rentine society (Ventrone, et al. 75— 1 03, 167—72, 189—93). The reception of foreign guests, in which the Medici figured prominently, prompted elaborate pageants reminiscent of courtly behavior. Milan offered the ultimate model for the Medici’s aristocratic aspirations. 1 ' Contemporary chroni clers described in great detail the Milanese Duke Galeazzo Maria Sforza’s rich cavalcade as he entered Florence in 1471: “I would not know how to, nor could I, narrate all the things 83 FIC. 3 Benozzo Gozzoli, Journey oj the Magi, detail of the youngest king and his retinue, ca. 1459, fresco, Florence, Palazzo Medici (Erich Lessing/ Art Resource, NY) in particular . . . the quantity of his baggage trains, his ser- vants, and all the accompaniment of his princes and barons so richly dressed . . (Trexler 314). Seeking to equal the duke’s display, the Medici countered with a sumptuous wel- coming procession through the city’s streets (Ventrone, et al. i26;Trexler 314—13). In Florence the courtly ethos inlluenced both small-scale artistic objects like cassoni and birth trays and larger pro- ductions like altarpieces and frescoes. The late-fourteenth- century frescoes adorning several rooms in the Palazzo Davanzati, especially the frieze illustrating the chivalric tale of the Chastelaine deYergi, document the decorative tradition that appealed to Florentines. 2 1 In the fifteenth century, this courtly sentiment surfaced in sacred works, epitomized by Gentile da Fabriano’s altarpiece of the Adoration of the Magi (1423) and Benozzo Gozzoli s fresco cycle of the Journey oj the Magi in the chapel of the Palazzo Medici (1439) (fig. 3). 21 The influence of the International Style, which ultimately derived from the art of the cultured Burgundian court, is evident in the lavish use of materials like gold and lapis lazuli, the patterned surfaces, and the descriptive details of the natural world. Disregard for Albertian perspective separates the frescoes in the Medici Chapel from contem- porary paintings in a humanist style. The iconography fur- ther connects the paintings of the Magi to a courtly ethos, as it conjures one of the oldest spectacles in Florence, the Festa de’ Magi, a favorite of the Medici and other preemi- nent citizens. In this annual Epiphany procession, the lav members of the Confraternity of the Magi re-enacted the sacred event of the journey of the three kings. The caval- cade embodied the elegant preciosity of late Gothic culture, allowing wealthy Florentines, like the Medici, to play the parts of aristocrats. 22 The taste for the courtly influenced the style and ico- nography of cassone panels, such as the Meeting of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba, the Story of Esther, and the Tourna- ment in Piazza Santa Croce. Their subjects recall the pageantry of fifteenth-century Florence, which derived from medi- eval precedents. These works have been attributed to the most active producers of cassone, Apollonio di Giovanni (c. 1416—63) and Marco del Buono (c. 1402—89), who shared a workshop. 23 In characterizing Apollonio’s stvle as“alla fran- zese,”Aby Warburg observed a disregard for humanist inno- vations, and Ernst Gombrich wrote that “it is as if Masaccio or Donatello had never lived and the International Style, as exemplified by Gentile da Fabriano, had been allowed to develop, undisturbed, into the next generation” (18—19). The main characteristics of Apollonio’s formal language 84 FIG. 4 Apollonio di Giovanni and Marco del Buono, Battle of Pharsalus and Beheading of Pompej, ca. 1430— 60, tempera and silver on panel, 1 6 x 31 in., Boston, Museum of Fine Arts include a rich surface, crowded setting, sumptuous mate- rials, and lack of anatomically correct figures and logical spatial relationships. In the Meeting of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba, the pages with shields on the left and the court iers on the far right lack the anatomical description asso- ciated with Renaissance art and, instead, look like two- dimensional “marionettes” with short, stiff legs. ^ 4 The bodies of the women are un-naturalisticallv elongated and hidden bv heavy patterning. The doll-like horses are too small for their riders. Apollonio competently framed his figures with the loggia that appears to recede into space, but the figures are compressed into a narrow foreground plane rather than placed within the space; additionally, there is no convinc- ing relationship between this architectural backdrop and the landscape on the left. The inconsistent setting offers a con- trast to Ghiberti’s mathematical rendering of space (fig. 1). The cassone painting’s potential to connect its owners to elite Florentine society was achieved through a rich visual impression rather than naturalism. Cassoni panels depicting battle scenes reveal an even stronger connection to chivalric tastes and prototypes, as many rely on the standard composition for battles in medi- eval secular decoration and manuscript illumination. Typi- cally, two opposing forces of horses and riders in profile charge from opposite ends in teams of equal size, encounter- ing one another at a central point where their lances cross.' 5 This medieval compositional formula is employed in another mid-fifteenth-century cassone panel in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, the Battle of Pharsalus and Beheading of Pompej (fig. 4). 26 Besides its composition, other formal character- istics of the panel also ignore the developments of Renais- sance art. There is an odd juxtaposition of scale between the knights and horses set on a stage-like, foreground space and the mountains that function as a backdrop. Lacking mod- eling, the horses look like paper cutouts layered one over the other. The riders’ bodies are obscured beneath heavily tooled, silver armor. The confusion of horses, riders, and lances perpetuates the medieval melee, articulated in the lan- guage of chivalric literature and illustrated in manuscript illuminations. Chretien de Troyes said of a knight in battle, “[He] demeaned himself bravely in the melee for some time, breaking, splitting, and crushing shields, helmets and hau- berks” (300). In the painted battle scene, the disorder of forms and the patterning of the surface tantalize the observ- er’s eye instead of appealing to the mind. While the Renaissance was in full swing, the makers and consumers of cassoni eschewed mathematically constructed space and corporeal figures in favor of a rich visual impres- sion achieved through characteristics related to the Interna- tional Style. Wealthy Florentines wanted to be in vogue, and that meant emulating the fashionable splendor and Arthu- rian romance of their princely counterparts in art and in life. In the case of the Meeting of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba (ca. 1460), the consciously medieval, “chivalric” style of the work conveyed a multitude of secular messages relating to the social status of its patron. Although Gombrich argued that the cassoni idiom remained independent from the main- stream of fifteenth-century Florentine art, the popularity among the commissioning class indicates that these objects formed a concurrent stvle that was integral to contempo- rary taste (Gombrich 18). Stvle served function. As we have seen, the emphasis on splendor related to the symbolic value of cassoni as indicators of social status. In addition, the cir- cumstances of their display in the home might have affected their production. Positioned below eve-level, the imagery on cassoni would not have been subject to close scrutiny, at least not easily, which could explain why the tooling is often unrefined, the figures summarih depicted, and the illusion of space approximated. From the vantage point of a viewer looking down, the variety of form, saturated colors, and decorative patterning would have made the most lasting visual impact, which enhanced the potential of these objects for fixing the fleeting event in the enduring memory of a Florentine family. 2 85 tnCmotcs 1 Giorgio Vasari’s Lives of the Artists was pub- lished in 1550, with a revised edition in 1568. Jacob Burckhardt’s Civilization of the Renais- sance in Italy first appeared in German in 1 860. 2 On die one-hundredth anniversary of the Civ- ilization of the Renaissance in Italy, Hans Baron argued that scholars had overstated Burck- hardt’s perception of Renaissance Italy as a complete rejection of the medieval past. In 1 98 7, William Hood characterized the state of research in Italian Renaissance art as a plu- ralism in which". . . historians are revising and rejecting these ideas [based on Vasari] right and left” ( 1 74), but he wrote that Vasa- ri’s model prevailed in survey courses and the minds of the general populace. Hood’s assess- ment largely holds true today, but two recent textbooks on Italian Renaissance art offer alternatives to Vasari’s model: Welch; Paoletti and Radke. In the past twenty years, many specialized studies have contributed to revis- ing the historiographv of Renaissance art. 3 On the Procession of the Magi frescoes, see Cardini; Luchinat. 4 On Christianity in the Renaissance, see Verdon and Henderson. 5 On marriage in Renaissance Florence, see Mohlo and Kirshner; Bullard; Witthoft; Diefendorf. 6 Matches among the lower social ranks were more likely to be based on individual choice; Klapisch-Zuber 221—22; Diefendorf. 7 Marriage became a sacrament at the Fourth Lateran Council (1 2 1 5). D’Avray has ana- lvzed the debate and concluded that there is no indication that a priest was required “under pain of sin.” 8 Some of the groom’s gifts, like the clothing and jewels, held more symbolic than mate- rial significance since these items might be returned or rented to other grooms. Klapisch-Zuber (ch. 10) identified the groom’s gifts as a form of counter-dovvrv, which was part of the ritual of gift giving that cemented kinship ties. The question of who commissioned the cassoni (the groom or bride’s father) requires further clarification; see Witthoft £2; Baskins 4. 9 Goldth waite (esp. 176-224) traced the devel- opment of this new consumption model and discussed its social meaning. On the material culture of Florentine Renaissance residences, see Schiaparelli; Callman (1979); Lydecker. For the competitive nature of expenditure in seventeenth-centurv Italy, Burke ch. 10. 10 On the devotional sculptures in the Palazzo Medici, see Paoletti. Historians of domestic art often cite the Dominican Giovanni Domi- nici for promoting religious images in the home; see Baskins 6—7; Musacchio 49. 11 According to Frederick Ilchman of the Museum of Fine Arts, a physical examination of these paintings supports the supposition that they were made for the domestic sphere. 12 Musacchio has written a seminal study on the objects associated with childbirth (1999). 13 In his monumental study of cassoni that remains fundamental today, Schubring defined the categories of subject matter. Amorous subjects came from French litera- ture and art, mythology and the contempo- rary literature of Boccaccio and Petrarch; Watson, 1971, 1 979. As the fifteenth century progressed, amatory iconography waned, and classical sources became increasingly popular; Callman (1979); Pope-Hennessv and Chris- tiansen 1 2 . Recently, Baskins has studied cas- soni panels featuring heroic women. 14 Callman ( 1 974) 43, identified ten cassone panels depicting Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. For the Boston panel, Callman (1974) 42—43, 64—65; Kanter 152—54. It was prob- ably paired with the cassone panel of the Jour- ney of the Queen of Sheba in the Birmingham Museum of Art; Callman (1974) 34, 64-65. The Meeting of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba appears on birth trays by Ferrarese artists in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (17.198) and the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston (44.5 74) ; Wilson 214-29. The complex architectural settings and use of modeling in the birth trays represent more sophisticated productions than the Boston cassone panel. 15 For a discussion of Renaissance clothing, see Herald 50, 53, 96. 16 The panel is attributed to Apollonio di Giovanni and Marco del Buono, ca. 1460. Rankin 339—41 ; Schubrin, pi. 140; Seymour 1 1 8 . 17 The influence of chivalric culture during Lorenzo the Magnificent’s lifetime (1449—92) was the subject of an exhibition celebrating the five-hundredth anniversary of his death; for the catalogue, Ventrone, et al. In his essay for the catalogue (122-25), Riccardo Pacciani connected cassoni to courtly taste. On Floren- tine festivals and their courtly associations, seeTrexler 215—330. 18 For the history of the Arthurian legends in Italy, see Loomis and Loomis. On French lit- erature in the Northern Italian courts, see Woods-Marsdcn 21—27. 19 Duke Ludovico il Moro (1451 — 1508) increased the level of luxury of his predeces- sors’ display, making his court the most spec- tacular in Europe; see Malaguzzi Valeri . 20 Bombe 236—37. Bombe noted another Flo- rentine chivalric cycle ofTristan and Iseult in the Palazzo Teri. Similar themes frequently decorated castles and palaces in Northern Italy, such as the mid-fourteenth-centurv battle scenes in the Castello di Sabbionara di Avio, Trento ( Caste lnuovo) and Pisanel- lo’s Legend of Lancelot in the Palazzo Ducale, Mantua, ca. 1447—48 (Woods-Marsden). Since much secular decoration has been lost, knowledge of late medieval Italian interiors is incomplete; Martindale. Kleimann, offers a useful compendium of surviving secular wall decoration. 21 On Gentile’s altarpiece, see Christiansen (24—37). On Gozzoli’s frescoes, see Cardini; Luchinat . 22 For the Festa de’ Magi, Hatfield; Ventrone, et al. 2 1—28, 139—46. 23 Using the workshop’s account books, Call- man (1974, 1988) reconstructed the oeuvre of these artists and demonstrated their signi- ficant contribution to mid-fifteenth-century domestic art. 24 Gombrich (18) used the term “marionette” to describe Apollonio di Giov anni’s figures. 25 On medieval depictions of battle scene, Starn and Partridge 42—43. Examples include the frescoed battle scene in the Castello di Sabbi- onara di Avio (Castelnuovo) and the tourna- ment illumination from the Milanese manu- script, the Guiron le Courtois, ca. 1400, Paris, Bibliotheque Nationale, ms. fr. Nouv. Acq. 5243 (Longhi, pi. 69). 26 The battle depicts Caesar’s defeat of Pompev. Formerly attributed to Paolo Uccello, the panel has been re-assigned to Apollonio di Giovanni and Marco del Buono; Kanter 1 54; Callman ( 1 974) 74. A similar battle scene is in Cincinnati; Spike 8— 1 1 . 27 On the relationship between imagery (includ- ing cassoni) and memory in fifteenth -century Florence, see Rubin. 86 Works CitcO Baron, Hans. “Burckhardt’s ‘Civilization of the Renaissance’: A Century after its Publication” Renaissance News 13.3 (i960): 207—22. Baskins, Cristelle L. Cassone. Painting. Humanism, and Gender in Early Modern Italy. Cambridge and New York, 1998. 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Cambridge, 1994. — . and J. Kirshner. “Dowry Fund and Mar- riage Market in Early Quattrocento Flor- ence.” Journal of Modern History 49.3 (1978): 403-38. Musacchio, Jacqueline Marie. The Art and Ritual of Childbirth in Renaissance Italy. New Haven and London, 1999. Paoletti, JohnT. “Familiar Objects: Sculptural Types in the Collections of the Early Medici.” Look- ing at Italian Renaissance Sculpture. Ed. Sarah Blake McHam. Cambridge, 1998. 79—1 10. . and Gary M. Radke. Art in Renaissance Italy. 2nd ed. Upper Saddle River, 2002. Pope-Hennessy, John, and Keith Christiansen. Sec- ular Painting in 1 gth-Century Tuscany: Birth Trays, Cassone Panels, and Portraits. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. New York, 1980. Rankin, W. “Cassone Fronts in American Collec- tions — V, Part 1 .” The Burlington Magazine 1 1 (1907): 339-41. Rubin, Patricia Lee. “Art and the Imagery of Memory.” Art. Memory, and Family in Renais- sance Florence. Cambridge, 2000. 67—85. Schiaparelli, Attilio. La Casa Fiorentina e i Suoi Arredi nei Secoli XIV e XV 2 vols. Florence, 1983. Schubring, Paul. Cassoni.Truhen undTruhenbilder der italienischen Friihrenaissance: ein Beitrag zur Profanmalerei 1m Quattrocento. 2 vols. Leipzig, i9ig. Seymour, Charles. Early Italian Paintings in theYale University Art Gallery. New Haven, 1970. Spike, John. Italian Paintings in the Cincinnati Art Museum. Cincinnati, 1993. Starn, Randolph, and Loren W. Partridge. “Repre- senting War in the Renaissance.” Representa- tions g (1984): 3 3~ 6 £- Thornton, Peter. The Italian Renaissance interior. 1400—1600. New York, 1991. Trexler, Richard C. Public Life in Renaissance Flor- ence. Ithaca and London, 1980. Ventrone, Paola, and et al., eds. 'Le Terns revient — ' 1 Tempo Si Rinuova:’ Feste e Spettacoli nella Firenze di Lorenzo il Magnifco. Cinisello Bal- samo, 1992. Verd on, Timothy, and John Henderson, eds. Chris- tianity and the Renaissance: Image and Reli- gious Imagination in the Quattrocento. Syra- cuse, 1990. Watson, Paul. “Boccaccio’s ‘Ninfale Fiesolano’ in Early Florentine Cassone Painting ."Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 34(1971): 331 - 33 - . The Garden of Love in Tuscan Art (f the Early Renaissance. Philadelphia, 1979. Welch, Evelyn. Art in Renaissance Italy. Oxford, 2000. Wilson, Carolyn C. Italian paintings XI V-X VI centu- ries in the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston. Hous- ton, 1996. Witthoft, Brucia. “Marriage Rituals and Marriage Chests in Quattrocento Florence.” Artibus st Historiae g (1982): 43—59. Woods-Marsden, Joanna. The Gonzaga of Mantua and Pisanello’s Arthurian Frescoes. Princeton, 1988. 87 Illustrated Religious Books Virginia Reinburg I llustrated books were important aids to reli- gious knowledge and practice for literate Christians. Before the mid-fifteenth century, all books were manuscripts, hand-copied by monastic or secular scribes. In the 14J0S the first books printed with movable type appeared. And by 1 joo most cities in western and central Europe were home to printing presses and bookshops stocked with works of lit- erature, philosophy, law, politics, medicine, natural philoso- phy, and religion. But the advent of printing did not spell the immediate death of manuscripts, which were still produced, sold, inherited, and passed along. This continued well into the sixteenth century. Bv then the growth of the printing industry had brought a dramatic increase in the number of books. At the same time primary schools in cities and large towns created more opportunities for people to learn to read. Beginning in the late fourteenth centurv, the abilitv to read — in the vernacular languages if not Latin — steadilv increased among city-dwellers. Although measurable rates of literacy remained low bv modern standards, even arti- sans and peasants commonly had some facility with the writ- ten word, or at least contact with texts and books through family, neighbors, and coworkers who could read. Popular images like St. Anne Teaching theVirgin Mary (nos. 11b, 59) and the Annunciation (nos. 41, 8a), in which Mary and her mother have books, suggest that reading was a familiar activity. Mary was often shown rapt in prayerful reading when the angel Gabriel arrived, which further underscores the bond link- ing religious practice with books. For medieval and early modern Christians, religious practice was entangled with books and images. The book of hours, the laity’s prayer book, exemplifies the way illus- trated books both reflected and shaped devotional practice. 1 The book of hours was a compilation of prayers and offices modeled on the Psalters and breviaries from which monks, nuns, and priests prayed. Books of hours were often illus- trated, some lavishly so, with miniatures, decorated letters, and ornamented borders. Miniatures sometimes represent the activity of prayer: a layman kneeling in prayer near his bed (no. 67), a lavwoman attending mass with her book of hours (nos. 8e-f). Book illustrations do not precisely docu- ment religious activities, but they confirm what we know from other sources like wills, familv record books, and parish records. Images from devotional books are ideal- ized portraits of prayer. They provided spiritual models for devout readers — reminding them of God and the saints, showing them to pray upon rising and before going to bed, prompting them to help the poor, reminding them to pray for the souls of the dead, reminding them that death often arrives in the midst of life. In short, images, like texts, sug- gested to readers how to saturate their secular lives with the sacred. Books of hours were deeply personal possessions. Man- uscripts sometimes included owners’ portraits (nos. 8e-f, 75). Some owners inscribed their names and family records inside their books. The owner of a printed book wrote on the book’s end page: “These Hours belong to Dame Blanche Rat, wife of Sire Jehan Pichonat, the merchant, living in the rue Saint-Denis, at the sign of Saint-Nicolas, near [the cem- etery of] the Holv Innocents in Paris” (no. 66). Members of the Quebriac familv of Brittany (France) added lists of births, marriages, and deaths to the flyleaves of their man- uscript book of hours (no. 8). Books like these were pre- cious possessions. Household inventories show that families kept books of hours and devotional books in special coffers or cabinets, or sometimes in a corner of a room furnished with candlesticks (no. 60) and devotional objects like a small gilded silver and enamel reliquary triptveh from early four- teenth-century France or England (no. 61), and a box-shaped pendant from the mid-fourteenth centurv decorated with images of Sts. Margaret and Catherine (no. 62). Prayer books resembled devotional objects: small enough to fit into one’s hand, these little gems repaid a devotee’s gaze with beautiful materials and rich iconography. The kinship between books and devotional objects is beautifully demonstrated by a cun- ning girdle book from northeastern Spain or southwestern France (no. 63). This object — bits of which are later addi- tions — is a folding calendar combining astrological informa- tion with liturgical calendar. Like tiny prayer books called vade mecum (Latin for “go with me”), this calendar could fit inside a pocket, or hang from a belt by a cord or chain. The girdle calendar, reliquary triptych, the box-shaped pendant, and illustrated books of hours were aids to devotion in the most personal, tactile, intimate fashion. Books of hours were the most commonly owned reli- gious book. But literate Christians also owned other illus- trated books, including Psalters, works about Christ and theVirgin Mary, saints’ lives, bibles, and bible stories. One of the most popular books was The Passyon of Our Lorde, rep- resented here by an edition printed in 1 j 2 1 by Wvnkvn de Worde, one of London’s pioneering publishers (no. 73). Another commonly owned book was the so-called “art of dying” (ars moriendi ), a spiritual guide for the dying and those 88 gathered around the deathbed. There were manuscripts and many printed editions of this work, like the one produced in Leipzig in the 1490s (no. 74). 2 The book’s fourteen full-page woodcuts portray the struggle between good and evil for the soul of the dying person. Christ, the Virgin Mary, saints, and angels represent the forces of good, while grotesque demons represent evil. This probably looks to twenty-first century obseryers like a grim experience of dying. But it was meant to be consoling: the book’s reader learns that all the saints in heayen and God himself comfort whoever calls upon them at the final hour. Late medieval Christians (and later, Catholics) believed that after their death God assessed their sins and good works, and sent their souls to heaven, purgatory, or hell as final reward or punishment for their earthly life. Protestant theologians cast doubt on the church’s teachings on purgatory and good works. But Protestants agreed with Catholics that death was a portal to eternity, and hence required assiduous spiritual prepara- tion. Illustrated devotional books are full of visual remind- ers of death and judgment: a hand-painted death bed scene from a printed book of hours (no. 65c); a shrouded body lying in a bone yard, a miniature that originally illustrated the Office of the Dead in a French manuscript book of hours (no. 64); Death, depicted as a grinning, prancing skeleton, seizing in his grip people from all walks of life (no. 76). Illus- trated books are full of reminders that sudden death was no stranger to anyone of that era, and so should Christ and the saints never be far from a Christian’s conscious thoughts. Books also guided readers in specific devotional prac- tices like pilgrimage, veneration of images and relics, and the rosary. Pilgrimage is the topic of Les Merveilles de Rome (“the marvels of Rome”), a 15-36 French version of the Mirabilia Romae, a popular pilgrims’ guide to the holy city’s shrines and sights (no. 71). Like present day books of its kind, Les Merveilles de Rome attracted readers who planned to visit Rome as well as armchair pilgrims. The book’s sole illustration shows St. Veronica holding a piece of cloth bear- ing what legend called a miraculously created imprint of Jesus’ face. This cloth was believed in the late Middle Ages to be the relic of the veil with which Veronica wiped Jesus’ face while he suffered on the road to his crucifixion at Cal- vary (see no. 68e). A lively cult developed around the relic of Veronica’s veil, also called “the Holy Face,” which was at St. Peter’s basilica. : It was displayed several times a year. The anonymous author of Les Merveilles de Rome helpfully commented: “And note that whenever and for each time it is shown to the people, the Romans present in the Church of St. Peter gain for each time it is shown 3000 years of pardon and indulgence.” Visitors to Rome doubled that amount of time off purgatory, in exchange for their ardu- ous trek to the holy city. Not everyone could go on pilgrimage to Rome, w hich particularly for those living north of the Alps was a gruel- ing and costly journey. A more accessible religious practice was the rosary, for which there were a number of illustrated guides. The rosary is a sequence of prayers addressed to the Virgin Mary, arranged in series of “mysteries” honor- ing events in her life as Jesus’ mother. