The Notion of Liminality and the Medieval Sacred Space 8021094532, 9788021094536

Table of contents :
Front Matter
Klára Doležalová & Ivan Foletti. Liminality and Medieval Art: From Space to Rituals and to the Imagination
Ivan Foletti & Katarína Kravčíková. Closed Doors as Bearers and Constructors of Images: Santa Sabina in Rome and Notre Dame du Puy
Sible de Blaauw & Klára Doležalová. Constructing Liminal Space? Curtains in Late Antique and Early Medieval Churches
Vlad Bedros & Elisabetta Scirocco. Liturgical Screens, East and West: Liminality and Spiritual Experience
Chiara Croci. The Depiction of the Acta Martyrum During the Early Middle Ages: Hints from a Liminal Space, the Transept of Santa Prassede in Rome (817–824)
Jan Klípa & Eliška Poláčková. Tabulae cum portis, vela, cortinae and sudaria: Remarks on the Liminal Zones in the Liturgical and Para-Liturgical Contexts in the Late Middle Ages
John Mitchell & Nicholas Pickwoad. “Blessed Are the Eyes Which See Divine Spirit Through the Letter’s Veil”: The Book as Object and Idea
Back Matter

Citation preview

Exchanges and Interactions in the Arts of Medieval Europe, Byzantium, and the Mediterranean Seminarium Kondakovianum, Series Nova Université de Lausanne • Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic • Masaryk

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CONVIVIUM SUPPLEMENTUM  2 019 Exchanges and Interactions in the Arts of Medieval Europe, Byzantium, and the Mediterranean Seminarium Kondakovianum, Series Nova Journal of the Department of Art History of the University of Lausanne, of the Department of Art History of the Masaryk University, and of the Institute of Art History of the Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic This supplementary issue was carried out as part of the erc cz project “Radikální konverze? Vizuální umění, rituály, performance a konverze v raně křesťanské iniciaci (ll1904)” Editor-in-chief / Ivan Foletti Executive editors / Ruben Campini, Klára Doležalová, Karolina Foletti, Zuzana Frantová, Martin F. Lešák, Sarah Melker, Annalisa Moraschi, Lada Řezáčová, Johanna Zacharias Typesetting / Berta K. Skalíková, Kristýna Smrčková Layout design / Monika Kučerová Cover design / Petr M. Vronský, Anna Kelblová Publisher / Masarykova univerzita, Žerotínovo nám. 9, 601 77 Brno, IČO 00216224 Editorial Office / Seminář dějin umění, Filozofická fakulta Masarykovy univerzity, Arna Nováka 1, 602 00 Brno Print / Tiskárna Didot, spol s r.o., Trnkova 119, 628 00 Brno E-mail / [email protected] www.earlymedievalstudies.com/convivium.html © Ústav dějin umění AV ČR , v. v. i. 2019 © Filozofická fakulta Masarykovy univerzity 2019 © Faculté des Lettres, Université de Lausanne 2019 Published / November 2019 Reg. No. MK ČR E 21592 Convivium is listed in the databases SCOPUS, ERIH, “Riviste   di classe A” indexed by ANVUR, and in the Emerging Sources Citation Index (ESCI) of the Web of Science. ISSN 2336-3452 (print) ISSN 2336-808X (online) ISBN 978-80-210-9453-6

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committees Editors — Klára Benešovská (Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic ), Ivan Foletti (Masaryk University, Brno), Herbert L. Kessler ( Johns Hopkins University, Masaryk University, Brno), Serena Romano ( Université de Lausanne), Elisabetta Scirocco (Bibliotheca Hertziana, Max-Planck-Institut für Kunstgeschichte), Hans Belting (Staatliche Hochschule für Gestaltung in Karlsruhe) Editor - in - chief  — Ivan Foletti Executive editors — Ruben Campini, Klára Doležalová, Karolina Foletti, Zuzana Frantová, Martin F. Lešák, Sarah Melker, Annalisa Moraschi, Lada Řezáčová, Johanna Zacharias Editorial board — Michele Bacci ( Université de Fribourg), Xavier Barral i Altet ( Université de Rennes, Università di Venezia Ca’ Foscari), Nicolas Bock ( Université de Lausanne), Valentina Cantone ( Università di Padova), Jaś Elsner (University of Oxford), Clario Di Fabio ( Università di Genova), Finbarr Barry Flood (New York University), Ondřej Jakubec ( Masaryk University, Brno), Xenia Muratova ( Université de Rennes), Assaf Pinkus ( Tel Aviv University), Stefano Riccioni (Università di Venezia Ca’ Foscari), Jiří Roháček ( Institute of Art History, Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic), Erik Thunø (Rutgers Unive­rsity), Alicia Walker ( Bryn Mawr College)

The Notion of Liminality and the Medieval Sacred Space edited by Klára Doležalová & Ivan Foletti

contents

THE NOTION OF LIMINALITY AND THE MEDIEVAL SACRED SPACE 10

Klára Doležalová & Ivan Foletti Liminality and Medieval Art. From Space to Rituals and to the Imagination

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Ivan Foletti & Katarína Kravčíková Closed Doors as Bearers and Constructors of Images. Santa Sabina in Rome and Notre Dame du Puy Sible De Blaauw & Klára Doležalová Constructing Liminal Space? Curtains in Late Antique and Early Medieval Churches Vlad Bedros & Elisabetta Scirocco Liturgical Screens, East and West. Liminality and Spiritual Experience Chiara Croci The Depiction of the Acta Martyrum During the Early Middle Ages. Hints from a Liminal Space, the Transept of Santa Prassede in Rome (817 – 824) Jan Klípa & Eliška Poláčková Tabulae cum portis, vela, cortinae and sudaria. Remarks on the Liminal Zones in the Liturgical and Para-Liturgical Contexts in the Late Middle Ages



John Mitchell & Nicholas Pickwoad “Blessed Are the Eyes Which See Divine Spirit Through the Letter’s Veil.” The Book as Object and Idea

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Liminality and Medieval Art From Space to Rituals and to the Imagination Klára Doležalová & Ivan Foletti

The notion of liminality seems to be a very challenging and topical concept, used in recent years not only in anthropology, but permeating art history as well. In our field, however, the meaning of this term is extremely varied. It can be a spatial category, an imaginary category, or even a way of defining imaginary processes. It is not by chance that the next Verband österreichischer Kunsthistorikerinnen und Kunsthistoriker, organized in October 2019 in Vienna, is entitled An der Schwelle: Liminalität in Theorie und kunsthistorischer Praxis1. The goal of this introduction is to clarify the intellectual structure in the background of this volume: it is a question of the limen, the threshold in medieval culture, mainly * 1

This article was carried out as part of the erc cz project “Radikální konverze? Vizuální umění, rituály, performance a konverze v raně křesťanské iniciaci (ll1904)” Call for papers and short description available at: https://bit.ly/2Nv7zxo (accessed on 29 August 2019).

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as a spatial, ritual, and temporal category. In order to understand its complexity, we would like to start by presenting briefly the anthropological roots of this conception. We will then continue with an introduction of the material evidence of such a phenomenon in the medieval sacred space and beyond. Finally, we would like to show the key importance of contemporary rituals in the construction of the medieval sacred space. We would also like to introduce a brief reflection about the role of the human body crossing the diverse spaces and experiencing liminality – both in materiality and in the imagination.

Theory of the liminality, from anthropology to art history

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The notion of liminality was introduced in 1909 by Arnold Van Gennep, an eminent Belgian anthropologist2. In his seminal research on rites de passage, Van Gennep presented and classified the rituals of inclusion into three steps – calling them pre-liminal, liminal, and post-liminal – permitting the individual to cross a physical or a metaphorical border. For Van Gennep, even birth and death can be seen as a liminal passage. However, what is more important for this book is that, in order to explain his theory, he uses spatial and material examples, such as the threshold of a house or a border between two modern states. For Van Gennep, ritual and space are thus indissociable: to cross a threshold, even a micro-ritual is needed3. In the 1970s, Van Gennep’s theories were applied in a systematic way to the medieval world in the research of the British anthropologist Victor Turner  4. In his first fundamental research, from 1967, Turner focuses more on the temporary dimension of liminality. More important is the monograph he cowrote in 1978 with Edith Turner 5. In this latter case, the two authors apply the concept of the rite de passage to medieval pilgrimage, presenting all the pilgrim’s experiences as liminal. For these authors, the state of the pilgrim while he is performing his pilgrimage is precisely a liminal one; the moments preceding the pilgrimage and those following would then be seen as pre-liminal and post-liminal. Thus, all three phases together must have been accompanied by rituals and have had a transformative effect on the individuals involved. The Turners’ theories were later debated and relativized6. More recent scholarship agrees, however, on one essential point: pilgrimage must be seen within the medieval culture as a social space that lies in-between, with very specific social conditions, such as unusual freedom, and thus, deeply intertwined with the notion of liminality7. However, this notion entered the field of art history in a significant way, with the seminal book by Michael Camille, Image of the Edge, published in the early 1990s8. The book is dedicated to margins in medieval art, and Camille constructs a social and visual category of the margins in both physical and metaphorical sense as essential for the medieval world in general. In the last ten years, the question of threshold and borders in the medieval (and especially sacred) space has become a crucial topic. In 2014, Tina Bawden introduced a book entitled Die Schwelle im Mittelalter, which provides a very useful general reflection on the concept of liminality in the medieval world and space; the author later investigated the question of decorated doors from the late Middle Ages9. Shortly afterwards, in 2015, Ivan Foletti and Manuela Gianandrea published a monograph – Zona liminare – dedicated to the narthex of Santa Sabina in Rome and its decorations 10. The monograph proposes the notion that the space was conceived precisely for pre-liminal rituals. Finally, in 2018, Emilie Van Opstall edited a collective volume, aptly entitled Sacred Thresholds11. Beside the collective dimension of this effort, Van Opstall proposes an overview of both the theory

and applications of the notion of liminality in the field of art history and beyond12. In the same year a collective monograph – Migrating Art Historians on the Sacred Ways. Reconsidering Medieval French Art through the Pilgrim’s Body – was published and dedicated to the experience of medieval beholder in front of coeval monuments. The notion of liminality was fundamental for all this research: the entire experimental project at the base of this publication followed the Turners’ reflections; moreover, a salient chapter of the book was dedicated precisely to the liminal spaces on the thresholds of sacred buildings13. In this context, the present volume wishes to enter into discussion with a slight difference: we understand the threshold as a fundamental category, mainly in a spatial sense, covering all the sacred spaces of medieval churches. We believe that imagination is a part of the embodied experience of a medieval viewer; however, our focus will mainly lie on real spatial barriers rather than on metaphorical images. In this sense, our reflection will not follow the path of the excellent research of Klaus Krüger 14.

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Space, reality, and imagination The structure of this book will try to follow the path of any visitor entering the sacred space in the medieval period. Before entering sacred buildings, it is worth remembering that the very structure of urbanized spaces already involved with liminality. Van Gennep wrote about borders between modern nations; in the pre-modern world, borders of cities, castles or villages would materialize the experience of the limen in a highly tangible way. It is important to note that it is not by chance that at the entrances to cities, their walls and towers were sacralized by images, chapels, small churches etc. Crossing the walls of a medieval city, was thus also a ritual movement, linked with the experience of the sacred. Chapels or churches along the wall were perceived as apotropaic tools for both natives and visitors, while images on doors and porches would “stimulate” ritual acts (e.g. the sign of cross, a visual interaction etc.)15. Churches close to gates – from the Late Antique martyria to the late medieval mendicant churches – were part of a ritualized entrance to the city and, at the same time, to a spiritual protection16. It is not by chance 2 Arnold Van Gennep, Les rites de passage. Étude systématique des rites de la porte et du seuil, de l’hospitalité de l’adoption, de la grossesse et de l’accouchement, de la naissance, de l’enfance, de la puberté, de l’initiation, de l’ordination, du couronnement, des fiançailles et du mariage, des funérailles, des saisons, etc., Paris 1969 [1909]. 3 Thierry Goguel d’Allondans, Rites de Passage, rites d’initiation. Lecture d’Arnold Van Gennep, Québec 2002. 4 Victor Turner, “Betwixt and Between: The Liminal Period in Rites of Passage”, in idem, The Forest of Symbols. Aspects of Ndembu Ritual, Ithaca, ny 1967, pp. 93–111. 5 Victor Turner, Edith Turner, Image and Pilgrimage in Christian Culture, New York 1978. 6 Contesting the Sacred. The Anthropology of Christian Pilgrimage, John Eade, Michael Sallnow eds, London 1991; Simon Coleman, John Elsner, “Contesting Pilgrimage: Current Views and Future Directions”, Cambridge Anthropology, xv (1991), pp. 63–73. 7 Anne E. Bailey, “Modern and Medieval Approaches to Pilgrimage, Gender and Sacred Space”, History and Anthropology, xxiv/4 (2013), pp. 493–512. 8 Michael Camille, Image on the Edge. The Margins of Medieval Art, London 1992. 9 Tina Bawden, Die Schwelle im Mittelalter: Bildmotiv und Bildort, Cologne/Weimar/Vienna 2014. 10 Ivan Foletti, Manuela Gianandrea, Zona liminare. Il nartece di Santa Sabina a Roma, la sua porta e l’iniziazione cristiana, Rome 2015. 11 Sacred Tresholds. The Door to the Sanctuary in Late Antiquity, Emilie M. van Opstall ed., Leiden/Boston 2018. 12 Emilie M. van Opstall, “General Introduction”, in Sacred Tresholds (n. 12), pp. 1–30. 13 Migrating Art Historians on the Sacred Ways. Reconsidering Medieval French Art through the Pilgrim’s Body, Ivan Foletti, Katarína Kravčíková, Sabina Rosenbergová, Adrien Palladino eds, Brno/Rome 2018, sp. pp. 109 –202. 14 Klaus Krüger, Bildpräsenz – Heilspräsenz. Ästhetik der Liminalität, Göttingen 2018. 15 See for example in general Rituals and Walls. The Architecture of Sacred Space, Pier Vittorio Aureli et al. eds, London 2016; for cultic spaces in the west see Martin F. Lešák, “Prayers and Protection: The Tower at Torba Reconsidered”, Arte lombarda, 182/183, 1/2 (2018), pp. 5–19, 163. 16 For Late Antiquity see for example Richard Krautheimer, Three Christian Capitals: Topography and Politics, Berkeley / Los Angeles 1983; Beat Brenk, “Il Culto delle reliquie e la politica urbanistico-architettonica di Milano ai tempi del vescovo Ambrogio”, in 387 d.c. Ambrogio e Agostino. Le sorgenti dell’Europa, catalogue of the exhibition (Milan, Museo Diocesano 2003–2004), Paolo Pasini ed., Milan 2003, pp. 56 – 60.

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that in the first half of the eighth century, the churches around Milan are seen as the presence of the local martyrs themselves protecting the city 17.

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Once present inside the city walls, the first step in approaching sacred spaces or holy places was necessarily crossing their door, or more generally speaking, their entrance spaces. They represent the barrier between the profane and the sacred but also between the reign of God and places where the devil was at work18. For this reason, during the period investigated, the doors were covered – both in an institutional and spontaneous way – with apotropaic signs and images 19. Doors not only provided, but also prevented, visual and physical access to the building. The research of Katarína Kravčíková and Ivan Foletti therefore takes into consideration not only their potential for creating a passageway but precisely their function as an enclosed barrier, providing to the viewers’ imagination – be they pilgrims or neophytes – the possibility to virtually experience the sacred. Standing in front of the closed doors therefore meant encountering the sacrality of the space, although it was still physically inaccessible. Mainly in the Late Antique context, it was never easy to definitively cross the doors of the church – both metaphorically and physically. To do so, a fundamental initiatory ritual was required – baptism20. Special spaces were therefore conceived to facilitate the full integration of the Christian community: the baptisteries [Fig. 1] 21. In these buildings, used only few times a year in Late Antiquity, a lifechanging experience awaited

1 /Interior of the Orthodox Baptistery, Ravenna, ca 450 –473 2 / Baptismal font, Baptistery of the Basilica of St Vitalis, Sbeitla (Tunisia), 6th century

the neophyte 22. Before accessing the space, he or she had to have been prepared both intellectually and bodily: pre-baptismal catecheses were combined with fasting, exorcisms, and a series of ritual practices. Once in the baptistery – according to Van Gennep the liminal space par excellence – the naked bodies of the neophytes were anointed and immersed in warm water where they would, according to the long exegetical tradition starting with St Paul, die in the water and be resurrected in the footsteps of Christ 23. The following step was their full integration into the Christian community marked 17 “Nulla potest reperire urbs in hac prouincia / ubi tanta requiescunt sanctorum cadauera / electorum reuelata, quanta ibi excubant. / O quam felix et beata Mediolanum ciuitas / que habere tales sanctos defensores meruit / precibus inuicta quorum pèrmanet et fertilis”.See Versus de Verona; Versum de Mediolano civitate, edizione critica e commento, Giovanni Battista Pighi ed., Bologna 1960. 18 Jean-Michel Spieser,“Réflexion sur le décor et fonctions des portes monumentales”, in Le porte del paradiso. Arte e tecnologia tra Italia e Mediterraneo, Antonio Iacobini ed., Rome 2009, pp. 65–79. See also the important study by Martin Wallraff,“Ego sum ostium. Kirchenportale und andere Türen im antiken Christentum”,Theologische Zeitschrift, lxii/2 (2006), pp. 321–337. 19 Anxo Fernández Ocampo, “Devins sur le pas de la porte: notes pour une anthropologie visuelle du seuil en Galice”, Conserveries mémorielles, vii (2010), http://cm.revues.org/435 (accessed on 29 August 2019). 20 For the rituals see the synthesis by Aidan Kavanagh, The Shape of Baptism: The Rite of Christian Initiation, New York 1978; Victor Saxer, Les rites d’initiation chrétienne du iie au vie siècle. Esquisse historique et signification d’après leurs principaux témoins, Spoleto 1988; Bryan D. Spinks, Early and Medieval Rituals and Theologies of Baptism: From the New Testament to the Council of Trent, Aldershot/Burlington 2006; Maxwell E. Johnson, The Rites of Christian Initiation: Their Evolution and Interpretation (Revised and Expanded Edition), Collegeville 2007; Everett Ferguson, Baptism in the Early Church: History, Theology, and Liturgy in the First Five Centuries, Grand Rapids, mi 2009; Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism. Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity, 3 vols, David Hellholm ed., Berlin 2011. 21 In the abundant bibliography on baptisteries see for example: Armen Khatchatrian, Les Baptistères paléochrétiens: Plans, notices et bibliographie, Paris 1962; idem, Origine et typologie des baptistères paléochrétiens, Mulhouse 1982; Sebastian Ristow, Frühchristliche Baptisterien, Münster 1998; L’edificio battesimale in Italia. Aspetti e problemi, Daniela Gandolfi ed., Bordighera 2001; Fons Vitae. Baptême, Baptistères et rites d’initiation (iie–vie siècle), Ivan Foletti, Serena Romano eds, Rome 2009; Olof Brandt, Battisteri oltre la pianta: gli alzati di nove battisteri paleocristiani in Italia, Vatican City 2012. 22 Saxer, Les rites d’initiation (n. 20), pp. 575–576. 23 For the bodily experience of the ritual see Veronika Tvrzníková, Ritual, Hierotopy and a Cognitive Perspective on a Late Antique Baptistery, m.a. thesis, (Masaryk University, supervisor: Ivan Foletti), Brno 2016. For practical issues with warm water etc. see Marina Falla Castelfranchi, “L’edificio battesimale: architettura, ritualità, sistemi idraulici”, Settimane di Marina studio della Fondazione Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo, lv/2 (2008), pp. 1173–1236.

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3/  Women at the tomb, dome mosaic, Baptistery of San Giovanni in Fonte, Naples, 5th century 4/ Women at the tomb, wooden doors, Basilica of Santa Sabina, Rome, ca 421–440 5/ Trivulzio ivory with the Women at the tomb, ivory bas-relief, Rome (?), ca 400 / Museo delle Arti Decorative, Castello Sforzesco (Milan), inv. Avori 90 6/ Pyx with the Women at the tomb, ivory, 6th century / Musée d’histoire du Valais (Sion), inv. mv 152

by Eucharist, sometimes accompanied by receiving milk and honey – the archetypes of a paradisiacal experience – and the entrance in the sacred space of the church24. As is well known, catechumens were able to access sacred buildings before being baptized but only for a limited period25. It is only by becoming full Christians that neophytes were integrated both in the space of the church and in its social community. Moreover, it is worth remembering that in North Africa, some baptismal fonts, such as the Sbeitla Baptistery, had a form of a vagina [Fig. 2] 26. Thus, the liminal experience of Christianization is mirrored in the liminality of birth. In the preserved monumental decorations of Late Antique baptisteries, we find many images [Fig. 3] 27. Some of them can be seen in dialogue with rituals, other recall the paradise promised to those who will cross the waters28. Finally, some show the vision of God, the final goal of any Christian life, as well as the memorial of the resurrection 29. The same imagery can be found on the doors of Santa Sabina [Fig. 4], probably directed mainly to the catechumens, but also on small objects, possibly linked with the baptismal rites, such as diptychs, pyxides, or, as recently discovered, combs [Figs 5–7] 30. More interestingly, the same iconographical compositions can be found also in the decorations 24 See for example Ambrose of Milan, Esposizione del Vangelo secondo Luca, vi, 71, Giovanni Coppa ed., Milan/ Rome 1978, pp. 60 – 61 and more in general Antoine Salles, Trois antiques rituels du baptême, Paris 1958. 25 For the descriptions of catechumens leaving the church see Les Consitutions Apostoliques, viii, 6, 1–13; 7, 4– 9; 8, 1– 6, Marcel Metzger ed., Paris 1985, pp. 151–157, 158 –159, 161. 26 Nathan S. Dennis, Performing Paradise in the Early Christian Baptistery: Art, Liturgy, and the Transformation of Vision, PhD thesis, (Johns Hopkins University, supervisor: Herbert L. Kessler), Baltimore 2016, sp. pp. 198 –199. 27 On baptismal imagery in general see Robin M. Jensen, Living Water: Images, Symbols, and Settings of Early Christian Baptism, Leiden 2011. 28 For the dialogue between images and rituals inside the baptisteries see for example Annabel J. Wharton,“Ritual and Reconstructed Meaning: The Neonian Baptistery in Ravenna”,in The Art Bulletin, lxix (1987), pp. 158 –175; Katia Gandolfi,  “Les mosaïques du baptistère de Naples. Programme iconographique et liturgie”,  in Il Duomo di Napoli dal paleocristiano all’età angioina, Serena Romano, Nicolas Bock eds, Naples 2002, pp. 21–34; Ivan Foletti, “Saint Ambroise et le Baptistère des Orthodoxes de Ravenne: autour du ‘Lavement des pieds’ dans la liturgie baptismale”, in Fons Vitae (n. 21), pp. 121–155; Chiara Croci, “Dal trionfo nei giochi alla ‘corona incorrupta’. Una nota sui santi del tamburo del Battistero di Napoli”, in Survivals, Revivals, Rinascenze, Nicolas Bock, Ivan Foletti, Michele Tomasi eds, Rome 2017, pp. 295–303. 29 Vladimir Ivanovici, Manipulating Theophany. Light in North-Adriatic Architecture and Ritual, Berlin 2016. 30 For the uses of ivory diptychs during the baptismal liturgy see Blanka Španová, Plačící ženy u hrobu a raně křesťanský svět [Women at the Tomb and Early Christian World], b.a. thesis, (Masaryk University, supervisor: Ivan Foletti), Brno 2015 and Kristýna Navrátilová, Milánský pašijový diptych [The Milanese Passion Diptych], m.a. thesis, (Masaryk University, supervisor: Ivan Foletti), Brno 2016. Regarding the yet unpublished comb, see Morana Čaušević-Bully, Sébastien Bully, “Les sites ecclésiaux et monastiques de l’archipel du Kvarner (Croatie), campagne 2017: Mirine-Fulfinum (Omišalj, île de Krk)”, Chronique des activités archéologiques de l’École française de Rome, https://journals.openedition.org/cefr/2185 (accessed on 29 August 2019). A full publication of the object and its archaeological context is in preparation by the two authors. We also take the opportunity to thank them for the possibility to publish a preliminary drawing. More general research on this topic is currently being prepared by Adrien Palladino and Alžběta Ž. Filipová. For the doors of Santa Sabina, with essential bibliography, see the article by Ivan Foletti and Katarína Kravčíková in this volume.

7 / Drawing of a comb with the iconography of Women at the tomb (?) and Healing of the woman with an issue of blood, ivory, ca 5th century / Zagreb Archaeological Museum (currently in restoration)

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of the main naves of Western basilicas from the fourth to the sixth century, perhaps conceived for post-baptismal catechesis [Fig. 8] 31. The pre-liminal, the liminal, and the post-liminal phases thus occur through precise rituals and are followed by images constructing a visual unity, and which are transformed in the minds of the viewers by the rituals. It is thus the human body activated by touching, smells, chants, and feeling of temperatures which experiences liminality 32. This aspect is then amplified by visual and spatial conditions.

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In the later centuries, the baptism lost part of this evocative dimension – it was dedicated mainly to children – remaining however the necessary rite de passage to fully access the sacred space 33. The interior of a church was, however, not united at all. Other thresholds were dividing the space in multiple functionary zones. To cross them, more or less important rituals were needed. It is the case of the veils and curtains dividing the men from the women, the clergy from the laity, the baptized from the non-baptized. In the article of Klára Doležalová and Sible de Blaauw, the nineteenth-century feeling of a united space in an early medieval basilica is completely deconstructed. We are facing a segmented aula with veils between the arcade, sanctuary or ciboria columns, largely modifying the visual experience. We do not have enough information about the ritual use of the curtains, but it is highly plausible that especially in the presbytery, they were regularly closed and opened. In this way, the veiling and revealing the rituals were on the one hand functioning as a limen for the eyes, and on the other, as a place for potentiating the imagination. In this context, two aspects should be emphasized: it is on one hand the question of sound, penetrating the space despite the textile furnishings. It is then possible to hear what cannot be seen. The second aspect is certainly the question of the images depicted on some of these veils.

A very similar function can be observed in the liturgical architectural furnishing: Late Antique plutei are followed especially from the twelfth century by high built-up walls cutting the ecclesia laicorum off from the ecclesia clericorum. This phenomenon can be observed in the Latin West as well as in the Orthodox realm with the iconostasis which has later become one of the most impressive identity-forming elements of Christian Orthodoxy. Comparative research on this topic is here proposed by Elisabetta Scirocco and Vlad Bedros. Their research can be also understood in a broader context. In eleventh- and twelfth-century Armenia, laypeople were divided from the clergy by means of a space adjacent to the church building – the gavit 34. This large entrance space could be considered a narthex, but in fact it is not. Like the walls inside the church, this threshold could be crossed only by persons initiated to the clerical caste. Thus, we are facing two diverse liminalities: the first one is similar to baptism: being ordinated as a subdeacon, a deacon, a priest, or a bishop, it is possible to cross these thresholds. The only notable exception were pilgrims: men (or in exceptional cases, women) had the possibility to access the zone where the relics were held35. The ritual of ordination was in this way – using the vocabulary of Van Gennep – a sort of “passport” for crossing this frontier. The second liminality, destined for all the laypeople in the church space, is exclusively mental. They would never physically cross this border but – thanks to the sound which they can freely hear, the images present on the barriers, and clerics regularly crossing the wall – in their imagination, they are of course participating in the mysteries carried out behind the barrier. Thus, the very sacred core of the church could have been accessed by crossing the walls both physically and mentally. Sacrality in the Christian church, however, reaches its apex around what Luigi Canetti has called “fragments of eternity” – the relics 36. Access to these was exclusive and complicated. Most probably from the time of Gregory the Great, in St Peter’s Basilica in Rome, an annular crypt was constructed, permitting pilgrims to approach the relics of the holy apostle as closely as possible 37. Similarly, some centuries later in Canterbury, it was necessary to use the ambulatory to view the relics of St Thomas Becket 38. The movement of pilgrims was strongly regulated, creating thus once more a series of micro-rituals necessary for the direct access. It is precisely what Chiara Croci investigates in her article. While discussing the case of Santa Prassede in Rome, one of the revolutionary projects of the cult of relics promoted by Pope Paschal i, Croci describes the most plausible steps which preceded entering its crypt. The believer was entering the space of the transept where special images presenting the narratives of martyrdom are depicted. Croci postulates that it is also this very space where the reading of the acts of martyrs were performed. Only once they had seen the images and heard the stories, were the visitors allowed to enter the presence of the sacred bodies. Once more, it was necessary to go through a pre-liminal ritual in order to access the sacred. 31 Klára Doležalová, “Příběhy, které mění svět: Křesťanská iniciace a kostel Sant’Apollinare Nuovo v Ravenně” [Stories which Change the World: Christian Initiation and the Church of Sant’Apollinare Nuovo], Forum Brunense, 2018, pp. 67– 80. 32 Tvrzníková, Ritual, Hierotopy and a Cognitive Perspective (n. 20). 33 For this very debated topic see for example David F. Wright, Infant Baptism in Historical Perspective: Collective Studies, Milton Keynes 2007. 34 Paul Mylonas, “Gavits arméniens et Litae byzantines. Observations nouvelles sur le complexe de Saint-Luc en Phocide”, Cahiers Archéologiques, xxxviii (1990), pp. 99 –122. 35 Bailey, “Modern and Medieval Approaches” (n. 7). 36 Luigi Canetti, Frammenti di eternità: corpi e reliquie tra antichità e Medioevo, Rome 2002. 37 See for example Paolo Liverani, “San Pietro in Vaticano”, in La visita alle Sette Chiese, Letizia Pani Ermini ed., Rome 2000, pp. 21–45; Paolo Liverani, Giandomenico Spinola, Vatican. La Nécropole et le Tombeau de Saint Pierre, Paris 2010, p. 47. 38 Bailey, “Modern and Medieval Approaches” (n. 7).

8 / Women at the tomb, mosaic panel, Basilica of Sant’Apollinare Nuovo, Ravenna, ca 493–526

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Another threshold was presented for the double initiated – members of the clergy and privileged aristocrats – at the end of the Middle Ages. That was the altar. Having a form of a box with double wings, the very shape of this construction instantly calls to mind a door. The images placed on it heighten the illusion of a possible access to the heavenly vision often depicted in the central part. This aspect is discussed in the paper of Jan Klípa and Eliška Poláčková. Just as in the case of iconostasis, this threshold cannot be crossed by the lay people, except mystically. However, the rituals involved show how important it is to create the expectation for such an act. The spiritual gaze activated by the liturgy allows the viewer to cross even this final barrier and to imaginarily experience the vision of the divine. What is fundamental is the theatrical dimension of these rituals: it is precisely the movement of the performers which seems to facilitate the experience of the divine presence. According to John Mitchell and Nicholas Pickwoad, the last threshold was the liturgical books. A closed book must be seen as a sort of closed passage while opening it corresponds to an imaginary access to the divine. This aspect seems to be proven, according to the scholars, by the use of the images of open books in funerary contexts. The books themselves would therefore indicate the limen between life and death, between earth and heaven. This idea is even more complex if we recall the covers of the liturgical books from the early Middle Ages onwards: they look like reliquaries. The word of God is then preserved and treated in the same way as relics, and the book must be similarly seen as a connecting point between earth and heaven 39. In sum, the medieval church seems to be constructed through a series of barriers of different kinds: visual, acoustic, social, spiritual, or spatial. To overcome them, various sorts of rituals were conceived. Their function seems, however, to be very coherent. Their main purpose was to create the different layers of sacrality. Each step towards sacrality required both a frontier and a ritual to cross it. It is not important whether this movement was real or imaginary.

Collective and individual rituals, and the senses

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Liminality is thus constructed primarily in a spatial way. The other fundamental issue is time: to cross some barriers, few minutes are needed, for others, such as the Early Christian initiation, years of preparation are required. The moving body of any sort of viewers – from the humbler laymen to the most sophisticated ecclesiastical patron – experiences the diverse spaces thanks to rituals. However, the time spent in waiting, imagining, and dreaming transformed this simple mechanical act in a radical way. In analyzing baptism as a one-time bath, the experience of the rite itself may appear unexceptional. But how different the same ceremony must have been after three years of preparation, forty days of fasting, and seven exorcisms? Thus, time is undoubtedly a great player in constructing liminality. This last aspect must also be connected with the real social transformation linked to some of the evoked thresholds: from pagan to Christian, from laymen to cleric, from sedentary to pilgrim. A ritual crossing of a border inside the Christian sacred spaces can therefore be a lifechanging experience not only from the point of view of belief, but crucially also of social status. Spaces and rituals thus play a key role in the creation and recreation of diverse social bodies. From a space, and its images and rituals, we are suddenly facing the transformation of an entire society according to the inner order of the ecclesia.

