The Pope's Artist

When Pope Clement VI wanted to build a new chapel connected to the papal complex in Avignon and have it lavishly decorated, he called on Matteo Giovannetti. Giovanetti (c.1322 - 1368) was in his 20s at the time, and according to the oldest documentation we have about him, he was a priest.

He received a large salary to lead a team to design and decorate chapels, the Grand Audience room (where the pope meets visitors), the Consistory (where the pope meets with the cardinals), and more. He created altarpieces and paintings that the pope would offer to churches and monasteries.

One of his chief projects was to paint the new Saint-Martial Chapel, begun in 1344, attached to the Tinel, the pope's grand dining hall. The chapel's paintings tell the life story of Saint Martial in 13 scenes. Giovannetti even worked Clement into one of the frescoes (see illustration).

He also decorated the chapels of St. John located below the chapel of Saint Martial. He included events in the life of John the Baptist as well as John the Evangelist, including their parents. The frescoes deteriorated over time, but in the 1990s a restoration program began.

Giovanetti remained employed by the popes after Clement's death. He accompanied Pope Urban V on Urban's return to Rome in 1367. We are told that he worked on paintings at the Vatican Palace. It is the receipts for his payment that allow us to identify his works and track his movements. After 1368, however, we have no records for him, and we do not know where he ended up or how long he may have lived after that. In 1368 he was only in his late 40s, and his lifestyle would have kept him well-nourished and housed, so "old age" seems an unlikely ending. We simply do not know anything more about him, but the Vatican records allow us to give attribution to his work—not always the case for medieval art.

Why was Saint Martial important to Clement VI, so much so that he was the subject of a new chapel? I'll explain next time.

Paganism and Christianity, Part 4

Although Christianity was replacing paganism all over Europe, pagan cultural influences inevitably lingered, and we can see this everywhere. The days of the week, and even the idea of a seven-day week, did not originate with Christians or the Bible. Pagan Romans had a seven-day week, and the modern English names come from Anglo-Saxon pagans and their Norse deities:

• Sunday = Sun-day
• Monday = Moon day
• Tuesday = Tyr's day (god of war)
• Wednesday = Woden's day (Odin, father of gods)
• Thursday = Thor's day (thunder god)
• Friday = Frigge's day (goddess of love)

Many pagan figures were turned into Christian saints because their stories were compelling. The saints Barlaam and Josaphat were decreed to be early saints, although they are from a much older Buddhist story. Some scholars doubt the historicity of St. Brigid of Kildare, suggesting that she was a re-purposing of the Celtic goddess Brigid, a member of the Tuatha.

Although the Bible does not mention the word or idea of a halo, Christian art puts it on the heads of religious figures as a standard indication of divinity. It is a much earlier image, however, appearing with Buddha, with Krishna, and the Egyptian sun-god, Ra.

The image of the Good Shepherd seems to come from the Bible, and was painted on Christian and Jewish tombs in the Roman catacombs, but it was previously used for pagan tombs as well. Jesus may be depicted as an adult with a beard, but the earliest Good Shepherd motif is of a beardless youth wearing Roman clothing from before the Common Era.

Other images in Jewish and Christian art that are predated by pagan use are found in the catacombs: woman praying with upright hands (so-called Orant figures), Winged Victories and cupids are seen throughout the catacombs, figures eating grapes, seven steps leading to a tomb, pairs of peacocks, scrolls—are all parts of pagan art that were adapted to Christian symbolism.

C.S.Lewis, after converting to Roman Catholicism, was happy to explain these borrowings as important parallels:

preparatio evangelica, a divine hinting in poetic and ritual form at the same central truth which was later focused on and (so to speak) historicized in the Incarnation... [from the essay "Myth Became Fact and Religion without Dogma"]

Of course the more deliberate adaptation of pagan-to-Christian culture is when Pope Gregory sent Augustine to convert Britain, telling him to appropriate their holy places and customs, or when St. Boniface cut down a sacred oak and used the timber to build a church. Gregory's re-defining certain words tells a similar story.

The Christianization of Europe kept advancing, but like the Renaissance it did not happen all at once. There was a country on the Baltic Sea that is considered the last country to become officially Christian. Curiously, its capital city of Vilnius had such a large and thriving Jewish population that it was called Yerushalayim D'Lita (the "Jerusalem of Lithuania"). Tomorrow we talk about (not for the first time) Lithuania.

Pictish Metalwork

Besides an impressive array of carved stone slabs, the Picts also did some sophisticated metalwork. One important piece is the Whitecleuch Chain, found in Scotland in 1869.

Dated to between 400 and 800 CE, the Chain is made from 22 pies of linked silver rings with a totals length of almost 20 inches. The piece that encloses the chain, making it a necklace, is inscribed with Pictish symbols, notably a double-disk and a zigzag pattern (looking like a plant stalk) from Class I and Class II patterns. The patterns on this are similar to those found on a silver plaque in the Norrie's Law Hoard.