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, there were different ways of praying the rosary. Most commonly, devotees prayed three sets of five decades of Ave Marias, each decade introduced by a Pater Noster, while recollecting three series of five myster- ies each. (Pope John Paul II added a fourth series of myster- ies in 2002.) The rosary was usually said with the aid of a string of beads, handy for keeping count of the pravers and often a cherished personal possession (see the rosarv beads depicted in nos. 65c and 72b). The rosary was a devotional theme ripe for artis- tic interpretation. The Flemish artist Simon Bening (ca. 1483—1561) created several beautiful Rosary Psalters. The detached leaves of one of these — called the Boston - Cambridge Rosary Psalter — are now at the Boston Public Library (no. 68) and the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge, England. 4 Originally commissioned for a Spanish patron, the manuscript now consists of sixteen detached leaves, fourteen in Boston and two in Cambridge. Each leaf has a full-page illumination on one side. Fifteen of the pictures, which illustrate the mysteries of the rosary, were originally paired with pravers in Spanish and Latin on the reverse of the adjoining picture. Under Bening’s hand scenes from Christ’s life come wonderfully alive. Mary’s cousin Eliza- beth bends down to lav her hand gently on Mary’s swelling belly (no. 68a). Young Jesus precociously, confidently holds forth before the learned rabbis hunched over their books (no. 68b). A kneeling Jesus reaches toward heaven, simul- taneously appealing and accepting the fate that an angel of God announces (no. 68c). In a scene from his passion, Jesus’ tormentors look for all the world like hard-bitten street thugs (no. 68d). Bening’s genius for portraying expressive figures and faces is matched by his extraordinary landscapes of meticulously rendered hills, fields, woods, rivers, rocky cliffs and caves, marked by signs of human habitation like roads, a bridge, a windmill, a house, a walled town. Bening portrayed the empty cross, the emblem of Christ’s resurrec- tion, fully planted in the human and material world of God’s creation (no. 68f). For the viewer of this exquisite picture book, sacred history unfolds in the familiar landscapes and Gothic interiors of northern Europe. In the Rosarv Psalter, the mysteries of the Virgin’s life open a window onto Christ. He is present in each scene, if only in utero or in memory. The Virgin herself does not appear in every scene. Plainly the rosary is a devotion to 89 Christ’s life and passion, albeit as experienced bv his mother. In a 1373 book about how to say the rosary, the Spanish Jesuit writer Gaspar de Loarte makes this explicit (no. 72). Loarte ( 1498— 1 578), who was a “new Christian” or convert from Judaism, joined the Jesuits when he was in his fifties and published popular books on spiritual topics. 5 Loarte writes that the goal of saying the rosary is to help Christians meditate on “the Word Incarnate” — Christ — and imitate him. Christ’s life provides a model for Christians. To medi- tate on events in Christ’s life is to hold a mirror to one’s own life, “that we may with the eyes of our soul see that which with the eyes of our bodv we neither could nor can see.” Bv means of the rosary, devotees can internalize Christ ’s exam- ple so to make Christ the measure of the devotee’s own life. Lest this seem a matter for experts alone, Loarte assures his readers that meditating on the rosarv is “verv praiseworthy and very easy” and moreover “fruitful for all sorts of per- sons,” not onlv priests or the well educated. Like Bcning’s painted rosary, Loarte ’s literary rosarv shows that bv medi- tating on “the mysteries of the rosary” a reader could enter the lives of Christ and the Virgin Marv. Loarte ’s subtle use of the sense of vision for a spiri- tual end finds a painterly counterpart in Bening’s illumi- nated Rosary Psalter. A similar strategy is also employed in two printed picture books of the sixteenth century: Pas- sional Christi und Antichristi (the Passion of Christ and Anti- christ [no. 69]) and leones HistoriarumVeterisTestamenti (icons of histories [or stories] from the Old Testament [no. 70]). Both books are sequences of woodcuts — by Lucas Cran- ach (1472 — 1 333) and Hans Holbein ( 1497— 1 343) respec- tively — accompanied by vernacular captions suggesting how to “read” the images. The Passional Christi und Antichristi was the most success- ful work of printed propaganda on behalf of Martin Luther’s reform movement (no. 69). 6 With woodcuts created by one of Luther’s friends (the artist Cranach), and German com- mentarv written by another (theologian Philipp Melanch- thon), the Passional was published while Luther was mired in his struggle against a papacy and secular rulers determined to thwart him. Cranach was the court painter of the electors of Saxony in Wittenberg, the city where Luther began his pro- test against Rome. Working within the tradition of picture books and series of engravings depicting the Passion of Christ (the most celebrated ones were created a decade earlier bv Albrecht Diirer), Cranach designed a pamphlet of thirteen pairs of woodcuts juxtaposing the life of Christ with the life of the Antichrist, here identified as the pope. In one pair of woodcuts, the image on the left shows Jesus carrying his cross to Cabary (no. 69a), while the image on the right shows the Pope being carried in a luxurious sedan chair (no. 69b). Another pair of woodcuts contrasts Jesus driving the mon- eychangers from the temple (no. 69c) with the Pope selling indulgences (no. 6gd). Melanchthon’s caption leaves noth- ing to the viewer’s imagination: “Here sits the Antichrist in God’s temple, declaring himself to be God (as Paul warned), overturning everything God has ordained (as Daniel said), and overturning the Holv Scripture .’’The church’s failure to live up to the values enshrined in the Gospel is just as bluntly articulated in another pair of woodcuts contrasting the Jesus crowned with thorns and the pope crowned with a jewel- encrusted tiara. In the Passional Christi und Antichristi Cranach expresses visually Luther’s sharpest critique of the papacy’s corruption and claims to secular power. Luther’s protest against Rome developed into a religious movement in part because his critique found an already sympathetic audience in Germany. The Passional Christi und Antichristi succeeded as propaganda because of Cranach’s clever strategy of setting up a visual antithesis between the Gospel and Rome. Equally, the pamphlet succeeded because those w ho created it connected with a public highly skilled in reading images. The adroit w avs that creators of illustrated books worked with both ideas and visual strategies is displayed in another well received book, the leones Historiarum Veter is Testamenti (no. 70). The leones, which first appeared in 1 338, is repre- sented here by an edition published bv Jean Frellon of Lyon in 1 347. This French book w as built around a series of wood- cuts made from drawings by Hans Holbein, the German artist who w'as a court painter to the English king Henrv VIII. The pictures are presented in the manner of an emblem book, the collections of illustrated classical aphorisms so popular w ith readers in sixteenth-century France. In the leones Historiarum, a short Latin caption and a French quatrain accompany each “icon” of a story taken from the Old Testament, or Hebrew' scriptures. The texts briefly summarize the biblical story and propose moral and religious meanings readers might draw' from the picture. A good example of how this works is a pair of icons presenting the story of Job. On the left (no. 70a), Job’s friends tell him that his terrible woes are God’s just punishment for his sins. (Job’s friends are “giving affliction to the afflicted "observes the author of the French caption.) On the right (no. 70b), God tells Job that his friends are wrong and that it is Job who understands correctly: God “shows His justice in His works "however “inscrutable.” Besides deliver- ing a moral and theological message, the icons of Job’s story call attention to the acts of vision, display, and interpreta- tion. As Job’s story demonstrates, events and works can both display and obscure human character and God’s designs. In the book’s preface, Gilles Corrozet explains the connection between the act of vision and the cultivation of virtue. “Look- ing at this tapestry, the corporal eye . . . can take a singular pleasure which engenders in the heart a certain desire” to 90 love and serve God, and to avoid sin and vice. Corrozet urges readers to discard the carpets and paintings ofVenus, Cupid, Helen, and Dido adorning their homes, and replace them with “sacred savings and holy stories” like those in “this little book.” And in an afterword to the book Corrozet writes: “When vou have contemplated these images of the living God, remember the great power and marvelous works of His righteousness.” Contemplate these images and remember God. Cor- rozet ’s pithv advice handilv summarizes both the method and message of devotional images. Perhaps this is best illustrated in the concluding picture of Simon Bening’s Rosarv Psalter, where the empty cross stands almost superimposed on the world of nature and humanity (no. 68f). For the viewer and devout Christian, the world should be the background and Christ’s resurrection always the foreground. tnCmotcs 1 On use of books of hours for prayer, see Reinburg “Prayer and the Book of Hours”; Reinburg, “Books of Hours.” 2 On texts and illustrations of the Ars moriendi , in manuscript and print, see Bayard; Chart- ier; Zerner; O’Connor. 3 On the relic, image, and cult ofVeronica’s veil, see Hamburger 3 1 7—82; Morello and Wolf. Works Cited Arnould, Alain, and Jean Michel Massing, eds. Splendours of Flanders: Late Medieval Art in Cambridge Collections. Cambridge, 1993. Bayard, Florence. L’art du bien mourir au XVe siecle Etude sur les arts du bien mourir au bas moyen age d la lumiere d un “Ars moriendi " allemand du XVe siecle. Paris, 1999. Chartier, Roger. “Texts and Images: The Arts of Dying, 1450—1600.” The Cultural Uses of Print in Early Modern France. Princeton, 1987. 32-70. Davis, Natalie Zemon. “Holbein’s Pictures of Death and the Reformation at Lyons.” Studies in the Renaissance 3 (1956): 97—130. — . “Le monde de l’imprimerie humaniste: Lyon.” Histone de V edition fran^aise: Le livre conquerant, du moyen age au milieu du XVlIe siecle. Ed. Roger Chartier and Henri-Jean Martin. Paris, 1989. 303—35. Hamburger, Jeffrey. The Visual and the Visionary: Art and Female Spirituality m Late Medieval Ger- many. New York, 1998. Koerner, Joseph Leo. The Moment of Self-Portraiture in German Renaissance Art. Chicago, 1993. 4 The Boston-Cambridge Rosarv Psalter (BPL, Ms.Med.35; Fitzwilliam Ms. 257a, Ms. 257b) consists of sixteen miniatures: the Annuncia- tion, the Visitation, the Nativity, the presen- tation in the temple, Jesus with the temple doctors, the Agony in the Garden, Jesus scourged, Jesus crowned with thorns, Jesus meets St. Veronica, the Crucifixion, the Res- urrection, the Ascension, Pentecost, the Assumption of the Virgin, the Coronation of the Virgin, and the empty cross. On the manuscript see Kupfer-Tarasulo; Arnould and Massing 90—91 , 102; Marrow; Kren and McKendrick 455-56. On the rosary devo- tion, see Winston-Alien, and Wilkins’ delight- ful book. 5 The term “new Christian,” or converso, can refer to an individual who converts from Judaism to Christianity, or someone from a family of conversos. On Loarte, his work, and other similar Jesuit-authored books, see O'Malley 110—33, 1 3 9 > >74—76, 188—89, 267—72, 278, 313—14, 360—61, 367. Kren, Thomas, and Scot McKendrick. Illuminating the Renaissance: The Triumph of Flemish Manu- script Painting m Europe. Los Angeles, 2003. Kunst der Reformationszcit: Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, 1983. Berlin, 1983. Kupfer-Tarasulo, Marcia. “A Rosary Psalter Illu- minated by Simon Bening.” Quaerendo 9 (1979): 209-26. Marrow, James H. “Simon Bening in 1 5 2 1 : A Group of Dated Miniatures .” Liber Am icorum Herman Liebaers. Ed. Frans Vanwijngaerden et al. Brussels: Les Amis de la Bibliotheque Royale Albert Ier, 1984. 537—59. Morello, Giovanni, and Gerhard Wolf, eds. II volto di Cristo. Milan, 2000. Mortimer, Ruth. French Sixteenth-Century Books Harvard College Library, Department of Printing and Graphic Arts, Catalogue of Books and Manu- scripts. Cambridge, 1 964. O’Connor, Marv Catharine. The Art of Dying Well The Development of the Ars Moriendi. New York, 1942. O’Malley, JohnW. The First Jesuits. Cambridge, >993- 6 On the Passional Chnsti und Antichristi, see Scribner 148—89. On Cranach, this work, and the religious and visual w orlds of late medieval and Reformation Germany, see Scribner; Koerner $63-410; Kunst der Refor- mationszeit. 7 On the leones Histonarum Veteris Testamenti, see Mortimer 340—49; Davis, “Le monde de l’imprimerie humaniste” 334-35; Davis, “Holbein’s Pictures of Death” Mortimer writes about authorship of the woodcuts: “Since the qualitv of the blocks varies, the chief ques- tions with regard to the series have been the possibility of a hand other than Holbein’s in designing the less effective blocks and of dating of the project before 1526 to allow for the participation of Hans Liitzelburger [Hol- bein’s engraver] in the cutting” (340). Reinburg, Virginia. “Books of Hours ” The Six- teenth-Century French Religious Book. Ed. Andrew Pettegree, Paul Nelles, and Philip Conner. Aldershot, 2001. 68—82. . “Prayer and the Book of Hours.” Time Sanctified: The Book of Hours in Medieval Art and Life. Ed. Roger S. Wieck. Baltimore and New r York, 1988. 39—44. Scribner, R. W. For the Sake of Simple Folk: Popular Propaganda for the German Reformation. Cam- bridge, 1994. Wilkins, Eithne. The Rose-Garden Game.The Sym bolic Background to the European Prayer-Beads. London, 1969. Winston- Allen, Anne. Stories of the Rose:The Making of the Rosary m the Middle Ages. Uni- versity Park, 1997. Zerner, Henri. “L’art au morier ” Revue de Tart 1 1 ( 1 97 1 ) : 7“ 3°- 91 Kibiupping the Oospcls CD.J. Connolly rmenians view their church as a “national” one. This entails a syn- ergy of the sacred and the secular, which we can see from the earliest ■ recorded history of Armenian Chris- tianity and which remains conspicuous even todav. Exqui site miniature paintings in Armenian devotional books, the bindings and various appointments which accompany them, as well as the ritual for the use of those books, pro- vide some insights into the developing nature of this inter- nal dynamic between secular and sacred. G.\\ttbcn>: a $irst example The Holv Gospels 1 set forth the basic framework for the display of Christian revelation. After a prefatory cycle of miniatures and Eusebian canon tables, Armenian gospel books begin the text of each Gospek with a full— page rep- resentation of the evangelist. Of the four evangelist por- trayals in a fifteenth— century Gospel book from the col- lection of the Boston Public Library 3 (no. 78), only that of Matthew ’ (no. 78c) is original, and ot notably finer quality and compositional detail. Before his calling as a follower of Christ, Matthew (Levi Alphaiou) had served as a Roman tax collector, and Christ had found him seated in his col- lecting booth; now Matthew sits recollecting and writing the first of the sacred Gospels. An angel in the left margin symbolizes the evangelist, an unusual positioning, and an angel bust above points to the bust of a tonsured Christ in the tympanum over the evangelist’s portrait. Matthew has exchanged his secular master for the higher spiritual one, and the image immediately connotes the follow-up to the calling of Matthew, when Jesus eats with publicans and sinners and pointedly instructs the Pharisees about the worldliness of his mission: “I am not come to call the just, but sinners” (Mat 9:13). $M\\knoc‘ Although the stamped leather binding and simple toggle clasps of a sixteenth-centurv Armenian hvmnal ( saraknoc *) in the collection of the Boston Public Library 6 (no. 79) seem modest alongside the silver bindings of its two com- panions (nos. 77-78), the illuminations inside this hvmnal highlight with gold and vivid colors the histories which dwell in over one thousand original hvmn compositions set for feast days both in the dominical and sanctoral cycles. The Armenian monastic daily office of common prayer ( zamergut'iwn ) comprises seven canonical hours which supplement relatively fixed texts, essentially psalms, can- ticles, and prayers of various sorts, with medieval poetic chants (sarakans) composed for specific feasts and inserted at eight specified points in the course of the daily office. These are collected in a single volume called a saraknoc '. Beginning in the fifteenth century the saraknoc' acquired an ever richer set of illuminations. The supralinear svstem of musical notation called xaz employs some forty symbols whose names we know but whose precise interpretation is elusive: the melodies are transmitted bv oral tradition, and the various ecclesiastical centers present differing versions (elanak) in their performances and scholarly transcriptions into Western notation. Three particular illustrations of the more than one hundred fifty in the BPL saraknoc' illustrate constant inter- actions between the sacred and secular worlds. i)ripsimc In the margin of an unnumbered page in the Pentecost cycle (no. 79b), a crowned, queenlike figure with a hand cross stands pointing to a text heading Kanon srboc ' Hrip 'simeanc ' “the order for the Holy Pollowers of Rhipsime.” In the traditional Roman calendar the feast of Saints Rhipsime, Gaiana, and their companions, virgins and martyrs, coin- cides with Michaelmas (29 September), thus coming the day before the traditional Western feast day for St. Gregory the Illuminator, with whose historv theirs is closely bound up by legends. Although hagiologists often discredit these legends, they appear in standard Armenian historians from the fifth century onward and have also become an inalien- able part of the secular national tradition. The Armenian calendar celebrates them on the Monday in the week of the first Sunday after Pentecost, i.e. as the first feast after the solemn octave of Pentecost. ' The legend has a community of Roman Christian vir- gins, under the matron Gaiana, fleeing Rome to escape the amorous intentions of Diocletian toward Rhipsime, a noble member of that community. They take refuge in Arme- nia, where Trdat (Tiridates), the king of Armenia, stalked them in like manner. He eventually martyred them on 05 October (312? ad). They thus become protomartyrs of the Armenian Church immediately before the Christianization 92 of the nation. The legend gives them an instrumental role in the establishment of the national church. On the Saturday of the same week as the feast of Rhip- sime, the Armenian Church celebrates the “coming forth of our Holy Father Gregory the Illuminator from the pit,” 8 one of many feasts for that saint. As punishment for the slaving of Rhipsime and her companions, KingTrdat, while out hunting, is transformed into a wild boar. Gregory had been languishing in a pit for fifteen years, consigned there bvTrdat for religious, political, and dynastic reasons, but through the pravers of Gregorv at the behest of the king’s sister, Trdat was found and restored to his former self. The roval family thereupon embraced Christianity and decreed it for the entire Armenian nation. This moment marks the beginning of the intimate association between the sacred and the secular in the nation’s history. Rhip- sime’s queenly crown depicted here (no. 79b) is that of a founding martyr. Cbc £enten nurtyrs For the Saturday of the fourth week in Lent, 9 one folio (no. 79a) illustrates in margins forty heads neatly piled in a pyramid (6 + (3Xj) + (4X4)+2 + 1 ) on a watery plat- ter, a three-column array of thirty— nine crowns above ( 1 2 + 1 3 + 14), and the hand of God in blessing coming from the heavens. The heading directly opposite the pyr- amid of heads announces the Saturday of the Forty (Mar- tyrs of Sebastia in Armenia), 10 a feast observed through- out the universal Church on the tenth of March in the traditional Roman calendar. Their martyrdom dates to 320 ad under the reign of Emperor Licinius when, in response to a renewed persecution, forty soldiers sta- tioned in Sebastia refused the compliance order of Agri- colaus, prases of Cappadocia and Lesser Armenia. They died by exposure, naked on a frozen pond in the cold Armenian winter. According to the Latin martvrologv, one of the watch- men awoke and saw the soldiers praying and suffused with light, “messengers, as if sent bv a King, who were distrib- uting to the soldiers thirty— nine crowns.” 11 And as the watchman was asking himself Quadragesimi corona ubi est? (“Where is the crown for a fortieth?”), one of the sol- diers, who could no longer bear the cold, jumped into a tempting warm bath kept nearby. The watchman there- upon declared himself a Christian and joined the number, bringing it back to forty. The first sarakan ( Orhnut'ean ) of the night office begins on this page “[Tjoday they, who with their hardship battled and won against the enemy in Sebastia, dance in chorus with the incorporeal ones. By their intercession, o Christ, spare us.” 1 Relics of these martyrs passed to the parents of Saints Basil the Great and Gregory of Nyssa, and their panegy- rics, along with those of John Chrysostom and others, kept the cult of the Forty, a highly symbolic number for the Lenten fast, very much alive. These were the first major martyrs on Armenian soil after the declaration of Christi- anity as the national religion, even though certainly, given the composition and stationing of Roman legions, few if any of the Forty would have been of Armenian origin. But here was a cult of martyrs at the right time and in the right place to serve the needs of a growing Christian national identity. VAt’Cuiunc' On the Thursday of the second week after the fast of the Catechumens (the week before the first week of the great Lenten fast), the Armenian church celebrates a feast which increases in importance along with Armenian national awareness after the collapse of the Armenian kingdoms and the long run of Arab, Mongol and Ottoman domina- tion. Although the feast ofVardananc' does not have a full kanon of sarakans associated with it, it nonetheless merits a rare two— page spread (no. 79c) in this saraknoc‘ . It shows an incipit in gold that reads: As an outstanding wreathbearer and commander of the brave, you were manfully enflamed with the spirit of arms against death. ' 3 Above this, the illuminator has spread a two-page battle scene, Persians on the left with cavalry on stylized black- ish elephants above, Persian infantry below, confronting Armenians on the right, Armenian infantry below, Arme- nian cavalry above a river, and preceded by a taunter on foot, with severed body parts in both lower fields. This represents the lost battle of Avarayr (43 1 ad), the culmination of a ten year, small-scale insurgency against Sassanian Persian control under Yazkert I, first in the form of increased taxes, military drafts to fight Kushan incur- sions in Central Asia, then finally an attempt to convert Armenia to Zoroastrianism. The carefully composed sixth century history of Elise details the events leading up to the battle, the battle itself under the command ofVardan Mamikonean, and the consequences of the battle, which ultimately became a moral victory: Persian losses had been triple that of the defeated Armenians, Persian measures against Armenia eased, and a revolt continued for thirty years under Vahan Mamikonian. 93 In the united efforts of church and secular nobility, Armenia gained an awareness of its potential to maintain both its faith and its relative political independence. The military figures ofVardan and his soldiers became Christian martyrs, their illustration is one of the most elaborate in the saraknoc', and the title of their feast appears as one of the longest in the Armenian calendar: [Commemoration] of the Holy Vardananc' commanders: Vardan, Xoren, Artak, Hmayeak,Tacat, Nerses, Vahan, Arsen, Garegin, and of the other Armenian warriors, one thousand thirty six martyrs.* 4 holy Cross And holy Gospel In the year 6 14, as part ot an unstoppable westward sweep from Damascus (613) all the wav to Egypt (619), the armies of the Persian ruler Khosroes [588— 628, Armenian Xosrov] had captured Jerusalem and removed the enshrined relics of the True Cross to his astrological throne room in Ktesiphon (Tizbon). The seventh— centurv Armenian historian Sebeos tells about the taking of these relics and their recovery after the defeat of the Persian armies and the death of Khosroes: The first thing that [Emperor Heraclius] requested of him [Persian nobleman Xoream] was the life-giving Cross which he had captured at Jerusalem. Then Xoream swore to him, saying: “As soon as I reach the royal court I shall make inquiry about the Cross, and have it brought to you.” . . . Now Xoream took his mul titude of troops and went to Ctesiphon [the Persian capital], . . Then the venerable Heraclius dispatched loyal men to Xoream concerning the lordly Cross. [The latter] sought for it with great urgency and immediately gave it to the men who had come. They took it and departed hurriedly. [Xoream] also gave them no small amount of goods and dispatched them with great joy. The feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross in Septem- ber highlights the importance of this restoration of a relic uncovered by St. Helena, the mother of an Emperor (Con- stantine). Constantine housed the Holy Cross in a dedi- cated basilica in Jerusalem. Three centuries later it was brought back under circumstances which underline the prevailing sense of sacred over secular. According to fur- ther legend, when Heraclius approached the gate of Jeru- salem bearing the relics of the Cross, he found the going increasingly more difficult, until he could proceed no further, not from weight or overexertion but from some inexplicable force. The Patriarch Zakharias suggested that the worldly splendor of his secular adornments were unsuited to the humility which bearing the Cross requires, and after removing his imperial rohes, Heraclius was able to continue. A ritual veneration similar to, perhaps even greater than, that accorded the material relics of the life-giving Cross also applies among Armenians most particularly to the spiritual relics of Christ’s saving activity, the Holy Gos- pels. Thus, in the Armenian ritual tradition: • The Gospel book ( surb awetaran) is bound in precious metal, the Armenians preferring silver, although his- torical examples also have gold or ivory bindings, with a Crucifixion scene dominating the front panel, and a Resurrection scene dominating the rear. • One never touches the Holy Gospels without a fine cloth sudarium [Jastufui], and the Gospel book set upon the altar always has the dastaiak wrapped about it in a distinctive manner. • In the Divine Liturgy a solemn procession with the elevated Gospel book, accompanied by chanting, can- dles, rhipidia (ritual fans ,J)abellae) and incense, clock- wise around the altar (in the direction of the sun) pre- cedes the service of readings (sjnaxis), just as the even more sacred eucharistic portion has a parallel proces- sion tor the bringing of the sacred species, or “offer- ings,” to the altar. 