With this book, we would therefore like to show how fundamental the segmentation of sacred space was for the construction of medieval societies and cultures. The realities would have been much more complex than what we present in these pages. Our wish is, however, to show that more than one hundred years after Arnold Van Gennep, the notion of the limen seems to be fundamental for creating a protocol for a better understanding of the visual, ritual, and social reality of the Middle Ages. We are aware of the limits of such an approach that is deeply dependent on the dialogue between art history and anthropology 40. On the other hand, we wish these pages to kindle a debate about the very notion of sacred space which lies at the heart of medieval studies. A final element should be mentioned: it is the question of the “user”(neophyte, pilgrim, layman, or cleric) and his body. There is clear evidence that the physical senses are crucial to experiencing the diverse thresholds and thus, the layers of sacred. It is, however, impossible to dissociate the sensorial experience from the intellectual and the imaginary one. For a better understanding of Middle Ages, it is thus hard to consider the artistic production in the Cartesian dichotomy between body and mind. In a very phenomenological way, they are simply united, and it is only in a strong dialogue between these two aspects that, as we believe, the Middle Ages can be seen in a slightly different way. We would like to conclude this introduction by expressing our gratitude to all the authors who accepted the challenge of a cowritten text. Moreover, in certain cases, two specialists from two different fields were in dialogue, in this way taking part in a truly transdisciplinary project. Even if this experience was not always simple, we are extremely grateful to them for accepting this challenge which is in our view extremely fruitful. The only exception is represented by the article of Chiara Croci, which came to the editorial board of Convivium unexpectedly, but while reading it, we were immediately seduced by the topic and convinced it deserves to be included in this volume. We would also like to express our immense gratitude to the former vice rector of the Masaryk University, Petr Dvořák, who conceived the program gamu h. It is in the context of this grant, that it was possible to carry out the two workshops at the base of this volume with an incredible freedom. Petr Dvořák is a visionary promoting free research and we hope that with this volume, we are paying at least a partial homage to the impressive work he did as vice rector. 39 Dorota Vahančíková, The Jeweled Manuscripts. Carolingian Treasure Bindings and Their Role in the Christian Liturgy, m.a. thesis, (Masaryk University, supervisor: Ivan Foletti), Brno 2019. 40 For the discussion of the notion of rite de passage, see Janet Wilson, Daria Tunca, “Postcolonial Thresholds: Gateways and Borders”, Journal of Postcolonial Writing, li/1 (2015), pp. 1– 6.

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articles

Abstract – Closed Doors as Bearers and Constructors of Images. Santa Sabina and Notre Dame du Puy – The current, vigorous debate about the significance and liminal attributes of doors, thresholds, or other entrance spaces prompts consideration of how closed doors construct images. This paper offers a new interpretation of two examples of wooden doors decorated with figurative scenes, preserved from the fifth and twelfth centuries: the main doors of Rome’s Basilica of Santa Sabina and the pair of porch doors at Notre Dame du Puy. Using their context consisting of local liturgical praxis, physical limits and placement, or specific functions rooted in the intermediary character of narthexes and porticos in general, the paper analyzes not only the two physical objects per se and their imagery, but also, and more significant, their two possible statuses. It seems that these elaborately decorated story-telling doors, conceived for the eyes of specific viewers, might somehow have served as their own functional properties were suppressed for the sake of their symbolic value. While being shut, these examples offer formal and iconological parallels explainable by the archetypal understanding of a door as the materialization of the potential of a passage. Keywords – entrance space, closed doors, liminal zone, Basilica of Santa Sabina, Notre Dame du Puy, neophytes, pilgrims, preparatory rituals, potential of passage, sacred threshold, door as image, images on doors, life of Christ, Theophanic vision Ivan Foletti Masaryk University, Brno [email protected] Katarína Kravčíková Masaryk University, Brno 24 [email protected]

Closed Doors as Bearers and Constructors of Images Santa Sabina in Rome and Notre Dame du Puy Ivan Foletti & Katarína Kravčíková

Regarded as a natural element of a building’s layout, entrance spaces such as porticos, atria or narthexes have been present in front of structures across the ages and in different cultures: Roman villas, imperial palaces or public buildings, pagan or Christian temples etc. Each traditionally have or had some kind of demarcated entrance space, whether simply plain and utilitarian or more imposing and decorated1. Even if we confined our interest to the specific context of Christian architecture, the character of these intermediary spaces cannot be defined *

This article was carried out as part of the erc cz project “Radikální konverze? Vizuální umění, rituály, performance a konverze v raně křesťanské iniciaci (ll1904)”

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See for example Avant-nefs & espaces d’accueil dans l’église entre le ive et lee xiie siècle : Actes du colloque international du cnrs, Auxerre, 17–20 juin 1999, Christian Sapin ed., Paris 2002; Jean-Charles Picard, “L’atrium dans les églises paléochrétiennes d’Occident”, in Actes du xie congrès International d’archéologie chrétienne. Lyon, Vienne, Grenoble, Genève, Aoste (21–28 septembe 1986), Rome 1989, vol. i, pp. 505–542; Sible de Blaauw, “The Church Atrium as a Ritual Space: the Cathedral of Tyre and St Peter’s in Rome”, Ritual and Space in the Middle Ages. Proceedings of the 2009 Harlaxton Symposium, Frances Andrews ed., Donington 2011, pp. 30 –43; Tina Bawden, Die Schwelle im Mittelalter: Bildmotiv und Bildort, Cologne/Weimar/Vienna 2014; Ivan Foletti, Manuela Gianandrea, Zona Liminare. Il nartece di Santa Sabina, le sue porte e l’iniziazione cristiana, Rome 2015; Sacred Tresholds. The Door to the Sanctuary in Late Antiquity, Emilie M. van Opstall ed., Leiden/Boston 2018. For a broader, multi-media understanding and occurrence of the concept of liminal spaces see e.g. Thresholds of the Sacred. Architectural, Art Historical, Liturgical, and Theological Perspectives on Religious Screens, East and West, Sharon E. J. Gerstel ed., Dumbarton Oaks 2006; Thresholds of Medieval Visual Culture: Liminal Spaces, Elina Gertsman, Jill Stevenson eds, Woodbridge 2012.

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universally, nor ascribed to one unique function. What we can discuss are certain phenomena and characteristics associated with the entrance spaces, which have continued over centuries. We can talk, for example, about the initiatory function especially in times of a massive Christianization of the population: brought into being in greater number and scale, in these cases, large atria would serve as gathering places for adult neophytes. This happened during late Antiquity when the Mediterranean zone was converted. Enlarged atria appear in correlation with the organized conversion of the local population; they appear also in Great Moravia in the ninth century, or even later, with a similar occurrence in twelfth-century Denmark or in sixteenth-century Mexico 2.

It seems reasonable to assume that even such common spaces as atria could have been built – or in certain situations modified – for a specific function having its origins in contemporaneous and territorial requirements3. This hypothesis could be attested, for instance, with the presence of a specific type of decoration conceived for adult neophytes, possible to be found in both fifth-century Rome as well as sixteenth-century Mexico [Figs 1–2] 4. Since late Antiquity, there seems to be another attested purpose that we will later discuss: the use of atria and narthexes by pilgrims. They were resting there, atria regulated their movement and access to sacred space, or else, offered them a place to wait within, when it was not possible to enter the church instantaneously 5. As in the case of massive conversion to Christianity, porticos,

1 / Reconstruction of the medieval church of St Peter in Vatican, Rome 2 / Diego Valadés, Rétorica Cristiana, gravure, 1579

narthexes or various forms of porches seemed to become an obsession for builders of pilgrimage churches too – especially during the “boom” of pilgrimage to Compostela in the twelfth century 6. And again, we can talk about the specific type of decoration or images, fashioned for these liminal spaces and their regular pilgrimage audience. The purpose of this paper is to use the context and limits of both described functions – initiatory and pilgrimage – to analyze particular spaces, objects and images. Instead of a general overview of the phenomena of entrance spaces, however, we chose to limit our focus to the specific form of an element, which can be found in some of the above described settings. In the following lines, we will attempt to investigate the wooden relief doors decorated

with figurative scenes preserved from the fifth and twelfth centuries, at basilica of Santa Sabina in Rome and in Notre Dame of Le Puy respectively [Figs 3–4a,b]. 2

Jiří Macháček, “The Byzantine Mission and Evidence of its Activities in Pohansko near Břeclav”, in The Cyril And Methodius Mission and Europe – 1150 Years Since the Arrival of the Thessaloniki Brothers in Great Moravia, Pavel Kouřil et al. eds, Brno 2014, pp. 92–101; Monika Brenišínová, “Millénarisme des ordres mendiants en Nouvelle Espagne du xvie siècle et ses manifestations dans l’architecture et l’art”, Convivium, i/1 (2014), pp. 206–217; Foletti/Gianandrea, Zona Liminare (n. 1), pp. 33–39. 3 De Blaauw, “The Church Atrium as a Ritual space” (n. 1), pp. 41–43. 4 Foletti/Gianandrea, Zona Liminare (n. 1), pp. 33–39; Brenišínová,“Millénarisme des ordres mendiants”(n. 2), pp. 211–216. 5 Ivan Foletti,“Liminality. Space and Imagination”,in Migrating Art Historians on the Sacred Ways, Ivan Foletti et al. eds, Brno 2018, pp. 109–117; Sible de Blaauw, “Paradise of Saint Peter’s”, in Sacred Tresholds (n. 1), pp. 160 –186. 6 The literature dedicated to this subject is vast, the synthesis is in Aa. Vv. “Liminal Zones and Pilgrimage Churches”, in Migrating Art Historians (n. 5), pp. 109–202.

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Following the comparison of two specific entrance areas of said church buildings that are distant in time, space and purposes, we will thus virtually zoom-in and target their splendidly decorated main doors only. Covered with images conceived for eyes of a specific audience, these objects seem to be rare survivals of what might have been quite widespread phenomena7. These doors will be regarded as more than mere functional objects subordinate to their locations. On one side they are sharing essential characteristics and functions of an entranceway grasped as an ambiguous “neither outside, nor inside arrangement”. In addition, they act as solemn objects capable to, in return, redefine their own context. It seems that the main parallel of these two cases is the ability to materialize ideas and narratives crucial for the individual who is about to cross the threshold of a sacred space. Probably after long spiritual or physical journey, these doors grant their audience with several messages essential for their current state. With the comparison of these objects and situations we would like to offer a new reflection and add a new layer of interpretation to the already existing discussion about doors as metaphorical as well as tangible thresholds to the sacred8.

Saturday and Easter Sunday, the neophytes were finally immersed in water12. Through the deep, multi-sensual experience of baptism preceded by forty days of fasting, it was not only their religious status that was transformed, but their bodies too13. Unfortunately, within the boundaries of art historical studies, very little attention has been paid to spaces where the preparational acts – the longterm initiation and catechesis before the solemn act of baptism in a baptistery – were taking place. Recently, Ivan Foletti and Manuela Gianandrea investigated the basilica of Santa Sabina and its precinct at the Aventine hill14, with a special focus on areas and structures in front of the main building. They examined the former baptistery 7

Becoming Christian: expecting the resurrection?

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In Late Antique Rome, and particularly for the first one hundred and fifty years after Constantine (ca second quarter of the fourth century to the end of the sixth century) it was the unprecedented conversion of population to the Christian faith that may be regarded as one of the most impactful phenomena shaping the face of the current society9. Indeed as a result of this massive transformation, lavish baptisteries were built all around the city of Rome starting with the Lateran itself10. The formation process and the initiatory ritual as such – shaped together with this building spree – became very sophisticated too11: the catechumenate consisted of three years of preparation concluded with forty days of intense indoctrination; it was an exhaustive drill of the main points of the Christian credo. It was only after this long process and preparation that, during the night between

8 9 10

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About the phenomena of decorated doors in a more general frame see e.g. Le porte di bronzo dall’antichità al secolo xiii, Salvatorino Salomi ed., Rome 1990; Antonio Iacobini, Le porte del paradiso: arte e tecnologia bizantina tra Italia e Mediterraneo (xi–xii secolo; convegno internazionale di studi Istituto Svizzerio di Roma, 6–7 dicembre 2006), Rome 2009; van Opstall, Sacred Tresholds (n. 1); Bawden, Die Schwelle im Mittelalter (n. 1). For wooden doors with figural decoration cf. in particular Xavier Barral i Altet, “La porte-récit en bois dans la facade romane”, in Medioevo: immagine e racconto, Atti del Convegno internazionale di studi Parma, 27–30 settembre 2000, Arturo Carlo Quintavalle ed., Milan 2003, pp. 278–286; idem, “Les images de la Porte Romane comme un Livre Ouvert a l’entrée de l’Église”, in Reading Images and Texts: Medieval Images and Texts as Forms of Communication, Papers from the Third Utrecht Symposium on Medieval Literacy, (Utrecht, 7–9 December 2000), Mariëlle Hageman, Marco Mostert eds, Turnhout 2005, pp. 528–543; idem, “Riflessioni sull’elaborazione, la diffusione e le funzioni iconografiche delle porte lignee decorate negli edifici religiosi romanici”, in Studi Medievali e Moderni, xv (2011), pp. 365–393; Isabelle Marchesin, L’arbre et la colonne : la porte de bronze d’Hildesheim, Paris 2017; Ittai Weinryb, The Bronze Object in the Middle Ages, Cambridge 2017. Sacred Thresholds (n. 1); Foletti/Gianandrea, Zona Liminare (n. 1); Bawden, Die Schwelle im Mittelalter (n. 1). On this topic see for example the recent Thomas A. Robinson, Who Were the First Christians? Dismantling the Urban Thesis, Oxford 2017. See the latest overview by Olof Brandt, “Constantinian Baptisteries”, in Congressus Internationalis Archaeologiae Christianae, 2013, Rom, 16.: Costantino e i costantinidi – l’innovazione costantiniana, le sue radici e i suoi sviluppi, Olof Brandt, Gabriele Castiglia, Vincenzo Fiocchi Nicolai eds, Studi di antichità Cristiana, lxvi/1 (2016), pp. 583– 610. See the recent overview by Juliette Day, “Entering the Baptistery. Spatial, Identity and Salvific Transition in Fourth- and Fifth-Century Baptismal Liturgies”, in Sacred Thresholds (n. 1), pp. 66–90. Victor Saxer, Les rites d’initiation chrétienne du iie au vie siècle. Esquisse historique et signification d’après leurs principaux témoins, Spoleto 1988; Maxwell E. Johnson, The Rites of Christian Initiation: Their Evolution and Interpretation, Collegeville 2007; Paolo Siniscalco,“In spirito e in acqua. Il pensiero degli scrittori cristiani antichi sul battesimo”, in Fons Vitae, Ivan Foletti, Serena Romano eds, Rome 2009, pp. 9–25. See the recent overview with an excellent state of the art in Veronika Tvrzníková, Ritual, Body and Perception: A New Perspective on the Orthodox Baptistery of Ravenna, m.a. Thesis, Brno 2017. Foletti/Gianandrea, Zona Liminare (n. 1).

3 / Paul Marie Letarouilly, plan of the Church and the Monastery of Santa Sabina in Rome, 1840 4 a / Aymon G. Mallay, longitudinal section of Le Puy Cathedral before the reconstruction, 1842, drawing 4b / Aymon G. Mallay, plan of Le Puy Cathedral before the reconstruction, 1842, drawing

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(only known today through written sources)15, but doors of the church23. The enchanting sounds and above all, the large and once lavishly decorated voices, captivating images, or even scents from narthex of the basilica, originally embellished with the inside of the church (or the doors themselves, both depicted as well as actual opus sectile. They since young cypress wood smells similar to inproposed that it was in these zones that pre-ini- cense) together activated the imagination of the tiatory rituals were performed16. The two main neophytes gathered in the narthex. arguments supporting their hypothesis are: first, Having said that, we should underline that the several sources such as initium ieunii mentioning essential condition of how to bring all of these and connecting the Aventine with important cat- “special effects” into being was a simple fact: these echetic events for all the city, and secondly, the doors were closed. And it was only while closed wooden doors of the basilica itself which could that they were able to carry out these effects, to be regarded as material evidence of these practic- display the images and, therefore, to operate fully. es17. Enclosing the main entrance, these cypress doors are covered with eighteen narrative repre- 15 On the building in general see Félix M. D. Darsy, Recherches archéologiques à Sainte-Sabine sur l’Aventin : géologie, sentations of biblical and para-biblical episodes topographie, sanctuaires archaïques, cultes isiaque, ensemble architectural paléochrétien, Vatican City 1968. [Fig. 5]18. Paying attention to both the composition For the original decorations of the narthex, discovered of scenes as well as to their iconological meaning, in recent years, see Manuela Gianandrea, “Real Marble and Fake Marble on the Antique Façade of Santa Sabina it was possible for the authors to link them not all’Aventino”, in The Fifth Century in Rome, Ivan Foletti, only with the initiatory practices, but also with Manuela Gianadrea eds, Rome 2017, pp. 31–40. the Roman Lent liturgy and contemporary preach- 16 Foletti/Gianandrea, Zona Liminare (n. 1), pp. 68–73. 17 The sources connecting the church with a catechumenal ing about initiation19. Thus, in this case, the doors are especially the Comes Romanus Wirziburgensis. Facsimileausgabe des Codex M.p.th.f. 62 der Universitaets-Bibliothek of the church became a tool and a mirror of the Wuerzburg, introduction by Hans Thurn, Graz 1968. Officially dated to the beginning of the 7th century, according Christian catechesis20. Rendered in a very complex to Baldovin this book was composed at the beginning of and detailed way, the images which cover most of the 6th century at the latest – possibly even earlier. See John F. Baldovin, The Urban Character of Christian Worship. The the surface of doors might have served as an ideal Origins, Development, and Meaning for Station Liturgy, Rome visual distraction for the curious eyes and minds 1987, pp. 147–156. of catechumens, waiting in front of them for the 18 For the interpretation of the iconography of the doors see especially Nikodim P. Kondakov, “Les sculptures de final blessing. Due to its unusual height – reaching la porte de Sainte-Sabine à Rome”, Revue archéologique, xviii/33 (1877), pp. 361–372; Joachim J. Berthier, La porte almost five meters – the crowd was supposed to de Sainte-Sabine à Rome, Fribourg 1892; Johannes Wiegand, come closer and to move back from the doors in Das Altchristliche Hauptportal an der Kirche der hl. Sabina auf dem aventinischen Hügel zu Rom, Trier 1900; Félix M. D. order to see all the registers: only thanks to this Darsy, Santa Sabina, Rome 1961; Gisela Jeremias, Die Holztür der Basilika S. Sabina in Rom, Tübingen 1980; Jean-Michel almost “forced” dynamic would it have been posSpieser, “Le programme iconographique des portes de 21 sible to read and thus “activate” all the images . Sainte-Sabine”, Journal des savants, ii (1991), pp. 47–81; Foletti/Gianandrea, Zona Liminare (n. 1), pp. 95–199. Beside this apparent capacity to activate the 19 The sources used for these analyses were mainly catecheses, crowd, it was recently discovered by Ivan Foletti e.g Ambrose’s “I misteri”,in Spiegazione del credo – i sacramenti – i misteri – la penitenza, introduzione, traduzione, note e indici that the wooden doors of Santa Sabina have had, di Gabriele Banterle, Milan/Rome 1982, pp. 135–169 and idem, in fact, another function: empty inside, with pan“I sacramenti”, in Spiegazione del credo, pp. 41–133; Cyril of Jerusalem, Cathéchèses mystagogiques, Auguste Piédagnel els from the inner side carved as a sort of “wooden ed., Paris 1988 and liturgical books such as the Gelasina Sagrill”, they might have worked as a kind of acouscramentary see Textes liturgiques de l’Eglise de Rome : le cycle liturgique romain annuel selon le sacramentaire du “Vaticanus tic “box” or instrument22. In this sense, the doors Reginensis 316”, Antoine Chavasse ed., Paris 1996; Foletti/ Gianandrea, Zona Liminare (n. 1), pp. 68–73. would have amplified sounds produced inside the 20 Foletti/Gianandrea, Zona Liminare (n. 1), pp. 95–199. church and transmitted the echoes to the crowd 21 For a fundamental reflection on the process of activation of images in the premodern world see Horst Bredekamp, on the other side. This capacity to concentrate Image Acts: A Systematic Approach to Visual Agency, Berlin/ and to reverberate the sound, as it was proposed, Boston 2018 [2010]. might be understood as a part of a broader pro- 22 Ivan Foletti, “A Singing Door: Images, Space and Sound in the Santa Sabina Narthex”, in Icon of Sound, Bissera Pentchecess of intentional mystification of the eucharistic va ed., Stanford 2019 (in press). part of liturgy, which was happening – from the 23 On the idea of the rituals as “creators” of expectation see Vladimir Ivanovici, Manipulating Theophany: Light and Ritual point of view of a catechumen – behind the closed in North Adriatic Architecture (ca. 400 – ca. 800), Berlin 2016.

5 / Petr Vronský, Ivan Foletti, reconstruction of the wooden doors, Basilica of Santa Sabina, Rome

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Before the final vision Seven centuries later and thousands of kilometers away, in the heart of one of the most important current pilgrimage sites within the region of today’s France – in Le Puy-en-Velay, another interesting narthex was built to accompany the already standing church24. The reasons behind the conception of this intermediary space or the architectural solution adopted, its function, or number and purpose of its doors do differ from the previous case; still, we will observe shared characteristics and comparable visual strategies as in the case of the fifth-century Roman example25. The porch of the Cathedral of Notre Dame embodies not only an unprecedented architectural idea but also an ingenious solution on how to fight against difficult conditions of the local terrain [Figs 4a–b, 6a–b]. It is a semi-opened structure divided into six bays by massive pillars, fully hidden 24 According to archeological findings, we can talk about the uninterrupted devotional favor of this place starting even in pre-Christian times. See Elisa A. Foster,“Moveable Feasts: Processions as Multimedia Performance in Le Puyen-Velay”, in Peregrinations: Journal of Medieval Art & Architecture, v/1 (2015), pp. 37– 67, sp. p. 38; Laura Foulquier, Élise Nectoux, “Les pratiques de récupération en Velay”, Hortus Artium Medievalium, xvii (2011), pp. 85–94 ; Vilatte Sylvie, “Anicium: du sanctuaire païen a la christianisation des Vellaves”, Revue belge de philologie et d’histoire, lxxiv (1996), pp. 143–163, sp. pp. 155–162; Yves-Marie Froidevaux, “La ville du Puy”,Les monuments historiques de la France, v (1977), pp. 23–32, sp. pp. 28–32, Pierre-Roger Gaussin, “La ville du Puy-en-Velay et les pèlerinages”,Revue de géographie de Lyon, xxvi/3 (1951), pp. 243–271, 246. Regarding the beginning and growth of the Christian cult and pilgrimage in Le Puy see Xavier Barral i Altet, La cathédrale du Puy-en-Velay, Paris 2000, pp. 121–135; Virginia Reinburg,“Les pèlerins de Notre-Dame du Puy”, Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, lxxv/195 (1989), pp. 297–313, sp. p. 297; Charles Rocher, Les vieilles histoires de Notre-Dame du Puy, réimprimées d’après les manuscrits ou les éditions originales, Le Puy 1890. 25 For further bibliography, examples and concise analysis of doors as communicational elements of a decorated façade, a persistence of antique tradition and ambiguous relationship of bronze and wooden doors, or on the narrative techniques and potential they have, see Barral i Altet, “Riflessioni sull’elaborazione” (n. 7) and Geddes, “Wooden Doors” (n. 7), sp. pp. 494, 496; For the broader picture regarding the church porch Cf. Caroline Roux, “Entre sacré et profane. Essai sur la symbolique et les fonctions du portail d’église en France entre le xie et le xiiie siècle”, Revue belge de philologie et d’histoire. Histoire medievale, moderne et contemporaine – Middeleeuwse. Moderne en hedendaagse geschiedenis, lxxxii/4 (2004), pp. 839–854, sp. pp. 839, 843, 847–851; Robert Favreau, “Le thème épigraphique de la porte”, in La façade romane, Actes du Colloque international organisé par le Centre d’Etudes Supérieures de Civilisation Médiévale, Poitiers 26–29 septembre 1990, Cahiers de civilisation médiévale, xxxiv/135–136 (1991), pp. 267–279.

6a  / The facade of Le Puy Cathedral with a staircase, Notre Dame du Puy, Le Puy-en-Velay 6b /The main entrance and interior of the porch of Le Puy Cathedral

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behind the flat façade of the church. Thanks to the steep inclination of the terrain and limited dimensions of the ancient terrace on which the cathedral stands, the two westernmost bays of the cathedral’s nave are built upon eight massive pillars delineating the porch26. Therefore, the bottom part of the porch lies not in front of, but rather under the cathedral. This ante-église par excellence27 constitutes the spacious western entranceway to the cathedral, traditionally used by pilgrims28. The most prominent feature of this peculiar entrance space is the monumental staircase, which leads from the street in front of the façade steeply upwards into the dimness behind the middle archway of the façade. When it reaches the main gate – the Porte Dorée – the staircase continues further and emerges almost right in front of the main altar inside the church29. The inner space of the porch is then divided into three zones: the middle one is reserved for the staircase, while lateral parts are in the form of stages30. It is in these two lateral zones of the porch that one can find two polychromatic wooden doors decorated with a number of images and inscriptions [Figs 7–8] 31. Seemingly identical from afar, flat-surfaced and having a certain “eastern taste”32, within a closer distance these two doors start to unveil two different Christological stories. On the left doors (northern side), we can follow the Nativity and Infancy cycle concluded with the Presentation in the Temple, while on the right (southern side), the doors present Passion scenes finishing with the Ascension and Descent of the Holy Spirit33. These two separate narrations delineate two

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26 For the latest results of archeological surveys and the genesis of a present cathedral building see Barral i Altet, La cathédrale (n. 24), pp. 47–56, 305–310; Walter Cahn, The Romanesque Wooden Doors of Auvergne, New York 1974, pp. 59–75; Alain Fourvel, Sophie Liégard, “Les données archéologiques récentes (1992–1995)”, in Barral i Altet, La cathédrale (n. 24), pp. 56– 67; Alain Fourvel, Sophie Liégard,  “Résultats des interventions archéologiques menées de 1992 à 1995 dans la cathédrale du Puy-enVelay (Haute Loire)”, Archéologie médiévale, xxix (2000), pp. 115–144; cf Marcel Durliat, “L’art dans le Velay”, in Congrès archéologique de France, 133 session Velay (1975), Paris 1976, pp. 9–54, sp. pp. 9–25; idem, “La cathédrale du Puy”, ibidem, pp. 55–163 with an exhaustive description of the reconstructions of the nineteenth century. 27 Carol Heitz, “Rôle de l’église-porche dans la formation des façades occidentales de nos églises romanes”, Cahiers de civilisation médiévale, xxxiv/135–136 (1991), pp. 329–334, sp. p. 329. 28 Cahn, The Romanesque Wooden Doors (n. 26), p. 3; Reinburg, “Les pèlerins” (n. 24), p. 299.

29 Beside a clear symbolical relation to the Gate of Jerusalem or to the Heavenly City, this appellation of the main gate was traditionally used in processional books, and still survives in the oral tradition. For instance, the Palm Sunday procession was provided with instructions to take place “ante portam auream”, similarly, the expression “ad portam ecclesiae deauratam”is used to describe the moment of entry of the newly elected bishop through the main gate into the church. See: “Processionale ad usum ecclesiae cathedralis Beatae Mariae Aniciensis”, Le Puy 1763, Bibliothèque Municipale, Fond Cortial, ms 170, fol. 105ff; Jean-Baptiste Payrard,“Ancien cérémonial-coutumier de l’Eglise du Puy”, Tablettes historiques du Velay, viii, Le Puy / Paris / SaintEtienne 1877–1878, pp. 377–439, sp. p. 438. The main gate was unfortunately remodeled and deprived of the original doors between 1778 and 1781. Cahn, The Romanesque Wooden Doors (n. 26), p. 2. 30 The approach to the chapels with small stairs in front of each doors is a work of the 19th-century Mallay’s recon-

7 /Infancy of Christ, Infancy Doors, wooden doors with relief decoration and polychromy, chapel of Saint Gilles within the porch Le Puy Cathedral, Le Puy-en-Velay, second half of the 12th century 8 /Passion of Christ, Passion Doors, wooden doors with relief decoration and polychromy, chapel of Saint Martin within the porch of Le Puy Cathedral, Le Puy-en-Velay, second half of the 12th century

struction. Cahn, The Romanesque Wooden Doors (n. 26), p. 5. 31 There are large lettered Latin tituli accompanying all scenes and ribbon-like Kufic inscription swirling all around the Infancy doors. For the transcription of tituli see Cahn, The Romanesque Wooden Doors (n. 26), pp. 35–54; for the English translation see Katarína Kravčíková,“The Western Porch of the Cathedral of Le Puy. Construction and Staging of a Liminal Space”, in Migrating Art Historians (n. 5), pp. 119–135, sp. p. 131 n. 56; for the analysis of the Kufic inscription see e.g. Katherine J. Watson, “The Kufic Inscription in the Romanesque Cloister of Moissac in Quercy: Links with Le Puy, Toledo and Catalan Woodworkers”, Arte Medievale, iii/1 (1989), pp. 7–27; for the exhaustive study of medieval inscriptions see e.g. Robert Favreau, “Fonctions des inscriptions au Moyen Âge”, Cahiers de civilisation médiévale, xxxii/127 (1989), pp. 203–232. 32 Prosper Mérimée described them as reminding him of “bas reliefs indiens ou persans”. See Prosper Mérimée, Notes d’un voyage en Auvergne, Paris 1938, p. 558; Cf. Ahmad Fikry,

L’art roman au Puy et les influences islamiques, Paris 1934; or the review of the latter in Louis Bréhier, “Les influences musulmanes dans l’art roman du Puy”, Journal des Savants, (1936), pp. 5–19; The question is dealt in a broader frame also in Xavier Barral i Altet,“Sur les suppposées influences islamiques dans l’art roman : l’exemple de la cathédrale Notre-Dame du Puy-en-Velay”, Les Cahiers de Saint-Michel de Cuxa, xxxv (2004) pp. 115–118. 33 The incomplete cycle on the Infancy doors starts with the Annunciation to the Shepherds and follows with the Adoration of Magi, The Magi Journeying to Herod’s Court, The Magi before Herod, Massacre of the Innocents and Presentation in the Temple. From the Passion cycle, the extant scenes are the Resurrection of Lazarus, Entry into Jerusalem, Last Supper, Arrest of Christ and Christ before the High Priest, Carrying of the Cross and Crucifixion, Three Marys at a Tomb, Ascension and Descent of the Holy Spirit. For the iconographical analysis see Cahn, The Romanesque Wooden Doors (n. 26), sp. pp. 35–58.

