Ambiguous Women in Medieval Art 9786158122207, 9786158182188, 9786158122214

Table of contents :
Table of Contents
Introduction
The Disease Woman:
The Woman in Labour:
Bathsheba’s Bath and the Seven Deadly Sins:
King Solomon’s Ambiguous Wife in the
Saint Eugenia Outside-Inside-Outside Rome:
Doubly crowned:
Material and Temporal Ambiguity at

Citation preview

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction Mónica Ann Walker Vadillo

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The Disease Woman: A Neutral Representation of Health? Sara Öberg Strådal

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The Woman in Labour: A Twelfth-Century Navarrese Relief from the Church of San Martin de Tours, Artáiz 29 Dilshat Harman Bathsheba's Bath and the Seven Deadly Sins: A New Interpretation of a Visual Narrative Strategy in Late Medieval Books of Hours 57 Mónica Ann Walker Vadillo King Solomon’s Ambiguous Wife in the Queste del Saint Graal Anastasija Ropa

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Saint Eugenia Outside-Inside-Outside Rome: An Iconographic Continuity? 123 Andrea-Bianka Znorovszky Doubly crowned: The Public and Private Image of Two Fourteenth-Century Hungarian Queens Christopher Mielke

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Material and Temporal Ambiguity at Santiago de Compostela: The Case of the South Portal’s Woman with the Skull 171 Karen Webb

Introduction

When I was studying at the University of Florida back in the early 2000s, I was fascinated by the ways in which women were represented in medieval art and what these images could tell about a society’s perception of women. Although Medieval Europe was fragmented into many different political units and cultures, the fact that Christianity unified most of the continent under one single faith, allowed for a type of generalization regarding its understanding of women that permeated most of the arts. Fraught with a religious and ideological agenda, many of these representations showed a rather daunting image of opposites that in many cases could be reduced to a simple division between good versus evil. These images were conceptually focused on the everpresent dichotomy between the Virgin Mary and Eve as the forefront symbols of the two ends of the spectrum that were impossible to emulate or overcome. But, as is the nature of absolutes, this idea could have never reflected the reality of daily life with all its complexities, contradictions, and idiosyncrasies. Moreover, the arts have a way to challenge, subvert, and overturn these binary perceptions while affirming them at the same time. From this interest came the idea to organize a series of sessions at the International Medieval Congress in Leeds and at the International Congress on Medieval Studies in Kalamazoo whose focus was women and their shady grey area of ambiguity. If we consider the nature of ambiguity to mean that several plausible interpretations could be given to a specific idea or statement, then we can see how the representation of women in the Middle Ages could be nothing more than ambiguous. This is especially true when we try to make sense of the experiences of people who lived in the past, and their understanding of gender, through the lens of our own experiences—and our own biases. Regardless, it is not the aim of this volume to present an anachronistic introduction of present-day ideas into the past, but rather to unravel the

Introduction

intricacies of gender and the ambiguous position of women as represented in and through the seven examples gathered in this volume. This volume is organized following a specific narrative that will take the curious reader through a journey connecting interpretations of women’s bodies and experiences. In the first essay, Disease Woman: A Neutral Representation of Health?, Sara Öberg Strådal analyses the schema of the Disease Woman in the Wellcome Collection, MS 290. Her research shows how women’s bodies were conceived medically and how they related to late medieval ideas regarding the gendered human body. Through a thorough visual analysis of the Disease Women in the context of the other (male) representations in the manuscript, as well as through a comparison with other illustrations found in similar scientific manuscripts, Dr. Öberg Strådal demonstrates the way in which this medical illustration not only described the types of ailments that women suffered from, but it also emphasised the way in which women’s bodies were constructed as inferior to those of men. In the second essay, The Woman Giving Birth: A Navarrese Relief of the Twelve Century in San Martin de Tours, Artáiz, Dilshat Harman investigates what the representations of the Woman Giving Birth in the central corbel on the façade of this Spanish church might have meant for the medieval woman and man. She connects the Woman Giving Birth not only with contemporary attitudes to sex and gender, but also to a complicated system of associations based on the contextualization of this image with the rest of the programme found on the façade. In the end, the Woman Giving Birth in this context could be subjected to multiple interpretations, chief among them is the intriguing connection between life and death, and how these interpretations were directed to all the parishioners and not only at one specific gender. In Bathsheba's Bath and the Seven Deadly Sins: A New Interpretation of a Visual Narrative Strategy in Late Medieval Books of Hours, Mónica Ann Walker Vadillo (me) takes the image of Bathsheba’s Bath and analyses it in the context of penitence of the late medieval period. She emphasizes the role that this image played in setting the tone for the performance of penitence by demonstrating how certain elements of the image may have aided in the remembrance of the readers’ sins. In addition, she demonstrates how these images, which traditionally have been assigned for the consumption of a male audience, were created for a female audience as well. 2

Introduction

Anastasija Ropa, in King Solomon’s Ambiguous Wife in the Queste del Saint Graal, presents the problems posed by King Solomon’s wife in this Arthurian romance of the thirteenth century. What started as a neutral representation of this nameless woman in the story found in the Grail quest narrative regarding how the Ship of Solomon came to be, became in subsequent versions the image of the evil and sinful wife. This change could be understood under the conflicting discourses on gender, family, and heredity in England and France at the time, and it may explain the reluctance to represent this story in the illuminated cycles of the Queste del Saint Graal. In the fifth essay, Saint Eugenia Outside-Inside-Outside Rome: An Iconographic Continuity?, Andrea-Bianka Znorovszky traces the iconography of Saint Eugenia, one of the cross-dressed saints, in and outside of Rome. Saint Eugenia’s cult was well established around the eternal city, and it contributed to the spread of her imagery throughout northern Italy. Dr. Znorovszky reconstructs her earliest images noting in the process how her attributes were firmly established (visually and textually) as feminine, even though she lived her life as a man. In Doubly Crowned: The Public and Private Image of Two Fourteenth-Century Hungarian Queens, Christopher Mielke analyses four pieces of stonework visible in the public sphere which featured two Hungarian queens of the fourteenth century, Elizabeth of Poland, wife of Charles I Robert, and Elizabeth of Bosnia, wife of Louis I “the Great.” Dr. Mielke places these images in the context of royal propaganda, and how these queens used public art as a method to emphasize their respective roles, albeit in two very different ways. The seventh and last essay is Material and Temporal Ambiguity at Santiago de Compostela: The Case of the South Portal’s Woman with the Skull. Written by Karen Webb, it explores the evidence surrounding the physical displacement of the sculpture of the Woman with the Skull in the south portal of the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. Dr. Webb connects this happening with the discontinuity of King Alfonso’s family in its violations of consanguinity and conceptually presents it as propaganda concerning spatial and material identity. These seven essays illustrate seven different approaches to the question of ambiguity and the representation of women in medieval art. They demonstrate the complexities of a topic that is as contemporary as it is ancient. Through them, we can get valuable insights on the 3

Introduction

understanding and experience of gender in the past and the ways in which these experiences have shaped our own understanding of this topic.

Mónica Ann Walker Vadillo University of Oxford, United Kingdom

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The Disease Woman: A Neutral Representation of Health? Sara Öberg Strådal Edinburgh College of Art, University of Edinburgh, United Kingdom

Introduction and Manuscript Context1 As medieval medical motifs go, the Wound Man is relatively well known to modern audiences, even making a brief appearance in the TV show Hannibal.2 Less well known, however, is the Disease Woman, a motif often included alongside the Wound Man in medieval manuscripts and early printed books. Current scholarship has largely focused on the depiction of the bruised and battered male body on its own, removing him from his original visual and textual frameworks.3 While the motif often travelled between texts, and was copied in both manuscripts and inculabula, he was commonly, through mise-en-page and proximity, linked with his female counterpart, the Disease Woman. Illustrating what injuries can befall the human body, the Wound Man figure is penetrated by instruments embedded in the wounds that they have caused. Karl Sudhoff famously referred to it as a surgicalgrotesque, a warped Saint Sebastian, as both figures show their wounds and the tools which inflicted them.4 I believe that the intellectual and I would like to extend my thanks to the anonymous reviewers of this essay. Episode 6, Season 1 of Hanibal. Produced by NBC and originally aired May 2, 2013. I am grateful to Jack Hartnell for telling me about this. 3 Elizabeth Matthew Lewis, The Wound Man Through History: An Exhibition of Selected Landmark Books and Articles (West Point, NY: United States Military Academy, 1976), 20-22. 4 Karl Sudhoff, 'Der Wundenmann' in Frühdruck und Handschrift und sein erklärender Text. Ein Beitrag zur Quellengeschichte des “Ketham”' Archiv für Geschichte der Medizin 1 (1907), 351. 1 2

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stylistic choices made by medieval artists rendering the Wound Man and the Disease Woman reflect contemporary ideas and theories regarding the subordinate position and defective nature of the female disposition. In this essay, I will focus my discussion on the pair of images included in a late medieval English manuscript, Wellcome MS 290 (Fig. 1 and 2).5 By considering the Wound Man and the Disease Woman of this codex in relation to contemporary scientific ideas about sex and sex-difference, we can gain a deeper understanding of this gendered image pair. I will show that within the visual programme of this codex, gender is constituted and described through artistic choices and references to contemporary medical and physiognomical discourses. I will further discuss how the visual cues modern readers might understand as neutral were in fact coded with social, scientific, and theological meaning. First, however, we must consider the immediate physical and visual surroundings of the Wound Man and Disease Woman. In this codex, the Wound Man is a standard figure of its kind, illustrating wounds inflicted on the human male body by arrows and clubs, swords, and daggers. The male figure is standing upright, displaying his bleeding, wounded, and pierced body. The torso is opened and his internal organs labelled. The surrounding text describes and names different ailments which have befallen him. For example, the text above the left shoulder reads “tumour in the neck” and on the other side of the figure the legend reads “cut in the large vein in the neck.” 6 Similarly, the representation of the Disease Woman remains faithful to this visual norm.7 The crouching figure is pregnant, the child visible in her womb, and the body is overwritten with the names of ailments and diseases.8 London, Wellcome Medical History Library, Wellcome MS 290. The online catalogue entry: http://archives.wellcome.ac.uk/DServe/dserve.exe?dsqIni=Dserve.ini&dsqApp=Archi ve&dsqDb=Catalog&dsqCmd=show.tcl&dsqSearch=(RefNo==%27MS290%27) (Accessed February 20, 2017). 6 Wellcome 290 f. 53v: stuma in collo and incisio vene magne in collo respectively. 7 Katharine Park, Secrets of Women: Gender, Generation, and the Origins of Human Dissection (New York: Zone Books, 2006), 26-33. 8 Madeline Caviness, “Art, Representations of Women,” in Women and Gender in Medieval Europe, an Encyclopedia, ed. by Margaret Schaus (New York, London: Routledge Taylor & Francis, 2006), 39. In Wellcome MS 290, f. 52 v, the text on the left shin of the Disease Woman reads ‘Cramps’ (spasmus); in the text on the left hand side of the head, it reads ‘lethargy’ (letargia). 5

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Jack Hartnell shows that these two illustrations exhibit ”direct influence from the printed” book Fasciculus Medicinae, and were thus produced after 1491.9 The images of the two figures are not the only decorative features within this rich and luxurious manuscript and in order to fully understand them, it is necessary to consider the larger codicological context.

Fig. 1. Diagram of the Disease Woman. London, Wellcome Collection Library, Wellcome MS 290, f. 52v. Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons Attribution only licence CC BY 4.0 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 9

Jack Hartnell, “Wording the Wound Man,” British Art Studies 6 (2017): 23-26. 7

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Fig. 2. Diagram of the Wound Man. London Wellcome Collection Library, Wellcome MS 290, f. 53v. Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons Attribution only licence CC BY 4.0

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The text in Wellcome 290 was produced in the middle of the fifteenth century in England. It is written in English with Latin labels and marginal commentary added later. The manuscript is composed of 56 parchment folios in a modern binding and the pages measure 180 by 135 millimetres. Several are decorated with colourful and gilded spray borders. Several depictions of the human male body are included at the very end of the codex, together with the illustrations of the Wound Man and Disease Woman. Folios 49v and 50r contain the frontal and dorsal view of the male body, with legends naming the body parts in Latin (Fig. 3). The following openings, folios 50v and 51r and folios 51v and 52r respectively, depict the human skeleton and musculature from both the front and back (Figs. 4 and 5). Although these two frontal and dorsal figures do not contain depictions of primary or secondary sex characteristics, they are nevertheless to be read as male as they follow on from and mimic the pose and position of the initial male body. The Disease Woman and Wound Man are placed after these figures: facing a blank page, the Disease Woman is on folio 52v, while the Wound Man, also facing a blank page, represents the last schema in the codex on folio 53v. Although the Wound Man and Disease Woman are physically set apart from the main text, isolated at the end of the codex, and distinguished by the mise-en-page, their relationship to each other is emphasised through the structure of the page, the legends, and the depictions of the bodies themselves. These illustrations of the human body are all contained within the same quire at the end of the codex. The interaction between the text and the decorative scheme shows that the manuscript was produced in two distinct phases; the text was written initially and at an undetermined later date, the anatomical drawings at the end of the codex were then bound into the same manuscript. The same hand that produced the Latin legends on or near the anatomical illustrations also annotated the treatise. The text in Wellcome 290 begins with a description of the body in English and is followed by a much-abridged English translation of the Pseudo-Galenic treatise Anatomia Porci which does not always agree with other versions of the text. 10 Medical historian Ynez O'Neill calls the Anatomia Porci the “earliest Western work on anatomy,” and argues that it was probably Thomas N. Haviland, “‘Anatomia Porci.’ A twelfth Century Anatomy of the pig used in teaching Human Anatomy,” Wiener Tierärztliche Monatsschrift 72 (1960): 248. 10

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used as a teaching aid.11 Very little is known about the ownership of the manuscript. However, the pattern of marginal translation and notes, none of which are practical, indicate that the primary reader of this text was perhaps not someone practicing medicine, but rather a readerviewer with non-expert interests in the subject.

Fig. 3. Nude male figure. London, Wellcome Collection Library, Wellcome MS 290, ff. 49v – 50r. Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons Attribution only licence CC BY 4.0

Ynez O'Neill, “Another Look at the “Anatomia Porci,” Viator 1 (1970): 115; Haviland (1960), 263. The text originated in the south of Italy and is based on an earlier textual tradition, rather than on direct observation of porcine dissectionsIts sources include Celsu's De Medicina, but the word choices are reminiscent of Galenic texts which O'Neill believes could be the remains of an earlier oral tradition. 11

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Fig. 4. Human skeleton. London, Wellcome Collection Library, Wellcome MS 290, f. 50v-51r. Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons Attribution only licence CC BY 4.0

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Fig. 5. Human musculature. London, Wellcome Collection Library, Wellcome MS 290, f. 51v-52r. Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons Attribution only licence CC BY 4.0

The Gendered Nature of the Disease Woman Monica Green argues that the Wound Man and Disease Woman served a didactic purpose for a non-medically trained audience, consisting of clerics and “marginally learned practitioners with some medical basics.”12 The Disease Woman is one of the few examples of the female form depicted as a generic human body. The first-known Disease Woman was a simple image of the human muscle system which included female breasts, and while gynaecological ailments were labelled, the primary concern was with non-gender specific diseases.13 Monica Green, “Bodily Essences: Bodies as Categories of Difference,” in A Cultural History of the Human Body in the Medieval Age, ed. by Linda Kalof (New York: Berg, 2010), 151. 13 Ibid. 12

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Discussing a Disease Woman very similar to the one in Wellcome 290, Madeline Caviness explains that diagrams of the female body presented in medical texts were not meant to be naturalistic, but rather representative of contemporary ideas regarding gender and conceptions of health. She further argues that “the invasive writing within the woman's body attests to the author's anxiety about the subject.” 14 Caviness interprets the entire mise-en-page as illustrative of other contemporary discourses surrounding gender and of a profound unease with the female body. It should be noted that the inclusion of writing within diagrams concerning the female body is not exclusive to this manuscript. The medical manuscript Ashmole MS 399, produced in England in the late thirteenth century, included schemas of the internal organs and physiological systems. The illustrations of the veins, nerves, muscles, and other systems mapped on the entire upstanding body, the internal organs, as well as the male genitalia are surrounded by text and writing, while the female genital organs contain writing inside of the schemata itself. Likewise, Wellcome MS 49, a later religious and medical codex produced in Germany around 1420 contains a Disease Woman on f. 38r, a Wound Man on f. 35v, and several anatomical diagrams illustrating the physiological systems of the body on the folios in between. Although some of the male figures have legends within or on top of their upright bodies, once again the Disease Woman is set apart from the male figures by the number of legends within her viscera and her crouched posture and outstretched arms. The appearance and structure of genitals and the secondary sex characteristics are the primary ways in which gender is understood and categorised in modern popular discourse. Although it was not the most important indicator of sex and gender, this metric also affected how sex difference was understood in the Middle Ages. The text in Wellcome 290 describes the female sexual organs as following: “in the woman, instead of the penis is the neck of the womb. And the womb is hollow. So that it can grow and be made large at the time of bearing [a child].”15 The text describes how female reproductive organs have two small testicles which “in comparison to the testicles of the man, of the male Caviness, “Art, Representations of Women,” 39. Wellcome MS 290, f. 31r: In the woman for sothe in þe stete of the ʒarde. ys the neke of the moder. And þat matrix ys made hynolly. Þat yt may be mayd strayt oute. Alud mayd large yn tyme of beryng. 14 15

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reproductive organs, are turned inward.” 16 However, in the Disease Woman schema, the reproductive organs are not rendered as an inverted version of the penis and testes (fig. 1).17 The female generative organs in the diagram are defined by their practical purpose, that of gestating a foetus. Similarly, the Disease Woman’s gender is not determined by the shape and form of her genitals, but by other formal features in the presentation of her body on the page. The schemas in Wellcome 290 engage with contemporary theological, social, and medical discourses in specific and recognizable ways. Both diagrams list or describe illness and trauma which can affect both men and women, using distinct and often contrasting visual cues. The Wound Man is standing upright and the text is written adjacent to the body. Conversely, the text of the Disease Woman has almost exclusively been written upon the female body, making the figure appear chaotic and disordered. However, the choice of the biological and medical information included also denotes difference in the two figures. Within the exposed insides of the male body, the labels provide the names of internal organs; for example, the heart is labelled “beating heart.”18 When the same organ in the Disease Woman is labelled, it is done with names of ailments associated with it, such as pain or

Wellcome MS 290, f 31v: And yt hath smalle balokkys neyles brode. And the neke of yt in comperyconn to þe ballokkys þis yn mann of a ʒard or a pyntyl. y turned inward. This description is similar to one particular theory, the one-sex model as outlined by Jaques Lacqueur, which describes the female body as a faulty replica of the male body with all reproductive organs turned inside out. He traces the origins of this idea from Aristotle and Galen up through the Early Modern Period. However, Laqueur does not discuss the Middle Ages explicitly and his theory has been criticised, as it ignores the social aspects of gendered relations and removes gender from the site of the body. Katharine Parks argues that the one-sex-model was presented by Galen in The Uses of the Parts (De usu partium). As this text was not generally known in the medieval period. the awareness of this model could not have been prevalent or widespread. See: Laqueur, Making Sex (1992); Collum and Goldberg, “Gender Ideologies” in Women and Gender in Medieval Europe (2006)’; Parks, “Cadden, Laqueur and the ‘One-Sex Body,’” Medieval Feminist Forum (2010). 17 Danielle Jacquart and Claude Thomasset, Sexuality and Medicine in the Middle Ages (Oxford: Polity Press, 1985), 21. It is also worth noting that the sexual and reproductive organs on the female figure in the Disease Woman diagrams do not readily adhere to other contemporary ideas often reproduced in anatomical treatises, such as the seven chambered womb. 18 Wellcome 290, f. 53v: Pulsino cor 16

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“suffering.” 19 These representations are congruent with other contemporary views on the “natural” gendered order, as understood by contemporary science and natural philosophy. When writing about the medieval pseudo-science physiognomy, Joseph Ziegler argues that masculinity and femininity was not decided by the “external shape,” but by the complexion and temperament of the individual. 20 This understanding of sex difference will prove important when decoding the ways in which the two bodies were understood. In the diagram of the Disease Woman, the female body is primarily described as a receptacle for the foetus. The body is opened and her internal body displayed from chest to pelvis; the contours of her internal flesh follow closely the outline of her body. Conversely, the form of the male figure in the Wound Man diagram is also shown with some of his visceral organs on display, although the surface of the opened body is smaller than the corresponding opening on the female figure. Furthermore, the legends and labels occupy less space within the body itself. This comparison is important when considered within the history of anatomy and anatomical illustrations. Writing about the history of dissection, Katharine Parks argues that through its association with the uterus, the female body was linked to a “visualizable inside,” whereas the male body was understood as primarily surface. She justifies this argument with specific references to printed diagrams of the Wound Man: I do not mean to suggest that men were not thought to have internal organs; although this type is not typical of earlier manuscript versions of this image, the “wound man” in 1491 and 1494 editions has clearly defined viscera, themselves vulnerable to sword, dagger and lance. But the male body was not reduced to and identified with its interior like the female body.21 The reduction and association of the female body to its inside is one of the ways in which late medieval anxieties regarding femininity were Wellcome 290, f. 54v: Passio cor cardiaca Joseph Ziegler, “Sexuality and the Sexual Organs in Latin Physiognomy 1200-1500,” in Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History: Sexuality and Culture in Medieval and Renaissance Europe, ed. by Philip M. Soergel (New York: AMS Press, 2005), 90. 21 Parks, Secrets of Women, 27-33. 19 20

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considered and mitigated. The primary way in which gender difference was understood in scientific texts was in terms of the different physiological construction of male and female bodies. Males and females of all species were believed to differ through complexion, disposition, and shape. Furthermore, medieval scholars believed that complexions and varied humoral balances were the most relevant factors in affecting gender difference.22 According to Aristotelian and Galenic sources, heat was understood as one of the defining factors when articulating gender.23 Joan Cadden notes that, “males are warmer than females and life is associated with heat, death with failure of heat.”24 The medieval understanding of the physiological construction of the male and female body, allowed women to be described as morally, physically, and intellectually inferior to men. Thus, from a medieval perspective women were: closer to children – incomplete humans. Indeed the internal disposition of female genitals is also a result of the less than fully developmental characteristics of the female. In a world in which women's economic rights and legal standing were limited, the implicit comparison of women to children reinforced the notions of their incapacity and dependency.25 These ideas – which also constructed and reinforced a hierarchical binary gender system – are evident when the diagrams of the Wound Man and Disease Woman are interrogated in a larger visual context. The Wound Man and Disease Woman unambiguously show a female body riddled with diseases and other ailments, while the male body is not. The interpretations which rose from this particular visualisation of the female body in Wellcome 290 allowed the male body to be considered in more positive terms. The male body is shown as intact and whole rather than porous, open, and permeable. Jacqueline Murray summarises the relationship between the medieval ideals of femininity Joan Cadden, The Meaning of Sex Difference in the Middle Ages: Medicine, Science and Culture (Cambridge: Press Syndicate of the University of Cambridge, 1993), 171. 23 Ian Maclean, The Renaissance Notion of Woman: A Study in the Fortunes of Scholasticism and medical science in European Intellectual Life (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980, reprint 1995), 31. 24 Joan Cadden, The Meaning of Sex Difference in the Middle Ages, 173-176. 25 Ibid., 181. 22

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and masculinity, noting that the two concepts were reflexive, defined against each other and closely linked to the hierarchical relationship and power imbalance between men and women.26 She argues that we must acknowledge that the medieval and modern understandings of gender were not merely scientific, but rather shaped by social norms. The ways in which gender was embodied in the Wound Man and Disease Woman diagrams of Wellcome 290 become clearer when the images are considered in relationship to the larger social constructions of gender and theological discourses on the inherent sinful nature of women. In order to better understand how this pair of images functioned, it is important to consider them in light of contemporary medical and theological ideas on the meanings imbued in the shape and posture of the human body. The Male Body as Unmarked and Whole Within this codex and within the larger tradition of illustrated medical manuscripts, the Disease Woman is the only commonly recurring depiction of the whole, intact female body.27 It is therefore important to position the Wound Man and the Disease Woman pair within a larger medical visual context. The female form is set apart from its comparative male bodies in several significant ways. While the diagram of the Disease Woman described illnesses and the human viscera, it also operated in more subtle ways in order to emphasise the healthy nature of the normative male body. Much like the Wound Man, the Zodiac Man and Phlebotomy Man, two other popular medical motifs, have been largely excluded from discussions focusing on gender. The Zodiac Man is the most common medieval medical motif and depicts the influences of the signs of the Zodiac on the human body (Fig. 6).28 26 Jacqueline Murray, “Femininity and Masculinity,” in Women and Gender in Medieval Europe, an Encyclopedia, ed. Margaret Schaus (New York; London: Routledge Taylor & Francis, 2006), 284-287. 27 There are depictions of female body parts, such as depictions of the foetus in the womb. See for example, London, British Library, Sloane MS 249, Sloane MS 2463 and for an edition of this text see: Beryl Rowland, Medieval Woman’s Guide to Health (London: Croom Helm, 1981). 28 For more on the Zodiac Man, See: Charles Clark, “The Zodiac Man in Medieval Astrology,” Journal of Rocky Mountain Association 3 (1982): 13-38 and Clark, The Zodiac Man in Medieval Medical Astrology, PhD dissertation (Department of History, University of Colorado, 1979), Harry Bober, ‘The Zodiacal Miniature of the Très Riches Heures

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Fig. 7. Zodiac Man in the fifteenth-century Folding Almanack. London, Wellcome Collection and Library, MS.8932. Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons Attribution only licence CC BY 4.0

This depiction was often paired with the Phlebotomy Man, a diagram using the human male body as a guide for medical practitioners to find the bleeding points for effective treatment (Fig. 7). The association between the two is so pervasive that the schemas are on occasion

of the Duke of Berry: Its Sources and Meaning,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 11 (1948), 1-34. 18

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combined.29 The figures are usually shown standing upright with their hands along their sides.30 The male bodies are unmarked by difference, allowing them to function as neutral representations of human bodies.31 This homo-social discourse is rendered primarily through the pose and posture of the different figures. Most Zodiac Man and Phlebotomy Man diagrams depict the male body standing upright in the same pose. Nevertheless, the Disease Woman is not displayed in the same upright position. Instead, her body is cramped, cluttered with writing, and her posture visually sets her apart from the bodies represented in the Zodiac Man, Phlebotomy Man, and Wound Man diagrams. This expression, evoking the anxieties of the time, can also be seen in literary sources. When writing about the Pseudo-Ovidian text De vetula (The Old Woman), Sarah Miller argues that the unease surrounding the female body is the result of its changing and permeable nature. The female body is irreversibly changed through intercourse, the loss of virginity, and childbirth, whereas the male body is unchangeable. Textual descriptions of the microcosmic male body, a literary topos similar to the Zodiac Man, can be understood as: [solving the] problems of corporeal instability. ‘Ovid’ maps stability onto the (male) human body by identifying it with the supremely ordered natural universe, thus reinforcing the boundaries of both.32

See the combined diagrams of the Zodiac Man and the Phlebotomy Man in the British Library, Harley MS 3719, f. 154r and ff. 158v-159r 30 For a discussion on the visual relationship between the Zodiac Man and the Phlebotomy Man in Wellcome MS 8004, a fifteenth-century medical handbook, see: Sara Öberg Strådal, “A Closer Look at the Zodiac and Phlebotomy Men in Wellcome MS 8004,” Hypothesis, Opuscula published October 11, 2016, http://mittelalter.hypotheses.org/8919 [accessed February 11, 2017] or Sara Öberg Strådal, Depictions of Physical Order: Diagrams in Late Medieval English Medical Manuscripts, PhD dissertation (University of Glasgow, 2015), 130-139. 31 Green, “Bodily Essences: Bodies as Categories of Difference,”141. 32 Sarah Alison Miller, Medieval Monstrosity and the Female Body (New York, London; Routledge, 2010), 43. 29

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Fig. 8. Phlebotomy Man from the fourteenth-century Miscellanea Medica. London, Wellcome Collection and Library, MS 544. Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons Attribution only licence CC BY 4.0

These medical diagrammatic representations show male figures standing upright, their bodies largely closed and unchanging, even under the onslaught of violence or astrological influences. The anxieties on the changing and permeable nature of the human female body were 20

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addressed through aligning the male body with the subtle rules of the universe. The medieval study of physiognomy emphasised the close connection between the physical appearance (including blemishes on the body) and a person’s character. 33 Physiognomy could be understood to remove the free will and agency from the individual and therefore the practice was surrounded by ecclesiastical ambiguity. 34 However, it also fulfilled a theological function, as it could allow students to approach and consider the physical appearance of Christ. 35 Roger Bacon’s commentary on the Pseudo-Aristotelian Secretum secretorum (Secret of Secrets) described the perfect human body.36 The text uses masculine grammatical forms and proclaims that the physical form follows the internal character of the soul.37 When discussing this text, Karma Lochrie argues that the “science of physiognomy allows the interpreter to force the other’s body to give intimacy, to reveal the being beneath the appearance.” 38 The Secreta secretorum describes “the true man” as “the best naturally ordered construction.”39 Moreover, the description of the physical characteristics of the ideal man included “hair that is moderately flat and he should neither be too tall nor too short.”40 Some of these features are present in the representations of the male figures discussed here – the ideal body of the universal man. Medieval artists also used the shape and contortion of the bodies to convey deeper meanings or to suggest the relative status or hierarchies among those depicted. This can be observed in depictions of Christ and Ziegler, “Text and Context,” 181-182. Ibid., 161. 35 Ibid., 171. 36 The Secreta Secretorum was translated to Latin from Arabic. Roger Bacon produced his commentary on the text in 1260. The text is divided into sections discussing the proper behaviour of a good ruler, how to maintain good health, a discussion on the properties of stones and herbs, and physiognomy. For more on this see: Lochrie, 105. On the importance and influence of the Secreta Secretorum, see William Eamon, Science and the Secrets of Nature: Books of Secrets in Medieval and Early Modern Culture (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994): 46-53. 37 Roger Bacon, Secretum Secretorum, 164.“‘And therefore the soul will conquer and master the body” Cum itaque fuerit anima superans corpus et dominans. 38 Karma Lochrie, Covert Operations: The Medieval Uses of Secrecy (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999), 113. 39 Bacon, 171. Ille vero homo est optime memorie bene compositus in natura. 40 Bacon, 171.capilli plani mediocriter … et qui est non nimis longus nec nimis brevis. 33 34

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those crucified with him.41 The Gospel account describe the different suffering experienced by Christ and the thieves in one important aspect: because Christ was already dead when the soldiers returned, his legs were not broken to trigger his demise.42 Mitchell Merback argues that the shape of Christ’s divine body was treated differently as compared to the bodies of the thieves as a way to emphasise his sanctity: Broken, dislocated, twisted, bent and levered around the beams of the cross, held down with tight ligatures – the limbs of the Thieves are forced to obey the dictates of the painter, who in turn seeks to convince us, with all the skill available to him, of the anatomical plausibility of these gruesome punitive 43 contortions. Similarly, the Disease Woman is crouching while contained within the borders of the page. The idea that the religious character could be discerned through a person’s stature and stance can also be found in the writing of Vincent de Beauvais (c. 1190 – c. 1264). He observed in his Speculum Naturale (Mirror of Nature) that while the human mind, not the body, was created to mirror God, the man’s upright stature signified

Depictions of Christ carried many simultaneous meanings and messages, and representations were not all uniform renderings where his body appeared masculine. Another example of gendered depictions of Jesus include medieval images and discussions of the feminized Christ, occasionally lactating and often shown as a maternal figure to all Christendom. The relationship between late medieval medical ideas and the representations of Christ’s feminine or ambiguous body is a rich potential area for further research. However, I will only focus here on depictions of Christ’s unblemished, whole body in relationship to depictions of the thieves crucified alongside him, as this juxtaposition is analogous to that posed by the bodies within the Wound Man and the Disease Woman diagrams. For more on the idea of the feminized Christ, see for example, Eleanor McCullough, “‘Loke in: How weet a wounde is heere!’: The Wounds of Christ as a Sacred Space in English Devotional Literature,” in Through a Glass Darkly: Suffering, the Sacred, and the Sublime in Literature and Theory, ed. by Holly Faith Nelson, Lynn R. Szabo and Jens Zimmerman (Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2010), 25-38; see also Caroline Walker Bynum, Jesus as Mother: Studies in the Spirituality of the High Middle Ages (Berkley: University of California Press, 1982). 42 Mitchell B. Merback, The Thief, the Cross and the Wheel: Pain and the Spectacle of Punishment in Medieval and Renaissance Europe (London: Reaktion Books Ltd, 1999), 121. John 19:3133. 43 Ibid., 122. 41

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his superior intellectual status.44 Likewise, the analysis of corporeal cues was used to situate both men and women within hierarchical power relationships. Considering the ways expressions of masculinities were created within different social circles, Ruth Mazo Karras notes that femininity was understood as opposite to masculinity, that “being nota-woman is always a greater or lesser part of what it means to be a man.”45 Although the crouching pose of the Disease Woman recalls a woman positioned on a parturition chair, in the process of giving birth, the comparison of her cramped and contorted body to the upright stature of the male bodies in the same codex emphasises their physical differences. The Wound Man and Disease Woman pair must be read in relationship to each other as well as to other contemporary visual culture. The Wound Man shares striking similarities to images of martyrdoms. One explicit example is the narrative scenes of the martyrdom of Saint Sebastian, as noted by Sudhoff. 46 Depictions of Saint Sebastian, with his torso pierced by multiple arrows, allowed pious viewers to contemplate the martyr’s suffering and faith. Looking at Saint Sebastian’s seemingly feminised torture – the figure is usually standing almost completely naked in a passive pose penetrated by arrows – Robert Mills argues that binary gender was constituted through male hagiographical narratives. He argues that although martyrdom imagery “suggests sadism,” because they “align the viewer Vincent de Beauvais, Speculum quadruplex; sive, Speculum maius. Speculum Naturale, vol 1 (Graz, 1624)1: col 2215. Because not created according to the likeness of God, nevertheless not this second body [which is] after the reasoning mind. Yet in himself, hereafter he has a body [with a] formerly quality, because this person declares because [in himself, with the body], the upright stature will be clearly seen. Just as higher will have been revealed. (Translation mine.) Nisi quod ad imaginem Dei ut creatus, non tamen hoc secundum corpus sed secundum intellectum mentis. In ipso tamen etiam corpore quondam proprietatem habet, quae hoc ipsum indicet, videlicet quod erecta statura factus est. Sicut superius uitensum est. 45 Ruth Mazo Karras, From Boys to Men: Formations of Masculinity in Late Medieval Europe (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), 153. 46 Jacobus de Voragine, The Golden Legend: Readings of the Saints, trans. William Granger Ryan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 100. Sebastian was an early Christian saint who was executed by the emperor when he proclaimed his Christian faith. According to the Golden Legend, he was shot with arrows until he “looked like a porcupine” and was left for dead. He was later found alive by a Christian woman; he challenged the emperor once again and was this time clubbed to death. 44

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with the victim-as-hero ... In effect, martyrdom is more generally a genre in which un-manning literally makes the man.”47 The body in the Wound Man diagrams is intervisually linked to these types of depictions. While victimised by numerous weapons – swords, knives, and arrows – his masculinity is nevertheless emphasised through his ability to withstand the torture. Through a complex set of references, his male body is closely related to the physiognomical norm and aligned with the perfect suffering body of saints. Meanwhile, the Disease Woman is separated from the Wound Man by an empty page while the visual markers alluding to holy men (upright posture and tortured by outside influences) are absent, as she is depicted crouching, her distorted body only hurt by internal disorders and imbalances. Scholars have discussed and analysed the anxieties surrounding the female body in the medieval period. Murray notes that these were not solely feminine concerns, The story of the medieval body, then, is not only the story of women’s life giving, lactating, menstruating, polluting bodies. It is also the story of men’s bodies and their “vile members” which so often seemed to have a will of their own. It is the story of superfluous humors, spontaneous erections, seminal emissions, nocturnal pollution and castration anxiety. It is the story of a fundamental disease with the male body and with the masculine experience of human embodiment.48 However, this aspect of contemporary gender discourse, the unease and discomfort with the masculine body, is largely absent from the representation of the male form in the Wound Man. While the figure is shown bleeding and beaten, the body is not defeated. The male body in the Wound Man schema is standing upright, displaying his wounds much like a martyred saint. Indeed, as Bettina Bildhauer has shown, the shedding of blood depicted in the Wound Man diagram does not show an open or porous body, but rather a contained and closed body, as the medical context promised healing. 49 The Wound Man presents a Robert Mills, “‘Whatever you do is a Delight to Me’, Masculinity, Masochism and Queer Play in Representations of Male Martyrdom,” Exemplaria 13 (2001): 35-37. 48 Jacqueline Murray, '”The law of sin that is in my members': the problem with male embodiment,’ in Gender and Holiness: Men, Women and Saints in Late Medieval Europe, ed. by Samantha J.E. Riches and Sarah Salih (London: Routledge, 2000), 18. 49 Bettina Bildhauer, Medieval Blood (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2003, 2006), 27. 47

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restricted masculinity, as the opposite of femininity, which is emphasised through the mise-en-page, the codicological structure and intellectual content. While the male bodies at the centre of the Zodiac Man, Phlebotomy Man, and Wound Man schemas all stand upright thus communicating medical theories, physical ideals, and theological interpretations of masculinity, the squatting posture of the female form in the Disease Woman diagram signalled that her disposition was inherently sinful, inferior, and marked as different from the norm. While the Disease Woman renders numerous non-gendered visual ailments, providing the layperson interested in medicine with a schematic view of possible illnesses affecting the human body, both male and female, the artistic choices made regarding the posture, shape, and appearance of the female body in Wellcome 290 recalled and emphasised her biologically, socially, and theologically inferior status as compared to her male counterpart. Drawing on the visual language used in hagiographical narratives and depictions, as well as within other types of medical diagrammatic illustrations, it is clear that the schemas of the Wound Man and Disease Woman together posit the female form as other from the male, signalling the position that normative masculinity was defined against. Bibliography Primary Sources Bacon, Roger. Secreta Secretorum: Cum Glossis et Notulis,ed. by Robert Steele. Oxford: E Typographeo Clarendoniano, 1920. de Beauvais, Vincent. Speculum quadruplex; sive, Speculum maius. Speculum Naturale. Vol. 1. Graz, Academische Druck, 1624, reprint 1964. de Voragine, Jacobus. The Golden Legend: Readings of the Saints. Trans. William Granger Ryan. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993. Secondary Sources Bildhauer, Bettina. Medieval Blood. Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2003, 2006. Bynum Walker, Caroline. Jesus as Mother: Studies in the Spirituality of the High Middle Ages. Berkley: University of California Press, 1982.

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Bober, Harry, ‘The Zodiacal Miniature of the Très Riches Heures of the Duke of Berry: Its Sources and Meaning,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 11 (1948), 1-34. Cadden, Joan. The Meaning of Sex Difference in the Middle Ages: Medicine, Science and Culture. Cambridge: Press Syndicate of the University of Cambridge, 1993. Caviness, Madeline. “Art, Representations of Women.” In Women and Gender in Medieval Europe, an Encyclopedia, ed. Margaret Schaus, 37-41. New York, London: Routledge Taylor & Francis, 2006. Clark, Charles. “The Zodiac Man in Medieval Astrology.” Journal of Rocky Mountain Association 3 (1982): 13-38. _____. The Zodiac Man in Medieval Medical Astrology. PhD dissertation. Department of History, University of Colorado, 1979. Cullum, P.H. and P. J. P. Goldberg. “Gender Ideologies.” In Women and Gender in Medieval Europe, an Encyclopedia, ed. Margaret Schaus, 308312. New York; London: Routledge Taylor & Francis, 2006. Eamon, William. Science and the Secrets of Nature: Books of Secrets in Medieval and Early Modern Culture. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994. Green, Monica. “Bodily Essences: Bodies as Categories of Difference.” In A Cultural History of the Human Body in the Medieval Age, ed. by Linda Kalof, 149 – 172. New York: Berg, 2010. Hartnell, Jack. “Wording the Wound Man.” British Art Studies 6 (2017): https://doi.org/10.17658/issn.2058-5462/issue-06/jhartnell. Haviland, Thomas N. ”‘Anatomia Porci.’ A twelfth Century Anatomy of the pig used in teaching Human Anatomy.” Wiener Tierärztliche Monatsschrift. Vol. 72. Vienna: Urban & Schwarzenberg, 1960. Jacquart, Danielle and Claude Thomasset. Sexuality and Medicine in the Middle Ages. Oxford: Polity Press, 1985. Karras Mazo, Ruth. From Boys to Men: Formations of Masculinity in Late Medieval Europe. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003. Laqueur, Thomas. Making Sex: Body and Gender from the Greeks to Freud. Cambridge, MA, London: Harvard University Press, 1992. Lewis Matthew, Elizabeth. The Wound Man through History: An Exhibition of Selected Landmark Books and Articles. West Point, NY: United States Military Academy, 1976.

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Lochrie, Karma. Covert Operations: The Medieval Uses of Secrecy. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999. McCullough, Eleanor. ”‘Loke in: How weet a wounde is heere!’: The Wounds of Christ as a Sacred Space in English Devotional Literature.” In Through a Glass Darkly: Suffering, the Sacred, and the Sublime in Literature and Theory, ed. by Holly Faith Nelson, Lynn R. Szabo and Jens Zimmerman, 25-38. Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2010. Maclean, Ian. The Renaissance Notion of Woman: A Study in the Fortunes of Scholasticism and Medical Science in European Intellectual Life. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980, reprint 1995. Merback, Mitchell B. The Thief, the Cross and the Wheel: Pain and the Spectacle of Punishment in Medieval and Renaissance Europe. London: Reaktion Books Ltd, 1999. Miller, Sarah Alison. Medieval Monstrosity and the Female Body. New York, London: Routledge, 2010. Mills, Robert. “‘Whatever you do is a Delight to Me’, Masculinity, Masochism and Queer Play in Representations of Male Martyrdom.” Exemplaria 13 (2001): 35-37. Murray, Jacqueline. “Femininity and Masculinity.” In Women and Gender in Medieval Europe, an Encyclopedia, ed. Margaret Schaus, 284-287. New York, London: Routledge Taylor & Francis, 2006. _____. ”‘The law of sin that is in my members': the problem with male embodiment.” In Gender and Holiness: Men, Women and Saints in Late Medieval Europe, ed. Samantha J.E. Riches and Sarah Salih, 9-22. London: Routledge, 2000. O'Neill, Ynez. “Another Look at the ‘Anatomia Porci.’” Viator 1 (1970): 115 – 124. Parks, Katharine. Secrets of Women: Gender, Generation, and the Origins of Human Dissection. New York: Zone Books, 2006. _____. “Cadden, Laqueur, and the ‘One-Sex Body,’” Medieval Feminist Forum (2010). http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn3:HUL.InstRepos:4774909 [Accessed 05.03.2013]. Rowland, Beryl. Medieval Woman’s Guide to Health. London: Croom Helm, 1981. Sudhoff, Karl. „‘Der Wundenmann‘ in Frühdruck und Handschrift und sein erklärender Text. Ein Beitrag zur Quellengeschichte des ‚Ketham‘“ Archiv für Geschichte der Medizin 1 (1907): 351-361. 27

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Ziegler, Joseph. “Sexuality and the Sexual Organs in Latin Physiognomy 1200-1500.” In Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History: Sexuality and Culture in Medieval and Renaissance Europe, ed. Philip M. Soergel, 159-183. New York: AMS Press, 2005. _____. “Text and Context: On the Rise of Physiognomic Thought in the Later Middle Ages.” In De Sion exibit lex et verbum domin de Hierusalem: Essays on Medieval Law, Liturgy, and Literature in Honour of Amnon Linder, ed. Yitzhak Hen, 159-183. Turnhout: Brepols, 2001. Öberg Strådal, Sara. “A Closer Look at the Zodiac and Phlebotomy Men in Wellcome MS 8004” Hypothesis, Opuscula published October 11, 2016, http://mittelalter.hypotheses.org/8919 [accessed February 11, 2017]. _____. Depictions of Physical Order: Diagrams in Late Medieval English Medical Manuscripts. PhD dissertation. University of Glasgow, 2015.

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The Woman in Labour: A Twelfth-Century Navarrese Relief from the Church of San Martin de Tours, Artáiz Dilshat Harman Independent scholar, Russia

Artáiz (Spain) - history and description Artáiz is a small village (with less than 50 inhabitants today) located about 10 kilometres from Camino Aragonés. Almost nothing is known about the early history of the Church of San Martin de Tours in Artáiz, Navarra (Fig.1). 1 There is no document to attest its construction or later architectural developments. The church may have been built as a result of the Amoravids’ presence in the area, as Artáiz was part of their landed property. Stylistic evidence shows that San Martin must have been built in the 1140s - 1150s and its sculpture was not crafted by local masters, but rather by Pamplonese craftsmen.2 1 Martín

Duque: "El origen fundacional de la iglesia es dudoso. No parece que sea una posesión del monasterio de Roncesvalles, ni del de Leire, que son los cenobios más extendidos por el reino de Navarra en estas fechas. Podemos pensar que fuera una iglesia cabeza de un señorío teniendo en cuenta que cercanas a la obra religiosa se conservan edificaciones civiles de época gótica. Como confirmación del carácter señorial de Artáiz diremos que figura en el Libro del Rediezmo de 1268 dentro del valle de Unciti y con la grafía de Artaytz" (“We are uncertain of the foundational origins of this church. It does not seem to have belonged to the Roncesvalles or Leire monasteries, which were the largest in the Navarra kingdom at this time. It may have been the main church of the manor, considering that there are several lay Gothic buildings in its close vicinity. In order to confirm the manorial character of Artáiz we can add, that it appears in the “Libro del Rediezmo” of 1268 as situated in the valley of Unciti (it is spelled Artaytz there”). See: Esperanza Aragonés Estella, La imagen del mal en el románico navarro [The Image of Evil in Navarrese Romanesque Art] (Gobierno de Navarra, 1996), 104. 2 J.E.Uranga, “La Iglesia Parroquial de Artáiz” [The Parochial Church of Artáiz] Pirineos 59-66 (1961-62):139-144.