15 • The solemn chanting of a Gospel passage bv an ordained cleric constitutes a focused part of every major service. • Every reading ol the Gospel takes place within a highly elaborate formulaic structure. 16 • The Gospel book is held aloft bv the deacon during the full chanting of the Creed. • At the close of services, the faithful come forward to kiss the celebrant’s hand cross and to venerate the book of gospels held by a deacon or priest, at which time they offer their specific intentions and vows accompa- nied by a formula from Psalm 1 9. 17 • When not in specific liturgical use, the Gospel book, wrapped at its base, is set upright at the center of the altar. • Solemn seasonal blessings (of houses, water, etc.) are made with the hand cross and with a Gospel book. 18 • Gospel books, of all service books, display the most elaborate and most finely executed painted miniatures to suit the narrative, often in a coherent prefatory cycle as in the Gospel book on display here, along with canon tables of text concordances, marginalia, and initials. 94 This detail illustrates the paramount importance of the sacred Gospel hooks to the Armenians. A realization, in this light, bv secular rulers of the monetary value that can accrue to holding a Gospel book hostage, appears three times in the example shoven here. In addition to the traditional colophons (ff. 3 i i — 3 1 6) concerning the commissioning and preparation of the Gospel book around the year 1473, and poignant written petitions such as the one at f. 1 6jv at the end of Matthew’s Gospel (“Remember also the cleric Karapet. Amen.”), 19 there are sereral mentions of the ransoming of this manu- script from captivity around 1663, prior to the addition of the current silver plates to the binding. The most straightforward of the recovery colophons (f. i6jv) reads: I, vardapet Margarav, from the land ofTaron, which is now called Mus, from the monastery of the 1 2 Apostles, now came to the land ofTarberuni to the city of Berkri to the monastery of Argelan (=Ter Yuskan Ordi], and I saw this Holy Gospel held captive by aliens, and with difficulty we managed, along with the congre- gation, to free it from the hands of the impious.^ Three other corroborating colophon entries (ft. 36r bis, 3 1 8r) provide additional names of those involved in the recovery and mention (f. 3 1 8r) a ransom sum of one hun- dred piasters. One need not look far for examples of such ransoming even contemporary with the production of this manuscript and two centuries before the rescue which Ms. q. Med. 3 4 (no. 78) details: On the sixth of the month of June, in the year 924 of our Armenian era [ad 1473), the Isamaelites captured Kafav. And this hob Gospel was captured and brought to Istanbul and I, Awetik*, purchased it and offered it to the church of St Sargis . . . Remember paron Awetik* , the last recipient of this Gospel, as well as his parents, who acquired this holy Gospel from the Muslims [aylazgi 'alien’] who captured it in Kafav and brought it to Istanbul . . . (Sanjian 1 969, > 475 - 8 ) [Sultan Mehmet II) also captured an excellent and choice Psalm Book and brought it to Istanbul; and the medical doctor Amirtovlat* found and delivered this holy book from captivity'. This occurred in the year 922 [= ad 1473]. (Sanjian 1969, 1480.1) And the famous Glajor Gospel book also experienced the same in the late fourteenth century: . . . the filthy and accursed T‘imur [=Tamerlane] plun- dered our lands. I, paron Martiros, son of Sahansa, and my wife, paron tadam, daughter of paron Arlut'ay, son of Jum, grandson of the prince of princes Pros, after much effort and expense rescued, through our honest means, this our holy ancestral Gospel, which had fallen captive into the hands of foreigners, and we now hold it as our steadfast hope and for a memorial for our souls, and for the eternal repose in Christ of our par- ents. (Mathews and Sanjian, 578) As with many Gospel books, this one opens with a prefa- tory cycle of miniatures depicting three Old Testament themes (the sacrifice of Abraham, the root of Jesse, the vision of Ezechiel) and sixteen themes related to the New Testament, which roughly coincide with the great festal “mysteries” of the Eastern Church: Annunciation, Nativity, Presentation in the Temple, Baptism of Christ, Transfigura- tion, the Raising of Lazarus, the Entry into Jerusalem, the Last Supper, the Betrayal, the Crucifixion, the Burial of Christ, the Harrowing of Hell, the Mvrrh-bearing women at the tomb, the Ascension of Christ, the Coming of the Holy Spirit, and the Dormition of the Mother of God. As if in reaction to the secular tribulations of the times, the fall of the Cilician Kingdom, the Mongol invasions, and the Ottoman depredations, which the colophons always sav have come “for our sins "Armenian manuscripts from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, such as no. 78, began adding to the prefatory cycle miniatures portray- ing the torments of the souls in Hades, and the second coming of Christ with the last judgement. In the latter scene (f. 26r) the brothers Grigor and Mkrtic* Berkrc'i, the scribe and commissioning abbot respectively, kneel before the throne of Christ as the Ancient of Days (Apoc 6: 14), while in the previous facing miniature (f. 2 ^v), St. Gregory the Illuminator, who effected Christianity as the national religion in Armenia, sits enthroned and sur- rounded bv the Apostles, while angels and demons weigh out souls in a large balance. The most dramatic and unusual set of images occurs in the pair of miniatures on ft. 24V-25T (nos. 78a-b), where the sceculum ends and the eternally sacred prevails. On folio 24V (no. 78a), three rows of three sinners, crouching naked 95 and in obvious torment, each with his sins captioned above, appear on striking red and black backgrounds. Below, demons, partlv truncated by bindery cuts, carry away large black sins on their backs, while other, yet unharvested sins sit waiting on the left, semi-circular in shape. On the facing folio 2jr (no. 78b), Satan cradles a soul, while seated on a two— headed monster, each head of which vomits (or consumes?) a soul. In a stvlized pit beneath Satan, fifteen heads look out from a background ot fire, while four additional souls, harnessed at the neck enter in single file from the left, following another demon, who car- ries sins on its back to a point bevond the frame, a dramatic way to symbolize the eternity of condemnation. The compiler of this Gospel book has seen the neces- sity of reminding those who use it, in an especially dra- matic fashion, of the ultimate end ot worldly pursuits. QXxstoc ‘ A workhorse ritual book (called in Armenian Mastoc', after the fifth— century creator of the Armenian alpha- bet and first translator of scripture into Armenian), BPL Ms. q. Arm. 1 (no. 77) offers no illustrations and little in the way of decoration. This ritual book covers, in nine- teen sections, rites for birth, marriage, death, and various blessings. The rites and texts are fairly standard. Two fea- tures of this ritual, however — one linguistic, one decora- tive — show a subtle shift in sacred— worldly perspectives for the Armenian world. Armenian makes an important linguistic distinction between grabar, the language of scripture and, by exten- sion, of higher literature, and the spoken vernaculars, asxarhabar, literally “secular/worldly language.” In West- ern Armenian dialects (the provenance of Ms. q. Arm. 1), voiced plosives of the literary language are pronounced as voiceless and usually aspirated, although the written char- acter still corresponds to the classical orthography for the corresponding voiced plosives. Thus, for example, what is written in Classical Armenian Gngor (Gregory) is pro- nounced as if it were written *K‘rik‘or . 1 Armenian spell- ing usage is highly conservative and conceals the effect of this Western Armenian sound shift. Here, however, the letter is frequently spelled phonetically with the letter , e.g. t ‘ak ‘awor for t ‘agawor (king) or hok‘ehank‘ist for hogehangist (requiem service). Although this corresponds to the Western Armenian (Cili- cian) pronunciation, such phonetic rendering in a liturgical text is totally unexpected where a relatively strict ortho- graphic standard applies. Interestingly, only the pronuncia- tion shift of the velar is recorded this way, and the fact that would be pronounced like or pronounced as is not represented. The spelling of this ritual book evidences a bold but ultimatelv unsuccessful assertion of the secular pronunciation-spelling in a sacred text. From a decorative point of view, the covers of this ritual present its most remarkable feature, starting with the colophon on the spine piece (no. 77c) concerning the binding in silver: This [is] the mastoc' / of Murat, / son of priest / Abra- ham, / which he himself / procured / and had / adorned / in silver / in the city / of Caesaria /by the silver-/smith / Malxas / M[ahtesi] Karapet / in the year/ 1 1 £3 [1 704 ad]. 22 Patrons invariably find mention in written colo- phons inside a manuscript, and may appear in miniatures kneeling before the throne of God, but a spine colophon with the owner’s name and circumstance shows osten- tation. The present text even neglects formulaic self- characterizations such as “humble servant ot God” or “sinner” and identifies the status of the silversmith as a mahtesi, pilgrim to Jerusalem. Commercialism is pressing out modesty and humility. On the front cover (no. 77a), sixteen Old Testament figures in paired and titled arcades — beginning with Moses and Joshua at the upper left and Hosea and Amos at the upper right -flank an image of Isaiah standing before the throne of God; God holds a scepter and orb and is crowned, rather surprisingly for an Oriental Orthodox church set- ting, w ith a triple tiara in Roman papal style. An angel is purifying Isaiah’s lips with a live coal (Isa 6:6—7), and two six winged seraphs hover behind the divine throne. A bottom row w ith eight prophets, including the major ones (Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezechiel, Daniel, Malachias, Zacharaias, 1 laggaeus, Abdias) in titled arcades, runs below the central image over an ornamented row of five boxes. On the back cover (no. 77b) the twelve apostles, in titled arcades, surround, at sides and bottom, a scene of Christ predicting the destruction of the Temple in Jeru- salem (Mat 24:1—2; Luc 29:44). The rendering of the “Temple” strongly resembles St. Peter’s in Rome. What are we to make of these seeminglv Romish intru- sions into the heart of Anatolia? The work of missionar- ies? Or is commerce again overtaking doctrinal and tra- ditional interests? Armenians, through their highly developed mercantile connections, were among the foremost exploiters of the emergent Western printing technologies of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in Venice, Rome, Basel, Istanbul 96 and Amsterdam, but the manuscript tradition continued in the homeland long alter the appearance of the first com- plete Armenian printed bible in 1666 in Amsterdam. The publisher of the Amsterdam Bible, Oskan Erewanc‘i, used derivative woodcuts bv a local artist, Christoffel van Sichem II, and these woodcuts served as a copv book for silversmiths and muralists in the Armenian Near East, including the sil- versmith who made the binding plates for this Mastoc‘. The Romish motifs in the main cover, therefore, derived not from Catholic proselvtism but from the incor- poration of readily available and perhaps esoteric West- ern images into Eastern decorative processes. The secular world won again. Political conveniences at one end of Armenian his- tory and commercial considerations at the other leave their traces even in the most devout of devotional books. Yet the simple declarations of colophons and the thematic placement of miniatures reassert in those same books the importance of keeping one’s eye on the world to come and of living the sacred values, which transcend the sec- ular. The seventeen-hundred vear old Armenian condo- minium of nation and church has continually ensured that no pitched battles rage between sacred and secular, but small tensions plav themselves out in subtle ways, rell- ected in the synthesis to which even simple devotional books bear witness. tnCmotes 1 Arm. awetaran “book of good tidings ,” in tet- raeuaggelion style presenting the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John in book, chapter and verse sequence. There also exist later lectionary— style gospel books which present the liturgical readings (pericopes) in calendar order. 2 Arm. : ast Ma(t)t ‘eosi, ast Markosi, ast Lukasu, ast Yovhannou 3 BPL Ms.q.Med. 34 4 BPL Ms.q.Med. 34, f. 36V 5 KaGqpevov eni to reAcoviov, Mat 9:9-13; Mar 2:13—22; Luc 5.27—32. 6 BPL Ms.q.Med. 1 99 7 On 3 1 May in 2005, always dependent upon the date of Easter, fifty days before Pente- cost. 8 Arm. Srboy horn meroy Grigori Lusaworc 'in eln i virapen 9 Very few Armenian feasts fall on specific dates, but are set on fixed weekdays rela- tive to a given Sunday, which is in turn rela- tive to the date of Easter or of other Sundays “closest” to a commemorative date. 10 Arm . : Sabat ‘ srboc ‘ k 'arasnic ' e. Works consulted Arzumanean, Zawen. Hayeren jeragirner Post'ani mej (Mesec‘usec‘) — (Post'an P‘aplik‘ Lavpriri). [Manuscripts in Arme- nian in Boston (Massachusetts) — (Boston Public Library)]. Hayastaneayc' ckelcc'i Apr 1963: 1 1 3-1 14. [reprinted from Sion Nov- Dee 1 962 : 308-309]. Der Nersessian, Sirarpie. Aght’amar. Church of the Holy Cross. Cambridge, 1965. . “An Armenian Gospel of the fifteenth century.” Boston Public Library Quarterly Jan. 1950 : 3—24. 11 et quosdam a ccelo descendentes angclos tamquam a Rege missos, qui coronas tnginta novem militi- bus distribuerent 12 Arm.: Aysor and anmarmnoc'n dass . 13 Arm. : Norahras psakawor e\v zoraglux arak'ineac', varec'ar zinu hogwoyn [anabar anddem mahu] 14 Arm . : Srboc ‘ Vardananc ‘ zoravarac Vardanay, Xorenay, Artakay, Hmayekaj, Tacatay, Nersesi, Vah- anay, Arseni, Garegni, ew ayl zorakanac'n Hayoc ‘ bazar eresun ew vec ‘ vkayic '. 15 This is similar to, but far from identical with, the Lesser and Greater Entrance rites in other Eastern Christian traditions. 16 C. Aleluia. D. Ort'i [Arise!] P. Peace to all C. And with thy spirit. D2 :Let us attend in fear D: To this Holy Gospel according to Matthew C: Glory to thee, o Lord, our God. D: Proskhume(n) [Let us attend!] C: God is speaking. D: Our Lord Jesus Christ saith: (or similar formulaic incipit) D: C: Glory to thee, o Lord, our God. Elise. Elisei Vasn Vardanay ew Hayoc ‘ paterazmin. Edited by E.Ter-Minasean. [Elise’s On Vardan and the Armenian war ] Erevan, 1957. Haraszti, Zoltan. “Additions to the Rare Book Department.” Boston Public Library Quarterly Apr. 1957: 50-72. Haykakan manrankarjut'yun / Armjanskaja min- latjura / Miniatures armemennes. Text and notes by L.A. Durnovo. Edition and pref- ace by R.G. Drambyan. Erevan, 1967. Mathews, Thomas F. and Avedis K. Sanjian. Arme man gospel iconography. The tradition of the Glajor Gospel. With contributions by Mary Virginia Orna and James R. Russell. Wash- ington DC, 1991 . — . and Roger S. Wieck, cds. Treasures in Heaven. Armenian illuminated manuscripts. Princeton, 1994. 17 May the Lord give to you in keeping with your heart, and may he bring all your secret intentions to pass (Psalm 1 9:05). 18 May this water be blessed by the sign of the Holy Cross and by this Holy Gospel ... in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, now and always and for all eternity. 19 Arm . : ews aravel yisec ‘ek ‘ ztirac ‘u karapetn amen 20 Arm.: Es markara vardapet i yerkren taronoy or ayzm mus koci or em 1 vanac'n bzn [ —erkutasan ] arak'eloc'n ew ayzm eki iyerkirn tarberun(w)oy ■ 1 k ‘alak ‘n berkri i vank 'n argelanic ‘ • ew tesi zays surb awetarans 1 jers aylazgac * geri • ew haziw karac'ak ‘ hander j zolovrdeamb azatel 1 jeracn anawrinac'n. 21 One can even see a trace of this in the common Armenian-English diaspora name Kirk. 22 Arm. : mastoc's / ays mura- / t ordi t(e)r / abrahamin / zor ink ‘n / astac 'aw / ew zardar- / ec‘ area- / t'aw kesa- / nak'ala-/ k'injer-/ amb area- / t ‘agorc / malxasin / m karape- / tin t'(i)vn / rc'cg Nordenfalk, Carl. Die spdtantiken Kanontafeln. Kunstgeschichtliche Studien iiber die eusebi - anische Evangelien—konkordanz in den vier ersten Jahrhunderten lhrer Geschichte. Gotc- borg, 1938. Sanjian, Avedia K. A catalogue of medieval Arme- nian manuscripts in the United States. Berke- ley, 1976. ., ed. and trans. Colophons of Armenian manuscripts, 1301 - 1480 . A source for Middle Eastern history. Cambridge, 1969. 97 Aturicc, CDoncy, Atib Judgment D\y PaiucIa Berger of a commercial revolution. Previously, populations had been organized almost exclusively around the feudal manor and the monastery, with some small agrarian villages interspersed in the countryside. In the eleventh cen- turv, however, urban centers emerged. Craftsmen and mer- chants came together and a burgeoning economy developed (Little 1971, 27). Italv, Spain, and France began to trade more actively with Bvzantium and the Arab world; fairs and traveling merchants flourished. Rural migration to the towns resulted in a growing urban population, which in turn, brought about greater need for coinage. Formerly, people had engaged in barter for goods. Serfs had worked for the lord on his manor and had brought their tithes to the bailiff. The goods they provided were exchanged for their use of the lord's land. Knights had been equipped with horses and weapons in exchange for their service as warriors. Monks in monasteries had prayed for souls and were rewarded with estates and with gold or silver, much of which was used to create precious vessels for their altars. But starting in the eleventh centurv, silver and gold were no longer exclusively tied up in objects cre- ated for the Church or for the table of the nobility. Those precious metals became more readily available to be made into coinage for the new economy, an economy centered around money, commerce, and the banking trade. By 1100, craftsmen were leaving manorial workshops and moving into the new towns. A commercial revolution had taken place, and the changes that it brought about were to domi- nate the secular life of the later Middle Ages (Little 1971, 27—28; Little 1978, 17). This new economy ushered in widespread criticism of monetary greed and the accumulation of wealth. Starting in the twelfth century, an ambivalence and outright hos- tilitv toward money is reflected in the arts: in the devel- opment of the figure of the Miser and his metamorphoses into the personification of Avarice; in scenes relating to the Gospel narrative; in exempla and stories warning against greed and sin; in exhortations on the deathbed; and in visions of a Last Judgment, where cupidity is among the sins most harshly punished. The Miser, who, in the twelfth centurv, became the per- sonification of Avarice, exemplifies the new hostility toward money. 1 For men, Avarice was the most sinful of vices; for women it was Luxuria, or Sexual Sin. Avarice and Luxuria find their places in medieval sculpture, particularly in asso- ciation with Death, the Devil, and Hell. The Miser and the Devil, originally from a church in southwestern France and now in the collection of the Museum of Fine Arts, is a mag- nificent example of the monographic type (no. 81). 1 lere, the Miser kneels on a cylindrical chest presumably containing his riches; a bag full of coinage hangs around his neck. He is well-dressed in a calf-length garment and well-shod in what appear to be leather shoes. His hair and beard are elegantly coiffed. His hands grasp the rope which both ties closed his moneybag and serves as a noose around his neck. The Devil bears his character’s distinguishing features: bald head, misshapen skull, protruding brow, large up turned nose, and grotesquelv gaping mouth. Most of his body appears as if covered in fur, except for the skeletal part of his right forearm which terminates in long-nailed claws, seemingly ready to grasp the Miser. His left hand sits Hrmlv on the Miser’s head, a telling gesture that indicates the man is his. The fact that the Miser is clothed shows that he has not vet left this life, but the Devil’s presence reveals that death may not be far away. Given these attributes and positioning, this Miser has become Avarice personified. This relief may have formed part of a program on a church facade, a placement which would have made it accessible to public viewing. The figures would have served to remind those entering and leaving the church of what would await them if they were led astray by greed. Such reminders of the perils faced by the avaricious are prevalent in church architecture and book illustration start- ing in the twelfth century. Magnificent tvmpana and illu- minated pages provide numerous examples of the theme. These works were promoted and patronized by the Church and reveal the deeply rooted ecclesiastical hostility toward money, a hostility seeminglv supported by passages in the Gospel. One of Jesus’ most striking actions was his ousting of the moneychangers from the court of the Temple. In the context of first-century Jerusalem, those who came from all over Judea to offer sacrifices at the Temple would have had to change their coinage somewhere in order to buy the doves or other animals required for sacrifice. But Jesus held that even the outer courtvard of the Temple was too sacred for such mercantile activity, and he purified it (Murphv 3 38—340). In addition, Jesus was critical of those associated with excess money. He told the parable of the uncharitable rich man. Dives, who would not let poor Lazarus eat at his 98 table. Dives was assigned to Hell, and Lazarus was carried to heaven, where he sat with Abraham (Luke i 6: i 9—3 1 ). The rich man had committed no crime, but it was the sin of omission — of not giving charity — that assigned him to the fires. And in Mark (10:21—26), Jesus says one should sell everything he has and give it to the poor, for a rich man has no chance of entering heaven. Then, in the Passion Nar- rative there is the figure of Judas, who betraved Jesus for thirtv pieces of silver. The hostilitv toward money that is part of the Gospel message has a long history in Christian imagery. One pic- torial example of Jesus chasing the moneychangers from the Temple is found in the Biblia Pauperum, (Bible of the Poor), though it certainly was not for the poor, because they did not have or read books (no. 24b).' This German version from 1460 at the Boston Public Library is a block- book, i.e. printed from woodcuts. It contains images of forty episodes from the Gospels framed by scenes from the Old Testament. The flanking scenes are pre-figurations of the event depicted in the center. Arranged in this manner, the Old Testament is viewed as a kind of code for the New Tes- tament. The scene here of Jesus purifying the Temple rep- resents John 2:13—17. As the text on the bottom reveals: “Christ drives the buyers and sellers from the Temple.” In the center, Jesus holding a whip, foists out a man who car- ries a basket filled with doves; the man selling sheep rushes out behind him. On Jesus’ right, a man carries a bench for moneychanging. ' The head of this moneychanger is topped bv the kind of pointed hat worn from the thirteenth through the fifteenth centuries bv Jews, especially in the Germanic lands. Coins fall out of a container front and center, a posi- tion that emphasizes that Jesus is eliminating the filth that money represents, and thus, purifying the Temple. The idea of purification is underscored in the two flank- ing images. The writing in the top left corner explains that the scene below it is inspired by the Book of Ezra (1 Ezra 6: 16—22) when “King Darius told Esdras the Scribe to go to Jerusalem, and how to purify theTemple.”The text goes on to recount that King Darius signifies Jesus, who drove the buyers and sellers from the Temple. The text in the upper right corner is inspired bv I Maccabees IV, 36—^8, when “Judas Machabeus told the Jews they should cleanse the Temple of forbidden things and make it holy . . . .’’The actions of Darius and Judah Maccabee, connected as they are to the theme of purification, are pictured here as pre- figurations of Jesus cleansing the Temple. The framing prophets are Hosea, David, Amos, and Zacharias. Their unfurled scrolls, filled with writings reinforcing the theme of cleansing, are witnesses to the three scenes of “purifica- tion”: the two Old Testament figures, the “tvpes”; and the New Testament figure of Jesus, the “antitype .’’These “types” and “antitypes,” shown here in the Biblia Pauperum, were widely known in the Middle Ages, not only by those who could read, but also bv the illiterate. They heard the stories of these “pre -figurations” from their village priests and saw examples in stained glass windows, enamels, misericords, and other sculpture (Henry 35— 36). The images were part of the medieval culture of the unlettered, even if these pre- literate people did not have access to the Biblia Pauperum. In all three images of this triptych, as in much medi- eval imagery, the Temple is depicted in a circular plan with a dome on top. The Old Testament does not describe it in this wav. We know, however, that when the crusaders arrived in Jerusalem, they believed that thev had discovered the Temple of Solomon when thev saw the Dome of the Rock, the shrine that to the present day is located on the Temple Mount, called the Haram al-Sharif bv the Muslims. Eventu- ally, the Knights Templar hung a placard above the entrance with the words Templum Solomoni, and, until the seventeenth century, both Christian and Jewish pictorial iconography depicted the Temple as circular and with a dome above it, as in this rendering (Vilnay 2o, 38). The origins of the Biblia Pauperum are obscure. Though manuscript versions from the earlier Middle Ages exist, most extant copies are in the form of the printed book. It is possible that the images were fashioned as a didactic tool, to teach particular interpretations of the New Testament stories and to expound doctrines. It has also been suggested that perhaps they were originally used as an aid to medita- tion (Henrv 18). Some have suggested that the Biblia Paupe- rum was aimed at Jews, since the book emphasizes how the New Testament fulfilled the promises implicit in the events and figures of the OklTestament (Labriola j). But whatever the original target audience, the message is clear that in the depictions and text in which Jesus figures, money is associ- ated with the unclean. The storv of Lazarus and the Rich Man is another sec- tion of the Gospels in which Jesus expresses an hostility toward worldly wealth. In Luke 16:19, Jesus recounts the Parable of the Rich Man, who, in the literature, is called Dives, and who, like Miser, is merged in art with the image of Avarice. We learn that Dives is“. . . dressed in purple and fine linen and lived in luxury every dav. At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered with sores and longing to eat what fell from the rich man’s table. Even the dogs came and licked his sores.” 