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quintessential points defining Christ’s incarnated terminates almost directly in front of the main life: his human birth and salvific, sacrificial death. altar; thus, the motion and entry of pilgrims or visThe main iconological outcome of these two doors itors must have been reasonably regulated – even could be thus understood as a presentation of an- more so due to the fact that the cathedral lacks an tithetical notions and their fusion: the beginning ambulatory, which typically covers this purpose. and the end, the human and the divine. Within Therefore, the spacious porch which offers differthis dialogue, the spectator is confronted and in- ent zones and various visual allurements might be vited to think about two pillars of salvation – Jesus understood as a natural solution of the question of Christ as divine Redeemer and Virgin Mary, hu- how to temporarily accommodate, re-organize, but man Mother of God, with her indispensable role as above all occupy waiting crowds gathered there40. co-redeemer, giving the Word of God opportunity The pair of painted wooden doors we are dealing to gain human flesh through her consent34. Further with does not enclose entrances to the church at all up, the inner space of the porch in front of the main – being closed, we can perceive them as one of these gate offers two lunettes with Theophanic visions35 allurements installed inside the porch to attract which complement the narrative perfectly and attention of wandering people. Then, we can also prepare spectators for the face-to-face encounter understand why within one unique space, we have with the divine36. the story of life of Christ divided and depicted on two independent doors positioned on both sides of To help us reconsider functional properties of the main trajectory. Lured by their looks and in orthese doors, we can firstly mention recent stud- der to read the whole story, viewers were tempted ies by Stefano D’Ovidio and Cécile Voyer which to move from one door to the other. Then, maybe reflected on the fact that pilgrims were almost in the hope of entering but lacking that possibility, certainly only allowed to enter the sacred space they would spend some time standing in front of of pilgrimage church at specific times37. The com- them captivated by the visual dialogue. And as in ments indirectly thematizing this “regulated ac- the case of the closed doors of Santa Sabina, the cess” to the sacred space are to be found already images and here also inscriptions, their position, in the Liber Miracolorum of Bernardus of Angers. and their complexity, force the viewer to move in In this book, dated to the first quarter of eleventh order to reach and to activate them – to step back century, the author presents a story about monks from the doors, with a vertical movement of one’s who in the evening expressed their wish to close gaze following the order of narratives and words. the church’s door to pilgrims. The Liber Miracolo- In Le Puy, the physical movement triggered by the rum further develops the story with a recounting pair of closed doors was also horizontal – moving of Saint Foy performing a miracle and opening the from one to the other – and enhanced by the will door. For the scope of our paper, we can consider of the viewer to uncover both ends of the bisected this source as extremely convenient, since it men- story of Incarnation of Christ they present. tions not only the disruptive lay people, but also the desire of the Conques’ monastic community The antechamber of paradise to have at least some prayers without the regular audience 38. Practically speaking, although we Despite the fact they were projected for a quite have no preserved direct sources or descriptions different audience and purposes, in both situations recording the “schedule” of potential entrances we have tried to introduce the visual and spatial to a certain church, we can assume that especially strategies used to communicate and navigate their monastic or pilgrimage ones must have been reg- visitors could be described as analogous. On the ularly closed to the public 39. Then, we can imagine one hand, we are talking about objects and imthat doors leading into churches were frequently ages which literally force the viewer to move in closed and re-opened. order to see them fully. On the other, about their In the case of the Cathedral of Le Puy, the complexity which impels to slow one’s gaze or to main entranceway into the church leads to and temporarily interrupt one’s movement in order to

understand the message they try to convey. And going back to the function of both spaces – the narthex of the Basilica of Santa Sabina and the porch of the Cathedral of Le Puy – these two above-mentioned strategies seem to be ideal to occupy a waiting person, whether it was a devoted and curious catechumen or a tired and eager pilgrim41. This “time consuming” potential of certain images is why the iconographic similarities of both places – and not even from the art-historical point of view – get even more fascinating. As we have seen already, both spaces present a narrative based on Infancy and Passion of Christ, completed with frontally rendered Theophanic or celestial visions. A considerable part of the doors in Santa Sabina is also occupied by a number of stories depicting miracles of Christ and miracles of Moses [Fig. 9] 42. This aspect of Christ’s biography is in the case of Cathedral of Le Puy represented by the Resurrection of Lazarus only; however, we can consider it as the most powerful of Christ’s miracles, serving as the perfect prefiguration of his own salvific resurrection. In this logic, even though scenes from the Old Testament were not included in Le Puy, the concept based on typological reading of certain stories stays basically unaltered from the Roman example43. Then, it is possible to regard both cases as a visual-imaginative “game”: filled with references and concepts interwoven into narratives, they require some time to be absorbed and understood properly. There is another remarkable visual strategy which should be touched upon, relating two case studies we chose. The decisive role and premeditated position of two types of images used: the narrative ones and the iconic ones44. To introduce this point of view, it is necessary to step back and start with a peculiarity of the architectural context in which the wooden doors are found. For the basilica of Santa Sabina, it is certain that there was no western frontal entrance leading to the narthex corresponding with the position of the main door to church. In order to reach the doors or to enter the church from the narthex, one had to arrive either from the Vicus Altus or the Vicus Armilustris and enter the narthex from one of its side entrances45. Therefore, approaching

34 For the brief account on the 12th century turn in theological debates from the immaculate conception of Virgin Mary to her perpetual virginity cf. Audry Bettant,“La Vierge Marie au cœur des débats du xiie siècle : la prédication d’Arnoul de Lisieux”in La Vierge dans les arts et les littératures du Moyen Âge, actes du colloque de Perpignan du 17 au 19 octobre 2013, Michel Adroher, Paul Bretel, Aymat Catafau eds, Paris 2017, pp. 141–158; Paul Bretel,“Les images de la Vierge dans les miracles narratifs de Notre Dame”, ibidem, pp. 297–319. Considering the connection of entrance spaces and iconographies connected to Virgin cf. Margaret E. Frazer,“Church Doors and the Gates of Paradise Reopened”, in Le porte di bronzo (n. 7), pp. 271–277. 35 The pair of lunettes render two heavenly visions: on the south wall is the scene of Transfiguration of Christ, who stands in mandorla with prophets Moses and Elijah on his sides and apostles John, James and Peter under his feet; on the north, there is a frontal depiction of Mother of God sitting on the throne with the Child on her knees (traditionally referred to as sedes sapientiae), with two angels behind her holding a curtain, and kneeling prophets Ezekiel and Jeremiah on both sides of the throne. See Barral i Altet, La cathédrale (n. 24), pp. 266–269. 36 The objective most sought to reach inside the Cathedral of Le Puy was the famous statue of Notre Dame du Puy presented in front of the main altar, thus, facing entering visitors. For a concise overview on the sculpture, see Elisa. A. Foster, “Out of Egypt: Inventing the Black Madonna of Le Puy in Image and Text”, Studies in Iconography, xxxvii (2016), pp. 1–30. The presence of the statue is attested at least for the end of the 10th or beginning of the 11th century. Barral i Altet, La cathédrale (n. 24), pp. 154, 182; Reinburg, “Les pèlerins” (n. 24), p. 299. 37 Stefano D’Ovidio, “The Bronze Door of Monte Sant’Angelo on Mount Gargano. Use and Perception” in Migrating Art Historians (n. 5), pp. 137–157, sp. p. 154; Cécile Voyer, “The Tower Porch in Saint Benoit-sur-Loire. The Liminal Zone”, ibidem, pp. 159–170. 38 The Book of Sainte Foy, translated with an introduction and notes by Pamela Sheingorn, Philadelphia 1996 [1995], 2, 12; pp. 137–139. For a critical interpretation of this text see Kathleen Ashley, Pamela Sheingorn, Writing Faith. Text, Sign and History in the Miracles of Sainte Foy, Chicago/London 1999. 39 Amy G. Remensnyder, “Un probleme de cultures ou de culture ? La statue-reliquaire et les joca de sainte Foy de Conques dans le Liber miraculorum de Bernard d’Angers”, Cahiers de civilisation médiévale, xxxiii/132 (1990), pp. 351–379, sp. p. 367, n. 97; Ivan Foletti, “Liminality. Space and Imagination”, in Migrating Art Historians (n. 5), pp. 109–117, sp. p. 115. 40 For a brief account on possible movements of pilgrims inside the church see Reinburg, “Les pèlerins” (n. 24), p. 299. 41 About images “forcing” the viewer to slow down his gaze and about visual techniques how to “occupy” waiting persons see for example Nicolas Bock, “Vedere, raccontare, immaginare: la percezione della battaglia e le tappezzerie della Guerra di Troia nella collezione di Ferdinando d’Aragona”, in La battaglia nel Rinascimento meridionale, moduli narrativi tra parole e immagini, Giancarlo Abbamonte ed., Rome 2011, pp. 305–317. 42 For an iconographical corpus of all 18 scenes see Foletti/Gianadrea, Zona Liminare (n. 1), pp. 153–199. 43 Starting with the Late Antique typological reading, certain scenes from the Old Testament were understood as a prefiguration to some of the New One. In general, see Stuart G. Hall, “Typologie”, in Theologische Realenzyklopädie, vol. 34, Berlin 2002, pp. 208–224; for art historical research see the overview by Sabine Schrenk, Typos und Antitypos in der frühchristlichen Kunst, Münster 1995. 44 Cf. Herbert L. Kessler, “The Icon in the Narrative”, in idem, Spiritual Seeing: Picturing God’s Invisibility in Medieval Art, Philadelphia 2000, pp. 1–28, sp. pp. 12, 18. 45 Félix M. D. Darsy, “Les portes de Sainte-Sabine dans l’archéologie et l’iconographie générale du monument”, in Actes du ve congrès international d’archéologie chrétienne (Aix-en-Provence 13–19 septembre 1954), Vatican City / Paris 1957, pp. 471–485; idem, Recherches archéologiques (n. 15), pp. 103–104.

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9a /Miracles of Moses, wooden doors, Basilica of Santa Sabina, Rome, 421–440 9b /Miracles of Jesus, wooden doors, Basilica of Santa Sabina, Rome, 421–440 10 /Detail on low-relief carving and polychromy, Infancy Doors, Le Puy-en-Velay, second half of the 12th century

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the closed main doors of the basilica from the side, the viewer first encountered their lower parts which most probably presented various Old Testament scenes and the above-mentioned stories from the life and passion of Christ. Continuing in reading these narratives and elevating the gaze to see the upper registers clearly, the viewer was simply forced to move – specifically, to step back from the object. And it is up on the top of the doors where the narrative image cedes to make room for several visions of God, rendered in much more static or iconic fashion.

In Le Puy, the situation seems to be in a certain sense equivalent. Approaching from the west, the very construction of the porch led the viewer to first notice and to meet the wooden doors with their captivating narratives: illuminated and full of vivid colors46, resembling side entrances to church’s nave, they had an undeniable potential to attract one’s attention sooner than the almost invisible main entrance and its decoration hidden deeper in a dimness. We know that originally, the substantial part of doors’ final appearance depended precisely on this vivid polychromy,

and low-carved reliefs we can discern today thus served more as a background for paintings [Fig. 10] 47. The color scheme based predominantly on the contrasting red and white pigments might be not a coincidental choice – modern neuroscientific analyses have proven a natural quality of contrasting colors, shapes or movements for having the highest degree of effectivenes in attracting human attention, with red at the top of this “efficacy 46 According to Barral i Altet, the medieval wooden doors decorated with reliefs were almost without exception

brightly colored, sometimes using polychromy to cover or to suppress the constructional limitations of the object as such. See Barral i Altet,“La porte-récit en bois”(n. 7), p. 278; idem, “Riflessioni sull’elaborazione” (n. 7), p. 373. 47 The remains of the color scheme still visible to the naked eye were discovered and conserved after the restoration carried out by M. René Hémery in Paris in 1960, which attempted to sharpen the edges of the worn-out carvings and removed from doors “a thick layer of grime”. See Cahn, The Romanesque Wooden Doors (n. 26), p. 12. The restoration’s results were briefly described by F. Enaud, who, regarding the discovery of the original polychromy noted that: “les couleurs très vives employées par l’artiste du xiie siècle sont le blanc, le rouge de minimum, le rouge de fer, le vert foncé et le bleu. […] Cette brillante polychromie, qui était restée jusqu’a présent ignorée, mérite d’être indiquée ici comme un exemple du parti extrêmement coloré de certaines ornementations romanes […]”.

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ladder”48. Therefore, considering the architectural context of these doors, even such a basic condition as the contrasting deep-gray color of the stonework surrounding the doors or the dramaturgy of the illumination of the porch put them in the natural, literal spotlight49. Finally, the huge, colorful lunettes with striking, iconic Theophanic scenes of Transfiguration and the Virgin Enthroned (which would have had equally drawn attention of those entering) were strategically placed deeper along the staircase on lateral walls in front of the main gate, and thus practically invisible from the outside.

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visions. This order in the images’ iconographical content based on instantly visible narrations of earthly scenes and less accessible iconic celestial visions, could be understood as a visual metaphor of the whole situation – the church interior was traditionally considered the image of heaven, and the crowd waiting outside of it on a threshold hoped for physical, but consequently also spiritual crossing and vision53. Thus, these doors which through the images elucidate the history behind the salvation of humankind to their viewers, at the same time constitute the tangible obstacle between them – the earthly – and the sacred54.

As we already mentioned, the process of waiting spent in dialogue with images and other stimuli Closed doors as threshold of salvation had a practical purpose – to occupy the audience. Nevertheless, we believe this synergy also had As we already stated for the narthex of Santa Sabithe capacity to create or enhance one’s true desire na, on the west, the church had two smaller lateral to access the sacred space, and, by means of the doors on both sides of the main gate which providsame tools, to communicate and to explain the ed a direct access from the narthex to church’s later50 cornerstones of the Christian faith . al aisles. Once neophytes left the inner space of the Of course, in the Late Antique case, the process basilica before the Eucharist, all doors were closed. of waiting lasted much longer and was regularly Regarding the number and function of church’s repeated – the neophytes were obliged to leave doors, according to the writings of Paulinus of the church and wait in front of the closed door of Nola we know that usually, the main entrance of the church repeatedly until their baptism, which the church remained reserved for clergy, while the granted them access and physical presence or par- two lateral ones would have been used by men and ticipation in the eucharistic liturgy51. For a pilgrim women separately55. Therefore, outside of liturgical arriving at the cathedral of Le Puy, it could have celebrations, the main doors covered with images been a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The open- were almost always shut. It makes sense even in ing and closing, inclusion and exclusion or the the simplest way possible – once the doors are necessity to stay within the liminal zone in order open, the images become practically invisible56. to be spiritually prepared one to access the sacred: At the Cathedral in Le Puy, the situation is trickthese mechanisms seem to be used and working ier. The two doors which stand on a place where we similarly in both cases. In Le Puy, we can imagine would typically expect lateral entrances to church that pilgrims who arrived in the lucky moment – which they strongly resemble, do not lead to the when the cathedral was open had the possibility church at all. Both screen and enclose two tiny chato access it directly. In any case, the attractive looks pels, embedded under the last bays of the cathedral. of the wooden doors must have had the power to The northern doors with the Infancy cycle screen stop them in their tracks and to tempt them to the chapel of Saint Gilles, while the Passion doors experience the liminal state or to spend some time on the south enclose one dedicated to Saint Martin. within a liminal space52. Of interest for our purposes both chapels have othWhat seems to be essential is the fact that both er entrances further up along the main staircase. groups – neophytes as well as pilgrims – while Since it does not seem completely indispensable waiting outside the church, had the possibility for spaces so small (and without specific liturgical to reflect on the mystery of incarnation, miracles use57) to have two fully functional entrances each, and passion of Christ, later accompanied and it makes one wonder what could have been the completed with iconic depictions of Theophanic main purpose and status of these two lavish doors.

It is possible to formulate a partial explanation based on two respects: firstly, the strange framework and size of the doors in comparison with the tiny inner space of chapels, and secondly, their anomalous lack of door knobs. The very specific framework we mentioned was used to construct the doors’ valves: both doors consist of a pair of valves, which could each be folded in half vertically. In this sense, and contrary to expectations, the doors probably did not have to be fully open, and if the access from the main doors was necessary, it might have been limited and provided by their central part only. Lastly, if we take into consideration the state of preservation of these doors, they are worn mostly in areas up to the average human height and homogeneously across their width, not around their central poles only – this brings to mind the state of preservation or damage typical for devotional paintings on wood, regularly touched by many people58. The most plausible explanation seems to be that these two doors were almost always shut and not used like entrances. The state of preservation could be then explained with people touching them regularly, while they were waiting or wandering around the porch. In addition to the probably great number of unsuccessful attempts to open the door which just could not be opened, we could go further and imagine that maybe when the porch was less crowded, these two doors may have acted as huge narrative “icons” well known in all the Mediterranean of the twelfth and thirteenth century59. The damage on the surface of the doors would then be explained by active, physical contact or even by the veneration of people attracted by images. If this hypothesis of closed doors is true, it opens questions: why create a door which does not serve as an entrance, but instead, more as a setting, a carrier of static devotional images? Or even further, why create a door which serves as an image? We believe that the possible answer could be found within the connection we tried to draw between the Late Antique example and the twelfth century case. In both situations, being closed, these doors 48 Ernest G. Schachtel, “On Color and Affect”, Psychiatry, vi/4 (1943), pp. 393–409, sp. pp. 395–396; cf. Stephen E. Palmer, Eleanor Rosch, Paul Chase, “Canonical Perspective and

the Perception of Objects”, Attention and Performance, ix (1981), pp. 135–151; Irving Biederman, Arnold L. Glass, Webb Stacy, “Searching for Objects in Real World Scenes”, Journal of Experimental Psychology, xcvii (1973), pp. 22–27; Stephen E. Palmer,“The Effects of Contextual Scenes on the Identification of Objects”, Memory & Cognition, iii (1975), pp. 519–526; Steven K. Shevell, Frederick A. A. Kingdom, “Color in Complex Scenes”, Annual Review of Psychology, lix/1 (2008), pp. 143–166; Ladislav Kesner, “Umění, mysl, neuroscientismus a humanitní vědy”, Kontexty, iii (2011), pp. 42–55, sp. p. 44. 49 It is necessary to state that we have no precise information about the original surface treatment of the walls surrounding entrances to chapels. 50 For a crucial account on the relationship of images and texts, their complex interpretation and sensual attractivity, see Kessler, Spiritual seeing (n. 44), sp. p. 191; Cf. idem, Seeing Medieval Art, Toronto 2004. 51 Saxer, Les rites d’initiation (n. 12), pp. 590–591; Johnson, The Rites of Christian Initiation (n. 12), pp. 1–7. 52 For more information regarding the possible experience of approaching pilgrim and visual strategies used in the porch, see Kravčíková, “The Western Porch” (n. 31). 53 See for example the synthesis of Éric Palazzo, “Relics, Liturgical Space, and the Theology of the Church”, in Treasures of Heaven. Saints, Relics, and Devotion in Medieval Europe, Martina Bagnoli et al. eds, Baltimore/London 2010, pp. 99–109. 54 Cf. parts “La liturgie et l’espace” and “La liturgie et les images”, in Éric Palazzo, Liturgie et Société au Moyen Age, Aubier 2000, pp. 144–147, 156–158. 55 Paolino da Nola, Le lettere, 32, 15, Giovanni Santaniello ed., Naples 1992, vol. ii, pp. 258–259. 56 Barral i Altet mentions the closed door of the church several times in connection – or rather virtually similar – to the monumental page of manuscript full of images, capable to enter instantly into a direct communication with a viewer and to use its pedagogical potential. Although, he considers doors as primarily penetrable, functional, regularly opened, having two modes of reading according to their current state. See Barral i Altet, “Riflessioni sull’elaborazione” (n. 7), pp. 375, 386; idem, “La porte-récit en bois” (n. 7), pp. 278, 285. 57 The history of chapels is quite blurred and basically without a direct record in already scattered sources regarding the building history of the cathedral. Their function and even their dedication seem to be forgotten still in the nineteenth century, when A. Mallay refers to the northern one as to the “funerary chapel” and to the southern as to baptismal place dedicated to Saint John. The original nomenclature was found within the Ancien cérémonial-coutumier de l’église du Puy, in Payrard 1877–1878, p. 382: “Extra ecclesiam sunt aliae capellae ipsi ecclesiae annexae, scilicet ab introi- tu portae deauratae: 1. sunt capellae seu ecclesiae parochialis hospitalis: 2. superius ascendendo, a parte dextra, est capella sancti Martini et a parte sinistra est capella sancti Aegidii.” 58 We have at our disposal several contracts, ordinances or other legal documents regarding the merchant activities within the boundaries of the Le Puy cathedral’s precinct and administration. These were since 1210 apparently monopolized by the Hotel-Dieu and taking place almost exclusively within the porch of the cathedral. Documents further attest that the porch was a vibrant microcosm crowded with people, merchants and stands, standing in close distance to these doors. For more see Fabrice Denise, “Le marché des Grazes”, in Barral i Altet, La cathédrale (n. 24), p. 135. 59 For the Mediterranean see for example Kurt Weitzmann, Manoli Chatzidakis, Svetozar Radojčić, Die Ikonen in Sinai, Griechenland und Jugoslawien, Zagreb 1980, pp. 70, 81, 125. For Italy we can consider for example the Madonna di San Martino (1250–1260) cf. Luciano Bellosi, Cimabue, Milan 2004. For the very notion of icon and the use of this term see Ivan Foletti, “L’icona, una costruzione storiografica? Dalla Russia all’Occidente, la creazione di un mito”, Annali di critica d’arte, xii (2016), pp. 175–194, 593.

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served above all as a materialization of a mental concept of a possibility of passage. However, while these closed doors embellished with images invite the onlooker to both types of passage, they grant only the spiritual one, while denying the physical transition. Since Antiquity, we have preserved number of examples of “false doors”: fresco imitations in roman villas, carved pieces from ancient Egyptian tombs, depictions of shut doors on Etruscan tombs, half-opened doors on numerous Late Antique sarcophagi or wall paintings which represent doors of Hades [Fig. 11] 60. In all these instances, doors become a proper image with an iconographic meaning. Could the same understanding be applied to real doors, which are more often than not closed, thus, suppressing their own archetypal function in favor of a mental connotation?

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Before trying to formulate any kind of answer to this question, we should underline that

additionally to their practical function, from the anthropological point of view, one of the archetypal virtues associated with doors is their apotropaic power which enables them to act as material defenders against the devil61. After all, it is also for this reason that the image of the door serves as a recurrent motif in funerary art. There are also many extant examples of real doors, doorframes or gateways and thresholds marked by human hands with inscriptions or signs having this peculiar, protection-seeking character62. Therefore, doors, especially within the context of the sacral architecture, serve as both real and mental places of protection and of transit to higher or more sacred realities. In this sense, a decision to use real doors primarily as an image, does not seem to be a problem: for catechumens and pilgrims, these doors acted as powerful metaphors of the very goal of their psychosomatic “journey” towards the sacred. We thus arrive at a paradox: the closed doors become a threshold which through its material nature, presence and decoration invites crossing

11 /Front panel of a sarcophagus with allegory of the Four seasons, middle of the 3rd century / Musei Capitolini, Palazzo dei Senatori (Rome), mc 1185

in both a spiritual/mental and physical way. The fact that doors are closed only emphasizes the hypothetical potential of the act they embody: the act which, however, needs a proper preparation in order to be achieved. In this sense, we come to Arnold van Gennep and his theory of “rites de passage” where the liminal space is understood as being always in between and which must not be crossed without the proper ritual63. Van Gennep’s theories have been criticized in recent years, but their importance still seems to be crucial for the understanding and the perception of the threshold64. To stay in front of this kind of closed doors and to let oneself enter the visual dialog they 60 See e.g. Roberta Casagrande-Kim, The Journey to the Underworld: Topography, Landscape, and Divine Inhabitants of the Roman Hades, PhD. Thesis, Columbia University, New York 2012, sp. pp. 180 –198; Jean-René Jannot, Religion in Ancient Etruria, Madison 2005, p. 56; John R. Clarke, The Houses of Roman Italy, 100 b.c.– a.d. 250: Ritual, Space, and Decoration, Berkeley / Los Angeles 1991 pp. 113–115; Christiane Ziegler, “Catalogues des stèles, peintures et reliefs égyptiens de l’Ancien Empire et de la première période intermédiaire”, in Éditions de la Réunion des musées nationaux, Paris 1990, pp. 222–227; Licia Vlad Borelli, “La porta romana” and “La Porta del Pantheon” in Le

61

62

63

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porte di bronzo (n. 7), pp. 1–11, 11–23; Guntram Koch, Hellmut Sichtermann, Römische Sarkophage, Beck 1982, pp. 220 –221, fig. 253; Jean-Louis de Cénival, “A propos de la stèle de Chéchi. Étude de quelques types de titulatures privées de l’Ancien Empire”, Revue d’égyptologie, (1975), pp. 62– 69. Jean-Michel Spieser, “Réfléxion sur le décor et fonctions des portes monumentales”, in Le porte del paradiso. Arte e tecnologia tra Italia e Mediterraneo, Antonio Iacobini ed., Rome 2009, pp. 65–79. See for example: Ann Marie Yasin, “Prayers on Site: The Materiality of Devotional Graffiti and the Production of Early Christian Sacred Space”, in Viewing Inscriptions in the Late Antique and Medieval World, Antony Eastmond ed., Cambridge 2015, pp. 36– 60, sp. p. 52; Anxo Fernández Ocampo, “Dessins sur le pas de la porte: notes pour une anthropologie visuelle du seuil en Galice”, Conserveries mémorielles, vii (2010), online: http://cm.revues.org/435, [08.03.2019]. Arnold Van Gennep, Les rites de passage. Étude systématique des rites de la porte et du seuil, de l’hospitalité de l’adoption, de la grossesse et de l’accouchement de la naissance, de l’enfance, de la puberté, de l’initiation, de l’ordination, du couronnement, des fiançailles et du mariage, des funérailles, des saisons. Ect., New York / Wakefield / Paris 1969 [1909]. For critics to Van Gennep’s theories see Janet Wilson, Daria Tunca, “Postcolonial Thresholds: Gateways and Borders”, Journal of Postcolonial Writing, li/1 (2015), pp. 1– 6, for its general reception see Bobby C. Alexander, “Rite of passage”, Encyclopædia Britannica 2015. Encyclopædia Britannica Online [05.10.2016]; for its continuous use see for example Clémentine Raineau, “Du rite de passage au souci de soi : vers une anthropologie de la jeunesse?”, Siècles, xxiv (2006), pp. 25–37.

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provoke thus implies active participation in this kind of ritual. And once the ritual is performed, the doors will open. It is not important in what form we grasp the notion of the ritual – whether in personal (picturing and animating the stories in one’s mind) or organized (pre-baptismal catechesis, casting out of the church before the Eucharist), spiritual or real. For catechumens and pilgrims, meeting closed doors created a unique occasion to intellectually grasp the whole process of “becoming ready” and the “crossing of the threshold”, before they actually passed it and reached the sacred place. Conclusion The analogical situation we tried to describe for specific cases of wooden doors of Basilica of Santa Sabina and Le Puy Cathedral allowed us to construct a new reflection on the possible function of doors with narrative decoration. These two examples, though distant in time and space, are united by their setting. Both doors (or set of doors) were conceived for spaces with a comparable character: the narthex of basilica of Santa Sabina and the porch of Notre Dame of Le Puy are spaces of regulation (whether of catechumens or pilgrims), as well as spaces for preparation to the entrance to the sacred space. The iconographical program the doors present seems to be the perfect tool for preparatory purposes: explaining the history of salvation and presenting the celestial visions, both narthexes constitute an ideal place of preparation for the mysteries waiting inside the churches. Decorated

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doors on the one hand placed within, and on the other actively participating on the creation of this preparatory context, can then be understood as instruments crucial for the process of “stepping in” which could be real as well as spiritual. We tried to show that this type of doors can operate fully only when closed, since in that unique state their images are clearly visible, thus inviting the viewer to enter not only with his body, but first with his mind. One last point must be mentioned: in these two cases, we have investigated how an object can transcend its own practical function. The closed doors as a physical barrier have the ability to call forth the idea of a potential transition and become an apotropaic object, a cultic image and finally, a spiritual gate. In the medieval world full of metaphors, closed doors as such – even regardless of the iconographical content of its decoration – can thus serve as a place of spiritual passage, preparing the viewer for the real one. In this sense, we believe that the approach and understanding we have been reflecting on, may be applied to a variety of other iconic doors from the medieval period65. 65 E.g. fragments of doors of Sant Ambrose in Milan, an exceptional 11th-century piece in St Maria im Kapitol in Cologne or a number of wooden doors preserved in the Abruzzo region etc. Moreover, a similar attitude may be considered also for bronze doors with Christian narratives such as those in Hildesheim, Novgorod, Gniezno etc. For Hildesheim see the excellent article with its bibliography by Ittai Weinryb, “Hildesheim avant-garde: bronze, columns, and colonialism”, Speculum, xciii/3 (2018), pp. 728–782; for the Milanese doors cf. Mariantonia Reinhard-Felice, Ad sacrum lignum: la porta maggiore della basilica di Sant’Ambrogio a Milano, Bellinzona 1996; Wolfgang Stracke, St. Maria im Kapitol Köln: die romanische Bildertür, Köln 1994; for the Abruzzo cf. Maria Andaloro, “Le porte lignee medievali in Abruzzo e nel Lazio”, in Le porte di bronzo (n. 7), pp. 325–340.

summary Zavřené dveře jako nositelé obrazů Bazilika svaté Sabiny a Notre Dame du Puy

Dveře křesťanských chrámů Santa Sabina v Římě a Notre Dame v Le Puy-en-Velay jsou si vzdálené v čase i v prostoru. Pojí je však, že jsou vyrobené ze dřeva, pokryté reliéfy a umístěné na západní straně chrámu. Navíc, podle hlavní myšlenky autorů, je v nadčasovém kontextu prahu a přechodových prostor možné je vnímat jako „obrazy“ samy o sobě, nebo alespoň jako ideové a ikonologické prvky širšího obrazu. V obou případech jsou dveře umístěné uvnitř architektonicky vymezeného vstupního prostoru před chrámem a jejich výzdoba tematizuje podobným způsobem a s podobným záměrem vybrané scény z Kristova života. Ikonografie dveří byla zřejmě navržena pro dvě konkrétní skupiny diváků: pro katechumeny v pozdně antickém Římě a pro vyčerpané poutníky očekávající fyzické a duchovní setkání s cílem své poutě do Le Puy-en-Velay. Ve stavu „liminálního rozpoložení“ očekávaly obě skupiny na prahu posvátného (prostoru) před zavřenými dveřmi na přechodový rituál. Paradoxně tedy studované dveře získávaly zásadní smysl jako celek v momentě, kdy

byly zavřené a potlačujíce svoje primární funkční vlastnosti, zdůrazňovaly vlastnosti symbolické, apotropaické a rituální. Stávaly se materializací možnosti přechodu. Reálné a funkční dveře jsou tak zavřené a zaví­rané, aby ještě dříve, než bude následovat přechod fyzický, nabídly přechod spirituální a imaginativní. Zavřené dveře je tak možné chápat podobně jako vyobrazení zavřených dveří na antických sarkofázích, v egyptských a etruských hrobkách či na římských iluzivních freskách. Ve zmíněných zobrazeních, která se vyskytují především ve funerálním kontextu, mají dveře arche­typální význam jako předměty zhmotňující potenciál přechodu. Autoři, kteří vycházejí z prací Arnolda van Gennepa, chápou přechodové rituály jako ne­ vy­h nutelnou přípravu k překročení imagi­nár­ ní­ho a reálného prahu. Zavřené dveře před posvátným prostorem tak fungují jako konkrétní místa fyzického zastavení. Zároveň pohled na ně spouští mentální či spirituální imaginaci, která je zásadní pro intenzivnější zážitek posvátna a zároveň připravuje aktéra na přechod fyzický.

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Abstract – Constructing Liminal Space? Curtains in Late Antique and Early Medieval Churches – The textile furnishings of Late Antique and early medieval basilicas are now-lost parts of churches’ internal arrangements that can hardly be more than inferred today; they must have served a crucial function in believers’ perception and experience of sacred spaces. Despite the almost total lack of material evidence, this article attempts to explore the various purposes of textile decorations while considering their capacity to define different zones of accessibility and visibility within the church space as well as their potential of emphasizing the idea of the sacred. It attempts to assess the problem from two perspectives: on the one hand, by analyzing textual sources, namely the entries of the Roman Liber Pontificalis; on the other hand, by examining evidence in scattered artistic depictions and specific archaeological situations. Taken together, these sources may help to reconstruct the original presence, context and function of curtains within sacred spaces. Keywords – liminality, curtains, hangings, sacred space, early medieval liturgy, decoration, veiling, revealing, Liber Pontificalis, St Peter’s Basilica, Basilica at the Museum, Philippi, Ashburnham Pentateuch, sociology of space, catechumenate Sible de Blaauw Radboud University Nijmegen [email protected] Klára Doležalová Masaryk University, Brno 46 [email protected]

Constructing Liminal Space? Curtains in Late Antique and Early Medieval Churches Sible de Blaauw & Klára Doležalová 1

Textiles are among the most important and eloquent, but also most precariously preserved artefacts of ancient material culture. Although scholars have shown that curtains must have served as spatial dividers for example in domestic settings of Late Antiquity, their use within the church space was hardly investigated in detail2. Given the fact that curtains might have had, apart from their practical function of regulating temperature, air flow, and sound conditions, a certain impact on the perception of the sacred space and its decoration, the question of their actual purpose deserves further investigation. Within the emerging discourse on the notion of liminality and the staging of sacred space, we thus focus

our attention on this particular phenomenon and make a preliminary attempt to explore the various purposes of curtains in the Late Antique and early This article was carried out as part of the erc cz project “Radikální konverze? Vizuální umění, rituály, performance a konverze v raně křesťanské iniciaci (ll1904)”. 1 At this point, we would like to thank to the organizers and participants of the Liminality and the Medieval Art ii conference who initiated this collaboration in the first place, and also to all those who contributed to its written outcome, namely to Ivan Foletti, Adrien Palladino, Katarína Kravčíková, and Nikola Havlová. 2 John W. Stephenson, “Veiling the Late Roman House”, Textile History, 45/1 (2014) , pp. 3–31; Clothing the House: Furnishing Textiles in the 1st Millennium ad from Egypt and Neighboring Countries, Antoine De Moor, Cäcilia Fluck eds, Tielt 2009; Yvon Thébert, “Private Life and Domestic Architecture in Roman Africa”, in A History of Private Life, vol. i: From Pagan Rome to Byzantium, Paul Veyne ed., Cambridge, ma 1992, pp. 313–409.  *

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medieval basilicas3. As a consequence, this contribution will chiefly interrogate the capacity of curtains to construct different zones of accessibility and visibility, which in addition might have corresponded to a social stratification of the church interior 4. The architectural, ecclesiastical, and liturgical diversity across the Mediterranean, coupled with often problematic archaeological situations makes it difficult to reach general conclusions. Nevertheless, a closer look at specific cases may reveal some of the mechanisms involved in the use of textile hangings. Material evidence of the preserved textile furnishings would be certainly worthy of further discussion; however, it would be rather inconclusive for the purpose of the present article due to the almost total absence of reliable material. Most of the preserved textile fragments are of uncertain origin and dating and their original usage is based on their size, ekphrastic sources, or comparisons with artistic representations5. However, even when preserved in sets or with textile loops which might indicate their classification as “curtains” or “hangings” [Fig. 1], only few objects can be reconstructed in the original context of their use, be it a religious or a secular one6. Regarding the methodological approach, considering also the thematical framework of this volume, we therefore decided to proceed towards this topic from different perspectives, exploring the written sources on the one hand – the Roman Liber Pontificalis in particular – and pictorial representations or archaeological situations on the other, all of which together allow to identify several types of textile presence within church spaces.

i. The four “circles” of curtains in Roman churches according to the Liber Pontificalis

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The Roman Liber Pontificalis (lp), the collections of lives of the popes, is the most important written source for church interiors in the city of Rome from the fourth until the ninth century7. A problem of its use by modern historians has always been the lack of consistency in the nature and structure of the various lives, when compared to each other and from period to period8. This is true in particular for the information regarding textiles in

the urban and extra-urban churches. They do not belong to the authentic donation lists to churches included in the lives of popes in the fourth and fifth centuries. Nevertheless, there is enough other evidence available to presume that textiles were in reality present in Roman church interiors of the time9. On the other hand, donation records of the popes collected in the lp in the Carolingian period seem to be systematic and complete. They include textiles in abundant numbers with countless specifications regarding fabric, design and locations, so that they allow for a systematic analysis of their development over a period of almost ninety years. In the perspective of this article, the investigation will concentrate on the spatial disposition and effects of curtains in Roman churches of the later eighth and the ninth century10. The earliest mentions of textiles in Roman churches concern cloths covering the altar. Several pallia of precious silk with gold-work 3 In this regard, also the recent research of Eunice Dauterman Maguire must be mentioned: Eunice Dauterman Maguire, “Curtains at the Threshold: How They Hung and How They Performed”, in Catalogue of the Textiles in the Dumbarton Oaks Byzantine Collection, Gudrun Bühl, Elizabeth Dospěl Williams eds, Washington, dc 2019: https://www.doaks.org/resources/ textiles/essays/maguire (accessed on 1 October 2019). 4 The sociological aspect of architectural and liturgical planning of the Late Antique and early medieval churches has been extensively taken into consideration only recently. See for example Ute Verstegen, “Die symbolische Raumordnung frühchristlicher Basiliken des 4. bis 6. Jahrhunderts. Zur Interdependenz von Architektur, Liturgie und Raumausstattung”, Rivista di archeologia Cristiana, lxxxv (2009), pp. 567 – 600 with bibliography; Ann Marie Yasin, Saints and Church Spaces in the Late Antique Mediterranean: Architecture, Cult, and Community, Cambridge 2009, sp. pp. 26 –45; Miriam Czock, Gottes Haus. Untersuchungen zur Kirche als heiligem Raum von der Spätantike bis ins Frühmittelalter, Göttingen 2012, sp. pp. 27 – 86; Beatrice Caseau, “Experiencing the Sacred”,in Experiencing Byzantium, Claire Nesbitt, Mark Jackson eds, Farnham 2013, pp. 59 – 77; Spaces in Late Antiquity: Cultural, Theological, and Archaeological Perspectives, Juliette Day, Raimo Hakola, Maijastina Kahlos, Ulla Tervahauta eds, London 2016. 5 Cf. Methods of Dating Ancient Textiles of the 1st Millennium ad from Egypt and Neighbouring Countries, Antoine De Moor, Cäcilia Fluck eds, Tielt 2007. On Late Antique textiles in general see Sabine Schrenk, Textilien des Mittelmeerraumes aus spätantiker bis frühislamischer Zeit, Riggisberg 2004; Annemarie Stauffer et al., Textiles of Late Antiquity, New York 1996. 6 See Kathrin Colburn, “Loops, Tabs, and Reinforced Edges: Evidence for Textiles as Architectural Elements”, in Catalogue of the Textiles (n. 3): https://www.doaks.org/resources/ textiles/essays/colburn (accessed on 1 October 2019). 7 The standard edition, also used in this article, is Le Liber Pontificalis. Texte, introduction et commentaire, Louis Duchesne ed., 2 vols, Paris 1886–1892; Additions et corrections, Cyrille Vogel ed., Paris 1957 (Reprint: 3 vols, Paris 1981). For the English translations: The Book of Pontiffs (Liber Pontificalis):

The Ancient Biographies of the First Ninety Roman Bishops to

ad 715, Raymond Davis ed., 2nd ed., Liverpool 2000 [1989];

The Lives of the Eighth-Century Popes (Liber Pontificalis): The Ancient Biographies of Nine Popes from ad 715 to ad 817, idem ed., Liverpool 1992; The Lives of the Ninth-Century Popes (Liber Pontifcalis): The Ancient Biographies of Ten Popes from a.d. 817– 891, idem ed., Liverpool 1995. References are to the number of the vita, and that of the caput within, corresponding in all modern editions. 8 See the introductions in the editions of Liber Pontificalis (n. 7); Book of Pontiffs (n. 7); Lives of the Eighth-Century Popes (n. 7); Lives of the Ninth-Century Popes (n. 7); in addition, see Antonella Ballardini, “Stat Roma pristina nomine. Nota sulla terminologia storico-artistica nel Liber Pontificalis”, in La committenza artistica dei Papi a Roma nel Medioevo, Mario D’Onofrio ed., Rome 2016, pp. 381–439. 9 For further analysis of the sources with all references regarding the period from the fourth to the eighth century in Roman churches I refer to my article: Sible de Blaauw, “Architektur und Textilien in den spätantiken Kirchen Roms”, Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum, Ergänzungsband, Münster 2020 (forthcoming) with further biliography. 10 This section is in part overlapping the De Blaauw,“Architektur und Textilien”(n. 9), but focusses rather on the abundant records of the ninth century.