Dilshat Harman

Fig. 1. San Martin de Artáiz. General view (photo: Antonio García Omedes)

Because the famous sites of Olorón, Jaca, Pamplona, and Puente de la Reina are located relatively close to Artáiz, they must have influenced the architecture and sculpture of San Martin. However, one cannot compare famous pilgrimage sites with a modest village church. San Martin was never a pilgrimage site, nor was it in possession of any important relics. It seems that some pilgrims have visited Artáiz on their way to or from Santiago de Compostela (especially the ones who previously stopped by the shrine of Saint Martin de Tours in France).3 Therefore, this essay will focus primarily on the local inhabitants as the audience of the relief of San Martin that is to be discussed.

Artáiz is not on the pilgrimage road to Santiago de Compostela -- it is situated only 10 km from Monreal which is on the Camino Aragones. Unfortunately, there is no evidence of any pilgrims coming there in the twelfth-thirteenth centuries, but given that Saint Martin of Tours, the saint patron of the church, was largely popular, we can at least suppose that some pilgrims could deviate from their route to visit his sanctuary. The main sanctuary of the saint was (and still is) in Tours (France), the town which is situated on one of the pilgrim roads to Santiago de Compostela. 3

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The sculpted portal is located on the southern side of the building (Fig. 2) and it is rather complex for a village church (comparing it to the portals of similar villages such as Eresue or Vesolla, in close vicinity of Artáiz, they do not hold as many carvings and reliefs). The portal is supported by inhabited capitals which support decorated archivolts. The centre of the tympanum holds the Chrismon flanked by flowers and supported by two corbels. Two lions are on the spandrels flanking the portal, and on top of them are metopes and corbels with both religious and profane scenes.4 Several profane corbels can also be seen beneath the roof.

Fig. 2. San Martin de Artáiz. The portal. (photo: Antonio García Omedes)

Decorated metopes are rather rare in Romanesque art. Other examples in Spain include Santa Maria de Carrión, San Quirce in Burgos, and Santa María de Narzana. 4

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The lower part of the portal is also decorated with capitals holding ornamental motifs, human figures in scrolls, and a strange three-faced figure (the same figure being repeated in one of the corbels on the top register5). A row of carved corbels is also seen under the roof which is only discontinued in a segment which was renovated in the sixteenth century. Apart from the sculpted portal, several reliefs also appear inside the church, notably two schematic capitals, depicting the Annunciation. Murals picturing scenes from the Apocalypse were added in the thirteenth century in the altar, which are today kept at the Museo de Navarra. The discussion should begin with the Chrismon from the tympanum. The monogram showing the abbreviation of the name of Christ almost disappeared from European art after the sixth century, but it occasionally appeared in Spain between the eleventh and the thirteenth centuries. 6 It became especially popular in Aragon and Navarra, as these kingdoms were actively participating in the Reconquista. Ruth Bartal writes: Since the symbol had imperial and military as well as religious connotations, it perfectly suited the ideology of the Spanish kings, as an emblem symbolizing their double task, as warriors of the Reconquista, as standing at the head of their armies, as liberators of Spain from the heretics and as defenders of the Catholic faith and its tenets. The political and religious situation of the early Christian period continued to exist in Spain much longer than in any other European country.7 In most cases, the Chrismon appears in churches associated with Spanish kings and the Reconquista wars. It is frequently depicted in castles and on kings’ tombs and should be understood as part of the Reconquista’s conception as a holy war. 8 Spanish and Bearnese 5 On

this figure, see: C.S.Vázquez, "Ab Austro Deus, El Trifonte Barbado de Artáiz, un intento de interpretaciόn," [Ab Austro Deus, the Three-faced Bearded Man from Artáiz. an Interpretation Attempt] Príncipe de Viana 58, no. 212 (1997): 483 - 495. 6 See R. Bartal, "The Survival of Early Christian Symbols in Twelfth Century Spain," Príncipe de Viana 48, no.181 (1987): 299 - 315. 7 Ibidem, 311. 8 Ibidem, 300. 32

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variations add the letter S to the early Christian version, while it reads Jesus Hominum Salvator/ Sol Invictus/ Christi Passio Salus. The Chrismon was represented either as an isolated symbol or part of a heraldic or figurative composition. We see it between two angels in Huesca and Sant Engrace, and between two lions in Jaca.9 In Jaca, San Martin de Artáiz, Zaragoza, and Santa Cruz de la Seros it is accompanied by flowers.10 The Chrismon composition in Artáiz resembles the composition on the portal in Jaca (located 100 kilometres away). Both versions present the Chrismon between two lions, one of them dreadful, the other merciful. Several inscriptions were preserved in the portal of Jaca, thus helping understand the programme of the churches in both Artáiz and Jaca.11 The two lions symbolize two aspects of Christ – He either can grant eternal life or lead one to perish in hell for eternity. Thus, Susan Caldwell highlights the connection visible here with the theme of the Francisco de Asís García García sees in the Chrismon of Jaca the aniconic solution to the problem of the representation of the Trinity. see: F. de Asís García García, "La portada occidental de la catedral de Jaca y la cuestión de las imágenes," [The Western Portal of the Jaca Cathedral and the Question of its Imagery] Anales de Historia del Arte vol. extraordinario (2010): 69 - 89. 10 These are daisies-pearls (margaritas), symbols of THE Eucharist, as Venantius Fortunatus wrote: Quam bene iuncta decent, sacrati ut corporis agni / margaritum ingens aurea dona ferant! / cedant chrysolitis Salomonia vasa metallis: / ista placere magis ars facit atque fides. Carm III 20 1 - 4 (MGH AA IV 71). 11 The following can be read in the lower register: "VIVERE SI QVERIS QVI MORTIS LEGE TENERIS, HVC SVPLICANDO VENI RENVENS FOMENTA VENENI, COR VICIIS MVNDA, PEREAS NE MORTE SECVNDA" (oh you, subject to the laws of death, if you wish to live, come here with prayer, and reject damaging pleasures. Free your heart from sin, if you do not want to die the second death). Inscription over the lion to the left of the viewer: "PARCERE STERNENTI LEO SCIT XTVSQVE PETENTI" (The lion knows how to spare those who fall, and Christ knows how to spare those who seek His mercy). Surrounding the mandorla: "HAC IN SCVLPTVRA. LECTOR SIC NOSCERE CVRA: P. PATER. A GENITVS. DVPLEX EST SPS ALMVS: HI TRES IVRE QVUIDEM DOMINVS SVNT VNVS ET IDEM" (Oh reader, you should understand this sculpture this way: P stays for Father, A for the Son and X for the Holy Spirit. These three, each in His own right, are truly one and the same). The last inscription located over the lion to the left of the viewer: "IMPERIVM MORTIS CONCVLCANS LEO FORTIS" (The powerful lion triumphs over the empire of death). 9

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Last Judgement12 (thus the lions resonate with the Weighing of Souls on one of the metopes). The corbels may be divided in two groups. The first one, including four corbels from left to right, is united by a general subject: the performance (Fig. 3). One can easily observe three musicians, playing the cythare, lute, or bagpipe and rebec, and a woman who is either a dancer or a jota singer.13 The second group consists of three corbels, but there is no general subject which binds them. One can see the woman in labour, a grinning man with a vessel which he holds on his genitals (Fig. 4), and a male figure with a shield with the sign of the cross depicted on it. A prostrated dragon is visible beneath the man with the shield. Researchers tried to identify this last figure, but they reached no unanimous agreement. The figure may thus represent either Saint George (although he is a rare figure in Navarrese art), the Archangel Michael (although the character has no visible wings), or simply an average Christian warrior struggling with evil (however, in such scenes, the dragon is not normally prostrated). As to the woman giving birth and the grinning man, there were no attempts to associate them with existing iconographic models. The metopes are arranged between the corbels. Their reliefs are religious although, as with the last three corbels, there is no apparent general theme. The first metope represents the demon and Saint Michael with scales, weighing the souls of the deceased (Fig. 5), while the second one represents the Sacrifice of Isaac. The third metope is dedicated to the Harrowing of Hell (Fig. 6), as the fourth one shifts the attention from biblical and apocryphal scenes to a liturgical scene: two priests holding holy vessels during mass to mark the moment of transubstantiation. The fifth metope, between the woman in birth and the grinning man, shows the feast from the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus (Fig. 7). Lastly, the sixth one depicts two fighting riders - this type of fight between equals can frequently be seen in Navarrese churches14). S. H. Caldwell, "Penance, Baptism, Apocalypse: The Easter context of Jaca Cathedral's west tympanum," Art History 3. no. 1 (1980): 27. 13 It can be compared with other similar female figures holding their arms akimbo in Aguera and Hormaza. 14 See examples in D.O.Martinez, "La Lucha de Caballeros en el Románico [The Fight of Equestrians in Romanesque Art]" Revista digital de Iconografia Medieval VI, no. 12 12

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Fig. 3. San Martin de Artáiz. Corbel depicting a musician. (photo: Antonio García Omedes)

(2014): 29-41; M.R.Maldonado, "La Lucha Ecuestre en el Arte Románico de Aragόn, Castilla, Leόn y Navarra" [The Equestrian Fight in the Romanesque Art of Aragon, Castilla, Leon and Navarra] Cuadernos de Prehistoria y Arquieología de la Universidad Autόnoma de Madrid 3 (1976): 61-90. 35

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Fig. 4. San Martin de Artáiz. Corbel depicting a grinning man. (photo: Antonio García Omedes)

Fig. 5. San Martin de Artáiz. Metope representing the Weighing of Souls. (photo: Antonio García Omedes) 36

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Fig. 6. San Martin de Artáiz. Metope representing the Descent into Hell. (photo: Antonio García Omedes)

Fig. 7. San Martin de Artáiz. Metope representing the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus. (photo: Antonio García Omedes)

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It is difficult to find one sole theme for all the metopes. Mercedes Jover Hernando suggested that the metopes may be connected to the Passion and Easter. 15 She highlights that the Sacrifice of Isaac typologically represents the Crucifixion and the Mass - Last Supper, although she does not discuss the meaning of the knights fighting on the last metope. All the corbels in San Martin de Artáiz16 represent profane themes, just like many other corbels in Spanish and French churches, with musicians and exhibitionists being frequently represented. It should be mentioned that the corbels are much better positioned in relation to the viewer, while the metopes are in the shadow, thus making it difficult to examine them properly. As already mentioned, the first four corbels (from left to right) display musicians and a singer/dancer with a small pendant reading the name GALA or GAIA. 17 The fourth and last musician occupies an important position from a hierarchic point of view being placed above the Chrismon. The woman in labour is paired with the grinning man, while the warrior with the dragon remains unpaired. In the words of Nurit Kenaan-Kedar, the corbel series differ significantly from the official sculptural programs of facades, portals and other places of prominence. Such 'official art' uses a compositional model that is hierarchical and based on symmetrical contrasts such as high and low, good and evil, light and dark. Within the coherent context of a church portal for instance, individual figures and motifs have clear meanings that can be read and understood by the observer.18 Obviously, both schemes are visible on the portal in discussion: one with the lions on both sides of the Chrismon, and the other with corbels and metopes above the Chrismon.

M. J. Hernando, "Los ciclos de Pasión y Pascua en la escultura monumental románica en Navarra," [The Passion and Easter Cycles in Monumental Romanesque Sculpture in Navarra] Principe de Viana 48, no.180 (1987): 7-40. 16 The only exception here being the outermost corbels from the right side. 17 Fernando Garcia Gil kindly turned my attention to this detail. 18 N. Kenaan-Kedar, "The Margins of Society in Marginal Romanesque Sculpture," Gesta 31, no. 1 (1992): 15. 15

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The Woman in Labour

The corbel depicting the woman in labour will be described next, as she is seen in Fig. 8. She is wearing a two-part headdress (a toca, which covers both head and neck), the attribute of decent19 married women. She is sitting, her body naked (except for the toca), although her breasts are not visible. Her private organs are shown as a hole in her body, with the child appearing underneath it. Only the upper part of the infant’s figure is visible, as his mouth is half-open, and his right hand holds on to a knife. Both figures are turning their hands to their left. The woman holds a vessel in her right hand. Her mouth is slightly open too, although her face is not deformed by pain and her hands are not close to her face in a gesture of pain. The grinning man, the corbel “pair” of the woman in labour, is not more comprehensible. He is also sitting, like the woman in labour. He is not clothed, and the only way to identify his gender is through his hairstyle. A square hole appears in place of his genitals, under which either a large vessel or a scrotum20 is visible. His right hand holds this "vessel," while his left hand is broken off. It is similar to corbels of exhibitionists, frequently depicted in Spanish churches (which are sometimes arranged in pairs, as in El Olmo and San Pedro de Tejada), although this one is the only one that joyfully demonstrates the absence of virility by not representing it explicitly. The man is connected to the woman in labour through the hole/vessel motif. Some Spanish researchers suggested that the man's vessel could be a urinal or a night-stool,21 although there is no evidence to back this hypothesis. Within this context, it must be noted that in the 19 Compare

with the toca on the head of Luxuria in Teza de Losa. The toca serves there as an aggravation, implying that the woman is guilty not only of lust, but also of adultery. 20 On his fascinating website dedicated to Romanesque churches in Spain, Antonio García Omedes suggested that the hole was intended to hold a metal rod, connecting the figure with the corbel and symbolizing the penis. So far I have not found the source of this suggestion. A similar figure with a cavity instead of a penis can be seen, for example, in Saint-Marcouf (France). See: http://www.arquivoltas.com/6Navarra/Artaiz04.htm, 21 Navarra: enciclopedia del románico en Navarra [Navarra: Encyclopedia of Romanesque Art in Navarra], ed. Miguel Ángel García Guinea, José María Pérez González and Javier Martínez de Aguirre Aldaz. Monasterio de Santa María la Real de Aguilar de Campóo (Fundación Santa María la Real, Centro de Estudios del Románico: 2008), 245; Esperanza Aragonés Estella, La imagen del mal en el románico navarro [The Image of Evil in Navarrese Romanesque Art] (Pamplona: Gobierno de Navarra, 1996), 49. 39

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corbels’ uppermost row, two corbels depict an upturned vessel and, next to it, the phallus.

Fig. 8. San Martin de Artáiz. Corbel representing Woman in Labour. (photo: Antonio García Omedes)

The medieval iconography of labour The Bible is ambiguous about labour. On the one hand, it is part of God's commandment: So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them. And God blessed them. And God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it" (Genesis, 1, 27-28). On the other hand, it represents the punishment of Eve and her daughters for the original sin: I will surely multiply your pain in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children (Genesis 3, 16). 40

The Woman in Labour

The Virgin Mary is a second Eve (this parallel is present as early as the second century 22 ), redeeming her sin, as her childbearing is completely painless. Augustine, addressing the Virgin Mary, says: "In conceiving thou wast all pure, in giving birth thou wast without pain."23 Furthermore, Thomas Aquinas brought scientific arguments for the painless birth of the Virgin Mary: The pains of childbirth are caused by the infant opening the passage from the womb. Now it has been said above (Q28, A2, Replies to Objections), that Christ came forth from the closed womb of His Mother, and, consequently, without opening the passage. Consequently there was no pain in that birth, as neither was there any corruption; on the contrary, there was much joy therein for that God-Man "was born into the world," according to Isaiah 35:1,2: "Like the lily, it shall bud forth and blossom, and shall rejoice with joy and praise."24 Theologians of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries (Rupert of Deutz, Albert the Great, Anthony of Padua) already speculated that the pain Mary did not feel in birth returned at the bottom of the Cross, where she experienced it "with interest."25 Nevertheless, no one could claim that Mary gave birth as an ordinary woman. See: Dialogue with Trypho by Saint Justin the Martyr: "παρθένος γὰρ οὖσα Εὔα καὶ ἄφθορος, τὸν λόγον τὸν ἀπὸ τοῦ ὄφεως συλλαβοῦσα, παρακοὴν καὶ θάνατον ἔτεκε· πίστιν δὲ καὶ χαρὰν λαβοῦσα Μαρία ἡ παρθένος, εὐαγγελιζομένου αὐτῇ Γαβριὴλ ἀγγέλου ὅτι πνεῦμα κυρίου ἐπ' αὐτὴν ἐπελεύσεται καὶ δύναμις ὑψίστου ἐπισκιάσει αὐτήν, διὸ καὶ τὸ γεννώμενον ἐξ αὐτῆς ἅγιόν ἐστιν υἱὸς θεοῦ, ἀπεκρίνατο· Γένοιτό μοι κατὰ τὸ ῥῆμά σου. καὶ διὰ ταύτης γεγέννηται οὗτος, περὶ οὗ τὰς τοσαύτας γραφὰς ἀπεδείξαμεν εἰρῆσθαι, δι' οὗ ὁ θεὸς τόν τε ὄφιν καὶ τοὺς ὁμοιωθέντας ἀγγέλους καὶ ἀνθρώπους καταλύει, ἀπαλλαγὴν δὲ τοῦ θανάτου τοῖς μεταγινώσκουσιν ἀπὸ τῶν φαύλων καὶ πιστεύουσιν εἰς αὐτὸν ἐργάζεται" (C, 5-6 - For Eve, who was a virgin and undefiled, having conceived the word of the serpent, brought forth disobedience and death. But the Virgin Mary received faith and joy, when the angel Gabriel announced the good tidings to her that the Spirit of the Lord would come upon her, and the power of the Highest would overshadow her: wherefore also the Holy Thing begotten of her is the Son of God; and she replied, 'Be it unto me according to thy word.' And by her has He been born, to whom we have proved so many Scriptures refer, and by whom God destroys both the serpent and those angels and men who are like him; but works deliverance from death to those who repent of their wickedness and believe upon Him (http://www.earlychristianwritings.com/text/justinmartyr-dialoguetrypho.html)). 23 St.Thomas Aquinas. Summa Theologica, Third Part (Woodstock, Ontario: Devoted Publishing, 2018), 172. 24 Ibidem, 172. 25 A. Neff, "The Pain of Compassio: Mary's Labor at the Foot of the Cross," The Art Bulletin 80, no. 2 (1998): 254 - 273. 22

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The childbirth scene par excellence in medieval art is, of course, the Nativity. However, the Nativity depicts the scene unfolding after the actual labour, not the process itself. Furthermore, it is a miraculous scene, where the mother remains virgin. 26 Other popular medieval depictions of women in labour include Anna and Elisabeth (here, the iconography resembles that of the Nativity), Rebecca and Thamar of the Old Testament, who are sometimes shown during labour, 27 and ordinary women represented in miracle scenes. 28 The decorum is relevant in all these scenes. There can be signs of pain (such as hands near the face), although women are not represented naked. An interesting and unique image of Mother Church giving birth to its children by mouth appears in the middle of the twelfth century in the famous mystical book Scivias by Hildegard von Bingen. 29 This image seems to not have been used (at least to my knowledge) anywhere else. These are the usual medieval depictions of childbirth. Nevertheless, another representation of childbirth was developed in Spanish 30 Romanesque "marginal" sculpture: the representation of a woman far into her pregnancy or in the process of birth, with contorted body, sometimes with the head of the child already visible between her legs. Gómez Gómez highlights five examples of this iconographic type: in 26 Gospel

of pseudo Matthew: "Zelomi said to Mary: Allow me to touch thee. And when she had permitted her to make an examination, the midwife cried out with a loud voice, and said: Lord, Lord Almighty, mercy on us! It has never been heard or thought of, that any one should have her breasts full of milk, and that the birth of a son should show his mother to be a virgin. But there has been no spilling of blood in his birth, no pain in bringing him forth. A virgin has conceived, a virgin has brought forth, and a virgin she remains." See: http://gnosis.org/library/psudomat.htm.. 27 Cotton Ms Claudius B.IV - eleventh century, Thamar. Later examples include Thamar from Egerton Genesis and Rebecca from the Queen Mary Psalter. 28 See, for example, Jewish and adulterous women from the Cantigas de Santa Maria in the Biblioteca de El Escorial (images are shown in Agustin Gómez Gómez, "La iconografía del parto en el arte románico-hispano" [The Iconography of labour in Spanish Romanesque Art] Príncipe de Viana 213 (1998), fig. 2 and 3, the pregnant woman from the portal of the Fidenza Cathedral (this example does not represent childbirth, but an ordinary pregnant woman, which is rare in early medieval art). 29 See the Rupertsberger Scivias-Kodex (ca.1200, Hessische Landesbibliothek, Wiesbaden, Hs.2), fol. 51r. 30 Two examples outside of Spain are the followings: the corbel in Sankt Leonhard in Tholbat, Germany and a Victorian "birthing" corbel at Romsey Abbey (Great Britain), which is thought to be a replacement for the lost Romanesque corbel of the same design. 42

The Woman in Labour

the churches of Artáiz, Cervatos (Cantabria), Corullón (León), Revilla de Santullán (Palencia), and Villanueva de la Nía (Cantabria)31 (Fig. 9). I had found several other examples: in the churches of San Pedro de Tejada (Fig. 10) (where the woman is represented as half-feline), Santa Marta del Serro, and Vera Cruz at Zamarramala (the women in these last two churches are in their last trimesters of pregnancy, ready to give birth). Another fascinating example dates to the thirteenth century: it is a representation of the she-devil in Cifuentes, giving birth to a child wearing a crown and sceptre (Fig. 11). Its representation is especially important as, apart from the representation in Artáiz, it is the only known depiction of a parturient female where the child has attributes of its own.

Fig. 9. San Juan Bautista (Villanueva de la Nia, Cantabria). Corbel with Woman in Labour. Twelfth century (photo: Fernando Garcia Gil)

The meaning of Romanesque parturient women is obscure. As a rule they decorate corbels and are located close to nude figures of both sexes exposing their genitals, acrobats, contorted bodies of sinners, and copulating pairs. 32 Their presence could have an apotropaic function and could be explained as an admonition against sin and the superstitious beliefs of the time’s rural Spain; nevertheless, they could also be a manifestation of the carnival nature of art.33 Whichever the 31 Gómez

Gómez, "La iconografía del parto en el arte románico-hispano," 94-97. Ibidem, 93. 33 Gómez Gómez explains that they belong to the same semantic field as other corbel figures in negative context. 32

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case, parturient women are represented closely to sinners and demons, as their postures suggest that childbirth was understood as something entirely carnal, and even bestial.34

Fig. 10. San Pedro de Tejada. Corbel with Woman in Labour. Twelfth century (photo: Fernando Garcia Gil)

34 See

especially the corbel in San Pedro de Tejada. 44

The Woman in Labour

Fig. 11. El Salvador (Cifuentes). Portal fragment with the She-Devil giving birth. Thirteenth century (photo: Ingeborg Brauneis Toledano)

Gender issues. Romanesque women in labour No attention has been given yet to the connection between pregnant and labouring women and sheela-na-gigs. In her detailed research on sheela-na-gigs, 35 Barbara Freitag suggested that they were connected with birth and death, in particular. She argues that they were used by women as talismans to help them in labour and several aspects of their representation indicate different phases of labour: The most obvious clue is the seemingly grotesque-looking lower abdomen of the sculpture. The cavernous ovalshaped vulva, pointed to or held open by her hands, often shown as swollen or sagging, mostly pointing downwards, 35

Barbara Freitag, Sheela-na-gigs: Unravelling an Enigma (London: Routledge, 2004). 45

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and in some cases so big as to reach the ground, finds a perfect explanation: it expresses the physical state pregnant women craved and worked for. It shows the desirable degree of dilation of the cervix immediately before, during or after childbirth. Touching a vulva so indicative of parturition surely must have filled pregnant women with the hope and energy necessary to push on with their own business. Better still if they knew the right magic formula to accompany the action. It is small wonder then to read that the genital area of those Sheelas who were placed within reach was found to have been ‘rubbed.’36 While working on her book, Dr. Freitag was unaware of the existence of the women in labour on Spanish corbels. I presented them to her in our correspondence and she then realized that they support her theory. Nevertheless, I believe that birthing women in Romanesque art could not function as talismans. They are normally located so up high that it is impossible to rub or otherwise touch them, and the sculptural context speaks in defence of the rather negative message connected to childbirth. Their purpose is seemingly not to help women, but, rather, to preach to them. I argue that these representations are most probably the creations of men, showing men’s medieval conception of childbirth. It is the appropriation of the female experience of pain and suffering. Anonymous medieval women in labour are indeed connected with exhibitionist women because in both cases the attention of the viewer is directed to their genitals – an otherwise unrepresented body part. While there is no indication of the function of exhibitionist figures, there is one certain difference: regardless of their neutral facial expressions, the representations of labouring women (and the representation of their genitals) are associated with pain. This connects them to the images of Luxuria in Romanesque art, in which women are punished for their sexual intemperance in a particular way: frogs and snakes suck their genitals and breasts.37 Eadem, 89. Examples of such representation are plenty. To cite only few Spanish examples, we can list the figures in the Girona Cathedral, Santa Maria la Real in Sanguesa, or Santa Maria in Tarragona. For a thorough analysis see Anthony Weir, James Jerman, Images of Lust: Sexual Carvings on Medieval Churches (London: Routledge, 1986). 36 37

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The Woman in Labour

Romanesque women in labour and carnival culture Labouring women may also be discussed from a Bakhtinian perspective, as manifestations of the “pregnant death.” 38 Mikhail Bakhtin's ideas on carnival were also used for the better understanding of some artworks: By relating Rabelais’ images to other medieval creations representing the grotesque body, Bakhtin acquaints us with a system that gives us a better understanding of an enigmatic dimension in European culture: the series of strange illustrations in medieval manuscripts, on column capitals and in the paintings of Breughel and Bosch.39 Bakhtin’s description of the popular comic body matches very well Romanesque corbels: the most frequent figures in corbels are vertiginous acrobats and grimacing faces. A deeper and more subtle analysis would disclose in many traditional popular comic gestures and tricks a mimicking of childbirth such as we observed in the little Italian scene. Moreover, the great majority of these traditional gestures and tricks is based on the mimicking of the three main acts in the life of the grotesque body: sexual intercourse, death throes (in their comic presentation-hanging tongue, expressionless popping eyes, suffocation, death rattle), and the act of birth. Frequently these three acts are transformed or merged into each other insofar as their exterior symptoms and expressions coincide (spasms. tensions. popping eyes, sweat, convulsions of arms and legs). This is a peculiar mimicking of death-resurrection; the same body that tumbles into the grave rises again, incessantly moving On the carnival nature of Romanesque corbels see M. Ángeles Menéndez Gutiérrez, Representaciones antropomorfas de carácter profano en el románico hispano: La sexualidad en el contexto religioso de la Iglesia Anthropomorphous [Representation of Profane Character in Spanish Romanesque Art. Sexuality in the Religious Context of the Church] (Tesis por la Universidad Nacional de Educación a Distancia (UNED), PhD Dissertation,1995). 39 Gabor Klaniczay, "The Carnival Spirit: Bakhtin's Theory on the Culture of Popular Laughter," in The Uses of Supernatural Power: The Transformation of Popular Religion in Medieval and Early-Modern Europe, ed. Karen Margolis (Princeton: Polity Press, 1990), 18. 38

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from the lower to the upper level (the usual trick of the clown simulating death and revival).40 The danger of this approach stands in entirely placing childbirth imagery in the field of popular culture, thus disconnecting them from the high and literate religious semantic field. I think that the Artáiz image successfully unites these two fields, and clearly shows that there is no such disconnection. Interpretations of the Artáiz woman Ichnographically and stylistically, the woman from Artáiz belongs to the group of anonymous parturient women. Still, there are some peculiarities which make her different: 1) Her new-born holds a knife in its hand 2) She holds a vessel herself 3) Her body and face are not disfigured by pain 4) She is represented on the façade For these reasons, Gómez Gómez proposed an original interpretation of this mother-child figure. He sees in it an illustration of the words of Apostle James: “Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.”41 This proposition fits well into the general subject of the portal, determined by the Chrismon and lions. The opposition between sin/death and righteousness/life is visible. Still, this proposition is not backed by solid arguments and there are no iconographical parallels to it. Moreover, this fragment from the Apostle James has never been illustrated in art. We do not even know of other depictions of death in Romanesque art - the only known example is the relief from SaintGeorges in Boscherville (Normandy), where the figure holds a knife and phylactery with the inscription EGO MORS HOMINEM JUGULO CORRIPIO. It is indeed interesting that both this figure and the child from Artáiz are holding knives, but their similarity ends here.42 Mikhail Bakhtin, Rabelais and His World (Indiana University Press, 1984), 353-354. 1:15. 42 Barbara Freitag, in a private letter to me, suggested that the knife is consistent in a birth-giving context, i.e. as a cutting instrument for the umbilical cord. She also noticed that there was at least one sheela-na-gig with some kind of knife at her hand - an Egremont sheela, which is now lost. 40

41 James

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Reviewing the sequence of metopes and corbels once again, we notice that the woman is the only corbel character who is not looking directly at the viewer. Instead, her head is turned to the left. This feature alone can connect her with the scene on the adjacent metope, or at least, with the grinning man on the next corbel. The vessel which the woman holds in her right hand stands in favour of the connection with the metope. While it can be seen as her own attribute, it can also belong to the scene of the feast. The fact that men and women showing their private parts occur frequently on adjoining corbels in Spanish Romanesque churches43 is proof for the connection of the woman in labour with the grinning man. It is true that these figures are apparent exhibitionists, and while the imagery bears a more complex message, the likeness is nevertheless present (the woman demonstrates her private parts while producing a child and the man holds a vessel in a manner that alludes to his phallus). The woman in labour is gazing towards the scene on her left, depicting the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus,44 a popular motif in Spanish Romanesque sculpture. 45 A man is lying beneath the table while two dogs are approaching, thus this scene undoubtedly represents the Parable: the figures underneath the table are Lazarus and dogs who "came and licked his sores" (Luke 16:21). The scene of the banquet was usually accompanied by two death and afterlife scenes. In the worldly life, the rich man was the happy one, while in eternal life the lucky one was Lazarus. As Charles F. Altman points out: “By far the most common location for the Dives and Lazarus parable... is the area directly adjacent to or above the church entrance: the tympanum, in a series of porch capitals, or in a sequence of reliefs.”46

43 See,

for example, El Olmo or San Pedro de Tejada. 16:19-31. 45 Two protogothic portals in San Vicente (Avila), a capital with two deaths (of Lazarus and the rich man) in the Cathedral of Avila, a fragment of the fresco from San Clemente de Taüll with Lazarus awaiting at the door, the fresco and capital at San Martin de Mondońedo, the capital at San Cugat del Vallés, the capital at Tudela Cathedral, the altar panel from La Seo. 46 Ch. F. Altman, "The Medieval Marquee: Church Portal Sculpture as Publicity," The Journal of Popular Culture.14, no. 1 (1980): 41. As Emile Male suggested, because beggars congregated at the church entrance to ask for charity, it was perfectly rational to depict the parable there in order to soothe and comfort them. 44 Luke

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Therefore, the location of the scene of the feast from the Parable in Artáiz is conventional. However, rather unconventionally, the parallel scene showing the two deaths is lacking.47 Still, this is not unique as the scenes representing death and afterlife also lack in San Matrin de Mondoñedo). Furthermore, the audience seems to have been well enough acquainted with the parable to have no need of the detailed narrative: this New Testament passage was read in churches all over Europe every year on the second Sunday after Pentecost. Afterwards, the priest read the homily and interpreted the parable, drawing inspiration from the rich exegetical sources, from Jerome and Augustine to Hugh of Saint-Victor. 48 All the interpretations are preserved in Latin, but it is generally known that Latin texts were the basis for vernacular preaching in the eleventh and twelfth centuries.49 The parable was considered a good example for poor people. Therefore, Radulphus Ardens, in one of his sermons, explained that preaching about dives and pauper helps the poor and the sick to restrain from complaining or envying the rich, while setting the blame on themselves and understanding that their miserable condition is the result of their own sins.50 Symbolically, the Dives represented the Jews, Lazarus represented the Gentiles, hungry for knowledge, his sickness represented the sins of the Gentiles and the dogs licking Lazarus's wounds were the confessors, curing the sins with their counsel or the preachers erasing the sins through preaching.51 From the eleventh century onwards, the parable was often depicted not only in Spain, but throughout Europe, in stone, frescoes, miniatures. As a rule, they were not detailed depictions (detailed representations appear later, in the Gothic period). Because of the parable’s popularity, it was enough to show the beginning of the story to the viewers in order for them to easily remember its entire story.

For this reason, some scholars see an allegory of gluttony in this scene. See: Pedro Luis Huerta Huerta, “Las visiones infernales: pecados, pecadores y tormentos." [The Infernal Visions: Sins, Sinners and Torments], in Poder y seducción de la imagen románica (Aguilar de Campóo: Monasterio Santa María la Real, 2006), 99. 48 Altman, "The Medieval Marquee," 43. 49 See Michel Zink, La Predication en langue romane avant 1300 (Paris: Honoré Champion, 1976), 85ff 50 Altman, "The Medieval Marquee," 43. 51 Ibidem, 43- 44. 47

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Mary Carruthers says that "medieval culture was fundamentally memorial”52 and the commonest model for human memory likened it to a tablet or a parchment page, upon which a person writes. Recollection was essentially a task of composition, literally bringing together matters found in the various places where they are stored to be reassembled in a new place. ... Far from being passive and thus (at least possibly) neutral, memory-making was regarded as active; it was even a craft with techniques and tools, all designed to make an ethical, useful product.53 Memory as a craft was associated not only with the ability of remembering, but with the active composition, imagination, inventiveness of the human mind.54 The role of visual images in this process was acknowledged by medieval theologians. For example, Hugh of Saint-Victor wrote about manuscripts' decorations and layouts as mnemonic devices.55 Similarly, in my opinion, the woman with the vessel and the child can be such a mnemonic cue and thus compensate for the lack of “death scenes” in the story of Dives and the pauper. It is an unusual and suggestive image, making the viewer remember the continuation of the parable: the menacing child with the knife, coming out of her womb is located on the same level as Lazarus is under the table. Moreover, his weapon is directed towards Lazarus. Thus, I believe this is not just an abstract death from Saint James' epistle, but a specific death, of a specific person. But why was a moment of childbirth chosen for this purpose? The answer is possibly connected to the medieval understanding of leprosy. An apocryphal tradition notes that Lazarus the beggar was a leper. 56 Mary Carruthers, The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 9. 53 Mary Carruthers and Jan M.Ziolkowski, “General Introduction,” in The Medieval Craft of Memory: The Anthology of Texts and Pictures, eds. Mary Carruthers and Jan M.Ziolkowski (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), 1-2. 54 Ibidem, 3. 55 Carruthers, "The Book of Memory", 10. 56 Peter Richards, The Medieval Leper and his Northern Heirs (Cambridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2000), 8. 52

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Another tradition explained leprosy as a “punishment meted out for moral failing, especially for loose, wanton and lustful living.”57 A third tradition suggested that children’s leprosy was the result of the sins of their parents, especially lust. In one of his sermons, Caesarius of Arles stated that leper children are born to the rustics, who do not refrain from sexual intercourse on feast days.58 It may be that the figure of the woman giving birth in the immediate proximity of Lazarus (and, furthermore, having the figure of her menacing child on the same level as Lazarus and facing him!) is making a statement about punishment for unbounded sexual relationships. This representation will remain a mystery to the viewers who do not know the New Testament parable or the traditions connecting Lazarus with leprosy. However, this image will trigger recollections to those aware of its implications. Albertus Magnus (d. 1280) described the process of remembering as follows: one should concentrate “on what can distinguish one memory from another” 59 referring to places. Memories can look like real locations (a garden or a tower), but they are simply “fictive devices that the mind itself makes for remembering.”60 People normally remember distinctive things, and as the image of the woman in labour is a distinctive and rare image, it can play a significant role in reminding viewers about the sequel of the Dives's feast and the moral message of the story. Corbels and metopes: is there a connection? Before discussing a connection between corbels and metopes, one should highlight the general programme of corbel cycles? Nurit Kenaan-Kedar, in her research dedicated to the meaning of corbel sculpture, writes that every corbel is generally an autonomous unit with a double meaning: one for patrons, and another for ordinary viewers, as

57 Ibidem,

6.

58 “Denique

quicumque (filii) leprosi sunt, non de sapientibus hominibus, qui et in aliis diebus et in festivitatibus castitatem custodiunt, sed maxime de rusticis, qiu se continere non sapiunt, nasci solent” (cited in Gómez Gómez, “La iconografía del parto en el arte románico-hispano”), 19. 59 Carruthers and Ziolkowski, “General Introduction,” 7. 60 Ibidem, 8. 52

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the sculptor acts as mediator between two. 61 However, she does acknowledge the presence of a connection in certain cases: “In Cahors, for example, a corbel with a mocked, distorting mouth is turned towards a pair of lovers. Similarly, in Civray, the head of a woman with dice near her seems to be turned to look at the distorted male head beside her. In Rétaud a centaur bending a bow is located next to a deer with an arrow in its neck.”62 Nevertheless, it is more difficult to discuss the connection between the programmes of both metopes and corbels. Agustín Gómez Gómez is firmly arguing that, in Artáiz, the sacred metopes are opposed by profane corbels, although he acknowledges that the last corbel and last metope do not fit in this theory. 63 However, there is at least one example of interwoven narratives of metopes and corbels. It is the cycle of the Genesis from the Church of San Quirce (Los Ausines). Los Ausines is rather far from Artáiz (about 230 kilometres, in Burgos), and San Quirce is not just a parish church, but a monastic one, consecrated in 1147 (approximately the same time as San Martin de Artáiz). Its portal is decorated with a series of alternating corbels and metopes, where corbels are decorated with scenes from the Genesis (beginning with the figure of the Creator and ending with God asking Cain about his brother Abel) and metopes with different motifs including animals, fighting men, a defecating figure and a naked pair. Metopes are mostly not connected with corbels by their themes, but towards the end of the cycle we can see that in two occasions, metopes continue and elaborate on the stories from the corbels. Thus, after the corbel showing Abel as he is offering God an animal from his flock, we see this flock on the metope; in the following corbel, which depicts the offer by Cain, we see 61 N. Kenaan-Kedar, “The Margins of Society in Marginal Romanesque Sculpture.” It may also be argued that the actual mediator is not the craftsman, but the commissioner of the programme. Still, the role of the sculptor should not be underestimated. 62 Nurit Kenaan-Kedar, Marginal Sculpture in Medieval France: Towards the Deciphering of an Enigmatic Pictorial Language (Aldershot, Eng., and Brookfield, Vt.: Scolar Press, 1995), 36. 63 "Esta contraposición quedaría rota entre el último canecillo y metopa que presentan temas sacro y profano respectivamente, posiblemente por la imposibilidad de representar una lucha ecuestre en un canecillo" (This contraposition is not held between the last corbel and the last metope, which respectively represent the sacred and profane themes. Probably it happens due to the impossibility to represent the equestrian fight on the corbel). (Gómez Gómez, "La iconografía del parto en el arte románico-hispano," 94.

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on the next metope how Cain is ploughing the earth. This last metope even bears the inscription “KAIN AGRICOLA,” so as to highlight that this is the Biblical character, not just a random ploughman. Consequently, because of the example in San Quirce, one can highlight that, in principle, metopes and corbels can be united by the same narrative. Conclusion The meaning of the relief showing the woman in labour on the façade of the Church of San Martin de Artáiz can be explained by four approaches. The first one refers to the classical iconographical method, according to which one should find the textual origin for the image. This method is used by Agustín Gómez Gómez who argues that the words of the Apostle James are the basis for the depiction of the woman in labour. The second approach uses Bakhtin’s ideas regarding low and high cultures. Within the limits of this method, we consider the images on the corbels as “low” and “folk” and oppose them to the images on the metopes and to the Chrismon composition below. Analyzed through this approach, the parturient woman with the child and the vessel is paired with the grinning man with the vessel as they both personify sin and punishment. Finally, the third approach also takes into account the Bakhtinian ideas, this time as developed by Michael Camille. The art historian argues that marginal images in stone or on manuscripts were manifestations of carnival culture. At the same time, he deprived them of the autonomy and creative potential, writing that they “work to reinstate the very models they oppose. For behind them, or literally often above them, is the shadow of the model they invert, either on the very same page ... or by reference to the widely known iconographic conventions they subvert.” 64 Through this approach, the woman in labour can be connected to the adjacent scene from the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus and thus allows the interpretation of this figure in relation to the Gospel narrative.

64 M.

Camille, Image on the Edge: The Margins of Medieval Art (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press), 30. 54

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The fourth and last approach is to consider the parturient woman as a mnemonic device, helping the viewer remember the story of the Dives and the Pauper, an episode of which is depicted closely. The portal of San Martin de Artáiz can bring forth in the viewers’ mind a system of associations, allowing them to think about how life and death are connected, like a map to salvation or a constant appeal to choose the right way, the way to life.