4 But Dives would not allow poor Laza- rus to sit down at his table. When Lazarus died, he was car- ried up to sit by Abraham; the rich man was tormented in the flames of Hell. This storv was widely depicted in medi- eval art, both in sculpture and in manuscript painting. One example comes from an Italian Picture Bible from about 1 3 7 j . Lazarus is lving in the courtyard of Dives’ house, a 99 FIG. 1 Flemish Breviary, earlv 1 4 th century, f . 4 1 v, Add . 29233, Bv permission of the British Library fftabuntnci nu> i fodluta I {nint m cu utxiiutuo. cgpoiohbe iCiadmnn aiair !j inmdp&rf adumoic (me mated fmmiuimjc j dmiUpomu » (he otnnn (tu fous J*uwtau fig ndCammadama mtucamagna q[mo? Ttpamauni I fetora*pftmi luxurious dwelling in an Italian late medieval town (no. 82c). The rich man and his surroundings are pictured clearly as part of the wicked, sordid urban liie. At Lazarus’ side sit two dogs, one of which is licking his wounds in accordance with the words of the Gospel. The beggar holds a hand to his head in a gesture of woe. Dives, in a sumptuous red robe, sits on the balconv, and a figure who appears to be a servant stands behind him. The vernacular inscription below reads: “11 povero Lazzaro,” the poor Lazarus. In the Gospel storv, as in this Picture Bible, there is no indication that Dives has committed anv crime. But he is part of the wicked urban life, he is greedv and does not give charitv, and for that he is assigned to Hades. The lack of personal connection between Dives and Lazarus is made clear by the positioning of the two figures, with Dives lording it above the poor beggar, making a connection between them impossible. Money cor- rupted this Italian medieval version ol Dives, so he was con- demned to Hell. Dives here exemplifies how the change from an agrarian to a mercantile economy provoked hostile reactions. Money was seen as impersonal, and those who possessed it had to be warned against being uncharitable. As the use of coinage instead of barter became the norm, transactions could take place between total strangers, unlike the trading in kind, where one agricultural product was traded for another. For some, the impersonality' of money was repulsive, its destructive effect feared (Little 1978, 33—34; Little 1971, 27). They conjectured that the Devil was luring people to use money, and in some images from the period monev actually turned into excrement or vomit. An earlv four- teenth-century Flemish Breviary in the British Library con- tains two images of coinage being defecated into a bowl. In one marginalia it is a simian creature who defecates (fig. 1), in another, a hybrid (tig. 2). Though the wealthy must have commissioned some of the images that associated money with filth, by promoting sacred works dedicated to the glory of God, they might have been able to mitigate the guilt thev mav have felt regarding their wealth. Since officially the Church had a negative tradition relat- ing to money and coinage, it had few positive teachings to guide it into an era when money and coinage was in free use. Buy ing and selling, as well as the profits that resulted, were all connected to sin. And, most of all, charging interest on money lent was sinful. It yvas Jeyvs who were most often the moneylenders, for according to Deuteronomy 23:19— 20, Jews were permitted to charge interest to strangers, but never to brothers. And, partially through similarity of name, Jews were linked yvith Judas, yvho betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver. Thus filth, the Jew, and Judas came to be seen as intimately connected. Several yvorks in the Boston Public Library provide examples of an iconography' that associates Judas yvith Jews (nos. 83 and 6se). In many late medieval examples, Judas has the distinctive red beard and yelloyv garment. He is shoyvn in profile, as are other eyil- doers in the Bible, such as Cain. As he kisses Jesus, Judas’ attribute, the moneybag with the thirty pieces of silver, is prominently displayed in his hand. In the medieval imagina- tion, Judas’ moneybag allied him with Jews and with filthv lucre. Jews became the archetype for all those engaged in what was called usury. In actuality, Jews were only a tiny minority of those yvho took part in monetary acth'ity; but thev bore the brunt of the guilt that Christians began to feel for the money-driven economv. Bv the late twelfth century, English and French princes had a great need to borrow, and not enough Jews were available to provide all this capital. Thus, princes created the categorv of“their Jews,”i.e. Chris- tians yvho could lend money as the princes needed it and yet remain free from anv harassment by Church authorities (Little 1978, 56-57). The Church fathers reinforced this hostility' toward money by expounding on the sin of Avarice. Often their commentaries were elaborations on the text of Paul ( 1 Tim . 6:10): “For the love of monev is the root of all evils; it is through this craving that some have wandered away from the faith and pierced their hearts with many pangs.” Begin- ning in the eleventh century, this text was yvidelv discussed, sometimes citing Avarice as a contributor to the yvretch- edness of the poor, other times blaming Avarice for the corruption of public officials. But for the individual in the Middle Ages, a successful battle against Avarice and all other sins had its greatest benefits at the time of death, yvhen one hoped to be among the rewarded. One particular story that reminded people that death awaits us all grew popu- lar in the Middle Ages. The legend, termed an exemplum 100 in medieval parlance, is called “The Three Living and the Three Dead.” It appears in French poetrv in the eleventh or twelfth centurv, hut it mav go back to ancient Arabia (Dubruck fSj.The exemplum is often illustrated with three figures coming upon three skeletons in various stages of decay. One skeleton speaks to them: “As I am, you will be; as you are, I once was.”The legend found its way into numerous Books of Hours, usually as part of the Office of the Dead, as in the examples discussed below (nos. 84a-b and 65c!). In the upper border of folio 8jy of the Office of the Dead (no. 84a), a gruesome skull wears a golden crown. In the miniature below it, three figures represent a king, a prince, and an “oriental” potentate, each a different age. The young prince is blond, the middle-aged potentate has dark hair and skin, and the old king is grey. They have come upon a three-part tomb containing cadavers, one of which appears to wear a king’s crown, and another a bish- op’s miter. The center figure, decayed to the point of being a skeleton, sits up and raises his hand in a speaking gesture. The holv man kneeling on the left holds a scroll revealing the skeleton’s words. The letters form part of the motto quoted above, reminding the living that they will one day be like the deceased. The gestures and attributes of the figures amplifv the story. The prince holds a bird, a possible allusion to the hunt, one of the most enjoyable activities of the aris- tocracy. The old king, reacting to the smell of the decaying flesh, holds his hand up to his nose, a gesture typical in this scene. The dark figure with the “oriental” headdress points to the young prince who, like the others, will one day be a cadaver. The artist has tilted the tombs up slightly so that their contents can be viewed more readily. This pictorial version of the story differs slightly from another repre- sentation in which the three deceased do not retain any of their clothing (no. 65c!) . In this second representation the bodies still have some flesh, though the bellies have been eaten away. They face three young aristocrats riding richly adorned horses; the image of the aristocrat on a horse is emblematic of the sin of Pride. Though the young men are not looking at the cadavers, the central youth gestures in surprise, presumably reacting to the central skeleton, who raises his hand to speak the fateful words. The assumption embodied in this exemplum is that the dead could arise and speak. Though the legend had secular beginnings and was recorded in secular literature, the idea that the dead could come back to earth and that the living could see them and communicate with them had its ori gins in biblical texts, such as the vision set down in Daniel 7:9-10: “As I looked, thrones were placed, and one that was ancient of days took his seat . . . and a thousand thou- sands served him and ten thousand times ten thousand stood before him; the court sat in judgment, and the books were opened.” And, attributed to John, the belief is found again in the Book of Revelation: “. . . And I saw the dead stand- ing before the throne . . . and the sea gave up the dead in it, Death and Hades gave up the dead in them . . .”(20:12— 13). The writings of Church fathers, such as Augustine and Jerome, added to the imagery of bodily forms rising up after death. The most influential text mav have been that of St. Athanasius of Alexandria, who is credited with the prayer Quicumque vult, the Athanasian Creed, which ends with the words that, at the Second Coming of Jesus “. . . all men shall rise again with their bodies, and shall give account for their own works. And they that have done good shall go into life everlasting, and thev that have done evil into everlast- ing Hre” (Catholic Encyclopedia) .Thus , the text and imagery of the three living and the three dead were exhortations to reject the worldly pleasures that greed may afford and pre- pare for the Final Judgment so as not to risk being assigned to the everlasting tire. Manuscripts on the art of dying existed in the late Middle Ages, and these works increased in number after ntogtiqmuqiui loath olauaua i ttafudCWofot ceiw wfcuettrmi utteettniimauu tlitotfo tUOUt nut centra tiutamu wiacrtunctattat iuatdufcaatK (tut Cat d(UU(D2C I fpuucmmutatu aauntadnTftpi turatcfita-Gl 50 ’oUm ftuthftra n {pmumtmcan uUci’mftaui-C] tn him quid halt tonothtuumqft fttuf (foum tm FIG. 2 Flemish Breviary, early 1 4 th century, f. 4 1 o v, Add . 2 9 2 5 3 , Bv permission of the British Library 101 FIG 3 Ms. q. Med. 8 i , folio 1431; (no. 8f) detail of pistil and donor’s purse 1336, when Benedict XII put forth an edict establishing the individual judgment of souls. As a result, people were prompted to give more thought to how they would prepare for death. The most popular book preparing a person for the final hours is the Ars Moriendi (no. 74b). Though several manuscript copies are extant, the woodblock prints, pub- lished in several languages, were the most widely known (Zerner 7). Each provided detailed instructions on how a Christian could ensure a good death. The dying person is asked to contemplate and renounce five temptations: the temptation to be unfaithful, to give in to despair, the temp- tation to be impatient, prideful, or avaricious. Images relat- ing to each of these temptations depict a man on his death bed encountering the forces of good and evil, personified on the one hand by saints, and on the other by devils who try to keep him from renouncing his attachment to the five vices. In this example, the dying man lies in an up-tilted bed. Devils cavort, wide-mouthed, pointing at the riches that he has accumulated: his house, the garment within, the barrels of wine, the horse. The text recounts his preoccu- pation with temporal riches and his neglect of his soul. He is instructed to give up all his worldly goods, as well as his attachment to family and friends. Such things are distrac- tions and will impede his commitment to the sacred. He should be cleansed of his love of the secular and turn to the love of God and to his hope for salvation. Though the Ars Moriendi manuscripts would have been obtainable only by ecclesiastics and those wealthy enough to afford them, printed versions were widely available. The admonitions they contained were recited at the bedside, and family members would have been aware of the vivid strug gles portrayed in the images. As such, not onlv would the words and images have profoundly effected the imagination of the dying, but all those witnessing the death would have been awed and frightened by them as well. The preparation for the Final Judgment clearly encompassed an exhortation to renounce the greed that may have been part of one’s life, so that he or she would face an eternal life in heaven. One of the ways people sought to avoid hell and dem- onstrate their piety was to pay for chapels, paintings, or expensive Books of Hours. One French Book ol Hours has an elaborate inserted page alluding to this practice (no. 8f). The miniature shows a scene within a scene within a scene. The aristocratic young woman in green is being invited by Ecclesia (a personification of the Church) to experience a vision. The young woman kneeling before the altar sees Pope Gregorv saying the Mass. Gregory himself is having a visionary experience. He sees an image of Jesus rising from the tomb with blood dripping from his hands and crowned in thorns. Gregory’s vision of Jesus, and the young woman’s vision of them both, are observed by six men at the church entrance. Some have gaping mouths as they gaze at the scene in astonishment. The man with the best view of the vision is dressed in a blue garment with a red cape. 1 le is likely the patron who paid for the illumination of the page. The artist who painted the marginalia seems to have played a little joke on him by whimsically alluding to his patron’s wealth. The pistil of the flower near him in the border points out the prominently displayed gold purse hanging at his waist (fig. 3). Perhaps the man wanted his purse so noted. He mav have appreciated the artist’s clever w ay of demonstrating his support for the creation of a sacred image with the money in his purse. The patron may have felt that the pictorial allusion could help win him a place in heaven, where, like Gregorv and the young woman in green, he also could hope one day to see Jesus. The imagery of the Final Judgment at the Second Coming of Jesus and the resulting assignment to heaven or hell is part of many illustrated Books of Hours. The more modest depictions include a few symbolic resurrection scenes with figures close to the Jesus of the final days. One depicts a Jesus of the Apocalypse (no. 46b) with sword at his head and wounds apparent. Clothed in a blood-red gar- ment, Jesus is seated on a rainbow^ w ith his feet on a sphere representing the world. Mary and John are praying for the nude figures who rise from the earth. Another illustration (no. 8c) show r s a King and a Pope among those rising from their coffins. One of the more elaborate depictions is found in the small Italian Picture Bible discussed above (no. 82d). A crow ned Jesus sits on high with his scepter. The instru- ments of the Passion surround him: the cross, the whips, the column, and the crown of thorns. Angels arc blowing horns 102 and playing musical instruments. To his right are the blessed in the form of little white praying souls. Below them is a row of martyred saints in red and white. The martyr closest to Jesus presents a soul to him. At the bottom, nude figures representing more souls come out of crevices or sarcophagi. To Jesus’ left is the Archangel Michael with his sword and banner. The souls near him are being forced into a hell inhab- ited by winged snakes and four-legged dragons. Fire comes front the left side of Jesus, as well as from the earth and from of the head of the horned Lucifer. This large-mouthed, gro- tesque Satan/ Lucifer holds a crowned figure and a cardinal in his hands. To his left, a boatman poles awav, and beneath him a monkey grills a soul on a spit. Though tiny in format, this is among the more horror-filled medieval representa- tion of the last days. It mirrors the imagery of Giotto’s Last Judgment in the Arena Chapel and is in a tradition dating back to the magnificent monumental Last Judgment tympana of the Romanesque period. Among those figures who would be assigned a place in this hell is surely the Miser (no. 81), who, at death, still kneels on the chest containing his wealth and grasps the bag around his neck even as he feels the claws of the devil scratching at his shoulder. tnCmotcs 1 For a studv of Avarice in relation to Charity, see Adolf Katzenellenbogen, Allegories of the Virtues and Vices in Mediaeval Art . New York. 1964. Katzenellenbogen’s study deals mostly with the personification of Avarice as a female figure, influenced by the feminine Latin noun Avar itia. This tradition goes back to the fifth - century text, The Psychomachia of Prudentius. The earliest surviving fragment is c. 1300, but copies from the mid-thirteenth century must have existed. See Henry 3. In the Middle Ages, moneychangers set them selves up behind benches, or banques, hence the origin of the term bank The biblical quotation is from New Interna- tional Version Stud\ Bible, Zondervan, 1991 The style of this Picture Bible has been infl- uenced bv the late-medieval master Giotto. Works Cited Baumann, Priscilla. “The Deadliest Sin: Warnings against Avarice and Usury on Romanesque Capitals in Auvergne .” Church History 59 (March 1990): 7—18. — . “Miser and usurer iconography in Romanesque Auvergne; Variation on a theme.” The Profane Arts of the Middle Ages. 5 . 2 (1996) 1 £i— 160. Catholic Encyclopedia. “The Athanasian Creed.” http: / / www.newadvent.org/ cathen/ 02033b.htm DuBruck, Edelgard E. The Theme of Death in French Poetry of the Middle Ages and Renaissance. The Hague, 1964. Henrv, Avril. Bibha Pauperum. Ithaca, 1987. Katzenellenbogen, Adolf. Allegories of the Virtues and Vices in Mediaeval Art. New York, 1964. Labriloa, Albert C., and JohnW. Smeltz, trans. The Bible of the Poor, Biblia Pauperum, A Facsimile and Edition of the British Library Blockbook C.9d 2. Pittsburgh, 1990. Little, Lester K. “Pride Goes before Avarice: Social Change and the Vices in Latin Chris- tendom T American Historical Review LXXVI (1971): 16-49. . Religious Poverty and the Proft Economy in Medieval Europe. Ithaca, 1978. Murphv, Frederick. The Historical Jesus. Nash- ville, 2005. Vilnav, Zev. Legends of Jerusalem. Philadelphia, * 973 - Zerner, Henri. “L’art au Moricr.” Rerue de l'Art 1 1 (1971): 7-30. 103 Sums, Sanctity, anO Silk in £ate Anglo-Saxon €nglanJ» Robin Fleming old-embroidered veils and silken robes (nos. 35-39) emblematic of Madonnas and the elegantlv banded clothing of apostles (no. 96) are fixtures of medi- eval art and appear throughout this exhibition. Less well-known, but also ubiquitous — both in the Middle Ages and here — are the remains of the magni- ficent silks used to wrap the bodies of saints, bishops, kings, and nobles (nos. 86-90). The silk shrouds of the aristocracy are closelv related to the fancy vestments of the saints and share their interesting history. Both categories came from milieus in which ecclesiastic and secular elites had abun- dant cash and increasing access to networks of international trade, and both were well in evidence by the tenth and eleventh centuries, when exotic textiles, in particular silk, became marks of sanctitv as well as social status. Impor- tant ecclesiastical communities collected silks to decorate their churches, swath their relics, and shroud their bish- ops. And aristocrats advertised their special standing, not with neck torques or massive silver brooches, but with imported textiles (Fleming 2003, i2j) (including those produced in Islamic lands, for which see Bloom and Blair in this volume), and, more and more, proffered silks as pious gifts. 1 Given their wealth and access to the market, and the amount of time they spent together, we should not be sur- prised that great ecclesiastics and aristocrats each emu- lated the other’s uses of exotic fabrics. As we shall see, both groups dressed on important occasions in magnificent and quite similar silk fashions. Monastic artists depicted holy men and women in the extravagant garb of the rich; and patricians began to bury their dead in silk, in the same way that ecclesiastics laid to rest their saints and bishops. This essay will focus on England, in the tenth and elev- enth centuries because historians know little of England’s evidence for exotic textile use. Late Anglo-Saxon England also provides a case studv of the ways in which increasing wealth and commerce transformed both social and pious practices, and illustrates how laypeople emulated church- men and vice versa. Moreover, in England, the uses and functions of exotic textiles are nearly invisible without a combination of evidence from textual, art historical, and archaeological sources, and from the Continent, as well. Thus, this essay contains not only an argument about the relationship between the sacred and the secular, but also a claim about historical method — one that propounds that historians of the early Middle Ages must think as hard about material culture as they do about texts. Secular finery In the late Anglo-Saxon period, England’s wealthiest secular lords were scandalously well dressed , 2 rousing much criti- cism among the clergv. Once in the grave, so the Blickling homilist reminded his listeners, where will [a dead man’s) frivolous garments be? Where will the ornaments and expensive attire be with which he once clothed his body? . . . Where vou once saw silk [godweb] embellished with gold, you now see a bit of dust and the remnants of worms. (78—81) Homiletic fulminations did little, however, to dampen the laity’s enthusiasm for finery. William of Malmesbury reports, for example, that when St. zEthelwold chastised King Edgar’s daughter for wearing costlv attire, the princess coolly retorted, “Pride may just as easily exist under mean clothes. Indeed, it strikes me that a mind can be as pure under my robes as under vour tattered skins” (1887 vol. I, 269—70). Manuscript illustrations of the period reveal some of what the critics saw, such as great men dressed in short tunics with Hared skirts, their cuffs, collars, and hems edged with broad bands of tablet- woven braid, embroidery, or pat- terned silk. 3 Sometimes this edging was further embellished with gemstones or pearls. 4 Noblemen also wore commo- dious, below-the-knee cloaks. 5 The elaborate borders on these clothes look to have been stitched onto garments fash- ioned from linen or wool, something that minimized the use of expensive trim and maximized its effects. Still, bordered garments were rich men’s attire, and artists of the period rarely showed laboring peasants wearing them. 6 The banded style required not only access to exotic fabrics but also an appreciation of cosmopolitan fashions. It was likelv related to the modes of ninth-centurv Fran- cia, and to dress current at the German court. Certainly, in ninth-, tenth-, and eleventh-centurv Frankish, Ottonian, and Flemish manuscripts, we catch glimpses of gentlemen in short, banded tunics , 7 which, in turn, bore a distant affinity to styles found at the Bvzantine court . 8 Costumes depicted in manuscripts may indeed be the result of artistic convention rather than of “real life” (Lewis 104 i 94), but there is considerable material evidence, as well, to document the banded style. For example, a linen tunic, which belonged to German emperor Henry II (d. 1024), survives and retains its broad, highly embroidered red silk banding (Guth 1 06). Vestiges of high-status clothing also endure among some one hundred graves in tenth- and elev- enth-century Scandinavia, where Carolingian, Byzantine, and English dress influenced elite fashions (Andersson; Krag 85—84). One Danish example, in particular, is a stunning witness to the banded style. It comes from the grave of a wealthy, late-tenth-centurv man buried under a mound at Bjerringhoy, Manimen. He had been dressed for his funeral in a sleeved jacket or shirt finished with padded, red silk cuffs, embroidered with gold thread. 9 The fancy tablet- woven gold and silk ribbons that decorated his cloak, more- over, look very much like those drawn on Cnut the Great’s cloak in New Minster’s liber vitae . 