1 / Hanging with Nikes holding a bowl of fruit (with textile loops in the upper part), Egypt (?), 6th–7th century / Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York), inv. 12.182.45 (detail)

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patches came as presents from the imperial court in Constantinople to the main basilicas of Rome in the twenties of the sixth century11. The Eastern donations may have stimulated the use of valuable fabrics in the churches of Rome, and also other – but unmentioned – categories of textiles. Yet, the altar cloth has the longest tradition in the lp, certainly not without long gaps in the records, but traceable from the Late Antique pallia until the early medieval vestes de altare, which appear among the most prestigious donations in the lives of the Carolingian period. They certainly reflect the increasing interest in the textile adornment of church interiors of the time12. This growing prestige may be one of the reasons for the consistent inclusion of hanging curtains in the donation programs of the popes since Hadrian i (772–795). It is this category that is of the highest interest for the concept of liminal space. Comprehensive programs of curtains

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The most instructive passage with regard to hangings and their disposition in the lp is the comprehensive donation by pope Leo iv (847 – 855) to the St Peter’s Basilica. The greatest of Roman churches had been plundered by the Saracens in 846 and had to be completely refurnished, a task passionately accomplished by the pontiff within a few years. The ensemble of appointments that had come into being over decades, and in part over centuries, had now to be replaced in one coherent project. New curtains were also provided methodically, clearly in accordance with the categories that had been in use before the traumatic pillage. In a schematic synthesis and interpretation, ordered by location within the church, this is the new collection of hanging textiles13: 1. 25 vela de fundato, quae in ambitu sacri altaris pulcriora dependent: gold-interwoven veils in the area around the high altar, that is probably on the walls of the apse; 2. 10 vela leonum habentia istorias, quae ante vestibulum sacrae confessionis cernuntur pendere: veils representing lions, which hang in the double pergola in front of the apse platform; 3. 46 alia vela de fundato, quae inter columnas ipsius venerande basilicae dextra levaque coruscant:

gold-interwoven veils in the 23 intercolumniations on both sides of the central nave; 4. 33 vela de fundato quae in arcos ad ornatum et decorationem presbiterii pendent: gold-interwoven veils in the arches of the lower choir; 5. 18 alia vela de fundato, quae in diversis eiusdem basilicae locis ipse almificus papa constituit pendere; gold-interwoven veils to be hung in various parts of the basilica, possibly in the 18 intercolumniations of the transept; 6. 3 alia vela, quae ante ianuas sacrae basilicae pendunt: other veils hanging in front of the doorways, possibly the three portals to the central nave; 7. 4 vela sirica de prasino, in circuitu altaris beati Petri apostoli habentia tabulas de chrysoclavo, cum effigie Salvatoris et apostolorum Petri ac Pauli, seu ipsius almifici praesulis [...], quae in diebus festis ad decorem ibidem suspenduntur14: green silk veils with gold-studded panels, with the effigies of the Savior, Peter and Paul and the papal sponsor himself, which are hung in the ciborium of the high altar on feast days. The last entry occurs much later in the Life of Leo iv, but it appears nevertheless to have been part of the substitution program of all categories of hanging textiles. As a matter of fact, the ciborium of the high altar was restored at a later moment15. Only then, the altar canopy could be furnished with appropriate hangings. These donations seem to provide a complete image of the standard equipment with textiles in the largest and most important basilica of Rome in the mid-ninth century. Taking the liturgical focus of the basilica as the symbolical center, four circles of hangings can be distinguished between the high altar and the perimeters of the internal space: the altar ciborium, the presbyterium, the colonnades of the nave and the entrance zone of the church. Moreover, the center itself was ennobled by a textile decoration: in line with his predecessors Leo iv donated a gold-worked vestis to the high altar of St Peter’s decorated with numerous precious stones and representing the preaching of the Apostle Peter in Rome16. This information regarding St Peter’s may be used to extend our understanding of the practice of hangings in Roman churches in general. Even if no

one would compete with the Vatican basilica in significance, and only few in size and splendor, it is evident that the basilica of the Apostle Peter was the ideal paradigm for all churches in Rome as far as liturgical planning and interior decoration is concerned. The lp gives countless instances of the role of St Peter’s as a model, particularly in the Carolingian period. Of a smaller church, the comprehensive furnishing of a newly built basilica by Paschal i may serve as a representative case. As a matter of fact, Santa Maria in Domnica on the Coelian hill was completed in 819 and supplied with all the requisites for its liturgical function17. The list of papal gifts includes, apart from rich cloths to decorate the altar: 1. 4 vela rubea sirica, cum gammadiis et cruce de quadrapulo in circuitu altaris: red silk veils with chevrons and a cross in the altar ciborium; 2. 3 + 5 vela tyrea 3, et de quadrapulo 5 in trabem ante vestibulum altaris: sets of 3 tyrian and 5 fourfold-woven veils on the pergola (beam in front of the vestibule of the altar); 3. 20 vela de quadrapulo in arcos maiores eiusdem ecclesiae: veils of fourfold weave in the arches of the nave colonnade; 4. 4 vela parva de stauraci per arcos presbiterii: small cross-adorned veils for the arches of the lower choir; 5. 3 vela tyrea in ingressu presbiterii: tyrian veils at the entrance of the lower choir; 6. 1 cortinam maiorem de quadrapulo, cum periclisin de fundato in ingressu iamdictae ecclesiae: a large curtain of fourfold weave with a fringe interwoven with gold at the church’s entrance. Even if the church has a smaller sanctuary and only three aisles without a transept, we recognize essentially the same four circles of curtains as in St Peter’s: the hangings of the ciborium, those of the pergola and the lower choir, of the nave colonnades and of the main doorway. We will now discuss briefly each of the four “layers” of this – not geometrically, but spatially – concentric layout. Ciborium curtains The first instance of hangings for a Roman church in the lp regards the donation of four veils for

the altar ciborium in St Peter’s by Pope Sergius i (687 – 701)18. Canopies of wood and increasingly of stone and marble arching over the high altar were in use in Rome since the sixth century19. The tendency to adorn them with veils seems to have developed gradually in Constantinople and Rome and concomitantly in the Byzantine and the Latin world. These so-called tetravela (sets of four veils, designated for the four sides of the ciborium) then became a standard element in papal donation programs, with a quantitative climax under Leo iii (795 – 816). During his pontificate, the terminology changes from the Greek-Latin tetravela/tetravila to vela in circuitu altaris, while the number of four confirms their destination: “to hang in the arches of the ciborium”20. The hangings for this most sacred part of the church were always made of precious fabrics. Frequently, more sets of ciborium-hangings were present, so that they could be suspended alternately 21. Since Leo iii, they were sometimes decorated with crosses, stars or even tigers 22. Occasionally, one of the four curtains was distinguished by a richer decoration, for example for St Peter’s 11 lp 54.10 ff. 12 Cf. Stephan Beissel, “Gestickte und gewebte Vorhänge der römischen Kirchen in der zweiten Hälfte des viii. und in der ersten Hälfte des ix. Jahrhunderts”, Zeitschrift für christliche Kunst, vii (1894), pp. 357 –374; Marielle Martiniani-Reber, “Tentures et textiles des églises romaines au haut moyen âge d’après le Liber pontificalis”, Mélanges de l’École Française  de  Rome. Moyen âge, cxi (1999), pp. 289 –305; Maria Andaloro, “Immagine e immagini nel Liber Pontificalis da Adriano i a Pasquale i”,  in Il Liber Pontificalis e la storia materiale, Atti del colloquio internazionale (Roma, 21–22 febbraio 2002), (= Mededelingen van het Nederlands Instituut te Rome, lxi/lxii), Herman Geertman ed., Rome 2003, pp. 45–103 . 13 lp 105.13; also in De Blaauw, “Architektur und Textilien” (n. 9). 14 lp 105.87. 15 lp 105.61. 16 lp 105.55. 17 lp 100.12–14; Caroline J. Goodson, The Rome of Pope Paschal i: Papal Power, Urban Renovation, Church Rebuilding and Relic Translation, 817–824, Cambridge 2010, pp. 146 –148. Cf. Goodson’s helpful graphic reconstruction of the location of the curtains and textiles. One may have have difference of opinion regarding the “vela parva in arcos presbiterii”. 18 lp 86.11. 19 Federico Guidobaldi, “I cyboria d’altare a Roma fino al ix secolo”,  Mededelingen van het Nederlands Instituut te Rome, lix (2000), pp. 55– 69. 20 lp 98.50: Fecit et in circuitu altaris ubi supra alia vela alba olosyrica rosata, qui pendent in arcora de cyburio, numero 4, ex quibus una cum chrisoclabo et margaretis. 21 For example lp 98.93. 22 See table in Andaloro, “Immagine e immagini nel Liber Pontificalis”(n. 12), pp. 45–103, sp. pp. 84– 85.

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“white all-silk veils with roses, one of them gold-studded and with pearls”23. Probably the most effulgent curtain was hung on the nave side of the canopy. Since Leo iii, the ciborium hangings were occasionally decorated with figural scenes, either woven into the fabric or sewn on it as applications24. In St Peter’s new equipment after the sack, the patron Leo iv had himself depicted even twice on the fabrics adorning the high altar: on the gold-studded altar cloth and again on one of the veils of the ciborium25. The contemporary depictions closest to the reality of Roman churches may be the liturgical scenes on the cover of the Frankish Drogo-Sacramentary [Fig. 2] 26. They show hangings in the ciborium arches, which are drawn up during the Eucharist. This must reflect the actual practice, since no liturgical use of altar veils is documented in Roman and Western liturgical sources of the time. However, this does not exclude the possibility or even probability of the veils being lowered to hide the altar from view when not being in use. This would make the “double” representation of Leo iv on the altar textiles in St Peter’s more understandable. Hangings in the presbytery

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More variances can be discovered between the basilicas when the hangings in the larger altar area, or the part of the church reserved for the officiating clergy are concerned. However, in most Roman churches of the early Middle Ages, a basic disposition of a high choir or an altar platform with a rood beam or pergola in front of it, and a lower choir extending into the nave can be presumed27. Many churches were furnished with veils suspended under the beam or in the intercolumniations of the pergola. These supports may have been adorned with panels containing sacred images, which were supplied with special veils 28. During an ambitious refurnishing process of the basilica of Santa Maria in Trastevere in 807 – 808, Leo iii donated “a large tyrian veil in front of the images” and three small red crimson veils with cross-adorned silk, “which hang in front of the silver images”29. Evidently, the chancel screens of the vestibulum in front of the sanctuary and of the lower

choir were adorned with silver arches, a typical early medieval feature in Rome. These arcora argentea or arcus presbiterii were also decorated with veils, which in the main basilicas occurred in high numbers, such as the ninety-three fabrics donated by Leo iii for the Eastertide in St Peter’s30. During the life of Paschal i, they were defined as “small veils”, and indeed they must have been of a relatively small size31. From Paschal i onwards, they were frequently decorated with figural representations32. It seems plausible that the textiles hanging in the pergola had a similar function like those in the ciborium: to conceal the sanctuary when it was not in use, and to reveal it during the worship. Other hangings, like those of the lower chancel screens or arches, primarily became bearers of iconography and may have been suspended permanently without hindering the view through the screens towards the altar and the apse. The veils in front of the images on the boundary of the sanctuary clearly had a function to conceal in order to reveal. They were not meant to enshroud the sacred images permanently, but rather to open them up to view in certain moments and at certain occasions. Interestingly, these veils could become bearers of images themselves. Around the year 832 Gregory iv provided fourteen gold-studded veils in St Peter’s “with various representations of the gospels and the passions of Saint Peter and Paul and of the Apostle Andrew, which hang down before the images bathed in gold and silver, on the beam that is silvered above in front of which you may approach the sacred confession, very attractive and noteworthy for men to look at”33. Certainly, there was a gradation between the didactic purpose of the iconography of the veils and the sacredness of the images they protected. Hangings in the nave After some sporadic donations in earlier pontificates, veils to be hung “in the arches”, that is in the arcaded or trabeated colonnades of the Roman basilicas, immediately became a systematic phenomenon in the lp in abundant numbers during the life of Hadrian i. Apparently, Hadrian was convinced that every church needed veils. His donation

program of 772 – 774 provided every category of churches with sets of vela 34 . For instance, all titular churches received one set of twenty silk veils and another one of twenty linen hangings. This means, that the number of veils was not determined by the number of intercolumniations, but it rather depended on the status of the church. Moreover, every church had at least two sets of curtains at its disposal: one more precious for feasts, one more simple for other days. On the one hand, Hadrian probably made use of the possibilities to import precious fabrics from the East, but on the other, he seems also to have reverted to age-old traditions in Roman church interiors. One of the indicators of that tradition is the custom of painted veils on the walls of churches in Rome since the early eighth century. As John Osborne has pointed out, the trompe l’oeil of draperies must have reflected a decoration with real textiles, and actually the painted imitation occurs in the period of increasing interest in the donation of fabrics in the lp [Fig. 3] 35. As with other categories of fabrics, the novelty of Hadrian’s 23 lp 98.50; see above n. 20. Cf. e.g. lp 103.11. 24 First example lp 98.93 (St. Peter’s): “tetravila rubea olosyrica alitina, habentes tabulas seu orbiclos de chrisoclabo diversis depictos storiis, cum stellis de chrisoclabo, necnon et in medio cruces de chrisoclabo ex margaretis ornatas mire magnitudinis et pulchritudinis decorata, quae in diebus festis ibidem ad decorem mittuntur”. Again in lp 105.87, quoted above, and lp 105.95. On historiated textiles (altar cloths): L. Edward Phillips, “A Note on the Gifts of Leo iii to the Churches of Rome: ‘vestes cum storiis’”, Ephemerides liturgicae, cii (1988), pp. 72–78. 25 lp 105– 95. 26 Bibliothèque Nationale de France, ms Lat. 9428: Franz Unterkirchner, Zur Ikonographie und Liturgie des Drogo-Sakramentars (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, Ms. Lat. 9428), Graz 1977. 27 Sible de Blaauw, Cultus et decor. Liturgia e architettura nella Roma tardoantica e medievale. Basilica Salvatoris, Sanctae Mariae, Sancti Petri, 2 vols, Vatican City 1994. 28 E.g. lp 98.32, 53, 66. 29 lp 98.83: “velum tyreum maiorem qui pendet ante imagines cum periclisin de blatyn unum; vela modica rubea alitina cum staurace in medio, numero 3, qui pendent ante imagines argenteas, cum periclisin de blatin”. 30 lp 98.34. 31 lp 100.13, 21, 23 (vela parva). 32 lp 100.35, 38, 39; lp 103.30; lp 105.23; lp 107.17. 33 lp 103.13: “Completa vero haec omnia et diligenter peracta, fecit in ecclesia beati Petri apostoli vela cum crisoclabo numero 14, habentia diversas storias evvangeliorum et passiones beati Petri et Pauli, necnon Andree apostoli, quae dependent ante imagines auro argentoque perfusas, in travi desuper argentata, ante quam adeas ad sacram confessionem, speciosa valde visibus humanis atque praecipua”. 34 lp 97.47 – 49; De Blaauw, “Architektur und Textilien” (n. 9). 35 John Osborne, “Textiles and Their Painted Imitations in Early Medieval Rome”, Papers of the British School at Rome, 60 (1992), pp. 309 –51.

2 / Scene from a pontifical mass, ivory relief book cover, Drogo Sacramentary, Frankish Empire, 9th century / Bibliothèque nationale de France (Paris), ms lat. 9428

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pontificate was the integration of textiles into the mechanism of papal patronage. Evidently, textiles in the nave colonnades were so common in the Roman churches of the Carolingian period that the authors of the lp give no particular details about the way they were suspended and handled. The essential information is that they were hung “between the great columns on right and left”36, or destined “for all the arches of the basilica” of “for the great arches of the church”37. Even if the praxis is relatively well documented in the Late Antique and early medieval representations, only the ninth-century lives in the Gesta of the bishops of Naples give away one fact potentially relevant for Rome as well: thirteen veils donated to the Stefania church with scenes of the gospels were hung “as ornament” at “the capitals of the columns”38. This means that the veils were suspended at a considerable height in the intercolumniations, and that they may not have “closed” the entire space between the columns and the floor. The decorative function of veils is confirmed by the fact that also a church without colonnades, such as the one-nave hall of Santi Cosma e Damiano, could be furnished with a set of twenty vela, clearly to be hung against the walls as draperies39. Curtains at the entrance

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The outermost circle of textiles are curtains at the doors. They do never occur in Roman sources before Hadrian i, but they must have existed much earlier 40. Since Hadrian, they have belonged to the standard equipment donated by the popes. The commonly used term for them is cortinae, obviously to distinguish them from the vela. This may regard both a larger size and a heavier fabric. One of the first instances is the “curtain of wondrous size, its material cross-adorned and fourfold woven silk”, a gift from Hadrian at the start of his pontificate for the main entrance of St Peter’s: “adjacent to the great silver doors”41. The curtains were presumably attached to the portal and they hung in front of the door leaves. Other donations mention them “in the entrance”42. In luxury, the fabrics were not inferior to the textiles inside the church. Sometimes, the cortinae came in pair: one for the feasts, one for the other days43. Curtains, mostly

drawn up or knotted together, are almost a topos in the Late Antique and early medieval representations of sacred buildings. They adorn and solemnize the moment of entering the church. Their practical function as protection against wind and weather will have been limited. Remarkably, the cortina appears in the same part of the lp as the special curtain hung transversely in the nave or more in particular close to the presbytery of the church. Leo iii donated seven cortinae maiores to be suspended in gremio basilicae of several churches44. This terminology for “in the body of the church” had been in use in the fourth and fifth centuries for lightings. Evidently, Leo’s biographer dug it up from the history of the lp and reintroduced it for this specific feature: a large curtain, hung across the nave. The feature remained in use after Leo iii without the in gremio-allocation. In the great basilicas with a transept, a cortina of a big velum might hang in the arch between the nave and the transept, for instance in St Peter’s at a beam with images in that arch45. In St Paul’s a cortina with in its center the scenes of the Annunciation and Nativity was hanging in the “triumphal arch”46. Under Leo iv the curtains of the portals were simply called vela (see above), while the term cortina seems to have been reserved for a monumental hanging in the central axis of the basilica, despite the fact that it was often made of linen, a cheaper fabric than before47. This hanging or drapery was not only provided for the main basilicas, but also for titular churches like one “of wondrous size” for the Santi Quattro Coronati48. Again, clear information about their spatial disposition is lacking, but it may be concluded that these curtains were conspicuous textiles, hung prominently in the liturgical space, yet without separating parts of it from view or access. 36 E.g. lp 98.48 (St. Peter’s, 802– 803): “vela de stauracim atque de fundato, pendentes inter columnas maiores dextra levaque, numero 65”. 37 lp 97.46: “per universos arcos”; lp 97.47: “per diversos arcos ipsius ecclesiae”; lp 100.13: “in arcos maiores eiusdem ecclesiae”. 38 Gesta episcoporum Neapolitanorum, Georg Waitz ed., mgh srl, Hannover 1878, pp. 398 –466, sp. p. 434: “tredecim pannos fecit, evangelicam in eis depingens historiam, quos iussit de columnarum capitibus ad ornamentum pendere ”. 39 lp 97.51. 40 De Blaauw, “Architektur und Textilien” (n. 9). 41 lp 97.46: “Fecit etiam in eadem basilica beati Petri iuxta ianuas maiores argenteas cortinam mire magnitudinis de palleis stauracim seu quadrapolis”.

42 lp 100.14: “fecit in ingressu iamdictae ecclesiae cortinam maiorem de quadrapulo”; cf. e.g. lp 104.37. 43 lp 100.36. 44 lp 98.68, 82, 83, 84, 85, 100, 102. In one case an additional cortina minor is mentioned: “in gremio basilicae” of the Lateran. Cf. lp 98.82. 45 lp 98.84: “in gremio basilicae, cortina maiore olosyrica fundata 1, ornata in circuitu de fundato; velum alium olosiricum rosatum maiorem 1, qui pendet in trabe maiore super imagines aureas, ornatum in circuitu de fundato”. 46 lp 103.27: “...in ecclesia doctoris gentium beati Pauli apostoli cortinam fundatam, pendentem in arcum triumphalem, habentem in medio Adnunciatio et Nativitatem domini nostri Iesu Christi”. 47 lp 105.37: “fecit in basilica beati Petri apostoli cortina olosirica cum istoriis multis claritatis inmense, ad decorem et gloriam ipsius sacratissime basilicae, 1”. 48 lp 105.44: “…fecit cortinam 1 linteam cum crucibus in medio et in gyro lista de fundato, mirae magnitudinis”.

3 / Murals with painted veils in the chapel of Theodotus, Santa Maria Antiqua, Rome, 8th century

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ii. Curtains as sacred thresholds in the Late Antique churches

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Based on the analysis of the lp entries, we can assume that textiles were almost omnipresent equipment of the Roman basilicas of the early Middle Ages. However, to which extent can we consider these arrangements as representative for the earlier periods? With respect to the time gap of almost five centuries which separates the construction of the Early Christian monuments and papal donations of the Carolingian era, and also to the limits of the information which the lp provides, we are forced to ask for complementary clues. Whereas Rome offers a unique treasure of written evidence for a limited period, additional sources are virtually missing in the ancient capital. For archaeological evidence or contemporary artistic depictions related to the spatial context of curtains, other parts of the Christian world thus have to be taken into consideration. In widening the geographical horizon and accepting the risk of applying observations from one region to other cultural contexts, we hope to propose a deeper understanding of the functions and effects of curtains in ancient churches. Within the limitations of this article, we will concentrate on two telling examples of further evidence, one of iconographical, one of archaeological nature, both explored against the background of scant

literary and liturgical sources; one concerns primarily curtains surrounding the sanctuary, the other one curtains placed in the nave. Before proceeding, a brief note must be made. Of course, the clearest example of textiles as markers of a sacred threshold are those installed in doorways and entrances. These are attested besides numerous artistic depictions also by archaeological evidence 49. Although the use of these curtains may have differed during the liturgical year, it seems that they were in any case delimiting and “materializing” the transitional zone between the sacred and profane, either directly substituting or covering the doors50. Therefore, in view of the extensive scholarly debate on sanctuary doors and their liminal significance in Late Antiquity and onwards, we chose to center our attention on different aspects of textiles as dividers in sacred spaces. The Ashburnham Pentateuch and the curtains of the sanctuary The first example discussed in this section is the Ashburnham Pentateuch, one of the earliest known examples of an illuminated Latin Pentateuch51. Originally, it contained all five books of Torah, but the whole Deuteronomy along with some other

4 / Tabernacle of Moses, manuscript miniature, Ashburnham Pentateuch, Rome (?), 5th–7th century / Bibliothèque nationale de France (Paris), ms nal 2334, fol. 76r (detail) 5 / Moses conferring with the seventy elders, manuscript miniature, Ashburnham Pentateuch, Rome (?), 5th–7th century / Bibliothèque nationale de France (Paris), ms nal 2334, fol. 127v (detail)

parts of the remaining books is now lost. Additionally, the manuscript also included about sixty-nine illuminated folios out of which only eighteen have survived52. The circumstances of its creation and its origins are still relatively unknown: up to this point, not even a precise dating of this manuscript is agreed upon, but the stylistic and paleographic analyses indicate a vast span of dating between the half of the fifth and the beginning of the seventh century 53. Other aspects of the commission naturally associated with the question of the dating are also still a subject of a lively discussion. However, the most recent scientific reflections on this manuscript presuppose its Roman provenance and a “didactic” function54. What forms the core interest in the scope of this article are the folios 76r and 127v, depicting in both cases the Tabernacle of Moses (Ex 26, 1–37) [Figs 4–5]. Both representations are showing the Tabernacle as an elevated altar, embraced in the first case by a wooden structure with at least three 49 Small hooks above the major entrances are preserved up to these days in the basilica of Santa Sabina in Rome, the Euphrasian Basilica in Poreč or in the narthex of Hagia Sophia in Constantinople. See Caseau, “Experiencing the Sacred” (n. 4), pp. 64– 68. 50 Consider seeing Dauterman Maguire, “Curtains at the Threshold” (n. 3); Sacred Thresholds. The Door to the Sanc-

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tuary in Late Antiquity, Emilie M. van Opstall ed., Leiden 2018; Jean-Michel Spieser, “Portes, limites et organisation de l’espace dans les églises paléochrétiennes”, Klio, lxxvii (1995), pp. 433 – 445; Caseau,“Experiencing the Sacred”(n. 4); Ivan Foletti, “A Singing Door: Images, Space and Sound in the Santa Sabina Narthex”, in Icons of Sound, Bissera Pentcheva ed., (forthcoming); and the article of Ivan Foletti and Katarína Kravčíková in the present volume. Consider seeing especially two recent summarizing works on this object: Dorothy Verkerk, Early Medieval Bible Illumination and the Ashburnham Pentateuch, Cambridge / New York 2004; Bezalel Narkiss, El Pentateuco Ashburnham: la ilustración de códices en la antigüedad tardía, Valencia 2007. To the iconographic reconstruction of some of the missing folios see Bezalel Narkiss, “Reconstruction of Some of the Original Quires of the Ashburnham Pentateuch”, Cahiers Archéologiques, xxi (1972), pp. 19 –38; or John Lowden, “The Beginnings of Biblical Illustration”, in Imaging the Early Medieval Bible, John Williams ed., Pennsylvania 1999, pp. 45–48. For the dating to the late sixth or early seventh century see Verkerk, Early Medieval Bible (n. 51). Even in the light of Verkerk’s argumentation, David Wright insists rather on earlier dating to the second half of the 6th century, see David H. Wright, “Reviewed Work: Early Medieval Bible Illumination and the Ashburnham Pentateuch by Dorothy Verkerk”,  Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, lxix/3 (2006), pp. 411–415, sp. p. 412. However, the most recent analysis dates the Ashburnham Pentateuch to the mid-5th century, see Narkiss, El Pentateuco (n. 51). Dorothy Verkerk,“Exodus and Easter Vigil in the Ashburnham Pentateuch”,The Art Bulletin, lxxvii/1 (1995), pp. 94–105; eadem, Early Medieval Bible (n. 51), sp. pp. 184–199 suggests that the manuscript was used as a didactic tool for the education of the clergy. Bezalel Narkiss proposed the manuscript to be commissioned by Galla Placidia for her son Valentinan iii, see Narkiss,“Reconstruction of Some”(n. 52); idem, El Pentateuco (n. 51). Hagith Sivan argues instead that the manuscript was intended for Licinia Eudoxia, the wife of Valentinian iii as a “feminist” interpretation of the Genesis, cf. Galla Placidia. The Last Roman Empress, Oxford 2011, pp. 119 –142.

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different curtain sets (fol. 76r), and in the second case framed by a set of blue hangings wrapped around the surrounding columns (fol. 127v). As was already pointed out mainly by Dorothy Verkerk, these scenes correspond to the biblical narrative quite accurately. However, they also bear a series of iconographic inconsistencies and additional pictorial elements, which she interprets as interpolations from the early medieval Roman liturgy 55. In fact, all the illustrations of the Ashburnham Pentateuch show quite a particular and highly detailed treatment of the architectural backgrounds serving as an open stage, which for this period has no parallels in the same or in other media56. Although it does not clearly depict any of the existing Roman monuments of that time, it was argued that by placing the Old Testament scenes within the contemporary urban cityscape of Rome, the Pentateuch on the one hand demonstrates the religious and political primacy of papacy and Rome itself, and on the other makes the background a “narrative player” which helps the reader follow the story through stairs and gateways which he was already familiar with from his daily experience 57. Although it is problematic to determine the artist’s accuracy in capturing the contemporary church interior, and the relationship of the curtain motifs to reality can be ambivalent58, together with the lp testimonies it seems plausible that this folio might represent the curtain sets, at least three in total, as part of a fairly standardized equipment of the Late Antique or early medieval Roman basilica. One could naturally presuppose a presence of suitable constructions for hanging these sets, such as ciboria or sanctuary barriers, which are, as mentioned above, documented for the majority of the early medieval Roman churches at least from the sixth century onwards59. A “typological predecessor” for their adornment with textiles, which later became apparent in the presbytery column screens of St Peter’s Basilica, can be seen in the column structure around the tomb of Saint Peter represented with open curtain sets on the Pola casket, usually dated to the first half of the fifth century 60 [Fig. 6]. What still remains unclear is, however, whether the sanctuary

or ciboria curtains played any significant role during the liturgical practice of the earlier periods. It is probable that Christian practice could have followed to a certain point the archetypal curtains of the Jewish Tabernacle or taken over the curtain element from the existing tradition of the imperial ceremonies 61. In both cases, the concept of veiling and epiphany is essential. Indeed, there are several references from different Christian environments of the early periods, which might indicate veiling of the most sacred areas, at least at certain occasions. However, it must be pointed out at the same time that they are rather exceptional. As quite recently demonstrated by Robert Taft, the liturgical function of ciboria and sanctuary curtains is explicitly well documented for late fourth and early fifth-century Antioch in the homilies of John Chrysostom62. According to Chrysostom’s testimonies, the curtains of the sanctuary were “raised” before the Eucharistic service which clearly implies its concealment at an earlier, yet unspecified moment of the liturgy 63. Similarly, the use of sanctuary curtains has been discussed also for the churches of the Egyptian area64. In this context, also a passage from the sermons of Saint Augustine, which refers to curtains hiding the sacred mysteries revealed only to initiates, can be recalled: “(…) Honor in Him what as yet you understand not, and all the more as the vela which you see are more in number: for the higher in honor one is, the more curtains are suspended in his house. Curtains make that which is kept secret honored, and to those who honor, the curtains are lifted up; but those who mock at the curtains are driven away from even approaching them. For then we turn unto Christ, and the veil is taken away” 65.