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Bathsheba’s Bath and the Seven Deadly Sins: A New Interpretation of a Visual Narrative Strategy in Late Medieval Books of Hours Mónica Ann Walker Vadillo Department for Continuing Education, University of Oxford

Introduction “For the director of music. A psalm of David. When the prophet Nathan came to him after David had committed adultery with Bathsheba. Have mercy upon me, O God, after Thy great goodness According to the multitude of Thy mercies do away mine offenses. Wash me thoroughly from my wickedness: and cleanse me from my sin. For I acknowledge my faults: and my sin is ever before me.”1 These are the tituli and opening lines to Psalm 51, the Miserere mei, where King David expressed his repentance after having committed the sins of envy, pride, covetousness, lust, and anger as narrated in the second book of Samuel chapter 11:2-4. David's transgressions began one afternoon as he was promenading on the roof of his palace. From there he saw a woman bathing and he was taken by her beauty. David asked his attendants who the woman was, and one of them answered: “Isn’t this Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam and the wife of Uriah the Hittite?” Then David sent messengers to get her. She came to him, and he slept with her. This was the beginning of the end for King David Psalm 51 (50) in the Vulgate: “In finem. Psalmus David, cum venit ad eum Nathan propheta, quando intravit ad Bethsabee. Miserere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam; et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum, dele iniquitatem meam. Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea, et a peccato meo munda me. Quoniam iniquitatem meam ego cognosco, et peccatum meum contra me est semper.” 1

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who incurred the wrath of God. David had sinned, and what a great sin that was! He desired and slept with his neighbors’ wife, and in a fit of anger he sent Bathsheba’s husband to his death when David found out that his indiscretion had begotten a child. For this King David had to do penance, and allegedly, he wrote first Psalm 51 asking for God's forgiveness, followed by the entire Psalter.2 Since the sixth century, this Psalm alongside numbers 6, 32, 38, 102, 130 and 143 (in the Masoretic text numbering) were referred to as the sevenfold means of obtaining forgiveness and they were known as the Seven Penitential Psalms.3 Taking into consideration that the number of these Penitential Psalms was seven, they were immediately connected with the Seven Deadly Sins (Anger Ps. 6, Pride/Vanity Ps. 32, Gluttony Ps. 38, Lust Ps. 51, Covetousness/Avarice Ps. 102, Envy Ps. 130, and Sloth Ps. 143). The concept of the Deadly Sins also had a long-standing tradition. First established in the 5th century by John Cassian and incorporated into official Catholic teaching by Gregory the Great in the 7th century, they became an important part of medieval religiosity4. Throughout the Middle Ages, the hierarchy of these sins shifted to accommodate the most prevalent vices afflicting either rural societies or urban societies. At first the Carnal Sins, Gluttony and Lust, were emphasized, then Pride and Envy, and finally, towards the Late Middle Ages, Avarice and Sloth5. Regardless of the hierarchical order of these Deadly Sins, they had one thing in common: the ability to land one in hell for all eternity. The Penitential Psalms were then recited to ask for forgiveness for these sins and to avoid them in the first place. These Psalms were part of the Divine Office and they were recited by the clergy and the monks during the Middle Ages. Towards the fourteenth century, the laity, wishing to imitate the prayer life of the monks, followed a shorter version of the devotions performed at the canonical hours. This shorter version of the prayers was combined in a small format codex known as the Book of Hours. The central text of Claire L. Costley, “David, Bathsheba and the Penitential Psalms,” Renaissance Quarterly 57, n. 5 (2004): 1235-1277. 3 Roger S. Wieck, Painted Prayers: The Book of Hours in Medieval and Renaissance Art (New York: George Braziller, 1997), 91. 4 Morton W. Bloomfield, The Seven Deadly Sins: An Introduction to the History of a Religious Concept with Special Reference to Medieval English Literture (Michigan: State College Press, 1952), xiv. 5 Ibid. 2

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this prayer book was the Little Office of the Blessed Virgin. A liturgical calendar, a litany of the saints, suffrages, the Office of the Dead, the Penitential Psalms, the Gradual Psalms, and other prayers of the patron’s choosing were also part of the most conventional content of these codices 6 . Many Books of Hours were lavishly decorated with narrative cycles of the life of the Virgin Mary, the Passion of Christ, iconic representations of the saints, and the labors of the months, just to name a few. 7 The story of Bathsheba's Bath always prefaced the Penitential Psalms in these manuscripts. This article will explore the visual and textual implications of this iconography in relation to its placement prefacing the Penitential Psalms and it will emphasize the visual narrative strategies that the artists used to prepare the readerviewer for the appropriate performance of the Penitence. Bathsheba’s Bath The story of David watching Bathsheba bathing was well known during the Middle Ages. 8 Its iconography seems to have been established around the ninth century, but it experienced an unprecedented popularity towards the Late Middle Ages as part of the iconographic repertoire of Books of Hours. A small detail needs to be stressed at this point and that is the inventive interpretation of the text done by the artists who created these miniatures. In the story of David and Bathsheba cited at the beginning, there is no indication of the general situation of Bathsheba. Was she indoors, outdoors, in a pool, in a fountain, in a bathtub, dressed, naked? No information is supplied by the Bible in this respect, so it was the artist’s prerogative (or the patron’s preferences) to create an appropriate setting for her, hence the differences that can be found in her visual representations. The way Michelle P. Brown, Understanding Illuminated Manuscripts: A Guide to Technical Terms (Los Angeles: The J. Paul Getty Museum in association with The British Library, 1994), 24. A Book of Hours could also contain other offices such as the Short Office of the Cross, Hours of the Holy Spirit, Hours of the Trinity, and Hours of the Passion. 7John Harthan, Books of Hours and Their Owners (Milan: Thames and Hudson, 1977), 17. 8 A preliminary study of the iconography of Bathsheba’s Bath was done by the author for her M.A. thesis which was published under the title Bathsheba in Late Medieval Manuscript Illumination: Innocent Object of Desire or Agent of Sin (Lampeter: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2008) which was later expanded into her Ph.D. dissertation under the title La Iconografía de Betsabé en la Miniatura Medieval (Madrid: Universidad Complutense de Madrid, Dissertation, 2013). 6

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that artists chose to represent Bathsheba's bath stirred some controversy already in the sixteenth century, when Erasmus of Rotterdam included it in a list of biblical narratives that were often corrupted when they were represented visually. 9 He wrote, “These subjects, it is true, are taken from Scripture, but when it comes to the depiction of the females how much naughtiness is there admixed by the artists”10. Even more contemporary scholars, such as Paul Saenger in his article “Books of Hours and the Reading Habits of the Later Middle Ages,” used Bathsheba's Bath as an example of the new type of erotic illuminations that started to appear in Books of Hours at the end of the fifteenth century because of the privacy created by these manuscripts.11 But, is that all there is to it? Is Bathsheba's Bath a visual construction designed only for the visual pleasure of an implied male voyeur in the form of the owner of the manuscript as Michael Camille suggested?12 Then how can we reconcile the fact that this scene was also frequently represented in Books of Hours commissioned for and by women?13 It is true that one cannot deny the erotic nature of the representations of Bathsheba's Bath in these Late Medieval Books of Hours. In many miniatures, Bathsheba occupies the central stage where she appears to the viewer in various stages of nudity according to medieval conventions (Figs. 1, 2). We can see her in her undergarments, covered by drapery and other accessories, or completely nude. Even the setting of the bath in an open garden can relate to ideas of temptation Costley, “David, Bathsheba and the Penitential Psalms,” 66. Erasmus 5: col. 719. 11 Paul Saenger, “Books of Hours and the Reading Habits of the Later Middle Ages,” in Culture of Print: Power and the Uses of Print in Early Modern Europe, ed. Roger Chartier, 141-176 (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1989), 156. Saenger mentions that the new reading habits of the noblemen and noblewomen, including the new translations into the vernacular, helped shape the content of the Book of Hours. 12 Michael Camille, The Gothic Idol: Ideology and Image-Making in Medieval Art (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 302-304. I also ascribed to this theory in Monica Ann Walker Vadillo, Bathsheba in Late Medieval Manuscript Illumination: Innocent Object of Desire or Agent of Sin? (Lampeter: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2008) and it is only now that I am revisiting this issue from a different perspective. 13 An example of this can be seen in two Book of Hours created for Queen Anne of France (Paris, Bibliothèque national de France, Ms. Lat. 920 and New York, Pierpont Morgan Library, MS. M. 677) or the Book of Hours of Marguerite of Coétivy (Chantilly, Musée Condé, MS. 46). 9

10

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and seduction—especially when compared through visual analogy to Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. Meanwhile, King David perched on a balcony or window, occupies a reduced corner of the image actively engaged in the act of looking. The results of this act of looking also appeared next to the bath scene in some miniatures by having David and Bathsheba in bed – a visual euphemism for coitus. It seems clear then that the entire scene is meant to portray the carnal sin of lust, and this should not be surprising because as already mentioned, the story is directly connected to Psalm 51 through its tituli which was associated with this sin. Yet, if one understands this image not in a reproductive sense, but as a sign to recall something to memory 14, a pattern emerges for a multi-layered reading of this scene. As Mary Carruthers has pointed out in her seminal work, The Book of Memory, through meditatio (meditation) one can activate the mental process of reminiscentia (remembrance) and images could play an important part in this process, for in the same way that words can paint pictures, images can make the words come to life15. Therefore, through the combination of visual cues and textual remembrance, the iconography of Bathsheba's Bath could also embody the remainder of the Seven Deadly Sins, which would be appropriate as it prefaced the Seven Penitential Psalms, not just Psalm 51. I will now briefly analyze several examples where one can directly or by association see the sins of Vanity-Pride, Anger, Envy, Covetousness-Greed, Gluttony and Sloth.

Mary Carruthers, The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Cutlure (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 274-315, has demonstrated that throughout the medieval period any intellectual activity seems to have relied on memory to a much higher degree than we do now. This included not only learning and studying, but also the way in which the learned information could be recalled. 15 See also David Freedberg, The Power of Images: Studies in the History and Theory of Response (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989), 317-320, for an in-depth analysis of how images can elicit different responses from their audience. 14

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Fig. 1. Book of Hours, France, 15th c. Carpentras, Bibliothèque Municipale, Ms. 59, fol. 51v. © Institut de recherche et d'histoire des textes - CNRS

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Fig. 2. Book of Hours. 1485-1499. The Free Library of Philadelphia, Ms. Lewis E 97, fol. 68r. © The Institution

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Fig. 3. The Devil’s bottom is reflected in the mirror of the vain. Livre pour l’enseignement de ses filles by Geoffrey de La Tour-Landry (1371-1372). Woodblock from the 1493 edition. Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons Attribution licence CC BY 4.0

Figure 4. Bathsheba’s Bath, Livre pour l’enseignement de ses filles by Geoffrey de La Tour-Landry (1371-1372). Woodblock from the 1493 edition. Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons Attribution licence CC BY 4.0 64

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Fig. 5. Hours of Louis d'Orleans, Paris, c. 1469. Jean Colombe. National Library of St. Petersburg, Ms. Lat. Q.v.I.126, fol. 57r. © The Institution

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Fig. 6. Book of Hours, Tours, early 16th century. Tours, Bibliothèque Municipale, Ms. 2283, fol. 29r. © Institut de recherche et d'histoire des textes - CNRS

Bathsheba’s Bath and the Seven Deadly Sins Vanity is a type of self-idolatry that separates the person from the grace of God.16 During the Middle Ages, Vanity was represented in different ways, but all the representations had several things in common: the personification was always a woman and she had a comb and/or a mirror. These two objects related to women's hair, which was a source of dangerous temptation. 17 In these examples, Bathsheba appears 16Bloomfield,

The Seven Deadly Sins, 69. to Erika Bornay, La cabellera femenina: Un diálogo entre poesía y pintura (Madrid: Ediciones Cátedra, 1994), 56, it is undisputed that loose long hair has a sexual

17According

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combing her hair, or she has her maidservants holding unto the comb and the mirror. The Knight de La Tour-Landry wrote about women's hair and combing in his book of advice to his daughters where he mentions that a “woman should never comb her hair before a man; and even when alone she should not do so for too long, or the devil’s bottom might appear in her mirror.”18 The 1493 edition of this book had a woodcut illustrating this passage with a woman combing her hair in front of a mirror where the devil’s bottom is reflected (fig. 3). Furthermore, in another passage he connected David's Lust with Bathsheba's Vanity and Pride (fig. 4): “She washed and combed her hair [standing] before a window where the king could see her clearly; she had very beautiful and blond hair. And as a result, the king was tempted by this and sent for her…And so King David sinned doubly by lust and by murder…And all his sinfulness came from her combing her beautiful hair and her pride in it. Every woman should cover herself, and should not take pride in herself, nor display herself so as to please the world with her beautiful hair, nor her neck, nor her bosom, nor anything that should be kept covered.”19 dimension as the studies done in sexology and psychoanalysis has shown. The sexappeal created by women’s hair could be the reason why many religions have prohibited women to show their loose hair in public. An example of this can be seen in the eleventh century when a decree issued by the archbishop of Rouen in a church council that women who showed their hair would be excluded from attending church for all their life and forbidding their family and friends to pray for their souls even after they died. 18 Geoffrey de la Tour-Landry, “Le XXXIe chappitre”, in Livre pour l’enseignement de ses filles (1371-1372) (Paris: P. Jannet, 1854), 70. 19 Geoffrey de la Tour-Landry, “Le LXXVIe chappitre”, in Livre pour l’enseignement de ses filles (1371-1372) (Paris: P. Jannet, 1854), 154-155. The text reads: “Un autre exemple vous diray de Bersabée, la femme Uries, qui demouroit devant le palais du roy David. Si se lavoit et pingnoit à une fenestre dont le roy la povoit bien veoir; sy avoit moult beau chief et blont. Et par cela le roy en fut tempté et la manda, et fist tant que il pecha avecques elle, et, par le faulx delit, il commanda à Jacob, qui etoit chevetoine de son ost, que il meist Uries en tel lieu de la bataille que il fust occis. Sy porta Uries les lectres de sa mort, car ainsy fust faict. Et ainsi pecha le roy David doublement, en luxure et en homicide, dont Dieu s’en corroça moult à lui, et en vint moult de maulx a luy et a son royaume, dont le compte seroit long à escouter. Et tout ce pechié vint pour soy pingnier et soy orguillir de son beau chief, dont maint mal en vint. Sy se doit toute femme cachier et céleement soy pingner et s’atourner, ne ne se doit pas orguillir, ne monstrer, pour plaire au monde, son bel chef, ne sa gorge, ne sa poitrine, ne riens qui se doit tenir couvert.” 67

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Fig. 7. Book of Hours. Rouen, France. Ca. 1470-1480. Pierpont Morgan Library, Ms. M. 312, fol. 80r. © The Institution

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The connection between Lust and Vanity and Bathsheba is made even more evident when Bathsheba’s Bath appears on the same folio as the Dream of Paris in several late fifteenth century Books of Hours created in Rouen in the workshop of the Master of Eíchevinage (fig. 7). The earliest reference we have on the Judgment of Paris is given by Homer in The Iliad, Book 24 (22-30). Authors such as Ovid, Lucian, or Euripides incorporated this scene into the repertoire of the epic poets. In no time this myth was the subject of numerous artistic representations, from the Archaic period in Greece until today. During the Middle Ages this story was not lost because of the efforts of the monks, who copied the manuscripts of this text which existed in the Latin version. The story of Troy was a very popular topic in epic romances, starting with that of Benoît de Sainte-More in the twelfth century20. These romances were not intended to copy Homer, but to give his version of the events of the Trojan War. On numerous occasions the authors changed the story to be more responsive to the ideals of courtly love and the deeds of chivalry. Among all the stories of the Trojan cycle, the Judgment of Paris was one of the most popular. This story was not only represented in numerous illuminated manuscripts and in other objects from the minor arts, but also it was represented in actual plays next to the triumphal entries in the cities 21. There were several versions of the story, however the one that concerns this study the most is the version from 1287 written by Guido delle Colonne, an Italian jurist22. In his Historia Destructionis Troiae, Paris fell asleep in the woods after getting lost while hunting and tying his horse to a tree. While sleeping, Hermes and the three goddesses appeared in his dreams. The goddesses tried to convince the young judge to give them the golden apple. Hera offered Paris all the power he could want or even the title of Emperor of Asia. Athena offered wisdom and the ability to triumph over all the battles that he might fight. Aphrodite offered him the love of the most beautiful woman in 20 Benoît de Sainte-Maure, Le Roman de Troie, edited by Léopold Constans, Société des Anciens Textes Français (Paris: Firmin Didot, 1904–1912). This is a collection of six volumes containing all the writings of Benoît de Sainte-Maure. 21 Nanette Rodney, “The Judgement of Paris”, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin (1952): 57-67. 22 James Simpson, “The Other Book of Troy: Guido delle Colonne’s Historia destructionis Troiae in Fourteenth- and Fifteenth-Century England,” Speculum 73, n. 2 (1998): 397423.

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the world. In the end, the golden apple was given to Aphrodite, a decision that later precipitated the Trojan War. This story was the origin of the iconography of the Dream of Paris, which was very popular in England, Germany, and France, and this is the scene that is being represented in the Books of Hours of Rouen. This type of dreamvision was used extensively in medieval literature as it was related to the idea that decision-making must be an internal process, which could have an exemplary Christian meaning if interpreted correctly. The moral of this story was given by the hand of Christine de Pisan in her Epître d'Othea à Hector written in 1400, which was consistent with the ideology of chivalry and courtly love23. According to Christine de Pisan, knights should possess good judgment and not act like Paris, who ignored Athena, goddess of chivalry and knowledge, and Hera, the goddess of possessions and status, but who chose Aphrodite who using sweet words of love promised him instruction in her art and the love of Helen of Troy. Therefore, according to Christine de Pisan, Paris was neither a good knight, nor was he wise, nor a good role model because he chose the desire for a woman instead of knowledge or power—just like King David. In response to this moralizing interpretation of the story, the presence of the Dream of Paris in the pictorial cycle of King David next to Bathsheba's Bath in the Penitential Psalms emphasizes this connection between Vanity and Lust. David's sins can also be associated with Lust, but it is through the act of looking at Bathsheba that he commits the first sin in the story, that of covetousness. In this context seeing is the means through which his desire to possess Bathsheba comes from—his envy of another man's wife and his pride in his own position as king leads him to satisfy those desires. Visually, the cues used to represent this idea show King David looking and gesturing towards Bathsheba. Furthermore, the rubric on the Hours of Louis d'Orleans identifies the scene as David covets Bathsheba (fig. 5). Yet, these are not the only deadly sins committed by the king. Part of the textual narrative indicates that after Bathsheba had informed David that she was with child, David concocted an elaborate plan to have Uriah the Hittite, a commander in his army, come back from the battlefield and have him sleep with Bathsheba to pass the child as his. Uriah unaware of the machinations Jane Chance, ed. Christine de Pizan's Letter of Othea to Hector (Suffolk: D.S. Suffolk, 1997). 23

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of King David, refused his wife's bed on account of his men who were still in the battlefield and who could not enjoy the comforts of their homes. In a fit of anger David sent Uriah back to the battlefield with a letter for General Joab that ordered him to place Uriah in the most dangerous part of the battle so that he will surely be killed. King David’s anger made him commit yet another sin: murder. In many instances, King David sending Uriah to his death or the death of Uriah in the battlefield accompanied the image of Bathsheba's Bath as seen in the Book of Hours from the Pierpont Morgan Library, Ms. M. 356, fol. 30v or in the background of the Book of Hours housed at Birmingham University Library. This image then stands for the representation of the sin of Wrath or Anger. While not directly associated with the textual narrative of Bathsheba, Gluttony and Sloth may also appear in the visual representations of Bathsheba's Bath. Gluttony is associated with an overindulge or over consumption of food. Medieval commentators, like Thomas Aquinas, argued that this sin also included an obsessive anticipation of meals, and the constant eating of delicacies and excessively costly foods. In many Books of Hours, the iconography of Bathsheba includes a plate with fruit. In some cases, the fruit is being offered by a lady-in-waiting, and Bathsheba either makes a gesture as to grab the fruit or already holds it in her hand, as we can see in the Book of Hours from the Free Library of Philadelphia, Ms. Lewis E 97, fol. 68r, in the Book of Hours the Bibliothèque Municipale of Tours, Ms. 2283, fol. 29r (fig. 6), and others (figs. 8, 9, 10). In addition, the introduction of Bathsheba's clothing scattered all around the ground might indicate a connection with the sin of sloth, related, of course, to a physical laziness that also reflects a similar spiritual condition (figs. 8, 9, 10, 12). The way in which these elements have been introduced, leaves no doubt in my mind that these two sins were being portrayed as well.

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Fig. 8. Book of Hours, Paris, c. 1500. Birmingham University Library. N/S. © The Institution

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Fig. 9. Book of Hours. Early 16th century. Hunterian Library, HM 1171, fol. 97v. © The Institution

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Fig. 10. Book of Hours. Early 16th century. The Free Library of Philadelphia, Ms. Lewis EM 11:10A. © The Institution

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Narrative Strategy The significance of these details in the construction of a visual narrative that emphasizes the Seven Deadly sins condensed into the episode of Bathsheba's Bath before the Seven Penitential Psalms cannot be overestimated. The preachers in the fourteenth century and onwards used the Deadly Sins very often in their message to lay people, which helped in a way to popularize the concept24. In fact, they and the confessors impressed these sins so deeply in the popular mind that the sins came to occupy a much more prominent place in lay conception of religiosity that their position merited in theology. These Deadly Sins became a vivid concept, much more vivid than the virtues or any other list of sins. Artists then found a new way to represent these Seven Deadly Sins in relation to the Seven Penitential Psalms through the addition of several layers of symbolic elements to the scene of Bathsheba's Bath. This new visual treatment of the absorbing concept of sin must be understood in the context of the devotional practices associated with the Penitential Psalms in the Book of Hours. And this in turn could shed some light regarding the use of this kind of imagery for either a male or a female audience. The Penitential Psalms were meant to be read during the major canonical hours starting with laudes, around three a.m. Usually, these prayers allowed for an examination of conscience to prepare the soul for its passage to eternal life. That was the main raison d'être of the Penitential Psalms after all: they were designed to inspire a pious response of repentance and contrition. Uttered in the first person, these psalms led the individual to appropriate the words and the sentiment behind their narrative by assuming the persona of the Psalmist as it were—which in this context is that of King David himself 25 . In that position, David and Bathsheba's sins stand in symbolically for the reader's sins as well. To fulfill their intended function of reconciling the individual with God, these Psalms required a penitent engagement in which the text is not only voiced out loud, Bloomfield, The Seven Deadly Sins, 93. Annie Sutherland, “Performing the Penitential Psalms in the Middle Ages,” in Aspects of the Performative in Medieval Culture, edited by Manuele Gragnolati and Almut Suerbaum, 15-69 (New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2010). See also Michael S. Discroll, “The Seven Penitential Psalms: Their Designation and Usage from the Middle Ages Onwards,” Ecclesia Orans 17 (2000): 153-201. 24 25

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but also performed by approaching the reading after fully understanding the sinful state of the individual's soul. Through a process of meditative contemplation focused on the image of Bathsheba's Bath prior to the reading of the Seven Penitential Psalms, the reader-viewer is involved in a process of self-evaluation by analogy with the narrative presented in the image itself26. It would be relevant to point out again that visual representations were not understood in a merely objective sense, as Mary Carruthers mentioned in her study on memory in the Middle Ages already referred to, but as a means for knowing, memorizing, and recollecting the stories associated with them. To profit from these images then, the reader-viewer needed to understand them as directly referencing a narrative, in this case the story of how King David fell from Grace and the sins that were committed in the process. The image of Bathsheba's Bath could trigger the recollection of the full textual narrative where the sins of Pride, Vanity, Envy, Covetousness, Lust, and Anger would have come to mind through the process of meditation—even if not all of them were visually represented. It seems then that it was only a matter of extending the visual imagery to include the two additional Deadly Sins of Gluttony and Sloth through introduction of food and the scattered clothes to focus the message on these spiritual and carnal transgressions. The possible success of this performative process of internal identification between the reader-viewer with the sins of King David could be measured in some of the individual reactions to the image of Bathsheba especially regarding the sins of Lust and Vanity. In some instances, the quality of vividness and naturalism of Bathsheba’s nude body seems to have provoked a strong emotional response from the reader-viewer (figs. 11, 12, 13, 14). In a situation of meditative contemplation, the eyes could linger over the surfaces of the object, and by looking and gazing at it, it might create a kind of sexual interest capable of arousing the spectator, which would make the sin of Lust not just present in memory. On the other hand, the addition of the beautiful long blond hair and the introduction of the mirror and comb in her iconography, presented Bathsheba as the personification of Vanity as we have already seen. During the Late Medieval period 26

Carruthers, The Book of Memory, 275. 76

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many commentators had warned women against the dangers of beautification. This practice, in which the mirror and the comb were involved, was part of a woman’s power to foment her sex-appeal. In this way a woman’s moral imperfection was made even more evident by her lack of shame in presenting her naked body and her loose hair as the ultimate weapons of seduction27. The acknowledgement of these two sins for either a male or a female reader-viewer could create anxiety and fear for the salvation of the individual’s soul. This fear could turn into iconoclastic tendencies by defacing Bathsheba's body including her face! (fig. 12), or having her conventional nudity later covered by a veil (fig. 11). This would have been a way to physically reject the nature of the feelings evoked by the image that in a way were discovered through the meditation process before the performance of the psalms. Under these conditions, it is possible to understand the reasons behind the commissioning of Bathsheba's Bath for either male or female patrons. The image itself functioned as a trigger for the recollection of the textual referent that the reader already knew related to the sins associated to the narrative of King David and Bathsheba, and those that were not part of the narrative, the artists included visually by means of conventional symbolism. This process of meditation and remembrance, of identification and self-reflection, was undertaken in preparation for the reader-viewer to perform the reading of Psalms. The reader then would have begun the recitation of the Penitential Psalms in abject self-consciousness and ended them in the acceptance of God's forgiveness. And so, the artists purposefully created an image that tried to either made ever present or elicit the sinful feelings associated with the Seven Deadly Sins for which penance was required. And so, when the reader reached Psalm 51: 4, he or she could perform with deeper feeling and emotion the words: “For I acknowledge my faults, and my sin is ever before me.”

Manuel Núñez Rodríguez, Casa, Calle, Convento: Iconografía de la mujer bajomedieval (Santiago de Compostela: Universidad de Santiago de Compostela, 1997), 265-267. 27

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Fig. 11. Book of Hours. France. End of the 15th century. Clermont-Ferrand, Bibliothéque Municipal, Ms. 1508, fol. 146r. © Institut de recherche et d'histoire des textes - CNRS

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Fig. 12. Book of Hours. France. End of 15th century. Carpentras, Bibliothéque Municipal, Ms. 80, fol. 59r. © Institut de recherche et d'histoire des textes - CNRS

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Fig. 13. Book of Hours. Normandy, France. c. 1495-1503. Besançon, Bibliothéque Municipal, Ms. 136, fol. 54r. © Institut de recherche et d'histoire des textes - CNRS 80

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Fig. 14. Book of Hours. France. 15th century. Autun, Bibliothéque Municipal, Ms. 99 A, fol. 80r. © Institut de recherche et d'histoire des textes – CNRS 81

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Bibliography Bloomfield, Morton W. The Seven Deadly Sins: An Introduction to the History of a Religious Concept with Special Reference to Medieval English Literture. Michigan: State College Press, 1952. Brown, Michelle P. Understanding Illuminated Manuscripts: A Guide to Technical Terms. Los Angeles: The J. Paul Getty Museum in association with The British Library, 1994. Bornay, Erika. La cabellera femenina: Un diálogo entre poesía y pintura. Madrid: Ediciones Cátedra, 1994. Camille, Michael. The Gothic Idol: Ideology and Image-Making in Medieval Art. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. Carruthers, Mary. The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Cutlure. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990. Chance, Jane, ed. Christine de Pizan's Letter of Othea to Hector. Suffolk: D.S. Suffolk, 1997. Constans, Léopold, ed. Benoît de Sainte-Maure. Le Roman de Troie. Société des Anciens Textes Français. Paris: Firmin Didot, 1904–1912. Costley, Claire L. “David, Bathsheba and the Penitential Psalms.” Renaissance Quarterly 57(5) (2004): 1235-1277. Discroll, Michael S. “The Seven Penitential Psalms: Their Designation and Usage from the Middle Ages Onwards.” Ecclesia Orans 17 (2000): 153-201. Freedberg, David. The Power of Images: Studies in the History and Theory of Response. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989. Harthan, John. Books of Hours and Their Owners. Milan: Thames and Hudson, 1977. Núñez Rodríguez, Manuel. Casa, Calle, Convento: Iconografía de la Mujer Bajomedieval. Santiago de Compostela: Universidad de Santiago de Compostela, 1997. Rodney, Nanette. “The Judgement of Paris.” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin (1952): 57-67. Saenger, Paul. “Books of Hours and the Reading Habits of the Later Middle Ages.” In Culture of Print: Power and the Uses of Print in Early Modern Europe, ed. Roger Chartier, 141-176. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1989. Simpson, James. “The Other Book of Troy: Guido delle Colonne’s Historia destructionis Troiae in Fourteenth- and Fifteenth-Century England.” Speculum 73(2) (1998): 397-423. 82

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Sutherland, Annie. “Performing the Penitential Psalms in the Middle Age.” In Aspects of the Performative in Medieval Culture, edited by Manuele Gragnolati and Almut Suerbaum, 15-69. New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2010. Tour-Landry, Geoffrey de la. Livre pour l’enseignement de ses filles (13711372). Paris: P. Jannet, 1854. Walker Vadillo, Monica Ann. Bathsheba in Late Medieval Manuscript Illumination: Innocent Object of Desire or Agent of Sin. Lampeter: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2008. ________. La Iconografía de Betsabé en la Miniatura Medieval. [Dissertation]. Madrid: Universidad Complutense de Madrid, 2013. Wieck, Roger S. Painted Prayers: The Book of Hours in Medieval and Renaissance Art. New York: George Braziller, 1997.

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King Solomon’s Ambiguous Wife in the Queste del Saint Graal Anastasija Ropa Department of Management and Communication Science, Latvian Academy of Sport Education, Latvia

Introduction. Duality of Solomon’s Wife in the Queste del Saint Graal Solomon’s wife is among the most ambiguous women characters in the anonymous French Queste del Saint Graal, an Arthurian romance written in the early thirteenth century; she appears in a “story within the story” that relates the prehistory of the Ship of Solomon. By hearing this story, the questers receive the final proof of Galahad’s election. The story also highlights the role that Solomon’s wife plays in building and furnishing the ship. Many previous syudies of the Queste categorizes the women characters of the romance into saints and demons. However, Solomon’s wife, a woman who severely vexes her husband and whose intelligence baffles even the wise Solomon, falls in between the saintdemon binary. This uncertainty proved problematic for the Queste medieval audience, as attested by the fact that she becomes an unambiguously bad, evil wife in two subsequent texts retelling the same episode, the Estoire del Saint Graal and Thomas Malory’s “Tale of the Sankgreal” (part of the Morte Darthur). These texts, however, are not the only sources that make an ambivalent presentation of women associated with King Solomon, who, after all, is depicted with women in illuminated Bibles and other devotional texts. Thus, in drawing Solomon’s wife, the Queste and the Estoire illuminators could have relied on a range of visual sources beyond the text itself, and it is likely that these images would have influenced their portrayal of Solomon’s wife in the manuscripts. The present paper explores the representation of

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Solomon’s wife in two late medieval illuminated manuscripts of the Lancelot-Graal cycle: Paris, Bibliothéque nationale de France (BnF), fonds français (f. fr.) 749, folio (fol.) 52v (Estoire) and BnF, f. fr. 112 (3), fol. 169r (Queste). In this essay, I first outline the basic plot of the Ship of Solomon episode and give a brief overview of the manuscript tradition and different versions of the episode. Next, I discuss in more detail the differences between the Queste, the Estoire and the Morte versions and the significance of these variations for the discourses on gender, family and marital affection within the context in which the respective manuscripts were circulated, reproduced and consumed. Subsequently, I provide a comparative examination of the iconography of King Solomon with various female figures, many of them symbolic, namely, the Queen of Sheba, Sapientia (Wisdom), Vanity and Justice. I contend that the duality of women represented with Solomon is replicated by the ambiguous nature of Solomon’s wife in the Queste and her visual representation in BnF, f. fr. 112 (3). I analyze the image of Solomon’s wife within the illuminative cycles of the Queste manuscripts in order to argue that Solomon’s ambiguous wife exhibits certain similarities to Eve the mother of sin on the one hand and to Sir Perceval’s sister on the other hand. King Solomon’s Ship Episode in Different Versions of the Grail Quest The Queste del Saint Graail is part of the Lancelot-Graal cycle, which consists of L’Estoire del Saint Graal, L’Estoire de Merlin, Lancelot, La Queste del Saint Graal, and La Mort le roi Artu. The cycle is preserved in its entirety in nine manuscripts,1 as compared to the total of approximately 200 copies of parts of the cycle2 and fifty-six manuscripts presenting the complete Queste or its fragments.3 The romances of the cycle have Miranda Griffin, The Object and the Cause in the Vulgate Cycle (London: Legenda, 2005), 2-3. 2 Alison Stones, “Seeing the Grail, Prolegomena to a Study of Grail Imagery in Arthurian Manuscripts,” in The Grail: A Casebook, ed. Dhira Mahoney (London: Garland Publishing, 2000), 301-66 (302). 3 Fanni Bogdanow, “Little Known Codex, Bancroft ms. 73, and its Place in the Manuscript Tradition of the Vulgate Queste del Saint Graal,” Arthuriana 6:1 (1996): 1-21 (2). 1

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different authors, all of them unknown, and were composed in the first half of the thirteenth century. The Queste was popular from the early thirteenth century, when it was written, to the sixteenth century, as confirmed by the number of surviving manuscripts produced across Europe, not only in France and England, but also, for instance, in Flanders and Italy. From the late fifteenth century onwards, the Queste appeared in printed editions.4 The Queste is also the source of Malory’s “Tale of the Sankgreal,” a choice which is remarkable in itself, because Malory had access to other versions of the Grail quest, both English and French, apart from the one presented in the Queste: John Hardyng’s Chronicle, the French prose Tristan and, possibly, Perlesvaus. 5 These versions are less intensely religious than the Queste, so Malory’s decision to follow the Queste text closely is noteworthy. For the other books of the Morte, Malory often combines several sources, but, in the “Sankgreal,” Malory uses the Queste text as his only source, though his omissions and subtle alterations can result in changing the meaning of the original.6 The first printed editions of the Queste produced by Antoine Vérard date from 1488 (see C. E. Pickford, “Antoine Vérard: Éditeur du Lancelot et du Tristan, ” in Mélanges de langue et littérature françaises du Moyen Âge et de la Renaissance offerts à Charles Foulon (Rennes: Institut de français, Université de Haute-Bretagne, 1980), vol. 1, 280-84). On Vérard’s editions of Arthurian romances, see Mary Winn, “Vérard’s Editions of Tristan,” Arthuriana 19:1 (2009): 47-73. 5 On the French and English sources that were possibly available to Malory, see P. J. C. Field, “Malory and the Grail,” in The Grail, the Quest and the World of Arthur, ed. Norris Lacy (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2008), 141-55. See also Terence McCarthy, “Malory and His Sources,” in A Companion to Malory, ed. Elizabeth Archibald and A. S. G. Edwards (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1996), 75-95. On Malory’s use of Hardyng’s Chronicle, see Ralph Norris, Malory’s Library: The Sources of the Morte Darthur (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2008), 15-18. 6 The studies of Malory’s treatment of the Queste have a long history, beginning from Vinaver’s edition of the Morte; the development of these studies is described by Roberta Davidson, “The ‘Freynshe booke’ and the English Translator: Malory’s Originality Revisited,” Translation and Literature 17:2 (2008): 133-49 (dealing with Malory’s claimed sources for the entire Morte). A detailed, if somewhat dated, study of Malory’s changes to the Queste is S. N. Ihle, Malory’s Grail Quest: Invention and Adaptation in Medieval Prose Romance (London: University of Wisconsin Press, 1983). See also Dhira Mahoney, “The Truest and Holiest Tale: Malory’s Transformation of La Queste del Saint Graal,” in Studies in Malory, ed. James Spisak (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 1985), 109-28, P. E. Tucker, “The Place of the Quest of the Holy Grail in the Morte Darthur,” MLR 48 (1953): 391-97, Charles Moorman, “Malory’s Treatment of the Sankgreal,” PMLA 71 (1956): 496-509, Moorman, “‘The Tale of the Sankgreall’: Human Frailty,” in Malory’s 4

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In both the Queste del Saint Graal and Thomas Malory’s “Tale of the Sankreal,” the Ship of Solomon episode represents a “story within a story,” which the elect knights Sir Galahad, Sir Perceval and Sir Bors either read (Queste) or hear (“Sankgreal”) on board the ship constructed on the bidding of King Solomon’s wife. The story confirms Galahad’s descent in direct line from King Solomon himself and the knight’s right to the Holy Grail as his heirloom. In the Queste and the “Sankgreal,” the story is preceded by the apocryphal narrative of the Fall and the planting of the Tree of Life, the wood of which is used to construct some of the furniture on the ship. The episode, thus, takes the audience into the realm of Biblical history and apocrypha, underscoring the sinfulness of women prior to the Virgin Mary. In the episode, King Solomon appears as a man disturbed by the practical wisdom and intelligence of his unnamed wife. He prays to God, and a celestial voice promises him consolation: an heir, a powerful and virginal knight (Sir Galahad), would come of his line. Then Solomon becomes concerned about communicating to the future heir that he, Solomon, knew of the knight’s coming all along. Solomon’s wife suggests building a marvellous ship, which will hold precious heirlooms destined to the elect knight: the heirlooms are a bed, three coloured spindles carved from the Tree of Life, Solomon’s sword and a purse containing a writ with the above narrative the historic events. Solomon’s wife oversees the construction of the bed, and Solomon refurbishes the sword of David, for which his wife provides ignoble hangings of hemp. A noble virgin (Perceval’s sister) is to replace these poor hangings by the fitting ones, made of her own golden tresses. The basic events of the episode are the same in the Queste, the Estoire and the “Sankgreal”: only their interpretation and the assessment of Solomon’s wife are different. In the Queste, Solomon’s wife is a complex, ambiguous character, at once shrewd and loving, concerned to help her husband and to retain her sovereignty. Indeed, as I contend further in the paper, Sovereignty, one of the female figures associated Originality: A Critical Study of Le Morte Darthur, ed. R. M. Lumiansky (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1964), 184-204, Jill Mann, “Malory and the Grail Legend,” in A Companion to Malory, ed. Archibald and Edwards, 203-20, and Joerg Fichte’s essay 6 in From Camelot to Obamalot: Essays on Medieval and Modern Arthurian Literature (Trier: Wissenschftlicher, 2010). 88

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with Solomon in high and late medieval iconography, can, in certain respects, be compared to Solomon’s wife in the Queste. Meanwhile, in the Estoire, the author manifests clear hostility to “weak” and “sinful” women, recasting Solomon’s wife as a cowardly, selfish courtesan, who seeks dominion over Solomon because she is afraid the king might do something against her. Malory, in turn, describes Solomon’s consort as an “evyll wyff”: in the English text, she comes across as an irrational, whimsical and tyrannical woman, who is both ignorant and ambitious. Perspectives on Gender, Family and Dynasty in Solomon’s Ship Episode The Old Testament includes several texts ascribed to King Solomon, such as the Parables, the Ecclesiastes, and the Song of Songs. In fact, the Queste author quotes a well-known passage from the Ecclesiastes at the beginning of the episode: “I have found one man among a thousand, but I have not found a woman among all” (Ecclesiastes, 7:28). In the romance, however, the Queste author mistakenly refers the reader to the Parables, suggesting that, albeit general knowledge about Solomon’s writings was common, the Queste author was not worried about precise attribution of the words: “il dis ten son liure que on apiele parabole. ‘J’ai auiroune le monde, et alei parmi en tel maniere comme sense morteus port encherkier. Ne onques en chele circuite ne poi trouuer vne boine feme’” [He states in his book, called the Parables. ‘I have circled the globe and searched it as thoroughly as any man can, but in all my wandering I have not found one good woman.’]7 All of Solomon’s texts were hugely popular among medieval audiences, as were the accounts of Solomon’s wisdom and justice; these virtues, exhibited by Solomon, are often illustrated on miniatures at the beginning of the Ecclesiastes, where the qualities are portrayed as women. In the Queste, the story of Solomon and his wife is placed so as to recall a transition between the fall, presented in the section about Adam and Eve, and redemption, which is to come as the result of Galahad’s achieving the Grail. The account about Solomon and his wife also La Queste del Saint Graal, Roman du XIII siècle, ed. Albert Pauphilet, 3rd edn. (Paris: Champion, 1923), 222, The Quest for the Holy Grail, trans. Jane Burns, The Old French Arthurian Vulgate and Post-Vulgate in Translation (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2010), 136. 7

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marks a transition between biblical history (the story of Adam and Eve), and the fictional history of the Grail told in the Queste. Albert Pauphilet identifies the source of the story of Adam and Eve as a variation of the apocryphal Vita Adae et Evae.8 However, according to Emmanuèle Baumgartner, the Queste author altered the focus of the legend so as to replace Solomon’s Temple, built around the Tree of Life, by the ship of Solomon. 9 Baumgartner maintains that the ship symbolizes both the Church and the concept of transition between stages of initiation, the latter being highlighted through the presence of a bed. 10 The account of Solomon’s ship’s construction immediately precedes the decisive proof of Galahad’s messianic role, and this proof is Galahad’s ability to join the pieces of David’s sword, left for him on the ship. Moreover, the consecutive narratives about, first, Adam and Eve and, next, Solomon and his wife, bridge the Old Testament of the Grail history and the New Testament of Galahad’s arrival.11 Frederick Locke contends that “the Eve la pecheresse episode and the building of the ship of Solomon are necessary to the progressive unfolding of the book, and indeed lead to the central action of the Queste, the uncovering of the mysteries on board that strange vessel.”12 Although the account of Solomon and his wife does not advance the narrative action, it becomes essential for the correct interpretation of events, and the 8 See

Albert Pauphilet, Études sur ‘La Queste del Saint Graal’ attribué à Gautier Map (Paris: Champion, 1921), 146-51, for a discussion of this apocryphal legend and its adaptation in the Queste. Vita Adae et Evae, which sometimes appears as the Penitence of Adam or as an introduction to the Golden Legend, was a popular medieval apocryphal legend. The evolution of the Adam and Eve legend in medieval Europe is described by Brian Murdoch, The Apocryphal Adam and Eve in Medieval Europe: Vernacular Translations and Adaptations of Vita Adae et Evae (Oxford: Oxford University Press: 2009). 9 Emmanuèle Baumgartner, L’Arbre et le Pain, Essai sur la Queste del Saint Graal (Paris: S.E.D.E.S., 1981), 136. Baumgartner notes that the vessel usually described as “Solomon’s ship” is in fact Solomon’s wife’s ship. For ease of reference, the term “Solomon’s ship” is used throughout the article. 10 Baumgartner, L’Arbre, 136-37. 11 Pauline Matarasso argues the usefulness of seeing the Queste in terms of the Old and New Testament, because “if the Queste is seen as the New Testament fulfilling the Old Testament typified in the Josephus sections it gains immensely in literary unity” (Pauline Matarasso, The Redemption of Chivalry: A Study of the Queste del Saint Graal (Genève: Droz, 1979), 242). The Estoire, which was written after the Queste, functions as the Old Testament to the New Testament Queste account of redemption. 12 Frederick Locke, The Quest for the Holy Grail: A Literary Study of a Thirteenth-Century French Romance (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1960), 35. 90

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Queste author describes the relations between Solomon and his wife in detail. In turn, the episode is much shorter in the “Sankgreal,” where Malory’s omissions sometimes obscure the relation between the events and the characters’ motivations: for instance, it is not clear in the “Sankgreal” why Solomon’s wife comes up with the idea of building a ship. In his narrative, Malory makes no attempt at explaining the complexity of Solomon’s relationship with his wife or at rationalizing Solomon’s need to communicate knowledge about their lineage to his remote heir, Galahad. It seems that Malory relies on his audience sharing his opinion on family and genealogy, in this case, how a wife should behave and why a noble person must strive to leave a memento to his descendants, as well as on the fact that his audience might know the story already. Moreover, if Malory’s readers are not familiar with the story of Solomon as embedded in the Grail narrative, they must have seen Solomon represented with female figures in visual sources, including the portrayal of Solomon with vices and virtues portrayed as women in illuminated Bibles. In the Queste and the “Sankgreal” (as well as, to an extent, in the Estoire), the issues of family, history and genealogy are prominent throughout the ship of Solomon episode. However, the emotional dimension of Solomon’s family life is represented differently in these three texts, with only the Queste author mentioning that Solomon’s wife loved her husband. Unlike the Queste author, the Estoire author does not mention the love of Solomon’s wife for her husband. Instead, the Estoire author emphasizes, with certain disapproval, Solomon’s indulgence with his wife and criticizes the woman’s deceptiveness. In both narratives, Solomon’s wife enjoys certain authority, even though the authors may be apprehensive or disparaging about female capacity to govern. At least two illuminators to the Queste and the Estoire stressed the authority of Solomon’s wife by placing her next to David’s sword (BnF, f. fr. 112 (3), fol. 169r for the Queste and BnF, f. fr. 749, fol. 52v for the Estoire). Analogous symbolism is in place in the miniatures where Solomon himself receives a sword from an allegorical female figure, Justice, in BnF, f. fr. 164, fol. 219r. The Estoire author deplores Solomon’s infatuation, inspired by the woman’s physical beauty, which leads the king to sin and dishonour.13 For instance, the Estoire author comments: “par biauté de feme fu il si sorpris et deceüz qu’il en fist tant de choses contre Deu que a honte li pot l’en atorner” (L’Estoire 13

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In the place where the Queste author states that Solomon’s wife loved him well, the Estoire author alters the entire motivation behind the woman’s desire to know the cause of Solomon’s concern: “Longuement penssa Salemons a ceste chose, et tant que la feme qe il amoit s’aperçut bien que il estoit chaoiz en tel pensé dont il ne pooit son cuer oster; si en fu trop a malese, car ele ot maintenant peor qe il n’eüst pensé a li malfaire.” [Solomon thought for a long time about this, so much that his wife noticed that he was thinking about something he could not get out of his mind. She was very troubled, for she feared right away that he wanted to hurt her.]14 In this sentence, the Estoire author brings out a contrast between Solomon’s love and his wife’s fear. In the Queste and the Estoire, Solomon’s wife waits for a convenient moment to ask her husband what grieves him, approaching him one evening when he appears to be more cheerful than usual.15 However, the Queste and, especially, the Estoire authors appear to be suspicious about her motivation: the Estoire author states that the woman feared lest Solomon might do something against her. The preceding narrative would remind the audiences that mankind had been condemned through a woman’s (Eve’s) sin and the redemption was mediated through an exceptional, virginal wife, Mary. According to Georges Duby, the twelfth-century clerical discourse described marriage as an unequal relationship in which affectio [affection] and dilectio [pleasure] del Saint Graal, ed. Jean-Paul Ponceau (Paris: Champion, 1997), ii, 281) [he was so overcome and deceived by a woman’s beauty that he did many things against God, which could lead him to shame] (translation mine). 14 L’Estoire, ii, 283, The History of the Holy Grail, trans. Carol Chase (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2010), 153. 15 In the Queste, the conversation takes place in the evening: “Si ne li volt pas tantost demander, ainz atendi tant qu’ele vit son point et qu’ele vit un soir qu’il estoit liez et joianz et qu’il estoit bien de lui” (Queste, 221) [She did not want to ask him immediately, but waited for the right occasion, until one evening she saw he was happy and joyful and in a good mood] (Quest for the Holy Grail, 136). In the Estoire, even greater intimacy between the spouses is hinted at: “Une nuit qu’il estoient ensemble avint qu’il fu un pou plus haitiez et plus envoisiez que il ne selt’” (Estoire, ii, 283) [One night when they were together, it happened that he was slightly more spirited and well-disposed than usual] (translation mine). In the “Sankgreal,” the circumstances of the conversation are not specified, but Malory notes that “she wayted hir tyme” (Thomas Malory, The Works of Sir Thomas Malory, ed. Eugene Vinaver, 3rd rev. edn. P. J. C. Field (Oxford: Clarendon, 1990), vol. 2, 992). 92

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was expected on the husband’s part, while the wife was supposed to demonstrate respect. 16 The Estoire and the Queste were written in the first half of the thirteenth century, when the attitudes described by Duby were probably giving ground to a somewhat more egalitarian relationship. Thus, the Estoire author may be looking back to the model of hierarchical marriage, while the Queste author appears to support the ideal of mutual love expressed by clerical authors in the thirteenth century and later. Solomon’s wife might be expected to take an active role in resolving the problem that concerns Solomon, because spouses would naturally collaborate on furthering the family honour and on transmitting genealogical information to posterity. Although Solomon can be reasonably sure about the immediate future of his lineage, the building of the ship is necessitated by the distance between him and the perfect knight who is to be the last of his blood. In the Estoire, Solomon is determined to make his descendant aware that Solomon has known of the knight’s coming long before his birth. The Estoire author explains Solomon’s desire by the fact that Solomon himself would not be able to see the knight: Ie ne le verrai pas, car trop a lonc terme de cestui tens jusq’a celui de lors. Certes, se je en nule maniere li pooie faire savoir coment, si grant tens devant sa naissance, ai seüe novels de sa venue, je li feïsse savoir, mais je ne voi mie coment ce puisse ester, car jusq’a celui terme a dou mile anz ou plus. [I won’t see Him, for it is too far away in time from now until then. Certainly if there were some way to tell him how I knew the truth about Him long before His birth, I would do so. But I don’t see how, for the time is two thousand years and more away.]17 The emphasis is on visual perception; Solomon is denied the joy granted to the reader of the illuminated copies of the Lancelot-Graal cycle, that of seeing the perfect knight. In the Queste, the same idea is expressed less emotionally, and the visual dimension is missing: “Si See Georges Duby, Love and Marriage in the Middle Ages, trans. Jane Dunnett (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988), 24-25. 17 Estoire, 283, History of the Holy Grail, 153. 16

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pensa coment il poïst fere savoir a celui home derreain de son lignage que Salemons, qui si lonc tens avoit devant lui esté, seust la verité de sa venue” [he thought about how he might communicate to the last man in his line that he, Solomon, who had lived so long before him, had known that he was coming]. 18 The Queste Solomon is primarily concerned with the transmission of family history, rather than entertaining the desire to see his famous heir. In the “Sankgreal,” the problem of transmitting knowledge about one’s descent is not mentioned. Instead, Solomon is concerned with the identity of his heir: “ever he mervayled and studyed who that sholde be, and what hys name myght be.” 19 In fact, Solomon’s ship is an analogue of visual genealogies constructed by Malory’s contemporaries, the fifteenthcentury English gentry. The ship’s grandeur and its marvels are a means of attracting attention, as much as the gentry memorial brasses were. The difference between Solomon’s ship and visual genealogies is that the symbolism of Solomon’s ship is directed towards a particular onlooker, who is Solomon’s heir, unlike the gentry memorials in churches, which invited the attention of all parishioners. It is, perhaps, not coincidental that the only miniature showing Solomon and his wife in the Queste is part of a cycle that also depicts Adam and Eve, constituting another visual genealogy in a fifteenth-century manuscript of French provenance (Bibliothetque national de France, f. fr. 112 (3)). In addition to the visual genealogy of the ship itself, there is a written genealogy contained on board: while the ship, the bed with its furnishings and David’s sword are visual reminders of the grandeur of Solomon’s lineage, the letter found on the bed provides information about Galahad’s forebears up to King Solomon. In the Queste, the “contes” tells the audience about the ship-building while the companions are gazing at the bed with the three coloured spindles, ostensibly lest anyone should have doubts that the spindles “estoient naturieux colors sanz peinture, car eles n’i avoient esté mises par home mortel ne par fame” [were natural, not artificial; they had not been painted by human hand, either male or female].20 Malory’s translation is factual, obscuring the marvellous nature of the spindles: “Of these Queste, 221, Quest for the Holy Grail, 136. Thomas Malory, The Works of Sir Thomas Malory, ed. Eugene Vinaver, 3rd rev. edn. P. J. C. Field, vol. 2. Oxford: Clarendon, 1990, 992. 20 Queste, 210, Quest for the Holy Grail, 130. 18 19

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three colowres were thes spyndyls, and of naturall coloure within, and withoute ony payntynge.” 21 The Queste author claims he wants to suppress disbelief on the part of his audience, which makes him proceed to explanation without delay: Et por ce que maintes genz le porroient oïr qui a mençonge le tendroient, se len ne lor faisoit entendent coment ce poroit avenir, si s’en destorne un poi li contes de sa droite voie et de sa matiere por deviser la maniere des trois fuissiax qui des trois colors estoient. [since many listeners might find this tale hard to believe if they were not told just how this could have happened, the story here veers away from its straight path and its rightful subject to describe the three colored spindles.]22 The companions learn the same story from the letter they find in a purse: “Lors commence Perceval a lire ce qui ert ou brief, et tant qu’il lor devise la maniere des fuissiax et de la nef einsi come li contes l’a devisee” [Perceval began to read the letter, which described the nature of the ship and its spindles, just as the story has narrated].23 The period in which the audience would have read or listened to the lengthy account is constructed as equivalent to the time the companions spend transfixed in front of the bed. The Queste author continues at exactly the same place where he had left the companions: “Or dit li contes que grant piece regarderent li troi compaignon le lit et les fuissiax, et tant qu’il conurent que li fuissel estoient de naturel color sanz peinture” [The story now says that the three companions stared at the bed for so long that they understood its spindles to be naturally colored rather than painted].24 At this point, the emphasis is on the visual aspects of the scene, with the colours of the three spindles being stressed throughout the narrative. The coloured spindles are depicted in illuminations to the Queste: BnF, f. fr. 112 (3), fol. 169r shows Solomon and his wife, and on fol. 170r Bors and Galahad marvel at the spindles, as Perceval is reading the letter.