Norrie's Law Hoard is one of the largest Pictish hoards ever found. Found in 1819 on the Largo Estate in Fife, Scotland, it originally was 170 pieces of silver coins, jewelry, and artifacts totaling 28 pounds—alas, much of it was given away or melted down. The hoard includes a silver plaque with a near-identical depiction of the same design found on the Whitecleuch Chain, suggesting a serious importance to this particular pattern. A similar design is found on a carved stone at Falkland.

There are 11 chains (or fragments of chains) found in Britain (four in Scotland) that are considered Pictish. They are assumed to have belonged to people of high status, as supposedly would the Norrie's law plaque.

As with Pictish stone carving, Pictish metalwork also can be divided into classes or phases. The earlier phase is mostly silver objects with some enamel decoration. The Norrie's Law Hoard falls into this category Later, there evolved a variety of styles (likely influenced by their neighbors) of spirals, interlace, filigree with glass insets (note that glass requires a higher furnace heat than silver).

A question you would not think to ask is "where did they get the silver?" The Picts did not have a significant mining operation, so they had to find silver that someone else had mined and purified. Tomorrow, let's talk about hacksilver.

Pictish Art

Much of existing Pictish art is carved on standing stones and falls into three "classes."

The oldest art falls into Class I (dated to the 6th through 9th centuries) and consists of primitive stone slabs (irregular shapes, un-smoothed surface) with simple geometric figures and some naturalistic figures (animals). Some shown here (see illustration) have no clear interpretation, and may have been used as boundary markers or to identify certain clans.

The designs were incised first with a simple rough punch and hammer, and then the line was widened and deepened with a chisel. The incised lines are smooth, so were likely rubbed with stone to eliminate roughness.

Second row, far-right in the illustration is what's called the "Pictish beast," but its identification is the source of much debate. Whatever it was, it had some significance since it accounts for 40% of all animal figures in Pictish stone carving. It has been described as a kelpie, a seahorse, a dolphin, or some monster; some have even suggested it represents the Loch Ness monster.

Class II stones are roughly rectangular and have symbols that are visibly linked with Christianity. They are often referred to as cross slabs because they depict crosses on one or both sides. They include Celtic geometric knot work as well. They date to the 8th and 9th centuries, so they started to appear prior to the disappearance of Class I carvings. Carving in Class II went beyond simple incising and brought the images out in relief.

Class III graduated to sculpture, in that the rectangular slab was not a canvas on which to carve a design: it was stone from which an actual shape was to be freed. Class III also abandons the pre-Christian symbols and lines, becoming similar to what was being produced by their Gaelic neighbors

The Picts also did some impressive metalwork, which I'll talk about next time.

The Start of the Italian Renaissance

Because there are no "hard and fast" dates for cultural eras (although I nominate 1453CE for one), the Italian Renaissance painting is carefully divided up into four phases: the Proto-Renaissance (1300–1425), the Early Renaissance (1425–1495), the High Renaissance (1495–1520), and Mannerism (1520–1600, which we in this blog can safely ignore). Cimabue (c.1240 - 1302) is often called the first great artist of the Proto-Renaissance period in Italian art. Why "photo"? If it's new and part of the rebirth, why can't we just say he is the first of the Italian (prefix-free) Renaissance?

Part of the problem is that the Renaissance does not begin everywhere all at once. These phases represent trends in art and are tied to specific artists who tried something "new" and whose work influenced the style of others. The Proto-Renaissance in Italian art was dominated by two figures: Cimabue and Duccio of Siena (his Madonna and Child, now in the London National Gallery, is shown above). Along with two contemporaries, Guido of Siena and Coppo di Marcovaldo, they seem to have been influenced by the unknown the so-called Master of St Bernardino. They specialized in stylized religious paintings in which the angle of the head and position of the hands, for instance, were determined by traditional icon paintings in the Byzantine style.

Proto-Renaissance painting was dominated by religious art. During this Proto period the Black Death inspired a change in theme to the need to approach death in a state of penitence; images of death and the torments of Hell began to dominate church art. More than one painting is named "Triumph of Death" from this era.

Much of this was happening in Siena, ruled by a republic since 1125. I'd like to talk about its history next time.

Cimabue

Cimabue (c.1240 - 1302) was an Italian painter and a designer of mosaics. In case you have not yet heard of this man, his name is pronounced (forgive the amateur phonics) chim-uh-boo-ee. His real name was Cenni di Pepo. The nickname is thought to mean "bull-headed" (see the third paragraph for a possible explanation).