10 Similarly, silk, gold, and/or silver decorative trim adorned the wool and linen burial costumes of dozens of well-to-do Swedes laid to rest in the cemetery at Birka (Geijer 1980, 215— 19; Andersson 38). Silk trims survive from England as well, although not in cemetery contexts. Archaeologists in York, for example, have uncovered within the confines of the Anglo-Scandina- vian town a number of silk ribbons, probably used as fancy edgings around cuffs and tunic openings (Walton 69). 11 Despite the emphasis on trims, by the mid-tenth cen- tury some English garments, particularly those worn bv the king on state occasions, were tailored wholly from imported silks. 12 The portrait of King Edgar that accom- panies one of the two remaining manuscripts of the Regu- laris Concordia shows the king in what looks to be a long, silk-damask gown, sewn from at least two differently pat- terned fabrics. 13 We know that King Edgar also wore spe- cial vestments during his coronation (Malmesbury 1981, ch. 62), and that Cnut owned a robe “woven from manv- colored peacock feathers,” an apt description of pattern- woven silk (Malmesbury 1981, ch. 64). Biblical kings in English manuscripts of the period sometimes appear in brocade robes, as well. The Boulogne Gospels’ King David, for example, wears a rosette-patterned gown. 14 Bv Edward the Confessor’s reign, moreover, elaborate textiles were used, not only for ceremonial attire, but also for the king’s everyday wear. According to the contempo- rary Vita / Edwardi Regis: It had not been the custom for earlier English kings in bygone days to wear clothes of great splendour, apart from cloaks and robes adorned at the top with gold in the national style. [Queen] Edith, from the very begin- ning of her marriage, clad [the king] in raiments either embroidered by herself or of her choice, and of such a kind that it could not be thought that even Solomon in all his glorv was ever thus arrayed. In the ornamentation of these no count was made of the cost of the precious stones, rare gems and shining pearls that were used. As regards mantles, tunics, boots and shoes, the amount of gold which flowed in the various complicated floral designs was not weighed. (24-23) Shreds of a proto-damask silk, woven in a pattern of repeat- ing panthers and griffins in roundels, found when the king’s tomb was opened in the seventeenth century, may have been the remnants of a bolt from which his clothes had been cut during his lifetime (Buckton 131—33, pi. 1 66). The banding on these silk garments may have been the same as that on garments of wool and linen. The Confessor’s contemporary Pope Clement II (d. 1047) was dressed for his grave in a yellow silk dalmatic with strips of elephant-patterned silk, stitched around its neck and sleeves (Muller- Christensen i960, 41— 44). The pope’s silk gloves were similarly deco- rated with silk trim of a different pattern (Miiller-Chris- tensen i960, 30— 31; pis. 32— 34). The beauty of these silk scraps has faded, but two tenth- and eleventh-centurv manuscript illuminations provide us with stunning images of their original beauty. The first is a vividly colored replication of a Byzantine silk in the Nurem- berg Golden Gospels (Nuremberg, Germanisches Nation- almuseum, 136. 142). 15 The second is the Marriage Roll of Theophanou, a long, scarf-shaped text, written in gold on deep-purple parchment, edged with delicate gold trim, and painted with a series of roundels inhabited by animals (Nie- dersachsisches Staatsarchiv,Wolfenbiittel).The work clearly strives to imitate a very fine Byzantine silk. 1 In addition, a spectacular early-eighth-century, all-silk Sassanian caftan lined with fur has been excavated, largely intact, from a grave in the northern Caucasus (lerusalimskaja, pi. 196). These three rare examples suggest the magnificence of all - silk clothes. A later example appears in this exhibit: the bronze aquamanile depicting Samson and the lion renders Samson in an all-silk, banded cloak and patterned silk stock- ings (no. i).The contrast of such brilliantly colored fabrics against the browns, duns, and russets more typical of the time must have been profound and would have instantly broadcast the stations of those who wore them. 1 Indeed, textiles seem to have become a more effective emblem of social status than brooches, which, until the tenth century, had been the primary means of displav (nos. 93). It is inter esting to note that a collection of gold and silver bracelets, produced in Byzantium in the eleventh and twelfth centu- ries, are decorated with a series of animals in medallions (Netzer 1 64-66; Evans, pi. 1 74), a design that mimics pat- terned silk (no. 94). 105 The finest silks produced in Byzantium were kekolymena, forbidden goods, made exclusively for the emperor (Jacoby 490; Laiou 706, 718-19). In the West, therefore, they were available only to the beneficiaries of imperial largess (Muth- esius 1995, 165—72, 201 — 15, 23 1-44). As an angry Luid- prand of Cremona made clear, even if one journeyed to the Byzantine empire and bought deluxe silks from Italian mer- chants, there was no guarantee that one would be allowed to take them home (Luidprand 199}, ch. 54). Archbishop Gebehard of Salzburg (d. 1088), however, who was a better behaved Ottoman envoy than Luidprand had been, received from the Bvzantine emperor a vestment embellished with gold and jewels (Dodwell 1993, 8). Most of the stunning silks found in the West probablv arrived as similar diplo- matic gifts. 18 The magnificent lion silks that German emper- ors received, which were eventually placed in the tombs of two of Cologne’s archbishops, Heribert (d. 1 002) and Anno (d. 1 075), and the stunning elephant silk that Otto III added to Charlemagne’s sepulcher are likely examples. 19 Other Byzantine silks, some still residing in Germany, mav have arrived as part of the dowrv ofTheophanou (d. 991), the Greek wife of Otto II. Few English kings, however, sent missions to Constanti- nople, although they may have received the occasional dip- lomatic offering. 20 Chances are, most silks they acquired as gifts were hand-me-downs from German emperors, who more often benefited from Constantinople’s generosity (Muthesius 1 997, 34—43). Cnut the Great, for example, in a letter to his English subjects during a visit to Germany, recounted Emperor Conrad’s gift of “silk robes and very costlv garments.” 21 England, though, despite limited contacts with the court at Constantinople, w as awash with luxurious fabrics bv the late Anglo-Saxon period. Perhaps few were as fine as the finest Bvzantine silks, but they were coveted nonetheless, and w r ere proudly enumerated in church inventories across England. 22 This, in turn, suggests that deluxe textiles lav at the center of a large and important international trade. We know that, by the eleventh centurv, foreigners could easily purchase medium- and low-grade Bvzantine silks within Byzantine territory (Jacoby 500). We also know that, around the millennium, English merchants w'ere trading in silk. It was, after all, the merchant in /E line's Colloquy who supplied the wealthy with “purple cloth and silks, precious jewels and gold, unusual clothes . . . ivory, and bronze” (3 3 (.There are further glimpses of the English, especially the clergy, purchasing silk, both at home and abroad: a tenth-centurv London bishop, for example, buying silk vestments in Italy (Anglo-Saxon Wills, pi. 1) and, more remarkablv, the monks of Ely procuring an embroidered silk chasuble from aThet- ford burgess (Liber Eliensis , iii ch. 50). 23 In the tenth and eleventh centuries, English travelers, moreover, were clogging the roads to Rome. Most travelers wnuld have stopped along the way in Pavia, which, in the tenth century, w'as the only citv in Italy that licensed Vene- tian merchants to sell Bvzantine cloth (Lopez 37). Indeed, w r e know of one English bishop’s silk purchase there (Anglo- Saxon Wills, pi. 1 ). It appears that, by the eleventh centurv, English travelers could also buy silk in Rome. In 1061 sev- eral pilgrims, including the Archbishop ofYork and a Nor- thumbrian earl, were robbed just outside the walls of the citv, the very beginning of their long journev home. That their baggage was stolen and their clothes stripped from their backs 24 suggests that the group had visited Rome’s marketplaces as well as its holy places. Bv this time, not all the silk that English traders and pilgrims bought w'ould have been made in the Greek east. Small amounts were now manufactured in Italy and Sicily as well (Gil 32—33), so some of England’s silks may have had western origins. The West also had access to Central Asian and Islamic silks like those displayed in this exhibit (nos. 86- go). Some survive on the Continent in Gospel books and reliquaries. 2 How many ended up in England, though, we cannot say. Only one piece might be Islamic; it w as found in the tomb of Edward the Confessor. 26 Excavations of later tenth- and eleventh-centurv Dublin, however, have uncov- ered a stash of silk tabbies that were likely manufactured in Baghdad, and gold braids that may have come from Central Asia(Heckett io6;Wallace 1 3 1 — 36). Dublin merchants, in turn, did brisk business with the trading communities of western Britain. Britain, itself, had begun producing luxury textiles, many embroidered with designs taken from Cen- tral Asian silks. 27 A hundred vears or so before the Norman Conquest, sources of silk broadened, and in England luxury textiles became available up and down the social hierarchv. One wealthy tenth-centurv woman bequeathed three silk robes (godwehbenan cyrtlas) in her will (Will of ,Kthelgifu 1 2—13). By the eleventh century, long silk cloaks and robes were no longer the monopoly of kings. Earls owned them; 28 even members of some thegnlv families sometimes dressed in them. In the eleventh centurv, when the supply of second- qualitv silk — which was not controlled bv the Byzantine state and, therefore, marketed without restrictions — grew' dramatically (Jacobv 472—75; Laiou 740), a thegn was mis- taken for an earl by virtue of his elegant attire (Life of King Edward 54— 57). English pilgrims and merchants no doubt, sought the cheaper and more plentiful, second-tier silk. It looks as if bolts of some of this low'er-quality silk were even being brought into York, w here they w'ere then tailored into arti- cles of clothing 29 meant for a clientele w'ho lacked the means 106 to travel to Pavia or Constantinople. So, although those at the very top of society probably continued to monopolize the very best all-silk clothing, thegns, traders, and crafts- men alike would have bought the silk caps, ribbons, and bags that were now in the marketplaces ofYork, London, Lincoln, and Winchester . 30 Beginning in the late tenth century, once-rare gold embroidery, too, became available outside the charmed circle of the roval court. It was dramatically painted onto the cloak Edgar the Peaceable wears in the illustrated New Min- ster charter of 966. 3i Indeed, upon inventorying its valuable textiles, Elv Abbey recorded that the silk cloak King Edgar had given that community was so thic kly embroidered with precious-metal thread, it resembled a chain-mail hauberk ( Liber Ehensis iii, ch. jo). Archaeologists, too, have uncov- ered small amounts of gold braid and gold-thread embroi- dery from ninth- and tenth-century secular garments ,’ 2 but it is in the eleventh century that the number of exam- ples increases dramatically (Biddle ii, 470). Artisans intro- duced gold debased with copper and silver, and silver gilt, itself, into the making of gold thread, rendering it much less expensive and, for the first time, within the reach of thegns- on-the-make (Biddle i, 79—8 1 ; ii, 468; Coatsworth 297). All of this suggests a growing thirst within England for exotic textiles and clothing made from them, and an ever- widen- ing circle of customers who could afford them. There is also evidence that noblemen and kings were using exotic textiles to embellish their halls. An elaborate tapestry, for example, which depicted the deeds of Ealdor- man Bvhrtnoth, who was killed bv Vikings at the Battle of Maldon, was given by his wife to the monks of Elv. This mav have been fashioned from wool and linen like the more famous Bayeux Tapestrv, which also dates to the eleventh century. It is likely, however, that other wealthy individuals were purchasing Bvzantine silks as hangings. This was cer- tainly the case in Germany. Gunther bishop of Bamberg’s (d. 1 063) silk shroud, for example, which is still extant, was originally made as a church hanging (Muthesius 1 997 M90, and pis. 32b, 53a). Whether woven or embroidered from exotic textiles or from northern European linen and wool, such hangings required massive amounts of skilled labor, and their use was thus restricted to the privileged few. Like fancv clothing, tapestries became a standard accoutrement of aristocratic life. In this exhibit two extraordinary fifteenth- centurv examples of luxury wall hangings, fragments from a cycle retelling the story of Penelope and Ulysses and a sixteenth-century Millefleurs tapestry from Germany that portrays Oriental figures (nos. 91-92, 95), not only illustrate the sumptuousness of such tapestries, but also, incidentally, preserve images of the extraordinary outfits that later aristo- crats wore to underscore their own social positions. Exotic textiles, utility in the making of class, was to have a very- long run, indeed. In the late ninth and early tenth centuries, luxurious clothing had been the preserve of the privileged few, and had thus marked as civilized the kingdom’s most notable members. It provided proof, no matter yvhat condescend- ing Greek courtiers might say, that kings and nobles in northwestern Europe yvere no longer “poverty-stricken, fur-coated, [and] skin-yvearing” (Luidprand 1993, ch. 53). Noyy, however, on the eve of the Norman Conquest, an ever- groyving number of English people with cash — gentlemen farmers, successful traders, even craftsmen — could, to the dismay of yy-ell-born churchmen, purchase some version of this finery (Fleming 2001 , 1 — 19). /Elfric of Eynsham yvor- ried that a person “who has pennies or silver can get anything he pleases” (Loy-n 128). He had harsh words for wealthy, but ignoble, swells: “It is one thing for someone to be rich if his ancestors have bequeathed possessions to him; it is another if someone becomes rich through greed. The latter’s greed is accursed before God”(Godden 48— 30). Archbishop Wulf- stan, also railed against upstarts yvho could buv the trappings of nobility' and insisted that even if a ceorl (a peasant farmer) could afford a gold-plated sword, if he lacked a substantial estate, he yvas still a ceorl (EHD pi. 58). Pride yvas giving way to avarice as the most pernicious male vice, and the figure of the merchant pursued by the devil and gripping his money- bags, so aptly depicted in a Romanesque sculpture of avarice (no. 81), yvas becoming a standard trope (Kraus 67—69 and see Berger in this volume). SacvcO finery The Blickling homilist lectured that “we must be adorned with good and proper deeds, not yvith gold and lavish silk clothing ( godwebbenum hrceglum), if yve yvish to be at the right hand of the Lord Savior Christ”(66— 67). Yet despite his and other moralists’ admonitions, it yvas not just lavpeople yvho had voracious appetites for exotic textiles. Churchmen, too, desired silk brocades and cloths of gold. During the early Middle Ages, so it seems, there yvas little interest in regulating clerical dress; only a handful of canonical strictures emphasized modest clothing and a ban on carrying yveapons (Effros 7— 24). Thus, as yve might expect, religious of high rank dressed in finely yvoven and intricately ornamented attire. As early as the late seventh century, Aldhelm, bishop of Sherborne, had complained about the silken sleeves worn bv monks and nuns (Effros 13), apparently- to little avail. For example, the annual clothing allotments for two groups of yvell-heeled, eleventh-centurv ecclesiastics suggest that English religious dressed lavishly. The canons ofWaltham Holy Cross each received the unbe- lievably generous clothing allowance of 40 s. per annum, the 107 equivalent of nearly a pound and a half of silver! The con- suetudines of Glastonbury Abbey were more specific about what clothes the monks at that institution were to receive annually. Each, so we are told, was to have two cowls, two frocks, two shirts of a cloth woven from wool and flax (stamina), two pairs of breeches, four pairs of stockings, and a new pelisse . . . shoes for the day time and in winter for the night and two bed covers. And they should also have ten pairs of slippers .... (Malmes- bury 1981, ch. 80) Such prescriptions emphasized high-qualitv cloth rather than fancy silk. ' Nonetheless, these were far from peas- ants’ rags. When distinguished churchmen performed the liturgy-, celebrated important religious feasts, or traveled to court, they dressed elaborately. Their special garb, in many ways, echoed secular fashions. Although churchmen were careful not to show- their legs, on important occasions they wore clothes made in the banded style. In the late tenth cen- tury, when a monk-illustrator at St. Augustine’s, Canter- bury set about depicting Aldhelm, he chose to show- the dignitary in a long tunic banded at the bottom in a kind of round-square-round pattern, and in a cuffed cloak embel- lished with bands of cross-patterned textile. 3 5 The portrait of Bishop zEthelw-old in the Benedictional of St. /Ethelwold catches the cleric in a gold-edged chasuble and similarly- banded under-robe, 31 and in theTiberius Psalter, St. Jerome is dressed in a chasuble yvith a jeweled, and banded, square- cut collar. The positions of some of the tenth-centurv, tablet-woven braids found in St. Cuthbert’s tomb show that this is more than artistic convention; they were wrapped around the holy-man’s wrists, so it seems that when the body was redressed in the tenth century, it was put into a banded garment (Battiscombe 434). Church inventories also make clear that the best vest- ments yvithin England’s religious communities w-ere made of silk. In the eleventh century-, for example, Glastonbury- had two copes decorated yvith lions and a set of vestments ornamented with white birds (Malmesbury 1981, chs. 67— 68), and St. Paul’s had a chasuble w-oven with lions and birds. 8 They were most likely patterned silk (nos. 87 and 90). Ely, too, had a number of silk chasubles in its treasury (Liber Ehensis iii, ch. 50). 4 None of those remain, but a few- survive on the Continent. 1 Other Anglo-Saxon vestments, like the red chasuble Countess Gvtha gave Elv Abbey (Liber Eliensis iii, ch. go), although not silk, were dyed at great expense. Still others were embroidered with jewels, like the one Countess Godgifu gave St. Paul’s (Simpson 482), or with gold thread and pearls, like the one Earl Harold donated to the canons ofWaltham Holy Cross. This last vest- ment, known as “The Lord Spake Unto Me,” bore scenes of Christ’s nativity embroidered with twenty-six marks’ worth of gold (Waltham Chronicle ch. 1 6). Thus, we know that elab- orate liturgical costumes worn in the great churches oflate Anglo-Saxon England, although cut differently from secu- lar clothes, were still banded yvith luxury- textiles, and the full-length garments of patterned silk yvere worn bv English churchmen and lav lords alike. At the same time, lay court- iers had adopted the long robes typical of ecclesiastical garb, show ing that the borroyvings moved in both directions. At great religious festivals, high-status priests and laymen alike would have been splendidly- and exoticallv attired. 42 Also during this period, wealthy lay-people started donating their precious garments to the church, further blurring the lines between patrician secular and religious dress. King Edgar, for example, gave one of his gold-embroi- dered cloaks and his hose to the monks of Ely, yvho then remade them into a chasuble and a gold-worked alb (Liber Eliensis iii, ch. go). We also know- that yElfgifu Emma and Countess Godgifu each presented bishoprics yvith copes and chasubles, but, in fact, the items the women gave to eccle- siastical communities may have been their own fancy gar- ments, which they- meant to be rew-orked into vestments (Fleming 1993, 1 22; Simpson 482). The monks, however, may have yvorn some such gifts just as the garments were received. In the mid-twelfth century, Westminster Abbey- possessed a silk chasuble that had once adorned the bodv of Edyvard the Confessor, but which had been taken from his tomb in 1102 (Barloyv 279—80, 3 1 1 - 1 2). It seems likely- that this “chasuble,” rather than beginning its life as an eccle- siastical vestment, had, in fact, served as a part of the king’s funerary attire. An embroidered girdle found in St. Cuth- bert’s coffin seems to have had a comparable history: Elisa- beth Coatsyvorth has argued convincingly that it was once worn by a king or queen, who then used it to clothe the saint (gog). Similarly, the w ife of one of Cnut’s stallers had used her girdle “of purest gold of the kind yvhich women of the highest rank wore in those days, and it was adorned with a marvelous decoration of gemstones,” to dress a statue of the crucified Christ (Waltham Chronicle ch. 13). Still other valuable second-hand silks were reused not as vestments, but as altar cloths. King Edgar, for example, gave the robe in which he had been croyvned, his“most precious,” to Glaston- bury Abbey, where it came to be used “as an ornament for the altar” ( Malmesbury 1 9 8 1 , ch . 6 2 ) . The peacock-feather cloak King Cnut presented to the same community- coy-ered Edmund Ironside’s tomb (Malmesbury 1981, ch. 64). The Church had long encouraged the laitv to give the gift of silk. Indeed, at the Council of Aix-la-Chapelle (836), lay-people were specifically exhorted to leave their silks to the Church rather than to their heirs (Durand 371). 108 Valuable ecclesiastical garb also moved into the secu- lar world. Just alter the Norman Conquest, for example, Queen Edith, Edward the Confessor’s widow and the dead King Harold’s sister, demanded that Abingdon give her “wondroussly (sic) worked” gold-embroidered chasuble and a choir cope and stole banded with gold and jewels ( Chron . Ab. i, 485). During the same period, William the Conqueror confiscated and deposited in his treasurv a chasuble from Elv that had been a gift of the disgraced Archbishop Stigand, ( Liber Eliensis ii, ch. 1 1 3). Perhaps Edith and William used their ill-gotten vestments as gifts for more favored ecclesi- astical communities. Or, perhaps they had them retailored into outfits for themselves. 43 As we might expect, because churchmen of this time were underscoring the solemnity of the Mass with their exotic vestments, they began producing manuscripts that portraved Christ in the same silks and embroidered cloth worn by great men (and vice versa ), 44 the Virgin Mary in the same long, cornice-shaped sleeves worn bv aristocratic women , 45 and the saints in the banded clothes worn by thegns . 46 Thus, the stunning garb of the aristocracy came to clothe saints, martyrs, and Old Testament kings for the rest of the Middle Ages. Examples in this exhibition are the many images of the Virgin Mary wearing collars made of gold-thread embroidery and jewels (nos. 35 and 46a) or gold-banded robes (nos. 36-38), and splendidlv dressed Bib- lical kings (nos. 30 and 58). Silk was also used to shroud the bodies of saints. Some of the holy dead were wrapped in textiles manufactured in their own lifetimes, and these cloths likely served as their original shrouds. 47 Other saints, though, are centu- ries older than their silken shrouds. Servatius ofTongeren, for example, dead since the late fourth centurv, had a silk shroud that dates to the eighth centurv (Buckton 1 23—24 and pi. 137). St. Amond, one ofToul's Late Antique bish- ops, was shrouded in Bvzantine silk on two occasions, hun- dreds of years after his death; he probablv received his ninth century silk during his translation of 820, and his eleventh- century silk in 1 026 at a second translation (Durand 198, pi. 1 3 3). St. Chaffre’s (d. 732 ) and St. Siviard’s (d. 680) shrouds were both made from tenth-centurv Bvzantine silk (Muth- esius 1997, M66 and M83). In 1030 the remains of Saint Germanus of Auxerre (d. 448) were shrouded in a large eagle-patterned silk, made c. 1 000 (Evans, pi. i49;Wixom 436). Evidence for this practice in pre-Conquest England is rare, not because it was unknown, but because Protes- tant reformers were so efficient in consigning relics to the flames. But the bodv of St. Cuthbert (d. 687) and most of the contents of his tomb were reburied after their inspec- tion by HenrvVIII’s henchmen in the sixteenth century, and they do survive (Battiscombe 79— 90). The collection of silks that accompanied Cuthbert had been manufactured over half a millennium and added to his tomb over the centu- ries, a piece or two at a time, often as shrouds. One, for example, dates to the first half of the ninth century. It was likely given to the saint by King Edmund, who, so we are told, wrapped the holv body “with his own hand . . . with two lengths of Greek cloth .” 48 We know that holy-men’s bodies and relics w r ere swathed in silk and that great lords dressed in silk. Thus, we can expect that silk would be used in aristocrats’ burials as well. Bv the late Anglo-Saxon period, simple, shrouded burials seem to have been the norm. Franks had begun bury- ing in plain shrouds as early as the seventh centurv, 4 J and the English had long followed the practice (Young 307— 407). Certainly, cemetery excavations suggest that shroud burials were standard by the late Anglo-Saxon period, 5 as described in one of the Vercelli Homilies: “[The dead man] is given the least part of all his treasures, that is, someone sew's him into a length of cloth” ( 168). This practice is also witnessed in a number of contemporarv illustrations that show the living sewing or winding the dead into simple shrouds. 1 We also have the provisions left bv a thegn, just after the Norman Conquest, for his own funeral. He did not stipulate w hat kind of shroud he w anted, but he did leave money for a pall, suggesting that whatever fancy cloth there was, w'ould adorn his coffin or bier, and thus be visible — not hidden away in the ground. 