Malory, Morte, 990. Queste, 210, Quest for the Holy Grail, 130. 23 Queste, 226, Quest for the Holy Grail, 139. 24 Ibid. 21 22

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The Queste author describes the knights’ reaction as wonder, and the long period they spend examining the spindles indicates the strength of their amazement: “si s’en merveillierent mout, car il ne sorent coment ce pooit avenir” [This amazed them, and they did not know how it was possible]. 25 The word “merveille” [marvel] and its derivatives are prominent in the account of the ship construction. The word is used by Solomon, his wife and the narrator to describe the ship, David’s sword, together with its handle and sheath, and the bed. The ship is “la plus merveilleuse nef qui onques fust veue”26 [the most marvellous ship that was ever seen], the sword – “la plus trenchant et la plus merveilleuse qui onques fust bailliee de main de chevalier”27 [the sharpest and most marvellous that was ever wielded by a knight], and the bed – “grant et merveilleux” 28 [huge and marvellous]. 29 Solomon’s evaluation of his wife’s work indicates why these things are marvellous: “Tu as, fist il, merveilles fetes. Car se tuit cil monde estoient ci, si ne savroient il deviser la senefiance de ceste nef se Nostre Sires ne lor enseignoit, ne tu meesmes, qui l’as fete, ne ses que ele senefie” [You have accomplished something wondrous. If all the world were here, they would not know how to interpret the meaning of this ship unless Our Lord instructed them; even you who had it built don’t know what it means]. 30 For Solomon, the ultimate source of wonder is the incomprehensibility of the ship’s significance rather than physical characteristics of the objects on it. Nancy Regalado comments that, in the episode, “the insufficiency of signs renders them unintelligible, not to their readers, but to their makers. [...] Full understanding of such special, prophetic signs calls for ‘some other help’ from the Lord: Ibid. Queste, 222. 27 Queste, 223. 28 Ibid. 29 Translations are my own; Burns uses other epithets (“finest,” “most amazing” and “magnificent,” respectively, Quest for the Holy Grail, 137) to translate the word “merveilleux” used by the French author. In her review of the translation, Radulescu comments on Burns’s way of rendering the French “merveille,” noting that “Burns uses “marvel” sparingly, and only where it suits the atmosphere best” (Raluca Radulescu, “Review of Burns, E. Jane. The Quest for the Holy Grail. The Old French Vulgate and PostVulogate in Translation,” The Medieval Review (2011), http://hdl.handle.net/2022/13321 (accessed 2 December 2016)). 30 Queste, 224-25, Quest for the Holy Grail, 138. 25 26

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interpretation requires revelation.” 31 From Solomon’s viewpoint, the ultimate source of wonder is the inevitable failure of interpretation by anyone, including his wife, except for the knight for whom the heirloom is destined. Earlier in the episode, there are two points at which Solomon’s wife teaches the king: she explains that contact between Solomon and his remote descendant Galahad can be established through a ship and that the best present to the knight would be David’s sword. However, Solomon declares that neither his wife nor anyone in the world would be able to understand the symbolism of the ship. The spindles’ colour and the ship’s interpretation are manifestations of divine grace, inspiring wonder and, possibly, even religious adoration in the observers. The Queste author inserts lengthy stories about the Tree planted by Eve and about Solomon’s ship between the moment when the knights find the bed and the moment they hear the stories. It seems that the ship must be marvellous to draw the attention of the onlooker and to make sure that the memory of Solomon’s line does not disappear, just as the lavish illumination of certain Lancelot-Graal manuscripts contributed to their survival. Although Solomon claims that his wife will be unable to interpret the ship’s meaning, it seems that, like Solomon, his wife has been granted revelations of her own. Thus, the audience is not told how Solomon’s wife knows about the coming of a maiden who will bring a suitable girdle for David’s sword. In the Queste, Solomon’s wife assures the king that they should not put a good girdle for the sword: “il n’afiert mie a nos que nos les i metons; ainz les i metra une pucele, mes je ne sai quant ce sera, ne a quele hore” [(i)t’s not up to us to attach the proper belt to this sword. A virgin will do that, though I don’t know when]. 32 As a result, Regalado’s suggestion that the “deficient understanding [of Solomon’s wife] is represented by the hemp belt she attaches to the shining sword of David” requires qualification.33 In the Queste, both King Solomon and his wife are unable to provide suitable hangings for the sword, indicating their incomplete understanding of the ship’s signification. Nancy Regalado, “The Medieval Construction of the Modern Reader: Solomon’s Ship and the Birth of Jean de Meun,” Yale French Studies 95 (1999): 81-10 (89). 32 Queste, 223, Quest for the Holy Grail, 138. 33 Regalado, “Medieval Construction,” 89. 31

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On the other hand, Regalado’s comment is appropriate for the explanation in the “Sankgreal.” There, Solomon’s wife prophesies the coming of Perceval’s sister and the questing knights, but does not say what will happen to the girdle: “Sir, wyte you welle that I have none so hyghe a thynge whych were worthy to susteyne soo hyghe a swerde. And a mayde shall brynge other knyghtes thereto, but I wote not whan hit shall be ne what tyme.” 34 Remarkably, Malory translates precisely the end of the woman’s utterance, where she confesses that there are limitations to her knowledge: “I wote not whan hit shall be ne what tyme” is a literal translation of “mes je ne sai quant ce sera, ne a quele hore.” The importance of the sword and the girdles is further confirmed in visual sources. For the Queste, the sword is depicted in BnF, f. fr. 112 (3) on fol. 169r, where it becomes the focus of Solomon’s and his wife’s attention, and on fol. 170r, where the sword is depicted in the foreground, even as the attention of the knights is divided between the spindles and the letter. For the Estoire, the sword is pictured between Solomon and his wife standing on the ship in BnF, f. fr. 749, fol. 52v. The sword of sovereignty is also a symbolic object that Justice hands to Solomon in a historiated Bible (BnF, f. fr. 164, fol. 219r). Despite the claims at authority by Solomon’s wife in the Grail texts and two illuminations, where she is associated with objects denoting power (sword) and lineage (spindles), and the depiction of Justice and Wisdom (BnF, f. fr. 160, fol. 255v) in historiated Bibles, the woman stills seems excluded from the male-centred genealogy of Galahad’s ancestors. This is can be understood by reference to the historical context for the Queste, the Estoire and the “Sankgreal.” Indeed, Duby and Denton maintain that, for the late twelfth-century French nobility and for the late fifteenth-century English gentry respectively, ensuring a family’s future well-being and transmitting the lineage’s past achievements through a written genealogy was an ostensibly male prerogative; according to Denton, “Family history was taught by fathers, ancestors, and ‘old knights and esquires’.”35 Moreover, in the Queste and the Estoire, male characters appear to hold the monopoly on such knowledge, and Jennifer Looper argues that 34

Malory, Morte, 993. “Genealogy,” 144-145.

35 Denton,

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The genealogies in the Estoire and the Queste, designed to showcase the extraordinary nature of their final product, are [...] built on the marginalization of their female members by insisting on a “realistic” patrilineal family tree that pushes to an extreme the contemporary omission of women from prestigious genealogies.36 However, it is likely that, in practice, the female and male family members worked together to ensure that the family’s well-being and honour would be sustained through arranged marriages as well as production and education of heirs and that the illustrious past of their family would be remembered in written – and visual – genealogies. The attention Solomon’s wife pays to preparing David’s sword so that it would become a treasured and meaningful heirloom to Galahad, highlighted by her intent gazing at the sword in BnF, f. fr. 113(2), fol. 169r, confirms her genealogical concerns. Likewise, the engagement of Solomon’s wife in preserving the lineage is depicted in the Estoire illumination that shows her leaning to the sword, her hands outstretched (BnF, f. fr. 749, fol. 52v). The role which Solomon’s wife plays in designing the ship illustrates the co-operation of spouses in this area, and, in the Queste, the author indicates that Solomon trusts in his wife’s resourcefulness. When she asks Solomon about the cause of his concern, Solomon realizes at once that she would be able to help him: Quant Salemons oï ceste parole, si pensa bien que, se cuers mortiex pooit metre conseil en ceste chose, que ele l’i metroit, car il l’avoit trovee de si grant engin qu’il ne cuidast mie qu’il eust ame de si grant engin ou siecle qui le poïst penser. [Solomon considered the offer, thinking that if any human mind could help him solve this matter, it would certainly be his wife. He had found her to be more shrewd than anyone he could think of.]37 Although in the Queste Solomon praises his wife’s cleverness, she is criticized by both the Queste author and Malory, probably because of her assertive behaviour. Thus, underlying the story of the ship building, Jennifer Looper, “Gender, Genealogy, and the ‘Story of the Three Spindles’ in the Queste del Saint Graal,” Arthuriana 8:1 (1998): 49-66 (52). 37 Queste, 222, Quest for the Holy Grail, 136-37. 36

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another discourse, on authority and gender roles in family, is manifest. It seems that the main difference between bad women, such as Eve and Solomon’s wife, and good women, such as Mary and Perceval’s sister, is their position in relation to men. Remarkably, when Solomon is depicted with women in another context, that of historiated Bibles, he is usually in the dominant position, as on the illumination with the Queen of Sheba (BnF, f. fr. 160, fol. 161v), unless the female figure represents a quality or concept.

Fig. 1. Solomon and Wisdom, Guiard des Moulins, Bible Historiale. c. 1300-1325, Paris. Bibliothetque national de France, Ms. Fr. 160, fol. 161v.

Thus, a typical caption in a manuscript of the French historiated Bible, translated by Guiard de Moulins, reads: “de la royne sabba quant elle vint oir le sens et la sapience salemon. XXVI” [of the Queen of

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Sheba when she went to hear the sense and wisdom of Solomon].38 In the illumination, the Queen is approaching Solomon from the left. She is placed lower than Solomon and is raising her hands to the king in a humble attitude. Her placement and posture indicate her subordinate position, while the king’s authority is highlighted by his crown and his somewhat withdrawn posture. He has two courtiers behind him, while the Queen of Sheba is depicted with two camels, and her exotic beasts of burden provide a contrast to Solomon’s human retinue. The Queen of Sheba is represented as symbolically inferior to Solomon, who stands for culture and learning. The woman seems to recognize her lower standing in respect to Solomon, providing a role model in her respect and deference to male wisdom. Solomon’s wife in the Queste, the Estoire and the “Sankgreal” defies this model of humble deference by her authoritative actions, and this defiance is to an extent stressed in miniatures to the Queste and, especially, the Estoire, where her position is that of a consort and an equal. Humility and its opposite, arrogance, displayed by women characters towards male ones are at the heart of the Ship of Solomon episode.39 Thus, an important virtue demonstrated by Perceval’s sister in the Queste and the “Sankgreal,” apart from her virginity, is her respect towards Galahad.40 Conversely, the principal “sin” of Solomon’s wife is her claim to power, which she exercises not only over Solomon’s subjects but also over him. Malory sometimes calls her “lady” and “madam” when addressed by the carpenter, 41 but just as often she appears as “wyff.”42 The French author uses the word “dame” in the cases corresponding to Malory’s “lady” and “madam,” but he also uses the word “femme” (“wyff” in the “Sankgreal”). As in the “Sankgreal,” the Queste wife is identified as “dame” when she orders the bed to be brought43 and when she commands carpenters to make the spindles.44 Translation mine. On the somewhat marginal status of humility as a virtue in the Middle Ages, see Michel Zink, L’Humiliation, le Moyen Âge et nous (Paris: Albin Michel, 2017). 40 Symbolically, Perceval’s sister expresses her respect towards Galahad when she offers him the girdles made of her hair. 41 Malory, Morte, 992, 993. 42 Four times within the episode, Malory, Morte, 991-94. 43 “Quant la nef fu fete et mise en mer, la dame i fist metre un lit grant et merveilleux” (Queste, 223) [Once the ship has been built and launched, Solomon’s wife had a huge and magnificent bed put in it (Quest for the Holy Grail, 137)]. 38 39

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She is described as Solomon’s wife (“fame”) when she explains that a peerless knight would enter the ship and that Solomon should prepare fitting arms for the knight. Remarkably, the word “lady” is used by the author for the first time when she is about to instruct Solomon what to do with King David’s sword.45 It is also the only piece of advice that Solomon does not follow, possibly because, as a man, he is supposed to know better how to prepare his sword for it to become a suitable gift for his heir. Meanwhile, in illuminated Bibles, where Solomon is often depicted with women at the beginning of the Ecclesiastes, the women do not always show the same deference as the Queen of Sheba. One notable instance of a female figure used as a negative example of how women ought to behave in relation to a wise man comes a historiated Bible (BNF, f. fr. 162, fol. 11r). The Ecclesiastes is announced with a red-ink caption “ci fenissent les paraboles salemon. ci commencent ecclesiastice” and a miniature showing Solomon and a female figure. The lady on this miniature is Vanity, standing in front of the king and boldly pointing with the index finger of her left hand. With her right hand, Vanity holds the folds of her blue surcoat. On her head, Vanity bears an ornate headdress, but no crown. Solomon, seated on an elevated pedestal with a rod, the sign of royal power, in his right hand, wears a crown. Solomon seems to be sustaining a discussion or argument with Vanity, answering her points with a gesture of his open left hand. The Vanity’s gesture is assertive, even aggressive, her straightened hand and pointing finger invading Solomon’s space. Solomon, on the other hand, seems reticent, swaying away from Vanity. Spatially, his seated figure occupies more space than that of Vanity: Solomon’s foot, extended over the pedestal, takes over half of the framed miniature, and he is also placed higher than Vanity, due to the pedestal and the tall crown on his head. There is some resemblance between the figures of Solomon and the symbolic woman in the Ecclesiastes (in the above case, Vanity) and Solomon and his wife in the Queste. The assertion of sovereignty and willful self-exhibition, demonstrated by the Vanity in the Ecclesiastes miniature, are exactly those traits of Solomon’s wife in the Queste that “la dame resgarda le lit et dist que encore il failloit il” (Queste, 224) [the woman felt that the bed lacked something (Quest for the Holy Grail, 138)]. 45 Malory, Morte, 992. 44

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has earned her the opprobrium of the later authors of the Estoire and the “Sankgreal.” Thus, after the ship is constructed, Solomon’s wife purports to teach her husband as to the importance of the ship: “vos en orroiz par tens autres noveles que vos ne cuidiez” [In time you will discover more about it, things that you cannot now imagine],46 which Malory translates “ye shall hyre peradventure tydynges sonner than ye wene.”47 Moreover, her taste for display and show might be glimpsed by the advice she gives to Solomon, to refurbish the hilt of David’s sword with multiple stones. As in the previous instance, the tendency to order is more characteristic of Solomon’s wife in the “Sankgreal” rather than in the Queste. Thus, she declares as soon as she hears of Solomon’s distress: “I shall lette make a shippe of the beste wood and moste durable that ony man may fynde.” 48 As soon as the ship is finished, she commands her husband as she later commands the carpenter: “ye shall go into oure Lordis temple where ys king Davith his swerde […] Therefore take ye that, and take off the pomelle, and thereto make ye a pomell of precious stonys.” 49 While in the “Sankgreal” the wife’s actions remain unexplained, in the Queste her actions are motivated by her love for Solomon and his need for advice. In both the Queste and the “Sankgreal,” Solomon’s wife’s social status is indicated when she discharges administrative functions; her behaviour is not unusual, because, as a woman, she is expected to oversee the household. However, when she is mentioned in connection with Solomon, her marital status (“feme,” “wife”) is specified, for example, when she advises Solomon to leave David’s sword for his heir. In this case, she is not supervising the household routine: instead, she is involved in activities that provide for the future of her husband’s lineage. Preparing the ship, Solomon’s wife ensures that objects symbolizing the masculine and feminine spheres are balanced on the ship: there is David’s sword refurbished by Solomon, but there is also a bed prepared by her. Moreover, there are spindles, which supply a link between the first couple, Adam and Eve, and the perfect, chaste couple, Galahad and Perceval’s sister.

Queste, 225, Quest for the Holy Grail, 138. Malory, Morte, 993. 48 Malory, Morte, 992. 49 Ibid. 46 47

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Fig. 2. Solomon and Vanity. Guiard de Moulins, Bibles Historiale, c. 1350-1375, Paris. Bibliothetque national de France, f. fr. 162, fol. 11

Throughout the Queste narrative about the building of the ship, the French author takes care to specify the characters’ motivation: as has already been mentioned, Solomon is moved by the desire to communicate with his heir. However, his wife’s motivation differs across texts: while in the Estoire she seems to be motivated mainly by fear, in the Queste, she is also concerned with her husband’s emotional well-being, and the Queste author refers specifically to the mutual love and respect between Solomon and his wife. Although she often angers Solomon by her “grant engine,”50 her motivation in trying to find what makes Solomon uneasy is not entirely reprehensible: “ele l’amoit asez, non pas tant que maintes fames n’amassent plus lor seignors, si estoit molt viseuse” [She loved him dearly (though many wives love their 50

Queste, 220. 104

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husbands more) and she was very shrewd].51 Accordingly, the French author mitigates the impression left by Solomon’s previous bitter observation that he could not find a good woman in all the world and at the same time praises those women who love their husbands better than Solomon’s wife does. The quality mentioned last, “si estoit molt viseuse,” is confusing; it may have suggested to Malory the idea that she was an “evyll wyff.” However, according to the DMF, the word “viseuse” (“voiseux”) can mean “habile,” “avisé,” “sage” [wise] as well as “rusé” [cunning]. Bearing in mind the fact that certain kinds of knowledge, including spiritual knowledge, appear as Solomon’s privilege in the episode, it may appear surprising that Solomon needs his wife’s advice at all. However, in the Queste, both Solomon and his wife pay mutual respect to their different types of intelligence. Asking her husband what he is concerned about, the woman declares: “il n’a ou monde chose de quoi je ne cuidasse venir a chief, au grant sens qui en vos est et a la grant subtilité qui est en moi” [there’s nothing in the world that I cannot solve with your great wisdom and my great shrewdness]. 52 Solomon acknowledges his wife’s ingenuity, much as it baffles his understanding, and he tells her of his trouble. 53 As soon as his wife learns that Solomon is preoccupied with the problem of passing a message to his distant heir, she comes up with a solution and instructs him to build a ship. Likewise, when Solomon cannot think of arms that will be good enough for the peerless knight who is to enter the ship, she suggests King David’s sword. Explaining how to fashion the pommel out of precious stones, Solomon’s wife again expresses her respect for Solomon’s learning: vos, qui connoissiez les vertues des pierres et la force des herbes et la maniere de toutes autres choses terrienes, si i fetes un pont de pierres precieuses si soutilment jointes qu’il n’ait aprés vos regart terrien qui poïst conoistre l’une de l’autre. [you, who know the properties of precious stones and herbs and the way of all terrestrial things, should make a Queste, 220, Quest for the Holy Grail, 136. Queste, 222, Quest for the Holy Grail, 136. 53 Queste, 222. 51 52

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handle of precious stones so finely joined together that no one who looks at it in the future will be able to discern one from another.]54 Janina Traxler remarks that instructions about the pommel are the only piece of advice Solomon does not follow: he fashions the pommel of a single stone instead of joining multiple stones together. 55 Meanwhile, the pommel is the only part in the design of the ship and its furnishings for which, as Solomon’s wife acknowledges, the king possesses the relevant knowledge. Accordingly, in the Queste, the husband and wife co-operate to pass on to their remote descendant a matchless sword, his rightful heirloom. The sword destined for Galahad has double symbolism. First, it establishes a connection between the knight to come and his male ancestors, Solomon and David. Second, it confirms Galahad’s authority as a knight and leader, as, depending on the context, a sword can be used as a symbol of both military and judicial authority. In fact, one of the manuscripts of Guiard de Moulins’ historiated Bible has a miniature where Solomon appears with Justice at the beginning of the book of Wisdom (BNF, f. fr. 164, fol. 219r): “ci commence sapience salmon” [thus begins the Wisdom of Solomon]. One of Solomon’s famous qualities was, of course, his judicial wisdom, finding application in several episodes from the Bible, such as the judging of two women over a baby. In this illumination, however, Solomon is paired with abstract Justice, who appears as a royal figure, wearing a crown and handing Solomon the sword of Justice. As on the previous examples, the woman occupies the right-hand side of the miniature. She is kneeling on her left knee and is holding out a sword, hilt upwards, to Solomon. The King, again seated on a pedestal, is about to take the sword with his left hand, while the gesture of his right hand, the index finger extended, suggests that he is making a point, possibly marking the significance of the moment to the readers – and viewers – of the manuscript.

Queste, 223, Quest for the Holy Grail, 137. Janina Traxler, “Dying to Get to Sarras: Perceval’s Sister and the Grail Quest,” in The Grail: A Casebook, ed. Dhira Mahoney (London: Garland Publishing), 261-78 (267).

54 55

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Fig. 3. Solomon and Justice. Guiard de Moulins, Bibles Historiale, c. 1375-1400, Paris. Bibliothetque national de France, f. fr. 164, fol. 219r

In this miniature, Justice is presented as an independent queen, who, nonetheless, is somewhat below Solomon in status, as signalled by her kneeling position and the less ornate crown on her head. Again, we see that Justice, portrayed as a royal lady, shows deference to Solomon. The sword, which occupies the centre of the illumination, provides the focus of attention for the characters and the manuscript viewers. Once more, we are reminded of the prominence of David’s sword in the Queste, where the symbolic weapon, Galahad’s destined heirloom, is the subject of care for both King Solomon and his wife. Going back to the refurbishing of David’s word in the Queste, the relation between Solomon’s wisdom and his wife’s cunning in the Queste is interesting when we compare Solomon’s association with Wisdom, represented as a lady on a miniature at the beginning of the Ecclesiastes (BNF, f. fr. 160, fol. 255v). The miniature marks the 107

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beginning of the Ecclesiastes, identified by a caption in red ink: “ci commence ecclesiastez.” The illumination shows Solomon and Sapientia (Wisdom) praying in front of an altar, seen through what appears to be the church entry. The altar is covered with white cloth over which is placed a golden chalice, enveloped partially in a white napkin. Both Solomon and Wisdom wear crowns: Solomon is standing behind the kneeling Sapientia, whose hands are folded in prayer. Solomon’s head is lowered, and his eyes are on the chalice, to which he is also gesturing with his left hand; his right hand is lowered towards Wisdom, as if stressing her role as his superior and intercessor.

Fig. 4. Solomon and Wisdom. Guiard de Moulins, Bibles Historiale, c. 1300-1325, Paris. Bibliothetque national de France, f. fr. 160, fol. 255v

Here, the humility of the kneeling Wisdom underscores her spiritual superiority over Solomon: Wisdom is closer to the altar than Solomon, the latter not daring even approach the temple gate on the threshold of which Wisdom is kneeling. Solomon, in turn, can hope to enter the temple only through the intercessory prayer of Wisdom, who represents a lesson in humility and, simultaneously, an exaltation of this 108

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quality. Tellingly, in the Queste, Solomon’s wife does manifest a degree of humility, when she highlights that neither she nor Solomon are worthy to attach a belt to the sword of David: ‘il n’afiert mie a nos que nos les i metons; ainz les i metra une pucele, mes je ne sai quant ce sera, ne a quele hore’ [It’s not up to us to attach the proper belt to this sword. A virgin will do that, though I don’t know when].56 Thus, albeit Solomon’s wife in the romance does not correspond exactly to the figure of Wisdom, being cunning (“viseuse” 57 ) rather than wise, she does exhibit some attributes of Wisdom, notably humility and practical intelligence. I have already noted that scholars often view relations between spouses in the Middle Ages as being in some ways unequal or at least as spouses having different areas of responsibility within the marriage. In the Queste, the Estoire and the “Sankgreal,” revelations about the coming of Galahad are given only to Solomon. A voice from heaven speaks about the last knight of Solomon’s lineage, thus obscuring the relation of Solomon’s wife to their future descendant. Even the heirloom that Galahad receives, David’s sword, comes from Solomon’s line. Nonetheless, without Solomon’s wife, this heirloom would have never reached Galahad. Baumgartner comments on the paradox: “Transmettre l’héritage, ce privilège ordinairement réservé à l’homme, ne peut en effet être assuré lorsqu’il s’agit de la vie elle-même, que par la femme” [Transmitting the heritage, a privilege usually reserved to a man, cannot be accomplished, when it comes to life itself, but by a woman]. 58 Bearing in mind that women are often absent from genealogies compiled for the nobility and the gentry, unless they serve as links to other illustrious families, it is not surprising that the relation between Solomon’s wife and Galahad is not voiced in the Queste and the “Sankgreal.” Images of Eve, Solomon’s Wife and Perceval’s Sister in the Lancelot-Graal manuscripts The sample of illuminated manuscripts which I examined for the present work consists of 15 manuscripts of the Queste, which do not Queste, 223, Quest for the Holy Grail, 138. Queste, 221. 58 Baumgartner, Arbre, 140. 56 57

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contain the Estoire, with 6 additional manuscripts containing the Estoire, but not the Queste. The total number of examined illuminations is 2852.59 Furthermore, among the 15 manuscripts of the Queste, we can single out certain women who exercise spiritual, moral or intellectual authority over the male characters: the nuns at the abbey where Galahad is knighted at the beginning of the romance; the female recluses with whom the knights converse during the quest; and Perceval’s sister, who both teaches and guides the elect knights. Arguably, Solomon’s wife can be included among these influential women due to her role in constructing the ship. I have, however, excluded Eve from this group, not because as the mother of sin she is justly marginalised – so is Solomon’s wife – but because her representation in both the text and the miniatures relies on the strong tradition of apocrypha and Biblical illumination, 60 unparalleled for any of the above women, including Solomon’s wife. Of the above female characters, recluses make up the bulk of the group, appearing on 13 images in 10 manuscripts.61 Perceval’s sister (in the Ship of Solomon episode only) and the nuns at the abbey where Galahad is knighted are represented in 7 manuscripts, but in one manuscript, BnF, f. fr. 342, Perceval’s sister appears on two miniatures, on fol. 124v and fol. 132.62 In turn, King Solomon’s wife is represented All the manuscripts are fully or partially digitised, and the illuminations available on the websites of their respective libraries. The illuminated manuscripts examined are BnF, f. fr. 110; BnF, f. fr. 111; BnF, f. fr. 112 (3); BnF, f. fr. 116; BnF, f. fr. 120; BnF, f. fr. 122; BnF, f. fr. 123; BnF, f. fr. 339; BnF, f. fr. 342; BnF, f. fr. 343; BnF, f. fr. 344; BnF, f. fr. 1424; BnF, f. fr. 12573; BL, Royal 14 E III; and Cologny, Bodmer 147. 60 Vita Adae et Evae, which sometimes appears as the Penitence of Adam or as an introduction to the Golden Legend, was a popular medieval apocryphal story (see Murdoch, Apocryphal Adam and Eve). 61 BnF, f. fr. 111, ff. 243r (this miniature pictures a hermit in place of recluse; for a commentary on this, see Anastasija Ropa, “Female Authority during the Knights’ Quest? Recluses in the Queste del Saint Graal,” Bulletin du centre d’études médiévales d’Auxerre | BUCEMA 20.1 (2016) ; DOI: 10.4000/cem.14426) and 244v; BnF, f. fr. 112 (3), fol. 18v; BnF, f. fr. 116, fol. 623v; BnF, f. fr. 122, fol. 229v; BnF, f. fr. 339, fol. 238v; BnF, f. fr. 342, ff. 81r-82v; BnF, f. fr. 343, fol. 21v and fol. 33v; BnF, f. fr. 344, fol. 487v; BnF, f. fr. 1424, fol. 3r; BnF, f. fr. 12573, fol. 201r. 62 Perceval’s sister in the Ship of Solomon episode: BL, Royal 14 E III, fol. 130v; BnF, f. fr. 111, fol. 262v; BnF, f. fr. 112 (3), fol. 167r; BnF, f. fr. 122, fol. 262r; BnF, f. fr. 342, fol. 124v and fol. 132r; BnF, f. fr. 343, ff. 56r; BnF, f. fr. 1424, fol. 37r. Nuns at the abbey where Galahad is knighted: BnF, f. fr. 344, fol. 476r; BnF, f. fr. 343, fol. 1v; BnF, 59

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in only one manuscript of the Queste, BnF, f. fr. 112 (3), fol. 169r, making a seemingly insignificant appearance even among this group of authoritative women. The sample is not without its limitations, as it includes only those Queste manuscripts which are digitally available, and the number of illuminations across the manuscripts varies significantly. From this sample, it appears that the statement made by several scholars that the Queste women are demonized, victimized or underrepresented should be qualified. 63 Certainly, the number of illuminations portraying women during the Grail quest is far lower than the number of knights, and the knights are also more prominently represented in the narrative. On the other hand, most, or even all, women characters in the Queste appear at the crucial junctions in the narrative. Indeed, King Solomon’s wife enters the narrative at the narrative climax, just as the elect knights are finally united and prepare to set off on the final stage of their quest. The episode is also significant in juxtaposing three women, Perceval’s sister, Eve and Solomon’s wife. In certain manuscripts, including BnF, f. fr. 112 (3), the sequence Perceval’s sister – Eve – Solomon’s wife – Perceval’s sister – is fully or partially reresented in the accompanying illuminations. Solomon’s wife and Perceval’s sister remain unnamed. They are identified instead by reference to the men of their family. At the same time, they also break beyond the family control, as they make history for their men and become responsible for preserving and passing on the male heritage: in fact, female anonymity was a common feature of medieval genealogies, with only very few illustrious – or, like Eve, notorious – women mentioned by name. Being nameless, thus, can be a mark of humility in the Queste universe. Meanwhile, the near invisibility f. fr. 123, fol. 197r; BnF, f. fr. 120, fol. 522v; BnF, f. fr. 116, fol. 607v; BnF, f. fr. 112 (3), fol. 1v; BnF, f. fr. 111, fol. 236r. 63 Janina Traxler and Maureen Fries describe Perceval’s sister as the only prominent woman in the narrative, who must be sacrificed if the Grail quest is to be completed. Fries contends that Perceval’s sister is “a late medieval and much adapted version of the female hero conflated with the female saint” (Maureen Fries, “Gender and the Grail,” Arthuriana 8:1 (1998): 67-79 (77)). Traxler describes Perceval's sister as an “Arthurian Virgin Mary” and continues to point out that “the portrayal of Perceval’s sister […] displays many of the dominant traits of thirteenth-century hagiography” (Traxler, “Dying to Get to Sarras,” 261-78, 266 and 271). On the angel-demon dichotomy of female characters in the Queste, see Jeannine Horowitz, "La Diabolisation de la sexualité dans la littérature du Graal au XIIIe siècle: Le cas de La Queste del Saint Graal," in Arthurian Romance and Gender, ed. F. Wolfzettel (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1995), 238-50. 111

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of Solomon’s wife is tantalizing: is her image too insignificant or too disquieting for the illuminators, patrons and audiences? Meanwhile, Solomon himself appears in only four of the Queste and the Estoire manuscripts: BnF, f. fr. 749, fol. 52v (Estoire) and BnF, f. fr. 112 (3), fol. 169r (Queste) – with his wife; and BnF, f. fr. 105, fol. 68r (Estoire) and BnF, f. fr. 9123, fol. 57r (Estoire) – without his wife. In fact, there is only one manuscript, the richly illuminated BnF, f. fr. 112 (3) where all three women – Perceval’s sister, Eve and Solomon’s wife – are drawn for each part of the episode. Before examining this exuberant late medieval manuscript, however, let us turn to an earlier appearance of Solomon’s wife in the Estoire in BnF, f. fr. 749.

Fig. 5. Solomon and his wife on the ship. Estoire del Saint Graal, 1280-1290, Flanders, Belgium. Bibliothetque national de France, f. fr. 749, fol. 52v

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The manuscript, produced at the end of the thirteenth century in Thérouanne or Ghent, Flanders, includes the Estoire del Saint Graal and Merlin romances of the Lancelot-Graal cycle.64 The entire manuscripts contains 126 illuminations, 28 of them miniatures of the Estoire (fols. 1122). The miniature on fol. 52v shows King Solomon and his wife, her head modestly covered, both crowned, on board the Ship. The ship is inscribed with the words in red, identifying it as the Ship of Faith (this detail is mentioned in the text). Thus, the illuminator would have either read the relevant portion of the text or have been given detailed instructions for the miniature. If the artist had read the text or was given guidelines for the miniature, this could have influenced the representation of Solomon’s wife in the illumination, too. In the miniature, Solomon occupies the space on the right-hand side, while his wife, on the left-hand side, is leaning towards the sword, which, like on the above-mentioned miniature of Solomon with Justice, is in the centre of the miniature and the ship. The sword is placed on the bed, which is the heirloom fashioned for Galahad by Solomon’s wife. In front of the wife, there is a pillow topped with the crown destined for Solomon’s royal descendant. Between King Solomon and his wife is the white spindle or bedpost, which, like the red and green spindles, was carved from the Tree of Life.65 The hilt of the sword is coloured gold, contrary to the text, which specifies that the hilt was of a single multicoloured stone (this would be hard to depict on a miniature, anyway). Solomon’s wife is leaning, both hands extended, towards the sword, while King Solomon is looking down at the sword, and, judging by his gestures, seems to be speaking. The subject of their attention may be the hangings suitable for the marvellous sword, and Solomon may be expressing his discontent with the hemp hangings provided by his wife. Thus, the episode represents a moment of high tension in the narrative, where the preparation of the heirlooms for Galahad is nearly complete. In a late manuscript of the Lancelot-Graal cycle, the deposition of David’s sword on Soomon’s ship is depicted again, as identified by a caption in red ink. The manuscript in question is the richly illuminated For further discussion of the manuscript and its Merlin text, see I. Fabry-Tehranchi, Texte et images des manuscrits du Merlin et de la Suite Vulgate (XIIIe-XVe siècle) (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014). 65 On the colour symbolism of the spindles, see Looper, “Gender,” 52. 64

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BnF, f. fr. 112 (3), a special version executed for Jacques d'Armagnac, which includes 258 illuminations by Evrard d'Espingues. Susan A. Blackman describes the manuscript as a “unique compilation of Arthurian romances.” According to Blackman, BnF, f. fr. 112 and two other manuscripts of the Lancelot-Graal romances (BnF, f. fr. 113-116 and BnF, f. fr. 117-120) were produced in such a way that their miniature cycles “interrelate,” resulting in an “exhaustive and largely non-repetitive visual synopsis of Arthurian episodes that emphasizes the completeness of the narrative.”66 Moreover, Blackman notes that, in BnF, f. fr. 112, new illustrated subjects are added, as compared to other Lancelot-Graal manuscript owned by Jacques d’Armagnac. On the other hand, the images in themselves are not entirely original, in the sense that the illuminator, Evrard d'Espingues, built on the previous iconographic tradition of the Lancelot-Graal illuminated and other works, such as historiated Bibles. The illumination of King Solomon and his wife in the ship is not a stand-alone miniature of the Ship of Solomon episode in BnF, f. fr. 112 (3). Almost every part of the episode benefits a separate illustration, and sometimes even two illustrations, many of which have close parallels in BnF, f. fr. 113-116. On the opening miniature of the episode, fol. 167r of BnF, f. fr. 112 (3), we see the elect knights and Perceval’s sister in the ship; the miniature is similar to BnF, f. fr. 113-116, fol. 654v, with Perceval’s sister and two of the elect knights approaching the ship in a boat. The miniature concluding the episode in BnF, f. fr. 112 (3), fol. 170r, shows Perceval reading the letter that tells the story of the ship; Perceval stands in front of the sword of David, while Galahad and Bors marvel at the three colored spindles. A similar scene occurs in BnF, f. fr. 113-116, fol. 661r, though here the spindles are not depicted, and Galahad and Bors lean to Perceval, wondering at the letter; the sword is placed in front of the three knights. In between, the audience are shown the events of the narrative read by Perceval: thus, BnF, f. fr. 113-116, shows the initial sin and the eviction of Adam and Eve from paradise, respectively on fol. 657v and fol. 658v.

Susan A. Blackman, “A Pictorial Synopsis of Arthurian Episodes for Jacques d’Armagnac, Duke of Nemours,” in Word and Image in Arthurian Literature, ed. Keith Busby (London: Routledge, 1996), 3-57 (3). 66

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Fig. 6. Solomon and his wife on the ship. Queste del Saint Graal, c. 1470, Central France. Bibliothetque national de France, f. fr. 112 (3), fol. 169r.