Born in Florence, he probably studied originally under Byzantine-style artists, but he "rose above it." His painting style is credited with defying the usual flat medieval style and developing more realistic proportions with lifelike shading. Giorgio Vasari centuries later told the tale that it was Cimabue who came across a young Giotto sketching sheep and, so amazed at his realistic drawing, invited him (with Giotto's father's permission) to come to Cimabue's studio.

Vasari, supposedly quoting a contemporary of Cimabue, says "Cimabue of Florence was a painter who lived during the author's own time, a nobler man than anyone knew but he was as a result so haughty and proud that if someone pointed out to him any mistake or defect in his work, or if he had noted any himself... he would immediately destroy the work, no matter how precious it might be."

In a case of the student exceeding the master, Dante mentions (not places, although Cimabue was dead by the time Dante was writing the Commedia) Cimabue in the Purgatorio as an example of fleeting fame while discussing those who suffer from excessive pride: “Cimabue thought himself the master of painters; Giotto took from him the glory and relegated him to oblivion.”

To be fair, however, Cimabue was not relegated to oblivion. We are aware of several works by Cimabue (more than those of which we can be certain were made by Giotto). For instance, the illustration above is a small detail (Judas betraying Christ) from a fresco in the Church of San Francesco (St. Francis) in Assisi, commissioned by Pope Nicholas IV (the first Franciscan who became pope).

Cimabue is also credited with the round stained glass window of the choir of Siena Cathedral, as well as a painted Madonna and Child (now in the Louvre), and the fresco Christ Enthroned between the Virgin and St. John the Evangelist in Pisa Cathedral.

One interpretation of Cimabue's impact on art is to call him the first great artist of the Italian Porto-Renaissance. I suppose Proto-Renaissance could use some explanation, which I'll provide tomorrow.

Giotto

Giotto (c.1267 - 8 January 1337) is one of the best-known painters and architects of the Italian Renaissance, and yet we know very little for certain about his life or work. An 1850 plaque exists in a tower house in a village north of Florence declaring it was his birthplace, but recent documentary evidence shows that he was born in a farmhouse in Florence. His father was a blacksmith named Bondone.

As a boy he was discovered by the famous artist, Cimabue, who saw him sitting on a rock drawing such lifelike pictures of sheep that Cimabue offered to take him on as an apprentice. "Lifelike" was the hallmark of his art. His contemporary Giovanni Villani called him "the most sovereign master of painting in his time, who drew all his figures and their postures according to nature."

Many of the stories about Giotto's life and work come from much later, in the Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects by Giorgio Vasari (1511 - 1574). Vasari mentions that Giotto painted a fly on a face in a painting of Cimabue's so lifelike that Cimabue kept trying to brush it off. Another anecdote by Vasari tells that Pope Benedict XI sent a messenger to Giotto, asking for a sample of his artwork to determine if he was good enough to commission. Giotto sent a red circle by hand that was so precise it looked as if it had been drawn with a compass. The messenger reported to the pope that Giotto had not moved his arm when he drew it.

Vasari attributed many works to Giotto, but there are only a few with provenance that tie them directly to him. One is the decoration of the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua, completed around 1305. Its frescoes of the life of the Virgin and the life of Christ is regarded as one of the supreme masterpieces of the Early Renaissance. He was also chosen by the commune of Florence in 1334 to design the new campanile (bell tower) of the Florence Cathedral.

While we are on the subject of Italian Renaissance artists, we should not neglect Cimabue. We'll look at him tomorrow.

Medieval Mosaics

Mosaic art—arranging pieces of stone, glass (called tesserae), or other material to make shapes and pictures—has existed since the 3rd millennium BCE, when pebbles were used to make floors with designs. They became widespread in ancient Greece and Rome, not just as public art but for domestic use: every household would be enhanced by mosaics on the floors (not usually on the walls, where fresco was used for decoration).

The earliest mosaics, found in a temple in Mesopotamia, were roughly cube-shaped bits of stone, along with pieces of shell and ivory. Around 1500 BCE we start to see evidence of glazed tiles being used. Rome and Greece elevated mosaic use to a high art (although most named mosaic artists in the Roman Empire have Greek names).

The Middle Ages chose brightly colored glass and gold leaf to make mosaics. When Ravenna became the capital of the Western Roman Empire, it became the site of several magnificent buildings with equally impressive mosaics. When the Lombards were problematic, Pope Adrian I turned to Charlemagne for aid. For Charlemagne's reward, he was allowed to take away from Ravenna anything he wanted. What he wanted was Roman art and architecture, so a number of Roman columns, statues, and mosaics traveled north to become a part of his complex at Aachen.

Taking and re-using older architecture and artwork was actually a recognized practice, and the elements were called spolia, from the Latin for "spoils." An example of spolia in Aachen is the porphyry columns in the Palatine Chapel which likely came from Ravenna. Charlemagne must have liked what he saw in Ravenna, because his Palatine Chapel's design is very similar to the church of San Vitale in Ravenna. The Palatine's ceiling and walls are covered in mosaic that is clearly Byzantine in style (see the illustration).