Despite the fact that Augustine is clearly speaking metaphorically, a visual association with the real church curtains would be a strong rhetorical device. Closed curtains would undoubtedly stimulate the viewer’s expectation or his respect for what is concealed, but a manipulation with curtains, for example after the dismissal of catechumens and penitents, has no direct support in the written sources and was later rather questioned66. Therefore, it is plausible that ciboria or sanctuary hangings mainly served for staging the liturgy

without its direct concealment and if the altar area was screened off nonetheless, it must have been so – as in the later periods discussed above – outside the liturgical service67. In any case, either drawn or tied up, these curtains delimited the most holy areas, which were accessible only to clerics. As such, they contributed to the smooth running of the ritual and, at the same time, marked the social and visual threshold between the clergy and the laity while dividing the church in at least two different zones of sacredness. The Basilica at the Museum in Philippi and curtains in the nave Multiple sets of curtains depicted in the Ashburnham Pentateuch folio combined with the lp entries 55 Verkerk, “Exodus and Easter” (n. 51); eadem, Early Medieval Bible (n. 51), sp. pp. 97 –102. It must be noted that Verkerk’s conclusions have been partially accepted, but also considerably criticized. See Wright, “Reviewed Work” (n. 53); Lawrence Nees, “Reviewed Work: Early Medieval Bible Illumination and the Ashburnham Pentateuch by Dorothy Verkerk”,The Catholic Historical Review, xci/1 (2005), pp. 135–138. 56 It was already Dorothy Verkerk who called the attention to this point (Verkerk, Early Medieval Bible [n. 51], p. 197). See also Franz Rickert, “Zu den Stadt- und Architekturdarstellungen des Ashburnham Pentateuch (Paris, Bibl. nat. nal 2334)”, in Actes du xie congrès international d’archéologie chrétienne. Lyon, Vienne, Grenoble, Genève, Aoste (21–28 septembre 1986), Rome 1989, pp. 1341–1354; Kimberly Tuttle, A View of the City. The Urban Landscape and Its Architectural Imagery in the Ashburnham Pentateuch, unpublished m.a. thesis, (University of British Columbia), Vancouver 2009, dealing with the comparison between the illustrations and the actual urban landscape of the city of Rome. 57 Tuttle, A View of the City (n. 56), sp. pp. 64– 67. 58 On the ambivalences of the curtain representations cf. Johann K. Eberlein, Apparitio regis – revelatio veritatis. Studien zur Darstellung des Vorhangs in der bildenden Kunst von der Spätantike bis zum Ende des Mittelalters, Wiesbaden 1982; eventually also Jaś Elsner, “Closure and Penetration: Reflections on the Pola Casket”, Acta ad archaeologiam et artium historiam pertinentia, xxvi (2013), pp. 183–227; Alexander Coburn Soper, “The Brescia Casket: A Problem in Late Antique Perspective”,  American Journal of Archaeology, xlvii/3 (1943), pp. 278 –290. 59 See above, esp. n. 15. Further also Sible de Blaauw, Cultus et decor (n. 27), vol. i, pp. 96 – 98; event. idem, “Architektur und Textilien” (n. 9). 60 Elsner, “Closure and Penetration” (n. 58), sp. pp. 220 –224. For the case of Pola casket anticipating the sanctuary curtains see also De Blaauw, “Architektur und Textilien” (n. 9). For the casket in general, it is still seminal the study of Tilmann Buddensieg,“Le coffret d’ivoire de Pola. Saint Pierre et le Latran”, Cahiers Archéologiques, x (1959), pp. 157 –185. The last monograph on the topic with previous bibliography is Davide Longhi, La capsella eburnea di Samagher: iconografia e committenza, Ravenna 2006. 61 For further reading see Joan R. Branham, “Penetrating the Sacred: Breaches and Barriers in the Jerusalem Temple”, in Thresholds of the Sacred. Architectural, Art Historical, Liturgical, and Theological Perspectives on Religious Screens, East and West, Sharon E. J. Gerstel ed., Cambridge, ma 2006, pp. 6 –24.

In contrast to the veils of the Jewish Tabernacle, which are by essence impenetrable, the Christian context makes an unveiling possible, symbolically opposing this Jewish tradition, see Herbert L. Kessler, “Through the Temple Veil: The Holy Image in Judaism and Christianity”, Kairos, xxxii–xxxiii (1990 –1991), pp. 53–77. For the use of curtains in imperial ceremonies cf. Eberlein, Apparatio regis (n. 58), sp. pp. 15–30; eventually Maria G. Parani, “Mediating Presence: Curtains in Middle and Late Byzantine Imperial Ceremonial and Portraiture”, Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, xlii/1 (2018), pp. 1–25. 62 Robert F. Taft, “The Decline of Communion in Byzantium and the Distancing of the Congregation from the Liturgical Action: Cause, Effect, or Neither?”, in Thresholds of the Sacred (n. 61), pp. 26 –50, sp. pp. 42–43. 63 John Chrysostom, Homilies on First Corinthians 36.5 (pg 61.313); idem, Homilies on Ephesians 3.5 (pg 62.29). English translations in Taft, “The Decline of Communion” (n. 62), p. 42. 64 See Elizabeth S. Bolman, “Veiling Sanctity in Christian Egypt. Visual and Spatial Solutions”, in Thresholds of the Sacred (n. 61), pp. 72–104; Willy Clarysse, Karalien Geens, “Textiles and Architecture in the Graeco-Roman and Byzantine Egypt”, in Clothing the House (n. 2), pp. 39 –47. 65 “Qui non propterea abscondit, ut neget, sed ut absconditis excitet desiderium. Haec est utilitas secreti. Honora in eo quod nondum intellegis; et tanto magis honora, quanto plura vela cernis. Quanto enim quisque honoratior est, tanto plura vela pendent in domo eius. Vela faciunt honorem secreti: sed honorantibus levantur vela. Irridentes autem vela, et a velorum vicinitate pelluntur. Quia ergo transimus ad Christum, aufertur velamen”; Saint Augustine, Sermon 51.5–7, translated in Stephenson, “Veiling the Late Roman House” (n. 2), p. 10. 66 Until now, this practice was discussed mainly for the early churches of Byzantine area: Thomas Mathews, The Early Churches of Constantinople. Architecture and Liturgy, University Park, pa 1971, sp. pp. 162–171 with bibliography; Gisela Ripoll, “Los tejidos en la arquitectura de la antigüedad tardía: una primera aproximación a su uso y función”, in Kleidung und Repräsentation in Antike und Mittelalter, Ansgar Köb, Peter Riedel eds, Munich 2005, pp. 45– 62, sp. p. 49 referring to Louis Duchesne, Origines du culte chrétien. Étude sur la liturgie latine avant Charlemagne, Paris 1925, p. 87. Veiling the sacred mysteries was however later contested by Christopher Walter in particular, cf. “Reviewed Work: Thomas Mathews, The Early Churches of Constantinople. Architecture and Liturgy”, Revue des études byzantines, xxxi (1973), pp. 375–376, sp. p. 376. For the most recent survey on the topic see Taft, “The Decline of Communion” (n. 62). 67 See also De Blaauw, “Architektur und Textilien” (n. 9).

6 / Back view of the Pola Casket with depiction of the Tomb of Saint Peter, ca 400–450 / Museo Archeologica Nazionale (Venice), inv. 1952, n. 279

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may lead to assumptions that curtains were commonly installed also in the arcade intercolumniations68. Unfortunately, literal or archaeological evidences are in this regard rather inconsistent and do not usually overlap in such a satisfactory way, which would provide a solid ground for any definitive assertions; either about their appearance or of their actual use. Apart from the folios of the Ashburnham Pentateuch, there are no clear examples of curtains depicted in the church intercolumniations. The only surviving depictions are those of curtains installed in the arches of outer or unspecified architectural settings, such as the fifth-century ivory plaque from the British Museum depicting Jesus in the Temple [Fig. 7], a mosaic of Sant’Apollinare Nuovo dated slightly after the half of the sixth century 69 [Fig. 8], or an early sixth-century marble fragment of a cymatium from the collections of the Archaeological and Ethnological Museum in Córdoba [Fig. 9]. For a more substantial amount of evidence we must therefore turn to the fifth and sixth-century archaeological sites of the Aegean area, which indeed show

evidence of longitudinal visual barriers between nave and side aisles, traced with holes in column shafts, which are believed to be drilled for fixing iron or wooden rods and thus, for hanging curtain sets70. These holes are usually not preserved along the entire intercolumniation of the nave, which on the one hand might be caused by the material condition of the particular sites, but on the other hand raises certain doubts about a continual form of installation. In the church of Santa Sabina in Rome, despite some interpretative problems caused by heavy restorations at the beginning of the twentieth century, these holes are preserved above each capital and might have been used for similar purposes71. However, it is a rare example of the archaeological evidence for the Western part of the Empire, which apart from the liturgical differences between East and West might be caused by extensive remodeling of the internal arrangements in the majority of monuments from the Late Antique period. Artistic depictions mentioned above show curtains in the arcades usually tied up in the middle or encircling the surrounding columns,

which might indicate rather decorative purposes assumed for the soft furnishings of the churches 68 See randomly Stephenson, “Veiling Late Roman House” (n. 2), p. 8; Ripoll, “Los tejidos” (n. 66), pp. 47–48; Caseau, “Experiencing the Sacred” (n. 4), pp. 67 – 69; Mathews, Early Churches (n. 66), sp. pp. 117–125; Pietro Crostarosa, Le basiliche cristiane, Rome 1892; Heinrich Holtzinger, Die Altchristliche Architektur in systematischer Darstellung. Form, Einrichtung und Ausschmückung der altchristlichen Kirchen, Baptisterien und Sepulcralbauten, Stuttgart 1889, sp. p. 194. 69 In this case, the arcade curtains are part of the damnatio memoriae modifications after 560 ce. Only the open curtains in the central entrance belong to the original concept. See Arthur Urbano, “Donation, Dedication, and Damnatio Memoriae: The Catholic Reconciliation of Ravenna and the Church of Sant’Apollinare Nuovo”, Journal of Early Christian Studies, xiii/1 (2005), pp. 71–110; Friedrich W. Deichmann, Ravenna. Hauptstadt des spätantiken Abendlandes, bd. ii/1: Kommentar, Wiesbaden 1974, sp. p. 172. 70 These traces are possible to be found for example in the church of Pella in Greece, basilica of Hierapolis, basilica of St John in Ephesus, Bishop’s church in Priene, Basilica at the Museum in Philippi, or Agora basilica in Iasos. No systematical archaeological repertory of these separations exists up to this point; however, based on the discussion with Dr. Diego Peirano, whom I would like to express my gratitude, it seems that this division is fairly common for the Aegean area. For further reading on this topic see Urs Peschlow, “Dividing Interior Space in Early Byzantine Churches: The Barriers Between the Nave and Aisles”, in Thresholds of the Sacred (n. 61), pp. 52 – 71; or more recently Diego Peirano, “Some Observations about the Form and Settings of the Basilica of Bargala”, Macedonian Historical Review, 3 (2012), pp. 65 –  84, sp. pp. 65 – 75. 71 Cf. Antonio Muñoz, Il restauro della Basilica di Santa Sabina, Rome 1938.

7 / Baptism of Christ and Disputatio in the Temple, ivory plaque, 5th century / British Museum (London), inv. 1856, 0623.3 8 / Mosaic of the Ravennate Palatium, Sant’Apollinare Nuovo, Ravenna, ca 493–526 9 / Marble fragment of a cymatium depicting arcade curtains, early 6th century / Museo Arqueológico y Etnológico (Córdoba), inv. ce012930 61

10 / Ostiarius drawing a curtain, textile fragment of a hanging, Egypt (?), ca 5th century / Museum of Fine Arts (Boston), inv. 57.180 11 / Reconstruction of the barrier separating the northern side aisle from the nave, Basilica at the Museum, Philippi, first half of the 6th century

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of the Carolingian period. On the other hand, even tied-up curtains form a kind of physical barrier, which permits only a restricted perception of the whole space, not to mention that these ways of arrangement would be quite suitable for occasional manipulation. In fact, two representations – first on the aforementioned marble fragment of a cymatium [Fig. 9] and second on a most likely fifth-century textile fragment from the Boston Museum of Art72 [Fig. 10] – encourage to explore this possibility. Indeed, the idea of a purely decorative purpose seems to be, at least in certain cases, arguable. In a number of churches dated to the fifth and sixth centuries, again mostly in Greece but also in Constantinople, Macedonia, and other parts of the Empire, it is possible to find traces of a physical separation between side aisles and the central nave73. These dividers usually had a form of cancelli, low stone slabs leaving traces of their insertion on column bases or stylobates74. In certain cases, however, also other structures combining slabs and mobile enclosing, or higher marble slabs are attested which, apart from the physical separation, must have completely prevented view from or to the nave. Amongst these monuments, the Basilica at the Museum in Philippi, also known from the archaeological records as the Basilica c or the Basilica Γ, stands out as an especially interesting example. The first phase of its construction is dated to the beginning of the sixth century, most likely sometime after the year 500 ce75; however, towards the half of the sixth century, probably as a result of the vast building activities of the Bishop Demetrios who was a close acquaintance of the Emperor Justinian i, the church underwent a series of architectural modifications76. The natural openings between the arcade columns were walled up to form a continual stylobate, which in the end received a marble cladding, and a secondary templon-like barrier was constructed along the stylobate of the northern aisle [Fig. 11]. According to the available archaeological surveys, the chancel screens were quite subtle, and were decorated with carved crosses on both sides. The upper part of the barrier was then formed by slender columns and an architrave which, similarly as the sanctuary

barriers, may have carried curtain sets77. The arrangement of the continual stylobate is a common architectural solution for the churches of the Aegean area. Although the reconstruction of the local liturgical practice is highly problematic due to the complete absence of the liturgical sources, it is commonly agreed that the side aisles were primarily a place for the laity, while the nave might have been primarily intended as a processional space 78. Thus, as will be argued, in the case of the Museum Basilica, the choice of textiles as mobile enclosures may have emerged from their inherent qualities and a particular manner of their use, that is, from their potential to create a temporary and adjustable visual barrier. It must be therefore examined which groups of believers could have been divided from one another by focusing on the visual access to the liturgy of early periods as a decisive criterium. The first group of common believers, which could stand apart from the rest of the congregation, are women whose private spaces were commonly separated also in the Late Antique domestic settings79. However, traces of their visual segregation are possible to be found only in two later sources from the tenth and fourteenth century, which relate almost exclusively to aristocratic circles and mention noble women standing in the church galleries and being rather hidden from the men’s gaze by means of translucent curtains80. Moreover, this praxis must have been rather exceptional, as argued by Robert Taft, since a lot of earlier sources mention men being distracted by women’s appearance 81. According to David Hunter, or more recently Vladimir Ivanovici, there is a rather special group of women which could be possibly separated from the congregation of common believers: consecrated virgins82. This hypothesis is mostly based on a quote from an anonymous author, dating back to the fourth century, which explicitly refers to a place 72 On the problematic dating of the textile fragments cf. Me­ thods of Dating (n. 5), esp. the contribution of John-Peter Wild, pp. 18–24. 73 On this topic in general see Mathews, Early Churches (n. 66), sp. pp. 117 –137; Peschlow, “Dividing Interior” (n. 70); or more recently Peirano, “Some Observations” (n. 70), sp. pp. 65–75; idem, “Lights, Colours and Movements in Some Early Christian Basilicas”, in Light Colour Line – Per-

ceiving the Mediterranean: Conflicting Narratives and Ritual Dynamics, Thomas Dittelbach, Ágnes Sebestyén eds, Hildesheim 2016, pp. 55– 62; idem, “Internal Arrangements in Some Early Christian Basilicas of the Eastern Mediterranean”,  Hortus Artium Medievalium, xxiv (2018), pp. 162–170. 74 Peschlow, “Dividing Interior” (n. 70), p. 54, fig. 1. 75 Cf. the archaeological report, which includes also details on liturgical arrangements in Eutychia Kourkoutidou-Nikolaidou, Euterpi Marki, “Des innovations liturgiques et architecturales dans la basilique du Musée de Philippes”, Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum, Ergänzungsband, xx (1995–1997), pp. 950 – 957. For a general overview see Georgios Gounaris, Emmanouela Gounari, Philippi. An Archeological Guide, Thessaloniki 2004, pp. 89 – 91; see also Eutychia Kourkoutidou-Nikolaidou, “Philippi”, in Heaven & Earth. Cities and Countryside in Byzantine Greece, Jenny Albani, Eugenia Chalkia eds, Athens 2013, pp. 94–103, sp. pp. 100 –101. 76 On the Bishop Demetrios and the sixth-century situation in Philippi see Aristotelis Mentzos,“Ο επίσκοπος Δημήτριος και η οικοδομική του δραστηριότητα στους Φιλίππους” [Bishop Demetrios and his building activity in Philippi], Egnatia, i (1989), pp. 195–205; Eduard Verhoef,“The Church of Philippi in the First Six Centuries of Our Era”, hts, 61 (2005), pp. 565–592. 77 Besides that, the eastern part of the church underwent considerable reconstructions which involved a transverse partition of the lateral naves, subsequently forming an inscribed transept, which communicated freely with both the sanctuary area and through a narrow corridor also with the main nave. According to Kourkoutidou-Nikolaidou and Marki, these adjacent structures partially substituted a diakonikon and must have served for receiving offerings and the associated rituals of commemoration, although the inscribed transepts of the Greek churches are still under debate. However, no direct link between these compartments and the construction of the barrier has been proved so far. Cf. Kourkoutidou-Nikolaidou/Marki, “Des innovations” (n. 75), pp. 954– 957. 78 See the critical synthesis on the earlier bibliography in William R. Caraher, Church, Society, and the Sacred in Early Christian Greece, unpublished PhD dissertation, (The Ohio State University), Columbus 2003, sp. pp. 104–110. We cannot speak about an exclusive use of the nave by clergy since a series of passageways in the stylobates might allow certain communication with the side aisles. Cf. Kourkoutidou-Nikolaidou/Marki, “Des innovations” (n. 75), p. 956. 79 See Stephenson, “Veiling the Late Roman House” (n. 2), pp. 21–25. 80 Texts of Symeon the Metaphrast (pg 114.1113bc) and of Ignatius of Smolensk (George P. Majeska, Russian Travelers to Constantinople in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries, Washington, dc 1984, pp. 104–105, 420 –421). For details cf. Robert F. Taft, “Women at the Church in Byzantium: Where, When and Why?”, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, lii (1998), pp. 27 – 87, sp. pp. 49 –50, 55, 58 – 63; event. Mathews, Early Chur­ches (n. 66), p. 164. 81 Taft, “Women at the Church” (n. 80), p. 63. Despite that, this hypothesis was raised in case of the church in Greek Pella, cf. Robert Houston Smith, Leslie Preston Day, Pella of the Decapolis, vol. ii: Final Report on the College of Wooster Excavations in Area ix, The Civic Complex, 1979–1985, Wooster, oh 1989, p. 45; Caseau, “Experiencing the Sacred” (n. 4), pp. 68 – 69. 82 David G. Hunter,“Sacred Space, Virginal Consecration and Symbolic Power. A Liturgical Innovation and Its Implications in Late Ancient Christianity”,  in Spaces in Late An­ tiquity (n. 3), pp. 89 –105; Vladimir Ivanovici, Sissel Undheim, “Consecrated Virgins as Living Reliquaries in Late Antiquity”, riha: Journal of the International Association of Research Institutes in the History of Art, 2019, published online: https://www.riha-journal.org/articles/2019/0222-0229-special-issue-paradigms-of-corporeal-iconicity/0228-ivanovici-and-undheim (accessed on 27 October 2019).

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“separated by boards”83. As Ivanovici pointed out, the area designed to consecrated virgins could have consisted of a prominent place, situated in the proximity to the altar and occasionally decorated with a suitable iconography, but despite this seducing hypothesis, at least for now, there are no indications that consecrated virgins were supposed to be either visually excluded or hidden. The only group of believers which is proved to be at a certain moment both visually excluded from the liturgy and separated from the congregation of the faithful are catechumens and penitents. According to the current state of research, the catechumens and penitents were allowed to enter the church space together with the rest of the congregation but were instructed to leave before the liturgy of Eucharist 84. The catechumens, however, did not leave the church complex entirely and probably, at least in certain situations, stayed for the rest of the service in the narthexes 85. Considering the installation of the visual barrier within the interior of the Museum Basilica, Eutychia Kourkoutidou-Nikolaidou and Euterpi Marki suggested that the newly created spatial zone of the northern aisle accommodated these two groups of believers and therefore substituted the narthex which due to its disposition must have served rather as a passageway 86. The idea of catechumens and penitents staying within the church interior and being separated by a visual barrier from the sacred mysteries was already discussed before, but always with certain doubts about their acoustic participation in the Eucharistic liturgy 87. However, it should be once again reconsidered. As was recently suggested by Ivan Foletti for the Roman area of the fifth century, it was possible for catechumens to “participate” in the liturgy visually through the scenes of the doors of Santa Sabina, but also acoustically, at least during the final preparations for baptism in the Lenten season88. The catechumens’ dismissal would then mainly become a matter of a visual restriction. In any case, such an abrupt change in the spatial and hence the social organization of the Museum Basilica would point rather to a shift in attitude towards these groups of believers by integrating them into the liturgical practice, which, as will be argued, might be linked to the increase

of infant catechumens, who progressively formed the majority of the baptismal candidates in the course of the sixth century 89. Regarding the infant catechumens, several studies were dedicated to the role of godparents in their religious life and the adaptation of the baptismal rite, but the practical aspects of their liturgical experience were rather overlooked90. It seems, however, that catechumenate was still an on-going practice in the sixth century, although it was rather an institution of a brief duration, which from an intensive, life-transforming experience became a series of rites with no significant prolongations91. The baptismal rite itself also probably lost on its opulence and was held on a more frequent basis. More importantly, according to the available sixth-century sources for the eastern as well as western parts of the Mediterranean, the dismissal of the unbaptized Christians still seems to have been preserved92. However, in a longer perspective, the references begin to be rather ambiguous. In the first half of the seventh century, Maximus Confessor mentions the separation of catechumens in two chapters of his Mystagogia as a regular act93, but later calls it a “dead letter”94. In the end, for the texts of Patriarch Germanus i, dated between 715 and 730 ce, it has been argued that the dismissal formulas worked only as an inherited rhetorical device, but in its application, the dismissal was only fictitious95. Thus, the circumstances within the Christian community had slowly evolved over time, a process in which the infant catechumens certainly had their share. Although it is rather assumed that in church spaces the unbaptized infants with their mothers joined the community of adult catechumens, it is precisely the bonding with a legitimate member of Christian community, which could in the end form the substantial difference between these two groups of baptismal candidates96. As Robert Taft pointed out, from the second half of the sixth century onwards, the galleries of the Byzantine churches began to be commonly, but not exclusively, referred to as catechumena, although they are never directly connected to catechumens themselves97. Taft therefore offers a simple explanation: Since the presence of women in these galleries is still attested for this period, the church galleries may

have served as a place for women with unbaptized children98. If the infant catechumens accompanied by their parents occupied a special place inside church spaces, which in the case of the Museum Basilica could be the northern side aisle, textiles as mobile and ephemeral barriers between the nave and aisles would be a convenient solution for creating a kind of in-between zone for both the infants and also their parents, who had no reason to leave the church space and be excluded from the ritual practice. We do not know whether mothers with their unbaptized children occupied completely distinctive areas in the church spaces; however, since the numbers of the drawn curtains could adapt to the current needs of the community, they may not have occupied the aisle alone and could be, in fact, mixed with the rest of the congregation. Finally, the archaeological report of the Museum Basilica informs about a later construction of staircase passages at the eastern ends of the stylobates, which on the northern side permeated also the secondary barrier. Although it is not entirely clear if the barrier was torn down at this point, a slow decline of the catechumenate 83 “Nonne vel illum locum tabulis separatum, in quo in Ecclesia stabas, recordari debuisti, ad quem religiosae matronae et nobiles certatim currebant, tua oscula petentes, quae sanctiores et digniores te erant?”; De Lapsu Virginis 6.24 (pl 16.374). English translation in Hunter, “Sacred Space” (n. 82), p. 96. 84 The separation and dismissal of catechumens are mentioned in the Hippolytus’ Apostolic Tradition 19 (Hippolytus of Rome, La Tradition apostolique. D’après les anciennes versions, Bernard Botte ed., Paris 1968, pp. 46 –47); Apostolic Constitutions ii.57.14 (Les Constitutions apostoliques, Marcel Matzger ed., Paris 1986, pp. 316 –317); Canon 19 of the Laodicea Council (Joannes D. Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum nova et amplissima collectio, vol. ii, Leipzig 1901); or the texts of John Chrysostom (Homilies on Second Corinthians 2.5 [pg 61.400]; cf. Talbot W. Chambers, Chrysostom: Homilies on the Epistles Paul to Corinthians, Peabody 1995). See also Ivan Foletti, Manuela Gianandrea, Zona liminare: il nartece di Santa Sabina a Roma, la sua porta e l’iniziazione Cristiana, Rome 2015, pp. 34–38; Mathews, Early Churches (n. 66), pp. 125–130. 85 On the narthexes as the “liminal zone” cf. Foletti/Gianandrea, Zona liminare (n. 84), sp. pp. 33–39, 86 – 93; event. in a broader sense Sible de Blaauw, “The Church Atrium as a Ritual Space. The Cathedral of Tyre and St Peter’s in Rome”, in Ritual and Space in the Middle Ages, Frances Andrews ed., Donington 2011, pp. 30 –43. 86 Kourkoutidou-Nikolaidou/Marki,“Des innovations”(n. 75), sp. p. 956. 87 See randomly for example Verstegen, “Die Symbolische Raumordnung” (n. 4), p. 590; Peschlow, “Dividing Interior”(n. 70), p. 70; Mathews, Early Churches (n. 66), pp. 127 –130. Stephenson, on the other hand, suggests this hypothesis for arcade curtains directly, but with no supportive arguments, nor references: Stephenson, “Veiling the Late Roman” (n. 2), p. 8.

88 The doors in the narthex of Santa Sabina were, it seems, amplifying the sound from the church interior. See Ivan Foletti, “A Singing Door” (n. 50). 89 For a general overview on the sixth-century situation in different liturgical traditions cf. Victor Saxer, Les rites de l’initiation chrétienne du iie au vie siècle: esquisse historique et signification d’après leurs principaux témoins, Spoleto 1988; Maxwell E. Johnson, The Rites of Christian Initiation. Their Evolution and Interpretation, Collegeville 2007. 90 For more about the infant baptism see Jean-Charles Didier, “Une adaptation de la liturgie baptismale au baptême des enfants dans l’Église ancienne”, Mélanges de Science Religieuse, xxii (1965), pp. 79 – 90; Joachim Jeremias, Infant Baptism in the First Four Centuries, London 1960; idem, The Origins of Infant Baptism, London 1961; David F. Wright, Infant Baptism in Historical Perspective: Collective Studies, Milton Keynes 2007; Johnson, The Rites of Christian Initiation (n. 89); Everett Fergusson, Baptism in the Early Church. History, Theology, and Liturgy in the First Five Centuries, Grand Rapids 2009, sp. pp. 362–379. 91 The local traditions, however, may have differed. In general, see Marcel Metzger, Wolfram Drews, Heinzgerd Brakmann, “Katechumenat”, in Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum, Bd. 20: Kanon i – Kleidung i, Theodor Klauser et al. eds, Stuttgart 2004, pp. 497–574; Michel Dujarier, A History of the Catechumenate. The First Six Centuries, New York 1979; event. Robert F. Taft, “When Did the Catechumenate Die Out in Constantinople?”, in Anathēmata eortika. Studies in Honor of Thomas F. Mathews, Joseph D. Alchermes, Helen C. Evans, Thelma K. Thomas eds, Mainz am Rhein 2009, pp. 288 – 295. 92 For Syria and Palestine we have the testimonies of Pseudo­ Dionysius the Areopagite (pg 3.426c; cf. Saxer, Les rites [n. 89], pp. 447 –488) and John of Scythopolis (pg 4.168ff.); for Constantinople, the dismissal of catechumens is mentioned in a letter of an anti-chalcedonian bishop (cf. Ignatius E. Rahmani, Studia Syriaca: seu collectio documentorum hactenus ineditorum ex codicibus Syriacis, vol. iii, Monte Libano 1909, p. 46; French transl. in François Nau, “Littérature canonique syriaque inédite: Concile d’Antioche, lettre d’Italie, Canons ‘Des saints pères’, de Philoxéne, de Théodose, d’Anthime, d’Athanase, etc.”, Revue de l’Orient chrétien, xiv [1909], pp. 1–49, sp. p. 47); for the situation in Roman churches cf. Pietro Borella, “La ‘missa’ o ‘dismissio catechumenorum’ nelle liturgie occidentali”, Ephemerides Liturgicae, liii (1939), pp. 60 –110. 93 Maximus Confessor, Mystagogia 14–15 (pg 91.692 – 693). Cf. Robert F. Taft, “When Did the Catechumenate” (n. 91), sp. pp. 288 –289; Mathews, Early Churches (n. 66), pp. 128, 152. 94 Maximus Confessor, Scholia in librum De ecclesiastica hierarchia (pg 4.141c). See Taft, “When Did the Catechumenate” (n. 91), p. 289. 95 Cf. Christian Boudignon, “From Taboo to Icon. The Entrance to and the Exit from the Church in the First Three Greek Liturgical Commentaries (ca 500 –730 ce)”, in Sacred Thresholds (n. 50), pp. 91–109, sp. pp. 101–107. For the critical translations of Germanus’ texts cf. R. Bornert, Les commentaires byzantins de la divine liturgie du viie au xve siècle, Paris 1966, pp. 125–142; S. Petridès, “Traités liturgiques de saint Maxime et de saint Germain traduits par Anastase le Bibliothécaire”, Revue de l’Orient chrétien, x (1905), pp. 289 –313, 350 –364. 96 This assumption of common spaces is mentioned for example by Caseau, “Experiencing the Sacred” (n. 4), p. 61. 97 Cf. Taft, “When Did the Catechumenate” (n. 91), pp. 292 – 294; event. idem, “Women at the Church” (n. 80), sp. p. 58, ns 143, 144. 98 Taft, “When Did the Catechumenate” (n. 91), p. 294. For the sake of exhaustivity, it must be mentioned that galleries were also part of the architectural disposition of the Museum Basilica, communicating both with atrium and narthex by means of a spiral staircase, cf. Kourkoutidou­Nikolaidou/Marki, “Des innovations” (n. 75), p. 950. However, there is no consensus about their use, nor any material evidence of visual barriers within these compartments.

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and a progressive shortening of the interval between birth and baptism towards the end of the sixth century would in fact explain the decreasing need for a visual separation99. Conclusion Hardly any curtains and textile adornments from the Late Antique and early medieval churches have been preserved. Yet all the categories of sources explored in this article converge in the finding of curtains as more than common parts of the internal furnishings across the Mediterranean world. Both textual and visual testimonies, as well as circumstantial archaeological evidence indicate that curtains contributed to marking and constructing hierarchical, social and ritual areas inside church spaces. Installed in the ciborium of the altar and/or in the screens of the presbytery, they defined the most sacred parts of the church, accessible only to authorized members of the assembly. The Roman lp clearly confirms that this function of defining, marking and confining existed in several gradations, from the entrance doors and the nave colonnades to the sanctuary in the proper sense. In all degrees, curtains were contributing to the mise-en-scène of sacred space, which, by definition, had to be separated from the profane world. However, the actual functions of these different “layers” of curtains will have differed to a certain extent. Those of the altar and the presbytery had the potential to conceal and reveal the sacred, even if any indication of a direct liturgical use is missing in Rome. Those of the entrance were concrete means of access, while those of the nave colonnades were articulations of the area reserved for the congregation in its different

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categories. The Basilica at the Museum at Philippi suggests that curtains may – in certain cases or regions – even have embodied the fluctuating border between unbaptized Christians and the full members of the Church. Last but not least, although little is known about the practice of manipulation, the working of visual limitation mentioned throughout this article as a property of curtains, is not simply a restrictive notion. Adorned curtains are, just as painted walls or panels, artistic media and bearers of iconography, which did not only add to the decorative effect of the church interior, but may also have completed its overall iconographic ensemble. A well-developed iconography will have transformed the curtains from physical partitions to “passages”, providing a significant way of participation for the congregation, in offering an experience of access and vision, rather than denying it100. There is enough evidence to conclude that textile arrangements allowed a variety of uses that transcended their decorative purpose and could meet with specific implications and actual needs of communities and liturgies. Therefore, their presence has to be taken into account within the fruitful research areas of bodily experience and – although unwritten – liturgical practice. Certainly, these Christian traditions are part of a larger context of the importance of textile material culture within cultic spaces of various religions throughout the Mediterranean. 99 Kourkoutidou-Nikolaidou/Marki,“Des innovations”(n. 75), pp. 956 – 957. 100 This aspect has been recently studied for example by Jasmina S. Ćirić, “‘For the Entrance to the Tent Make a Curtain’: Ornaments, Curtains and Passages in Early Byzantine Sacred Context”, in Niš and Byzantium xvi. International symposium (Niš, 3–5 june 2017), Miša Rakocija ed., Niš 2018, pp. 221–232.

summary Konstrukce liminálního prostoru? Látkové závěsy v pozdně antických a raně středověkých kostelech

Látkové závěsy patří dnes ke ztracené, a přesto zcela zásadní části vnitřního uspořádání pozdně antických a raně středověkých kostelů, která nepochybně hrála klíčovou roli při vnímání posvátného prostoru. Navzdory téměř naprosté absenci textilií z prvního tisíciletí našeho letopočtu i písemných pramenů, které by popisovaly způsob jejich použití, si článek klade za cíl prozkoumat různé role textilních dekorací uvnitř středověkého posvátného prostoru. Pozornost je zaměřena zejména na jejich schopnost vytvářet různé zóny přístupnosti a viditelnosti a na jejich potenciál dotvářet a zdůrazňovat ideu posvátna. Autoři se na problematiku pokoušejí nahlížet ze dvou různých pohledů. První část studie je věnována analýze záznamů římské Knihy papežů (Liber Pontificalis), která kromě krátkých biografií obsahuje i dárcovské programy, a je tak jedinečným pramenem pro rekonstrukci podoby interiérů římských kostelů v raném středověku. Na základě zmíněných donací autoři přichází s hypotézou čtyř „okruhů“ látkových závěsů instalovaných ve vchodech do kostelů, mezi sloupy arkád, v kněžišti a na oltářním ciboriu. Ve druhé

části se autoři na příkladu dvou případových studiích věnují jiným typům pramenů, které by mohly být relevantní i pro sakrální prostory pátého a šestého století. V prvním případě se jedná o miniatury Ashburnhamského Pentateuchu, datované do širokého rozpětí pátého až sedmého století. Na základě analýzy miniatur autoři předpokládají, že se i v interiérech římských pozdně antických bazilik používaly nejméně tři sety látkových závěsů. Ačkoli prvotním účelem těchto závěsů zřejmě nebylo skrývat probíhající liturgii, působily jako vizuální „prahy“, které ohraničovaly části prostoru s různým stupněm posvátnosti. Výjimku tvoří specifická archeologická situace Baziliky c v řecké lokalitě Philippi, ve které mohly být látkové závěsy díky speciální konstrukci využity také jako vizuální bariéry mezi hlavní a severní postranní lodí. Autoři tedy přichází s myšlenkou, že závěsy v tomto případě mohly oddělovat matky s nepokřtěnými dětmi, kterým nebylo povoleno se vizuálně účastnit eucharistického ritu. Použití látkových závěsů tedy překračovalo i ryze dekorativní účely a mohlo odpovídat liturgickým potřebám lokálních komunit.