As compared to the image of King Solomon and his wife on board the ship in the earlier Flemish manuscript, discussed above (BnF, f. fr. 749, fol. 52v), the positions of Solomon and his wife undergo an interesting reversal in BnF, f. fr. 112 (3). In the latter manuscript, Solomon is holding the sword by its handle in his left hand, as if asserting his possession of the sword even as he deposits it on a red115

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clothed table for his future heir. Solomon’s head is inclined towards the sword, and he is pointing to it with his right hand, stressing the significance of the object. Solomon appears to dominate the miniature: he is larger, placed in the foreground, and distinguished by visually striking, multi-coloured clothes – a royal crown, blue tunic, red mantle, and wide ermine collar. Like Solomon, his wife is wearing a crown; her hair is hidden in a net, and jewellery glistens on her forehead, but her simple blue dress tends to blur with the surrounding sea. Her figure is reticent, drawn behind the table on which the sword is being placed. Her arms and hands are slightly raised, as if she were spinning – or holding an invisible child, and she is looking down. Compared to the assertive Solomon, she is a respectful, even humble character, much like Perceval’s sister, who is hidden behind the male questors on the previous folio in the manuscript (fol. 167r). At the same time, the gesture of Solomon’s wife indicates that she, too, has an heirloom to pass to Galahad: the spindles which mark the line of descent from Adam and Eve through David and Solomon to the virgin knight. The very reticence of Solomon’s wife is a mark of her significance in the story, a woman who is uncelebrated, yet indispensable. Without women, a dynasty cannot continue, and, without her practical wisdom, Solomon would not have known how to communicate the early history of Galahad’s line to the Grail knight. Conclusion. The Complex Image of Solomon’s Wife Solomon’s wife appears in three texts that deal with the Grail quest: two romances from the Lancelot-Graal cycle (the Estoire del Saint Graal and the Queste del Saint Graal) and Thomas Malory’s “Tale of the Sankgreal,” which closely follows the Queste. The texts tell the same story of the building of Solomon’s ship, but characterize Solomon’s wife in slightly different ways; she appears on illuminations in two manuscripts, one for the Estoire and one for the Queste. In the Queste, which describes Solomon’s wife with psychological depth, she loves Solomon, but her love is not total. She is ambitious and wants to rule, not just to obey her husband. In fact, she is gifted with practical intelligence, which, although no match for Solomon’s wisdom, enables her to find an ingenious solution to Solomon’s problem of communicating with his future descendant, Galahad. Her practical 116

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ingenuity is celebrated, yet her ambitions are disparaged. In the two later texts, she is characterized simplistically as a bad wife, who is motivated by fear and greed for power rather than by charity. The ambivalent character of Solomon’s wife is partially hinted at in the Queste and the Estoire miniatures, where she and Solomon deposit Galahad’s heirloom on board the ship. The illuminators use such means as gesture, poise, positioning and colour to suggest the respective standing of Solomon and the woman, as well as their characters. The portrayal of Solomon’s wife in both textual and visual sources, and, in particular, her moral ambiguity is paralleled in miniatures from historiated Bibles that show Solomon with female figures, which either evoke characters from the Bible (the Queen of Sheba) or function as allegories (Vanity, Wisdom, Justice). In fact, Solomon’s wife in the Grail quest narratives demonstrates traces of all these female figures as represented in illuminations: she can be deferring and humble, as the Queen of Sheba, but she is also as assertive as Vanity. She invokes authority when she becomes involved in passing David’s sword to Galahad, and her practical wisdom (“engin”) is acknowledged by Solomon himself. The differences between the image of Solomon’s wife in these three texts can be traced to the context in which the texts were written and read, especially the conflicting discourses on gender, family and heredity in France and England between the thirteenth and the fifteenth centuries. The disturbing, chameleonic personality of Solomon’s wife in the narrative and the multiplicity of female models associated with King Solomon in contemporary iconography probably discouraged most of the manuscript patrons and illuminators from depicting this ambiguous woman in the accompanying miniatures. Bibliography Primary sources L’Estoire del Saint Graal, ed. by Jean-Paul Ponceau. Paris: Champion, 1997. La Queste del Saint Graal, Roman du XIII siècle, ed. Albert Pauphilet, 3rd edn. Paris: Champion, 1923. Malory, Thomas. The Works of Sir Thomas Malory, ed. Eugene Vinaver, 3rd rev. edn. P. J. C. Field, vol. 2. Oxford: Clarendon, 1990. 117

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The History of the Holy Grail, trans. Carol Chase. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2010. The Quest for the Holy Grail, trans. Jane Burns. The Old French Arthurian Vulgate and Post-Vulgate in Translation. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2010. Secondary sources Archer, Rowena. “‘How ladies… who live on their manors ought to manage their households and estates’: Women as Landholders and Administrators in the Later Middle Ages.” In Woman is a Worthy Wight: Women in English Society c. 1200-1500, ed. P. J. P. Goldberg, 149-181. Stroud: Alan Sutton, 1992. Baumgartner, Emmanuèle. L’Arbre et le Pain, Essai sur la Queste del Saint Graal. Paris: S.E.D.E.S., 1981. Blackman, Susan A. “A Pictorial Synopsis of Arthurian Episodes for Jacques d’Armagnac, Duke of Nemours.” In Word and Image in Arthurian Literature, ed. Keith Busby, 3-57. London: Routledge, 1996. Bogdanow, Fanni. “Little Known Codex, Bancroft ms. 73, and its Place in the Manuscript Tradition of the Vulgate Queste del Saint Graal.” Arthuriana 6:1 (1996): 1-21. Davidson, Roberta. “The ‘Freynshe booke’ and the English Translator: Malory’s Originality Revisited.” Translation and Literature 17:2 (2008): 133-49. Denton, Jon. “Genealogy and Gentility: Social Status in Provincial England.” In Broken Lines: Genealogical Literature in Medieval Britain and France, ed. Raluca Radulescu and Edward Kennedy, 143-158. Turnhout: Brepols, 2008. Duby, Georges, Love and Marriage in the Middle Ages, trans. Jane Dunnett. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988. Fabry-Tehranchi, I. Texte et images des manuscrits du Merlin et de la Suite Vulgate (XIIIe-XVe siècle). Turnhout: Brepols, 2014. Fichte, Joerg. From Camelot to Obamalot: Essays on Medieval and Modern Arthurian Literature. Trier: Wissenschftlicher, 2010. Field, P. J. C. “Malory and the Grail.” In The Grail, the Quest and the World of Arthur, ed. Norris Lacy, 141-155. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2008. Fries, Maureen. “Gender and the Grail.” Arthuriana 8:1 (1998): 67-79. 118

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Griffin, Miranda. The Object and the Cause in the Vulgate Cycle. London: Legenda, 2005. Horowitz, Jeannine. "La Diabolisation de la sexualité dans la littérature du Graal au XIIIe siècle: Le cas de La Queste del Saint Graal." In Arthurian Romance and Gender, ed. F. Wolfzettel, 238-50. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1995. Ihle, S. N. Malory’s Grail Quest: Invention and Adaptation in Medieval Prose Romance. London: University of Wisconsin Press, 1983. Locke, Frederick, The Quest for the Holy Grail: A Literary Study of a Thirteenth-Century French Romance. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1960. Looper, Jennifer. “Gender, Genealogy, and the ‘Story of the Three Spindles’ in the Queste del Saint Graal.” Arthuriana 8:1 (1998): 49-66. Mahoney, Dhira. “The Truest and Holiest Tale: Malory’s Transformation of La Queste del Saint Graal.” In Studies in Malory, ed. James Spisak, 109-28. Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 1985. Mann, Jill. “Malory and the Grail Legend.” In A Companion to Malory, ed. Elizabeth Archibald and A. S. G. Edwards, 203-220. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1996. Matarasso, Pauline. The Redemption of Chivalry: A Study of the Queste del Saint Graal. Genève: Droz, 1979. McCarthy, Terence. “Malory and His Sources.” In A Companion to Malory, ed. Elizabeth Archibald and A. S. G. Edwards, 75-95. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1996. Moorman, Charles. “Malory’s Treatment of the Sankgreal.” PMLA 71 (1956): 496-509. Moorman, Charles. “‘The Tale of the Sankgreall’: Human Frailty.” In Malory’s Originality: A Critical Study of Le Morte Darthur, ed. R. M. Lumiansky, 184-204. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1964. Murdoch, Brian. The Apocryphal Adam and Eve in Medieval Europe: Vernacular Translations and Adaptations of Vita Adae et Evae. Oxford: Oxford University Press: 2009. Norris, Ralph. Malory’s Library: The Sources of the Morte Darthur. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2008. Pauphilet, Albert. Études sur ‘La Queste del Saint Graal’ attribué à Gautier Map. Paris: Champion, 1921.

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Pickford, C. E. “Antoine Vérard: Éditeur du Lancelot et du Tristan.” In Mélanges de langue et littérature françaises du Moyen Âge et de la Renaissance offerts à Charles Foulon, vol. 1, 280-84. Rennes: Institut de français, Université de Haute-Bretagne, 1980. Radulescu, Raluca. “Review of Burns, E. Jane. The Quest for the Holy Grail. The Old French Vulgate and Post-Vulogate in Translation.” The Medieval Review (2011) http://hdl.handle.net/2022/13321 (accessed 2 December 2016). Regalado, Nancy. “The Medieval Construction of the Modern Reader: Solomon’s Ship and the Birth of Jean de Meun.” Yale French Studies 95 (1999): 81-10. Ropa, Anastasija. “Female Authority during the Knights’ Quest? Recluses in the Queste del Saint Graal,” Bulletin du centre d’études médiévales d’Auxerre | BUCEMA 20.1 (2016) ; DOI: 10.4000/cem.14426. Stones, Alison. “Seeing the Grail, Prolegomena to a Study of Grail Imagery in Arthurian Manuscripts.” In The Grail: A Casebook, ed. Dhira Mahoney, 301-66. London: Garland Publishing, 2000. Janina Traxler. “Dying to Get to Sarras: Perceval’s Sister and the Grail Quest.” In The Grail: A Casebook, ed. Dhira Mahoney, 261-78. London: Garland Publishing, 2000. Tucker, P. E. “The Place of the Quest of the Holy Grail in the Morte Darthur.” MLR 48 (1953): 391-97. Winn, Mary. “Vérard’s Editions of Tristan.” Arthuriana 19:1 (2009): 4773. Zink, Michel. L’Humiliation, le Moyen Âge et nous. Paris: Albin Michel, 2017. Acknowledgements The present article builds on my doctoral research completed at Bangor University, UK, between 2009 and 2014. I would like to thank my supervisors, Dr. Raluca Radulescu and Prof. Tony Brown, for encouraging me to study minor and marginal characters of Arthurian romance, and for providing their feedback on my earlier research into the Ship of Solomon episode. Likewise, I am very grateful to the thesis examiners, Dr. Jane Gilbert and Prof. Helen Wilcox. I am equally grateful to Dr. Monica Ann Walker Vadillo for accepting my proposal at the International Medieval Congress in Leeds, 120

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2015, offering me an opportunity to engage with the artistic aspect of my medieval sources closer than I was able to do in the course of my doctoral research. Finally, I would like to thank Prof. Barbara Newman for her feedback at the masterclass “Gender, Religion, and the Power of Resistance in the High and Late Middle Ages” at the Brussels Free University, 16 June 2016, where I presented my research on the portrayal of women in the Queste del Saint Graal, and, in particular, for confirming my intuition that Solomon’s wife exhibits some characteristics of Wisdom and Sovereignty in this romance.

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Saint Eugenia Outside-Inside-Outside Rome: An Iconographic Continuity?1 Andrea-Bianka Znorovszky Austrian Academy of Sciences, Vienna; Universität Salzburg, Institut für Realienkunde des Mittelalters und der Frühe Neuzeit

Saint Eugenia of Rome, the daughter in a Roman pagan family, hears the preaching of Christians and decides to leave her home. In order to enter a monastic community, whose abbot is not fond of women, she cross-dresses. Later, she becomes the abbot of that very monastery and is accused by a woman, Melanthia, of indecent behaviour. Proving her innocence, she undresses in public and then converts her family to Christianity. Her father, Phillipus, becomes a bishop and dies a martyr’s death. Eugenia eventually returns to Rome where she establishes a female religious community, and later is tortured and dies as a martyr in Christ. 2 The motif of the saint in disguise was introduced in the hagiographic genre around the fourth century and reached its peak in the East sometime between the sixth and the eighth century,3 while in

This essay is based on the fifth chapter of my doctoral dissertation, titled “Close to the Mother of God: The Innocence and Martyrdom of Saint Eugenia of Rome”: Andrea-Bianka Znorovszky Between Mary and Christ: Depicting Cross-Dressed Saints in the Middle Ages (c. 1200-1600) (Budapest: Central European University, doctoral dissertation, 2016). 2 Saint Eugenia of Rome was martyrized in the third century A.D. More on her vita, see AASS Sept. 3: 761-762; She is venerated on December 24th, 25th. 3 Sylvia Schein, “The Female Men of God and Men Who Were Women. Female Saints and Holy Land Pilgrimage During the Byzantine Period,” Hagiographica 5 (1998): 17. On the transfer of this motif from East to West see, Enrico Morini, “Santità monastica femminile in abiti maschili nell’Oriente cristiano,” in Giustina e le altre. Sante e culti 1

Andrea-Bianka Znororvszky

the West it was included in hagiographic collections, such as the Legenda Aurea. These lives, in a nutshell, concentrate on stories of women who wore men’s clothes, fled the world to follow Christ, and joined in monasteries or, sometimes, retired in solitary places. Eugenia of Rome belongs to a particular group of cross-dressed saints, the monachoparthenoi, virgin monks, alongside Euphrosyne of Alexandria, Margareta Pelagius, and Marina the Monk. This essay concentrates on the development of Saint Eugenia’s imagery in relation to her cult in Italy. It demonstrates that although scholarship classifies her as a cross-dressed saint, the continuity in her representations as martyr emphasized her womanhood and not her disruptiveness. In this sense, this study connects early fifth-seventhcentury mosaics and cult of relics to later fifteenth-century representations of Eugenia in order to reconstruct her iconography in northern Italy. Research on cross-dressed saints’ lives is fairly rich. It has been a popular research topic especially starting from the 1970s. Literary, psychological, socio-religious, theological, and textual interpretations have attempted to explain the phenomenon using different approaches. Among the earliest interpretations are those of Herman Usener,4 in the nineteenth century, and of Hippolyte Delehaye5 at the beginning of the twentieth century. Usener considered that the transvestite motif has a pagan origin which was passed into Christian hagiography through Greek romances. Furthermore, he pointed out that the saint’s disguise is a survival of the cult of the bisexual Aphrodite of Cyprus. Recent interpretations belong to John Anson, 6 Évelyne Patlagean, 7 Vern L. Bullough, 8 Sylvia Schein, 9 Stephen J. Davis, 10 and others. 11 Anson femminili in Italia settentrionale dalla prima età cristiana al secolo XII, ed. Andrea Tilatti, Francesco G.B. Trolese (Padova: Viella, 2009), 271-300. 4 Hermann Usener, Legenden der heiligen Pelagia (Bonn: Adolph Marcus, 1879), I-XXIV. 5 Hippolyte Delehaye, The Legends of the Saints (Brussels, 1905, 1906, reprinted Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1998), 51 and 150-60. 6 John Anson, “The Female Transvestite in Early Monasticism,” 1-32. 7 Évelyne Patlagean, “L’histoire de la femme déguisée en moine,” 597-623. 8 Vern L. Bullough, “Transvestites in the Middle Ages,” The American Journal of Sociology 79, No. 6 (1974): 1381-94; and also Vern L. Bullough and James Brundage, Handbook of Medieval Sexuality: A Book of Essays (New York: Garland Publishing, 1996), 223-242; and Vern Bullough, Cross Dressing, Sex and Gender, 51-57. 9 Sylvia Schein, “The Female Men of God,” 1-36. 124

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considers that these vitae were written by “monks for monks” and that they do not record real female behaviour. Patlagean points out that the origin of the transvestite phenomenon is connected to Christian practice thought Late Antiquity, while Delcourt 12 explains it from a psychological point of view. For Delcourt, transvestitism signifies a break from a preceding existence, connected with hostility towards the saint’s family. Bullough’s conclusion is that women transvestite saints gained social status as compared to male cross-dressers, who lost status by transvestitism. Stephen J. Davis’ study analyses the phenomenon from an intertextual perspective13 by identifying the origin of the motif not only in the vitae of Thecla and Pelagia, as did other scholars, but in various patterns mostly drawn from the Bible or hagiography. Natalie Zemon Davis14 argues that the image of the disordered woman did not have the sole function of keeping women in their place, but was also employed to sanction political disobedience or widen their behavioural options. From this point of view, she argues that cross-dressed saints function as proof that women can do more than is expected of them: ruling the lower in themselves and deserving to be like men. Last but not least, Crystal Lubinsky15 proves that these saints remain women to the end and are praised as holy women even when they use masculine disguise. Stephen J. Davis, “Crossed Texts, Crossed Sex: Intertextuality and Gender in Early Christian Legends of Holy Women Disguised as Men,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 10, No. 1 (2002): 1-36. 11 See Susan Ashbrook Harvey, “Women in Early Byzantine Hagiography: Reversing the Story,” in That Gentle Strength: Historical Perspectives on Women in Christianity, ed. L. Coon, Katherine J. Haldane, and Elisabeth W. Sommer (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1990), 36-59; and also an analysis on Perpetua by Elizabeth Castelli, “I Will Make Mary Male: Pieties of the Body and Gender Transformation of Christian Women in Late Antiquity,” in Body Guards: the Cultural Politics of Gender Ambiguity, ed. Julia Epstein and Kristina Straub (New York: Routledge, 1991), 29-49. 12 Marie Delcourt, “Le Complexe de Diane et l’hagiographie Chretienne,” Revue de l’histoire des religions 153 (1958): 1-33. 13 Stephen J. Davis, “Crossed Texts, Crossed Sex,” 1-36. He identifies the origin of the motif not only in the vitae of Thecla and Pelagia, as did other scholars, but in various patterns mostly drawn from the Bible or hagiography. 14 Natalie Zemon Davis, “Women on Top,” in Society and Culture in Early Modern France (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1975), 131-132. 15 Crystal Lubinsky, Removing Masculine Layers to Reveal a Holy Womanhood. The Female Transvestite Monks of Late Antique Eastern Christianity (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013). 10

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This essay analyses the visual representations of one of these crossdressed saints, namely Saint Eugenia of Rome, as this aspect has not yet been thoroughly addressed. As part of the monachoparhtenoi group, she shares the feature of refusing marriage/running away and hiding in a monastery, as reflected in both textual and visual narratives. In fact, the visual representations are those which offer an elaborated iconography (religious syncretism, masculine representations, etc.) in contrast to textual sources which do not possess any important additions or omissions. Eugenia outside Rome: an early phase Following her martyrdom, Eugenia’s body was taken to a religious establishment. 16 The information offered by her vita is an important starting point in establishing the initial topos of her veneration, as it indicates not only the existence of a basilica, but also the place where her relics were deposited. The actual existence of such a place of worship underlines the promotion of her cult and the possibility that Eugenia was more than just a fictitious character. Although the basilica dedicated to her does not exist anymore, various historical sources help identify and re-construct both her cult and iconography which spread as her importance grew. One of the above-mentioned historical evidence is connected to topography. Namely, Eugenia’s basilica was supposedly situated on the Via Latina, in the cemetery of Appronianus, which was later on, in the sixth-seventh centuries, known as the cemetery of Saint Eugenia 17 because of the growth of her fame. This indicates a process of reconfiguration determined by the existence of relics deposited within the walls of a holy place. That Eugenia’s story is not only a hagiographical fact is further indicated by the inclusion of her church among the lists of renovated buildings by several popes. In the eighth

Auctore incerto, “Vita Sanctae Eugeniae, virginis ac martyris,” in AASS, Sept. 3: 76162. 17 Agostino Amore, I martiri di Roma (Todi: Tau Editrice, 2013), 132-133. On the possibility that the cemetery of Appronianus was not a cemetery for Christians, but for gentiles, see Domenico Bartolini, Cimitero d’Aproniano ditto anche di Santa Eugenia su la via Latina (Rome: Tipografia delle delle Arti, 1840), 12. 16

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century, Pope John VII ordered the restoration of the church,18 while Pope Adrian I, still in the same century, not only restored the basilica, 19 but also built a nunnery next to it; finally, Pope Leo III is attested as offering donations to the church in the ninth century. 20 These references are among the few that mention the existence of a church dedicated to Saint Eugenia on the Via Latina. The above mentioned detail of the nunnery, again, exemplifies the importance of Eugenia’s cult, the development, and the reconstruction of a previous place of veneration which implies the increase of its space. Furthermore, the existence of this nunnery, next or close to Eugenia’s basilica, seems to re-construct an episode of her life, namely, that of the saint establishing a nunnery in Rome, only that this time Eugenia is close to her followers through her relics. E. Josi, in his Cimitero Cristiano sulla Via Latina,21 states that there is no liturgical reference in the depositio martyrum or in Pope Damasus’ poetry about the martyrs of the Via Latina, including Eugenia, and that she turns up celebrated on the 25th of December in religious texts such as Jerome’s Martyrology or the Sacramentary of Leo I.22 Nevertheless, the above-mentioned topographical details strongly suggest the existence of her cult. Other historical sources, such as itineraries, indicate the existence of Eugenia’s basilica. In his study, La Roma sotterranea,23 de Rossi includes Louis Duchesne, Le Liber Pontificalis, texte, introduction et commentaire, vol. I (Paris: Ernest Thorin, 1886), 385. Duchesne also mentions the inclusion of the church in seventh-century itineraries, see 386, note 3. 19 Duchesne, Le Liber Pontificalis, vol. I, 509. 20 Duchesne, Le Liber Pontificalis, vol.I, 510 and Duchesne, Le Liber Pontificalis, vol. II, (1886), 25. 21 Enrico Josi, “Cimitero Cristiano sulla Via Latina,” Rivista di archeologia cristiana 16 (1939): 22. Josi states that there must have been a church dedicated to her in the sixth century. 22 Amore, I martiri di Roma, 132, note 39. The Martyrologium Cambrense mentions the passion of Saint Eugenia on the 25th of December (p. 381). The Martyrologum Romanum (Rome: Typis Polyglottis Vaticani, 1930), 315, mentions Eugenia among the martyrs of the cemetery of Apronianus on the 25th of December. On Eugenia in various martyrologies and other religious texts, see: Zéphyrin Toursel, Histoire de Sainte Eugénie, vierge romaine, et de sa famille (Lille: Jesuit Library of Lille, 1860), 56-59. 23 Giovanni Battista de Rossi, La Roma sotterranea Cristiana, Tomo I (Rome: CromoLitografia Pontificia, 1864). See also Hippolyte Delehaye, Étude sur le légendier romain, les saints de novembre et de décembre (Brussels: Bollandistes, 1936): 171-172. See also, Jacques 18

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information from the Itinerarium ex unico codice Salisburgensi; Epitome Libri de Locis Sanctorum Martyrum e codicibus Salisburgensi puro, Wirceburgensi puro et Salisburgensi interpolato; Notitia portarum, viarum, ecclesiarum circa urbem Romam e Willelmo Malmesburiensi, and from Topographia Einsiedlenis; all the references indicate the existence of a construction built tin her honour: On the Via Latina outside the city, on the left [is] the oratory of Saint Mary and [the oratory of] Saint Gordianus, on the right [is] the oratory of Saint Januarius, Saint Sixtus, Saint Eugenia, and Saint Theodorus.24 Looking at the dating of these itineraries and the notes on the churches of Rome, it is clear that a construction dedicated to Saint Eugenia still existed outside of Rome between the eighth-ninth centuries and the twelfth century,.25 One of the earliest itineraries is the one in the Einsiedeln manuscript dating from the eighth-ninth century.26 The De locis sanctis martyrum quae sunt foris civitatis Romae, composed around the ninth-tenth century still mentions her church, 27 while the Gesta regum Anglorum of William of Malmesbury in the twelfth century states the same. This underlines that the church dedicated to Saint Eugenia still existed as late as the twelfth century. Finally, the growth of Eugenia’s importance is reflected in poems of Avitus, bishop of Vienne, and Venantius Fortunatus.28 All of the above Dubois, Le Martyrologe d’Usuard. Texte et commentaire (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1965), 302, for the 13th of September. See also the same martyrology of Usuard, 148. 24 “Topographia Einsiedlensis,” in de Rossi, La Roma sotterranea Cristiana, I, 180-181. Other references on the basilica dedicated to Saint Eugenia: Itinerarium ex unico codice Salisburgensi in de Rossi, La Roma sotterranea Cristiana, I, 180-181. Also Epitome Libri de Locis Sanctorum Martyrum e codicibus salisburgensi puro,Wirceburgensi puro et Salisburgensi interpolato in de Rossi, La Roma sotterranea Cristiana, I, 180-181. Also Notitia portarum, viarum, ecclesiarum circa urbem Romam e Willelmo Malmesburiensi in de Rossi, La Roma sotterranea Cristiana, I, 180-181. De Rossi’s work offers indications concerning the burial places of the two eunuch martyrs who followed Saint Eugenia. 25 Valentini Zucchetti, Codice topografico della città di Roma, vol. II (Rome: Tipografia del Senato, 1942), 102, 134. 26 See Zucchetti, Codice topografico, 102, 199 (see also p. 157 for dating). 27 See note 5, in De locis sanctis martyrum quae sunt foris civitatis Romae in Zucchetti, Codice topografico, 112. 28 Josi, “Cimitero Cristiano,” 23-24. On the possible date of the composition of Eugenia’s legend, see Albert Dufourcq, Étude sur le Gesta Martyrum Romains (Paris: Albert Fontemoing éditeur, 1900), 299-300. As Eugenia is appreciated by Avitus, who died in 526, this suggests that her legend is prior to the sixth century, while a certain bishop 128

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mentioned topographical, historical, and literary sources indicate the existence of a certain establishment dedicated to a saint named Eugenia outside of Rome. Unfortunately, none of these sources offer any information on the depictions of Saint Eugenia. This leaves us with the only possibility of imagining and hypothesizing how her iconography might have looked like. An iconographic re-construction The iconography can be tentatively reconstructed on the basis of early surviving images in other regions of Italy. The possible patterns of representation may offer a glimpse on how she might have been depicted in a church which was not only dedicated to her, but which also hosted her relics. The earliest surviving representations of Eugenia can be seen in Ravenna in three fifth-sixth-century constructions: Sant’Apollinare Nuovo, and the Capella Arcivescovile. 29 Inside the Sant’Apollinare Basilica, there are fifth- and early-sixth-century mosaic representations of martyrs and virgins.30 Eugenia is depicted on the left wall of the nave in the company of Saints Sabina and Cristina. As a beautiful nimbed, veiled, young woman, Eugenia holds a crown in her hands. The only iconographic detail which differentiates her from the other virgin martyrs is the inscription of her name: . Eugenia is depicted in a procession (Fig. 1) which gathers the virgin martyrs and the three Magi, approaching the Mother of God and the Son of God. The second representation from Ravenna is found in the Capella Arcivescovile, in the North West arch, where Eugenia is depicted bust length, frontal, as an icon similarly to an imago clipeata, once again veiled and having her name inscribed above her image. 31 A similar Helenus, who baptized Eugenia, is mentioned in Rufinus’s Historia Monachorum, Rufinus dying in 410. 29 Maria Pia Fabbri, I mosaici di Ravenna (Forli: Carta Canta Editore, 2010), 49, 105. Amore, I martiri di Roma, 132-133. Josi, “Cimitero Cristiano,” 24-25. See also Hippolyte Delehaye, Les Origines du culte des martyrs (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1933), 326327. 30 Angelo Lorizzo, I mosaici di Ravenna (Ravenna: Longo Editore, 1976), 27. 31 Paolo Verzone, “Il palazzo arcivescovile e l’olatorio di S. Andrea,” in Corsi di cultura sull’arte ravennate e bizantina, ed. Giuseppe Bovini (Ravenna: Edizioni Dante, 1966), 450452. 129

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representation to that from Sant’Apollinare Nuovo, also dating from the sixth-century, is found in Poreč, in the Eufrasian Basilica, on the central apse border (Fig. 2). 32 The Catacomb of S. Gennaro 33 from Naples also hosts a later ninth-tenth century representation of the saint, while an eleventh century depiction shows Eugenia holding a crown wrapped in a pallium.34

Fig. 1. Procession of female saints, fifth-sixth century. Ravenna, Italy, Saint Apollinare Nuovo (photo: the author)

The early representations of Saint Eugenia bear common elements as all concentrate on depicting a young virgin martyr either bust length or in a standing position. The prevalent iconographic attributes of

Ann Terry, Henry Maguire, Dynamic Splendor. The Wall Mosaics in the Cathedral of Eufrasius at Poreč, vol. I (Philadelphia: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007), 67, for more on the similarities between Sant’Apollinare Nuovo and the Cathedral of Eufrasius. 33 Josi, “Cimitero Cristiano,” 25. 34 George Kaftal, Saints in Italian Art, Iconography of the Saints in Central and South Italian Schools of Painting (Florence: Sansoni, 1975), 408. 32

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Eugenia’s early depictions, outside of Rome, are the rich virgin martyr dress35 or the crown wrapped in a pallium.

Fig. 2. Saint Eugenia, sixth century. Poreč Cathedral, Croatia (photo: the author)

All these visual representations concentrate on Eugenia’s womanhood in contrast to interpretations of martyrdom according to George Kaftal, Saints in Italian Art, Iconography of the Saints in Tuscan Painting (Florence: Tipografia “L”Impronta,” 1952), 350. George Kaftal, Saints in Italian Art, Iconography of the Saints in the Painting of North East Italy (Florence: Sansoni, 1978), 299-300. 35

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which female martyrs embody a certain type of virility that is directed against one’s state or family.36 Eugenia is generally grouped with other female martyrs suggesting the mystical love topos, as the Saint Apollinare Nuovo imagery suggests.37 A basilica dedicated to a titular saint, must include at least one image of that particular saint. Looking at the depiction of Saint Agnes (Fig. 3) in Sant’Agnese Fuori le Mura, Rome, a seventh-century basilica, we will observe that Saint Agnes is depicted in the main apse flanked by Pope Honorius and Pope Symmachus. This implies that a similar image to those found in Ravenna, Naples or Poreč might have been depicted in Eugenia’s basilica. Furthermore, her later imagery in the Church of the Apostles, Rome, testifies the survival and the development of the virgin martyr’s pattern.

Fig. 3. Saint Agnes, seventh century. Rome, Sant’Agnese fuori la mura church (photo: the author) See for instance, Barbara Baert, “More Than an Image: Agnes of Rome: Virginity and Visual Memory,” in More than Memory: the Discourse of Martyrdom and the Construction of Christian Identity in the History of Christianity, ed. Johan Leemans (Leuven: Peeters Publishers, 2005), 140-144. Jane Tibbetts Schulenburg, Forgetful of Their Sex: Female Sanctity and Society, c. 500-1100 (Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1998), 159. 37 George Duby, Power and Beauty: Images of Women in Art (London: Tauris Parke Books, 1992), 54. 36

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Eugenia in Rome: a later phase Today, the Church of the Apostles in Rome is divided in one nave and two side aisles with six chapels.38 The former Chapel of Saint Eugenia, the third on the right side, is the second in importance. 39 It was reconstructed and rededicated to Saint Anthony, in 1649, and offered to his confraternity. The tomb containing Eugenia’s, Claudia’s, and other martyrs’ relics is still placed in its altar (Fig. 4). 40 Although dedicated to Saint Anthony, the chapel nevertheless initially housed two seventeenth-century statues, one of Eugenia (by Francesco Peroni) and another of Claudia (by Domenico Guidi), positioned near the altar. Today, they are placed in the crypt.41

Fig. 4. Tomb of Saint Eugenia, Saint Claudia, and other martyrs. Church of the Apostles, Rome (photo: the author)

Isidoro Liberal Gatti, La Basilica dei Santi XII Apostoli (Rome: L’ Apostoleion, 1988), 14. 39 Emma Zocca, La Basilica dei Ss. Apostoli in Roma (Rome: F. Canella, 1959), 34, 116. 40 Liberal Gatti, La Basilica dei Santi XII Apostoli, 22. 41 Liberal Gatti, La Basilica dei Santi XII Apostoli, 33. See also Josi, “Cimitero Cristiano,” 36. 38

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Scholarship offers multiple possibilities for the transfer of Saint Eugenia’s relics inside the walls of Rome: some argue that the date of the transfer is unknown,42 while others state that it happened around the ninth century 43 or even as late as the eighteenth century. 44 I consider the last hypothesis improbable as there is written evidence that Eugenia’s relics had already been inside the Church of the Apostles by the fifteenth century. Furthermore, if Eugenia’s relics had been in her Via Latina basilica in the eighteenth century, the construction would have survived perhaps until today or it would have at least been recorded in later documents. I agree with the hypothesis which dates the transfer to somewhere around the eighth or ninth century. E. Josi45 mentions that in the eighth century there was a tendency of translating relics inside Rome, including Eugenia’s relics. Accordingly, in the ninth century, Pope Stephen VI reconstructed the Basilica of the Apostles and replaced the bodies of Eugenia, Claudia, and twelve other martyrs in a porphyry sarcophagus. 46 One can add a thirteenth-century (or fourteenthcentury) inscription which includes Eugenia’s name, suggesting that her

Amore, I martiri di Roma, 133. Gian Domenico Gordini, “Eugenia, Filippo, Claudia, Sergio, Abdon, Proto e Giacinto,” in Bibliotheca Sanctorum vol. I (Rome: Cità Nuova Editrice, 1964), 183. 43 See, for instance, Domenico Bartolini, Cimitero d’Aproniano ditto anche di Santa Eugenia su la via Latina (Rome: Tipografia delle delle Arti, 1840), 9. Bartolini states that Eugenia’s relics were transferred to Rome also because of perils. 44 See Martinelli, Roma ex ethnica sacra, 65 reproduced in Josi, “Cimitero Cristiano,” 36. 45 Josi, “Cimitero Cristiano,” 37. 46 Lanciani, Storia degli Scavi di Roma, 3 reproduced in Josi, “Cimitero Cristiano,” 36. Malvasia Bonaventura, Compendio historico della ven. Basilica di SS. Dodeci Apostoli di Roma, sua fondazione, origine, nobilita, sito, pretiosi tesori delle Sante Reliquie, che in quella si contengono (Rome, 1665), 193- 194: “ Sotto l’Altare di S. Eugenia, e S. Antonio di Padoa vi sono li Corpi delle Sante Eugenia Vergine, e Martire, e Claudia Martire madre di S. Eugenia.” The author also mentions the existence of a reliquary that contains the relics of several martyrs: “Vn altro vaso d’Argento con dentro delle reliquie di S. Eugenia Vergine, e Martire, di S. Catherina, e de Ss. Crisanto, e Daria.” 196. Ippolito Mazzucco, Iscrizioni della Basilica e convento dei Santi Dodici Apostoli in Roma (Rome: L’Apostoleion, 1987), 134. See also, Clemente Busiri-Vici, “Un ritrovamento eccezionale relative all’antica basilica dei Ss. Apostoli,” in Roma, Fede e arte, 8 (1960): 70-83; on Stephen VI’s translation of Eugenia’s relics inside the Church of the Apostles after its reconstruction (due to flooding and earthquake), 72, 75. 42

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relics had already been transferred inside Rome. 47 There is another detail which has to be added to this transfer process: French and Spanish sources mention that the relics’ transfer on French and Spanish territories happened in the ninth century.48 Therefore, moving the relics from outside to inside the walls of the city could have happened around the ninth century if we have also consider the date of the reconstruction of the Church of the Apostles. Built by Pope Pelagius I in the sixth century, the Church of the Apostles was placed at the cross-roads between natural barriers and the city, between the old and new parts of Rome. 49 It is important to mention in the context of Eugenia’s relics is that the church was not built on a martyrium;50 therefore, the church, although initially dedicated to Saints Philip and Jacob, seems to have needed a martyr’s relic in a certain period, the sixth century, when Saint Eugenia’s cult was reaching its peak (as her representations from Ravenna and Poreč suggest). It must be highlighted that both outside and inside Rome, Eugenia’s basilica was continually on the list of papal reconstructions and renewal; furthermore, it seems that it was a pope who had actually transferred her relics inside Rome. In addition, in the ninth century, the Church of the Apostles was reconstructed by Pope Stephen VI and possibly her (entire) relics were transferred inside Rome as suggested by Malvasia’s records of relics.51 As for the former basilica which hosted her relics, it seems that it survived at least until the twelfth century as suggested by Malmsbury’s itinerary which still bears the name of the titular saint. Toursel, Histoire de Sainte Eugénie, 271. See also Mazzucco, Iscrizioni della Basilica, 133. On the tombstone in the vestibule of the basilica: “Dalla parte destra i corpi di Eugenia vergine e di altri Martiri.” 48 There is information with regard to the possibility that Eugenia’s relics (or at least parts of it) were transferred to Florence where she, again, was venerated as a martyr -as one of her antiphons mention in Casimiro Stolfi, Leggende di alcuni santi e beati venerati in Santa Maria degli Angeli di Firenze (Bologna: Commissione per testi di lingua, 1968), 17 and 18. 49 Alessandro Valenti, “Le origini,” in Il Complesso dei Ss. Apostoli, ed. Cosima Arcieri (Rome: Editalia, 1992), 19-21. Although whether the church was constructed by Constantine and/or rebuilt by Pelagius I is still debated; Liberal Gatti, La Basilica dei Santi XII Apostoli, 30 states that there are five columns in the basement which are dated earlier than the sixth century. 50 Valenti, “Le origini,” 22. Martirion in the original Italian text. 51 Bonaventura, Compendio historico, 35. See also note 36. 47

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There is no information on the early representations of Saint Eugenia in the Church of the Apostles. There are only fifteenth-century reminiscences, although it seems that the saint was highly venerated -as indicated by the case of Cardinal Bessarione. Bessarione was named titular cardinal of the Church of the Apostles by Pope Eugenius IV in 1439. His palace, next to the church, was connected directly to the Chapel of Saint Eugenia in the Saint Apostles.52 This indicates that, in the fifteenth century, there was a separate sacred place dedicated to Saint Eugenia, which included the marble coffin with her and her mother’s relics, making the eighteenth-century transfer impossible. This also implies that the chapel was dedicated to Saint Eugenia earlier than the fifteenth century when Bessarione decided to transform it into his burial place. In 1464-1465, he contracted Antoniazzo Romano to agree upon the iconography to be painted on the walls which he also included in his testament.53 These representations did not survive entirely, but the contract and Bessarione’s testament did. They offer a glimpse on how the burial chapel might have looked like: Christ on throne surrounded by nine choirs of angels, with the Virgin, Saint John the Baptist, Saint Eugenia, and Bessarione: Sul grande arcone che guarda l’altare: al centro (vi sia) il Cristo in trono con ai lati la santissima Vergine, l’Angelo (san Michele), san Giovanni Battista e Santa Eugenia. Ai piedi di Cristo, in ginocchio, la mia stessa imagine, e, al disotto di essa, il mio stemma.54 The tentative reconstruction of the chapel done by Carol M. Richardson (Fig. 5) 55 shows that Saint Eugenia was placed closely to the Virgin Mary in the iconographic programme Then, around the Lorenzo Finocchi Ghersi, “Bessarione e la basilica romana dei Santi XII Apostoli,” in Bessarione e l’Umanesimo, ed. Gianfranco Ficcadori (Naples: Vivarium, 1994), 129. See also Fabrizio Lollini, “Bessarione e le arti figurative,” in Bessarione e l’Umanesimo, ed. Gianfranco Ficcadori (Naples: Vivarium, 1994), 149-170. 53 Finocchi Ghersi, “Bessarione e la basilica romana,” 130. 54 Luigi Bandini, De vita et rebus gestis Bessarionis cardinalis Nicaeni, Appendix in Migne, Patrologia Graeca, 161. LXXIIIss. reproduced in Ippolito Mazzucco, “Scoperto e restauro nella Chiesa dei Santi XII Apostoli il ciclo pittorico di Santa Eugenia,” Alma Roma. Bolletino d’informazioni 33 (1992): 4. 55 Carol M. Richardson, Reclaiming Rome: Cardinal in the Fifteenth Century (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 222-224. 52

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fifteenth-sixteenth century, Claudia and Eugenia (Fig. 6 and Fig. 7) started to be depicted on a lower register, next to Antoniazzo’s Virgin Mary as a reflection of the growth of her cult as women martyrs were always connected to her (Fig. 8 see also Fig. 9 and 10).56 This pattern of Eugenia standing next to the Virgin is a later development and is also found in other regions of Italy as it will be shown.

Fig. 5. Reconstruction of the Chapel of Saint Eugenia by Carol M. Richardson, Reclaiming Rome: Cardinals in the Fifteenth-Century (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 223.

Ippolito Mazzucco, “Scoperto e restauro,” 5. Busiri-Vici, “Un ritrovamento eccezionale,” 81: “Ai lati dell’ edicola s’intravedono, poichè ancora non bene scoperte, due figure che appaiono dipinte in altra tecnica, e proporzioni di quelle di Antoniazzo.Probabilmente dovettero rappresentare le due Sante Claudia ed Eugenia.” 56

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It must also be noted that Bessarione rededicated the Chapel of Saint Eugenia not only to her but also to Saint John the Baptist and the Archangel Michael who are mentioned in his testament as patrons of his burial chapel.57 The re-dedication and the inclusion of Saint Eugenia among the titular saints contributed, partially, to her survival in the seventeenth century (as Mavasia Bonaventura suggests 58 ) and, even later, according to eighteenth-century inscriptions.59 Until this point, two aspects should be mentioned with regard to Saint Eugenia’s cult in Rome. The first refers to the importance of the papal influence on the transfer from outside to inside Rome. The second relates to the constancy of Eugenia’s representation as a martyr close to the side of Mary, particularly, inside Rome.

Fig. 6. Saint Eugenia, seventeenth-century (?). Church of the Apostles, Rome (photo: the author) Finocchi Ghersi, “Bessarione e la basilica romana,” 130. Giuseppe Peroni was inspired by Duquesnoy’s statue of Susana. The statue of Saint Claudia was done by Domenico Guidi with the help of Bernini. 58 Malvasia, Compendio historico, 36-39. 59 Mazzucco, Iscrizioni della Basilica, 49. 57

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Fig. 7. Saint Claudia, seventeenth-century (?). Church of the Apostles, Rome (photo: the author)

Fig. 8. Madonna of Cardinal Bessarion, c. 1467. Antoniazzo Romano, Church of the Apostles, Rome (photo: the author) 139

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Fig. 9: Saint Claudia, seventeenth-century. Domenico Guidi, Church of the Apostles, Rome (photo: the author)

Fig. 10. Saint Eugenia, seventeenth-century, Francesco Peroni. Church of the Apostles, Rome (photo: the author) 140

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Eugenia outside Rome: other phases The pattern of Eugenia next to the Virgin is not only specific for Rome. The Church of Bagnoro was dedicated to Saint Eugenia as early as the eighth century 60 or perhaps much earlier in the fourth-fifth centuries 61 (possibly under influences from Ravenna 62 ). Nothing has survived from the early church. In the fifteenth century, it underwent a redecoration and the only surviving interior fresco is the one depicting the Virgin with the Child (Fig. 11) represented similarly to the relief (Fig. 12) above the portal. 63 This representation is similar to other depictions of Eugenia: with a martyr’s palm and a book in her hands, frontally facing the viewer, she is positioned on the right side of the Virgin, while another martyr, Lawrence, is placed on the Virgin’s left side. 64 Considering that Eugenia was the titular saint of the church, there could have been a similar representation inside the Church of Bagnoro. Similarly, in a fifteenth-century painting by Matteo di Giovanni (Fig. 14), Eugenia is placed next to Mary, although she has different iconographic characteristics. Formerly placed in the Church of Saint Eugenia from Siena, Eugenia is positioned on the left side of the Virgin, along with Saint John the Evangelist and two angels. The church, mentioned in twelfth-century documents, was later reconstructed. 65 Scholarship has first identified the saint as Saint Eugenia and later as Saint Marina of Antioch/Margaret of Antioch.66 The exact identity of the saint is of particular importance here; rather, the importance lies on the way a certain figure with a certain identity Carla Corsi Miraglia, “Le Pieve di Sant’Eugenia al Bagnoro,” Bolletino d’informazione 35 (1982): 16-17. 61 Angelo Tafi, La millenaria Pieve di S. Eugenia al Bagnoro (Arezzo: Calosci-Cortona, 1991), 31. 62 Fabio Gabbrielli, Romanico aretino. L’architettura protoromanica e romanica religiosa nella Diocesi medioevale di Arezzo (Florence: Salimbeni, 1990), 47. 63 Miraglia, “Le Pieve di Sant’Eugenia,” 19. Gabbrielli, Romanico aretino, 73. 64 Gabbrielli, Romanico aretino, 74. 65 Alfredo Liberati, “Chiese, monasteri, oratori e spedali Senesi,” Bullettino Senese di storia patria (1956): 263-264. Sources suggest the existence of a monastery dedicated to Saint Eugenia in Lodovico Zdakauer, Il Costituto di Siena dal 1262, c. 337 (Siena, 1887) reproduced in Liberati, “Chiese, monasteri,” 264, note 4. 66 Erica Susanna Trimpi, Matteo di Giovanni: Documents and a Critical Catalogue of His Panel Paintings (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan, PhD dissertation, 1987), 217-219. 60

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functioned for a religious community.In our case, a figure of a female saint was identified as Saint Eugenia, placed in a church of Saint Eugenia, and venerated as Saint Eugenia, not as Saint Marina of Antioch.

Fig. 12. The Virgin Mary, Church of Saint Eugenia, Bagnoro, Italy [(reproduced in Angelo Tafi, La millenaria Pieve di S. Eugenia al Bagnoro (Arezzo: Calosci-Cortona, 1991)].

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Fig. 13: The Virgin Mary with Saint Eugenia (right) and Saint Lawrence (left), Bagnoro, Italy [reproduced in Angelo Tafi, La millenaria Pieve di S. Eugenia al Bagnoro (Arezzo: Calosci-Cortona, 1991)].

In another fifteenth-century representation from Lombardia, Eugenia is in the company of two other virgin martyrs: Saint Catherine of Alexandria and Saint Agnes. The iconographic attributes of Eugenia are similar to her other representations from Italy: she is holding a martyr’s palm and a sword and is clothed in a rather simple dress. Not only this representation, but all of the ones dating from the fifteenthcentury suggest a certain type of continuity with the earlier ones:, namely, Eugenia is represented as a female martyr both inside and outside of Rome. The textual sources related to her, poems, inscriptions, antiphons, all emphasize (besides her martyrdom) her chastity and virginity, through which she is connected to the ultimate model, Virgin Mary. Therefore all these examples indicate Eugenia’s closeness to Mary. This pattern of a virgin (martyr) next to the Virgin occurs in a time frame when the Marian cult and devotion started to emerge. Thus, Mary becomes a universal model also emulated by Eugenia and indicated by their iconographic closeness. Nevertheless, Eugenia is not only close to the Virgin. The above fifteenth-century examples indicate that Eugenia joins different groups of virgins or is paired with her mother, Claudia. This setting among women, again, emphasizes her femininity despite the importance of cross-dressing in her vita. 143

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To conclude, in both phases, inside and outside Rome, Eugenia is depicted as a martyr with certain differences. The transfer of her relics also meant the transfer of her iconography from one space, the Via Latina, to the other, The Church of the Apostles. Although the initial iconography cannot be traced, fifth-seventh-century mosaics from Ravenna indicate a possibility with regard to her representation as a martyr. This iconographic pattern survived and developed as the fifteenth-century fresco commissioned by Bessarione suggests. Also in her later representations, Eugenia is positioned close to the Virgin or other female saints, a fact which rather underscores her womanhood and not the ambiguous figure of a cross-dressed saint.