As the 13th century approached, mosaicists were also painters. One of the best known now (in the Modern Age) was Giotto, whom we'll talk about next time.

Matthew Paris

Matthew Paris (c.1200 - 1259) was a Benedictine monk at the Abbey of St. Albans, known to us for his numerous illustrated written works. We do not know why his surname was "Paris"; we have no record of him studying or living there, although given the era in which he lived it is not surprising that he wrote in either Latin or Norman French.

He was an Englishman who did get sent to Norway once to reform a Benedictine monastery on the island of Nidarholm. This gave him an opportunity to be an eyewitness to events surrounding King Haakon IV. His status as an eyewitness to history of his time is what makes him so valuable (although we are sure bias crept into some of his work).

His major work was the Chronica Majora, borrowing from Roger of Wendover's Flores Historiarum, but adding his own observations from 1235 on. An abridged version, his Historia Anglorum covers the years 1070 through 1253. There is a manuscript version which also includes the final part of the Chronica Majora covering the years 1254-1259, all in Paris's handwriting except for a last entry making note of Paris's death and having an illustration of him on his deathbed.

All the other illustrations in his writings are by him, and he had decent skill at drawing. Seen here is the most detailed map of four he produced. Another, showing the trip from London to Rome with sketches of some towns along the way, can be seen here. A picture of a beheading is here.

Paris lived while Henry III was King of England, and records many events from his reign. Paris and Roger of Wendover relate their concern about the increasing percentage of (French) foreigners coming to England. Paris and Henry met in 1236 and kept in touch, but Paris did not approve of the direction the reign was going and his account of Henry's actions is often unflattering.

One of Henry's actions that Paris might have approved (I say might)—and the modern world would certainly condemn—is Henry's "Statute of Jewry." I'll tell you about that next time.

The Ottonian Renaissance

Although we use the term "renaissance" to refer primarily to a rebirth of art and culture that started in 14th century Italy and spread throughout Europe, the truth is that there were several rebirths of culture between the Fall of Rome and the 14th century. I discussed this a decade ago here. One such rebirth took place during the Ottonians in Germany in the 10th century.

Part of this was not so much a rebirth as an influx of culture from the east: the Byzantine Empire maintained some of what Western Europe "lost" during those centuries. When Otto I married his son, Otto II, to Theophanu, the daughter of the Byzantine Emperor John I Tzimiskes, he opened the door to Byzantine art and increased commerce. Another important figure involved was Gerbert of Aurillac, who became Pope Sylvester II during the reign of Otto III.

Sylvester II introduced the abacus for computation, and wooden terrestrial spheres for the study of the movement of planets and constellations. He composed De rationalis et ratione uti (Of the rational and the use of reason) and dedicated it to Otto III. Promoting reason over faith was an important step in the study of the sciences. Sylvester also promoted the expansion of abbey libraries, particularly at Bobbio Abbey (where St. Columbanus wound up earlier), which had almost 600 works.

Arts and architecture also stand out in an examination of the Ottonian Renaissance. The revival of the Holy Roman Empire brought inspiration to think on a grander scale and create art and buildings that reflected the grandeur to which the Ottonians believed they were heir. Large bronze doors on churches and gilded crosses became more common. Ottonian patronage of monasteries produced grand illuminated manuscripts. One of the most famous scriptoria was Reichenau, which produced Hermann of Reichenau. This is also the period of the literary output of Hrotsvitha of Gandersheim.

A campaign of renovating churches and cathedrals also took place. (The illustration is an ivory plaque showing Otto I on the left, shown smaller than the saints, presenting Magdeburg Cathedral to Christ.) Longer naves and apses were inspired by Roman/Byzantine basilica. Many of these church designs and re-designs came form the hand of Otto I's brother, Bruno the Great. Bruno extended the cathedral in Cologne to rival the size of St. Peter's in Rome (Cologne Cathedral burned down in 1248, alas). He also built a church dedicated to St. Martin of Tours.

Ivory carving and cloisonné enamels were also widely produced in this era. A major workshop for cloisonné enamels was established by Archbishop Egbert of Trier, using a Byzantine technique of "sunken" enamel, where thin gold wire was soldered to a base, and colored glass melted into the spaces, as opposed to the original style of affixing gemstones as an inlay.

I find Ottonian art, though lovely, does not tickle my interest as much as those "wooden terrestrial spheres" of Pope Sylvester, so I'm going to look into those for next time.

Medieval Paints and Pigments

Where did medieval manuscript illuminators get their colors?