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Abstract – Liturgical Screens, East and West. Liminality and Spiritual Experience – By focusing on liturgical screens, this contribution addresses issues of liminality in medieval art and ritual performance in the Eastern and Western Christian traditions. Serving as shrines for the holiest spaces within church edifices, liturgical separations created areas of inclusion or exclusion for the diverse categories of actors. In both Byzantine and Roman rites, the history of the sanctuary and choir screen is intertwined with the congregation’s experiential transition from the direct visual participation in rites to being confronted with increasingly high screens that concealed the holiest part of the celebration and facilitated the multisensory engagement in the liturgy. By assessing the nature of these barriers as liminal devices, this study emphasizes the role of church screens in shaping rituals and generating devotional responses. Keywords – medieval art, medieval architecture, sacred space, liturgical screens, Eastern Christianity, Western Christianity, liminality, liturgical performance, spiritual experience, material turn Vlad Bedros Bucharest National University of Arts [email protected]

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Elisabetta Scirocco Bibliotheca Hertziana, Max Planck Institute for Art History [email protected]

Liturgical Screens, East and West Liminality and Spiritual Experience Vlad Bedros & Elisabetta Scirocco1

Liturgical screens between East and West in a trans-Mediterranean longue durée This article aims at addressing the issue of liminality by corroborating recent theoretical developments registered as “the performative turn”2 and “the material turn”3, both centered in the beholder’s interaction with images, objects, and space, thus bringing forth a renewed interest in the role played by the senses and the viewer’s 1

This article is the result of a collaboration started on the occasion of the conference Liminality and the Medieval Art ii (Brno, Masaryk University, 8th –10th October 2018), organized by Ivan Foletti, Klára Doležalová, and Veronika Tvrzníková. We would like to heartfully thank them for their invitation and for the possibility to pursue this study for publication. Abbreviations: pg = Jacques Paul Migne, Patrologiae Cursus Completus. Series Graeca, Paris 1856 –1866;

pl = Jacques Paul Migne, Patrologiae Cursus Completus.

Series Latina, Paris 1844–1855. See Peter Burke, “The Performative Turn in Recent Cultural History”, in Medieval and Early Modern Performance in the Eastern Mediterranean, Arzu Öztürkmen, Evelyn Birge Vitz eds, Turnhout 2014, pp. 541–561; Przemysław Marciniak, “The Byzantine Performative Turn”, in Within the Circle of Ancient Ideas and Virtues: Studies in Honour of Professor Maria Dzielska, Kamilla Twardowska et al. eds, Krakow 2014, pp. 423–430; Bissera V. Pentcheva, “The Performative Icon”, The Art Bulletin, lxxxviii/4 (2006), pp. 631– 655. See also Doris Bachmann-Medick, Cultural Turns. New Orientations in the Study of Culture, Berlin/Boston 2016, pp. 73–102. 3 See the special issue of Gesta, li/1 (2012), Aden Kumler, Christopher R. Lakey eds, and the collective essay “Notes from the Field: Materiality”, The Art Bulletin, xcv (2013), pp. 10 –37; see also Liz James, “Matters of Materiality in Byzantium: The Archangel Gabriel in Hagia Sophia, Constantinople”, Konsthistorisk tidskrift/Journal of Art History, lxxxvi/3 (2017), pp. 145–157.

2

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sensibility 4. This approach opens new venues of research based on the awareness of the historical nature of perception as social and cultural construct 5. Such a perspective contributes to a broader discussion of liminality in sacred medieval spaces, as it facilitates a shift away from questioning issues of initiation towards focusing on the corporative experience of the sacred6. Through this methodological intention, our inquiry aspires to act as a proof of concept, arguing for the relevance of liminality, performativity, and materiality in the study of medieval liturgical screens. This study will rely on case studies only incidentally in favor of discussing a specific corpus of scholarship. By comparing Eastern and Western Christian liturgical screens, the aim is to bring together readings from a vast, complementary bibliography dedicated to these liturgical installations in order to employ the anthropological notion of “liminality” as a common ground for assessing the ritualic role of liturgical screens (Byzantine templa, and Western choir and church screens) within the northern Mediterranean in a longue durée perspective (fifth to fifteenth centuries). In the course of this discussion, the term “liminal device” will be used to describe markers invested with an archetypal liminal function. This definition aspires to indicate further opportunities to apply these comparative methods in researches which currently lie beyond the scope of this study. The notion of liminality in rites of passage relates to the state of suspension between before and after a transformation or change of state. First theorized by the anthropologists Arnold van Gennep and Victor Turner 7, and later developed in the field of ritual studies involving history, philosophy, and performance theory, it has proved remarkably insightful in the context of religious studies 8. In recent years, archeologists and art historians have largely applied this concept to the analysis of Christian architecture and art, reflecting on the material, aesthetic, symbolic, physical and spiritual implications of liminal spaces, imagery, and epigraphy. Thus, the liminal agency of physical passages within sacred architecture has been associated with architecturally defined spaces as atria, narthexes, and doors 9 while liturgical screens have entered this discourse as “thresholds of the sacred”10.

Within this framework, chancel screens surface as a privileged study case, and lend themselves well to a cross-cultural analysis between the eastern and the western Mediterranean. This study will investigate issues rooted in liturgical practices which prompted the introduction of screens in sites of worship to determine how a screen’s opacity or permeability ritually activates the liminal zone and generates the congregation’s mystical experience. The liturgical purpose of chancel screens as liminal thresholds within a sacred space 11 could be asserted in terms recently advanced by Jelena Bogdanović and Katherine Marsengill12: the sense of the holy in the medieval Mediterranean was generated through an interplay between iconic perception and noetic contemplation, through which the congregation “teleologically viewed the divine source of the sacred and its totality while bringing together closely, but never fully dissolving the distinctions between human and divine realms”13. Form, medium and spatial arrangements that harbored experiences of light, color, and sound, alongside ritualized tactile perceptions and bodily movements, built together a system of interrelated and correlated stimuli that shaped the viewer’s perception of the architectural and iconic arrangements 14. In this dynamic, “the material aspect of objects framing the holy becomes crucial, especially those with glowing and shimmering qualities, like gold, ivory, and marble”15. Based on these theoretical premises, this ana­ lysis will compare Eastern and Western medieval liturgical screens in their liminal agency. After having geographically and historically contextualized these phenomena, the discussion will acknowledge certain substantial differences between Eastern and Western screens16. The first set of differences regards the position, size, and the physical or visual permeability of screens. The second one concerns the screens’ function, namely, the practical and theological reasons underlying the screens’ presence and their role during ritual enactments of sacred mysteries. Lastly and most crucially, the discussion will consider their impact on the physical and spiritual involvement of the devotees. The common origins of Eastern and Western chancel screens lie in their Mediterranean

shared heritage. All ancient religions felt the need to “protect the sacred from pollution” through screens (from veils to architectural barriers) that shielded rituals and regulated access17. Within sacred architecture, screens separated liturgical spaces endowed with complementary, but differing semantics. Two initial distinctions arose in Late Antique architecture: the sanctuary with the altar, devoted to the Eucharistic liturgy, and the place for the liturgy of the Word, coinciding with the bishop’s chair or an ambo. The sacredness of these liturgical areas was protected and enclosed by plutei or transennae made of different materials (wood, bricks, stone or marble, metals) usually around one meter in height, later surmounted by columns or pillars and architraves (the pergula in the West, in correspondence to the Eastern templon). Such screens had the primary purpose of isolating the loci of celebration, without excluding the devotees from listening to the liturgy of the Word and seeing the Eucharistic sacrifice on the altar 18. The articulation of liturgical spaces in the Western and Eastern Mediterranean begins to diverge around the fifth century: Eastern liturgy (so aptly described by Sible de Blaauw) conduces towards concentration, focusing on the sanctuary, fenced by the templon and, successively, the iconostasis; while the West agglomerates sections with differentiated functions, ultimately leading to the tripartite scheme of the medieval choir arrangement19. Despite their two divergent paths and the necessary cultural and cult-related distinctions, the history of Byzantine sanctuary screens and that of Western choir screens ultimately converge when considering their functions within the congregation’s experiential transition from a straightforward visual participation in the rites towards the ritualic interactions with an opaque enclosure which prompts a multisensorial engagement in the liturgy. It is precisely this convergence that suggests a shared reflection around liturgical screens as liminal devices for activating the spiritual experience of the sacred. (v.b., e.s.) 4

Knowing Bodies, Passionate Souls: Sense Perceptions in Byzantium, Susan Ashbrook Harvey, Margaret Mullett eds, Washington, dc 2017; Bissera V. Pentcheva, The Sensual Icon: Space, Ritual and the Senses in Byzantium, University

Park, pa 2010; Liz James, “Senses and Sensibility in Byzantium”, Art History, xxvii/4 (2004), pp. 522 – 537; Éric Palazzo, L’invention chrétienne des cinq sens dans la liturgie et l’art au Moyen Âge, Paris 2014; A Feast for the Senses: Art and Experience in Medieval Europe, catalogue of the exhibition (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum 2016 –2017), Martina Bagnoli ed., New Haven / London 2016. 5 See Migrating Art Historians on the Sacred Ways. Reconsidering Medieval French Art through the Pilgrim’s Body, Ivan Foletti, Katarína Kravčíková, Adrien Palladino, Sabina Rosenbergová eds, Brno 2018, with bibliographical references. 6 See the approach proposed by Bissera V. Pentcheva, Hagia Sophia. Sound, Space, and Spirit in Byzantium, University Park, pa 2017; see also, for broader discussions on this topic, The Multi-Sensory Image: From Antiquity to the Renaissance, Heather Hunter-Crawley, Erica O’Brien eds, London / New York 2019, especially the contributions of Dimitra Kotoula, “Experiencing the Miracle: Animated Images and the Senses in the Burial Chapel of the Byzantine Saint”, pp. 86 –106, and Daniela Wagner, “The Vocal in the Visual: Auditory Issues and the Potential of the Voice in Late Medieval and Early Modern Visual Art”, pp. 135–153. 7 Arnold van Gennep, The Rites of Passage, Chicago 1960 [1909]; Victor W. Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure, Middlesex 1969. 8 Tom F. Driver, The Magic of Ritual: Our Need for Liberating Rites that Transforms Our Lives and Our Communities, San Francisco 1991, pp. 157 –162; Discourse in Ritual Studies, Hans Schilderman ed., Leiden/Boston 2007; Landscapes of Liminality: Between Space and Place, Dara Downey, Ian Kinane, Elizabeth Parker eds, London / New York 2016. 9 Ivan Foletti, Manuela Gianandrea, Zona liminare. Il nartece di Santa Sabina a Roma, la sua porta e l’iniziazione cristiana, Roma 2015; Sacred Thresholds: The Door to the Sanctuary in Late Antiquity, Emilie M. van Opstall ed., Leiden 2018; Ivan Foletti, “Liminality. Space and Imagination”, in Migrating Art Historians (n. 5), pp. 107 –115; see also the essays by Katarína Kravčíková, Stefano D’Ovidio, Anna Kelblová, and Adrien Palladino: ibidem, pp. 117 –200. 10 Thresholds of the Sacred. Architectural, Art Historical, Liturgical, and Theological Perspectives on Religious Screens, East and West, Sharon E. J. Gerstel ed., Cambridge, ma 2006. 11 Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion, New York 1957; for an approach keener to consider human’s perception of the sacred based on the experienced space, see Yi-Fu Tuan, Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience, Minneapolis 1977. 12 Jelena Bogdanović, Katherine Marsengill, “Conclusions: Iconic Perception and Noetic Contemplation of the Sacred”, in Perceptions of the Body and Sacred Space in Late Antiquity and Byzantium, Jelena Bogdanović ed., Abingdon / New York 2018, pp. 190 –201. 13 Ibidem, p. 190. 14 Ibidem, p. 193. 15 Theological texts emphasize the concept that these high-quality materials held the capacity to evoke the purity and glory of the divine. See Bogdanović/Marsengill, “Conclusions” (n. 12), p. 195. 16 For a comparative analysis focused on the fifteenth century see Allie Terry, “Iconostasis, the Choir Screen and San Marco: The Veiling of Ritual Action and the Participation of the Viewer in Byzantium and Renaissance Florence”, Chicago Art Journal, xi (2001), pp. 14–32. 17 Sharon E. J. Gerstel, “Introduction”, in Thresholds of the Sacred (n. 10), pp. 1–5, sp. p. 2. 18 “Liturgical Installations from Late Antiquity to the Gothic Period”, Hortus Artium Medievalium, v (1999); Thresholds of the Sacred (n. 10). 19 Sible de Blaauw, “Origins and Early Developments of the Choir”, in La place du choeur. Architecture et liturgie du Moyen Âge au Temps modernes, Actes du colloque de l’ephe (Paris, 10th–11th December 2007), Sabine Frommel, Lauren Lecomte eds, Paris 2012, pp. 25–32, sp. p. 30.

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1 / Reconstruction of the sanctuary barrier, Pantokrator monastery, Constantinople, 12th century (?) 2 / John the Grammarian gives instructions to vandalize icons, Madrid Skylitzes, 12th century / Biblioteca Nacional de España (Madrid), cod. vitr. 26–2, fol. 64v

Middle and Late Byzantine templa: a short survey

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Within the broader context of Byzantine studies, the issue of the chancel screen has been scrutinized on several occasions by archaeologists and art historians. Seminal studies by Viktor Lazarev 20, Manolis Chatzidakis 21, Ann Wharton Epstein22, Christopher Walter 23, Sharon E. J. Gerstel24, Sophia Kalopissi-Verti25, and Vasileios Marinis26 – to mention only a few outstanding scholars who addressed this topic – have brought forth a comprehensive survey of the intricate process through which the Early Christian chancel barriers developed into the Middle and Late Byzantine templon, which in turn became the forerunner of the post-Byzantine iconostasis. As Hans Belting insightfully pointed out, when considering the history of this liturgical threshold, one should restrain from postulating a continuous development, but rather “be prepared for the discovery that things varied even from one monastery to the next”27. This paragraph considers the complex historical development of Byzantine chancel screens not to retrace nor recall this history, but to point out pivotal steps in the evolution of chancel

screens to evaluate their impact on liturgical performance in the Eastern Church. The early phase of the configuration of this sacred threshold date back as early as the mid-seventh century with the appearance of small icons installed above the chancel screen’s architrave. Concurrently, the materials used for the sanctuary barrier also register an increased interest in elaborately carved decoration usually in marble and wood, with the possible addition of ivory and bronze fixtures28 [Fig. 1]. The Iconoclastic period complicates this “developmental” scenario, given that the “Triumph of Orthodoxy” did not lead directly to the creation of the templon screen but rather to a restoration of pre-existing schemes. Thus, scholars remain cautious with regards to templa mentioned in eleventh-century monastic literature, as the medieval usage of the word could imply the pre-iconoclastic rows of images installed above epistyles, and not solely those located between its supporting columns29 [Fig. 2]. Moreover, in the case of lay churches, the presence of icons in relation to a screen was not commonplace until

after the Latin occupation of Constantinople30; even then, in most cases, they were not permanent installations, but rather processional icons designed to be removed for outdoor use 31. Even during the last years of Byzantium, evidence has yet to corroborate the installment of permanent icons which cut off and obstruct a devotee’s view into the sanctuary, with the exception of several churches in provincial areas. A complementary issue at stake consists in the use of proskynetaria icons, images for personal devotion positioned on either side of the sanctuary in monastic and lay churches alike 32. With these icons, laypersons were encouraged to participate more actively in the liturgy, as the devotional images are placed 20 Viktor N. Lazarev, “Trois fragments d’épistyles peintes et le templon byzantin”, Deltion tes Christianikes Archaiologikes Hetaireias, iv (1964), pp. 117 –143. 21 Manolis Chatzidakis, “L’évolution de l’icône aux 11e–13e siècles et la transformation du templon”, xve Congrès International d’études byzantines, vol. iii: Art et Archéologie, Athens 1976, pp. 157 –192. 22 Ann Wharton Epstein, “The Middle Byzantine Sanctuary Barrier: Templon or Iconostasis?”, Journal of the British Archaeological Association, cxxxiv/1 (1981), pp. 1–28.

23 Christopher Walter,“A New Look at the Byzantine Sanctuary Barrier”, Revue des études Byzantines, li (1993), pp. 203–228. 24 Sharon E. J. Gerstel, Beholding the Sacred Mysteries. Programs of the Byzantine Sanctuary, Seattle/London 1999, esp. ch. 1, “The Creation of Sacred Space”, pp. 5–14; eadem, “An Alternate View of the Late Byzantine Sanctuary Screen”,  in Thresholds of the Sacred (n. 10), pp. 134–161. 25 Sophia Kalopissi-Verti,“The Proskynetaria of the Templon and Narthex: Form, Imagery, Spatial Connection, and Reception”, in Thresholds of the Sacred (n. 10), pp. 107 –132. 26 Vasileios Marinis, Architecture and Ritual in the Churches of Constantinople: Ninth to Fifteenth Centuries, Cambridge 2013, esp. ch. 2, “The Sanctuary and the Templon”, pp. 25 – 48. Another crucial reference for the study of Byzantine templa is the book of collected essays Iconostasis: Origins, Evolution, Symbolism, Alexei Lidov ed., Moscow 2000 (unfortunately a difficult reading for researchers who lack proficiency in Russian). 27 Hans Belting, Likeness and Presence. A History of the Image before the Era of Art, Edmund Jephcott transl., Chicago/London 1994, esp. ch. 12, “The Iconostasis and the Role of the Icon in the Liturgy and in Private Devotion”, pp. 225–260, sp. p. 225. 28 Chatzidakis, “L’évolution de l’icône” (n. 21), pp. 160 –161; see also Andrew Walker White, Performing Orthodox Ritual in Byzantium, Cambridge 2018, pp. 38 –40. 29 Epstein, “The Middle Byzantine Sanctuary Barrier” (n. 22), pp. 2– 6; cf. Chatzidakis, “L’évolution de l’icône” (n. 21), pp. 165–166, who argued in favor of the presence of intercolumnar icons already at this stage. 30 Chatzidakis, “L’évolution de l’icône” (n. 21), pp. 166 –169. 31 Epstein, “The Middle Byzantine Sanctuary Barrier”(n. 22), p. 10. 32 Ibidem, pp. 12–24. For a detailed discussion of proskynetaria icons, see Kalopissi-Verti, “The Proskynetaria” (n. 25).

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near the bema [Fig. 3]. In isolated, smaller and provincial churches, proskynetaria were sometimes incorporated into the chancel screen, thus blocking visual access to the sanctuary but still allowing for acts of personal devotion performed as near as possible to its threshold33. Hence sanctuaries were gradually separated from their naves by a screen, often making use of lavishly decorated marble34. This originally low and fairly open parapet grew taller by the thirteenth century with colonnettes carrying an epistyle. Thus the templon performed a dual function: on the one hand, as a liminal space, it delineated the holiest part of the church that was only accessible to the clergy and on the other, as a screen, it obstructed the worshippers’ view of the liturgical action in the sanctuary, enhancing a sense of mystery around the Eucharist35. A turning point in its history seems to stem from Middle Byzantine adaptations of church interiors. These were due to changes in the Divine Liturgy during the so-called Dark Ages, which in turn reflected the urban transformation of Constantinople, which in that period witnessed a proliferation of monastic foundations36. As a matter of fact, these shifts altered the liturgical performance of Byzantine rites, which lost its stational character, thus remaining confined to the inner space of the church – a process aptly summarized by Robert Taft 37. An outcome of this process is the enhancement of the liminal character of the sanctuary threshold: “The doors of the chancel screen were just as much a portal as was the entrance of the church itself; even more than the latter, they were a focal point of the liturgical events taking place before or beyond them. A repeated coming and going, dramatized each time by the departure of priests and their reappearance before the eyes of the congregation, underscored the importance of the boundary formed by the doors (and chancel screen) between the accessible and the inaccessible areas of the church – between the visible and the invisible, no matter what one meant by these terms. The invisible was made visible, in a way, in front of the screen”38.

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A recurrent issue in scholarly debates questions exactly when the openings of this barrier were filled in39 [Fig. 4]. The preserved textual evidence seems to support the conclusions drawn by Sharon Gerstel, who argues that in southern Greece, the Aegean islands, and Serbia, icons were commonly

inserted in the intercolumnar spaces of templa by the end of the thirteenth century. Gerstel also notes that this practice parallels the proliferation of bilateral icons in other parts of the Empire and hints at a trend – which has different manifestations across regions – of placing icons, especially processional ones, on the sanctuary barrier 40. As signaled by Marinis, this practice is echoed in contemporary diataxeis. A rubric dating back to the late twelfth or early thirteenth century reads: “When they are about to celebrate the Divine Eucharist the priest and the deacon go in front of the holy doors and make three prostrations kissing the holy icons and they bow down towards the choroi [i.e., the north and the south side of the naos]. Then they enter the holy bema41”. The withdrawal of the mysteries within a completely opaque sanctuary seems to have been foreshadowed, at least in earlier monastic contexts, by the extensive use of curtains, drawn during critical moments of the liturgy in order to obscure the sanctuary. The practice is discussed in an eleventh-century letter from Niketas, a chartophylax and synkellos of the Great Church, to Niketas Stethatos, abbot of the Stoudios monastery in Constantinople: “In other places I have seen with my own eyes even a curtain hung around the holy bema at the time of the mysteries. It is spread and conceals, so that not even the priests themselves are seen by those outside. This is what Lord Eustathios, most blessed among the patriarchs, did”42. Prompted by this observation, Stethatos responds by explaining the reasons for such concealment as well as which parts of the congregation belong to each of the sections within the sacred space: “Know that the place of the laity in the assembly of the faithful during the anaphora is far from the divine altar. The interior of the sanctuary is reserved to the priests, deacons and sub-deacons, the area outside near the sanctuary to the monks and other ranks of our hierarchy, behind them and the platform, to the laity […] How then from such a distance can the laymen, to whom it is not allowed, contemplate the mysteries of God accomplished with trembling by his priests?”43 [Fig. 5] Stethatos continues by stating that the faithful should not even dare look at the acts performed by the priests in the sanctuary, but rather “close, as if doors,

the senses”44. This account seems to undermine the relevance of the multi-sensorial engagement of the congregation, but in fact it rather points at the crucial role of imagination in the attempt to partake in divine realities, inaccessible to bodily senses 45. Roland Betancourt has recently commented on the Byzantine theories of perception, which echo the medieval mistrust in faithfully representing the divine through the sensual realm, since “physical perception must be accompanied by spiritual perception in order to perceive beyond the limits of the senses – even when the divine might be ontologically present, as in the Eucharist”46. The codified interplay between concealment and disclosure through the use of curtains gained such relevance in the Byzantine liturgical experience that is was addressed in theological comments on the symbolism of church furnishings and ceremony, such as the Protheoria by Nicholas of Andida: “The shutting of the doors and the drawing of the curtains over them [after the Creed], as is customary in monasteries, and the covering of the gifts with the so-called aer signifies, I believe, the night on which the betrayal of the disciple took place […] But when the aer is removed and the curtain drawn back, and the doors opened, this signifies the dawn when they led him away and handed him over to Pontius Pilate the governor”47. By the late thirteenth century, the practice 33 Epstein, “The Middle Byzantine Sanctuary Barrier”(n. 22), p. 27. 34 For an ample analysis of this decoration, see Catherine Vanderheyde, “The Carved Decoration of Middle and Late Byzantine Templa”, Mitteilungen zur Spätantiken Archäologie und Byzantinischen Kunstgeschichte, v (2007), pp. 77 –112. 35 Vasileios Marinis, “Defining Liturgical Space”, in The Byzantine World, Paul Stephenson ed., London / New York 2010, pp. 284–302, sp. p. 293; Belting, Likeness and Presence (n. 27), p. 233. 36 Marinis, Architecture and Ritual (n. 26), p. 32. 37 Robert F. Taft, The Byzantine Rite. A Short History, Collegeville 1992, pp. 71–74. 38 Belting, Likeness and Presence (n. 27), p. 227. 39 For a synthetic survey of this issue, with comprehensive references, see Marinis, Architecture and Ritual (n. 26), pp. 45–46. 40 Ibidem, p. 46; Gerstel,“An Alternate View”(n. 24), pp. 142–143. 41 Marinis, Architecture and Ritual (n. 26), p. 46. 42 Niketas Stethatos, Opuscules et lettres, Jean Darrouzès ed., Paris 1961, pp. 232–234; apud Gerstel, Beholding the Sacred Mysteries (n. 24), p. 8. 43 Ibidem, pp. 284–285; apud Gerstel, Beholding the Sacred Mysteries (n.24), loc. cit. 44 Ibidem, p. 282; apud Marinis, Architecture and Ritual (n. 26),p. 47. 45 Roland Betancourt, Sight, Touch, and Imagination in Byzantium, Cambridge, ma 2018, pp. 266 –267. 46 Ibidem, p. 306. 47 Nicholas of Andida, Protheoria, pg cxl, 445.

3 / Chancel barrier and proskynetaria, St Panteleimon, Nerezi, 12th century 4 / Templon, St George, Staro Nagorichane, 14th century 5 / Monks praying in a church, manuscript miniature, 12th century / Monastery of St Catherine (Sinai), Cod. Sin. gr. 418, fol. 269r

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6 / The Dormition of the Virgin, veil for the templon, 1485 / Monastery of Putna (Romania)

of obscuring the sanctuary had become a hallmark of Byzantine devotion, inasmuch as the anti-Latin polemicist Meletios Galesiotes complained that among the Westerners “the place of the sacrifice is open, accessible to all. Among them, sacred things are not distinct from profane”48. This appreciation of a radical division between the congregation and clergy plausibly derives from earlier mystical interpretations of the sacred space. For instance, in the seventh century, Pseudo-Sophronios interpreted the soleas as the river of fire separating the just from the sinners49. Opaque chancel screens therefore became a crucial feature in Hesychast liturgical aesthetics, as we can infer from Symeon of Thessalonica’s comments on templa: “The closure manifests the division between the senses and the intelligence, even as a firmament separates the spiritual from the material. The columns before the altar, Christ, are those of his Church, which exhort and support us. Then above the closures is the joining entablature, declaring the bond of love and unity in Christ of the blessed on earth. Then above the entablature is Christ, in the middle of the holy images, and flanking him, His Mother and the Baptist, angels, apostles and others of the saints. Thus, Christ is in heaven with his saints, is with us now, and will come for judgement 50”. This statement reveals how the templon thus became an integral part of the experience of the congregants attending the services from the naos – providing a clear focal point for prayer by the laity during or outside services. It is impossible to be certain if templa veils decorated with images represent an intermediary stage before the addition of intercolumnar icons, but it seems plausible [Fig. 6]. The progressively heightened sense of sacredness attributed to the Eucharistic gifts contributed to the gradual opacity of chancel screens and was paralleled by developments in liturgical theology – mainly in relation to those standing in the naos. Their contemplation was mediated by the iconography of the templon through the history of salvation, exposed in a dodekaorton cycle; interceded with the Theotokos and other saints as depicted in the Deisis frieze, proskynetaria, and intercolumnar icons, with additional illustrations recounting the life of saints in the case of templon beams, bearing hagiographic cycles 51. (v.b.)

The choir and church screen: between limes and limen The birth and the historic development of choir and church screens have only recently been addressed by scholars of medieval art and architecture52. Furthermore, the destruction or re-shaping of medieval liturgical screens in the West has long affected their study on a comparative scale. To make an example, while central and northern Europe are rich of well-preserved and well-studied late medieval screens, their “rediscovery” in the Italian studies date only to the 1970s, following some pioneering essays by Marcia B. Hall on the destroyed screens of mendicant churches in Florence53. The recent interest in the liturgical arrangement of pre-Reformation churches and the intertwined re-evaluation of artistic products in their spatial context have also motivated a better comprehension of the screens’ functions and artistic qualities54. Recovering the presence of monumental church screens has also 48 Tia Kolbaba, “Meletios Homologetes ‘On the Customs of the Italians’”, Revue des Etudes Byzantines, lv (1997), pp. 137 –168, sp. p. 158. 49 pg lxxxvii, 3985. 50 St Symeon of Thessalonika, The Liturgical Commentaries, Steven Hawkes-Teeples ed. and trans., Toronto 2010, p. 90. 51 Marinis, Architecture and Ritual (n. 26), p. 48. 52 Kunst und Liturgie: Choranlagen des Spätmittelalters. Ihre Architektur, Ausstattung und Nutzung, Anna Moraht-Fromm ed., Ostfildern 2003; Monika Schmelzer, Der mittelalterliche Lettner im deutschsprachigen Raum. Typologie und Funktion, Petersberg (Hesse) 2004; La place du choeur (n. 19); Jacqueline E. Jung, The Gothic Screen. Space, Sculpture, and Community in the Cathedrals of France and Germany, ca. 1200–1400, Cambridge 2013; The Art and Science of the Church Screen in Medieval Europe: Making, Meaning, Preserving, Spike Bucklow, Richard Marks, Lucy Wrapson eds, Woodbridge 2017. 53 See (with previous bibliography): Marcia B. Hall, “The Tramezzo in the Italian Renaissance, Revisited”, in Thresholds of the Sacred (n. 10), pp. 215–232; and Donal Cooper, “Recovering the Lost Rood Screens of Medieval and Renaissance Italy”, in The Art and Science (n. 52), pp. 220–245. Central and northern Italian screens have been extensively investigated in excellent studies (see references in Cooper, “Recovering the Lost Rood Screens” above). The reconstru­ ction of liturgical settings (including choir screens) in Southern Italy is the core of my PhD thesis (Elisabetta Scirocco, Arredi liturgici dei secoli xi–xiii in Campania, PhD thesis, [University of Naples Federico ii, supervisor: Francesco Aceto], Naples 2010), currently under revision for publication, and one of the aims of the project Mapping Sacred Spaces. Forms, Functions, and Aesthetics in Medieval Southern Italy (Bibliotheca Hertziana – Max Planck Institute for Art History: https://www.biblhertz.it/en/dept-michalsky/sacred-spaces [accessed on 1 October 2019]). 54 Arte medievale nel contesto, Paolo Piva ed., Milan 2006, with previous literature (English enlarged and revised edition: Medieval Art and Architecture, Paolo Piva ed., London 2012).