Fig. 14. The Virgin with Saint John the Evangelist and Saint Margaret of Antioch/Eugenia, fifteenth century, Matteo di Giovanni, Siena, Italy. [(reproduced in Alessandro Angelini, “Matteo di Giovanni: percorso esemplare di un quattrocentista senese” in Cronaca di una strage dipinta, ed. Cecilia Alessi, Alessandro Bagnoli (Siena: Ali Edizioni, 2006, 51)]

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Bibliography Primary sources Auctore incerto, “Vita Sanctae Eugeniae, virginis ac martyris,” in AASS, Sept. 3: 761-62. Dubois, Jacques. Le Martyrologe d’Usuard. Texte et commentaire. Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1965. Duchesne, Louis. Le Liber Pontificalis, texte, introduction et commentaire, vol. I, II. Paris: Ernest Thorin, 1886. Kaftal, George. Iconography of the Saints in the Paintings of North East Italy. Florence: Tipografia “L”Impronta”, 1952. _____. Iconography of the Saints in Tuscan Painting. Florence: Tipografia “L”Impronta,” 1952. _____. Saints in Italian Art, Iconography of the Saints in Central and South Italian Schools of Painting. Florence: Sansoni, 1975. Malvasia, Bonaventura. Compendio historico della ven. Basilica di SS. Dodeci Apostoli di Roma, sua fondazione, origine, nobilita, sito, pretiosi tesori delle Sante Reliquie, che in quella si contengono. Rome: 1665. Rossi, de Giovanni Battista. La Roma sotterranea Cristiana, vol. I. Rome: Cromo-Litografia Pontificia, 1864. Stolfi, Casimiro. Leggende di alcuni santi e beati venerati in Santa Maria degli Angeli di Firenze. Bologna: Commissione per testi di lingua, 1968. The Martyrologum Romanum. Rome: Typis Polyglottis Vaticani, 1930. Secondary sources Usener, Hermann. Legenden der heiligen Pelagia. Bonn: Adolph Marcus, 1879. Delehaye, Hippolyte. The Legends of the Saints. Brussels, 1905, 1906, reprinted Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1998. Anson, John. “The Female Transvestite in Early Monasticism: The Origin and the Development of a Motive.” Viator 5 (1974): 1-32. Patlagean, Évelyne. “L’histoire de la femme déguisée en moine et l’évolution de la sainteté feminine a Byzance.” Studi Medievali 17, No. 3 (1976): 597-623. Bullough, Vern L. “Transvestites in the Middle Ages.” The American Journal of Sociology 79(6) (1974): 1381-1394.

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Bullough, Vern L.; Brundage, James. Handbook of Medieval Sexuality: A Book of Essays. New York: Garland Publishing, 1996. _____. Cross-Dressing, Sex, and Gender. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1993. Schein, Sylvia. “The Female Men of God and Men Who Were Women. Female Saints and Holy Land Pilgrimage During the Byzantine Period.” Hagiographica 5 (1998): 1-36. Harvey, Susan Ashbrook. “Women in Early Byzantine Hagiography: Reversing the Story.” In That Gentle Strength: Historical Perspectives on Women in Christianity, ed. L. Coon, Katherine J. Haldane, and Elisabeth W. Sommer, 36-39. Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1990. Castelli, Elizabeth. “I Will Make Mary Male: Pieties of the Body and Gender Transformation of Christian Women in Late Antiquity.” In Body Guards: the Cultural Politics of Gender Ambiguity, ed. Julia Epstein and Kristina Straub, 29-49. New York: Routledge, 1991. Delcourt, Marie. “Le Complexe de Diane et l’hagiographie Chretienne.” Revue de l’histoire des religions 153 (1958): 1-33. Davis, Stephen, J. “Crossed Texts, Crossed Sex: Intertextuality and Gender in Early Christian Legends of Holy Women Disguised as Men.” Journal of Early Christian Studies 10, No. 1 (2002): 1-36. Davis, Natalie Zemon. Society and Culture in Early Modern France. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1975. Lubinsky, Crystal. Removing Masculine Layers to Reveal a Holy Womanhood. The Female Transvestite Monks of Late Antique Eastern Christianity. Turnhout: Brepols, 2013. Amore, Agostino. I martiri di Roma. Todi: Tau Editrice, 2013. Baert, Barbara. “More Than an Image: Agnes of Rome: Virginity and Visual Memory.” In More than Memory: the Discourse of Martyrdom and the Construction of Christian Identity in the History of Christianity, ed. Johan Leemans, 139-168. Leuven: Peeters Publishers, 2005. Bartolini, Domenico. Cimitero d’Aproniano ditto anche di Santa Eugenia su la via Latina. Rome: Tipografia delle delle Arti, 1840. Busiri-Vici, Clemente. “Un ritrovamento eccezionale relative all’antica basilica dei Ss. Apostoli.” Roma, Fede e arte, 8 (1960): 70-83. Corsi, Miraglia, Carla. “Le Pieve di Sant’Eugenia al Bagnoro.” Bolletino d’informazione 35 (1982): 16-36.

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Delehaye, Hippolyte. Étude sur le légendier romain. Les saints de novembre et de décembre, vol. I. Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1936. _____. Les Origines du culte des martyrs. Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1933. Duby, George. Power and Beauty: Images of Women in Art. London: Tauris Parke Books, 1992. Dufourcq, Albert. Étude sur le Gesta Martyrum Romains. Paris: Albert Fontemoing éditeur, 1900. Fabbri, Maria Pia. I mosaici di Ravenna. Forli: Carta Canta Editore, 2010. Fattorini, Gabriele. “Madonna col bambino, i santi Giovanni Evangelista (?), Margherita d’Antiochia e due angeli.” In Matteo di Giovanni. Cronaca di una strage dipinta, ed. Cecilia Alessi, Alessandro Bagnoli, 50-53. Siena: Ali Edizioni, 2006. Gabbrielli, Fabio. Romanico aretino. L’architettura protoromanica e romanica religiosa nella Diocesi medioevale di Arezzo. Florence: Salimbeni, 1990. Gatti, Isidoro Liberal. La Basilica dei Santi XII Apostoli. Rome: L’ Apostoleion, 1988. Ghersi, Lorenzo Finocchi. “Bessarione e la basilica romana dei Santi XII Apostoli.” In Bessarione e l’Umanesimo, ed. Gianfranco Ficcadori, 129-136. Naples: Vivarium, 1994. Gordini, Gian Domenico. “Filippo, Eugenia; Abdon, Sergio, Claudia Proto e Giacinto.” Bibliotheca Sanctorum vol. I, ed. Istituto Giovanni XXIII nella Pontificia Università lateranense, 181-183. Rome: Cità Nuova Editrice, 1964. Josi, Enrico. “Cimitero Cristiano sulla Via Latina.” Rivista di archeologia cristiana 16 (1939): 19-50. Liberati, Alfredo. “Chiese, monasteri, oratori e spedali Senesi.” Bullettino Senese di storia patria (1956): 224-264. Lollini, Fabrizio. “Bessarione e le arti figurative.” In Bessarione e l’Umanesimo, ed. Gianfranco Ficcadori, 149-170. Naples: Vivarium, 1994. Mazzucco, Ippolito. “Scoperto e restauro nella Chiesa dei Santi XII Apostoli il ciclo pittorico di Santa Eugenia.” In Alma Roma. Bolletino d’informazioni, ed. Giuseppe Scarfone, 3-11. Rome, N.1-2, Year 33, 1992, January-April 1992. _____. Iscrizioni della Basilica e convento dei Santi Dodici Apostoli in Roma. Rome: L’Apostoleion, 1987.

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Morini, Enrico. “Santità monastica femminile in abiti maschili nell’Oriente cristiano.” In Giustina e le altre. Sante e culti femminili in Italia settentrionale dalla prima età cristiana al secolo XII, ed. Andrea Tilatti, Francesco G.B. Trolese, 271-300. Padova: Viella, 2009. Richardson, Carol M. Reclaiming Rome: Cardinal in the Fifteenth Century. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Schein, Sylvia. “The Female Men of God and Men Who Were Women. Female Saints and Holy Land Pilgrimage During the Byzantine Period.” Hagiographica 5 (1998): 1-36. Schulenburg, Jane Tibbetts. Forgetful of Their Sex: Female Sanctity and Society, c. 500-1100. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1998. Tafi, Angelo. La millenaria Pieve di S. Eugenia al Bagnoro. Arezzo: CalosciCortona, 1991. Terry, Ann and Henry Maguire. Dynamic Splendor. The Wall Mosaics in the Cathedral of Eufrasius at Poreč, vol. I. Philadelphia: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007. Toursel, Zéphyrin. Histoire de Sainte Eugénie, vierge romaine, et de sa famille. Lille: Jesuit Library of Lille, 1860. Trimpi, Erica Susanna. “Matteo di Giovanni: Documents and a Critical Catalogue of His Panel Paintings.” Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, PhD dissertation, 1987. Verzone, Paolo. “Il palazzo arcivescovile e l’olatorio di S. Andrea.” In Corsi di cultura sull’arte ravennate e bizantina, ed. Giuseppe Bovini, 445454. Ravenna: Edizioni Dante, 1966. Zdakauer, Lodovico. Il Costituto di Siena dal 1262, cc. 337, Siena, 1887. Reproduced in Liberati, Alfredo. “Chiese, monasteri, oratori e spedali Senesi.” Bullettino Senese di storia patria (1956): 224-264. Znorovszky, Andrea-Bianka. “Between Mary and Christ: Depicting Cross-Dressed Saints in the Middle Ages (c. 1200-1600).” Budapest: Central European University, PhD dissertation, 2016. Zocca, Emma. La Basilica dei Ss. Apostoli in Roma. Rome: F. Canella, 1959. Zucchetti, Valentini. Codice topografico della città di Roma, vol. II. Rome: Tipografia del Senato, 1942.

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Doubly crowned: The Public and Private Image of Two Fourteenth-Century Hungarian Queens Christopher Mielke Al-Quds Bard College (College for Arts and Sciences), Jerusalem

Introduction Whether on stained glass, statues, or wall paintings, it was understood that the image of a medieval king in a public place was part of a much larger programme of dynastic propaganda, legitimacy, and promotion of the king’s self-image.1 However, while the king’s face appeared on many public monuments, only a few scholars have examined the question of the queen’s appearance on public art such as stained glass or statue columns.2 Part of this could very well be due to the peculiar nature of the queen’s power and self-representation. Queens were both privileged by their access not only to the court but also by their stream of revenues; that being said, they were also restricted in action by not only ideas of their ideal behaviour, but also even by the roles expected of them. Complicating this issue, most of the historical material available on the lives of queens is only found in public, in formal acts related to their official duties; these tend to only be found in charters, statues, donations, and documents associated with their gifts and

1 John Steane, The Archaeology of the Medieval English Monarchy (London & New York: Routledge, 1999), 14-22. 2 See: Kathleen Nolan, Queens in Stone and Silver (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009); Meredith Parsons Lillich, The Queen of Sicily and Gothic Stained Glass in Mussy and Tonnerre (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1998).

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patronage.3 In the case of medieval Hungary, the surface related to the public image of the queen is just beginning to be scratched. One of the few articles to broach this topic in English has pointed to trends in the historical literature to discuss queens of Hungary within the context of their roles not only as suspicious women who have the king’s ear, but also as foreigners who were also harbingers of greedy foreigners eager to rule the realm.4

Fig. 1. Family tree showing relations of Elizabeth of Poland with Elizabeth of Bosnia

With all this in mind, this essay seeks to understand the public images of two medieval Hungarian queens (Elizabeth of Poland, d. 1380, and Elizabeth of Bosnia, d. 1387, Figure 1) who appear on a total of four stone carvings. The principle questions of this essay concern how the ambiguous nature of the queen is evident in public images of the queen. Which of these images are made with the queen’s own agency, and how does that impact their form and appearance? Do Theresa Earenfight, Queenship in Medieval Europe (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 25-26. 4 János M. Bak, “Queens as Scapegoats in Medieval Hungary” in Queens and queenship in medieval Europe, ed. Anne J. Duggan (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2002), 223-233. 3

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events in the queen’s life course (i.e. marriage, widowhood, childbirth, etc.) impact the form of the image? How are identifying markers like clothing, physiognomy, and heraldry used to indicate that this is indeed the particular queen? In short, what can these statues tell us about the nature of queenship for these two very different women? Elizabeth of Poland (d. 1380) and Elizabeth of Bosnia (d. 1387) Elizabeth of Poland (d. 1380) was the daughter of Wladyslaw I Łokietek (r. 1320-1333) and Jadwiga of Kalisz. In 1320, Elizabeth married Charles I Robert of Hungary (r. 1308-1342), having five sons and possibly two daughters together. 5 After her husband’s death in 1342, the queen became wealthy and influential. She began major construction works at her castle in Óbuda,6 she was a significant patron of monastic orders, particularly the Franciscans, 7 and she was also a Jan Długosz, Maurice Michael ed., The Annals of Jan Długosz (Chichester: IM Publications, 1997), 269; Gyula Kristó, “Károly Róbert családja” [The Family of Charles Robert] Aetas 20:4 (2005): 15, 25-26; Klára Gárdonyi-Csapodi, “Description and Interpretation of the Illustrations in the Illuminated Chronicle” in The Hungarian Illuminated Chronicle: Chronica de Gestis Hungarorum, ed. Dezső Dercsényi (Budapest: Corvina Press, 1969), 83. 6 Julianna Altmann, “Neueste Forschungen der Burg der Königin in Óbuda” Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungariae 34 (1982): 222-231; Julianna Altman, “Óbuda,” in Medium Regni: Medieval Hungarian Royal Seats, ed. Julianna Atlmann et al. (Budapest: Nap Kiadó, 1999), 89-109; Krisztina Havasi, “A király új palotája. Megjegyzések a kora 13. századi óbudai rezidencia művészettörténeti helyéhez” [A new palace for the king. remarks on the place in art history of the early 13th-century royal residence at Óbuda] in In medio regni Hungariae. Régészeti, Művészettörténeti és történeti kutatások ‘az ország közepén’: Archaeological, Art Historical, and Historical Researches ‘in the Middle of the Kingdom,’ ed. Elek Benkő and Krisztina Orosz (Budapest: Magyar Tudományos Akadémia, 2015), 405-469. 7 For an overview of her patronage, see: Eva Sniezynska-Stolot, “Queen Elizabeth as Patron of Architecture” Acta Historiae Artium 20 (1974): 13-19; Beatrix Romhányi, Kolostorok és társaskáptalanok a középkori Magyarországon: katalógus [Monasteries and collegiate chapters in medieval Hungary: a catalog] (Pytheas, 2000), 9, 12, 16, 55, 60-61. For specific studies on her construction of the Óbuda Poor Clares cloister (her burial place), see: Herta Bertalan, “Óbudai Klarissza Kolostor” [The Obuda Poor Clares Cloister] Budapest Régiségei 27 (1976): 269-278; Herta Bertalan, “Das Klarissenkloster von Óbuda aus dem 14. Jahrhundert” Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 34 (1982): 151-176; Brian McEntee, “The Burial Site Selection of a Hungarian Queen: Elizabeth, Queen of Hungary (1320–1380), and the Óbuda Clares’ Church,” Annual of Medieval Studies at the CEU 12 (2006), 69-82; Brian McEntee, “Queen Elizabeth of Hungary (1320-1380) and Óbuda: Patronage, Personality and Place,” in La diplomatie des 5

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rich donor of reliquaries and books to the Church, as evidenced by the donations in her will. 8 She is also known for her two significant pilgrimages; in 1343, she made a journey to Italy, visiting Rome, Naples, and Bari to support her son Andrew’s claim to the title of King of Naples; 9 while in 1357, she visited holy sites in Prague, Marburg, Cologne, and Aachen, a journey she made with Charles IV of Bohemia and Anna of Schweidnitz, a granddaughter of her husband Charles I Robert.10 Though Elizabeth of Poland was in many ways a conventional queen, there are several controversial aspects of her life. In 1330, while the royal family was in Visegrád, a nobleman named Felician Záh drew his sword and attempted to kill Charles I Robert and Elizabeth of Poland. According to the Hungarian Illuminated Chronicle, he wounded the king in the right hand and succeeded in severing four fingers of the queen’s right hand. In the words of the chronicler, …he severed four fingers which in her almsgiving she was wont to extend in pity to the poor, the wretched and the downcast. With these fingers she had been wont to sew varied embroideries for innumerable churches, and she was États Angevins au XIIIe et XIVe siècles, ed. Zoltán Kordé and István Petrovics (Rome and Szeged, 2010), 209-218. 8 Ernő Marosi, “A 14. századi Magyarország udvari művészettörténetírásban” [Art history of the Hungarian court in the fourteenth century] in Művészet I. Lajos király korában 1342-1382. Katalógus, Ernő Marosi et al. (Budapest: MTA Művészettörténeti Kutató Csoport, 1982), 73-75, n 32; László Szende, “Mitherrscherin oder einfach Königinmutter Elisabeth von Lokietek in Ungarn (1320-1380)” Majestas 13 (2005): 4763. 9 László Szende, “Piast Erzsébet és udvara (1320-1380)” [Elizabeth Piast and her court (1320-1380)] (PhD diss.: ELTE, 2007), 133-137; Dragoş Gheorge Nastasoiu, “Patterns of Devotion and Traces of Art during the Diplomatic Journey of Queen Elizabeth Piast to Italy in 1343–1344” in Convivium: Exchanges and Interactions in the Arts of Medieval Europe, Byzantium, and the Mediterranean, ed. Michele Bacci and Ivan Foletti (Turnhout: Brepols, 2015), 102-103; Marianne Sághy, “Dévotions diplomatiques: Le pèlerinage de la reine-mère Élisabeth Piast à Rome” in La Diplomatie des États Angevins aux XIIIe et XIVe siècle, ed. Zoltán Kordé and István Petrovics (Rome and Szeged: 2010), 219-224. 10 On this journey, Elizabeth also visited cities at Pilsen, Sulzbach, Heilbronn, Mergentheim, and Frankfurt. Szende, “Piast Erzsébet és udvara (1320-1380)”, 139; Dragoş Gheorge Nastasoiu, “Patterns of Devotion and Traces of Art. The Pilgrimage of Queen Elizabeth Piast to Marburg, Cologne, and Aachen in 1357” Umĕní LXIV (2016): 31-33. 152

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tireless in sending ornamental robes of precious purple for the priests and chalices for the altars.11 After Záh attacked the princes, he was cut down by a cup-bearer to the queen and his whole family was executed in the aftermath. While in and of itself, this attack on the royal family is not controversial, later chroniclers (for instance, Jan Długosz) place the blame for the attack on the queen, weaving a tall tale of the queen securing Záh’s daughter for her brother to rape being the reason for his violent outburst. 12 There is also the matter of Elizabeth’s time as Regent of Poland from 1370 to 1375. As sister of the recently-deceased Casimir III of Poland (r. 1333-1370), the queen seemed a natural fit for regent when her son inherited the Polish throne. However, tensions erupted during her regency (which Długosz naturally blames on the queen), culminating in the queen’s hasty retreat and resignation of the post after the Poles go on a massacre targeting Hungarians and killing up to 160 of them in 1375.13 It is also worth mentioning a keystone from a building at the Market Square in the city of Kraków. It depicts a younger woman with a long nose, wide mouth, and an elaborate headdress without a crown. The vaulting and sculpture have been dated either to 1386 or 1375. Though the woman wears no crown, she has been identified as Elizabeth of Poland, though it seems more probable that it represents her granddaughter, Jadwiga of Poland (r. 1384-1399), and as such will not be discussed here.14 Elizabeth of Bosnia faced many problems as a queen consort, dowager, and regent. The daughter of Stephen II (r. 1322-1353), Ban of Bosnia and Elizabeth of Gniewkowo (a cousin of Elizabeth of Poland), Elizabeth of Bosnia married Louis I in Buda in June 1353.15 In spite of

Dezső Dercsényi, ed. The Hungarian Illuminated Chronicle: Chronica de Gestis Hungarorum (Budapest: Corvina Press, 1969), 146. 12 Ibid., 146-147; Długosz, The Annals of Jan Długosz, 277-278; Bak, “Queens as Scapegoats in Medieval Hungary,” 229. 13 Długosz, The Annals of Jan Długosz, 326-331. 14 Éva Sniezynska-Stolot, “Die Ikonographie der Königin Elisabeth” Acta Historiae Artium 17 (1971): 27. 15 John Fine, The Late Medieval Balkans (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1994), 369; Długosz, The Annals of Jan Długosz, 303; Dženan Dautović, “Bosansko-ugarski odnosi kroz prizmu braka Ludovika I Velikog i Elizabete kćerke Stjepana II Kotromanića” [Relations between Bosnia and Hungary through the prism of the 11

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her status as the queen consort, the younger Elizabeth was mostly kept in the shadows; it is not until 1370 (seventeen years after her marriage) that there is a first solid evidence for her issuing a charter of her own using her own seal.16 This can possibly be tied to the troubles the queen had conceiving: it was not until 1370 that she had her oldest daughter, Catherine (d. 1378), followed by the birth of Maria in 1371 (Queen Regnant of Hungary from 1382-1395), and Hedwig in 1373 (Queen Regnant of Poland from 1384-1399).17 It was sometime after the birth of her eldest daughter that Elizabeth of Bosnia would have written a book of instruction for her daughters, one of the first of its kind in the medieval world. The manuscript does not survive, but it is mentioned in Georffrey de la Tour-Landry’s Book of the Knight of the Tower, a manual of behaviour he had written for his daughters ca. 1371-1372. 18 As negotiations had been opened for a marriage alliance between Louis (d. 1407), son of Charles V of France, and Catherine, the eldest daughter between Louis of Hungary and Elizabeth of Bosnia, it has been proposed that a copy of the queen’s book had been sent to the French court in 1374 as part of the marriage negotiations which ended with Catherine’s death in 1378.19 Aside from this book and her gifts to the church of St. Simeon in Zadar, the bulk of Elizabeth of Bosnia’s activities come from her turbulent time as Queen Regent, from the death of her husband in 1382 until her imprisonment and eventual

marriage between Louis the Great and Elizabeth, the Daughter of Stjepan II Kotromanić] Radovi XVII/3 (2014): 134-135. 16 Hungarian National Archives, DL-DF 77442; Ernő Marosi, “Gyűrűs pecsét” [Ring seal] in Művészet I. Lajos király korában, 1342-1382 [Art in the age of King Louis I, 13421382], ed. Ernő Marosi, Melinda Tóth and Lívia Varga (Budapest: MTA Művészettörténeti Kutató Csoport, 1982), 150. 17 One Polish historian also claims another short-lived daughter was born to the couple in 1365. Michael de Ferdinandy, “Ludwig I. von Ungarn (1342-1382)” in Louis the Great King of Hungary and Poland, ed. S. B. Vardy, Géza Grosschmid, Leslie S. Domonkos (Boulder, CO: East European Monographs, 1986), 32; Oscar Halecki and Tadeusz Gromada, Jadwiga of Anjou and the Rise of East-Central Europe (Boulder: Social Science Monographs, 1991), 49. 18 Geoffrey de la Tour-Landry and Anatole de Montaiglon, Le livre du chevalier de La Tour Landry, pour l’enseignement de ses filles (Paris: P. Jannet, 1854), 2. 19 Sharon Jansen, Anne of France: lessons for my daughter (Woodbridge: D. S. Brewer, 2004), 13, n 43. 154

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murder in 1387.20 As consort, Elizabeth’s activities were fairly marginal; it is only after she first becomes a mother and then a widow and regent that she gets access to greater power. But access to the power as regent was highly problematic as the court became factionalized, a rival from Naples invaded Hungary (Charles II, r. 1385-1386), culminating in Elizabeth’s supporters murdering Charles II before she herself was strangled a year later.21 These two women differed not only in the circumstances by which they attained power but also in terms of their personalities and activities. As such, this essay aims to compare their reputation with their representation. There are a total of four pieces of what can be considered “public art” which are possible representations of Elizabeth of Poland and Elizabeth of Bosnia (two each). The elder queen Elizabeth is most likely represented in a keystone from the palace at Diósgyőr, a capital from the Church of Our Lady in Buda, while the younger Elizabeth is depicted in a stone carving from Mariazell as well as one from Zadar. The image of the two queens also appear on several important liturgical pieces, most notably a reliquary cross featuring Elizabeth of Poland and Charles I Robert from Spisska Nova Ves in Slovakia,22 an altarpiece by Lippo Vanni possibly featuring Elizabeth of Poland and her son Andrew, prince of Naples, 23 and finally a magnificent silver reliquary sarcophagus Elizabeth of Bosnia had donated to the shrine of St. Simeon in Zadar (Fig. 2). 24 Since these Szilárd Süttő, Anjou-Magyarország Alkonya: Magyarország politikai története Nagy Lajostól Zsigmondig, az 1384-1387 évi belivszályok okmánytárával [The Twilight of Angevin Hungary: Hungary’s political history from Louis the Great until Sigismund, 1384-1387 the years of internal strife in the charters] Vol. II (Szeged: Belvedere Meridionale, 2003), 2-414; Pál Engel, The Realm of St Stephen: History of Medieval Hungary 985-1526 (New York: I.B. Tauris, 2001), 198-199. 21 Fine, The Late Medieval Balkans, 396-397. Pál Engel, The Realm of St. Stephen (New York: I.B. Tauris, 2001), 198; Bak, “Queens as Scapegoats in Medieval Hungary,” 229231. 22 Sniezynska-Stolot, “Die Ikonographie der Königin Elisabeth,” 18-19; Szende, “Piast Erzsébet és udvara (1320-1380)” [Elizabeth Piast and her court (1320-1380)], 32. 23 Sniezynska-Stolot, “Die Ikonographie der Königin Elisabeth,” 19-22; Nastasoiu, “Patterns of Devotion and Traces of Art during the Diplomatic Journey of Queen Elizabeth Piast to Italy in 1343–1344,” 106-107. 24 Ivo Petricioli, St. Simeon’s Shrine in Zadar (Zagreb: Jugoslavenska akademija znanosti i umjetnosti, 1983), 12-22; Ana Munk, “The Queen and her Shrine: an art historical twist on historical evidence concerning the Hungarian Queen Elizabeth Kotromanić, donor 20

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images are discussed in greater detail elsewhere they shall only be mentioned here in the context of interpreting carved stone elements related to the queen. One caveat that is important to address is that many of these identifications were made decades ago using overly positivist thinking, i.e. a woman depicted wearing a crown must represent a certain historical queen.

Fig. 2. Detail of the Sarcophagus of St. Simeon in Zadar featuring Elizabeth of Bosnia donating the reliquary along with her three daughters, Catherine, Mary, and Jadwiga Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chest_of_ Saint_Simeon#/media/File:HAZU_77_17_lipnja_2008.jpg

The problem of circular reasoning has been tied to this issue, wherein a public image of a woman was tied to a historical queen either due to fashion or physiognomy and other similar pieces were likewise of the Saint Simeon Shrine” Hortus Artium Medievalium 10 (2004): 253-262; Marina Vidas, “Elizabeth of Bosnia, Queen of Hungary, and the Tomb Shrine of St. Simeon in Zadar: Power and Relics in fourteenth-century Dalmatia” Studies in Iconography 29 (2008): 136-175; Marijana Kovačević, “The Omnipresent Death in the Iconography of Saint Simeon’s Shrine in Zadar” IKON 4 (2011): 211-222. 156

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ascribed based on similar problematic evidence. For each of the images, this essay will try to discuss not only the context and audience, but also the reason why identifying the figures of most as Hungarian queens makes a certain degree of sense. A keystone from Diósgyőr and a capital from Buda representing Elizabeth of Poland The first example discussed here is a keystone made of grey andesite which would have originally come from the castle of Diósgyőr, in eastern Hungary. Found in 1934 in the western wing of the castle, this keystone features a middle-aged woman with a plump face, a wide nose and grin, a low-cut frilled neckline and a frilled headdress in the style of kruselers (Fig. 3). Stylistically, it has been dated to the middle of the fourteenth century, perhaps around the 1360s.25 The realistic depiction of this woman has been compared to the Parler workshop; Peter and Wenzel Parler were master stonemasons responsible for not only work on the Cathedrals in Vienna and Prague, but also for the statues of the royal families ruling in those respective cities.26 Though the woman is not crowned (the top of her head is damaged, rendering it nigh impossible to tell if she was originally crowned), she has been identified either as Elizabeth of Poland or Elizabeth of Bosnia. Elizabeth of Poland wears a headdress like the woman depicted here in illuminations of her in the Hungarian Illuminated Chronicle, while Elizabeth of Bosnia is wearing a similar headdress in the sarcophagus of St. Simeon. 27 The main reason why this keystone is most likely that of the elder Queen Elizabeth, is that Diósgyőr, a royal property since 1323, was her Ilona Czeglédy, “Zárókő női fejjel” [Keystone with the head of a woman] in Művészet I. Lajos király korában, 1342-1382 [Art in the age of King Louis I, 1342-1382], ed. Ernő Marosi, Melinda Tóth and Lívia Varga (Budapest: MTA Műészettörténeti Kutató Csoport, 1982), 240-241. 26 László Gerevich, The Art of Buda and Pest in the Middle Ages (Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1971), 71; Robert Odell Bork, The Geometry of Creation: Architectural Drawing and the Dynamics of Gothic design (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), 231. 27 Czeglédy, “Zárókő női fejjel”, 241. Annamária Kovács, “Courtly Costumes in Fourteenth-Century Hungary” in “Quasi Liber et Pictura”: Studies in Honour of András Kubinyi on his Seventieth Birthday, ed. Gyöngyi Kovács (Budapest: ELTE Institute of Archaeological Sciences, 2004), 307; Ivo Petriolici, St. Simeon’s Shrine in Zadar (Zagreb: Jugoslavenska akademija znanosti i umjetnosti, 1983), 29-30. 25

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property from 1340, specifically referenced as the queen’s castle. 28 Though the earliest known evidence for either Elizabeth staying at the castle comes from a charter of the elder queen dated from 1369,29 it seems that during the 1370s it was a site frequently visited by both queens.30 In the mid-fourteenth century, the castle was re-built in the style of a French donjon with a central courtyard surrounded by four towers.

Fig. 3. Keystone featuring Elizabeth of Poland from the castle of Diósgyőr (Inventory Number 69.4.1) Courtesy of the Diósgyőri Vár

While the eastern and southern wings of this castle would have consisted of chapels and royal residences on the upper floors, the

28 Czeglédy, The Castle of Diósgyőr, 11; László Szende, “Les châteaux de reines comme résidence dans la Hongrie des Anjoux” in Archaeologia dei castelli nell’Europa angioina (secoli XIII-XV), ed. Paolo Peduto et al. (Borgo San Lorenzo [Florence]: All’Insegna del Gigliio, 2011), 164. 29 In this charter, Elizabeth of Poland uses the seal of Charles I Robert, her deceased husband. Hungarian National Archives DL-DF 52140. 30 Hungarian National Archives DL-DF 77442, 219632, 6140, 6330, 87522, 89487.

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northern wing had a great hall31 and the western wing would have most likely been a public space as well. The keystone likely depicting Elizabeth of Poland would have originally been part of a cross-vaulted ceiling on the upper storey of the western wing and other keystones such as a grotesque and a dragon with a nest of eggs would have appeared alongside the queen; Czéglegy hypothesizes that this room would have been a dining hall.32 While the renovations that took place at Diósgyőr are usually attributed to Louis I, it is possible that they could be the handiwork of Elizabeth, the owner of the palace, especially considering her aforementioned construction projects related to monasteries and the palace at Óbuda. With this in mind, the keystone of the queen would have been visible in a very public part of the castle where the court and many guests would have seen it. Another stone carving believed to be Elizabeth of Poland would have come from a capital at the St. Mary Gate on the south side of the Church of Our Lady in Buda (known as the Matthias Church today). Plaster casts made of these figures originally identified the crowned man with long hair and a beard as Louis I and the figure of the crowned woman as Elizabeth of Poland. While the king was identified as Louis due to his similarity with the figure at Mariazell (see below), the queen was identified as his mother mostly on the basis of the crown and her veil (Fig. 4). 33 Her wide nose and mouth also bear a strong resemblance to the figure at Diósgyőr. This capital has been dated to around 1370-1380, near the end of the queen’s life (and that of her son’s). 34 Within the vicinity of modern-day Budapest, Elizabeth of Poland was instrumental in funding, re-building, or renovating at least ten churches and monasteries. 35 While it is unknown if the queen Gergely Buzás, “The Functional Reconstruction of the Visegrád Royal Palace” in The Medieval Royal Palace at Visegrád, ed. Gergely Buzás and József Laszlovszky (Budapest: Archaeolingua Press, 2013), 169; Szende, “Les châteaux de reines,” 164. 32 Ilona Czeglédy, The Castle of Diósgyőr (Budapest: Corvina Press, 1971), 10-11, 31. 33 József Csemegi, A budavári főtemplom középkori építéstörténete [The medieval building history of the main church of Buda Castle] (Budapest: Képzőművészeti Alap Kiadóvállalata, 1955), 96-97. 34 Csemegi, A budavári főtemplom, 97. 35 These were the Franciscan convent of St. Clara on Margaret Island in the Danube River, the Premonstratensian monastery of the Archangel Michael also on Margaret Island, the Dominican nunnery on Margaret Island as well, the Poor Clares cloister in Óbuda, the collegiate churches of Our Lady and St. Peter in Óbuda, the Augustinian monastery of St. Stephen in Buda, the church of the Carmelites in Buda, the chapel of 31

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played any part in any construction at the Church of Our Lady in Buda, considering her patronage of other churches, it is entirely possible that her image could reflect her interest in the building. The St. Mary Gate of the Church of Our Lady in Buda would have been visible to those entering the church that way; while the image of her would not have specifically targeted members of the court as the keystone in Diósgyőr, the capital in Buda would have had a wider audience, especially since it was on the outside of the church.

Fig. 4. Drawing of the capital from St. Mary Gate at the Church of Our Lady in Buda featuring Elizabeth of Poland Drawing by Josef Keintzel, 1876. From József Csemegi, A budavári főtemplom középkori építéstörténete (1955) (photo: the author)

St. Martin in Buda and the Chapel of Our Lady in Buda Castle. Éva Sniezynska-Stolot, “Queen Elizabeth as a patron of Architecture” Acta Historiae Artium 20 (1974): 13-28. 160

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Stone carvings featuring Elizabeth of Bosnia from Mariazell and Zadar While Elizabeth of Poland’s sculptural figures are in the heart of royal centres during the Angevin rule in Hungary, sculptures depicting Elizabeth of Bosnia are either on the fringe or outside of the kingdom’s borders. A relief showing a bearded king and a youthful queen from the shrine at Mariazell, has long been linked with Louis I of Hungary and Elizabeth of Bosnia. After Louis I had a vision of the Virgin Mary encouraging him in battle in 1363, he built a Gothic church around the shrine at Mariazell, with additional construction funded by the king taking place in 1380 and 1400. 36 While the Gnadenkapelle (“Grace Chapel”) was re-built centuries later in Baroque style, several medieval pieces were incorporated; in particular, a Gothic canopy which features a red marble tableau of the king and queen. While the king appears to be older and bearded, the queen is much more youthful and her features are much more idealized (Fig. 5). The pair wears similar crowns, draped clothing and the field behind them is decorated with grapes and vine leaves. There are many possibilities for their original placement within the shrine church, but it seems most likely that the king would have been part of the rood screen separating the nave from the choir.37 The carving of the queen’s mouth has been shown to be very similar to the carving the Parler workshop did of Anna of Schweidnitz, wife of Charles IV of Bohemia, in Prague; thus the conclusion is that (like the statue of the queen from Diósgyőr), it is likely that the workshop of Peter Parler also made these portraits of the king and queen. 38 That being said, the dating of this royal pair is problematic; since the rood altar was consecrated in 1369, it was originally hypothesized that the sculpture would have been made around that time. However, a combination of stylistic comparison as well as the construction of three new altars in 1383 caused Marosi to argue for a later date of 1383, suggesting that Louis I was not alive and József Szamosi, “König Ludwig der Grosse: Bauten und Denkmäler in Mariazell” in Louis the Great: King of Hungary and Poland, ed. S. B. Vardy et al. (Boulder: East European Monographs, 1986), 291-294. 37 Ernő Marosi, “Mariazell und die Kunst Ungarns im Mittelalter” in Ungarn in Mariazell – Mariazell in Ungarn: Geschichte und Erinnerung, ed. Péter Farbaky, Szabolcs Serfőző (Budapest: 2004), 31. 38 Szamosi, “König Ludwig der Grosse: Bauten und Denkmäler in Mariazell,” 303-304. 36

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probably had no involvement in creating this relief.39 If this is the case, it raises the possibility whether or not Elizabeth commissioned this as a way of completing the charitable project of her husband. Doing so would also serve a broader diplomatic purpose. Elizabeth did not look favourably on the marital alliances her husband had made for her daughters, trying to dissolve marital alliances between the Habsburgs and the Luxemburgs in favour of a French match. After the Polish noble broke off the engagement of her daughter Jadwiga (Queen of Poland r. 1384-1399) with Wilhelm of Austria (d. 1406), Wilhelm arrived at the Hungarian court in 1385 to press his rights as bridegroom.40 The queen was in no position to anger such a powerful ally (especially so close to Charles of Durazzo who invaded and deposed her daughter Maria later that year), and erecting the images of her and her husband as part of a rood screen at a renowned shrine in Austria not only would have enhanced her image abroad, but it also could have been seen as a gesture of mollifying the spurned Habsburgs.

Fig. 5. Possible former rood screen featuring Louis I of Hungary and Elizabeth of Bosnia Drawing from Márki, Sándor. Mária Magyarország királynéja 1370-1395. Budapest: A Magyar történelmi társulat kiadása, 1885, 60.

Elizabeth of Bosnia is also featured in another public monument associated with the Church of St. Simeon in Zadar. There is a limestone relief featuring St. Simeon in the centre, a kneeling queen to the Ibid.; Marosi, “Mariazell und die Kunst Ungarns im Mittelalter,” 31-32. Oscar Halecki and Tadeusz Gromada, Jadwiga of Anjou and the Rise of East Central Europe (New York: Columbia University Press, 1991), 100-101, 116, 131. 39 40

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viewer’s right, and to the viewer’s left two angels stand above a blank escutcheon with a helmet resting on top of it (Fig. 6). The queen is wearing a crown with a veil covering her hair and she is grasping the tie to her cloak. The presence of the blank coat-of-arms, the crown, and the Queen’s history of association with the site all indicate that it was most likely depicting Elizabeth of Bosnia’s devotion to St. Simeon. 41 Based on similar sculpture from the area, it has been proposed that the artist who made this relief featuring the queen was Pavao of Sulmona, a sculptor active from 1386 to 1405 who also made the tomb of Archbishop Nikola Matafar in Zadar.42 His period of activity raises the question of Elizabeth’s involvement in this sculpture. Elizabeth was strangled in front of her daughter while they were imprisoned in Novigrad Castle in January 1387. If Elizabeth commissioned this relief (as she did the sarcophagus), then this relief would have been one of Pavao’s earliest known works. However, if the monument was made after the queen’s death, when Pavao of Sulmona was more active as a sculptor, the person most likely responsible for commissioning it would have been her daughter, Queen Mary of Hungary (r. 1382-1395). After Mary was restored to the Hungarian throne under a period of joint rule with her husband Sigismund (r. 1387-1437), Mary would have moved the body of her mother Elizabeth from its place of burial at the Church of St. Chrysogonus in Zadar and buried her in the royal basilica at Székesfehérvár under a life-size white marble effigy.43 Since Elizabeth of Bosnia’s body had originally been laid to rest in Zadar before being transferred to the traditional burial place of the Hungarian royal family, it seems very likely that Mary would have erected this after her mother’s death. This relief shows not only the queen’s devotion to St. Simeon, Ivo Petricioli, St. Simeon’s Shrine in Zadar (Zagreb: Jugoslavenska akademija znanosti i umjetnosti, 1983), 6. 42 Ivo Petricioli, “Još o Pavlo iz Sulmone – graditelju pročelja crkve u Starom Pagu” [Pavao of Sulmona – builder of the façade of the church in Old Pag] Ars Adriatica 3 (2013): 111-120. 43 Ildikó Hankó, A magyar királysírok sorsa: Géza fejedelemtől Szapolyai Jánosig [The fate of the royal Hungarian graves: from Prince Géza to John Szapolyai] (Budapest: Magyar Ház, 1987), 137; Kinga Éry, Antónia Marcsik, János Nemeskéri, Ferenc Szalai, “Az épített sírok csontvázleletei (I. csoport),” [The skeletons in the built graves] in A Székesfehérvári királyi bazilika embertani leletei 1848-2002 [Anthropological finds from the royal basilica of Székesfehérvár, 1848-2002], ed. Kinga Éry (Budapest: Balassi, 2008), 100. 41

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but its representation of the crown and coat-of-arms (albeit blank) would have originally shown her rank and status. Its large size (217 by 118 cm) and evident wear indicates that this relief spent a significant amount of time facing the elements, indicating that it was a very public monument associated with the church.

Fig. 6. Relief of Elizabeth of Bosnia kneeling before St. Simeon Courtesy of the National Museum Zadar, Inventory Number MGZ-356

Conclusions Comparing the iconographic programmes of these two queens reveals an intriguing dynamic in terms of their own self-representation. Elizabeth of Poland, who seems only ambiguous and controversial in unfriendly chronicles, appears in “public” monuments as a matronly older woman with a wide nose. Considering that most sculpture emphasizes an idealized version of the person it is supposed to represent, the decision for the queen to appear in a more realistic manner is a bold one. In French illuminations and altarpieces, the consort is usually depicted in an idealized, much more static way; she is identifiable through gestures, heraldry, and dress and less attention is paid to her likeness than to showing the viewer her rank.44 The context Stephen Perkinson, The likeness of the king: a prehistory of portraiture in late medieval France (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009), 208, 263, 268.

44

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for the keystone from Diósgyőr is particularly interesting due to its association with entertaining the court. This is in marked contrast to her daughter-in-law, Elizabeth of Bosnia. The younger queen, whose public images seem to only appear during her widowhood and regency (and even possibly after her death) depict this queen in an idealized, youthful manner. The serene countenance on the sculptures of her from Mariazell and Zadar do not depict a woman caught up in a diplomatic game of chess which would cost her life, but rather as a devoted, pious woman active in supporting the church. The different representations of the two women could simply be the result of pragmatic concerns; the sculptures of Elizabeth of Poland date from a time when she would have been in her sixties and seventies while Elizabeth of Bosnia would have been around 40-45 (or dead) when the two stone sculptures were made of her. That being said, it seems much more likely to refer to the relative strength of their positions as the main reason for the difference in appearance. Even though the elder Elizabeth’s regency in Poland was unpopular, she still enjoyed a strong position in Hungary, was incredibly wealthy, and was regarded as a strong supporter of the Church. When compared to the regency of her daughter-in-law who faced multiple enemies at home and abroad, Elizabeth of Bosnia needed to project an image of strength and security. In both cases, the queens were meant to be recognized as queens; the message, however, was different. In Elizabeth of Bosnia’s weak position as regent, she needed to be recognized abroad as having control over internal affairs, regardless of whether or not that was actually the case. For Elizabeth of Poland, whose primary audience would have been members of the court and the citizens of Buda, it was enough for her to simply be recognized. Bibliography Primary Sources Dercsényi, Dezső, ed. The Hungarian Illuminated Chronicle. Budapest: Corvina Kiadó, 1969. Długosz, Jan and Maurice Michael, ed. The Annals of Jan Długosz. Chichester: IM Publications, 1997.