Well, first thing to realize is that they weren't re-inventing the wheel: Romans had colored paints available to them. The Romans used the term minium to refer to pigment from ground cinnabar (brick-red mercury sulfide) or red lead (lead oxide). Some minerals that were dug up and ground included:

red ochre — iron oxide/hematite (rust color)
yellow ochre — silica and clay/iron oxyhydroxides (shades from cream to brown)
umber — iron and manganese oxides (from cream to brown)
lime white — dried lime/chalk (white)
green earth (Verona green) — celadonite/glauconite (green)
azurite — carbonate of copper (blue)
ultramarine — lapis lazuli (blue)

Pigments could also be made from plants. Red could be made from the root of the Eurasian madder plant. The Crozophora plant's seeds produced a violet-blue. Saffron gave yellow. Woad and indigo came from plants that carried the same name. Let's not forget insects, that could be crushed to give the bright-red carmine (from the cochineal or Dactylopius coccus scale insect). 

Preparation of paints was a careful process. The coloring was usually mixed gum arabic or with egg. Egg tempera (from the yolk) or egg glair (from the white) were ways to "fix" the pigment to the surface you were using. Because the egg tempera could crack, it was applied in paintings in thin layers.

Some colors were more special than others. Ultramarine (literally "beyond the sea"), the blue made from grinding lapis lazuli, came from Afghanistan and was very expensive to obtain. This brightest blue, however, was associated with the gown of Mary, the mother of Jesus, so it was greatly desired and worth the price.

Another questio0n regarding color in the Middle Ages comes to mind, however. How did they get the color into glass? That's for next time.

Masters of Marginalia

Marginalia—comments, doodles, annotations, etc., made in the margin of a manuscript or book—came in many forms. Here we talked about the attempts at educating and clarifying by scholiasts.

Today we look at the less serious additions made by monks who were no doubt bored and decided to exercise their sense of humor.

There are so many web pages where you can find more in varying stages of frivolity and obscenity if you simply search "medieval marginalia" the you can send days of diversion that it would be pointless for me to try to give you more than just a bare minimum of representative figures.

These marginalia don't make much sense, in that they don't generally have anything to do with the text they accompany except in the most tenuous way. For instance, the bottom illustration in the collection I have included shows a fox as a bishop preaching to a flock of different birds, which would normally be his prey. Commentary by a monk on what he really thinks about bishops and their attitude toward their congregations? Or just an attempt at an ironic drawing of animals?

Snails actually show up frequently, often involving combat. The top right shows a snail with an animal's head. Below that is a snail fighting a knight. There is conjecture that the shell of the snail, since it resembled a kind of armor, was an appropriate foe for a knight.

Some additions are attractive additions, like the unicorn, although right above it is a curious animal-headed set of tentacles or vines. I would call that simply a doodle.

Then you have pictures that are far more irreverent than a fox preaching to birds, such as the monk sniffing the butt of an ... animal? Demon? Hard to say what it is in that top-left illustration. At least it is very attractively enclosed in the curves and points of its surrounding frame.

We should note that the making of marginalia was not that impulsive; that is, the manuscript copyist did not say to himself "I'll just out a goose playing a lute here." These were added by someone who was sitting with access to multiple colors of ink in front of him. He was the monk tasked with "prettying up" the manuscript in order to make it more valuable and less likely to bore the reader. Hundreds of years later, these colors remain on the vellum, which has got me thinking: where did colored inks/paints come from in the Middle Ages?

I will look into that question, and get back to you. See you tomorrow.

The Scholiasts

Marginalia are marks or notations or illustrations drawn into (obviously) the margin of a document. They have another name: apostils, from the Middle French verb apostiller, meaning "to add marginal notes." This in turn was from Latin postilla, "little post." The origin of postilla might be (we aren't sure) the Latin phrase post illa, which would mean (if Latin used it this way) "after these things."

Scholarly works and the Bible would have marginalia such as numbers to denote divisions of texts, or notes for liturgical use. There may even be scholia, ("comment, interpretation") which are corrections in grammar or translation or comments on the text referencing other works. Errors could creep into the arduous task of copying, and a subsequent copier of the copy could be aware that a mistake had been made, which he would seek to correct with a scholia. The person who added scholia was a scholiast, a word that goes back to the 1st century CE.

Additionally, a monk who had knowledge of a commentary on a document he was copying might decide to add scholia to offer an explanation on the particular passage in front of him. Modern book lovers debate over the propriety of writing in a book; these monks saw fit to "pre-write" into the work for clarification.

This is not to say that all scholia are to be trusted. Mistakes can be made. For example, there is a 1314 manuscript of a 3rd century text, Porphyry’s Homeric Questions (a discussion of problems that arise from reading the works of Homer). There are other manuscript copies of the works of Homer that have scholia that are clearly quoting Porphyry—and they are different. The person adding the scholia has mis-remembered the original; or did he? Maybe the person who made the 1314 copy was being sloppy while looking back and forth from the written to the being-written in front of him.