55 Despite the ubiquitv of plain shrouds, there is, nonethe- less, considerable evidence to suggest that high-status individ- uals, both lay and ecclesiastic, were often marked as special in their graves by their priceless silk shrouds (nos. 88-90). Manv dead bishops on the Continent, for example, were wrapped in silk. Heribcrt archbishop of Cologne (d. 1 002) and Gun- ther bishop of Bamberg (d. 1063) were both buried in silk shrouds, the latter in a Byzantine silk tapestry originally made as a church hanging. 5 Pope Clement II was placed in his tomb with a silk shroud for his head (Miiller-Christensen i960, 34; pis. 60—62). But dead kings and their kin, too, were wrapped, and sometimes even rewrapped, in elegant shrouds. Charlemagne may well have initially been buried in a silk shroud, and he definitely was reburied in another in the year 1000 (Beckwith 42). The remnants of silk shrouds have also been found in the grave of the German emperor Henrv III (d. 1036) and that of Gisela (d. 1043), wife of Conrad II (Miiller-Christenscn 1 972, 943 44; 937- 41 ). King Knut IV of Denmark (d. 1086) w r as (re)wrapped in a large pseudo- Byzantine eagle silk bv his wife in 1 1 01 (Geijer 1 979, 249). In England, the dead Edward the Confessor is shown in the Baveux tapestry in a fancy shroud, and his bier, according to the tapestry, was covered with a patterned textile (Bayeux Tapestry, pis. 29—30). Indeed, exotic textile appears to have 109 been de rigueur in late Anglo Saxon funerals. Clearly, in the illustrations of the Old English Hexateuch, Old Testament figures are often accorded pattern -woven shrouds (See also, Old English Hexateuch 1 . 72V.) Other notables were dressed in fancy silk clothes for burial. The most famous example is Pope Formosus (d. 896). His nemesis and successor ordered the dead pope’s corpse excavated ritually stripped of its vestments and then dumped in theTiber River (Luidprand 1998, 23). Others, though, kept their clothes. Pope Clement II was put in his tomb dressed for Mass, and St. Desiderius, bishop of Rodez, was similarly attired several hundred years after his death (Schmedding 97, pi. 94). There is also the strange case of St. Ludmila (d. 923), murdered grandmother of KingWenc- eslas. Sometime after her translation to Prague’s cathedral in 923, a silk shift, tailored from Byzantine or Islamic silk in the first third of the eleventh-centurv, was placed in her tomb, although it is unclear if her corpse was dressed in it. The garment was apparently a bishop’s dalmatic (Braver- manova 87-89). We know that for centuries before 1 100 the English had buried their bishops and holy men — Cuth- bert, Wilfrid, and Gundulf among many others— in vest- ments. 54 Some English saints, moreover, were redressed when they were translated, as St. Cuthbert was. We also know that the legislated burial for monks in England was clothed burial; indeed, the Regularis Concordia stipulated that monks should be buried in their shirts, cowls, stockings, and shoes (Thompson 2 3 7). We should not be surprised, there- fore, that bishops and abbots were dressed for their graves in their Sunday best. English kings in this period were also placed in the ground in fancy clothes. Edward the Confessor was buried in a garment that was later used as a chasuble. And a body found at Old Minster, Winchester in the nineteenth centurv thought to be that of William Rufus (d. 1 100), had been dressed for burial in an opulent outfit trimmed with gold braids woven in many patterns (Joyce 313; pi. 1 7). In fact, kings in the eleventh century may have been both dressed in silk clothes and shrouded in silk cloths when they were buried. Both Emperors Conrad II (1024—1039) and Henry III (1039-1036) were not only wrapped in silk shrouds, but they were buried in their crowns and in hose made from Byzantine silk (Muller-Christensen 1972, 930—37, 943 44). Edward the Confessor, too, as we have seen, was buried both in a silk shroud and in silk clothing. We do not know if Anglo-Saxon noblemen were buried in silk as well, but the fabric was found in the grave of Count Luitiger of Graisbach (d. 1 047) (Muthesius 1997, M8 2), and hundreds of silk costumes and shrouds have been recovered from lav tombs dating from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries (nos. 86-90). 1 Silk burial, so it seems, was a pan-European practice by the tenth and eleventh centuries, embraced and engaged in both by lav and ecclesiastical elites. It was also a ritual innovation that sat at the intersection of religious and social behavior. Its extravagant wastefulness both marked the exalted social status of its beneficiaries and linked their final restings to those of the saints, who had long been swathed in silk. This well-evidenced and widespread burial custom should put to rest the notion, long abandoned by archaeolo- gists, but still held dear by historians, that unaccompanied burials are Christian and grave-goods burials are pagan. One of Old English’s words for silk — godweh — literally means “divine” or “godly cloth” (Owen-Crocker 289). It is an apt name. Silk’s rarity, its otherworldly beauty, and its high value distinguished it from the textiles woven in house- holds throughout northwestern Europe. Because silk was available only to influential people connected to networks of exclusive gift exchanges or to wealthy landholders with ready cash, it was an immediate and conspicuous statement of the bearer’s special station. Wearing banded silk tunics to local shire courts, thegns announced their eminence from a hundred yards away; wearing their all-silk robes, court gran- dees, in their turn, would have squelched members of the local gentry. During the same period, the power and pres- tige of the families and religious communities who could afford to destroy priceless silk by burying it in the tombs of their dead was made manifest at every society funeral and saint’s translation. And the awesome power of Christ and his saints was broadcast in each illumination in which they were show n wearing fine, silk brocades and cloths-of-gold. 110 tnCmotcs 1 Alpheide, sister of Charles the Bald, lov- ingly embroidered one such benefaction, a pillow made from a swatch of Byzantine silk, for the long-dead St. Remigius. Her stitched inscription informs of the motives behind silk giving: that she had “finished this little cushion by which the gentle and venerable head of St. Remigius might be supported and throughout relieved through the merits of Alpheide. May her prayers be conveyed beyond the stars” (Coatsworth 299). 2 For the best discussion of English clothing before the Conquest, see Dodwell 1 29—87 and Owen- Crocker 131—73. 3 Old English Hexateuch, passim; Bayeux Tapestry , passim. The head of the line of laymen await- ing the last Judgment in New Minster’s Liber Vitae has a tunic with a decorative band at its bottom (London, British Library, Stowe MS 944, f. 6 v, Wilson, pi. 232), as does the man who spears Christ’s side in London, Brit- ish Library, Cotton MSTiberius C. vi, f. 1 3r (Wilson, pi. 2 34), and those feasting on f. gv (Fleming 2003, pi. 4.5). Similarly, the ances- tors of Christ, depicted in the Boulogne Gos- pels, Boulogne-sur-Mer, Bibliotheque Munic- ipale MS 1 1 , f . 1 1 r-v, are wearing cloaks edged with colored bands (Ohlgren, pis. 5. 1 9, 5. 20). In the Portforium of St. Wul- fstan (Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 291), pp. 24—25, King David is wearing a bordered garment (Budney, pi. 1 1 ). There is also, moreover, specific mention in a late Anglo-Saxon will of a blue robe that was untrimmed at the bottom ( blcewenan cyrtel is neapene unrendod) ( Will of / Ethelgifu 12—13). 4 So the clothes of Queen /Elfgifu Emma and her two sons are drawn in the dedica- tory illustration of the eleventh-century manuscript of the Encomuium Emmae Regi- nae, London, British Library, Additional MS 33241 (Backhouse, pi. 148). .Another simi- larly dressed man is pictured in the eleventh - century Norman manuscript Avranches 90, f. iv (Alexander, pi. 24a). Textual descriptions of jeweled clothing include those ofTovi the Proud’s wife Gytha, who is said to have had a girdle sewn with jewels ( Waltham Chronicle ch. 1 3); King Edgar’s daughter, Saint Edith, who, according to her vita, had a robe sewn with jewels (Goscelin Ste Edith 44); and Edward the Confessor, whose shoes, tunics and man- tels were embellished in this way ( Life of King Eduard 24- 2 5). The description of the Con- fessor’s shoes may be no exaggeration. The bejeweled coronation shoes of Emperor Fred- erick II, embroidered with pearls and gem- stones even on their soles, are still extant (Sachs, pis. 1 1- 1 2). Other extant examples of silk sewn with jewels or pearls include a tenth-century relic bag (von Wilckens 1991, pi. 194) and an eleventh-century vestment (von Wilckens 1991, pi. 108). 5 Wilson, Bayeux Tapestry pis. 1 , 25, 28, 3 1 , 48; Old English Hexateuch f. gyr. 6 See, for example, details of the late Anglo- Saxon calendars (Wilson pis. 235— 3 7). The Stuttgart Psalter, produced in the first quar- ter of the ninth century, also consistently portrays kings and other powerful figures in banded robes (e.g. Stuttgart Psalter ft. 2v, 1 iv, 2 2r, 32r, 1 34r). Peasants in the Psalter, on the other hand, are in unbanded clothing (e.g. Stuttgart Psalter, ft. 1 24V, i46r, 1 ^6r, 164V). 7 So Count Dietrich II of Holland is depicted in the late-tenth-century donation minia- ture, added to the Egmont Gospels in the late tenth century (The Hague, Koninki- jke Bibliotheek, MS 761 F 1 , f . 21 4V, Brandt vol. 2 pi. V-8); and Henry the Wrangler, duke of Bavaria, in the Bamberg Rule Book (Bamberg, Staatsbibliothek, MS Lit. 142, f. 4v, Brandt vol. 1 pi. 5). An eleventh-cen- tury French parallel of this dress is found in the illustrated life of St. Aubin of Anger, Paris, Bibliotheque National, Nal. 1390, f. 2v (Piponnier, pi. 21). 8 For a detailed eleventh-centurv depiction of the clothes worn by the Byzantine emperor and four of his courtiers, see Paris, Bib- liotheque Nationale, MS. Coislin 79, f. 2r (Evans, pi. 143). See also, Maguire 184—85. 9 Hald, fig. 100 10 For a description of this grave and its con- tents, see Bronsted 106—07. For a discussion of the textiles, see Hald 102, 106, 231 — 33 and Munksgaard 1 59—7 1 . For the depiction of Cnut, see London, British Library, Stowe MS 944, f. 6r (Backhouse, pi. 62). 11 This is a long-standing and widespread tech- nique. An early-medieval Iranian wool riding habit, excavated at Antinoe, is trimmed with patterned silk (Flury-Lemberg 35,38 and pis. I 1 and 12). 12 Carolingian and Ottonian kings also wore all- silk clothing on special occasions. For a list partial list, sec Muthesius (1997) 1 26. 13 London, British Library, Cotton MSTiberius A. iii, f. 2b (Backhouse pi. 28). 14 Boulogne Gospels, Boulogne-sur-Mer, Bib- liotheque Municipale MS 1 1 , f . iov (Ohl- gren, pi. 5.18). Although no royal vestments survive from pre-Conquest England, two magnificent, early-eleventh-centurv German robes do. They belonged to Emperor Henry II and are heavily embroidered silks (Dodwell 1993, 28—29). Both the so-called Sternenm- antel and the “Great Mantle of Kunigunde” can be found in Dodwell 1993, pis. 25—26. For a contemporary illustration of Henry in his coronation robes, see The Sacramentary of Henry 11 , Munich, Baverische Staatsbibl. Clm. 4456, f. 1 ir (Mayr-Harting, pi. 35). 15 Dodwell 1 993 , pi. 9 16 For a discussion of this object and its iconog- raphy, and for detailed photographs, see von Euw, “Ikonologie” and Gregori. 17 The demand for Byzantine silk was on the rise not only in England, but across Europe, the Middle East, North Africa, Central Asia and Russian, because elites in all of these places were coming to deploy it as a status marker (Maniatis 327—29). Its widespread adoption by elites suggests that it was an effective social marker indeed. 18 Carolingian kings had certainly received tex- tiles from Byzantine delegations. Louis the Pious, for example, received ten from Greek diplomats visiting his court on one occasion (McCormick 724). 19 Heribert’s silk is in Brandt vol. 2 pi. II- 19. Anno’s is discussed in Muthesius ( 1 997) M52 , pis. ia, lb, 2a;Wixom 436. 20 We do know of individual English people traveling to Constantinople in the eleventh century, and of their purchasing silks there. For an example, see Dodwell 1993, 9- 21 EHD, pi. 53. During Archbishop Ealdraed’s year-long mission to the German court in 1054, he received “many gifts,” some of which may have been textiles ( Vita Wulfstani chs. 1 , 9). 22 See Liber Eliensis, iii ch. 50; Malmesbury, Glasto- nie chs. 62, 67—68; Waltham Chronicle ch. 16; Simpson 482. 23 A small fragment of pattern woven silk was excavated in London at Milk Street, and it is possible that such deluxe silks were traded there as well (Pritchard 1984, 61—62). 24 Lfe of King Edward 54—55. Clothing was also vulnerable to thievery at home. In a tenth - centurv Welsh text, a man admonished his servant, while he was away, not only to guard his gold and silver but to “stay behind and guard my clothes” ( De Raris Fabulis ch. 4). 25 For examples, see Beckwith 42—43; von Fol- sach 98—99; Laporte pis. 33, 38, 47; Schmed- ding 66—67, 7 2 » 89, 145, 229, 236 and pis. 4—7; von Wilckens 84—87; Dolcini 1— 51; Ile- de-France 1 12—13. 26 Buckton 153. Two of St. Cuthbert’s silks are also Islamic, but they were placed in his tomb in the twelfth century or later. Muthesius, (1989) 358, 364. 27 The tablet woven braid from St. Cuthbert’s coffin is an insular copy of a Central Asian floral design (Granger-Taylor 1989, 322); and the fabric found at Llangorse crannog, in Wales, is clearly of Insular production, but artisans copied its designs — long-necked birds nestled in vine scroll and fierce, little three-legged lions with upright tails — from the figured silks of Central Asia and Byzan- tium (Granger-Taylor 2001 , 95—96). 28 Wilson, Bayeux Tapestry pis. 1,28 (King Edward) and 25 and 48 (Duke William), 3 1 (Earl Harold); Old English Hexateuch f. 59r (Pharaoh’s counselors). 29 Crummy 36. Indeed, an astonishing 2 2% of all textiles recovered at 16-22 Coppergate are silk (Walton 68). 30 Owen-Crocker 187—89; Pritchard (1984) 59— 63 , 70— 7 1 ; Biddle 11,473-74; Vikings 105, pis. YD 1 andYD2. 31 London, British Library, Cotton MS Vespasian A.viii, f. 2 v (Wilson pi. 26 1 ). For a contem- porary German parallel, see the Uta Codex (Munich, Clm 13601), ff. iv and 2r, which show both men and women in clothes with broad gold collars and strips of cloth-of-gold down their fronts (Cohen, pis. 2 and 3). 32 Six examples, for instance, were uncovered in the excavation of Old Minster, Winchester’s graveyard. Biddle ii, 468— 72 . Tablet- woven gold and silver braids have also been found in Dublin (Pritchard 1988, 1 50-56). It is likely that they were imported (Andersson 152). For a list of contemporary Scandinavian graves with gold- and silver-thread work, see Krag 82 . 33 Waltham Chronicle ch. 1 5. The calculation is based on the new heavy penny of c. 1051- 1066 at 20 d. to the ora of 27 grams; that is, ! -35gperd. Ill 34 Evidence for the importation of very fine linen and wool, the kind perhaps sought by monks and canons, have been found in York and London. The honeycomb- weave linen found at 16—22 Coppergate is from the Rhineland and wool diamond and chevron twills found in London and York may have been brought from Frisia (Walton 6$; Hall, pis. 63, 64). Part of a fine linen alb, the alb of St. Odulphus, also survives from the Utrecht cathedral’s early relic collection. It dates from the eighth century (van Os 166-67, pi- 196). 35 London, Lambeth Palace Library, MS 200 (part ii), f. 68r (Backhouse pi. 30). 36 London, British Library, Additional MS 49598, f. ii8v(Dodwell 1982, pi. D). 37 London, British Library, Cotton MS Tiberius C VI, f. 71 v (Dodwell 1982, pi. 49). 38 The thirteenth-century inventory tells us that this chasuble was “said to be St. /Elffieah’s” (d. 1 01 2) (Simpson 482). 39 Tenth-centurs Byzantine silks, detailed in the Book of Gifts, were woven with the figures of flowers, trees, ducks, birds, eagles, winged beasts, lions, leopards, horses, rhinoceroses, wild goats, elephants, unicorns, hunters, and horsemen (Book of Gifts 100—01). 40 Many Continental church treasuries had even larger numbers of silk chasubles. In a Bam- berg cathedral inventory of 1 1 27, for exam- ple, the church is recorded as having fifteen (Muthesius 1989, 354, n. 34). 41 For the chasuble given by King Stephen of Hungary in 1031, see Muthesius ( 1 997) M8 1 , pis. 36a, 64a. For the chasuble of St. Vitalis, see Muthesius (1997) M72, pi. 36b. For the chasuble of Archbishop Willigis, see Muth- esius (1997) M68 and Brandt vol. 2 pi. iv-i. For the chasuble of Pope John VIII, see Dol- cini 1— 5 1 , pi. 1 . For the chasuble of St. Bern- ward, see Muthesius (1997) M86 and Brandt, vol. 2, pi. viii-33. F° r tb e chasuble of St. Ebbo, see Durand 378-79, pi. 286. For the chasuble of Bishop Albuin (?), see Muthesius (1997) M62, pi. 74a. For the chasuble of St. Lllrich, see Muthesius (1997) M99. For the chasuble of St. Cnut of Denmark, see Muth- esius (1997) M95, pi. 94b. For Pope Clem- ent IPs liturgical outfit, see Miiller-Chris- tensen i960, 3 3— 55 and pis. I-III, and 15-45, 49—62. For a general discussion of these earlv, silk liturgical garments, see Muthesius (1997) 122. 42 The Glastonburv consuetudines make clear that on some feast days all of the monks wore copes, and on others they all wore albs (Malmesbury 1981, ch. 80). 43 We can see a similar long-term recycling of precious garments in contemporarv Byz- antium. There, so Luidprand of Cremona reports, the Bvzantine emperor wore “a robe, of linen indeed, but very old, and smellv and faded by reason of its antiquity,” and he described court nobles processing in their ancient tunics: “there was not one among them whose grandfather had owned as new the garment he was now wearing.” (Luid- prand i993,chs. 3,9). 44 As was the Christ in Majesty, found in Orle- ans, Bibliotheque Municipale MS. 175, f. 1 49r (Dodwell 1982, pi. i 1). 45 For the Virgin Mary, see New York, Pier- pont Morgan Library, MS 709, f. 105V. For St. /Etheldreda, see London, British Library, Additional MS 49598, f. 90V (Wilson, pi. 216). Similar sleeves can be found in the elev- enth-centurv French life of St. Radegund, Poitiers, Bibliotheque Municipale, MS 250, f. 2 2v (Piponnier, pi. 27), and on Judith (also a banded garment) holding a knife in one hand and a head in the other, in Munich, Bayer- ishe Staatsbibliothek, Cod. Lat. 13001 , f. 88r (Buckreus 53). 46 For St. Benedict, see London, British Library, Arundel MS i55,f. 1 3 3r (Backhouse, pis. 57 and 1 8). For the Apostles, see in CCCC MS 198 (Budny, pi. 464). For Saint ./Ethel wold, see London, British Library, Additional MS 49598, f. 1 1 8v (Dodwell 1 982 , pi. D). For St. Jerome, see London, British Library, Cotton MSTiberius C VI, f. 71 v (Dodwell 1982, pi. 49). For Saint Elizabeth, see Boulogne Gos- pels, Boulogne-sur-Mer, Bibliotheque Munic- ipale MS 1 1, f. 1 iv (Ohlgren, pi. 5.20). For St. Aldhelm, see London, Lambeth Palace Library, MS 200 (part ii), f. 68r (Backhouse, pi. 30). For King David, see Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 291, pp. 24-25 (Budnev, pi. 1 1). 47 See, for example, Durand 195 and pi. 1 30. Pieces of silk were sometimes also venerated as relics. One of Apt Cathedral’s most impor- tant relics, for example, was the veil of St. Anne, mother of the Virgin Mary. In actual fact the “veil,” which is still extant, is an Egyptian textile, inscribed with the name of a late-eleventh-centurv caliph. For a discussion of this relic, see Carr 59—93; von Folsach 37; Elsberg 140—45, pi. 1 . At other times silk was removed from saintly tombs to be worked into special ecclesiastical garb. Ely, for exam- ple, fashioned two golden albs from cloth in which the bodv of St. /Etheldreda had been wrapped ( Liber Eliensis, iii, cap. 50), and West- minster had a vestment made from a robe taken from the tomb of Edward the Confes- sor (Barlow 279—80, 311-12). 48 Buckton 1 28 and pi. 139; Histona ch. 28. Not all early English saints were wrapped in as fine a silk as St. Cuthbert. A crude, low- quality, Central Asian patterned silk deco- rated with squat, pigeon-toed men once apparently wrapped the relics of the Eng- lish missionary saint, Lebwin (d. c. 770). The textile is vastly inferior to those produced in contemporary Byzantium (Crowfoot 83—84, pi. 57). Nonetheless, the raritv of silk and its distant origin must have made it precious enough for it to be given a place of honor next to Lebwin ’s bones. One wonders if the person who bought the silk was short of cash, or simply naive, and did not know what higher-quality silk looked like. It certainly reminds one of the advice a Jewish silk mer- chant in Cairo c. 1 060 gave to a colleague: to off-load his inferior silk onto “the uncircum- cised” (Gil 32—37). 49 This tradition seems to have been well estab- lished in rural French churchyards by the ninth and tenth centuries (Cuisenier 1 69). 50 “Bone tumble” is common in York’s medi- eval Jewish cemetery and in the Anglo- Saxon, (and, therefore, Christian) cemetery at Rounds in Northamptonshire. Andy Bod- dington has argued that it is caused by burial in shrouds, and notes that it is not generally found in pagan-period cemeteries, where the dead were buried in their clothes (“Chaos and Disturbance” 40—41). For further discussion of shroud burials in late Anglo-Saxon Eng- land, see Boddington 1996, 47— 48;Thomp- son 2 30— 32 . 51 See, for example, Edili Bible, Florence, Bib- lioteca Medicea Laurenziana, MS Edili 1 25 (Chasson, pi. 1); Stuttgart Psalter ff. 30V, i6ov. 52 He left 21 d. for his pall. He stipulated that four times more be spent on both his coffin and on the ale for his funeral feast. It does not, therefore, look as if he was hoping for silk. Nonetheless, at 2 1 d. the cloth for the pall must have been a just a little special ( Charters , Appendix II, pi. 8). 53 For Heribert, seeWixom 1997, 436 (Muthe- sius 1997, M 5 3, pi. 81). The silk’s inscription dates it to 976—1025, making it contempo- rary with his death, so it may come from his original burial. For Gunther, see Muthesius (1997) M90 (Muthesius 1997, pis. 52b, 53a). 54 Bede, Vita Cuthberti ch. 42; VitaWilfridi ch. 66; Vita Gundulf ch. 46. 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Young, Bailey K. “Example aristocratique et mode funeraire dans la Gaule merovingienne.” Annales: Economies, societes, civilizations 41 (1986): 370-407. 114 $rom SecuUr to SAcreb: Isbrnic Art in Cbristun Contexts SbciU S. BUir And JotutbAn G.\ Bloom — wr J H any of the best-known works of I decorative art from the pre- modern period in the Islamic I lands — whether carved rock- M ▼ crystals and ivories, glazed ceram - ^ W ics, enameled glass, or woven and knotted textiles — were preserved for centuries not in their places of produc- tion in South w r est Asia and North Africa, but in European church treasuries. Indeed, were it not for preservation in these Christian contexts, we would know virtually noth- ing of such frankly secular crafts as ivory carving and draw- loom weaving. The Islamic objects, made as accouterments for the good life that the wealthv and powerful enjoyed in the Islamic lands, paradoxically took on new meanings as liturgical implements and reliquaries for the remains of Christian martyrs and saints. This essay explores not only the original contexts, but also some of the new meanings the objects acquired when they reached Christian Europe, whether as trophies, gifts, or trade-goods. When applied to art, the term “Islamic” is convenient if incorrect, referring not only to the religion of Islam but also to the larger culture in which Islam was the dominant — but not the only — religion. 