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prompted a reconsideration of how these physical and visual barriers shaped the relationship between the celebrating clerics and the lay public. If the social implications of this phenomenon are still debated, new research questions have emerged about the actors’ physical and spiritual experience in relation to the screens – intended both as borders and thresholds55. Donal Cooper questioned the established interpretation of church screens as impermeable limits, basing on the historical evidence that laypeople did access the choir and the sanctuary, but mostly outside the time of the liturgy 56. Jacqueline E. Jung has largely demonstrated the “unifying role of the Gothic church screen”, reflecting on the agency of images displayed on both sides of screens and the visual trespassing allowed through the choir’s doorway, windows, squints and other devices57. Jung was the first to suggest that these qualities of Gothic screens should be understood in terms of liminality 58 – a point recently developed by Tina Bawden around the reciprocal interrelations between thresholds and images59. These studies have made a fundamental contribution to the understanding of western screens in their ambiguous role of secluding and attracting, and how this emphasized the presence of the holy beyond them. In order to fully grasp their liminal agency, however, the analysis of screens must be developed in performative terms. Seen from this perspective, and along with the interdisciplinary approach to western liturgy and medieval art developed by Éric Palazzo60, the late medieval church screen can be understood as a multimedia liminal device activated during ritual practices, an interpretation which also aligns with the “spiritual seeing” stimulated by medieval art proposed by Herbert L. Kessler 61. The liminal character of western liturgical screens in proper anthropological terms is the capacity to create a suspended state of being “betwixt and between” which is overcome during a rite of passage62; it emerges and establishes itself during the process which sees the early forms of nave chancels evolve into late medieval jubés, through which the faithful were progressively estranged from the place of Mass63. In the Early Christian church, the liturgical zone in the nave

was reserved for the clergy’s procession to the sanctuary (through a corridor, the solea) and for officiating the daily hours; it did not hinder the faithful’s participation in the rite: the celebration was performed in front of the assembly, and whoever was baptized was allowed to approach the enclosures of the altar to partake in Communion64. The establishment of this liturgical enclosure in the West is usually connected with the ceremonial needs of the stational liturgy of Rome, celebrated by the pope in different churches of the city over the course of the liturgical year. Upon entering a Roman church, a fenced area in the nave surrounded by low screens would have marked the way for the papal processions leading towards the altar and the place of the schola cantorum, or the group of singers accompanying the celebration65 – hence the name chorus (choir) was adopted to connote this space66. Archaeological evidence of nave corridors and choir precincts in Roman churches date back to the late sixth century and become more widespread during the seventh67. One example is partly preserved in the church of Santa Maria Antiqua [Fig. 7], executed in masonry; it was decorated with paintings and furnished with an ambo at the time of pope 55 Paul Binski, “The English Parish Church and Its Art in the Later Middle Ages: A Review of the Problem”, Studies in Iconography, xx (1999), pp. 1–25. 56 Donal Cooper, “Access All Areas? Spatial Divides in the Mendicant Churches of Late Medieval Tuscany”, in Ritual and Space in the Middle Ages, Frances Andrew ed., Donington 2011, pp. 90 –107. 57 Jacqueline E. Jung, “Beyond the Barrier: The Unifying Role of the Choir Screen in Gothic Churches”, The Art Bulletin, lxxxii/4 (2000), pp. 622– 657; eadem, “Seeing Through Screen: The Gothic Choir Enclosure as Frame”, in Thresholds of the Sacred (n. 10), pp. 185–213; eadem, The Gothic Screen (n. 52); eadem, “Moving Pictures on the Gothic Screen”, in The Art and Science (n. 52), pp. 176 –194. 58 Jung, “Beyond the Barrier” (n. 57), pp. 630 – 634. 59 Tina Bawden, Die Schwelle im Mittelalter: Bildmotiv und Bildort, Cologne/Weimar/Vienna 2014, pp. 288 –330. 60 Éric Palazzo, Liturgie et société au Moyen Age, Paris 2000; idem, L’invention chrétienne (n. 4). 61 Herbert L. Kessler, Spiritual Seeing: Picturing God’s Invisibility in Medieval Art, Philadelphia 2000; idem, Seeing Medieval Art, Peterborough 2004. 62 Victor W. Turner, “Betwixt and Between: The Liminal Period in Rite de passage”, in idem, The Forest of Symbols: Aspect of Ndembu Ritual, Ithaca, ny 1967, pp. 93–111. 63 For the historical development of church and choir screens in the West see: Paolo Piva, “Lo ‘spazio liturgico’: architettura, arredo, iconografia (secoli iv–xii)”, in Arte medievale nel contesto (n. 54), pp. 141–180, sp. pp. 150 –160; Liturgical Installations (n. 18); La place du choeur (n. 19). 64 Earliest examples date from the fifth century, in Mediterranean Africa and the Iberian Peninsula. See Piva, “Lo ‘spazio liturgico’” (n. 63), p. 152.

65 Thomas F. Mathews, “An Early Roman Chancel Arrangement and Its Liturgical Functions”, Rivista di Archeologia Cristiana, xxxviii (1962), pp. 73– 95; Sible de Blaauw, Cultus et decor. Liturgia e architettura nella Roma tardoantica e medievale, 2 vols, Vatican City 1994, vol. i, pp. 27 –102. 66 De Blaauw, “Origins and Early Developments” (n. 19). 67 Federico Guidobaldi, “Struttura e cronologia delle recinzioni liturgiche nelle chiese di Roma dal vi al ix secolo”, Mededelingen van het Nederlands Instituut te Rome, lix (2000), pp. 81– 99.

7 / Choir precinct in the nave, Santa Maria Antiqua, Rome, 7th – 8th centuries

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John vii (705–707)68. As a result, lay worshippers were gradually moved further from the zone of the altar 69: as stated in the Fourth Council of Toledo (633) which specifies that the priest and the deacon should receive the consecrated host at the altar, the lower clergy inside the choir, and the faithful outside the choir 70. By the tenth century, when the liturgy of Rome was definitively established as the model of reference for the entire West71, cathedrals, collegiate, and abbey churches of Europe adopted the tripartite scheme by which clergy celebrated liturgy in the sanctuary, the accompanying clergy took place inside the choir (more than one, in large monastic communities) in the nave 72, and the assembly of the faithful could participate standing in remaining spaces (where women were often separated from men). In terms of liturgical topography, the medieval choir is thus to be considered an in-between space. For a long time, however, its presence did not hinder the community from visually participating in the liturgy. Screens of relatively limited height allowed viewers to see inside the choir and, from a distance, to see the altar which was usually placed in an elevated position and further emphasized with a ciborium [Fig. 8]. Pergulae were also in use until the central Middle Ages. A notable example is described in great detail by Leo of Ostia: the choir’s forefront in the church of the Benedictine

motherhouse at Montecassino, consecrated in 1071. Merging Roman traditions with quotations from sanctuary screens most likely seen during his visit in Byzantium, Abbot Desiderius wanted the choir enshrined with low plutei in precious marbles, which were surmounted by silver columns and a gilded wooden architrave adorned with icons from Byzantium73. The use of veils to screen pergulae and ciboria seems not to have been developed in a ritual sense in the West. Textual and visual sources allow one to hypothesize that the altar or the sanctuary were protected with curtains outside of liturgical performance, whereas the ritual veiling and unveiling which established in the East was probably never adopted in the Roman tradition74. It was from the twelfth century that the physical border between the space of ritual action and the space for devotees developed in forms that mostly implied substantial and permanent limitations on the visibility of the liturgical celebrations for the faithful: this compelled the ornamental, iconic, and functional modification of the screen, and its conversion into a liminal device. The increasing monumentality and opacity of the intermediate screen seem to have been generated in the first instance from practical and moral needs, more than as a deliberate enhancement of the holy through concealment – although this

8 / Liturgical installations, San Clemente, Rome, 12th century 9 / Choir screen and ambo, San Miniato al Monte, Florence, 1207 10 / Fra Giovanni da Pistoia (?), Project for the church and convent of San Francesco in Arezzo, first half of the 14th century / Archivio Capitolare (Arezzo), Carte di varia provenienza n. 873

consequence soon acquired significance and the two aspects are to be read together. The impetus for this phenomenon has been linked with the Western Church’s reform movement under Pope Gregory vii (1073–1085). Ecclesiastical sources of the time attest that stricter barriers within church buildings were aimed to protect clerics from the sight of the laity, and therefore from temptation. Indeed, inhibiting moral corruption in the clergy was one of the main aims of the Gregorian Reform75. By the year 1200, high screens were widespread in monastic and secular churches, according to the theologian Prevostinus: “Today in many churches walls so high are built, that the clergy cannot be seen by the people, and vice versa”76 [Fig. 9]. The reasons for curtains or walls to screen the choir are explained by liturgists Sicard of Cremona (late twelfth century) and William Durand (ca 1289) in such practical and moral terms, rather than in allegorical terms 77. High walls across the width of the entire church or limited to the central nave were preferred by the mendicant orders in Italy: here the tramezzo (from the Latin intermedium) was mostly detached from the western forefront of the choir enclosure, which could be positioned closer to the sanctuary 78 [Fig. 10]. The most complex version of screen consists of double-walled structures which were mainly developed in the thirteenth century, and

68 Santa Maria Antiqua tra Roma e Bisanzio, catalogue of the exhibition (Rome, Santa Maria Antiqua 17 March – 11 September 2016), Maria Andaloro, Giulia Bordi, Giuseppe Morganti eds, 2 vols, Milan 2016; see sp. Antonella Ballardini, “Piattaforma di ambone in Santa Maria Antiqua”, ibidem, vol. ii, pp. 228 –230. 69 Piva, “Lo ‘spazio liturgico’” (n. 63), pp. 152–154. 70 Fourth Council of Toledo, 18th canon, see Giovan Domenico Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum nova et amplissima collectio, vol. x, Florence 1764, col. 624. 71 Éric Palazzo, A History of Liturgical Books from the Beginning to the Thirteenth Century, Collegeville, mn 1998. 72 For different examples of late medieval and Renaissance “retrochoirs” placed behind the high altar, the position that became customary from the Counter-Reformation, see Donal Cooper, “Franciscan Choir Enclosures and the Function of Double-Sided Altarpieces in Pre-Tridentine Umbria”, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, lxiv (2001), pp. 1–54; Hall, “The Tramezzo” (n. 53), pp. 230 –232. 73 Leone Marsicano, Cronaca di Montecassino, Francesco Aceto, Vinni Lucherini eds, Milan 2001, see iii.28: 128 –131, iii.32: 297 –308, pp. 58 –59, 70 –73. See also Manuela Gianandrea, La scena del sacro. L’arredo liturgico nel Basso Lazio tra xi e xiv secolo, Rome 2006, pp. 55–75. 74 Late medieval liturgist William Durand testify the use of veils to hide the sanctuary during the celebration only in the time of Lent: Guillelmi Duranti: Rationale divinorum officiorum, i–iv, Anselme Davril, Timothy M. Thibodeau eds, Turnhout 1995, see i.3: 34–35, pp. 45– 46. On the use of veils in Late Antique and early medieval churches, see the article of Sible de Blaauw and Klára Doležalová in the present volume. 75 Piva, “Lo ‘spazio liturgico’” (n. 63), pp. 155–156. 76 “Hodie in pluribus ecclesiis ipsi parietes in tantum elevantur quod clerus a populo conspici non potest vel converso”. See Prepositini Cremonensis Tractatus de officiis, James A. Corbett ed., Notre Dame, in 1969, p. 77. 77 Sicardus Cremonensis, Mitrale seu de officiis ecclesiasticis summa, pl 213, iv; Guillelmi Duranti: Rationale (n. 74), i.1: 14, i.3: 36, pp. 17, 46. 78 Cooper,“Recovering the Lost Rood Screens”(n. 53); Joanna Cannon, Religious Poverty, Visual Riches: Art in the Dominican Churches of Central Italy in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries, New Haven / London 2013, pp. 25–45; Caroline Bruzelius, Preaching, Building, and Burying: Friars in the Medieval City, New Haven / London 2014, passim.

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11 / Jubé, Santa Maria, Vezzolano, ca 1189 12 / Westlettner, Naumburg Cathedral, 1245–1255

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which are known by different names (i.e. jubé, Lettner, roodscreen, pontile) based on their architectural shapes and multiple functions. They usually included an elevated platform accessible from the choir, which served as an ambo for reading the Gospel, as a pulpit for preaching, a place for singers during solemn ceremonies, a stage for exhibiting relics and for performing sacred plays. The process outlined here generated two churches inside a single church: the ecclesia clericorum, the presbyterial area with the choir and the sanctuary, and the ecclesia laicorum which occupied the space between the church’s entrance and screen. The presence of screens between these two macro-areas, and between different actors, implies states of inclusion and exclusion that invite one to reflect on these architectural elements in two ways: on the one hand, concentrating on the screen itself as a physical presence; on the other, on the area defined by the partitioned area in its varying degrees of permeability – both in physical and mental terms – considering the screen either as a limes (border, frame) or a limen (threshold), and what this implies in terms of physical and spiritual experiences.

As a limes, the church screen had crucial implications. The first was the need for liturgical utilities in the nave such as altars placed against the wall of the choir or in its vicinity (i.e. one dedicated to the Holy Cross always placed in preeminent position), for the secondary masses attended by the laity. The second implication is that the transformation of the choir screen into an opaque barrier was accompanied by the development of material and visual strategies that permitted worshippers to maintain a connection with the theological meaning of the Eucharistic celebration at the high altar [Fig. 11]. Narrative cycles of the Incarnation or the Passion of Christ unfolded on the screen, while a Crucifix or Calvary groups were placed on top of its central door or on a beam79. The painted or sculpted iconographic programs displayed where liturgical and paraliturgical actions took place aimed to produce emotions in the beholders and, together with the Crucifix, configured the actual presence of Christ’s body in the Eucharist 80. A concrete example of this phenomenon is the extraordinary Westlettner of the Naumburg Cathedral, where the Calvary is positioned within the very threshold, in order

13 / Andrea Romano, Elisabetta Scirocco, In-progress digital reconstruction of the western choir screen and ambo in the cathedral of Monreale, ca 1176 (detail)

to present the beholders with the sacred story, inviting their emotional involvement, as thoroughly argued by Jaqueline Jung [Fig. 12] 81. The symbolism of materiality also played a strategic role in enshrining (and thus amplifying) the sense of sacred mystery that unfolded beyond the wall. Porphyry walls in the twelfth-century royal churches of Norman Sicily provide such example: in Monreale, the western choir wall reached circa four meters in height [Fig. 13] 82. The third implication is the active role of the screen in ritual performance: the ambo for readings during the Mass was moved atop or to the forefront of the separating wall83, while the screens’ door or doors, fenestellae and squints were invested of a crucial function, offering the only possibility for those in the nave to glimpse at the host consecrated on the high altar after the Eucharistic sacrifice. As conferred by the sources, the original purpose of high screens resides in an undeniable need to physically separate clergy from laity, yet it is also significant that the use of tramezzi and jubés was established at the turn of the twelfth and the thirteenth centuries when theological debates promoted the increasing veneration of the

Eucharist, culminating in the Fourth Lateran Council’s (1215) definition of the transubstantiation as dogma, as well as the prescription for the celebrant to show the consecrated host to those 79 Piva, “Lo ‘spazio liturgico’” (n. 63), pp. 157–159. 80 Jung, “Beyond the Barrier” (n. 57); eadem, “Moving Pictures” (n. 57). 81 Jung, “Beyond the Barrier” (n. 57); eadem, The Gothic Screen (n. 52), sp. ch. 3, “The Choir Screen as Frame”, pp. 71–104. 82 Vladimir Zorić, “L’arredo liturgico fisso nelle chiese di età normanna: un aspetto trascurato dalla storiografia architettonica”, in Giorgio di Antiochia. L’arte della politica in Sicilia nel xii secolo tra Bisanzio e l’Islam, Mario Re, Cristina Rognoni eds, Palermo 2009, pp. 87 –126; Ruggero Longo, “Opus sectile a Palermo nel secolo xii: sinergie e mutuazioni nei cantieri di Santa Maria dell’Ammiraglio e della Cappella Palatina”, in La Sicilia e Bisanzio nei secoli xi e xii, Renata Lavagnini, Cristina Rognoni eds, Palermo 2014, pp. 299 –341; Elisabetta Scirocco, “Liturgical Installations in the Cathedral of Salerno: The Double Ambo in Its Regional Context Between Sicilian Models and Local Liturgy”, in Romanesque Cathedrals in Mediterranean Europe. Architecture, Ritual and Urban Context, Gerardo Boto, Justin E. A. Kroesen eds, Turnhout 2014, pp. 205–222, sp. pp. 214–217. Since 2014, I have been working on the historical reconstruction of the 12th-century liturgical setting of Monreale Cathedral (with a 3d model, see here fig. 13), now developed within a broader study on this church together with Dr. Ruggero Longo, whom I thank for his fundamental contribution; the results are currently in publication. 83 This solution is often adopted already in Romanesque churches with high choir walls or nave screens in form of tramezzi, see here for example figs 9 and 13.

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14 / Master of the Brussels Initials, The Elevation of the Host, miniature from the Canon of the Mass from a Missal, ca 1389 –1404 / The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, ms 34, fol. 130

assisting in the celebration84 [Fig. 14]. This same of religious screens. In performative and ritual period witnessed the flourishing of treatises on the terms, a boundary becomes a threshold only when Mass which testify how the Eucharistic celebration it is transgressed, and it is exactly the ritual paswas theatrically reinforced through the calculated sage of the threshold that creates – and is preceded use of candles, incense, and bells, in addition to by – the suspended state of liminality90. the special importance given to control and diAs examined above, liturgical screens in the 85 rect sight  . Sources record the use of opening the Eastern and Western rite feature topographical choir’s door – which were locked before and during and ceremonial differences. In the East, the temthe office – to allow not only those in the choir but plon and the iconostasis delimit the bema; in the also worshippers in the nave to view the Body of West, the principal screen is the nave partition in Christ elevated by the celebrant at the high altar 86. front of the choir. In the East, the screen with the The physical distance and framed vision empha- icons is the background to the celebration that sizing the feelings of reverence and desire for the takes place in the presence of the faithful, while consecrated host went hand in hand with a stricter Eucharistic liturgy unfolds beyond the barrier. In regulation of the laity’s access to the sacrament of the West, the whole celebration takes place at the Communion which was prescribed once a year high altar beyond the separating wall; celebrating (at Easter) and only after confession and penance. clerics appear in the space of the faithful for a few At that point, looking at the Eucharist outside of isolated moments before the Eucharistic liturgy, the yearly Communion offered a substitute “sacra- an apparition which is intensified through addimental viewing” as a substitute for receiving the tional sensorial stimuli. These screens preventing actual sacrament, similarly to the distribution of lay worshippers from approaching and looking blessed bread at the end of the Mass87. towards the altar of the Eucharistic sacrifice (in In summary, the maximum monumental ex- the East), or enclosing the entire presbyterial space pansion of the screen as limit and barrier, which (in the West) can be considered as liminal devices implied the obscuration of the entire liturgical that contribute to a rite of passage. space, should be understood in relation to the For the Byzantine audiences, the templon chiefdevelopment of material, ornamental and iconic ly provided a focal point for personal devotion, strategies, as well as the evolution of specific ritual in a manner which was compared by Sharon Gersactions. These were designed, on the one hand, tel to the misunderstanding of the rite of antidoron, to emphasize the holiness of the spaces for cele- attested in Middle Byzantium. In a quest for albration88 and the sacramental effect of the Mass; ternative devotional outlets, a number of laypeoon the other, to foster the comprehension of the ple chose to receive the antidoron – the portion of mysteries which took place beyond the screen, but the offered loaf that remained after the bread for also, to spiritually transform the faithful as the consecration was excised – and which was never liturgy unfolded. These issues raise another set of meant as a substitute for the Eucharistic offering considerations regarding church screens as a limen – in place of proper Communion, whose recepwhich can be spiritually trespassed. (e.s.) tion required spiritual introspection and physical abstinence. Similarly, the placement of votive Liturgical screens as liminal devices “How permeable or impermeable are thresholds of sanctity? Is this screen, or the act of screening, like a solid wall, or is it like a membrane? Every boundary creates an inside and out, a here and a there. And the most fundamental question about rituality-maintained borders concerns their permeability – not only to bodily passage but also to sound, light, smell, and sight”89.

These considerations by the ritual specialist Ronald L. Grimes introduce the liminal qualities

84 Miri Rubin, Corpus Christi: The Eucharist in Late Medieval Culture, Cambridge 1991, sp. pp. 12– 82. 85 Ibidem, pp. 49 – 63. 86 Jung, “Seeing Through Screens” (n. 57), sp. pp. 188 –189. 87 Rubin, Corpus Christi (n. 84), pp. 63– 82. 88 On limitation of access as a tool to make a space holier, see Joan R. Branham, “Penetrating the Sacred: Breaches and Barriers in the Jerusalem Temple”, in Thresholds of the Sacred (n. 10), pp. 6 –24. 89 Ronald L. Grimes, “Ritual, Performance, and the Sequestering Sacred Space”, in Discourse in Ritual Studies (n. 8), pp. 149 –168, sp. p. 164. 90 Robert T. Tally Jr.,“‘A Utopia of the In-Between’, or, Limning the Liminal”, in Landscapes of Liminality (n. 8), pp. ix–xv.

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images into the chancel screen offered an alterna- two natures, as well as the twofold nature of man. tive devotional target for lay piety which shifted Building upon this traditional approach, Symeon away from the Eucharist, earlier at its forefront91. adds to a central tenet of Late Byzantine theology: The functioning and the diffuse character of such opposing the unknowable essence of godhead – common practices was pertinently portrayed by evoked by the concealment of the Eucharistic rite Andrew Louth: – with His evident manifestations and activities “So these gestures are precisely not individual gestures – symbolized through the sensorial experience of expressing some individual intention; they are corpo- the screen. The distinction between the possibility rate gestures that we adopt, whether we understand of sensorial experience and the restriction therethem or not. […] These gestures and practices are ways of shapes a broader initiation into the doctrine of participating in the meaning the Christian commuof revelation96. The devotional response of the nity gives to its relationship to God. It is not only that congregation, however, was not necessarily fosthe symbolic significance is complex and needs to be tered through such highly elaborated exhortations learnt; it is also that the symbolic significance of our religious acts is capable of development in response alone, but also through choreographed liturgito deeper and deeper understanding of what we par- cal actions meant to enhance spiritual ascent. As ticipate in through our religious acts and gestures” 92. Sharon Gerstel insightfully pointed out, during In the West, the screen also became a focal point the Great Vespers, “the light flooding in through for lay devotion outside of the Mass: altars, pan- the opened west doors would shine directly onto el paintings, and votive offering proliferated on the holy doors at the entrance to the sanctuary their western facades. In these churches, laypeo- (eventually, the central doors in the iconostasis), ple had a degree of physical experience with- as they were opened for the procession of incense in the space beyond the church’s screen. Legal and lights at the little entrance, before the singing transactions and other public events could take of the hymn Phos Hilaron, ‘Joyful Light’”97. place in sacred spaces on the other side of the For the Eastern liturgical sensibility, the templa screen or even inside the choir when it was not do not merely maintain the large congregation in use for the liturgy. Non-consecrated men could at a distance, but rather make two allusions: to the eventually circulate beyond the tramezzi during distinction between two realms and to the permeathe liturgy of the hours, while restrictions were bility between them. The screen directs one’s gaze generally applied to laywomen, confined in the and attention, celebrating the power of mediated outer church which was, at times, referred to as vision and the ability of images to reveal by con“the church of women”93. However, the evidence of cealing 98. Such power is already present in icons chapels and tombs (with related liturgical practic- as isolated constituents on the Byzantine screen; es) linked to lay patronage in those areas speaks as already argued by Charles Barber, “the icon not for the frequentation by non-clerical, even female, only shows the desire in worship, but it sustains actors outside the time of the solemn liturgy in that desire. The encounter with the holy remains the church94. Hence, as already noted by Donal unfulfilled, […] the gaps between the beholder and Cooper, it was during celebrations at the high al- the icon, the icon and the referent, remain and they tar that the nave screens fulfilled their maximum maintain desire […] It is an autonomous depiction potential in relation to lay viewers, who were fa- and as such it acts as a barrier between desired full miliar with the area of the liturgy from which they presence and actual absence. Consequently, the were excluded in that instance, but where they icon maintains desire, maintaining the sense of would have expected to return in other moments95. difference between the one looking, the medium of portrayal, and the one portrayed, and it defers In the Byzantine liturgy, liminal screens forever the actual presence of the latter”99. build upon the interplay between the visible By contrast, the screen’s power to enhance and invisible to inspire a complex mystical exthe mystical experience is rooted in its liminality perience which Symeon of Thessalonica, a Late Byzantine exegete of the liturgical performance, which refers the beholder to an alternate vision of the world and himself, whilst playing on the gap relates to the intricate relation between Christ’s

between two realms, each endowed with its own temporality 100. The icon screen could therefore be described as “pure meaning wrapped in the thinnest membrane of materiality; the common limit of the sequence of earthly states and the sequence of heavenly states, the boundary where the final determinations of earth meet the increasing densifications of heaven. It is thus the sign of a movement, a reflexivity, between the two realms, in which both domains of existence are given to consciousness and vision”101. This mindset is equally expressed in the pervasive collisions of space-time that were noticed by Roland Betancourt as a hallmark for image theory in Byzantium; commenting upon the Last Judgment, Betancourt signals that “the Latin Church’s future-driven Last Judgement operates on an event-based history that is to come, whereas the Byzantine Church conceives of history as a fulfilment that is in a perpetual, present-oriented state of manifestation”102. The architectural and aesthetic qualities developed together with the high screen in the West were conceived to create desire and expectation for the holy enshrined in the sanctuary, and to stimulate reflection upon the ornamentations and sacred images; in this sense, they create a “presence” of the holy 103. They contributed to the experience of spiritual liminality through limitation of movement and stimulation of the visual perception104. While several ceremonies unfolded inside – and sometimes outside – the entire church, the liturgy of the Mass was celebrated beyond the screen, in an area theoretically excluding the laity: the impenetrable wall can be compared to “closed doors as thresholds of salvation”105. On the other hand, the door at the center of the screen, aligned with the high altar, was a physical threshold for clerics who ritually crossed it on several occasions during the feasts of the liturgical year. The passageway also played a role in devotee’s spiritual involvement in High Mass; its ritual opening to unveil the consecrated host on the high altar made the screen permeable, allowing the threshold to be visually overcome during the culminating part of the celebration. The liminal activation of the barrier unfolded during the liturgy, through the progressive solicitation of the faithful’s participation in the nave.

Fundamental importance is to be acknowledged to the ambo and its iconographic program, which was placed across the wall to allow the two assemblies (clerics and laypeople) to attend the proclamation of the Gospel. In this regard, it is useful to recall the studies of Nino Zchomelidse on the liturgical performance at the ambo and Bissera Pentcheva’s interpretation of the deacon on the ambo as a performative “icon of sound”106. The assimilation between the deacon proclaiming the Gospel and Christ preaching is, moreover, a figure present in medieval exegetes and liturgists107. The reading of the Gospel in the lay nave was a symbolic and functional moment of connection with the sacred liturgy taking place beyond the screen, in an area that the audience was able to mentally grasp in its general features, as already mentioned. Imagination was also instigated through the activation of the senses. The reverberation of the rite 91 Gerstel, Beholding the Sacred Mysteries (n. 24), p. 11. 92 Andrew Louth, “Experiencing the Liturgy in Byzantium”, in Experiencing Byzantium. Papers from the 44th Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, Newcastle and Durham, April 2011, Claire Nesbitt, Mark Jackson eds, London / New York 2013, pp. 79 – 88, sp. p. 84. 93 Adrian Randolph,“Regarding Women in Sacred Spaces”, in Picturing Women in Renaissance and Baroque Italy, Geraldine S. Johnson, Sara F. Mathews Grieco eds, Cambridge, ma 1997, pp. 17 –41. 94 Cooper, “Access All Areas?” (n. 56). 95 Cooper, “Recovering the Lost Rood Screens” (n. 53), pp. 236 –239. 96 Nicholas P. Constas, “Symeon of Thessalonike and the Theology of the Icon Screen”, in Thresholds of the Sacred (n. 10), pp. 163–183, sp. pp. 167 –168. 97 Gerstel, Beholding the Sacred Mysteries (n. 24), pp. 5–6. 98 Giorgio Avezzu, “Intersections Between Showing and Concealment in the History of the Concept of Screen”, in Screens: From Materiality to Spectatorship – A Historical and Theoretical Reassessment, Dominique Chateau, José Moure eds, Amsterdam 2016, pp. 29 –41, sp. p. 40. 99 Charles Barber, “From Transformation to Desire: Art and Worship after Byzantine Iconoclasm”, The Art Bulletin, lxxv/1 (1993), pp. 7 –16, sp. p. 15. 100 Constas, “Symeon of Thessalonike” (n. 96), p. 182. 101 Pavel Florensky, Iconostasis, trans. Donald Sheehan, Olga Andrejev, Crestwood, ny 1996, p. 43, apud Constas,“Symeon of Thessalonike” (n. 96), p. 182. 102 Roland Betancourt,“Prolepsis and Anticipation: The Apocalyptic Futurity of the Now, East and West”, in A Companion to the Premodern Apocalypse, Michael A. Ryan ed., Leiden/ Boston 2016, pp. 177 –205, sp. pp. 180 –181. 103 Kessler, Seeing Medieval Art (n. 61). 104 Jung, The Gothic Screen (n. 52). 105 See the article of Ivan Foletti and Katarína Kravčíková in the present volume. 106 Nino M. Zchomelidse, Art, Ritual and Civic Identity in Medieval Southern Italy, University Park, pa 2014; Bissera V. Pentcheva, “Performative Images and Cosmic Sound in the Exultet Liturgy of Southern Italy”, Speculum, xcviii/2 (2020), forthcoming. 107 Palazzo, L’invention chrétienne (n. 4), ch. vi, pp. 181–203.

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outside the sanctuary and the choir was granted by continuous acoustic (prayer, chant, silence), olfactory (incense) and visual stimuli for the devotees, whose attention was led through the Mass’ various phases towards its culmination, the sacramental realization of transubstantiation108. Éric Palazzo has brought to attention the importance of synesthesia, i.e. the sensory effect produced by the interaction of the different senses, for the sacramental effects of the liturgy, and its implications for both clergy and laity – an approach which recalls the Byzantine concept of pokilia and its manifold devotional implications 109. These ritual actions and solicitations allowed the faithful to mentally pass beyond the screen and fostered the spiritual participation in the divine mystery enacted during the celebration at the high altar: it is within this context that western screens functioned as liminal devices during liturgical performance. Furthermore the capacity of the liturgy to create an “other” space, meaning a mental space of access to the Christian mysteries 110, was enhanced by the screen as device to generate a mental liminal zone for the faithful who were not allowed to participate fully in the holy mysteries in a physical level. From this perspective, it was precisely the screens’ presence which allowed the fulfillment of the liturgical experience for the devotees, accomplished by the ritualistic viewing of the consecrated host and sublimated on those occasions in which they could receive Communion on the screen’s threshold. In short, it is the presence of this limit that induces the spiritual experience of liminality, the mental and emotional immersion in the ritual celebration; and it was the impenetrable screen which enabled this ultra-sensorial and spiritual passage. This liminal dimension, that anthropologists consider under the “magic” of ritual, has been lost in the West with the widespread destruction of nave screens in the early modern era. In fact, new strategies were pursued following adaptations to liturgical settings for the post-Tridentine rite – when choir stalls were moved from the central nave and wall screens were removed111 – permitting the faithful to gaze upon the altar, but leaving the priest to screen the Eucharist with his body. The experience has been definitively 88

lost through the reforms promoted by the Second Vatican Council in favor of ritual communication devoid of visual filters: a theatrical action, based on proxemics, that rejects any visual obstacle between the celebration and its public 112. On the other hand, the post-Byzantine areas of Eastern Christianity developed an increasingly heightened templon structure (the iconostasis) as marker of confessional identity 113. The mixture of secluding and attracting body and mind to stimulate spiritual experience is the key to understand the functioning of liturgical screens in both East and West as ritual devices, capable to provoke a state of liminality. From this perspective, chancel screens act as liminal, framing structures, marking a boundary between the material and immaterial while equally acting as loci for the interplay between the empirical experience of presence/absence and the faithful’s expectation of the hereafter 114, inviting them to go “beyond the screen”115. As a consequence, if the barrier (templon or iconostasis; choir screen or jubé) can be considered a place of liminal experience, the area of suspension they create – between here and there, between the human and the divine – stands for an “in-between space of potentiality”116, a mental liminal space with blurred and ephemeral physical boundaries. (v.b., e.s.) 108 See the description of the Mass celebration in Guillelmi Duranti: Rationale (n. 74), iv, pp. 240ff. 109 Palazzo, L’invention chrétienne (n. 4) sp. chs iii, v–x; Bissera V. Pentcheva, “Glittering Eyes: Animation in the Byzantine Eikōn and the Western Imago”, Codex Aquilarensis, xxxii (2016), pp. 209–236. 110 Jean-Yves Hameline, Une poétique du rituel, Paris 1997, sp. chs v–vi. 111 Sible de Blaauw, “Innovazioni nello spazio di culto fra basso Medioevo e Cinquecento: la perdita dell’orientamento liturgico e la liberazione della navata”, in Lo spazio e il culto, Jörg Stabenow ed., Venice 2006, pp. 25–51; Manuela Gianandrea, Elisabetta Scirocco, “Sistema liturgico, memoria del passato, sintesi retorica: l’arredo ecclesiastico medievale in Italia dalla Controriforma al post-Vaticano ii”, in Re-thinking, Re-making, Re-living Christian Origins, Ivan Foletti, Manuela Gianandrea, Serena Romano, Elisabetta Scirocco eds, Rome 2018, pp. 407 –451. 112 Luigi Martinelli, Le forme del sacro. La performance nel rito romano, Brescia 2016. 113 Catherine Bortoli-Doucet, “L’iconostase et l’espace sacré dans l’église russe aux xive et xve siècles: d’où provient le développement en hauteur de cette iconostase?”, in Le sacré et son inscription dans l’espace à Byzance et en Occident, Michel Kaplan ed., Paris 2001, pp. 43– 60. 114 Ibidem, pp. 193–196, passim. 115 Jung, “Beyond the Barrier” (n. 57). 116 Tally, “‘A Utopia of the In-Between’” (n. 90).

summary Liturgické přepážky, Východ a Západ Liminalita a duchovní zkušenost

Liminální povaha míst fyzického přechodu v sakrální architektuře byla v posledních letech značně diskutovaná ve spojitosti se vstupními prostory, jako jsou atria, nartexy a dveře. V rámci této debaty byly liturgické přepážky vnímány jako „prahy posvátna“. Autoři nabízí první pokus o  srovnávací analýzu liturgických přepážek používaných v byzantských a římských obřadech a obzvláště se zaměřují na jejich liminální aspekt. Přestože se liturgické obřady západní i východní praxe proměňovaly v závislosti na místě i na období, liturgické přepážky v nich často hrály zásadní roli při oddělování prostorů obdařených rozdílnou, ale komplementární sémantikou v rámci jednotného posvátného prostoru. Na Východě i na Západě je historie přepážek v kněžišti provázaná s posunem od přímého pohledu na liturgii k pohledu na předěl, který věřícím zabraňuje vidět na oltář, avšak podněcuje je, aby se do liturgie zapojili všemi smysly. Zahalení nejposvátnější části stavby je spojené se skrýváním posvátného mystéria během celého obřadu (na Západě) nebo během některých jeho důležitých částí (na Východě). Přepážky zabraňovaly přístupu ale i pouhému pohledu na oltář, kde

se odehrával rituál Eucharistie (na Východě), nebo uzavíraly celý prostor, ve kterém liturgie probíhala (na Západě). Autoři se věnují pře­de­vším podobě, funkci a materialitě přepážek a účinnos­ti vystavených obrazů během liturgických obřadů i mimo ně. Přepážky směřovaly pohled a pozornost, umocňovaly sílu zprostředkované vize i schopnost obrazů vyjevit a odhalovat skrze skrývání. Historický poh­led na vnímání posvátna staví liminalitu do středu pozornosti, ať už jako smyslový práh setkání věřících s božským nebo jako duchovní fázi na jejich cestě k posvátnému. Během liturgie podporovala projevy zbožnosti také „choreografie“ liturgických aktů, která měla ve shromážděných umocňovat sílu duchovního zážitku. Z tohoto pohledu byly přepážky v kněžišti liminálními nástroji, které označovaly hranici mezi hmotným a nehmotným a zároveň působily jako místo interakce mezi smyslovou zkušeností přítomnosti/nepřítomnosti a očekáváním posmrtného života. Autoři tedy přicházejí s myšlenkou, že přepážka sama o sobě je liminálním místem, zatímco oddělená oblast vytvořená bariérou je liminálním prostorem s proměnlivými fyzickými hranicemi.