If I am in the position where I cannot digitally copy and paste, and must read + remember + type a longish passage, I must be extra careful because I know how easily my short-term memory can "smooth over" the original. I cannot imagine a monk would not try to speed up the tedious process of copying by spending less time shifting back and forth.

In the illustration above, a printed copy of Homer's Odyssey (printed in 1535), the printer Johann Herwagen (1497–1559?) has simply included (the narrower column) and additional scholia from other manuscripts, leaving the reader to decide which is preferred.

If the readers of this blog follow any other information about the Middle Ages, however, yesterday's reference to marginalia conjured images of, well, images. The phrase medieval marginalia usually makes people think of pictures, and I'll give you a representative sample of those next time.

The Seat of Wisdom

The special nature of the Virgin Mary—having been born without sin so that she could bear the Savior—made her the focus of attention as Christianity evolved. We've looked at the end of her life on earth and what happened afterward. In the Middle Ages, she took on a new title: the Seat of Wisdom.

The connection between Mary and Wisdom can be found starting in the 8th century. Masses focused on Mary used particular texts:

Wisdom sings her own praises, before her own people she proclaims her glory; In the assembly of the Most High she opens her mouth, in the presence of his hosts she declares her worth. [Sirach 24:1-2]

In the 11th century we first hear the phrase "Seat of Wisdom" to refer to Mary, in a litany at the Shrine of Our Lady of Loreto in Italy. A 12th century Benedictine, Odo of Canterbury, Abbot of Battle Abbey, offers an explanation for the title:

Philosophy is called the pursuit or love of wisdom. Mary is, therefore, the philosophy of Christians for whoever desires to find true Wisdom must direct his/her love and endeavor to Mary.

This could be interpreted to mean that Mary=Wisdom, but most theologians in the Middle Ages say Wisdom as a synonym for "The Word," Logos, from the Gospel of John. Since Mary, one of whose other titles is Theotokos [Greek: "god bearer"] brought God/Logos/Wisdom into the world, she is the seat (or throne) of Wisdom. Depictions of this in art, either two-dimensional or three-dimensional, show her sitting, with Christ as a child on her lap or knee.

Next let's take a sharp turn to something completely different: the above mentioned Battle Abbey.

Valkyries

Everyone is probably familiar with the valkyries, the "choosers of the slain" in Norse legend. They didn't just carry the dead to Valhalla, however. Norse soldiers who died in battle had two possibilities: Valhalla or Fólkvangr.

Fólkvangr (Old Norse "folk field") was the domain of Freyja, Odin's wife and goddess of love, beauty, fertility, sex, war, gold, and seiðr. (Going forward, when you see the character ð, pronounce it as a voiced th, as in these.) There she sits in her hall Sessrúmnir (Old Norse "seating room"). Besides warriors, Egil's Saga (composed in the 13th century) has a non-warrior woman remarking that she will not taste food again until she dines with Freyja.

The other half of slain soldiers are carried by valkyries to Valhalla. There they are called the einherjar (Old Norse "once fighters") who prepare for the final battle at Ragnarök. Valkyries in Valhalla serve mead to the einherjar.

Visual depictions of valkyries are ... vague? We have Viking Age art with women in it that could be valkyries, but we just don't know. Silver amulets with women holding drinking horns are numerous, especially in graves. A silver-gilt figurine found in Denmark and dated to 800 CE shows a female with bare arms holding a shield and sword. When you look for females carrying drinking horns, you will find them all over Northern Europe, in metal and carved on rune stones.

Outside of Scandinavia, the Anglo-Saxons also had a similar concept. The Old English word wælcyrge might have been a loan-word from Old Norse or an independent idea. The charm "For a Swarm of Bees" seems to compare a swarm of bees to a ride of the valkyries.

How did the idea of female choosers of the slain arise? We'll never know for certain, but some scholars think they were originally demonic entities who swarmed over the dead in battlefields. As concepts shifted and battle became more glorified, warriors were honored with an afterlife. Getting to that afterlife required a mechanism, and the demonic entities connected with death became noble entities carrying fallen soldiers to their reward. They go from Furies to Norns, involved in the fate of warriors.

It is likely that poetry helped re-shape the idea and function of the valkyries. Njal's Saga is an Icelandic saga that describes events between 960 and 1220. It describes an incident in which a man secretly observes valkyries at a loom, weaving and singing about who will die at the Battle of Clontarf (Dublin, 1014 CE). They then ride off, singing "start we swiftly with steeds unsaddled—hence to battle with brandished swords!"

If you were to search, say, Facebook for the name "Valkyrie," you would find several. Whether that is a given name or a nickname the person has chosen for herself isn't clear. I personally know an actual "Valkyrie" who reads this blog. Hi, Kyrie!

And now for something completely different: the Battle of Clontarf. See you tomorrow.