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Geoffrey de la Tour-Landry and Anatole de Montaiglon. Le livre du chevalier de La Tour Landry, pour l’enseignement de ses filles. Paris: P. Jannet, 1854. Süttő, Szilárd. Anjou-Magyarország Alkonya: Magyarország politikai története Nagy Lajostól Zsigmondig, az 1384-1387 évi belivszályok okmánytárával [The Twilight of Angevin Hungary: Hungary’s political history from Louis the Great until Sigismund, 1384-1387 the years of internal strife in the charters]. Vol. I-II. Szeged: Belvedere Meridionale, 2003. Secondary Sources Altmann, Julianna. “Neueste Forschungen der Burg der Königin in Óbuda.” Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungariae 34 (1982): 249-267. Altman, Julianna. “Óbuda.” In Medium Regni: Medieval Hungarian Royal Seats, ed..Julianna Atlmann et al, 89-109. Budapest: Nap Kiadó, 1999. Bak, János M. “Queens as Scapegoats in Medieval Hungary.” In Queens and queenship in medieval Europe ed. Anne J. Duggan, 223-233. Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2002. Bertalan, Herta. “Óbudai Klarissza Kolostor” [The Obuda Poor Claires Cloister]. Budapest Régiségei 27 (1976): 269-278. Bertalan, Herta. “Das Klarissenkloster von Óbuda aus dem 14. Jahrhundert.” Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 34 (1982): 151-176. Bork, Robert Odell. The Geometry of Creation: Architectural Drawing and the Dynamics of Gothic design. Farnham: Ashgate, 2011. Buzás, Gergely. “The Functional Reconstruction of the Visegrád Royal Palace.”I In The Medieval Royal Palace at Visegrád, ed..Gergely Buzás and József Laszlovszky, 143-196. Budapest: Archaeolingua Press, 2013. Csemegi, József. A budavári főtemplom középkori építéstörténete [The medieval building history of the main church of Buda Castle]. Budapest: Képzőművészeti Alap Kiadóvállalata, 1955. Czeglédy, Ilona. The Castle of Diósgyőr. Budapest: Corvina Press, 1971. _____. “Zárókő női fejjel” [Keystone with the head of a woman]. In Művészet I. Lajos király korában 1342-1382 [Art in the age of King Louis I, 1342-1382], ed. Ernő Marosi, Melinda Tóth and Lívia 166

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Varga, 240-241. Budapest: MTA Műészettörténeti Kutató Csoport, 1982. Dautović, Dženan. “Bosansko-ugarski odnosi kroz prizmu braka Ludovika I Velikog i Elizabete kćerke Stjepana II Kotromanića” [Relations between Bosnia and Hungary through the prism of the marriage between Louis the Great and Elizabeth, the Daughter of Stjepan II Kotromanić].” Radovi XVII/3 (2014): 141-157. Engel, Pál. The Realm of St Stephen: History of Medieval Hungary 985-1526. New York: I.B. Tauris, 2001. Éry, Kinga, Antónia Marcsik, János Nemeskériand Ferenc Szalai. “Az épített sírok csontvázleletei (I. csoport)” [The skeletons of the built graves]. In A Székesfehérvári királyi bazilika embertani leletei 1848-2002 [Anthropological finds from the royal basilica of Székesfehérvár, 1848-2002], ed. Kinga Éry, 37-118. Budapest: Balassi Kiadó, 2008. Ferdinandy, Michael de. “Ludwig I. von Ungarn (1342-1382).” In Louis the Great: King of Hungary and Poland, ed. S. B. Vardy et al., 3-48. Boulder: East European Monographs, 1986. Fine, John. The Late Medieval Balkans. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1994. Gárdonyi-Csapodi, Klára. “Description and Interpretation of the Illustrations in the Illuminated Chronicle.” In The Hungarian Illuminated Chronicle: Chronica de Gestis Hungarorum, ed. Dezső Dercsényi, 70-85. Budapest: Corvina Press, 1969. Halecki, Oscar and Tadeusz Gromada. Jadwiga of Anjou and the Rise of East Central Europe. New York: Columbia University Press, 1991. Hankó, Ildikó. A magyar királysírok sorsa: Géza fejedelemtől Szapolyai Jánosig [The fate of the royal Hungarian graves: from Prince Géza to John Szapolyai]. Budapest: Magyar Ház, 1987. Havasi, Krisztina. “A király új palotája. Megjegyzések a kora 13. századi óbudai rezidencia művészettörténeti helyéhez” [A new palace for the king. remarks on the place in art history of the early 13th-century royal residence at Óbuda]. In In medio regni Hungariae. Régészeti, Művészettörténeti és történeti kutatások ‘az ország közepén’: Archaeological, Art Historical, and Historical Researches ‘in the Middle of the Kingdom,’ ed. Elek Benkő and Krisztina Orosz. Budapest: Magyar Tudományos Akadémia, 2015. Jansen, Sharon. Anne of France: lessons for my daughter. Woodbridge: D. S. Brewer, 2004. 167

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Kovačević, Marijana. “The Omnipresent Death in the Iconography of Saint Simeon’s Shrine in Zadar.” IKON 4 (2011): 211-222. Kovács, Annamária. “Courtly Costumes in Fourteenth-Century Hungary.” In “Quasi Liber et Pictura”: Studies in Honour of András Kubinyi on his Seventieth Birthday , ed. Gyöngyi Kovács, 301-310. Budapest: ELTE Institute of Archaeological Sciences, 2004. Kristó, Gyula. “Károly Róbert családja” [The Family of Charles Robert]. Aetas 20:4 (2005): 14-28. Lillich, Meredith Parsons. The Queen of Sicily and Gothic Stained Glass in Mussy and Tonnerre. Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1998. Marosi, Ernő. “A 14. századi Magyarország udvari művészettörténetírásban.” [The fourteenth century Hungarian court in the art historical literature]. In Művészet I. Lajos király korában 1342-1382, ed. Ernő Marosi, Melinda Tóth and Lívia Varga, 51-77. Budapest: MTA Művészettörténeti Kutató Csoport, 1982. _____. “Gyűrűs pecsét” [Ring seal]. In Művészet I. Lajos király korában, 1342-1382 [Art in the age of King Louis I, 1342-1382], ed. Ernő Marosi, Melinda Tóth and Lívia Varga, 150. Budapest: MTA Művészettörténeti Kutató Csoport, 1982. _____. “Mariazell und die Kunst Ungarns im Mittelalter.” In Ungarn in Mariazell – Mariazell in Ungarn: Geschichte und Erinnerung, ed. Péter Farbaky, Szabolcs Serfőző, 28-38. Budapest: 2004. McEntee, Brian. “The Burial Site Selection of a Hungarian Queen: Elizabeth, Queen of Hungary (1320–1380), and the Óbuda Clares’ Church.” Annual of Medieval Studies at CEU 12 (2006): 69-82. _____. “Queen Elizabeth of Hungary (1320-1380) and Óbuda: Patronage, Personality and Place.” In La diplomatie des États Angevins au XIIIe et XIVe siècles, ed. Zoltán Kordé and István Petrovics, 209218. Rome and Szeged, 2010. Munk, Ana. “The Queen and her Shrine: an art historical twist on historical evidence concerning the Hungarian Queen Elizabeth Kotromanić, donor of the Saint Simeon Shrine.” Hortus Artium Medievalium 10 (2004): 253-262. Nastasoiu, Dragoş Gheorge. “Patterns of Devotion and Traces of Art during the Diplomatic Journey of Queen Elizabeth Piast to Italy in 1343–1344.” In Convivium: Exchanges and Interactions in the Arts of

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Medieval Europe, Byzantium, and the Mediterranean, ed. Michele Bacci and Ivan Foletti, 98-111. Turnhout: Brepols, 2015. _____. “Patterns of Devotion and Traces of Art. The Pilgrimage of Queen Elizabeth Piast to Marburg, Cologne, and Aachen in 1357.” Umĕní LXIV (2016): 29-43. Nolan, Kathleen. Queens in Stone and Silver: the creation of a visual imagery of queenship in Capetian France. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009. Perkinson, Stephen. The likeness of the king: a prehistory of portraiture in late medieval France. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009. Petricioli, Ivo. St. Simeon’s Shrine in Zadar. Zagreb: Jugoslavenska akademija znanosti i umjetnosti, 1983. _____. “Još o Pavlo iz Sulmone – graditelju pročelja crkve u Starom Pagu.” [Pavao of Sulmona – builder of the façade of the church in Old Pag]. Ars Adriatica 3 (2013): 111-122. Romhányi, Beatrix. Kolostorok és társaskáptalanok a középkori Magyarországon: katalógus [Monasteries and the collegiate chapters of medieval Hungary: a catalog]. Budapest: Pytheas, 2000. Sághy, Marianne. “Dévotions diplomatiques: Le pèlerinage de la reinemère Élisabeth Piast à Rome.” In La Diplomatie des États Angevins aux XIIIe et XIVe siècle, ed. Zoltán Kordé and István Petrovics, 219-224. Rome and Szeged, 2010. Sniezynska-Stolot, Eva. “Die Ikonographie der Königin Elisabeth.” Acta Historiae Artium 17 (1971): 17-29. _____. “Queen Elizabeth as Patron of Architecture.” Acta Historiae Artium 20 (1974): 13-36. Steane, John. The archaeology of the medieval English Monarchy. London & New York: Routledge, 1999. Szamosi, József. “König Ludwig der Grosse: Bauten und Denkmäler in Mariazell.” In Louis the Great: King of Hungary and Poland, ed. S. B. Vardy et al., 285-324. Boulder: East European Monographs, 1986. Szende, László. “Mitherrscherin oder einfache Königinmutter Elisabeth von Łokietek in Ungarn (1320-1380).” Majestas 13 (2005): 47-63. _____. Piast Erzsébet és udvara (1320-1380) [Elizabeth Piast and her court, 1320-1380]. PhD diss.: ELTE, 2007. _____. “Les châteaux de reines comme résidence dans la Hongrie des Anjoux.” In Archaeologia dei castelli nell’Europa angioina (secoli XIII-XV), ed. Paolo Peduto et al., 158-165. Borgo San Lorenzo [Florence]: All’Insegna del Gigliio, 2011. 169

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Vidas, Marina. “Elizabeth of Bosnia, Queen of Hungary, and the Tomb Shrine of St. Simeon in Zadar: Power and Relics in fourteenthcentury Dalmatia.” Studies in Iconography 29 (2008): 136-175.

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Material and Temporal Ambiguity at Santiago de Compostela: The Case of the South Portal’s Woman with the Skull Karen Webb

Introduction to the ‘Whole’ The South Portal Upon first sight, the south portal of Santiago de Compostela (Fig. 1) immediately relays its relationship to material ambiguity and conceptual ambiguity. The entirety of the south portal at Santiago is composed of broken and reused sculptures, many believed to be added from the north portal over an extended period of time.1

The fact that some of the sculptures mentioned as placed on the north portal in the Pilgrim’s Guide appear today on the south have led scholars to the conclusion that many sculptures from the north portal were moved to the south. A general list of categories of sculpture on the north in the Guide list “Saints, beasts, men, angels, women, flowers, and other creatures.” These general categories have also led to some speculation. The example of the Expulsion of Adam and Eve, which appears on the south portal now, and the condition of most of the sculpture with its imprecise edges, lead to similar conclusions. In 1765 – 1770, the north portal was renovated as a Neo-classical style façade and it is believed that more of the Romanesque vestiges were taken out of the northern context. The presence of the sculpture from the north on the south side in the Middle Ages is supported by the burning of the transept and the city riots of 1117. For the evidence of the guide’s description, see Paula Gerson, Annie Shaver-Crandell, Alison Stones, and Jeanne Krochalis, ed. and trans. The Pilgrim’s Guide: A Critical Edition, Vol. II, The Text: Annotated English Translation (London: Harvey Miller Publishers, 1998), 72, 73. For the eighteenth-century evidence, see A. Fernández González, “Un Viejo plano olvidado en el Archivo de la Catedral de Santiago: la Porta Francigena, su atrio y la Corticela en el año 1739,” Compostellanum, XLVIII, 1 – 4 (2003), 701 – 742, esp. fig 1 – 2, 9. Henri Focillon, L’Art de sculpteurs romans (Paris, 1931), 160. 1

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Fig. 1. South Portal of the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, Spain (photo: the author)

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Thus, the portal eludes classification inherent in art historical studies and this ambiguity depends upon the violation of rules governing a set construct (here, the “typical” Romanesque portal). With ambiguous objects, a potential result is that the construct precedes the object making ostracism separate the violator from the majority. If the object precedes the construct, this allows there to be potential for the evolution or conversion of the object, materially or conceptually, to fit the new “expectation.” This difference makes the idea of the ‘whole’ defined as either a material ‘whole’ that precedes and is fragmented by a construct or a temporal construct as ‘whole’ that precedes and fragments a material entity. At Santiago, the temporal conversion of and influence upon the movement of material sculptures from the north portal to the south portal gradually diminishes the north portal’s material presence while augmenting the south portal’s material presence. This material change is a temporal merging or conversion of the north into the south. The material ostracism of the north separates and determines the specifically temporal Romanesque style of the sculptural content which moves to the south portal. Thus, in terms of temporal conversion, material is manipulated and in terms of material separation, time is manipulated. Whether this also means that the whole south portal has a constructed organization that predates and becomes realized through the temporal conversion, is an interesting question, but not the central issue to be taken up in this study. This study uses the idea of separation and conversion to consider how universals and particulars like symbolism and history, image and word, material and time, context and object, and category and identity are subject to isolation from one another or superimposition upon one another. The ambiguity that these interactions produce, results in conflict. Of special concern in its impact on the portal is the idea of authoritative ambiguity (royalty and pope), familial ambiguity, and moral ambiguity. Though erudite and perceptive, in the case of Santiago, Hearn sees no organization or conceptual message in the collection of sculpture due to its singularity in appearance. 2 Concurring with Focillon’s assessment of the portal as a musée lapidaire, the portal is denied equal M. F. Hearn, Romanesque Sculpture: The Revival of Monumental Stone Sculpture in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1981), 144 – 145. Hearn calls it a “meaningless jumble.” 2

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status as a complete object to other portals, largely due to its nonoriginary state, but it is considered an important stage in Romanesque stylistic evidence and development.3 The portal is definitely unlike any extant medieval portal due to its diversity of sculptural hands expressed in divergent stylistic marks that lack cohesion, a variety of material stone types,4 and many broken and discontinuous pieces placed side by side. While the whole portal is not the subject of this article, it sets the stage for the contextualization of the figure from this same portal which is of interest to the present volume, whose origin is a session at the Medieval International Congress at Leeds in 2015 on ambiguous women. 5 Here, the ambiguous woman is the Woman with the Skull (Fig. 2) located in the leftmost tympanum of this portal. The ambiguity of the south portal of Santiago de Compostela remains problematic because it has been the focus of singular identity studies that funnel into investigations that trace how these identities have many categories orchestrating the meaning. Perhaps, the lack of meaning on the south portal perceived by some is based on the expectation of conceptual priority for medieval portal creation which plays an extremely important role as a counterpoint in interpreting the portal and the Woman. Ambiguity depends on lack of knowledge about something that separates universals and particulars and subsequent conflation of many universals into one particular (ability to fit into more than one category) or suppression of many particulars into one universal (stereotyping).6 Putting the universal and particular at an intersection to one another usually implies one force as active and the other as passive. M. F. Hearn, Romanesque Sculpture, 148. Hearn ascribes a development in the school of the Languedoc to the south portal. 4 For diagrams noting where the various materials appear in the portal, see J. M. Cabrera, I. Seara, and J. de Miguel, “Portada de las Platerías: Catedral de Santiago de Compostela,” Ars sacra, 38 (2006): 22–37, esp. 34. 5 International Medieval Congress, Leeds, 2015, “Ambiguous Women in Medieval Art,” Sessions 1503 and 1603, https://imc.leeds.ac.uk/dbsql02/AQueryServlet?*context=IMC&*id=10&*formId=1 &*requestType=query&conference=2015&*servletURI=https://imc.leeds.ac.uk/dbsql 02/AQueryServlet (accessed September 29, 2017). 6 The etymology of the word ‘ambiguity’ ultimately comes from the Latin word ambigere meaning ‘to wander.’ The mobility of the sculptures on the south portal further underscores this definition in their unfixed histories. “Ambiguous,” The Online Etymology Dictionary, http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=ambiguous (accessed 29.09.2017). 3

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In the case of the Woman with the Skull, there is a tendency to attempt to condense her down to one identity with symbolic potentialities towards many universals. This is the case with Rückert’s analysis which sees her as Bathsheba extending to general categories of physical attributes like Eve and meaning like Ecclesia. 7 Others see her as a general category related to the chansons de geste like Williams does. 8 Castiñeiras sees the woman as a vacuous vice that directs its message to the vows of priests9 and Sastre sees her as a moniker of legal marriage commitments.10 While Mathews vaguely hazards the Woman’s identity to Queen Urraca, daughter of Alfonso VI, valid objections can be voiced about the historical identity of the Woman that would produce a shaming of such high authority. 11 However, by blurring the lines of identity to many historical personages, the ambiguity of this shaming might make the statement cloaked from potential objection. This study introduces a different tactic to its predecessors by seeing multiple historical identities as conflated into the universal symbol. The Woman with the Skull In the case of the current state of the Woman with the Skull located in the right corner of the leftmost tympanum of the two tympana of the south portal of Santiago de Compostela, her physical state is one where her material has been forcefully cut in a way that compromises the preClaudia Rückert, “A Reconsideration of the Woman with the Skull on the Puerta de las Platerías of Santiago de Compostela Cathedral,” Gesta 51/2 (September 2012): 129 – 146, esp. 134 and 140, http://www.journals.uchicago.edu.pitt.idm.oclc.org/toc/ges/2012/51/2 (accessed 29.09.2017). 8 John Williams, “La Mujer del cráneo y la simbología románica,” Quintana 2 (2003): 13 – 28, esp. 20 -21 9 Manuel A. Castiñeiras González, “Arte románico y reforma eclesiástica,” Las religiones en la historia de Galicia. 7 – 8 (1996), 307 – 332, esp. 317, http://dspace.usc.es/handle/10347/4735 (accessed 29.09.2017). 10 Carlos Sastre Vázquez, “La Portada de las Platerías y la “mujer adúltera”: una revisión,” Archivo español de Arte, 79/314 (2006), 169 – 186, http://xn-archivoespaoldearte-53b.revistas.csic.es/index.php/aea/issue/view/2 (accessed 29.09.2017). 11 Karen Rose Mathews, “’They wished to destroy the temple of God”: Responses to Diego Gelmírez’s cathedral construction in Santiago de Compostela, 1100 – 1140.” (PhD diss., The University of Chicago, December 1995), 204 – 206, accessed 29.09.2017, ProQuest Dissertations & Theses. 7

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established lines of her representation to fit the space.12 This suggests that the material representation existed prior to the new program or concept for the portal and then was physically manipulated to fit the new idea. In turn, this is a concept that forcefully converts a material entity.

Fig. 2. Woman with the Skull (photo: the author)

Sastre, “La Portada de las Platerías,” 169, Lyman speaks of the isolation of the woman. Thomas W. Lyman, “Motif et narratif: vers une typologie des thèmes profans sur la sculpture monumentale sur la romanias,” Les cahiers de St. Michel-de-Cuxa, 10 (1979): 59 – 79, esp. 66. 12

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The Woman with the Skull suffers from the same fate as the portal due to its singular iconography and one secluded interpretation from the Pilgrim’s Guide. While the Pilgrim’s Guide states that the woman is adulterous and is forced by her vengeful husband to kiss the decapitated head of her deceased lover twice a day, Williams and Lyman consider her an exemplum.13 As an exemplum, she is a cautionary tale, which suggests comparison, but this essay argues that, more so, she is a tool of superimposition applied to the historical lives of women. The Guide’s interpretation directs a pointed attempt to use categorization towards the ends of systemic misogynistic abuses. Her subjection to a specific identity that becomes categorical in the scholarship has obscured her suffering enabled by the Pilgrim’s Guide by making the individual into a category forced upon women like the location of the tympanum was forced upon her.14 Azcarate’s concern with the moral import of the woman as an example of types of vices like Luxuria, would seem to initially imply that she is nameless. 15 However, because many women in Christian tradition can fit into this category based on narrative biases and stereotypes, the Woman “Nor should be forgotten the woman who stands next to the Lord’s Temptation, holding between her own hands the stinking head of her lover, cut off by her rightful husband, which she is forced by her husband to kiss twice a day. Oh, what ingenious and admirable punishment for an adulterous wife; it should be recounted to everyone!” [Nec est obliuioni tradendum, quod mulier quedam iuxta dominicam temptacionem stat, tenens inter manus suas caput lecatoris sui fetidum, a marito proprio abscisum, osculans illut bis per diem, coacta á uiro suo. O quam ingentem et admirabilem iusticiam mulieris adulterate omnibus narrandam!]” The Pilgrim’s Guide is estimated as dating to around 1130. Gerson, Shaver-Crandell, Stones, and Krochalis, ed. and trans., The Pilgrim’s Guide, Vol. II: The Text, Chapter IX, 74 – 77, According to Stefan Trinks, as early as 1976, Williams identified the Woman as exemplum libidinis. Stefan Trinks, “Sheela-na-gig Again: The Birth of a New Style from the Spirit of Pornography,” in Pornographic Art and the Aesthetics of Pornography (London: Palgrave Macmillian, 2013), 162 – 182, esp. 179, ftnt 16. Later discussion of the exemplum libidinis by Williams is found in 2003. Williams, “La Mujer del cráneo,” 20 -21. Azcarate equates the woman with representations of the vice, Luxuria, shown with serpents biting her breasts. José María de Azcárate, “La portada de las platerías y el programa iconográfico de la catedral de Santiago,” Archivo español de arte, 36 (1963): 1 – 20, esp. 10. Lyman considers the woman a testament to the profane and the hierarchical. Lyman, “Motif et narratif,” 66. 14 Lyman and Sastre are the starting point for this line of thinking. Lyman suggests the generally profane nature of the woman in addition to her isolation. Lyman “Motif et narratif ,” 66, and Sastre emphasizes her mutilation. Sastre, “La Portada de las Platerías,” 169. 15 Azcárate, “La portada de las platerías,” 10. 13

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becomes the source of much debate. But, while invigorating, the debate largely remains on the periphery of the problem the Woman poses. The verification of the Woman with the Skull’s identity has long been dependent on words. The Woman’s singularity led Walter Cahn to state that there are no visual iconographic parallels to the Woman with the Skull, seeming to make verbal transmission the only possible lead.16 Though comparisons have been made to the Signs Relief from St. Sernin in Toulouse which features two women, one with a ram in her lap and one with a lion in her lap, neither holds a human skull.17 In spite of this lacuna, the stone on which the women are carved is inscribed to indicate that the women allude to the zodiac signs: the sign of Aries and sign of Leo. Though Aries is related to the ram, in the heretical philosophy of the Zodiac Man, the sign of Aries is also the sign that is identified with the human head.18 By seeing the ram as a symbolic sign and the head as a literal meaning, the two images are superimposable. This superpositioning can be further supported because the Woman with the Skull is also accompanied by another work on the south portal called the Woman with the Lion Cub. The idea that visual parallels carry a heretical implication is not difficult to imagine. An identity being superpositioned over another is a magical and dangerous prospect. In fact, as the Investiture Conflict is a topic in this study, one of its defining issues, the whole problem with simony or the selling of working historical or ‘counted’ identities of ecclesiastical presence to secular identifying presences, has a correlation to this identity projection. Similarly, the problem of consanguinity as many

Walter Cahn, “Romanesque Sculpture and the Spectator,” The Romanesque Frieze and its Spectator: The Lincoln Symposium Papers, ed. Deborah Kahn (London: Harvey Miller Publishers, 1992), 45 – 60, esp. 59 – 60. 17 Elizabeth Valdez del Álamo states that the Signs Relief and Woman with the Skull are generally connected by iconography like the general meaning of goddess figures like the mother goddess with lion or Aphrodite with a ram. No causal relationship is explicated between the Signs Relief and the women at Santiago. See “Cat. 86: Relief of Two Women with a Lion and a Ram,” in Art of Medieval Spain, AD 500 – 1200 (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1993), 206. 18 Orosius details the Zodiac Man in his descriptions of the heretical Priscillians’ beliefs. Orosius, Commonitorium Orosii et Sancti Avrelii Augustini contra Priscillianistas et Origenistas, ed. Klaus-D. Daur, CChr XLIX (Turnholt: Brepols, 1985), 159. “[Priscillian] . . . [c]ontra autem in membris corporis caeli signa esse disposita, id est arietem in capite, taurum in ceurice, geminos in bracchiis, cancrum in pectore, et cetera . . .” 16

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reproductive or symbolically consuming roles taken on by one person is the inverse problem as is discussed below. The Investiture Controversy The connection between symbolic category and historical personage in a comparative stance or as stratified layers need to be interchangeably considered. Royal authorities attempt to make the temporal role comprehensive and multi-categorical that can clothe one in leadership dependent on the fragmenting of the material or genetic integrity of the person’s natal role. The pope needed to preserve the ‘whole’ material body as an integrated role for the fragmented temporal/historical individual. The very nature of the portal and the condition of specifically the Woman with the Skull relates to the constantly evolving conflict between royal and papal forces in the eleventh century. The issue of investiture relays transitions from the belief in the gladius spiritualis and gladius temporalis (the spiritual and temporal swords) and the gladius spiritualis and gladius materialis (the spiritual and material swords).19 The portal as a material accumulation with its diversity of stones and temporal performance displaces and reintegrates the northern sculpture to the south suggests these two sets of swords. While the investiture conflict resulted in a dispute about whether the material and temporal could be usurped by the pope, the purpose of this study is to examine the different implications of material like the control over capital punishment or as a consanguinity dispute.20 These demarcations relate to the royal compulsion which separates the symbolic blood of the royalty from the historical blood of the lay population and papal authority which superimposes universal morality over particular material. The drive to maintain a symbolic structure for the royalty means material isolation from historical genetics. The Signs Relief is important at this juncture because of the interspecies implications of the women giving birth to animals. For a list of citations on the gladius spiritualis, gladius materialis, and gladius temporalis, see Carra Ferguson O’Meara, The Iconography of the Façade of St. Gilles-du-Gard (New York: Garland Publishing, 1977), 172 – 173, ftnt 88. 20 Gerhart Ladner, “The Concepts of “Ecclesia” and “Christianitas” and their Relation to the Idea of Papal “Plenitudo Potestatis” from Gregory VII to Boniface VIII,” in Miscellanea Historiae Pontificiae, Vol. XVIII, ed. Facultate Historiae Ecclesiasticae in Pontificia Universitate Gregoriana (Rome, 1954), 49 – 77, esp. 58. 19

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Fig. 3. Signs Relief, Musée des Augustins, Toulouse, France (photo: the author)

The notion of cross-species procreation is suggested in the inscription which states “Signum Leonis, Signum Arietis; Hoc fuit factum tempore Iulii Cesaris.21 The texts which have similarities to the sculpture states that the two women are the signs of the lion and the ram which take place in the time of Julius Caesar.22 ‘SI/G/NV[M]/L/E/O/NIS//S/I/G/NU[M]//ARI/E/TIS/H/ OC/FU/IT/FA/CT/UM/T/TEMPO/RE/IULII//CE/SA// RI/S 22 Bede connects July or Julii to Julius Caesar. Mora suggests that the cold and hot temperatures of March and July are part of the meaning of the plaque. Mora, “Signum 21

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The symbolic (cross-species birth) and historical (Julius Caesar) are interwoven here. The moral transgression of copulating with nonChristian parties much less animals was a rule that is morally prohibitive but not physically impossible. The inability to categorize the otherworldly and its mixing with the human suggests the inapplicable rules of human morality to animals and the otherworldly. In this perspective of God as another category of being, God does not have to abide by these internal rules. Meanwhile, the papal morality demands that species, categories, or symbolisms not mix, but like subjects can. This arrangement establishes strict procreation-based rules. 23 The similarity of the Woman with Skull and her counterpart on the south portal, the Woman with the Lion Cub, to Toulouse’s Signs Relief (Fig. 3) cannot be ignored.24 In the sign of Aries and the sign of Leo, the two zodiac signs are different categories but they share the same material substance of fire from among the four elements used in astrological rules.25 Could the likeness of material or substance relate to the birth of Leonis, Signum Arietis,” Mora, Bernadette. “Signum Leonis, Signum Arietis.” Annales du Midi: revue archéologique, historique, et philologique de la France méridionale 103/196 (1991): 483 – 489, see esp. 485, 488, http://www.persee.fr/doc/anami_00034398_1991_num_103_196_7611 (accessed 19.11.2017). Bede, Manfredi Carmina, PL 94, col. 642-644. 23 Durliat indicates that orally-transmitted legends that indicate two virgins gave birth, one to a lion cub and the other to a baby ram, in the time of Julius Caesar, and relates to the Last Judgment. Because this legend cannot be verified, Durliat sides with his colleague, Jean Soubiran, who Durliat publishes as simply seeing the ‘T’ in the inscription as indicating ‘in’ the time of Julius Caesar and relating the signs to the zodiac. Marcel Durliat, La sculpture romane de la route de Saint-Jacques (Mont-de-Marsan: Comité d’Études sur l’Histoire et l’Art de la Gascogne, 1990), 414 – 415. In the story of a young girl who has lost her virginity, this girl, Mary, is reclaimed by her uncle dressed as her lover. Hrosvit calls this cloaking of the personality of the uncle as instead a lover of his niece as ‘sub specie amoris.’ The significance carried by imitation of a body, gesture, or mannerism in the Cathedral Schools means that ‘imitating’ a lover of a relative retained some incestuous carriage from the putting on of the disguise. Being ‘under a zodiac sign’ like being under any classification or incest-determined category has larger implications of retaining the category’s ‘character.’ Hrosvit of Gandersheim, Hrotsvit: Opera Omnia. Ed. Walter Berschin. (Muenchen: K. G. Saur, 2001), 195. 24 Valdez del Álamo, “Cat. 86: Relief of Two Women with a Lion and a Ram,” 205 – 206. 25 In the West, thinkers like William of Conches mention the substances of the zodiac signs, though in a pejorative way. The Arabic influences in Spain would mean more plentiful sources in Spain. William of Conches (Guillelmus de Conchis), Dragmaticon Philosophiae, Turnhout: Brepols, 2001, Book III, 7, v, 77. This is also available in English 181

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Alfonso VII whose rulership is announced in an inscription on the upper wall of the portal?26 The concept of a changing identity or a changing meaning marks equal potential for Christian officials as positive or negative. The idea that the sign of Aries as a ram or a human head is a symbol or changeable, but its meaning is the same is related to substitutable templates. When this template is internally connected to Christianity, it relates to symbolic adoption of orthodox conversion, but when it is externally imposed from other religions, it relates to apostasy. The many meanings of a lion who relates to Jesus as Christ and becomes associated with Satan, produces the potential for a historical identity that in lifestyle becomes external by aligning with the external practices of Christianity contrasts with the perceived reliance on internal frailties of temptation dominating external actions. 27 Thus, the internal conversion and the external lifestyle mark a ‘good’ Christian. For this internal conversion, the guided will of the individual and the lifestyle emulation are key. While the pope needs the internal will to be guided in choice, the royal needs the internal material to be determined

in A Dialogue on Natural Philosophy (Dragmaticon philosophiae), ed and trans. Italo Ronca and Matthew Curr (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1997), 52 – 53. 26 The inscription is ANF REX. The traditional usage of this inscription in the dating of the portal can be considered as a flexible marker. Næsgaard indicates that it can be no earlier than 1109 when Alfonso VI died. Ole Næsgaard, Saint-Jacques de Compostelle et les débuts de la grande sculpture vers 1100 (Aarhus: Universitetsforlag, 1962), 9. There is potential to investigate this inscription as possibly related to the date of the coronation of Alfonso VII, but also the wave of support for Alfonso VII in Santiago during Queen Urraca’s reign in a movement supporting her son over the queen in a social organization called Raimundism. This movement was particularly strong in the west of Spain. Bernard F. Reilly, The Kingdom of León-Castilla under Queen Urraca: 1109 – 1126 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982), 78. 27 The medieval bestiary interprets the birth of the lion as related to resurrection like that believed of Jesus. Richard Barber, Bestiary: being an English version of the Bodleian Library Oxford MS Bodley 764: with all the original miniatures reproduced in facsimile (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1992), 24 – 25. Some of these basic ideas are found in Isidore. Isidorus Hispalensis, Etymologiae, PL, 82, 434c – 434d. accessed 30.09.2017; Etymologies of Isidore of Seville, trans. Stephen A. Barney, W. J. Lewis, and J. A. Beach (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), Book 12, 2: 3 – 6. Meanwhile, in 1 Peter 5: 8, it states “Be sober and watch: because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, goeth about seeking whom he may devour.” The Holy Bible (Douay Rheims Version) (Rockford: Tan Publishers, 1899), 267. 182

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without choice through marriage.28 In turn, while the pope needs the external material body to emulate the religious ways of Christianity, the royal needs the conceptual body to accumulate many meanings through consanguinity-violating roles. This means that the material body takes on many conceptual roles of family like the adoption of many familial roles on the arbor consanguinitatis. Thus, for royal purposes, the material needs to adapt and occupy many constructed temporal roles (wife, sister, and daughter in one person) according to the situation. For the papacy, the material needs to be strictly emulative of the larger construct or be ostracized. Symbols are inhabitable spaces or contexts, and the defining difference between the royal uses of conceptual genealogies as collapsible symbols and the papal use of the material as shapeable orients the discussion towards the story of Adam and Eve. The emphasis on the Original Sin in the south portal’s imagery due to the north portal sculptural displacement establishes the senses ascribed to Adam in Genesis as the primary verbal actor in the Genesis story as materially subtracted like the north portal.29 Eve, who is conceptually imagined prior to her birth and then made from Adam’s rib – a

Although discussing France, Duby explains that the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries was a time in which lineage structures tightened in a way that resulted in internecine cleavage among family members who were seniors and those that had less of a chance at patrimonial authority. The current article views Alfonso VI’s penchant for incestuous and power-based relationships as related to his driven need for blood-based succession, even if that meant resorting to incest. Georges Duby, Medieval Marriage: Two Models from Twelfth-Century France, trans. Elbord Forster (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1978), 7 – 15. 29 Jaeger aligns the idea of clay being shaped (here, on the potter’s wheel) with the idea of context acting upon the forces of individual emulation like hands that shape the clay. This is related later in the current discussion for how contextual sound shapes the individual from without. For Latin texts like that of Goswin (Gozechinus), Epist ad Walcherum, PL 143, 885 – 908, or Apologiae Duae: Gozechini epistola ad Walcherum; Burchardi ---apologia de barbis, ed. R. B. C. Huygens, intro Gilles Constable, CCCM 62 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1985), 11 – 43. For English translation, see C. Stephen Jaeger, “Appendix B: The Letter of Goswin of Mainz to his Student Walcher (ca. 1065),” in The Envy of Angels: Cathedral Schools and Social Ideals in Medieval Europe, 950 – 1200 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1994), 349 – 375, specifically, chapter XXVII, 32, 366 (lines 627 – 635). For Jaeger’s commentary on the potter’s wheel and clay, see Jaeger, The Envy of Angels, 3, 8, 223, 372 – 373. 28

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fragment, may represent the south portal. 30 The lack of material emulation in the entire portal’s comparison to other Romanesque portals provides a potential for the portal as relating not to universals being condensed into a particular example (like Rückert’s view of Bathesheba), but particulars being condensed into a universal (many historical bodies made to function in one role). In the Genesis story, Eve was silent in speech before the serpent tempts her, but then she acts as agent of speech which was formerly Adam’s role. Adam, who speaks, takes on the visual imitation by following Eve’s actions. While Rückert’s view of the Woman with the Skull as Bathesheba is not incorrect, it leads her from one particular to many universal attributions like Ecclesia and substitutional appearance like that of Eve. 31 The typical juxtapositioning of Ecclesia in relationship to the blind Synagoga marks the differences between Adam and Eve before original sin. Though never suggested, Ecclesia is not blindfolded and assumedly sight-enabled, but the inversion of blindness in Synagoga who can hear, can be related to a possibility that Ecclesia is unrepresentatively deaf.32 In Christian interpretations of the roles of Synagoga/Adam and Ecclesia/Eve before Original Sin were cooperative and interdependent. Like the pope’s emphasis on material or visual emulation and the royals’ emphasis on temporal or conceptual accumulation like hearing make the Investiture Controversy even more relevant. The papal interest in consanguinity suggests the papal context in which the conclusion of the text as a restricted reproduction found only in a papal document like the Codex Calixtinus points to a papal polemic. The slant of the Woman’s relationship to adultery is the focus of Sastre’s marriage argument which participates in the practice of an ‘orthodox’ remedy to Original Sin. Though Sastre takes up the issue of Again, due to restrictions of space, potential conceptual orderings of the south portal cannot be taken up in this essay. 31 Rückert, “A Reconsideration,” 134, 140. 32 There is more to be said on this matter. The seemingly problematic evidence of the Pseudo-Augustine’s tract on the disputation of Ecclesia and Synagoga that requires verbal exchange might lead to questions about this assumption; however, moving towards a fuller understanding of this issue, the subject will be addressed by this author at the 52nd International Congress on Medieval Studies at Western Michigan University, Kalamazoo in a session entitled: “Negativity and Emptiness in the Intellectual Culture of the Middle Ages” hosted by the Claremont Consortium for Medieval and Early Modern Studies.” 30

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the ‘adulterous’ label of the Woman and her seating on a faldistorium, he does not mention the idiosyncrasies between the visual image of the woman as seated and the Pilgrim’s Guide which says she is standing.33 If she is seated, her body spans more than one consanguineous zone on the stair step shape of her body and the arbor consanguinitatis (consanguinity tree/table, Fig. 4). By insisting in the text of the guide that she is standing, the prevention of the consanguineous trespass among zones is accomplished by it not being spanned.

Fig. 4. Consanguinity Tree from Isidore of Seville’s Etymologies (Madrid, Real. Acad. De la Hist., MS 76, fol 73v, 10th century, for original, see http://bibliotecadigital.rah.es/dgbrah/i18n/consulta/busqueda.cmd) “ . . . the woman who stands next to the Lord’s Temptation, “ [“. . . quod mulier quedam iuxta dominicam temptacionem stat . . .”], Gerson, Shaver-Crandell, Stones, and Krochalis, The Pilgrim’s Guide, Vol. II, 74 - 75. For footnotes that indicate this difference between text and image, Rückert, ibid. 207, ftnt 84; Sastre Vázquez, “La Portada de las Platerías,” 172 , 184. 33

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The study of posture as indicative of character has a long history in the Middle Ages. The celebration of masters of cathedral schools whom students were encouraged to externally clone in their comportment mark the idea of external boundaries of the body as meaning laden. 34 This further underscores the body posture’s relationship to a diagram. In fact, in many of the texts concerning the character of the scholar, their ‘ornament’ is determinative.35 In terms of the Woman with the Skull, the alignment of the drapery and body can be compared to diagrams of science and linguistics to suggest the relationship of the Woman to constructs of nature and morality.36 The Woman with the Skull’s drapery uses an ‘X’-shape to partially and shamefully hide her nudity. This essay pursues the ‘X’-shape as related to the Wheel of Fortune or a diagram of royalty, here, used to cover the body. The idea of Original Sin as related to sense-based role adoption (seeing or hearing/speaking in Eden) inevitably relates the Fall of Man to semiotics. By seeing the language-tainted body of the Woman examined here as Original Sin, the diagrams of the Square of Opposition and the Wheel of Fortune provide opposing traditions that relate to the Investiture Controversy between royal objectives and papal objectives. As seen below, the tyranny of language in orthodox Christianity (and medieval art historical discourse) impacts generalized constructs of language’s exercise of power over the body is seen as controlled by papal jurisdiction.

For an overview of the entire work’s argument about the charismatic culture that resulted in physical emulation, see Jaeger, The Envy of Angels, 7 – 14. 35 One example from Jaeger is the Würzburg poem. Elizabeth Häfner, Die Wormser Briefsammlung des 11. Jahrhunderts, Erlanger Abhandlungen zur mittleren und neueren Geschichte 22. ed. Walthur Bulst. (Erlangen: Palm and Enke, 1935), 119 – 21. 36 Ornatus has connections to the creative act in relationship to the material or elemental. Because the process of creation is either imitative of material form/iconography or imitative because of process, the Woman with the Skull’s uniqueness in form suggests that her imitation (unlike the scholars who imitate the stature or form of their mentors) has been of material or intra-consanguineous acts. For ornatus, see Brian Stock, Myth and Science in the Twelfth Century: A Study of Bernard Silvestris (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972), 126. 34

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The Temporal and Material Sciences. The Temporal and Spiritual Languages The differences between the conceptual as language and the material as science are best illustrated in discussions of the linguistic diagram of the Square of Opposition (Fig. 5) and the science-based diagram of the Wheel of Fortune (Fig. 7). Before introducing the history of the diagrams, a cursory look at the diagrams implies the empirical nature of the Wheel of Fortune and construct-based control of the Square of Opposition. The royal figure who falls and rises according to the turning wheel’s gravity and friction of what any human learns through experience about the human environment suggests contextual awareness. The constructs of language in the Square of Opposition suggest a systematic set of rules to be emulated. The translation of material inevitability that mixes history and symbolism is attempted to be forestalled by royal intermarriage while the application of conceptual rules to the physical body is part of the papal project of conversion. The nature of language becoming integrated with the body is inherent in the Genesis story. The Square of Opposition (Fig. 5) is a diagram historicallydeveloped in Aristotle’s tract On Interpretation and On Categories, which was not prevalent until 1266 by William of Moerbeke who made a Latin translation of Simplicius’ commentary on the latter text.37 This version enabled Thomas Aquinas to be the initial commentator on Simplicius, followed by Siger of Brabant (thirteenth century), Henry of Ghent, Giles of Rome, and Godefroid de Fontaine.38 While this may seem too late for Santiago’s portal, Spain had access to Arabic translations and beginning as early as the tenth century, the ideas of Simplicius were known in Arabic texts.39 The works of the great Islamic scholar, Abū Naṣr Muḥammad ibn Muḥammad ibn Ṭarkhan ibn Awzalugh al-Fārābī (d. 991) have been assessed to have connections with Simplicius although not stated directly by him in his works with their vast 37 Michael Chase, “The Medieval Posterity of Simplicius’ Commentary on the Categories: Thomas Aquinas and Al-Fārābī,” in Medieval Commentaries on Aristotle’s Categories, ed. Lloyd A. Newton. (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 9-29, esp. 9. Simplicius wrote his commentary in 538 CE. 38 Ibid., 9-11. 39 Ibid., 11-12. The Arabic manuscript most readily available to a western audience is Paris, BN ar. 2346 prepared by al-Ḥasan ibn Suwār.

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intellectual content. Evidence such as similar teaching styles and other medieval writers like Averroes (1126 – 1198), who also uses Simplicius without citing him, led scholars towards the conclusion that Categories was available to Arabic writers.40 Al-Fārābī states that the status of the soul as intelligible, means that it possesses no separation in its perception of subject and object, making language unneeded until the soul becomes embodied, requiring vision and sound to understand. 41 While Adam and Eve divide these responsibilities to act as ‘two of one flesh,’ their expansion to many roles in Eden results in their separation of identity and the realization of an imbalanced relationship between subjecthood and its opposite objecthood. The diagrams of the Square of Opposition (Fig. 5) and the Wheel of Fortune (Fig. 6) have similarities to the Romanesque diagram of Hugh of Fouilloy’s Wheels of True and False Religion 42. The Wheel of True Religion features two upright figures on either side of a static wheel. In the Square there are different subjects at the top but the same predicates throughout. Also, in the Square, there is a designation of contradictions on the diagonal which also applies to the True Religion wheel in the different body parts of the head and the feet of the two figures being on the diagonal. In the Wheel of True Religion, the two figures are holding between them a static wheel. It might seem coincidental that the two diagrams correspond if it were not for Hugh’s other diagram of the Wheel of False Religion.

Phillippe Vallat, Farabi et l’école d’Alexandrie: Des prémisses de la conaissance à la philosophie politique (Paris: Librairie Philosophique J. Vrin, 2004), 172-173. Chase, “The Medieval Posterity of Simplicius’ Commentary on the Categories,” 12, 17-18. 41 Chase, “The Medieval Posterity of Simplicius’ Commentary on the Categories,” 18. 42 The Medieval Book of Birds Hugh of Fouilloy’s Aviarium, ed. and trans. Willene B. Clark, (Binghamton: Medieval & Renaissance Texts & Studies, 1992), Fig. 48 (Wheel of True Religion, St. Omer, Bibl Mun 94, fol 37v), 52b (Wheel of True Religion, Brussels, Bibl Roy II, 1076, fol 82r). 40

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Fig. 5. Square of Opposition from Apuleius’ Commentary on Aristotle’s

Perihermaneias sketched from Philadelphia, Schoenberg Collection MS ljs 101,

folio 38r (850 C.E., above, for original, see http://dla.library.upenn.edu/dla/medren/pageturn.html?q=ljs+101&id=MED REN_5186550&rotation=0¤tpage=81) and below is an explanatory diagram original licensed under Wikipedia Creative Commons and creator Tillman Piesk - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, (By Watchduck (a.k.a. Tilman Piesk) - Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15516281)

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Fig. 6. Wheel of True Religion from Hugh of Fouilloy’s De Avibus (Heiligenkreuz, Stiftsbibliothek, MS Cod. 226, fol. 146r, late 12th century, for original see Caviness, “Images of Divine Order and the Third Mode of Seeing,” Gesta (p. 114), Fig. 35)

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Fig. 7. Wheel of Fortune (Vienna, Österreichesche Nationalbibliothek, MS 2642, fol 11r, 1240-1260, Wheel of Fortune, for original, http://search.obvsg.at/primo_library/libweb/action/display.do?tabs=detailsT ab&ct=display&fn=search&doc=ONB_aleph_onb06000162018&indx=1&recIds =ONB_aleph_onb06000162018&recIdxs=0&elementId=0&renderMode=poppe dOut&displayMode=full&frbrVersion=&frbg=&&vl(1UI0)=contains&dscnt=0 &scp.scps=scope%3A%28ONB_aleph_hanna%29&tb=t&vid=ONB&mode=Ba sic&srt=rank&tab=onb_hanna&dum=true&vl(freeText0)=2642&dstmp=147956 7433382; See no. 25.)

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Fig. 8. Wheel of False Religion from Hugh of Fouilloy’s De Avibus (Heiligenkreuz, Stiftsbibliothek, MS Cod. 226, fol. 149v, late 12th century; for original see, Caviness, “Images of Divine Order and the Third Mode of Seeing,” Gesta (p. 114), Fig. 34)

In the example above, the Wheel of False Religion (Fig. 8) looks like the Wheel of Fortune (Fig. 7) with two inverted figures on either side of the wheel, the mirror left figure is right side up and the mirror right figure is upside down. The Wheel of Fortune features a king who is moving up the wheel to be crowned and then falling off the wheel to lose his crown. The idea that True and False Religion labels are attached to these figures corresponds to the reading of the Square as papal (the spiritual and the temporal) and the Fortune Wheel as royal (the material and the temporal). On the Square of Opposition, the subject on the left and right verticals and upper horizontal of the square are different while the lower horizontal of the square’s subject is the 192

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same. The predicates on all corners of the square are the same. A predicate is a category, and a subject is an entity or identity. The similarity of category and the difference of the subject suggests different identities but one meaning like the Trinity. This is like the approach to the Woman with the Skull from the perspective of the Pope. On the Wheel of Fortune, the divesting of the figure of his crown makes him the same in subject, but different in category (royalty to citizen). This is the perspective of the royalty which is like the art historical perspectives seen in the literature. The dream that the Woman with the Skull is one historical identity putting on many roles has been pursued by endless scholars (to be discussed below), but the idea that she can be many identities as wife, sister, and daughter (and thus, as occupying many spaces on the tree of consanguinity) and many personalities as Constance, Urraca, and Urraca, breaks the cycle of being a stable category to superposition over historical figures. Original Sin and Language If Original Sin is seen as a situation arising from inclusion and exclusion of senses, many biases of scholarship are revealed. F. P. Pickering identifies the word as having priority over the image. 43 However, this is a bias that presumes that social structuring and construction relies predominantly on language. In the case of the papal reading of the legend in the Pilgrim’s Guide, the relationship between the papal as maintaining orthodoxy with language is upheld. Many of the biases of orthodox Christianity depend on this stereotype. Only by diversifying this opinion to include scholarship that looks to the image as also retaining some power in the struggles between word and image can a balance be achieved. While the ‘orthodox’ view is one that privileges language, there needs to be a mining of the cracks that this topos produces to give the representational a voice. This article maintains that language’s superiority over imagery is a matter believed to be controlled by the stereotype of papal control leaving outliers to the verbal who instead, retain heretical impulses, but a potentiallyunmined guide for future interpretations. At the end of Genesis 2, Eve and Adam share the same experiences and Adam is the origin of voice 43 F. P. Pickering, Literature & Art in the Middle Ages (Coral Gables: University of Miami Press, 1970), esp. 75-91.