1 The term “Islamic art” is therefore not at all comparable to such concepts as “Christian art” or “Buddhist art,” which are normally understood to refer specifically to religious art. “Medieval art” is largelv taken to refer to the arts of the Christian West between the fall of Rome and the Renaissance. It encompasses both sacred and secular art — as this exhibition amply demonstrates — but the Church was the major patron and consumer of art throughout the period, and the great majority of Christian art had a strong religious component. Similarly, “Byzantine art” is understood to refer to the sacred and secular arts of the Eastern Roman empire, where the Orthodox church was a primary patron and consumer. In the Islamic lands, however, there was little specifically religious art apart from mosques — buildings used for communal worship, especially on Fridays — and beautifully calligraphed manuscripts of the Koran, God’s word as revealed to the Prophet Muhammad (ca. £70—632 CE). Otherwise, the great bulk of what we today call “Islamic art” — gaily decorated ceramics, luxuri ous textiles, intricately carved and inlaid woodwork and metalwares, and manuscripts illuminated with scenes of a perfect world — was made for secular use by the elites and haute bourgeoisie. Surprisingly few objects of Islamic art have survived in the contexts in which they were made. There are many reasons for this anomaly, ranging from harsh climates to political upheavals and religious practices. While the des- erts of Egypt and Central Asia have fostered the preser- vation of some organic materials, notably textiles, other goods in other regions have suffered from constant handling and exposure to the elements. Furthermore, the incessant shifts of political power from ruler to ruler and dynasty to dynasty discouraged the preservation of secular goods, particularly those identified or inscribed with the names of a deposed predecessor, as were many objects in Islamic societies where writing was a major theme of decoration. Moreover, Muslims, unlike Christians, have always been buried with little ceremonv; the corpse is wrapped in a plain white shroud and buried directly in the earth, leaving no opportunity for the rich grave goods that in other cul- tures accompanied the deceased on their journevs to the hereafter. Indeed, some pious believers in the Muslim lands frowned on mausoleums and even tombstones, as all believ- ers were to be equal in death. Thus, the Islamic ceramics that survive in museum collections are usually not pristine offerings but rather the ones used in daily life, which were often discarded after breakage. Paradoxically, many of the finest works of Islamic art from the medieval period were preserved in the Christian West. They arrived there in various ways. Some were blessed mementoes from the lands of the Near East, where Chris- tian pilgrims flocked to see where their religion had begun. For example, small bottles made of rock crystal and glass, originally intended to hold cosmetics and perfumes, were filled with substances sanctified by their Christian connec- tions, such as the blood of a martyr or the relic of a saint, and brought back to Europe where the container and its contents often partook of the same sacredness. Other objects were gifts exchanged between rulers and ambassadors. Perhaps the most famous example — although the one we know least about is the legendary embassy between Charlemagne, ruler of the Frankish kingdom, and Harun al-Rashid, the Abbasid caliph of Baghdad famed in the stories of the lOOl Nights. The political purpose of the contact seems to have been a mutual desire to outflank their rivals, the neo-Umayvad rulers of the Iberian Penin- sula and the Byzantine emperors of Constantinople. While 115 Muslim sources are silent on the embassy, Charlemagne’s biographer, Einhard (770 -840), reported that in 797 or 799 Charlemagne sent an embassy to the East with pres- ents to the Holy Sepulchre. In 801 the embassy returned to Charlemagne’s capital at Aachen, accompanied by some of Harun al-Rashid’s men bearing “costly gifts, which included robes, spices and other marvels of the lands of the east” (Shalem 1997, 39). A few years earlier the caliph had sent Charlemagne an elephant, as well as some monkeys, balsam, nard, unguents, spices, scents, and medicaments. Another Abbasid embassy in 806 brought a huge black tent, a water- clock, and candelabra (Shalem 1997, 39). Harun al-Rashid’s embassy to Charlemagne is often credited with introducing the game of chess to the West, for several rock crystal and ivory chessmen now in Euro- pean church treasuries are traditionally associated with the Carolingian ruler. No specific link connects the game to the ruler, but these stories represent chess’s exotic and royal connotations during the Middle Ages. The game originated in India and spread to Iran, whence it was taken by the Arabs, w'ho knew it as shatranj, to the West. Many early, probably Islamic, sets of chessmen w r ere given to cathe- drals, convents, and abbeys, and individual pieces were sometimes mounted in reliquaries. Joan of Ponthieu, the mother of Eleanor of Castile, presented Henrv III (r. 1 2 1 6— 72) with an ivory chessboard and chessmen “of Saracenic workmanship”; it was taken by his sister Isabella to Ger- many as part of her dowry for her marriage to the Emperor Frederick II in 1225. Edward I(r. 1272- 1307) of England received a chessboard and jasper and crystal chessmen, probablv of eastern workmanship, as a present for his wed- ding to Eleanor of Castile (1244-90), sister of Alfonso X el Sabio (“the Learned,” r. 1 252—84), who established a school of translation from Arabic into Latin at Toledo (Shalem 1997,40—43). The dowry was a major means for the transmission of precious objects from one place to another, and Islamic objects often were included in the dowries of Christian princesses because of their rarity and great value. One of the most famous is the dow'ry of the Byzantine princess Theophanou, who married the emperor Otto II in 972. It is often said to have been the source of many Islamic precious objects now' housed in European church treasur ies.The princess presumably brought a rich dowry of rock crystal vessels, textiles, and perfumes from the Islamic lands, which had themselves been acquired bv diplomatic exchanges between Byzantium and the Abbasid and Fatimid caliphates (Shalem 1997, 45). The typical royal gift might also have included superb textiles, large vessels of precious metal, rarities like carved ivory and crystal, and mechanical devices, all objects that demonstrated Islamic workmanship at its best. Western rulers were proud of these presents and donated them, whether in life or after death, to churches and monasteries where they were preserved and often took on new meanings and associations (Shalem 1997, 49). Other Islamic objects came to the West as trophies, booty, and spoils from the wars against the “Saracens.” Booty — sanctioned in the Bible, acknowledged by the Spanish theologian Isidore of Seville (d. 636), and openly offered by Pope Urban II ( 1 088—99) who preached the First Crusade — was a prime motivation for all soldiers. Booty obtained during the “reconquest” of Spain from the Muslims is a recurring theme in the twelfth-century Cantar de Mio Cid, and captured boxes (produced for the neo-Umavyad rulers of Spain) are explicitly mentioned as church dona- tions in the thirteenth-century Poema de Fernan Gonzalez (Harris 2 1 3). The largest and most spectacular of these ivory boxes to survive is the rectangular one now in the Provin- cial Museum of Navarre in Pamplona, which acquired it from the monastery of San Salvador de Leire, in the Pyr- enees. According to an inscription around the lid, the box w r as manufactured in 1005 CE for Abd al-Malik, the son of the generalissimo al-Mansur (known in Spanish sources as Alamanzor). With the collapse of the neo-Umayyad caliph- ate of Cordoba in 1031, following many years of strife, the rulers’ precious goods were dispersed around the region. The box, designed to hold precious objects or substances such as jewelrv or perfumes, resurfaced as a Christian reli- quary, holding the relics of the virgin sisters Nunilo and Alodia, the story of w'hose martyrdom w'as first told by the Cordoban priest Eulogius (d. 859). The sisters had a Christian mother who remarried a prominent Muslim. In defiance ot their stepfather’s wish that they embrace Islam, they left home to live with an aunt, resisting all efforts at conversion, and were eventually beheaded on 2 2 October 851. Their relics arrived at Leire in the ninth century, long before the box was made, but it seems likely that the relics w'ould have been placed in it around the time that the saints’ crypt w'as consecrated in 1057 (Harris 2 1 5). We have no idea how medieval Christians w'ould have interpreted the iconog- raphy on the box, which consists of lively figural scenes in medallions around the body and on the lid. Modern observ- ers have been unable to uncover any program of decora- tion, like those characteristic of contemporary Christian art in Byzantium and the West. In some cases, later ow ners preserved the figural scenes but removed the dedicatory inscription (as on a box recently acquired bv the David Col- lection in Copenhagen), or replaced it with enamels. 2 In this case, however, the monks of Leire preserved the dec- oration intact. Perhaps they understood the Arabic words and images as evidence of the triumph of Christianity over Islam; perhaps they didn’t care. 116 A cylindrical ivory container in Braga Cathedral, also made for the same Muslim patron, tells us more about how Christians used these containers. The small box must have been made between 1 004, the date al-Mansur obtained the title inscribed on it, and 1 008, the year he died. The con tainer quickly passed to Don Mendo Gonqalvez (d. 1008), a prominent member of a Portuguese family, who may have obtained it in battle against the Muslims. Don Mendo and his wife DonaToda endowed a diminutive chalice and paten that fit exactly inside the ivory box and bear similar decoration of inhabited vine scrolls (Dodds 1993, 31 —2). Although the connection between the container and the liturgical ensem- ble is not proven, it is likelv, and the set shows how the Muslim secular container was thereby transformed into a Christian sacred object. Bv the seventeenth century, the ivory container itself was used as a reliquary. 3 A similar and equally beautiful ivory box, now preserved in the Hispanic Society of America, suggests that medieval viewers were unable or unwilling to read the Arabic inscrip- tions that typically decorate such objects and appreciated them solely for their superb craftsmanship (fig. 1). Most of the inscriptions on these boxes are dedicatory, but this one contains a poem spoken by the object and referring to its shape and function: The sight that I offer is the fairest of sights, The still, firm breast of a lovely young woman. Beauty has bestowed upon me a robe clad with jewels, So that I am a vessel for musk, camphor, and ambergris. 4 The ivorv box is decorated with an arabesque of stems and leaves drilled with holes in which tiny jewels were once set. Its color and shape — a cylinder topped by a hemispheric lid with knob handle — complete the sensuous image offered by the poem and show the sophisticated level of verbal and visual punning at the neo-Umayyad court where it was made to hold a crystal or glass flask containing perfume. We know nothing of the ivory vessel’s later history until the nine- teenth century, when it was first exhibited, but we must assume that it, like all the other boxes, was preserved in a Christian context. What would monks have thought had they been able to read what was inscribed around the lid? As the object was carried from one context to another, it was transformed from the private, secular, and personal realm to the public, religious, and universal one (Harris 2 i 3). Like ivories, textiles also moved from an Islamic to a Christian context, where their functions changed. The Islamic lands were famous for the variety and quality of their woven goods, which ranged from diaphanous silks and linens to heavy knotted carpets made of wool and cotton. Textiles were the engine that drove medieval Middle East- ern economies, functioning very much like the heavy iron and steel and energy industries of today. Not only were the four main fibers readily available, but a wide range of exotic dyestuffs made from plants and minerals allowed weavers to paint veritable pictures with their looms. Many Euro- pean words for fine textiles are derived from Arabic and Persian terms and place-names. For example, atlas is still the name for a rich satin; the word damask derives from Damascus, muslin from Mosul, and organdy from Urgench in Central Asia. Mohair comes from the Arabic word mukhayyir (“choice, select”), and taffeta comes from taftan, the Persian verb “to spin” (Bloom and Blair 1997, 97). While few medieval textiles have survived in the lands where they were made (many were simply worn to rags), we can glean some idea of them from pieces surviving in the treasuries of medieval churches, where they were cut up and used to wrap the remains of saints or made into liturgical vestments. The shroud of St. Josse in the Louvre, once used to wrap the bones of St. Josse in the abbey of St. Josse-sur-Mer, near Caen in northern France, is one of the earliest examples (Bloom and Blair 1997, 226—28). It now comprises a large and a small piece from the same length of fabric with a carpet-like pattern of borders surrounding a central field. The border shows a train of two-humped, or Bactrian, camels, with a cock in each corner. The field pres- ents two facing elephants with dragons between their feet. An inscription underneath the elephants’ feet invokes glory and prosperity to the commander Abu Mansur Bakhtikin, a Turkish commander in the province of Khurasan in north- eastern Iran who was arrested and executed in 9 61. The textile had to have been made when he was still alive, since the inscription asks for blessing on a living person. It prob ably served as a magnificent saddlecloth when the com- mander and his troops rode out to battle on the elephants and camels. We have no idea how this Central Asian textile ended up in northwestern France, but according to church records, the bones of St. Josse were wrapped with silk in 1 1 34; the cloth may have been a gift from Etienne de Blois, the patron of the abbey who, along with his brothers Gode- froy of Bouillon and Baudoin, was a commander of the First Crusade preached by Pope Urban 11 . The unusual iconog- raphy of this silk seems to have inspired French artisans to incorporate elephants in their decorative repertory. The Shroud of San Pedro de Osma (no. 90) offers an inter- esting twist on such a story of cultural transmission. The textile was discovered in the tomb of San Pedro de Osma (d. i 1 09), Bishop of Burgo de Osma in the district of Soria (Shepherd 38 1 ).The silk is woven with a pattern of rows of roundels, each containing a tree of life Hanked by a pair of addorsed lions with harpies (human headed birds) perched on their backs. The border of each roundel contains a scene of a kneeling man holding a griffin with either hand; the 117 FIG. 1 Ivory pvxis with chased and nielloed silver- gilt mounts. 1 6 x i o i cm. Hispanic Society of America, New York D 75 2 roundels are linked at the cardinal points bv medallions con- taining a rosette encircled by an Arabic inscription stating that “this was among the things made in the city of Bagh dad, may God protect it!”When Hrst published, the textile was therefore attributed to Iraq, but textile scholars related its technique to contemporary textiles produced in Spain. They argued that this or similar textiles must have served as a model for Spanish weavers copying Iraqi techniques. It was later noted, however, that the inscription contains a spelling peculiarity (the word hadha is written with two alifs), indi- cating that it could have been made only in Spain. The silk is thus a Spanish imitation of genuine Baghdad silks, reput edly the finest in the world, right down to the fraudulent inscription (Dodds 1992, 1 08— 09). The rich brocaded silks of Baghdad, often shot w ith gold, have given us the word “baldachin,” which, with its earlier counterpart baudekin, derives from the name of the Iraqi city. 6 The Spanish Bagh- dad silk (no. 90) was probably made in the city of Almeria, where, according to medieval authors, silk “stuff s w ith pat- terns of circles” were produced. It is likely that the textile, which would have been made to be used intact as a hanging, cover, or w r rap, was cut up and tailored (when still new) to enclose the bishop’s bones w hen he w^as buried in the earlv twelfth centurv. Other Islamic textiles were cut up to make chausables and other liturgical vestments or to line reliquaries (Baker 61-62). In all cases, these Islamic textiles represented the finest that Christians could acquire at that time. For example, sumptuous cloths woven of silk and gold thread (nos. 88-89) were made up into a burial mantle and tunic for Alfonso’s son the Infante Don Felipe (d. 1 274), who was interred in the church of S. Maria la Blanca at Vallalcazar de Sirga in Palencia (Dodds 1992, 1 13; ill. 10). 7 Another silk with roundels (no. 86) containing pairs of griffins was found in an urn containing the relics of St. Librada in the Cathe- dral of Sigiienza in Guadalajara. Some Islamic objects were exported to western and northern markets via such entrepots as Cyprus, Sicily, and Spain (Shalem 1997, 97—1 15). These goods range from specifically commissioned works, such as the inlaid metalwares inscribed with the name and titles Hugh IV (r. 1 324—59), the Lusignan ruler of Cyprus, which were made in either Damascus or Cairo (Rice 390— 402), 8 to anonymous w'ares purchased in the souks of Middle East- ern and North African cities, such as the luster-glazed table- wares imported via Sicily and inserted as decoration into the facades of North Italian churches (see Graziella and Ton - giori; Abulafia 287—302; Shalem 1997, 97). Other glazed ceramics arrived in European ports as containers for the spices, drugs, and ointments exported from Middle East- ern bazaars. The typical shape was the albarello, a tall cylin- drical jar with a wide mouth, whose short cylindrical neck and slightly lipped rim made it possible to secure a parch- ment or paper coyer to protect the precious contents (Mack 97), but large plates and chargers w r ere common for com- munal dining. Perhaps the most famous type of good exported from the Near East to the West was the knotted carpet. Carpets had been made in the arid and warm lands ofWest Asia for a millennium before the coming of Islam. The oldest known carpet, dated to the fifth century BCE, was discovered in a frozen grave at Pazyryk in the Altai Mountains of south- ern Siberia. Carpets continued to be a standard feature of nomad and settled life alike, for in a region where wood for furniture was scarce and the ground w'as normally drv and warm, people customarily sat, ate, and slept on the floor. In cold and damp Europe, by contrast, people used furniture to keep their bottoms insulated from the ground. Muslims brought the techniques of knotting carpets — along with the Merino sheep — from their traditional homelands in Asia across North Africa to the Iberian Peninsula, and, by medieval times, Spanish carpets were sent northwards into Christian Europe. In 1 254, when Eleanor of Castile arrived in London to marry Prince Edward (later Edward 1 ), she brought Spanish carpets and textiles that aroused the admiration and envy of many. She was thus responsible for introducing the Islamic practice of spreading carpets on the floor into Britain and northern Europe. 9 Several decades later, in 1289, the same Eleanor of Cas- tile received 56 pieces of Malaga lusterware, presumably 118 similar to the charger in the present exhibition (no. 85). Luster, a technique that had been invented in the eighth century for decorating glassware, was developed in Iraq in the ninth century as a means of decorating ceramics with a thin film of precious metal that made the surface glitter. Carried by artisans first to Egvpt, and then eastward to Syria and Iran and westward to Spain, the technique was a closely guarded secret passed down through families of potters. It was also very expensive because of the materials, additional firing, and special reducing kiln needed to fix the decora- tion. By the early thirteenth century, Malaga had become noted for its lusterwares, and the name of the city gave rise to the term maiolica that referred to the tin-glazed wares produced bv fifteenth-century European potters. With this exhibition displaying many objects in a museum setting, these Islamic works of art have come full circle. Created for use in dailv life as tablewares and cover- ings, they were transformed in Western European contexts by their beauty and rarity into glorifications of the Chris- tian faith. Now returned to a secular environment, they attest to the rich material culture of the Islamic lands in pre-modern times. €n£>notes 1 For a discussion of what Islamic art is and isn’t, see Sheila S. Blair and Jonathan M. Bloom, “The Mirage of Islamic Art: Reflec- tions on the Study of an Unwieldy Field f Art Bulletin 85.1 (March 2003): 1^2—84. 2 For the spectacular box in the David Collec- tion, see the proceedings of the 2003 sym- posium held at the David Collection, edited bv Kjeld von Folsach and Joachim Meyer and published as Journal of the David Collection, vol. II (2005). For the boxes fitted with enamels, see Avinoam Shalem,“From Royal Caskets Works CitcO Abulafia, David. “The Pisan Bacini and the Medi- eval Mediterranean Economy: A Historian’s Viewpoint.” Papers in Italian Archaeology, IV: The Cambridge Conference, Pt. IV, Classical and Medi- eval Archaeology . Eds. C. Malone and S. Stod- dart. British Archaeological Reports, Interna- tional Series. Oxford, 1985. 287—302. The Art of Medieval Spain ad 5 00—1200 . Metropoli- tan Museum of Art. New York, 1993. Baker, Patricia L. Islamic Textiles. London, 1995. Berti, Graziella, and Liana & EzioTongiorgi. / Bacini Ceramici Medievali Delle Chiese di Pisa. Exhibition catalogue. Contributions by D Mazzeo, G. Piancastelli Politi, U. Scerrato, and P. Torre. Rome, 1981. Blair, Sheila S., and Jonathan M. Bloom. “The Mirage of Islamic Art: Reflections on the Study of an Unwieldy Field.” Art Bulletin 85. 1 (March 2003): 1^2—84. to Relic Containers: Two Ivory Caskets from Burgos and Madrid ,” Muqarnas 12 (199^): 24-38. 3 Art of Medieval Spain, pi. 73. 4 Ecker pi. 18. 5 La France Romane:Au Temps Des Premiers Capc- tiens (987—1152), pi. 124. 6 The Compact Edition of the Oxford English Dic- tionary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), s.v. “Baldachin.” Bloom, Jonathan, and Sheila Blair. Islamic Arts. Art and Ideas. London, 1997. The Compact Edition of the Oford English Dictionary. Oxford, 1971. Dodds, Jerrilyn, ed. Al-Andalus.The Art of Islamic Spain. Metropolitan Museum of Art. New York, 1992. — . “Islam, Christianity, and the Problem of Religious Art.” The Art of Medieval Spam ad 5 00—1200 . Metropolitan Museum of Art. New York, 1993. 31 — 32. Ecker, Heather. Caliphs and Kings: The Art and Influ- ence of Islamic Spain. Washington, DC, 2004. La France Romane:Au Temps Des Premiers Capetiens (987-1152). Paris, 2oog. Harris, Julie A. “Muslim Ivories in Christian Hands: The Leire Casket in Context.” Art His- tory 18.2 (1995): 213—21. Mack, Rosamond E. Bazaar to Piazza: Islamic Trade and Italian Art, 1300—1600. Berkeley, Los Angeles and London, 2002. 7 Florence Lewis May treats many of these tex- tiles in Silk Textiles of Spain, eighth to fifteenth century (1957). 8 Shalem, Islam Christianized, pi. 260. 9 Jane Turner, ed.. The Dictionary of Art (London: Macmillan Publishers Limited, 1 996), s.v. “Carpet II. 2. 1 .” May, Florence Lewis. Silk Textiles of Spam, eighth to fifteenth century. The Hispanic Society of America. New York, 1957 Rice, D. S. “Arabic Inscriptions on a Brass Basin Made for Hugh IV de Lusignan .” Studi Onen- talistici in Onore di Giorgio Levi Della Vida, II. Rome, 1956. 390—402. Shalem, Avinoam. “From Royal Caskets to Relic Containers: Two Ivory Caskets from Burgos and Madrid.” Muqarnas 1 2 (1995): 24—38. — . Islam Christianized: Islamic Portable Objects in the Medieval Church Treasuries of the Latin I Vest Ars Faciendi: Bcitrage Zur Kunstgeschichte. Frankfurt am Main, 1997. Shepherd, Dorothy. “A Dated Hispano-Islamic Silk.” Ars Orientals 2 (1957): 373—82. Turner, Jane, ed. The Dictionary of Art. London, 1996. 119 Works in tbe exhibition 1 Samson and Lion Aquanianile Northern Germany (Hildesheim?), mid- 1 j' h to early 14 th century Leaded Latten, 1 3 V» x 14V2 x 4V2 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Benjamin Shelton Fund, 40.233 2c back 3 a front 3a-b Spoon with Fox in Ecclesiastical Garb Preaching to Geese South Netherlands, ca. 1430 Painted enamel and gilding on silver, 6 ls /i6 x 1 is /i6 x 1 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Helen and Alice Colburn Fund, { 1 . 2 47 2 4 Plaque with Beasts Cologne, ca. 1185 Champleve enamel and gilding on copper, 1 Vi 6 x j 4 * * 7 /i6 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Otis Norcross Fund, 47. 1445 Pair of Plaques with Beasts Limoges or Limoges workshop in England, ca. 1 300 Champleve enamel on copper, each 6Vu x 4 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; William E. Nickerson Fund, 48.1320/21 6b reverse 6a-b Antonio di Puccio (Pisano) called Pisanello (ca. 1395 1 45 5) Leonello d’Este Italy, 1444 Bronze cast, 99.6 mm. Collection of Stephen K. and Jamie Woo Scher 7 a obverse 7 b reverse 7 a-b Matteo di Maestro Andrea de’ Pasti (active 1441 1467/68) Isotta degli Atti of Rimini Italy, 1446 Bronze alloy cast, 84 mm. Collection of Stephen K. and Jamie Woo Scher rnmuna5wT 05 mm llljeuama&iuamuiu nrnwn m euo m nOiuto uumnuum HBnffTnr nit ftfwwmimjnmeftftmai^z Mem amtoi fymtusmcttf. '<& i 4 V I rz 8a Annunciation (f. 141-) 8b Adoration of the Magi (f. jir) 8a-f Book of Hours (use of Rome) France, ca. 142^ Illumination on vellum, 1 6 ,h -century leather binding over wooden boards, 9V2 x 13 Vi in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Ms. q. Med. 8 1 uuDiiquesuf ■ uircflrclncn . MBgggfl; omfaUcfeU URrelsAl iteff tour il ft gumr mefhCTDKCtenm io«r aucomauniimt ccs omifons !=> anctiflunc itmrtpj xjnfo groigi atftr wl: damanree crauDt ittfftr | tuftglroioCaimciDrtmntwrraam | ctateuta . pofuiftitmrfugoawr | ' ISfeicmeaKOitfl. fteiatnfrpnfifo. cue mu m* tew atm » * A « , % ^ jkfM 8 c Last Judgment (f. i2 2v) 8 d St. George and the Dragon (f. i j2v) iieints tultflitud nmomaimmfiu pmtiftr juimue nittunu loftie fug ■/* brntnuntginta ftiirctuutonrgim^^l' fubHtfcii tpimn.j Omyio itoluea ^HL . |.tatruduute£?fdigiu. / Jl ^ iquictdcfif tutta | * 8e Elevation at Mass (f. 136V) 8f Mass of St. Gregory (f. 1431*) 9 Visitation (f. jir) Book of Hours (use of Paris) France, ca. 1475 Illumination on vellum, 1 8' h -centurv gold stamped leather binding, 7 x 9 in. Boston Public Library, Ms. q. Med. 82 10a Nativity (f. 7 v) 10 b Calendar, December, Slaughter of Pigs (f.6v) lOa-b Psalter with Calendar Flanders, ca. 1250 Illumination on vellum, i y^-century leather binding over wooden boards, 1 1 x ij in. Boston Public Library, Ms.f.Med.84 cuin.in. EVS 111 AOIVTO mini in cummer rc:liommc -id.it um.indum me- ifclhu.i.MUvi.i Emcnto Eilutis ju ctoi qo noitn quondam cmpone oullitua inrqin cnjfcc mpfbi mam fu inpfcus jSStl.iru nut N ^ gntic m.utr uufcncoidic tii not .ib hjft triott qt in tu\i morn? fufapiCffitona tun oonunc*q mm? cstc uirguic cum pint i Cincto fpuim in fcmpitau.i fell : .mien, i Una uirgo: p?: lOnoimnum aim mbuU ttrcl.muui *t oundmit- mrJEJSIoniiiic liltr.i .unni.ini lla Border with Peacock and other birds (f. £ W^duaflfanaes wmim'itiaiusna Ctit&amnr frumetreo icioinatmttr utnfmnum tttcenr- ^ junreteo omntstetmri rnomini etus^o^jummwmt/ 12a Fantastic beast (f. ir) 12b Peacock (f. 7or) 12 a-b Psalter Flanders, 13 th century Illumination on vellum, 1 S^-centurv gilt leather binding, 6V2 x 9 in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Ms. q. 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'v *” ^a.vrC.- Swtf«s,c»~' t-.rp.V4.4- - o~»TW .>«,** ^-~r~.w~V^ w tll.^ »>.-rW' .Tv' “ pvhnv Wi»»«...iitff«'i-’»’ I VX^np. err. (t.„v .*»•* fix'.'-v. y},, Jr+Tv^T l^T**"* 4 t.*lW-.»-Vl^rt^^C^C..ttW<-' --.^Vp-* •«!»•• ..vUv.-., . ..... .-j) \u*..r ( )*•»..,.• rv^,. ~ p. r OVn , L fT '.r V ^ ’ •>»•(.<« »*• .V (••* v-T"* (■"■•“‘•>l : '«‘*. b»«fUW •ft""!* *"• ••* '••> — t..-(C..'. ..„ » H f7 wn *\» (2* ,vri,*‘ K'lV|7U.V |.-~ P-w ^ *V^v\\yh* ,lw«* \Mp&* *<'«•* hv....^,-- r~~r .Ypp).a |il- W vjC*, . TY* or ( m i^-i -••-'• •* <*+*<••« •>•''“*•"1 b«**.