Villard de Honnecourt's Animals

We're talking about Villard de Honnecourt, who traveled Europe and Hungary between 1225 and 1235 (at least), sketching along the way. As well as buildings (especially churches), machinery, and people, he sketched a lot of animals. Some were studies in how geometry helps to draw. Some were animals for their own sake. 

For instance, here's a snail that was added to the page on which the soldier from the previous post was found. And a bear and a swan on their own page. Just under the swan's tail is a church he wanted to sketch, but the swan was more important?

He sketches horses on more than one page, and there are numerous small creatures: there's even a page of insects.

There is one animal that he draws more than once, and one of the drawings gets a whole page to itself. I'm talking about the lion.

It would probably be more appropriate to say a lion, because I cannot imagine he ran into more than one. In the image to the left we see a lion tamer. Villard's note makes sure you know that this is "from life."

The term he uses that is translated "from life" is the Medieval French contrefait. If that word looks familiar even to non-French speakers, that is because it is the origin of the modern word "counterfeit." Don't be alarmed that it seems to contradict what he said about "from life": contrefait did not have the same connotations. It meant (and still means) to imitate. Modern parlance defines this is "not real." For Villard, it meant that he may not have been sitting there watching the event when he drew it, but he is imitating a factual thing. He is assuring us that this scene happened. We have no reason to doubt him. That does not mean that he observed this himself; just that he is adamant that it is real. He includes another picture in which he makes the same claim.

Lions in Medieval Western Europe would have been scarce or non-existent, appearing largely in literature and on heraldic designs, usually very stylized. Still, he was confident enough about the lion that he was sure he could draw it convincingly. Was there the possibility that he would have seen a lion in captivity? Or had the opportunity to look at one face-on so he could draw it?

Were there zoos in the Middle Ages? If there were, what were they like? Where did the animals come from?

Which all sounds like an excellent topic to explore next.

Villard de Honnecourt's People

Who was Villard de Honnecourt? He mentions in his sketches that he had been to many lands, including spending several days in Hungary. He doesn't tell us why he was there, but a theory has arisen. One of the radiating chapels in the new chevet of Cambrai Cathedral as dedicated to St. Elizabeth of Hungary. It is possible that Villard was there to obtain a relic of the saint for the cathedral. Elizabeth died in 1234 and was canonized 27 May 1235 by Pope Gregory IX (canonization in those days wasn't as rigorous a process as it is today). Ten miles south of Cambrai Cathedral is the village of Honnecourt. Villard may have been an architect/engineer for Cambrai.

It is entirely possible that he was tasked with traveling to procure a relic, and used the opportunity to make sketches along the way. Not only did he record architectural details and draw machines, he also drew subjects "from life."

Some of them are figures of saints or Christ, likely taken from art, but some are obviously activities of real people. The first illustration here is a soldier at rest. We get some idea of what a soldier would wear; we see what looks like chainmail under his tunic, along with a chainmail coif. Unlike the simplified straight lines of his machine drawings, here we see attention to the detail of folds and pleats in the fabric.

Another interesting sketch from life is the wrestlers.

Is it a serious bout, or just two friends playing? We will never know, especially because he doesn't even caption this, as he usually does with his sketches. The regular design cut off on the right side of the illustration is part of Cambrai Cathedral: This is the plan of the apse and the choir (chevet) of Our Lady of Cambrai as it is now rising from the ground.

This page has been turned sideways so that he can include the wrestlers, but as much as he cared to represent them carefully—the folds of their loincloths, the contours of their bodies—it was just an idle addition.

He was, however, interested in demonstrating how to draw from life. Some of his sketches show the geometry and symmetry of the human body and face, as a guide to drawing. In the drawing below he endeavored to show how easy it was to find the proper proportion in drawing from life. 

His caption reads: Here begins the method of representation as taught by the art of geometry, to facilitate work.

On a page of the twelve apostles (and three other figures, he writes: Here you will find the images of the the Twelve Apostles, sitting. Villard de Honnecourt greets you and begs all who use the devices found in this book to pray for his soul and remember him. For in this book will be found sound advice on the virtues of masonry and the uses of carpentry. You will find strong help in drawing figures according to the lessons taught by the art of geometry.

The illustration to the left shows that he wasn't just interested in people. He had quite a few sketches of animals, and one species in particular (besides the occasional horse) was of such interest that he stressed to the viewer that it was "from life" and not imagination. But that is tomorrow's topic.

Villard de Honnecourt's Machines

I've mentioned Villard de Honecourt back in 2012; he is so worth another look. Anything we know about him is entirely incidental. Around 1225-1235, he traveled around Europe, and went as far as Hungary, sketching artwork, buildings, machines, animals and other items of interest to him along the way—250 separate items sketched in all. His sketches have prompted us to assume he was an engineer and/or architect. (Panofsky obviously assumed architect; see the previous post.) He sketched various figures that were clearly on the facades of cathedrals, as well as floor plans and elevations of cathedrals. He had a fascination for machines, however. 