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as the “two in one flesh.”44 While Eve remains without speech until the serpent’s entrance into the scenario; this dichotomy suggests the symbiosis of roles in which Adam hears and speaks and Eve sees. This is similar to Adam and Eve as a Christian construct for the blind but hearing Synagoga and Eve as the deaf but seeing Ecclesia. Together, they act in unison and understand in unison. The serpent calls for the expansion of Eve’s roles in the body of the two of one flesh makes the body divide when roles are diversified. While a violation of consanguinity is the assumption of an ‘inappropriate’ physical role allotted to another physical relative, she takes the physical role of hearing and speech upon herself. This introduces a division of the two of one flesh, the intake and emergence of sound from Eve which has been the identity of Adam. Adam then takes the role of visual imitation upon himself as his new physical role. Edenic paradise may not be paradise after all as it is a demarcation and inflexibility of roles. The idea of Original Sin as necessitating a clothing of nudity is the idea of Adam and Eve seeing and understanding their bodies and selves as not one flesh. They recognize that when they each participate in language dissemination it is subjective and that they both, being endowed with the power of vision, change the nature of witness. The rules of language and subjective misunderstandings get coloured as shameful. Similarly, at this phase in science understandings, animals like the ram and lion cub have not been proven to have a sign-based language system, but humans do. The idea of ‘dressing’ a meaning in a word is like clothing nudity. When the dressing of a meaning is close to mutual (as it is in “two of one flesh”), there is a union between the deliverer and the receiver. This sharing, however, is not traditionally easy to establish. The like visuals of the drapery coverage and absence of drapery on diagonals counterpositions the ‘X’ across the body of the Woman with the Skull (like the Wheel of Fortune) as representative of contextually non-human forces covering a language-tainted body (Square of Opposition) subject to Original Sin. Conversely, the Woman with the Lion Cub suggests drapery controlled by humans (balanced on either side) and a body controlled by nature (turning in space, Fig. 9).

44

The Holy Bible (Rockford, IL: Tan Publishers, 1971), 7. 194

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Fig. 9. Woman with the Lion Cub, Right Jamb of Right Doorway, South Portal, Santiago de Compostela (photo: the author)

Contextualizing the Fragment The Woman with the Skull as Ostracized and Defined as Fragment Confined to a cramped corner of the tympanum (Fig. 2), the Woman with the Skull’s voluminous head of hair is partially cut away on the proper left and part of the curve of her proper left shoulder is amputated to fit the curvature of the tympanum. She sits upon a sella curulis or faldistorium and embraces in her parenthetical arms a skull

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missing its lower jaw.45 The Woman is sitting with her legs somewhat parted to reveal the musculature of her proper left leg while her proper right leg is draped by a cascade of curving parallel folds. Her upper body is an inversion of dress and undress seen in her lower body. The proper right breast is exposed like a captive land according to Moralejo and the proper left is covered with a drape.46 The chiastic placement of the dress is the opposite of the up and down trajectory of her body which is unlike another iconographic oddity, the Woman with the Lion Cub. The Woman with the Lion Cub has equal forces on the left and right of her drapery so that they cover her completely, but, unlike the Woman with the Skull, her legs are crossed. There are many readings of the Woman with the Skull. Azcárate calls her ‘Eve as Mother of Death,’ Amil-y-Castro considers her Mary Magdalene, Rückert defends her as Bathesheba, Mathews loosely proposes Queen Urraca, and there are other associations of the Woman with blanket sinfulness and monstrosity.47 The Romanesque is replete with general monstrosities like hybrid creatures and this study definitely sees how the Woman fits into this category, but the Woman so often falls into the vacuous black hole of either macabre categorization or the finger-pointing related to a specific personage. This study approaches the Woman with the Skull as an imposable template of punishment reliant on infamous Biblical women, but used as a tool applied to at least three historical figures in Alfonso VI’s life: namely, Urraca (sister of Alfonso VI, 1033 – 1101), Urraca (daughter of Alfonso VI, likely born late 1080 – 1126)48 and Constance of Burgundy (second wife of Alfonso VI, married in 1079). 49 The superpositioning of the three Sastre Vázquez, “La Portada de las Platerías,” 183. Serafín Moralejo, “Codex Calixtinus as an Art Historical Source,” in The Codex Calixtinus and the Shrine of St. James (Tübingen: G. Narr, 1992), 218, ftnt 24. 47 José Villa-Amil y Castro, La cathedral de Santiago: breve descripción histórica con la planta y un diseño iconográfico (Madrid: Tipografia de la Revista de Archivos, 1909), 32, Karen Rose Mathews, “’They Wished to Destroy the Temple of God,’ 204-206, Azcárate, “La portada de las platerías,” 1-20, Williams, “La Mujer del cráneo,” 13-28. For extensive bibliography on the Woman, see Stones, Krochalis, Gerson, and Shaver-Crandell. Newer studies are also incorporated throughout this essay in addition to the reading of the woman as Bathsheba in Rückert, “A Reconsideration,” 129-146. 48 Bernard F. Reilly, The Kingdom of León-Castilla under King Alfonso VI, 1065 – 1109 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), 192. 49 Though Mathews indirectly proposes Urraca as an interpretation, this essay sees the blurring of Urraca’s relational category with her mother, Constance, and her aunt, 45 46

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personages into a hybrid symbol carries its own monstrous implications. In this way, the Woman and her story become a means to malign women generally, but also in a stealthy way that makes the figure of the Woman with the Skull general enough for public mass humiliation and specific enough to communicate a papal point of view to the royal family. On one hand, the woman is physically and materially manipulated to occupy the space on the south portal. This state maintains her status as materially-flexible in a royal way. On the other hand, she was prior to this conversion, separated and ostracized from her original position. The idea that the Woman is a whole person made into a fragment by the system is part of how the papal constructs and royal familial constructs debase the mythically ‘whole’ individual. As this study relates Alfonso VI’s real or legendary treatment of sister, daughter, and wife as physically available in the same ways, consanguinity and incest become inevitable topics. Pope Gregory VII accused Alfonso VI of incest in his letter of 1080, which is meant to discipline the king and warn him of potential downfall. Gregory VII may be alluding to Constance when he refers to a ‘perditam feminam’ (line 27) and the issue of simony with the monk who he names, Robert of Sahagún, ‘pseudomonachum’ (line 26).50 It has been interpreted that the consanguinity accusation relates to Alfonso VI violating the fourth degree of consanguinity in his marriage to Constance of Burgundy due to his prior marriage to her cousin, Inés of Aquitaine.51 The idea that the papacy and royalty follow inverted purposes relates to the long-standing Investiture Struggle.52 Bernard of Clairvaux Urraca, as the core and direct purpose of the Pilgrim’s Guide interpretation. Mathews, “’They Wished to Destroy the Temple of God,’” 204-206. Joseph F. O’Callaghan, “The Integration of Christian Spain into Europe: the Role of Alfonso I of LeónCastile,” Santiago, Saint-Denis, and Saint Peter: The Reception of the Roman Liturgy in LeónCastile in 1080, ed. Bernard F. Reilly (New York: Fordham University Press, 1985), 101120, esp. 107 and 110. 50 Catholic Church, and Erich Ludwig Eduard Caspar. Das Register Gregors VII. Monumenta Germaniae historica. Epistolae selectae. Tomus II, (Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1920), VIII, 3, pp. 519-520. 51 Reilly, The Kingdom of León-Castilla under King Alfonso VI, 109. 52 One general example of the idea of life and death in investiture by the material sword or the spiritual sword is the nomination of Wazo (d. 1048) by Henry III. Wazo indicates that anointing by a sacerdotal authority far exceeds that of a royal consecration in the same way as life does death. As stated earlier, the idea of life is the conceptual impressing upon the material in a pre-meditated way while the material 197

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addresses the conflict between the investiture with the material sword and the spiritual sword in rulership of kingdoms and the Church.53 A spiritual or temporal power is rooted in the conceptual while a material sword is rooted in the bodily. The idea that material power is related to capital punishment seems likely and would seemingly relate to royal power;54 however, it may also relate to sexual rules like consanguinity and would become of papal concern. The comparison of simony and incest creates an inverse parallel of identity conflation. Simony or the selling of church offices acts as the conversion of the priceless and universally spiritual to the finite, particular, and worldly. The idea of consanguinity violations is the consolidation of familial roles into one person. Like the conflation of the spiritual/upper and the worldly/lower, consanguinity that pushes prior consanguineous relatives into the multiple familial occupations marks a merging of those on the left and the right of the two people examined in the arbor consanguinitatis (comparative table of familial relations of two people, Fig. 4). In the letter, the description of the woman decries her perfidy. This infamous description becomes even more expansive in an eleventh-century Arabic story where Alfonso VI is accused of having had incestuous relations with his sister. Notably, Alfonso VI’s sister is named Urraca, which is the same name Alfonso VI gives to the daughter he fathers with Constance. The Arabic tale gives voice to comparisons of this group of Spanish royalty to the Egyptian pharaohs, the Persians, and to magicians.

impressing the conceptual relates to death as it is in the artistic production of the portal. The material on the material is an apostatic treatment. For Wazo, see Uta-Renate Blumenthal, The Investiture Controversy: Church and Monarchy from the Ninth to the Twelfth Century, trans. Uta-Renate Blumenthal (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1988), 87. 53 Gerhard Ladner, ‘The Concepts of “Ecclesia” and “Christianitas”’, 58 54 Ladner, ibid. 198

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The Virgin Mary as ‘Whole’ Fragmented by Context

Fig. 10. Adoration of the Magi with frontal Virgin, Right Tympanum, South Portal, Santiago de Compostela (photo: the author)

Importantly, the coupling of the Woman with the Skull in the periphery of the left tympanum with the Virgin Mary (Fig. 10) in the centralized scene of the Adoration of the Magi in the right tympanum, sets up a dichotomy that cannot be ignored. Through the words of the Pilgrim’s Guide, the idea that iconography as language imposes restrictions on the Woman counterbalances the material state of the Woman as fitting a new material or familial role. The words that establish the Woman’s iconography make her a papal statement while the material situation makes her a royal statement. Similarly, the royal relationship of the iconography of the Adoration of the Magi on the right tympanum relate to the written as, in this case, royal, and the material in white marble as ‚pure’ and papal.55 Significantly, if the Woman with the Skull is conceptually bound in marriage like the legend of the Pilgrim’s Guide maintains (making her adulterous in her affair), her material/sexual 55 Significantly, the Woman with the Skull is made of gray pegmatite and the Virgin Mary is made of white marble with associations of purity. J. M. Cabrera, I. Seara, and J. de Miguel, “Portada de las Platerías,” 34.

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transgression results in conceptual and material punishments of perpetual representation of her sin and the physical punishment of having to kiss the decapitated head. Thus, the left tympanum may suggest the material and spiritual sovereignty in dispute between royal figures and papal figures. The Pilgrim’s Guide presents a concept through the Woman that dictates the conceptual judgment of material individuals’ physical bodies. For example, in the 1117 riots at Santiago that resulted in the burning of the transept, the rioting crowd divested Urraca (the daughter of Alfonso VI) of her bodily dress which was pushed up around her head resulting in her humiliation.56 This event may be based upon the dress of the Woman with the Skull, which exposes her right breast. Additionally, this use of a concept and its imposition on the material relates to larger uses of categories in language and in linguistic diagrams like the Aristotelian Square of Opposition and royal diagrams like the Wheel of Fortune. While Lyman suggests a Romanesque penchant for teaching through the profane, 57 Jaeger discusses the idea of imitation and disputation in the cathedral schools. 58 This is not necessarily a completion of a typology as it is typically defined as positive and negative (i.e. imitate the sacred and dispute the profane), it is more specifically a type and its opposition through the turning inside-out of the first; it is an inversion. Sastre’s allusion to the Hortus Deliciarium and the Woman with the Lion Cub is important to acknowledge this treatise and its relationship to the Trivium (language) and the Quadrivium (science). 59 The Square of Opposition (though its name suggests Emma Falque Rey, ed. Historia Compostellana (Turnholt: Brepols, 1988), Book I, Chapter 114, Part 3, lines 119-130. For translation, see Thérèse Martin, Queen as King: Politics and Architectural Propaganda in Twelfth-Century Spain (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 192. 57 Lyman, “Motif et narratif,” 63. 58 In Jaegar’s The Envy of Angels, the entire study examines the school of manners (charismatic culture), which is considered old learning and which is supplanted by disputational learning. 59 Sastre Vázquez, “La Portada de las Platerías,” 186; for early thoughts on the relationship of marriage and the liberal arts in Latin allegories like De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii, see commentary and Capella’s text in William Harris Stahl, Richard Johnson, and E. L. Burge, Martianus Capella and the Seven Liberal Arts. Vol. I: The Quadrivium of Martianus Capella: Latin Traditions in the Mathematical Sciences 50 B.C. – AD 1250 with a Study of the Allegory and the Verbal Disciplines (New York, Columbia University Press, 1971), Vol II. The Marriage of Philology and Mercury, Trans. William 56

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otherwise) relates to imitation through application of a grammatical or rule-based system on an individual (i.e., Trivium) and the Wheel of Fortune relates to disputation as friction and gravity (a subconscious nod to natural laws, i.e. Quadrivium). The idea that the Pope would involve himself in issues of procreation and sexual conduct is furthered when considering the differences between the perceived rights of God and the perceived rights of humans. Mary, who is Immaculately Conceived, redeems Eve’s Original Sin in an equally ambiguous way; however, while Eve is actively ambiguous (actions of taking the fruit result from ambiguous inclinations), Mary is passively ambiguous (body is ambiguous).60 There is ambiguity in God’s act of impregnating a human in the Christian perception of the events that took place in Mary’s life. The deified as having the right to cross the boundaries of category to impregnate the human is seen as permissible by a Christian god, but not by a Jewish one. Conversely, in Christian perspectives, humans are typically not allowed, for example, to move across boundaries of species in their sexual mores. The seemingly prevalent idea could be assumed that Mary is a virginal body selected for material evolution. As a virgin, she is conceptually female, but male as virgin in physical body, making her an example in subject as a sword that is material and temporal/conceptual. The south portal’s use of a scene of the Adoration of the Magi suggests the emphasis on the royal side of Jesus’ designation. Mary is an example of the evolution of a masculine body given female powers of procreation. The masculine body that can procreate is essentially an evolutionary body. Adam and Eve as the Conjoined Whole On the other hand, in her actions in the Garden of Eden, Eve is also proactively evolutionary, although conceptually instead of bodily. The idea that the Garden of Eden was a forum in which Adam and Eve exercised free will towards a Fall stemming from the act of imitation Harris Stahl, Richard Johnson, and E. L. Burge (New York : Columbia University Press, 1977). 60 Questions about Mary’s body were still being debated in the nineteenth century when the Immaculate Conception was established as a doctrine. For specific ideas in Hispanic poetry in the late Middle Ages, see Lesley K. Twomey, The Serpent and the Rose: The Immaculate Conception and Hispanic Poetry in the Late Medieval Period (Leiden: Brill, 2008). 201

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was introduced by the heretic, Pelagius. 61 The distance between Augustine’s pre-Pelagius definition of originale peccatum which occurs in Augustine’s treatise, To Simplicianus versus his later life redefinition in light of Pelagius, suggests that the first treatise promotes an individual kind of sin based on one’s own actions instead of a universal one.62 In the context of subject-object perception, the relationship of the name Simplicianus to Simplicius is tantalizing. The subject of Original Sin is commonly used by scholarly arguments concerning the south portal due to the many scenes of Adam and Eve that were moved to the south from the north portal. 63 Azcarate even considers the Woman with the Skull’s identity to be Eve as Mother of Death.64 This idea is important, but also important for its establishment of a dichotomy between Mary as a static body appropriated for conceptual change and Eve’s conceptual action as resulting in bodily change.65 The notion of evolutionary conceptual manipulation in Genesis’ second creation story and bodily manipulation in the story of Jesus’ birth suggest the law of ‘nature’ or ‘God’ as encouraging evolution. On the other hand, canon law suggests that the idea that the Pope regulates or even prohibits evolution of concept based on Papal attempts to control information Augustine of Hippo (Augustinus Hipponensis), De peccatorum meritis et remissione et de baptism paruulorum (Turnholt: Brepols, 2010), www.clt.brepolis.net/llta/pages/Toc.aspx?ctz-722774 (accessed 22.10.2017), Book 1, Chapter 9. John Ferguson, Pelagius: A Historical and Theological Study. Cambridge: W. Heffer & Sons, Ltd., 1956, 54. 62 Sage explains that there is a difference between peche d’origine and peche originel. The former is an accusation of hereditary guilt when enacted through one’s behaviour. The latter is considered sinful in inheritance from Adam that is based on inherent nature. Also, there are three stages to Augustine’s definition of sin. The first stage is based on one’s own actions, the second stage is hereditary from Adam through imitation, and the third is inherent to all humanity in spite of actions. Augustin Sage, “Péché original. Naissance d’un dogme,” in Studies in Early Christianity: A Collection of Scholarly Essays (New York: Garland Publishing, 1993), 131-168, 211-248, esp. pp. 212, 132. B. R. Rees, Pelagius: Life and Letters. Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1998, 65. 63 According to the Pilgrim’s Guide and its description of the north portal, the physical presence of the Expulsion image on a capital currently on the southern portal was likely on the north. Gerson, Shaver-Crandell, Stones, and Krochalis, ed. and trans. The Pilgrim’s Guide: A Critical Edition. Vol. II, 72, 73. 64 Azcárate, “La portada de las platerías,” 11 65 In the ceiling paintings of St. Savin-sur-Gartempe, the figures of Adam and Eve appear as both having beards on their faces and no externally visible genitalia. When Eve is tempted by the serpent, she loses her beard, gains breasts and long blond hair. 61

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while the royal prevents material evolution by not mixing with the populace. The right tympanum’s image of the Virgin Mary comes with this representation as the concept originating from material royal purity due to Mary’s relationship to the lineage of David, but conceptual evolution in cross ‘species’ procreation for the purposes of the production of Jesus in her womb. There are suggestions that an intact female virgin was considered male who was invested with the material and spiritual seed of God. Isidore’s Etymologies indicate that a virago is a ‘heroic maiden’ who ‘acts like a man’ while the word virgo is related to a physical descriptor of virga or a young shoot of foliage.66 The seeming distinction between a movement that is physically upward and a movement that is an upward in achievement, or in the case of Eve, downward, is here significant.67 This makes the physical generation of the son of Mary as the Christian son of God as a bridging of categories similar to crossing species like that of the otherworldly – God, and the human, Mary, or Jesus as son, and Mary as spiritual spouse. Thus, this tympanum suggests the royal evolution of the material into the papal conceptual as equally important: the material that precedes the concept – the Woman’s state before being put in the tympanum and the conceptual reintegration (resulting in a ragged cutting and visceral sentence of perpetual representation) as investment in the punishment of the Woman with the Skull. Material and conceptual concerns also interject themselves into the historical and symbolic realms. The definitions of history and symbolism have changed over time, but they also change based on the discipline. In a scientific perspective, history is factual while in the realm of language, history is subjective. Meanwhile, in a scientific optic, symbolism is subjective while in language, symbolism/semiotics is the organizing principle and in a way, as a system within and as a construct, is factual. Similarly, in the medieval mindset, there could have been two different approaches to history and symbolism that is highlighted in particular by the royal and the papal. In the case of the royal Virgin Mary who can be compared to the Wheel of Fortune and science, Isidore of Seville (Isidorus Hispalensis), Etymologiae, PL, 82, 417D; Etymologies of Isidore of Seville, Book XI, ii, 21 and 22, p. 242. 67 Martin compares Queen Urraca through her own authority and action as ‘Queen as King’ in Queen as King, esp. chapter 7, 177-207. 66

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history is imposed over symbolism. The factual, scientific material is imposed over the subjective categories. This means that the ambiguity of the categories of morality imposed by the church are subjective and consanguinity limitations are overturned for scientific realities. Thus, while Mary’s virgin birth is canonical, the origin of Mary is precisely royal in its preservation of material bloodline, but the crossing of boundaries of reproductive capabilities violates so-called concept of species (God and human) for making the papal construct conceptually realizable. The Application of the Inverted Papal Linguistic ‘Whole’ versus the Royal Scientific ‘Whole’ Likewise, the Woman with the Skull represents the linguistic optic used as the papal punishments for violations of sexual taboos between humans. The Adulterous Woman is an example of a woman who is born into a pre-established context and already existent standard of social rules that dictate material behaviour while Mary as material precedes her conceptual circumstances and adapts to them. De Avibus, which is the book where the Wheels of True and False Religion are found, supports transitions between secular context and monastic context.68 Like the investiture controversy, the idea that the contextual is in the realm of law and the internal is in the realm of religion is the main idea in the Wheels in De Avibus. The initial production of the Woman with the Skull may have been to vilify the sister of Alfonso VI, Urraca, who does not marry, but materially would be punished for her incestuous relationship. The Woman with the Skull, like in the instance of Constance, separates the contextual and material transgression of the degrees of consanguinity, but acts in a different and internal moral violation of the religious by supporting the monk, Robert. This separation may be marked by the disconnection of the Woman with the Skull from her believed position on the north portal. Like the Signs Relief which was cut, but never known to have been placed, the separation of the plaque like the This is because the text is directed at conversi or lay brothers who converted to a monastic lifestyle from a secular lifestyle. This hybridity, displacement, and integration has pertinence to the south portal at Santiago. The Medieval Book of Birds Hugh of Fouilloy’s Aviarium, 2, 116 -117. 68

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Woman may have marked some significant occurrence. 69 Urraca (the daughter of Alfonso) in having her father as her consanguineous lover, she simultaneously breaks both her internal, religious, conceptuallyderived marriage vow to Raymond of Burgundy and violates the bloodline laws that are contextually pre-determined to material/genetic circumstances. By violating these rules, she is both materially and conceptually punished by the insertion of the Woman with the Skull on the south portal. In this case, the imposition of symbolism over history suggests that the organizing principle of language dictates the subjective history of the person. The inflexibility of grammar is an apt comparison for the punishment that superpositions regulations over subjective experience.70 While this study is less concerned with a pre-riot message, Castiñeiras implies that narration is the key to understanding the original message of the tympana prior to the 1117. While Castiñeiras also relates the program to reform, he uses the date of the Capilla del Salvator in the ambulatory, the date on the south portal, and the date of the coronation of Alfonso VII (discussed by John Williams) as a way of marking priority of the building shifting from the chapels to the facades. Castiñeiras believes the façades correspond to texts like the Polycarpus that stress narration/history as the venerated thing in art. By taking the narrative of the Temptation of Christ on the left portal as the original subject of the tympanum prior to riots, Castiñeiras asserts that the Italian reform is responsible for the message and the urgency of relaying it in the portals. 71 While Castiñeiras sees narrative as a preconceived arrangement prior to the riots in the form of a narrower tympanum with only the temptations narrative, interestingly, this narrative is stylistically homogenous and materially homogenous. This narrative is compromised with the riots. Also, in life, when narrative is arrested, material engulfs the conceptual to its completion in death. A Durliat, La sculpture romane, 412. According to John of Salisbury, Bernard of Chartres punished his students when they used grammatically incorrect language with floggings. Joannes Saresberiensis, Metalogicon, PL, 199, 854A; John of Salisbury, Metalogicon: a twelfth-century defense of the verbal and logical arts of the Trivium, trans. Daniel D. McGarry, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1955), Book I, Chapter 24, p. 68. 71 Manuel Antonio Castiñeiras González, “La catedral románica: tipología arquitectónica y narracion visual,” in Santiago, la Catedral y la memoria del arte (Santiago de Compostela: Consorcio de Santiago, 2000), 39-96, esp. 61-62. 69 70

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history of a person from birth to death begins with the material and its accumulation of the conceptual while the end of life is the conceptual narrative accumulating physically-distorting changes. Unformed material acquires conceptual direction in art and usually, it is premeditated. When conceptually-directed material is materially acculturated to be unrecognizable, it is related to death. If the conceptual material is conceptually and materially reused, it relates to resurrection. The persistence of the Temptation narrative in interpretation of the tympanum suggests that this last option is the end result of the portal in that the conceptual organization and material accumulation persist alongside one another. In language, category acts as the clothing of meaning as symbolism in which a linguistic sign encloses its meaning. This relationship is seen in the Woman with the Skull who is categorically isolated while the Virgin in the adjacent right tympanum is positioned in the Adoration of the Magi narrative. The juxtaposition of these two examples also appears in Spain in the Sarcophagus in Roda de Isàbena of and also in Roda de Isàbena in the faldistorium of Ramón I. The Woman with the Skull appears seated on a faldstool or scissor-legged chair with lions heads at the top and animal feet at the bottom. Very similar in sculpting is this stone representation and the wooden faldstool that Ramón I sat upon (Fig. 10). Ramón was originally an Augustinian monk at St. Sernin in Toulouse where the Signs Relief is located further connecting the Woman with the Skull’s seat and the sign of the ram with the decapitated skull. Ramón was originally assigned to be the archbishop of Barbastro and then, due to discord in the kingdom of Aragon, he was displaced to Roda. 72 This was happening during the tumultuous marriage of the daughter of Alfonso VI, Urraca, to Aragon’s leader, Alfonso le Batallador.73 The potential etymological root of Barbastro with the later term from the Spanish, bastardo, holds further relations to the seat of the Woman with the Skull and Urraca’s birth of a son that 72 Manuel Iglesias Costa, Roda de Isabena, Jaca: Monografias del Instituto de Estudios Pirenaicos, 1980, 117, 130. 73 Urraca was consanguineously related to Alfonso le Batallador. They shared the same great-grandfather in Sancho the Great of Navarre. Urraca’s original husband who is considered the father of Alfonso Raimúndez also shared a great-grandfather with Urraca in Robert the Pious. Reilly, The Kingdom of León-Castilla under Queen Urraca: 1109 – 1126, 58.

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may have been fathered by a man not her husband and possibly her own father. The relation of the word, bastard, with ‘saddle bags’ has an ironic relationship to the Adoration of the Magi and the traveling parents of Jesus. Ramón was also buried in a sarcophagus with the Adoration of the Magi carved on its side (Fig. 11).74 The idea that the historical narrative of Adoration dresses the symbolic disappearance of the body can even be related to Jesus’ Ascension while the symbolic tool houses the historical figure in the space for sitting on the faldstool. Similarly, the body of the Virgin Mary is historical narrative, dressing the symbol and the indictment of the Woman with the Skull is symbolism dressing history. Even Willibald Säuerlander remarks on the transformation of symbol to narrative in French Romanesque art when in context. 75 The idea that Santiago is out of context makes the narrative transform into symbol. According to the histories of the Spanish royal family (whether accurate or not), Alfonso VI’s daughter, Urraca, is said to have never had a successful love life and was often stereotyped as lascivious, sexually unfaithful, and user of her sexuality as a weapon. 76 Her marriage to Alfonso le Batallador resulted in much strife and disturbance in Spain.77 While the shadowy history of Urraca’s sexuality persists in rumours, murky allusions are made to consanguineous impropriety including the marriage of Urraca at the age of eight to Raymond of Burgundy (instead of canon law’s stipulation of the age of twelve), while a letter of unverifiable date adds to the conflatable histories of Alfonso VI’s female relatives.78

74 “Bastard,” Oxford English Dictionary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), accessed 22.10.2017 (www.oed.com). 75 Willibald Sauerländer, “Romanesque Sculpture in its Architectural Context,” in The Romanesque Frieze and its Spectator: The Lincoln Symposium Papers, (London: Harvey Miller Publishers, 1992), 17-44. Republished in Romanesque Art: Problems and Monuments (Volume 1) (London: Pindar Press, 2004), 1-35. 76 Reilly, The Kingdom of León-Castilla under Queen Urraca: 1109 – 1126, 13, 46-48, 60. 77 Reilly, The Kingdom of León-Castilla under Queen Urraca: 1109 – 1126, 47-48. 78 Although the letter is too early to relate to Alfonso’s daughter. Reilly, The Kingdom of León-Castilla under King Alfonso VI, 108.

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Fig. 11. Faldistorium of San Ramón (for original, see Manuel Iglesias Costa, Roda de Isabena, Fig. 62)

Fig. 12. Sarcophagus of San Ramón (For original, see Manuel Iglesias Costa, Roda de Isabena, Fig. 41) 208

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While the status of the Woman with the Skull retains wretched punishments in the Pilgrim’s Guide, Walter Cahn maintains that a specific verification of the Woman with the Skull according to the Guide is unlikely.79 While I perceive that the importance of the Woman with the Skull rests in her usage as a tool of persecution, perhaps Cahn’s observation can still be questioned based on a written precedent other than the Pilgrim’s Guide. Royal intrigue in Lombardy in the year 567 insinuates itself into the conversation based on the history of Albion and his father-in-law’s skull in Paul the Deacon’s Historia Langobardorum.80 When the barbarian, Alboin, ascends to the throne of Lombardy, he demands that the father of Rosamund, Cunimund, give this same daughter to him in marriage. In spite of refusals, Alboin kills Cunimund and takes Rosamund as wife while serving her wine from her father’s skull. In turn, she kills Alboin. Albion is then buried “sub cuiusdam scalae ascensu.”81 Earlier in the narrative, scala is defined as a ‘skull cup.’ It can also be defined like a staircase. In Fig. 4 of the consangunity tree, the head is combined with the staircase. The shape of a staircase takes on the shape of consanguinity trees and marks the diagonal position of a father to a person on prototypes of these trees. The story told by the Pilgrim’s Guide is that the Woman with the Skull has a lover who is killed by her rightful husband and that it is her lover’s head that she must kiss.82 By not comparing these stories, but by superpositioning them, the pairing of the lover with the father suggests Cahn, “Romanesque Sculpture and the Spectator,” 59-60. Paul the Deacon (Paulus Diaconus), Pauli Historia Langobardorum. Monumenta Germaniae Historica, 48. (Hannover: Hahnsche Buchhandlung, 2005), I. 27 [In eo proelio Alboin Cunimundum occidit, caputque illius sublatum, ad bibendum ex eo poculum fecit.], 80 and 2.28 [...cum poculo quod de capite Cunimundi regis sui soceris fecerat reginae ad bibendum vinum dari praecepit atque eam ut cum patre suo laetanter biberet invitavit.], 104. 81 Pauli Historia Langobardorum, Book 1, 27, “Quod genus poculi apud eos ‘scala’ dicitur, lingua vero Latina patera vocitatur.” [This kind of cup is called a ‘scala,’ but in the Latin tongue is called the bowl.], 80. Book II, Chapter 28, p. 106. The later reference to “Giselpert” in the Historia may be a clue to the importance of this story to Romanesque art and the Gislebertus mentioned in the inscription at Autun whom records maintain could have been the Gislebertus employed as buticularius or ‘cup-bearer.’ See Linda Seidel, Legends in Limestone: Lazarus, Gislebertus, and the Cathedral of Autun, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1999), 15, 59, 70. 82 See footnote 13 above for Pilgrim’s Guide excerpt about the Woman with the Skull’s verbal narrative. 79 80

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categorical consanguinity violations. Further, by superpositioning the historical upon these stories, consanguinity violations might point to Alfonso VI as the father and lover. While this may be insinuated, the identity of Cunimund with defeat would definitely be disputed by the Spanish royals. The identification of the rightful husband with the conquering party, here, the regional category of Italy, suggests papal identity and approval, but the subject of a barbarian would not be considered acceptable. If this story was a prototype, it has been tailored to make Italy legitimate in offensive category (Italian regional category) but not in defensive subject (a barbarian identity). The original father is illegitimate and immoral in defensive category (like the incestuous coupling of Urraca and Alfonso VI), but unacceptable as the defeated party. If the father, here, lover, is interpreted as masking Alfonso VI, this reading would make itself appropriate to a mythology begun by Gelmírez (ca. 1069 – 1140) who over-projects his importance in the manner of a pope or an apostle as expressed in the Historia Compostellana.83 By expanding Gelmírez’s description to the direction of the papal, he can stand in for Gregory VII in the framing of Urraca as the Woman with the Skull. His tumultuous relationship with Urraca who is disrobed (similarly to the Woman with the Skull) in the 1117 riots, would be furthered through this attribution. But the flexibility of the reading allows Pope Gregory VII to apply the reading to the mother of Urraca, Constance of Burgundy, whose marriage to Alfonso VI was considered a violation of consanguinity too by the Pope in the ambiguously dated letter of 1080. As stated previously, in the eleventh century stories of an Arabic author, Ibn-Iḏārī, Alfonso VI is specifically identified as violating consanguinity by having an incestuous relationship with his sister, Urraca. But what other than the imposition of Albion’s story over the Pilgrim’s Guide account of the woman suggests paternal incest with his daughter by the same name? Manuel Castiñeiras relates the story of the Woman with the Skull to the story relayed in a harp song of Guerin in Gottfried von

Historia Compostellana, Book I, Chapter 16, Parts 1-3, pp. 38-40; Book II, Chapter 3, Part 1, pp. 222-223; especially Book III, Chapter 10, Part 10, in particular, lines 4-8, p. 434. 83

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Strassbourg’s Tristan und Iseult. 84 The importance of oral tradition is significant due to the time frame of the Woman with the Skull which evidence in the Pilgrim’s Guide places the sculpture no later than 1140.85 Thomas the Britain wrote an Old French version of the Tristan story whose manuscript is estimated to have been in circulation in the 1150s. In fact, the story is believed to have been dedicated to Eleanor of Aquitaine who divorced Louis VII in 1152 due to consanguinity violations.86 In this version of the story, Tristan sings the tragedy of Guerin in chapter xxii, but later in the story in chapter lxx, the lay is sung by Ysolt in her chamber when she learns that Tristan has already married a different woman with her name, Ysolt of the White Hands. In the lay known as that of Guerin, a woman is forced to eat the heart of her lover killed by her husband.87 This story is particularly relevant to Santiago due to the interpretation of the twisted marble column fragments from the north portal and now in the Cathedral Museum as relating to the Arthurian tale of Tristan and Ysolt. 88 In Thomas of Britain’s version, the second appearance of the song is in the moment of the story when Tristan marries another woman with the name Ysolt, suggesting ideas of more than one person acting in the same role. The idea of two women with the same name being superpositioned one Manuel Antonio Castiñeiras González, “Didacus Gelmirius, Patron of the Arts. Compostela’s Long Journey: from the Periphery to the Center of Romanesque Art,” in Compostella and Europe: The Story of Diego Gelmírez (Milano: Skira, 2010), 16-97, esp. 77 85 Alison Stones, Jeanne Krochalis, Paula Gerson, and Annie Shaver-Crandell, The Pilgrim’s Guide: A Critical Edition. Vol. I, The Manuscripts: Their Creation, Production and Reception. London: Harvey Miller Publishers, 1998, 14-15. 86 Though 1152 postdates the evidence of the sculpture, it attests to a pattern related to consanguinity metaphors. For dedication, Roger Sherman Loomis, “Introduction,” The Romance of Tristam and Ysolt (New York: E. P. Dutton and Co., 1923), xi, https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=mdp.39015009017115;view=1up;seq=58 (accessed 03.19.2017). For consanguinity, see Constance Brittain Bouchard, “Eleanor’s Divorce from Louis VII: The Uses of Consanguinity,” in Eleanor of Aquitaine: lord and lady, ed. Bonnie Wheeler and John Carmi Parsons. (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), 223-235, 223. Louis VII was related to Eleanor by four degrees on his side and Eleanor was related by five degrees on her side. 87 Thomas of Britain, The Romance of Tristam and Ysolt, Chapter lxx, 195 (marries Ysolt as Blanches Mains) and Chapter lxxii, p. 205 (original Isolde in her chamber laments this marriage). Tristan sings the song in Chapter xxii, p. 35. 88 Serafín Moralejo, ‘Cat. 92: Column Shaft decorated with Putti Gathering Grapes,” in The Art of Medieval Spain: AD 500 – 1200 (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1993), 212-214. 84

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over the other is particularly apt in the argument of this essay. Also, the idea that two physically-different women would be used towards the same end, perhaps in Tristan’s case the purpose of alleviating loneliness, relates to consanguinity violations that overlap physical relationships. The Muslim tradition maintained that Alfonso VI had an incestuous relationship with his sister, who like in the comparison to Ysolt, bears the name of his sister as another Urraca. Ysolt and Ysolt of the White Hands are two lovers; Urraca and Urraca are Alfonso’s sister and daughter.89 The ambiguity between consuming a heart and kissing a skull circles back to the idea of Original Sin. While Eve ingested the fruit, there are some legends that attest to the physical body of the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge lodging itself in Adam’s throat so that he does not integrate the flesh of the fruit into his being. 90 If the Woman is someone who ingests, she is related to Eve. If she is someone who carries a material relic constantly with her like physiognomic accretion

Though somewhat lofty in assumption, reasonably, the myths of twin worship in the Dioscurides at Santiago can be loosely substantiated with this doubling. It also opens an earlier date potential for the reading of ANF REX on the south portal to refer to both Alfonso VI and Alfonso VII like the doubling of Urraca or Ysolt. Américo Castro, España en su historia: cristianos, moros y judios (Buenos Aires: Losada, 1948). Though Castro’s hypothesis about the Cathedral of Santiago’s as a Temple of Castor and Pollux seems highly unlikely, there is a theme of doubling in the history. The temple dispute is supported and contested by studies listed in Maryjane Dunn and Linda Kay Davidson, The Pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela: A Comprehensive, Annotated Bibliography (New York: Garland Publishing, 1994): see the numbered entries of support in Guillermo Arraya (91), and Alexander Haggerty Krappe (1565), and numbered entries in opposition in Jerome O’Malley (2093), Justo Perez de Urbel (2212), Claudio Sanchez-Albornoz (2496, 2498), and Casimiro Torres Rodríguez (2691). More discussions by Castro are found in bibliography entries numbered 480, 481, and 483. 90 The tradition of the origin of the Adam’s apple is visually shown with Adam grabbing his throat in Spanish Romanesque art. Examples are the Capilla de la Vera Cruz de Maderuelo (province of Segovia), 3rd quarter of the 12th c. in the Prado Museum (see Pedro de Palol and M. Hirmer, Early Medieval Art in Spain. (London: Thames and Hudson, 1967), Plate XLI (p 153), text on p. 180); J. Gudiol, Die Kunst kataloniens, (Vienna, 1937), pi. xxIII, fig. 39; Burgos Bible folio 12v (Art of Medieval Spain, A.D. 500 – 1200, Cat. 152, p. 299); and Juan Ainaud, Romanesque Painting, New York, 1963, figs. 115, 130. For later traditions and etymology of the anatomical throat cartilage, see James Snyder, “Jan van Eyck and Adam’s Apple,” Art Bulletin, 58/4 (1976): 511-515, see 513-515. 89

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in the Adam’s Apple fable or a skull like the Woman with the Skull, she is like Adam. Spatial vs. Material Roles and Spatial vs. Material Identities The common theme of the same body which can be made to act in different roles is ingrained in the very nature of the south portal. In 1942, Meyer Schapiro identified the inscription on the south portal as having an indeterminate date that can be read as the traditional Roman Numeral ‘V’ (ICXVI) or as a Visigothic Script Numeral that actually denoted ‘L’ or (ICXLI).91 The relevance of this point is not related to the numerical meaning of the date, but to show how the Roman numeral is one body with many meanings like the woman who acts physically as sister, daughter, and wife. The nature of the date on the south portal of Santiago (Fig. 13) is a blatant display of this Original Sin. The single body that can be interpreted more than one way is the ambiguity of perception of either the Roman Numeral as an ‘L’ or a ‘V.’92 In fact, in relation to degrees of consanguinity and their position on the trees from the Middle Ages to today, when plotting the position of father, brother, and person on an arbor consanguinitatis, a righted ‘L’-shape like the Roman numeral results, but with a change of chronology, brother, person, father creates an inverted ‘V’-shape (Fig. 14). Only in current consanguinity tables does the plotting of Daughter, Sister, and Person relate to the upright ‘V’shape as well as an overturned ‘L’-shape. The ambiguity of the reading relates to the ambiguity in the physical relations of Alfonso VI and his family members. The Historia Langobardorum that may help to form the symbolic exemplum of the Woman with the Skull in the Pilgrim’s Guide and the ‘history’ specifically identifying Alfonso VI by Ibn-Iḏārī has correlations to history being formative of symbolism. The symbolism of the ‘history’ specifically identifying Alfonso VI by Ibn-Iḏārī . The Woman with the Skull and the south portal of Santiago become a material fulfilment of physical roles of stylistic variation, material variation, and reuse as variation that cooperate in one space. This is like Meyer Schapiro, “A Note on the Inscription of the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela,” Speculum 17:2 (April 1942), 261-262. 92 The potential of reading scripts of the same carved numeral differently is a tangible example of ‘two in one flesh.’ 91

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Spain’s convivencia of the religious diversity of Jewish, Christian, and Muslim populations. 93 As this essay opened its conversation with ostracism as the separation of physical objects from the conceptual majority and conversion is the object being consumed by a construct, the Woman with the Skull as a singled-out identity represents this process. The physical accumulation or subtraction from the portal adheres to the idea of a community with different physical roles.

Fig. 13. Inscription on the South Portal of Santiago (photo: the author)

For more on convivencia, see Thomas F. Glick, “Convivencia: An Introductory Note,” in Convivencia: Jews, Muslims, and Christians in Medieval Spain, ed. Vivian B. Mann, Thomas F. Glick, Jerrilynn D. Dodds. (New York: Jewish Museum, 1992),1-9. 93

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Fig. 14. Consanguinity Table (Yellow ‚V’ annotations to Brother-Person-Father and Person-Sister-Daughter, Blue ‚L’ annotations to Person-Brother-Father and Sister-Person-Daughter by author to original licensed under Wikipedia Creative Commons and creator Sg647112c, By Sg647112c - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=18790549)

This study, which has dealt with the category and identity of the isolated woman is important, but needs to be followed by a study that treats the portal as a material community. To equalize this study, there needs to be a material study looking at the portal as a material hybridity aligned with the birth of Alfonso VI’s son, Sancho Alfónsez, whose 215

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mother, Zaida, was a Muslim woman, and whom Alfonso VI intended to inherit the throne. The alignment of the two physically-different races makes physical hybridity of his body (like the portal) a statement in favour of diversity. 94 This would also entail an investigation of Arabic sources that claim Alfonso VI alluded to himself as ‘Emperor of Two Religions’ (al-Imbraţūr dhī-l-Millatayn) and the literature debating the veracity of these sources.95 But with the death of his son and with the addition of conceptual changes, there remains a dangerous ideology of conversion present in the symbolism of the Woman with the Skull and her conceptual imposition on real historical persons. The real cost of this type of imposition still resounds in societal stereotypes today. The pipe-dream of ‘wholeness’ that haunts Christianity’s history and its representative actions makes the Woman with the Skull’s undrilled eyes seek sight (Fig. 2) and the unresponsive frontal Mary of the Adoration (Fig. 10), who is spoken to by Magi to her proper right, seek hearing – similar to Adam and Eve. The ambiguous physical history of the women in Alfonso VI’s life serve in their suffering to be offered up to an impossible end to Christian ideological and faculty-based ambiguity. Bibliography Primary Sources Apuleius- Commentary on Aristotle’s Perihermaneias. Philadelphia (Schoenberg Collection MS ljs 101, folio 38r, 850 C.E.), http://dla.library.upenn.edu/dla/medren/pageturn.html?q=ljs+101 94 In a council of January 1103, Sancho Alfónsez was named heir to León-Castille. Reilly, The Kingdom of León-Castilla under King Alfonso VI, 313. 95 For the debate about the title of ‘Emperor of the Two Religions,’ see the following: Huici Miranda, Ambrosio. Las grandes batallas de la Reconquista durante las invasiones africanas (almoravides, almohades y benimerines). Madrid: Instituto de Estudios Africanos, Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1956, pp. 37-44. Angus Mackay and Muhammad Benaboud, "The Authenticity of Alfonso VI's Letter to Yusuf b. Tšufn," Al-Andalus 43(1978): 231-37; "Alfonso VI of León and Castile, 'Al-Imbratr-dh-lMillatayn,'" Bulletin of Hispanic Studies 56 (1979): 95-102; "Yet again Alfonso VI, 'the Emperor, Lord of [the Adherents of the Two Faiths, the Most Excellent Ruler': A Rejoinder to Norman Roth," Bulletin of Hispanic Studies 61 (1984): 171- 81, have argued with Norman Roth, "Again Alfonso VI, 'Imbartr dhu'l-Millatayn,' and Some New Data," Bulletin of Hispanic Studies 61(1984): 165-69.

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