- >«'«* rt«c- - i} , I' 1 ;.: * ^Ctxux-UK cruft. -oh. pvpjf P V ‘ J -; ■* ■•"•*" l"** 1 - «■■»!< In.- f.W p^n... ^ fc/I > ^ or.»?>C»''^" "!**“& t* r *f ,w ,W ‘-r"* !» •*•'• lW^k%n-nV.n.- IvW* p,,^ K . / | T^Vct ..U- . 1 .iLV t»io.iio .>*«>• M» » W»... FnuWur ...^^VrvV.*- Irl pvc»n (?tr *rm vv(tv^.us^i v v .- * ** V ' ' sn .r^ . ''. . ,»„«» «h Mv <• W.\(.h.\ I«nra>«.,rt ••liv..,7.~ i*,^. r.*-.’ . 1- - V V*“* IMO"li fvV.V *iu«r>|.. Avi pi ta*us ivl»n I *■»’♦'•**’ < l*l**»* i lvW , "lvtm*«»M«r- MtH’ fuj i\*H> Tvl iWVHw » ♦*<*»' V°|^ ^** *'*" * ****r*K. p\- 21 a Papal Bulla and seal 21 b Seal of Pope Urban vm (reverse) 21 c Seal with Sts. Peter and Paul (obverse) 21a-c Papal Bulla Italy, 1630 Manuscript on vellum, 9V4 x 16V2 in., lead seal, 1V2 in. diameter Boston Public Library, James Lyman Whitney Fund, 2005 new accession vawolcrr.flcto.1 •> .r.'wucctfnlljcrliig^ T , ;J*i„ r.v^vj.' f ac.’tMPnowiiuk,-^ ; • , w -litifcnfrc* Pu-ioiioj “I'^ flt'JSI- Vl' ric»v?. .'x-crTO ipu ntvvcr.if.i v dtr.ill.:^ J.,V n , m njn, , . '{ WiCfl.1. KV-OII.U’: yf C jf|- t -ifar l\ui.ih.-cC» ! [lIp .VjJ •- ••• w "->■ 7 <|S -x>i^ > l • tun , i , .111 i.Hu‘[iilrc ' crtc icinii !<’•* i -\, 11 •i l'i'iii.ic*?- \’ nmi' . .1.1 !i' 111 1^7' '■■'rOP.Ci PICHH ■^ucp v - ■'V?*' failui-rv. cv -y'.y- ■ :■•;'■ Ifn Piwcc-.r; - i* UP* urniuil'?:- vililtC If r ' : TOM ' 1 1 . vill.n-i’liuT vV.mlOtlDl.l - c l ■ 1 *=• jnii ,T rcr:o i jcntrcp.il 22 a Lactatio Bernardi (f. ir) 22a-c Carta Executoria Madrid, 9 June 1 jjj Illumination on vellum, limp vellum binding, 1 2V2 x 9 in., lead seal of Charles V, diam: 3 Vi in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Ms.f.Sp.8 22 b Seal of CharlesV (obverse) 22 c Seal of Charles V (reverse) 23 a obverse Commemorative Papal Possessio Medal, Alexander VI Rome, 1492, Cast bronze, i 7 /ioin. Private Collection "fcmmfc n jpu , vbyuproK awwofiwre . I mnMTOtfO fftlBQntfiJV" 1 rrlttuiu tuktl lu u t T uiTil j?.r”in y 'niaiff.i'cf : ^- s 1/CftX ff JIesSJ Xf? 1 ^ tat urn ’.luiiur I JpAV.-jl II I 1 yZ^ MSmm y£r-55' yi>\ »j? jthn mlboSJa ftlb iifl ter gb tfo Injilfm SboMkb mw/rf; rf n, TO rani frnr ntnir » 2? 6E : tar -T fig-tj'r'x Ttn? 6« iir s- _ t m E ug urs rgVUL^T PISS rsjB'r^riqj (TumsorrnrcsriinLqK |sSE 5 „S£L crus sums fmrotnsu sss&IL'7 rrartuacanusssEnjin nj^.ruiw'p -ptstjscr. aamEs fcltrcssr 24 a King Herod and the Massacre of the Innocents, central scene (p. 7) Tfljtfiil tfni 0 hiVi>nTrnlr£- ^ s ra.mlm r*rr-Ni.^9 tTr-CrV rfiVfj , r~ ( cn-io'-rp Wf itin’jirrjfrftrTr ' Rnbrntnm'iinijip'ripiBr 1 trjllfi lmifHrtf njnftin9 1 rnlhi lift nm mimes ura ; trurtO irtfjjlo (7wnlfit ftHjt I lii fliu'iuutnmp nti llltatf®* _E (jrriurrihirf-tjj trjjln but tofii9 oraTo rt mm rproui iinpnibitmr. sfiMwfete uiS y i«6lnieoniu5Z7f jfiniiing^ gg^j m,r-n 1 flirts mali'gturfi'm I fnrraomhir Lo«ifuafraMmni [ Ihtirfmartjaljc? ^ fnhtf mfratotfrito rrprtlit! nnpmts I < 3 n mwmii mfK pfpirtmt l ttil~ ilh' ■ v^. - . \j0 'jTnuplu uu.'to liibft v9 mtv'hiruif®vnO jiltcfcrtrram 24 b Purification of the Temple (pp. 15 16) 24 a-b Biblia Pauperum Germany, ca. 1460—70, Block book woodcuts on paper, 1 ^-century gilt leather binding, 1 2 J 4 x 1 8V2 in. Boston Public Library, Q.403.96 oiuim ■ ^ » II ~ yen gtmcnuu ar v tm i\ig:*gfc lb Imzcn- ».ir»v*y 1 .. I . - . - .If. — . i , r» «« % I 1 . « .» . ii ?ca >.gon.t Pc co~ 4 .V 4 ju , Pwnmrcx 4 .xx > cia<:nXv u- alt;>u iu.*> t CtU^auoc^ln iil MrgcUt^vll^^^^ *! tui?t tv* I«. J> iwiHcii*»:tf»iV»l roc»*^l mw ?»ui ua u^a- .- Vi _ j T> t u~)itix-rr.i remap ;gcncv»mci'm c^uzvc-'rvU'^tt^H^n tj tcuM m a nnmi»cfr c-TC^lUhiw ;~gc»TV V »»»»»»»>»• »» »» • * w - » it*i vc rolcrc^^m lcticui *vg»tHnn*i rvfcntll.i cc w f UnxvJ~i gJn wf ngccciu- rv. Te c- * *? nee 1 e& .«* 7 V turiunr ico lucgr^ , uc . ilore - itu:nnaj:Onai vt» *1»c e#T>e U r^xctixy^Ui runui rf uw7c r*> 7>i*- vnIUi*> zlnffuc^jcl iii 4 ? 7 c un* 47 * 1104 ^*^^ r *!7— ---v - r 1 — — : — i . Tt :., Styrrnx tll'kXa It i? UiV ^ 4 - »»»^ I .iTc Utnn: .* i*|i uiU~;mc: cqn^ l^i f l tlict *l iu: i[iiu* luiiiu.ii ♦ij| 4 , #u i k V ** % r* » **_ . | — imTucrvt *-lv7uw -x Ut iutiTv-* _iU* c*m» yecfcwf :tvU?u jra? cjinil*v* l]n ur «yc»ilc«? - c*.mc*ltiU:*> qneUx- c\\ \Q t" tic i J — * ~ k— a? |!v*bc;*v txUuuii. inlla xeilnuxefiv :?vla m - * 9 * 5'4 OiC K % I- 30 David kneeling (above) with David facing Goliath (below) Folio from Book of Hours France, 1 6 ,h century Illumination on vellum, 9V* x 7 in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Ms.pb.Med. 145 31 King Herod and the Massacre of the Innocents, bottom scene (f. 3r) Biblia Pauperum Italy, ca. 1425 Illumination on vellum, 1 ^-century leather binding, 7V2 x 1 1 14 in. Boston Public Library, James LvmanWhitnev Fund, Ms. q. Med. 164 du in m.irdnmi •ilii'o d»:nmi uh if Hu ipu Icn'iDii iiitf(inilaii?- ^i{niintrs u pitr? b — j- J—jfri'.i raa.ifcam cvm as 1 roll *.>!»&♦ HLll H i arp.ii dO iC\XVC m H»J B-1%— a £ & [X>;U>{omU:riHr Ivi cr A mil lut himi ncaviotre crlailr. quomo 32 Kiss of Judas Folio from Evangelarium ca. i joo Illumination on vellum, 1 7P4 x 12 in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Ms.pb.Med. 1 86 33 Initial U with standing female saint Fragment from Antiphonary Italy, 1 4“ century Illumination on vellum, 9 x 14 in. Boston Public Library, Phillips Fluid, Ms.pb.Med. 204 34 Papal Indulgence with arms of Innocent VIII Italy, ca. 1490 Illumination on vellum, 1 3 !4 x 1 8 5 A in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Ms.pb.Med. 2 2 j 35 Francesco di Giorgio Martini ( 143 9-1 501 ) .Madonna and Child, St. Jerome, St. Anthony of Padua, and Two Angels Siena, ca. 1469—1472 Tempera on panel, 27x1 9V2 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, gift of Edward Jackson Holmes, 41.921 36 Lippo Memmi (active 1317— 1 350) Virgin and Child Siena, mid- 14 th century Tempera on panel, 2fVs x 1 8 J /a in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Charles Potter Kling Fund, 36. 1 44 37 Antonio Veneziano (d. 1419) Virgin and Child Florence, late 1370s Tempera on panel, 22 x 14. 3 /* in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, gift of Mrs. C. B. Raymond, 84.293 38 Ambrogio Lorenzetti (ca. i 290— 1 348) Madonna and Child Siena, 1 330s Tempera on panel, 29% x 1 j’/t in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Charles Potter Kling Fund, 39.336 39 Workshop of Domenico Ghirlandaio Virgin and Child Florence, 1480s— early 90s Tempera on panel, 2 1 Vi x 14V* in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; gift of Quincy A. Shaw, by 1 932, 4b. 1429 40 Workshop of Michael Pacher Virgin and Child Enthroned Tirol, ca. 1470 Pine with polychromy, 29 x 28'A x 17 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; gift of S.J.Tannhauscr in memory of his wife, Franziska Reiner Tannhauser, 62.338 41 Annunciation Upper Rhine, ca. 1440 Alabaster with touches of polychromv, 1 t'A x 814 x 2 Vi in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Helen and Alice Colburn Fund, 43.3 42a Annunciation (f. 2ir) 42a-c Book of Hours (use of Dol) Northwest France, ca. 1420 Illumination on vellum, i6 u '-centurv Grolieresque leather binding, 7% x 1 1 14 in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Ms. q. Med. 90 42 b Nursing Mary (f. 83V) 42 c Crucifixion (f. 32 v) 1 43a Annunciation (f. 13V) 43 b Crucifixion (f. i6v) 43a-b Book of Hours (use of Metz) Northern France, 14 th century Illumination on vellum, 1 ^-century leather binding, metal clasps, 5V2 x 9 in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Ms. q. Med. 105 ■ 8 2 - caxrcyumstic mrilmcrcr Lem CaO rru r V io:cm mim offb? CTTPat^ efrnoB erf^ms daui 6 dV ^ v t H i. s^ . nobis an tmpcmrm nrp fyirmc » . , -r-i r-r- V — t ■ » nrm c ins cr woes bmtrno men c ins rnsgm confiln 44 Nativity Folio from Antiphonarv Italy, 1 4 11 ’ century Illumination on vellum, 1 814 x 1 3V4 in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Ms.pb.Med. 1 53 tc tug fmm gt mn ^ rc. JSISSB*' ' . _ ■ » * JTI - rrc> gN S-y.lf 1 % M 1 * . ■ \ y — j* ■ s . ■ » m m uf dc xifpnnccpf piaf . 1 ■ 5L 1 u - ■ il ■ » B i >t n ■ 4* "ii * — i l! J5 §- ** * 1 ■ ^ cun euiufit Nativity Folio from Antiphonary Italy, 1 4 cu* cni ftimwtt; cmti rode intern* , dn cpvpfcu -om oflin * t*cc.iduc me comt . * — * — V- *. S— V mtc^ do mi mi* -■ M- ; : V v ■ * ct rcgimtii in irui im c tu$ ct -4 1 **— S -ViBTT Ti“* ptdfas ct titipm um.v X>cus ui li — ■ ♦ ■ I ♦ -4 — * - t- i — ♦ ■ ♦ M oitium tiium rcgi x>.t ru.bta ifc Com* ** cUc CcMyercttfc * Geitw xcict^ toaric * Con -fri* tur ecwrcxut * i Jamct orrtaptt? cimmtumott JJtif -femme mei aihutf^ uont auiCt qucUc ten 0cna6$fi fur ioCtic at cl^arc ctnmn^te 51b The Mass of St. Gregory and A Skeptical Priest Converted France or Flanders, 1500—1525 Tapestry. Wefts : wool and silk; Warp: wool, 76% x 7 1 s /s in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Charles Potter Kling Fund, 1 974.608 51c Two Heretics Drowned and A Heretic Converted France or Flanders, i £00-1525 Tapestry. Wefts: wool and silk; Warp: wool, 8 o s /i <■ x 71 14 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Charles Potter Kling Fund, 1 974.6 1 o ^uantfamort fare®. Con Csrna cf corps * QC pnCtrcs CvCt let; o poftra ft CJbtiurr . t>r (avee svoCvUur iXCf a Cmmt errors -Q.uc Coufc ct pm Con nmetmet Ocnxrm \i» Mr v/v ■ / V M. \(/ 51d 51d The Last Supper France or Flanders, 1500—1525 Tapestry. Wefts: dved wool, with touches of dyed silk; Warp: undyed wool, 70 x 70 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Charles Potter Kling Fund, 65. 1033 (not in exhibition) 51e The Christian Woman, the Jew, and the Host France or Flanders, 1500—1525 Tapestry. Wefts: wool and silk; Warp: wool, 277V16 x 71'/+ in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Charles Potter Kling Fund, 1974.609 (not in exhibition) 52 Narcissus France or Flanders, 1480—1520 Tapestry. Wefts: wool and silk yarns; Warp: wool, 1 1 1 x 1 22V1 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Charles Potter Kling Fund, 68.114 53c Final page doodles, including Alamanni’s name (If. 79 V 8or) 53a-c Tommaso Alamanni Manuscript Treatise on Commercial Arithmetic for Apprentice Cloth Merchants Italy, ca. 1 500 Ink on paper, limp vellum binding, 9 Vi x 15 in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Ms.q.It. 14 z kX-~ V l Y't \V AT OR ('S’ N OSTRZ. LAVRENTI CARDS' SIALYL' BEHIVO ‘ifMTTA V6L HE C6SSITV7>1H€ Si BI CO'H I VN CTt>5 IH N\T7 ?JS/>0- . ur^ipml i/los .imr* rtf XS ofli n/ lui ntointrncuttnn jC>iam ctnt.nncnumt ccr . li,cc nunc ccvt/uc rndo c 'T jjLckuj: .ih.t caivj hiilc a nr. 1 tortbuf nilbnttxy *. left f.VfT - .1111 Unigv' iliiur/.t. (cun cures J Cej.fc.tut ro xtc alicuo o-nut.utnw S ur littt t*> T Q lout jAc nil 11110s don cut . \t (cj^endts ■ yi (tc Jijcemn tuttnerri . iM k I--.'" \ 54 Francesco Barbaro Opening Initial with husband and wife (f. ir) Folio from De re uxoria liber (On Wifely Duties) Italy, 1 5 ,h century Illumination on vellum, 1 6 ,l '-century leather binding over wood boards, 8V2 x 1 2 in. Boston Public Library, Ms. q. Med. 24 O' ^ *-# *£• irmc nmit p.ims anu\cciyuiai uiicn a mcm >. capirolo.j esc to .p_ IpBI i mcaimoai "v v: 5 iioftr i o »i$noru?u vpo&tib: yo~ ■ v £? i vvnma o' i qiOia VC* *’ •'£;>. * X^ 14 \C 07 llOTj 'Orvdiiorov uqvoriinixp ax r K\ . >ck *04tlfll lot:-: ;1lfl^V4 UOlQiCUO’a apfefafcO go.xscT«ii ; k - anc cuaxigciiiti m lequalrmt icmo AfcJit acn at!x)iic^rcl qual pfcivioiiu xcnuKir'Xite^iom 'Sea Uuec cv icnaida-Ti ijfe /-x lopasrnoft!? conLit^icv^ r |iU;H: ' .ipretencc m a i 5 ^ hcnc t cc: ;*M* ic; Iriildps Ubum^ -4 itiQmo&iycz esmer r : *: hcarryiftr -rrxm^ aiddmues*? ♦ - ! “cmo coticmm mo vc pmocxtvt a ■_■.> r rX«£fcttwprO -?V X ".^ s JGDdOT»-4U v.-U 55 St. John the Evangelist offering the Mariegola Folio from Rule (or Mariegola) of the Scuola Grande di San Giovanni Evagelista Italy, 1 4 th century Illumination on vellum, i iV* x 8/4 in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Ms.pb.Med. 147 Dinner pt$f nos qut Cum" Flier imftrnfl tflnfta q fiimpftmu- xrVy; t teate wrtmt ill t' reffio uc 1 1 ciatt £w .£>. sg>,tttftl upd lOlfl)). a tii If Cl 130 mim* CfCfl lllftt _____ tmir~ {jemsfp*miapc feat emu it fit lth CUferbom t)i J * mfft$mctcrmLPvUffl$ mmucfim ra uteri® irii5 Drano q tit bcatu npdjoiaii poutififcmtuu inn sccamflt im^ i ; mculia. tnbiie noli “ -tot cuts mentis k* pitnbiis ja^ciie ^ ttircttOtis tibcrfimm Y “ 5 •: - ■ cc fa rette.crintrtin l‘s crctfaccrlo^timftt A qrn tit bicbus Cuts. plant it D&t) fiou elf mitcttf' fimibs till qiu ronfttmtf Icjt cccdft n Uclum Tl) . llufmoaf p>obiffltc Duj t msifttftu^D 6cnrnitfl pac& fiutc tmiabevcbi tabitiocrimuabit Itlut f folia rofar. ^icuf Uliiflb^tfloiC gtt mluaslfltupfibcpcrpc tu£fef floit-15 (iilgt blf fthfltt) Cfft Otfaf A tint nett uiftiac^ixJf&ptr tutu mcntoflOJCbif^Hrf ‘t)ftictcrmiX).K uttbotm itum.7lUaX)?ufttt$ fir mumbit ftntf hlni *f lo.’Cbit m ettrmi atilt _& Rentas * mtn * nilfCrUOliJlflHIf am t|i) i - 1 tiomiiic me o oraltabf ro:mi cuts. i=~i. 56 Initial S with St. Nicholas Folio from Missal France, i j* century Illumination on vellum, i 6 V* x 1 1 in. Boston Public Librarv, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Ms.pb.Med. i 52 I \ 1% 57 Massacre of the Innocents Initial from Antiphonary Lombardy, i 5 th century Illumination on vellum, 8Vi x 7% in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Ms.pb.Med. 1 76 58 Apollonio di Giovanni diTomaso (ca. 1416-1465) and Marco del Buono di Marco (ca. 1402 -1489) Meeting of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba Florence, ca. 1464 65 Tempera on panel, 2o n /i6 x 73I/16 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Bequest of Mrs. Harriet J. Bradbury, 30.495 59 Education of the Virgin France, mid- 14 th centurv Marble, 10V16 x 9 s /s x 6 Vs in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Gift of the Class of the Museum of Fine Arts (Mrs. Arthur L. Devens, Chairman) 58.1 191 60 Candlesticks Venice, 1 5 th century Copper alloy, 4 s /s x 3V16 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; H E. Bolles Fund, 66.428/9 61 Reliquary Triptych Paris or England, earlv 14 th century Basse-taille and champleve enamel and gilding on silver, 2"/i6 x 2 7 /i6 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Theodora Wilbour Fund, in memory of Charlotte Beebe Wilbour, 38.354 62 Box-shaped pendant with St. Margaret, St. Catherine, and Inscriptions Referring to the Holy Face (Veronica’s veil) and theThree Kings Northern Europe, mid-i4 ,h century Silver, iV% x i V* x V* in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Arthur Mason Knapp Fund, 46. 1 249 63 Girdle book calendar (March-December only) Northeastern Spain or southwestern France, first half of the 14 th century Ink on parchment (ten single leaves), attached to a silver holder with six carnelian beads, 2 3 /s x i V* in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Helen and Alice Colburn Fund, 46.458 dtcn utttov !E IT i uao tuft trim jfiinfk 6w cf cp cm 1 1 mi mufuay ftmtceft Sdm H ixtxbiuit tuiutfc ptvnm tvcpttKX flmfXKfhitifciirtafaf’ ^1^ finif Wttomi mutnthscoz it nmtuGimt humtt 9 pfue que q uftt ftp am 0a Ung enfant * . $ Jlcb ft? bapzce tcfjcmfttcnt a $ airier _ (Syfinbuquct commence tc pzinfctnpe^ (Cat tef petit f c ouiitepicfi eft a cnfciqmt * cptcntc miffc moimircnf pou tiofftnfe. m 65f David Kneeling (sig. K 2 v) (£F c** fcntte' Imne* itjfxuheift a0tonalantd |ugt 1 tjnnb vnttrbmcft &te (?cx>»tg icprrftT/ rotfraffc bupin|acon'3blus pall:a»ifrhum/Aibtn/rrbmb gdt ^ orr ri*5r *** f «4rb«bt btrlignt/btntbtyft nl maltbtyct vn6 ntrbc gfftblttc t »nb gtbtrrt fitn font 5ab<5«n/gUT Luy font fee biens,c ¥ rnbeffes mendaines. K 70b Job and God (sig. Kir) 70a-b leones Historiarum VeterisTestamenti Lyon: Jean Frellon, 1447 Printed on paper. Illustrations are believed to be in large part based on drawings by Hans Holbein the Younger. I9 ,h -centurv paper binding, 8 x y!4 in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Q_4yoA . y 1 Tem eft pareillemenc enicelle elgliTefa 1 fainfte face de noftre (eigneur Iefus erfft taquelle on apelie uulgairementla Veto nicque.Ec la moftre on plufieurs fois en tafaifte fepmainne deuant pafques 8t au toot de lafcen fion denoftre feigneur.& auffi le prochain dis menche foie deuant ou apreslafefte de Cn'nft Anthoine.Etefi: afiauoir que routes 8C qaantefs fois que on la monftre generalment au peublct les Rotnains qui en lefglife de fainft Pierre s 6e 71 St. Veronica (sig. B8r) Les mereveilles d Rome Rome: Valeirio Dorico de Cheto, 22 April 1 336 Printed on paper, illustrated, early vellum binding, x 8V2 in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, G. 398b. 296 72a Annunciation (sig. A8r) 72 b Virgin of the Rosary (sig. Air) 72a-b Caspar de Loarte, S.J. Istrutione et avertimenti per meditar i misterii del Rosario della Santissima Vergine Madre Rome: Justina de’ Rossi, i 573 Printed on paper, illustrated, 16 -century limp vellum binding, 8V2 x 10% in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund,Acc. 88 362 73 a Crucifixion ( sig. A i r) ^an tame 3 !eCUS Sottb bis bifcppleS into } atottmc named ©etbte /tot bp tbe rpuet \of CcD^m so^fmtoas a gatoen in to tbe idbicbe be ettttcD Bottb btS DtCcipiejef* 3!u Dastbetobtebebetrapebbintfencajetbe plaeerigbtitocU/ftn ofte tpmeS before be 9 bis biCcp* pica Socte tbete aCDemblcD^lbban tjjep ttJtre entreb b e Capo to bt£ Dtfcpplcaf /fptpoubere anb ifcarcb in piapet lea pataumtute petal! in to temptaepon/ to tbc tpmc p 31 baue fenpCtyea mpp?apet. 3 !iu> after p ^airpotw *•&*• 73 b The Agony in the Garden (sig. C3O 73a-b The Passyon of Our Lorde. Here Ensueth a GhoostelyTreatvse of the Passyon of Our Lorde Jesu Chryst London: Wvnkyn de Worde, 1521 Printed on paper, illustrated, 1 9 ,h -centurv leather binding, 7 Vi x 1 1 in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, XG.409. 1 76 74 a Death Bed Scene (sig. B6r) 74 b The Deceased Tempted bv the Devil (sig. 179) 74 a-b Ars Moriendi exVariis Scriptuarum Sententiis Collecta cum Figuris . . . Leipzig: Konrad Kachelofen, ca. 149 5 98 Printed on paper, illustrated, i9 th -century leather binding, 8V2 x 1 iV* in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Q.405. 1 74 75 Job on the Dungheap (f- 5 jv) School of the Master of Jean Charpentier The “Du Bourg” Hours (use ofTours) France, ca. 1475—90 Illumination on parchment, 6 2 /s x 4V5 in. Wheaton College Collection, Purchased with the Newell Bequest Fund, 2005.013 dll leu quoniaeuu diet oris : voce ozonts meeJIz Iclmauit aure fua mtcbi: t w otebus mas umocabo ut me oolozesmoztis: t-peri cula utferm tnuenerur me j|nb ulationc t ooloze tuem:t no me oni iuocau ffi bne fc= ^ bera aiam mea nufericozs Otis et uiftus t ® oeus nofter miferernr^uftodies paruu= los ons: bumiliams ftmiberamt m<®6 if uertere amrna mea m reqiue mazquia ons benefeat abijguia eripirit amnia mea oe mozte : ocuios meos a lacbzymis pedes meos a Upfu^lacebo onozm regione vi iK)zum®equie etemam oona eis one: et lut perpetua luceat da .an, *||Wacebo ono in regione vuiozu*a*ifeeu me quia mcola^ ms meuspzolongatus dt*pefSd Onm cu tnbuUrer.vteA.&he cuflodit te ab omm malo atfodiat amrna taa ons«psMfeua^ iii ocuios. vts4* uqmtates obteruaue ns one one qrns fuftnebiups^Re pzofu^ dbs damaw ad te oo mwevzc. vt fupza. a* a. JjfjfMaim us. ozubioomme intoto coz^ meo zquorna audiftt verba ozxs confpectu angelozu pfallam tibi o ad templu fanctu tuum t confite § s«- 76 The Office of the Dead (text), with illustrated border of the Dance of Death (sig. H i r) Book of Hours (use of Rome) Paris: Pierre Pigouchet and Simon Vostre, 1 7 April 1497 Printed on vellum, illustrated, 1 S^-centurv gilt leather binding, 7V2 x 1 o in. Boston Public Library, Scholfield Fund, Q.40 5 . 1 j8 77a front cover — The prophets: Isaiah before theThrone of God 77b back cover The apostles; Christ predicting the destruction of the temple 77a-e Ritual Armenia, ca. 1 698 Illumination on paper, embossed silver binding, clasps, 6 x 9 14 in. Boston Public Library, Gift of Finley Currie, Ms. q. Arm. 1 77c spine — Inscription by owner about the binding ( 1 704 ) 77d Content list of services (f. jr) 77e clasp 78 a Souls in Hell (f. 24V) 78 b Satan (Hades) and souls in fire (f. 2yr) 78a-C Gospels Armenia, 1475 Illumination on vellum, later 1 7 Ih -centurv embossed silver binding, clasps, 6 V* x io !4 in. Boston Public Library, Francis Skinner Fund, Ms. q. Med. 34 78 c The evangelist Matthew (f. 36V) 79 a The Forty Martyrs of Sebastia (f. 73V) 79 b St. Rhipsime (f. 219V) 79 c The battle ofAvarayr (If. 298V 2t)yr) 79 a-c Hymnal Armenia, 16 th century Illumination on paper, 16' 1 ' century leather binding over wooden boards, leather and peg clasps, 5x8 in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, and James Lyman Whitney Fund, Ms. q. Med. 199 mam ■pnqa ■ i • A mmno Tip E . HAMA Si £.// /> U U K m *e 7i*u rmHo e miio e parKtfmo* a P f r ir A nr ry*tr offumij \ AHTIA6 MO KOmt £TTTH*> 80 Stikherarion (f. ir) East Slavic, 1 7 th century Illumination on paper, 1 7 th -century leather binding over wooden boards, 6'/i in. x 8 Vi in. Boston Public Library, 2005 new accession 81 The Miser and the Devil South central France or Limousin, second quarter of the i 2 th century Limestone, 24V16 x 1 2 3 /s x 9 'A in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Charles Amos Cummings Fund, 48.255 82a Birth of the Virgin (f. 2v) 82a-e Picture Bible Italy, ca. 1375 Illumination on vellum, 1 y^-century leather binding over wooden boards, metal clasps, j'/i x 8 Vi in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Ms. q. Med. 85 82b Adoration of the Magi (f. 3V) 82c Dives and Lazarus (f. i 2 r) 82d The Last Judgment (f. 24V) 82e The Beast of the Apocalypse (f. 26 r) 83 Kiss of Judas (f. io8r) Book of Hours (use of Rome) Northern France, i j* century Illumination on vellum, 1 9 lh -century leather binding over wooden boards, metal clasps, 9 14 x 14' 14 in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Ms. q. Med. 89 jiicipi tomn fnomiomm aDucfpuva -tiir : ^Oi-w e! C\WJ' bo Domino : p till milt? ^iquoiium cr.inoict txjuu - V ww noqetn ouno «i wnicc. p)Yhi a imlnuimt' Atom iu~; 84 a The Three Living and the Three Dead (f. 8$v) 84 b Office of the Dead (f. 86r) 84 a-b Book of Hours Italy, ca. 1490 Illumination on vellum, 1 S^-centurv gilt leather binding, j’/i x 7 Vi in. Boston Public Library, Josiah H. Benton Fund, Med.q. 1 36 85 Basin, brasero Valencia, Spain, ca. 1430—75 Tin glazed earthenware with cobalt and copper luster decoration, 1 8% in. diameter Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; anonymous gift, 1992.397 86 Fragment from Reliquary of St. Librada, from the Cathedral ofSiquenza Almeira, Spain, late i I th or early i 2' 1 ’ century Silk and gold metallic thread, brocaded lampas, 20V2 x 1 3 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; William Francis Warden Fund, 33.119 87 Weaving with roundels joined by interlace Guadalajara, Spain, i i* or 12* century Silk brocaded with gold, 1 6 9 /i6 x 1 3 V* in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; William Francis Warden Fund, 53.118 88 Fragment from Tomb of Infante Don Felipe Spain, 1 3 th century Silk and gold metallic thread, wefted patterned taquete, 9 1 2 x 1 2 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; John Wheelock Elliot Fund, 47.1461 89 Fragment from Tomb of Don Felipe Spain, i j 01 century Silk brocade, io 'Ax i 2 l3 /is in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Harriet Otis Craft Fund, 26.291 90 Baghdad Silk, Shroud of San Pedro de Osma Spain, ca. 1 1 oo Silk and gold wrapped thread, 1 9 u /i6 x 1 6 ls /u in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Ellen Page Hall Fund, 33.371 91 Penelope at Her Loom Fragment from The Story of Penelope and the Story of the Cimhn Women (from the series The Stories ofl'irtuousWomen) France or the Franco-Flemish Territories, ca. 1480 83 Tapestrv. Wefts: dyed wool, warp: undyed wool, 5 9 */i € x 39V4 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Maria Antoinette Evans Fund, 26.54 92 Ulysses Homeward Bound Fragment from The Story of Penelope and the Story of the Cimhn llbmen (from the series The Stories of I'trtuous I) omen) France or the Franco-Flemish Territories, ca. 1480-83 Tapestry weave. Wefts: wool, warp: wool, 73 x go 'A in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Maria Antoinette Evans Fund, 26.33 93 Ring Brooch England, France, or Netherlands, late 14 th century Gold, Vi 6 in. diameter, V» in. depth Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Arthur Mason Knapp Fund, 63.1326 94 Bracelet Constantinople? i I th — 1 2 th century Silver with niello decoration, 2 V* in. diameter Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Frederick Brown Fund, 59.720 95 Millcflcurs Tapestry with Oriental Figures France, first quarter of 1 6 th century After an engraving bv Albrecht Diirer (German, 1471 1528) Tapestrv weave. Wefts: dyed wool and silk, warp: undyed wool, 108 x 67' 4 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Bequest of Francis Skinner, 1 ^ . 1 240 96 Apostle France, mid- to late i 2 th century Limestone, 3 3 7 /i6 x 1 0V4 x 6V2 in. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Charles Amos Cummings Fund, 36.335 CONTRIBUTORS TO THE VOLUME NANCY NETZER is Professor of Medieval Art History and Director of the McMullen Museum of Art at Boston College. MATILDA TOMARYN BRUCKNER is Professor of Medieval French Language and Literature at Boston College. LISA FAGIN DAVIS is an independent scholar of medieval manuscripts. EARLE A. HAVENS is Curator of Manuscripts at the Boston Public Library. PATRICIA DELEEUW is Associate Academic Vice-President for Faculties and teaches medieval theology at Boston College. VIRGINIA REINBURG is Associate Professor of Early Modern History at Boston College. LAURIE SHEPARD is Associate Professor of Italian Language and Literature at Boston College. STEPHANIE C. LEONE is Assistant Professor of Renaissance Art History at Boston College. M.J. CONNOLLY is Associate Professor of Slavic and Eastern Languages at Boston College. PAMELA BERGER is Professor of Medieval Art History and Film at Boston College. ROBIN FLEMING is Professor of Medieval History at Boston College. SHEILA S. BLAIR AND JONATHAN M. BLOOM are Norma Jean Calderwood University Professors of Islamic and Asian Art at Boston College. ISBN 1-892850-10-9 5 5 000 > 9 781892 850102 McMullen Museum of art Boston college