One of his drawings, pictured here, is for a perpetual motion machine. He has captioned it: Often have experts striven to make a wheel turn of its own accord. Here is a way to do it with an uneven number of mallets and with quicksilver.

He also made simplified drawings of a machine for cutting the tops of piles under water when creating a pier, for straightening a sagging house, for bracing the spokes while making a wheel, and more. And here's another set of machines.

Starting from the top, his notes describe a saw that operates itself, a crossbow that won't miss, engines for lifting heavy weights, and how to make an eagle that turns toward the deacon when he preaches.

Despite the above implication that you can learn a lot from his drawings, an early theory that he intended these drawing as teaching tools has been dismissed since, other than the drawings themselves, there are no details regarding construction or operation.

His collection passed through various hands, some of whom have written their names on pages, and eventually came into the possession of the Bibliothèque National de France in the winter of 1795-96. If you want to purchase a facsimile edition, or at least view a brief video of one, click here.

I think some of his sketches taken from life should get some exposure. See you tomorrow.

The Gundestrup Cauldron

On 28 May, 1891, a worker digging in a peat bog near Gundestrup in Denmark made an extraordinary find: a shallow bowl holding a dozen curved panels (five large and seven smaller) and a couple short metal strips. Analysis showed the material to be 97% silver and 3% gold.

A Danish archaeologist realized that the pieces could be assembled into a deeper bowl, the silver strips forming a rim. Originally thought to be Celtic, careful examination of the figures carved on the silver panels revealed a mixture of images from different cultures. One of the images—an antlered male figure holding a torc in one hand and a serpent in the other—is identified as Cernunnos, the "Horned God" of Celtic folklore.

Who would have created something like this? The work resembles that of Thracian (Thrace included Bulgaria and parts of Turkey and Greece) craftsmen from the 2nd century BCE. Thracian metalworking would have been happening at that time in the Balkans. It is assumed that someone with Celtic leanings created the artwork. How it made its way to northern Denmark is anyone's guess.

The images on the Cauldron represent several themes: fertility, destruction, life and death. One of the most intriguing images is a bull hunt, depicted on an oval medallion. Three dogs are part of the hunt, and above the bull is a woman warrior, leaping to strike the bull with a sword.

Another panel shows two rows of warriors, one of which is mounted on horses with horse tack seen in Eastern Europe. The other row is followed by three men playing a Celtic musical instrument. A giant appears to be dipping a man into a cauldron, possibly representing rebirth.

Was the Cauldron a gift to a warrior or ruler? Was it created to be part of some magical ritual? A great deal of wealth and effort went into creating it; it is unlikely it was used as a fruit bowl. And why was it disassembled and buried in the peat bog? To hide it from enemies? As a sacrifice to gods? We will never be sure.

Actually, sacrificing by throwing things into peat bogs was a common occurrence up through the 2nd century CE. We should look at some of the things that archaeologists have recovered from peat bogs.

Noting the Bern

The Smithfield Decretals have been mentioned recently. They are a book of decrees drawn from 1,971 letters from Pope Gregory IX, with glosses (detailed commentaries) and lavish illustrations. About 700 copies of these decretals exist—most of them created after the advent of mass printing technology; this particular one was made in France in about 1300, but found in Smithfield in the UK, hence its name. It is thought that the owner in England had the illustrations added in about 1340.

Apes fighting as knights, from page 75

Thanks to the British Library's plan to digitize all of its manuscripts, you can actually flip through the pages if you go here. You will see all the illustrations, including depictions of daily life as well as fanciful portrayals of animals acting like humans.

But those are just the side show. The reason 700 copies exist of the writings are because of the importance of the papal letters, and the explicating of the important statements within. The editor of the decretals was one Bernard of Botone (d.1263), also called Bernard of Parma because of his birthplace. He studied at the University of Bologna, where (according to his gravestone) he became Chancellor in his later years. An expert at canon law, he was an ideal commentator for the decrees.

Bernard drew from multiple sources for the commentaries. Many medieval manuscripts give no hint as to authorship, or editor-ship. In the case of the Decretals, however, attribution is always given to the other authors and commentators whom he quoted. Whenever the notes and commentaries were his own, he signed with a simple "Bern" at the end.

The whole thing is finished; give the guy who wrote it a drink.

Bernard died in 1263, and the copies that exist were all made years later. In the case of the Smithfield decretals copy, we do not know who the copyist was, nor who the illustrators were. The copyist, however, did leave a "personal stamp" on the manuscript. On the very last page, after the last line, he added the following:

The whole thing is finished; give the guy who wrote it a drink.