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Abstract – The Depiction of the Acta Martyrum During the Early Middle Ages. Hints from a Liminal Space, the Transept of Santa Prassede in Rome (817–824) The hagiographical cycles painted in the transept of Santa Prassede, dating in all likelihood from the moment of the foundation of the church by Paschal i (817–824), have been neglected by the academia because of their state of preservation and their apparently marginal location. This paper reconsiders this ensemble considering the transept as a crucial element in a basilica focused on a crypta, where it occupies a liminal place between the space of the clergy and the space of the worshippers. Taking into account this specific location and after having pointed on the diffusion of the hagiographical matter at the basis of the paintings in the early medieval culture, the paper shows the main iconographical strategies adopted to facilitate the apprehension of these narrative cycles. What emerges is an ensemble not less important than the most renowned works of Paschal i, which push to reflect on the status of the wall-painting and especially of the narrative genre for a better understanding of the early medieval art. Keywords – Santa Prassede, Acta Martyrum, hagiography, cult of relics, pictorial narrative, iconographical strategies, style rhetoric Chiara Croci Université de Lausanne 90 [email protected]

The Depiction of the Acta Martyrum During the Early Middle Ages Hints from a Liminal Space, the Transept of Santa Prassede in Rome (817–824) Chiara Croci

The basilica of Santa Prassede, renowned for its extraordinary mosaic palimpsest covering the apse, apsidal arch, triumphal arch, and the chapel of Saint Zeno, also contains a lesser known pictural ensemble, in the bell tower 1 [Figs 1–2]. These are the sparse remains of a series of hagiographic cycles, now in a precarious condition, which cover the entirety of the transept walls, extending over five horizontal superimposed registers. Among those which remain, the first from the bottom

depicts the stories of the titular saint, and suggests that there were no further narrative registers 1

On the Santa Prassede mosaics see the monograph by Rotraut Wisskirchen, Die Mosaiken der Kirche Santa Prassede in Rom, Mainz 1992; see also Erik Thunø, “ ‘Living Stones’ of Jerusalem: The Triumphal Arch Mosaic of Santa Prassede in Rome”, in Visual Constructs of Jerusalem, Bianca Kühnel, Galit Noga-Banai, Hanna Vorholt eds, Turnhout 2014, pp. 223 – 230; Ivan Foletti, Valentine Giesser, “Il ix secolo: da Pasquale i (817 – 824) a Stefano v (885– 891)”, in La committenza artistica dei Papi a Roma nel Medioevo, Mario d’Onofrio ed., Rome 2016, pp. 219 –238.

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1 / Apsidal arch and triumphal arch, mosaics, Santa Prassede, Rome, 817 – 824 2 / South wall, transept, left arm, Santa Prassede, Rome, 817 – 824

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below it, but rather a velarium and a procession of saints, following a decorative scheme that was well-known in Rome during the early Middle Ages 2. The other cycles that can still be identified are the one drawn from the passio of the Eastern martyrs Julian and Basilissa, in the second register, and that of Chrysanthus and Daria, in the third3. The contrast between these paintings and the mosaic decoration is jarring, but there is no reason to dissociate them from the project of Paschal i (817 – 824), who commissioned the works and is depicted in the apse; the building itself bears his monogram, and it was his spectacular translatio of 2,300 relics from the catacombs of the suburbs which marked the foundation of the basilica4. The paintings in question have been neglected by research, deemed an episode of scant significance, the fruit of a “folk” current in Roman painting, and contrasted in pejorative terms with the Hellenistic style 5. Nevertheless, the ensemble is of remarkable importance and deserves to be revalued. To do so requires a reconsideration of the historiographical topoi that caused it to be cast into disrepute, such as the status of the historia (narrative images) with respect to the imago (a frontal, non-narrative image) and the pictural technique in contrast with mosaics. Likewise, the erroneous conclusion that this pictural group was 2

Giulia Bordi, Carles Mancho, Valeria Valentini, “Dipingere a Roma al tempo di Pasquale i: S. Prassede all’Esquilino e S. Cecilia in Trastevere”, Svmma, ix (2017), pp. 64–101, sp. pp. 73– 74, fig. 93. 3 On the passiones of these saints cf. Ann Alwis, “The Luxeuil Connection: The Transmission of the Vita of Julian and Basilissa (bhg 970)”, in Porphyrogenita: Essays on the History and Literature of Byzantium and the Latin East in Honour of Julian Chrysostomides, Judith Herrin et al. eds, London 2003, pp. 131–136; Annelies Bossu, Danny Praet, “A Marriage of Equals? Characterization in the passio Chrysanthi et Dariae”, Philologus, clix/2 (2015), pp. 301–326. 4 Le Liber Pontificalis, texte, introduction et commentaire par Louis Duchesne, Paris 1957, ii, c.9; Caroline Goodson, The Rome of Pope Paschal i: Papal Power, Urban Renovation, Church Rebuilding and Relic Translation, 817– 824, Cambridge 2010, pp. 92– 94, 149 –159, 228 –244. 5 Joseph Wilpert, “Malereien im Querschiff der Basilika der Hl. Praxedis”, Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und Kirchengeschichte, xxii (1908), pp. 177 –181, sp. p. 178; Guglielmo Matthiae, Pittura romana del medioevo, secoli iv–x, vol. i, scientific update by Maria Andaloro, Rome 1987, pp. 173–174; Gaetano Curzi, “La decorazione medievale del c.d. oratorio del SS. Salvatore sotto la Basilica dei SS. Giovanni e Paolo a Roma”,  in Arte d’Occidente. Temi e metodi. Studi in Onore di Angiola Maria Romanini, Antonio Cadei ed., vol. ii, Rome 1999, pp. 607 – 616, sp. p. 614.

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3 / Joseph Wilpert, handcolored photograph of the south wall, Santa Prassede, Rome, 1916 4 / Joseph Wilpert, handcolored photograph of the west wall, Santa Prassede, Rome, 1916

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placed in an area of lesser importance must be reassessed, because the transept is not secondary 6. Known thanks to the handcolored photographs produced by Wilpert in the early twentieth century [Figs 3–5], which remain crucial tools for research given the poor condition the paintings are in now 7, it was not until the undergraduate thesis by Stefania Pennesi that the scenes were clearly identified8. Although her work remains unpublished, new studies in recent years have undertaken the necessary task of re-evaluating the whole, with particular attention on how it was perceived9. Taking into account the transept’s function as a liminal zone – placed between the area of the worshippers and that of the clergy, that is between the church and the crypt containing the

relics – as well as the status of narrative painting, this essay offers a clarification of the roots of this episode and proposes an investigation of its place in hagiographic painting during the early Middle Ages. Stories of martyrs The cycles in the transept of Santa Prassede belong to a trend rooted in the previous century in Rome, when a particular interest in the depiction of passions of martyrs emerged10. Images of martyrdom are attested as early as Late Antiquity, generally as individual scenes11, although sources allow for the possibility that there may have been articulated sequences as well12. What can be found in Rome

6

As argued on the other hand by Claudia Zaccagnini, “Nuove osservazioni sugli affreschi altomedievali della chiesa romana di S. Prassede”, Rivista dell’Istituto Nazionale d’Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte, liv (2002), pp. 83–111, sp. p. 105. 7 Joseph Wilpert, Die römischen Mosaiken und Malereien der kirchlichen Bauten vom iv. bis xiii. Jahrhundert, vol. iv, Freiburg im Breisgau 1916, tables 202–204. 8 Stefania Pennesi, La decorazione altomedievale pittorica del transetto della basilica di Santa Prassede, m.a. thesis, (Università degli Studi “G. d’Annunzio”), Chieti 1997/1998. 9 Bordi/Mancho/Valentini, “Dipingere a Roma al tempo di Pasquale i” (n. 2); Carles Mancho, “Della luna, della percezione e delle immagini a Santa Prassede”, in L’officina dello sguardo. Scritti in onore di Maria Andaloro, Giulia Bordi, Iole Carlettini, Maria Luigia Fobelli, Maria Raffaella Menna, Paola Pogliani eds, vol. i, Rome 2014, pp. 351–358; idem, “I martiri nascosti. Alcune riflessioni sugli affreschi del transetto di Santa Prassede a Roma”, Hortus Artium Medievalium, xxv (2019), pp. 366 –375; Giulia Bordi, Carles Mancho, “Entrare in Paradiso: il transetto di Santa Prassede tra mosaici e pitture”, in “Grata più delle stelle”. Pasquale i e la Roma del suo tempo, (proceedings of the cycle of seminars organised by the Università di Roma La Sapienza, Università Roma Tre, and Universitat de Barcelona), (forthcoming).

10 Lesley Jessop, “Pictorial Cycles of Non-Biblical Saints: The Seventh- and Eighth-Century Mural Cycles in Rome and Contexts for Their Use”, Papers of the British School at Rome, lxvii (1999), pp. 233–279. 11 Fabrizio Bisconti, “Dentro e intorno all’iconografia martiriale romana: dal ‘vuoto figurativo’ all’‘immaginario devozionale’”, in Martyrium in Multidisciplinary Perspective. Memorial Louis Reekmans, Mathijs Lamberigts, Peter van Deun eds, Leuven 1995, pp. 247 – 292; idem, “Appunti e spunti di iconografia martiriale”, in Studi Sancanzianesi: in memoria di Mario Mirabella Roberti, Giuseppe Cuscito ed., Trieste 2004, pp. 167 –190. 12 Serena La Mantia, Animus horret tanta saevitia. L’immagine del martirio nella cultura figurativa cristiana fra tardo-antico e altomedioevo: iconografia, simbolo, interpretazione, PhD thesis, Università di Udine 2013; Chiara Bordino, “Émpsychoi eikónes: contemplare il martirio attraverso l’immagine e la parola dall’età paleocristiana all’iconoclastia”, Horti Hesperidum, v/1/1 (2015), pp. 183–234. Martyrdom scenes may have been depicted on the walls of the Porto basilica in the 6th century. Giulia Bordi, “I dipinti murali della basilica di Porto”, in La basilica portuense (scavi 1990 –2007), Mauro Maiorano, Lidia Paroli eds, Florence 2013, pp. 297 –316. Cf. moreover the question of the cycles at St Peter’s Basilica and S. Paolo fuori le mura, infra, pp. 105–106.

5 / Joseph Wilpert, handcolored photograph of the north wall, Santa Prassede, Rome, 1916

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from the eighth century could thus be a return to favor of a Late Antique practice, or a new tradition developed from precedents, with partial variance. A scholar of these cycles, Lesley Jessop, has judged them to be specifically Roman, and restricted to the eighth century. It is true that some aspects of the exemplars in question can only partly be compared to the subsequent phase at Santa Prassede. These are brief cycles linked to the martyr’s tomb, such as the scenes in the Calepodius catacomb of Pope Callixtus being killed and buried13, or longer cycles, placed in spaces where the relics of martyrs were in all likelihood conserved, depicting those martyrs – such as Saints Quirico and Giulitta in the private chapel of Theodotus at Santa Maria Antiqua14 [Figs 6–7]. Jessop believes that these cycles were destined for a lay audience, in order to convince the faithful of the authenticity of the cult in question. However, interest in hagiographic material, and in particular in depicting passiones, was not limited to Rome: examples can be found in the scenes of martyrdom among the paintings in the nave of Santa Giulia in Brescia, from the 760s, or those described only a few years later by Tarasios of Constantinople in the Sanctuary of the Martyrs on the Bosphorus15. The Brescian case actually differs both from the examples analyzed by Jessop, as well as from the cycle at Santa Prassede, at least in terms of the location of the scenes of martyrdom, set in the lower register of the nave, and above which figure scenes from the New Testament [Fig. 8], according to a decorative scheme rooted in Early Christian practices. It is not possible to say with certainty what the relation might have been between the stories depicted and the relics 13 Mara Minasi, La tomba di Callisto: appunti sugli affreschi altomedievali della cripta del papa martire nella catacomba di Calepodio, Vatican City 2009. 14 Giulia Bordi, “La cappella del primicerius Teodoto”, in Santa Maria Antiqua tra Roma e Bisanzio, Maria Andaloro ed., Rome 2016, pp. 260 –269. The paintings with the scenes of martyrdom of Paul and Anastasius at Sant’Adriano al Foro and those with the stories of Saint Erasmus at Santa Maria in via Lata were also found in chapels containing the respective relics, cf. Jessop,“Pictorial Cycles of Non-Biblical Saints” (n. 10), pp. 259 –272. 15 Wanda Wolska-Conus, “Un programme iconographique du patriarche Tarasios?”, Revue des études byzantines, xxxviii (1980), pp. 247 –254; Aline Rousselle, “Sources iconographiques perdues: les premières images des martyrs”, Cassiodorus, ii (1996), pp. 215–230; Bordino, “Émpsychoi eikónes” (n. 12).

6 / Martyrdom of Pope Callixtus, Catacomb of Calepodio, Rome, first half of the 8th century

7 /  Martyrdom of Quiricus, Theodotus Chapel, Santa Maria Antiqua, Rome, 741– 752

8 / Relief of the scenes on the southern wall, San Salvatore, Brescia, 760s

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conserved in the monastery; it would depend on the identification, which is still uncertain, of the protagonists of the martyrdom scenes and the relics present in the monastery at the time the cycle was created16. In any case, the example of Santa Prassede stands out in comparison to the cases evoked, especially because of how extensive the martyrdom cycles are. Although it is difficult to be precise in the Brescian situation, it is highly unusual at this point in time to have narrative sequences deduced from the various passiones attested in the transept of Paschal’s basilica. The same selection of hagiographic cycles seems to rely, at least in part, on new premises. Just as in the cases mentioned above, in which the narrative cycle was linked to a tomb or to the veneration of relics of a martyr in a specific environment, so too at Santa Prassede are the hagiographic cycles indissociable from the translatio of 2,300 holy bodies to the crypt, the side chapels, and the monastery at the time of the basilica’s foundation17. The relics of Praxedes and her legendary sister Pudentiana, as well as those of Chrysanthus and Daria and their companions in martyrdom, Jason and Maurus, were in fact brought to the church at the time of its founding, as attested by an inscription which evokes 86 of the 2,300 saints transferred there18. However, this cannot explain the cycle of Julian and Basilissa and their companions Celsus and Marcionilla, Eastern saints whose remains are not attested in Rome. The same is true for “secondary” figures appearing in the story of Chrysanthus and Daria, whose presence can be linked, as we will see, to the role the passiones played in the conception of these cycles. The transept: a space for hagiographic narration? From Saint Peter’s to Santa Prassede

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The hagiographic cycles at Santa Prassede also differ from the earlier ones also in terms of placement in the basilica’s transept [Figs 2, 9]. It is seemingly marginal situation, emphasized by the later transformation of the left arm of the transept into the church’s bell tower, which had a negative impact on the fortune of the historiography of this cycle

and thus its subordination with respect to the mosaics in the apse and arches. However, the transept occupied a space with fundamental importance in a basilica like Santa Prassede, whose crypt was one of its principal nuclei. Krautheimer’s studies, and those of Caperna, have shown the great salience conferred upon this zone – especially thanks to the way light diffuses – in a basilica characterized by the spatial union between the broad central nave and the space of the apse and the transept19. Orientated on the group of the altar-confessio, it was a liminal zone, placed where the sanctuary (reserved for the clergy) converged with the space for the worshippers in the naves20. The transept (and in its absence the crypt itself or the lower part of the apsidal exedra) presents itself as the ideal place to hold paintings with the stories of martyrs, able to provide a historical context and thus a sort of authentification for the relics conserved in that space21. And yet, at the time of Paschal i, painting the stories of saints in the transept was not a practice that has been solidly attested. This is also the reason why in studying the cycle in question there has not been adequate attention given to the fact that a complicated documentary tradition evokes a St Peter cycle in the transept of the Vatican basilica, which some scholars have dated to the end of the seventh century, and others to the reign of Pope Formosus (891 –  896)22. The fact that the St Peter cycles recur in the space of the transept in later epochs, and in particular during the Gregorian Reform, bears witness to the fact that the Vatican must have provided a solid and deep-rooted model, and supports a dating preceding the Carolingian era23. Although it is difficult to circumscribe, the St Peter example and its reprise underlie the idea that the transept is the quintessential place for hagiographic painting. But yet, there are only few known examples, and except for the problematic episode at the Vatican basilica, none precedes the one at Santa Prassede. Rather than developing from a rooted tradition of hagiographic painting, what we are presented with here is an episode that must be understood within a more generalized reprise of the Vatican basilica, already amply demonstrated

9 / Isometric reconstruction, Santa Prassede, Rome, 817 – 824

16 John Mitchell, “The Painted Decoration of San Salvatore di Brescia in Context”, in Dalla corte regia al monastero di San Salvatore – Santa Giulia di Brescia, Gian Pietro Brogiolo ed., Mantua 2001, pp. 169 –201; Francesca Stroppa,“L’immagine della martire Giulia in San Salvatore di Brescia: mobilità di maestranze, di materiali e di idee”, Hortus Artium Medievalium, xxii (2016), pp. 265–281. An opinion in favour of the cycle of the acts of the apostles can be found in Lucinia Speciale,“Il quadro delle fonti artistiche al tempo di Desiderio: un palinsesto da ricomporre”, in Desiderio. Il progetto politico dell’ultimo re longobardo, Gabriele Archetti ed., Spoleto 2015, pp. 145–174, sp. pp. 170 –174. 17 Caroline Goodson, “The Relic Translations of Paschal i (817 – 824): Transforming City and Cult”, in Roman Bodies, Andrew Hopkins, Maria Wyke eds, Rome 2005, pp. 123 –141. 18 Ursula Nilgen, “Die grosse Reliquieninschrift von Santa Prassede. Eine quellenkritische Untersuchung zur ZenoKappelle”, Römische Quartalschrift, lxix (1974), pp. 7 –29; Goodson, The Rome of Pope Paschal i (n. 4), pp. 229 – 234; sp. pp. 328 –333. 19 Richard Krautheimer, Spencer Corbett,“Santa Prassede”, in Corpus basilicarum christianarum Romae (sec. iv–ix), vol. iii, Vatican City 1971, p. 252; Maurizio Caperna, La Basilica di Santa Prassede. Il significato della vicenda architettonica, Rome 2014, pp. 77 – 78; idem, “Santa Prassede: Research Lines on the Location and Spatial Values of Paschal i’s Basilica”, Summa, ix (2017), pp. 164–180, sp. pp. 171–173. Further studies by the author, in collaboration with Antonella Ballardini, are in progress. 20 On the transept space more generally, see Le transept et ses espaces élevés dans l’église du Moyen Âge (xie–xvie siècles),

Barbara Franzé, Nathalie Le Luel eds, Paris 2018; on the concept of liminality in the ecclesiastic space cf. Sacred Thresholds: The Door to the Sanctuary in Late Antiquity, Emilie van Opstall ed., Leiden/Boston 2018. 21 Herbert L. Kessler,“Storie sacre e spazi consacrati: la pittura narrativa nelle chiese medievali fra iv e xii secolo”, in L’arte medievale nel contesto (300 –1300): funzioni, iconografia, tecniche, Paolo Piva ed., Milan 2006, pp. 435–462, sp. pp. 442, 445. 22 These scenes of the martyrdom of Saint Peter are attested by Giacomo Grimaldi, Cod. Vat. Barb. Lat. 2237, fol. 164v and published in an extremely reduced way in a drawing from the circle of Maarten van Heemskerck. Cf. Adolf Weis,“Ein Petruszyklus des 7. Jahrhunderts im Querschiff der Vatikanischen Basilika”, Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und Kirchengeschichte, lviii (1963), pp. 230 –270, sp. pp. 230 –233, table 23a. For a dating to the second half of the seventh century cf. ibidem, pp. 235–244; Stephan Waetzoldt, Die Kopien des 17. Jahrhunderts nach Mosaiken und Wandmalereien in Rom, Vienna 1964, p. 71; William Tronzo, “The Prestige of Saint Peter’s: Observations on the Function of Monumental Narrative Cycles in Italy”, in Studies in the History of Art, xvi (1985), pp. 93–115, sp. p. 105. A later dating is considered, coinciding with the works of Pope Formosus (891– 896) in Herbert L. Kessler, “St. Peter’s Basilica at the Time of the First Jubilee”, in idem, Old St. Peter’s and Church Decoration in Medieval Italy, Spoleto 2002, pp. 1–14. 23 On the subsequent reprises of the transept at St Peter’s see Herbert L. Kessler,“L’antica basilica di San Pietro come fonte e ispirazione per la decorazione delle chiese medievali”, in Fragmenta picta. Affreschi e mosaici staccati del Medioevo romano, Rome 1989, pp. 49 – 62.

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10 /  Floor plan, Santa Prassede, Rome, 817 – 824 11 /  Floor plan at the time of Paschal i (817 – 824), St Peter's Basilica, Rome

The contribution of hagiography

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for architecture [Figs 9–11]; but it is also the layout of the presbyterial zone and its liturgical furnishings, that reprise that of the Vatican basilica according to the reorganization under Leo iii (799 – 816)24. Independently from the political and ecclesiastic hue imparted to the reprise of the St Peter model, the transept paintings offer further indications of the stance of the concepteurs of Santa Prassede with regard to the Vatican basilica. The reference to the supposed model turns out to be rather free: elements are gathered, and then adapted for the specific situation are applied. The depiction of the biographical cycle of the titular saint transcends in this context the intention to substantiate the remains laid beneath the altar in order to legitimize the cult of the saint. By virtue of the massive presence of relics, the life of St Praxedes is set as the departure point around which develops a broader discourse, more profound and complex, witnessing the martyrdom. It is a discourse framed inside the mosaic of the triumphal arch, where the martyrs, as intercessors, are depicted at the gates of the Celestial City 25.

For the protagonists and the episodes selected, the narrative material underlying the three cycles that can be reconstructed emerges as one that adheres to that narrative transmitted by their respective passiones, texts which therefore played a fundamental role in the conception of the pictural ensemble. The fact that hagiographical literature constituted a reference point for the patron’s entourage has been confirmed, as Jessop observes, since the identity of the 86 relics named in the inscription shows the attempt to truly gather figures, albeit buried in different catacombs, whose experiences were woven together by early medieval hagiography 26. This fact explains why the story of Chrysanthus and Daria includes a scene with two figures whose relics are not attested in Santa Prassede: this segment narrates the martyrdom of Claudius, the emperor converted by the former two, and his wife Hilaria, who in turn was arrested after having buried their martyred children, Jason and Maurus [Figs 3–4] 27. The layout of the register thus depends heavily on the passio written in Rome in the fifth

Altare Salvatoris

Altare S. Michaelis

S. Anastasiae

Oratorium S. Mariae of Paul i

S. Hadriani

S. Leonis

tomb of Peter

S. Crucis

S. Mariae font SS. Xysti et Fabiani SS. Processi et Martiniani

S. Petronillae

S. Johannis

Salvatoris S. Theodori Salvatoris Genetricis et omnium Sanctorum of Gregory iii

S. Martini (?) S. Laurentii

S. Sossii

S. Viti

S. Apollinaris

S. Cassiani

S. Thomae S. Andreae

N

century. The author was a hagiographer familiar with the topography of the tombs because he was 24 Regarding architecture cf. Richard Krautheimer, “The Carolingian Revival of Early Christian Architecture”, The Art Bulletin, xxiv/1 (1942), pp. 1–38, according to whom Santa Prassede, by reprising the model of St Peter’s, embodied the Roman and pontifical aspect of the Carolingian renaissance. This hypothesis was later smoothed and refined by Valentino Pace, “La ‘felix culpa’ di Richard Krautheimer: Roma, Santa Prassede e la ‘rinascenza carolingia’”, in Ecclesiae Urbis, Federico Guidobaldi, Alessandra Guiglia Guidobaldi eds, vol. i, Vatican City 2002, pp. 65– 72; cf. also Caperna, La Basilica di Santa Prassede (n. 19), pp. 72– 90. On the organisation of the presbyterial zone, cf. esp. Judson Emerick,“Focusing on the Celebrant: The Column Display inside Santa Prasede”, Mededelingen van het Nederlands Instituut te Rome, lix (2001), pp. 129 –159; Antonella Ballardini, “Scultura per l’arredo liturgico nella Roma di Pasquale i: tra modelli paleocristiani e Flechtwerk”,  in Medioevo: arte e storia, Arturo C. Quintavalle ed., Milan 2008, pp. 225–246. 25 Marketa Mauck, “The Mosaic of the Triumphal Arch of S. Prassede: A Liturgical Interpretation”, Speculum, lxii/4 (1987), pp. 813– 828, links the iconography of the mosaics to the translatio of the relics. 26 Goodson, The Rome of Pope Paschal i (n. 4), p. 234. The tendency to group the stories of martyrs according to their burial place is peculiar to Roman hagiography. Hippolyte Delehaye, Les légendes hagiographiques, Brussels 1955 [1905], p. 37. 27 According to Bordi/Mancho/Valentini, “Dipingere a Roma al tempo di Pasquale i” (n. 2), p. 74, the fact that the inscription bears the names of only 86 relics does not preclude the possibility that the relics of others were brought to Santa Prassede, but cf. infra, p. 102.

S. Mariae of John vii

sacristy

S. Gregorii

101

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able to link, as was often the case, the stories of the main pair to that of the figures buried in the same catacomb; the passio must have been widely available in the Carolingian era28. Judging from the case of Praxedes and Pudentiana and the Eastern martyrs Julian and Basilissa, also the layout of the other registers must have depended on the coeval passiones. The identity of the figures whose martyrdom is depicted, as well as the presence of their relics in the basilica, thus emerge as somewhat secondary to the conception of the whole. If the conserved inscription is indeed authentic, it evokes only a few of the saints preserved in the church, while for others it is said, according to common formulation, that “only God knows their names”, testifying to a choral idea of martyrdom, which is also peculiar to the transept painting, where the experience of martyrdom is depicted as a condition for universal salvation. By alternating stories of Roman martyrs and cycles of Eastern martyrs, Rome is united with the other churches. The profound familiarity with hagiographical material is confirmed by the fact that, as has been pointed out, it focusses on stories with important shared values – such as matrimonial chastity (Julian and Basilissa, as well as Chrysanthus and Daria) or duty towards burial of fellow martyrs (Hilaria, Praxedes, and Pudentiana). The last two stand out for their investment in the construction of places of worship. Establishing places of worship and the preoccupation with giving a dignified burial to martyrs were also at the heart of Paschal i’s activity, and in this way he puts himself forward as someone who continues the works of the protagonists of the narrative cycles 29. Even the theme of matrimonial chastity must have been important to him: the desire to promote it might be explained in relation to the lay figures involved in the Greek monastery he established near the church. The whole ensemble thus reveals a learned entourage behind this commission: the passio of Chrysanthus and Daria, for example, stands out for its textual characteristics in a literary genre – the hagiography – which is not particularly esteemed30. The choice of depicting the cycle of Julian and Basilissa could be explained in the light of the link between Paschal i and Greek-speaking

circles, which could have had a role in the translation and spread in Rome of the Greek passio of these martyrs31. These paintings therefore would emphasize the function of the transept space, marking the translatio of relics and historicizing a cache of witnesses destined to be systematically invoked during the liturgy. Fruition: the public and passiones While reflecting on the themes chosen helps to form an idea of the context of the patronage, it is more difficult to determine how such a scenario would be put to fruition. In its central part, the transept surrounds the altar, a place reserved for the clergy. Lacking archaeological information on a possible link between the transept and the areas around it (especially the monastery, which still has not been located, but was probably situated abutting the apse and was accessible from a door flanking the apse, on the western side), it is not possible to specify the role of the lateral arms of the transept, and whether it was a space reserved for the passage of the pope, the clergy, and monks. However, what is certain (although it is not known with what frequency) is that these spaces were traversed by worshippers: reaching that area from the lateral naves, they passed through to enter the crypt conserving the remains of the titular saint and many of the relics brought to Santa Prassede from the suburban catacombs. The transept was often also a space worshippers came to in order to bring offerings32. In the light of analogies with St Peter’s Basilica, it is necessary to keep in mind that there were numerous secondary altars and chapels in the Vatican transept, two of which were founded by Paschal i himself [Figs 10 –11]. It is therefore legitimate to think that at Santa Prassede as well there would have been secondary altars laid out in this space 33. These altars could have been sanctified by the relics of some of the protagonists of the martyrdom cycles above them, to which the faithful would have been able to bring offerings before descending into the crypt 34. For those passing through this space to reach the crypt, however, the hagiographical cycles would not have been easy to understand. The cycles were at a height of five meters above the

ground, and characterized by narrative density, containing a multitude of figures and sequences. Carles Mancho imagined the path of the worshippers from the naves to the crypt, and thus their perspectives on the mosaic and pictural decoration, concluding that the worshippers, inundated by a profusion of repetitive stimuli, would have grasped that they were standing in the presence of depictions of martyrdom, without recognizing the individual scenes in detail35. For Mancho, the images in the transept, under tituli that would have been entirely illegible from below (known essentially only to the patron, the concepteur, and the painter who created them perched on scaffolding), didn’t aim to provide total intelligibility for the worshippers, in contrast with the depictions in the apse and vaults which were accompanied by monumental inscriptions36 [Figs 1–5]. The fact that the tituli were not intended as a support for the worshipper is confirmed by the choice of placing them above and not below the depictions, which made it even more arduous to decode them when looking up from the ground. Although illegible – both because of optical limitations, as well as the rare literacy of the masses – it does not mean that the worshippers passing through the transept were a secondary public. A deep-rooted tradition demonstrates that from the Early Christian era, tituli accompanied narrative cycles, even when they were destined for an illiterate audience, since the “guides” would have explained the illustrations 37. Inscriptions, tied to the process of selecting narrative material, thus could not be left out, even when deprived of their function of setting the scene: they were an integral part of the narrative image, and conferred veracity upon the depicted story, implying the existence of a textual reference38. Moreover, it is necessary to consider that the passiones underlying the narrative sequences depicted in the transept were fairly popular in the early Middle Ages39: public readings of these texts are attested as early as the sixth century, for example during meals, while the essential outline of some of the stories were known via word of mouth – especially at pilgrimage sites40. Not enough salience has been given to the fact that these readings often were given space in the liturgy. From

the fourth century, first in North Africa and later in Gaul, the martyr’s passio was read during liturgical rites, at least on the saint’s feast day 41. The Roman Church seems to have been opposed to this practice, particularly because of the legendary and anti-historical character of this type of text, as can be evinced from a supposed decree by Gelasius (492 –496) actually produced in Gaul at the beginning of the eighth century 42. The sources 28 Cécile Lanéry, “Hagiographie d’Italie (300 –550). Les Passions latines composées en Italie”, in Hagiographies. Histoire internationale de la littérature hagiographique latine et vernaculaire en Occident des origines à 1550, Guy Philippart ed., vol. v, Turnhout 2010, pp. 15–369. 29 Goodson, The Rome of Pope Paschal i (n. 4), pp. 240 –241. 30 Bossu/Praet, “A Marriage of Equals?” (n. 3), pp. 302–303; Michael Lapidge, The Roman Martyrs. Introduction, Translations, and Commentary, Oxford 2017, p. 36. 31 A Latin translation of the passio can be found in the Lectionnaire de Luxeuil (Cod. Parisinus lat. 9724) produced in Gaul around 700, cf. Alwis,“The Luxeuil Connection”(n. 3). Therefore, it cannot be ruled out that the story reached Rome in this version. 32 Richard Krautheimer, “Il transetto nella basilica paleocristiana”, in Actes du ve Congrès International d’Archéologie Chrétienne, Vatican City 1957, pp. 283–290, sp. p. 288. 33 Judson Emerick, “Altars Personified: The Cult of the Saints and the Chapel System in Pope Paschal i’s S. Prassede (817 – 819)”, in Archaeology in Architecture: Studies in Honor of Cecil L. Striker, Judson J. Emerick, Deborah Mauskopf Deliyannis eds, Mainz 2005, pp. 43– 63. 34 According to the inscription, the Maurus’ relics were laid in a chapel that has yet to be identified, along the left side of the church. On the location cf. Caperna, La Basilica di Santa Prassede (n. 19), p. 56. 35 Mancho, “Della luna, della percezione” (n. 9), p. 355–356; idem, “I martiri nascosti” (n. 9), pp. 373–375, figs 13–15. 36 Idem, “Della luna, della percezione” (n. 9), p. 355. 37 Francesco Lubian, “Tituli for Illiterates? The (Sub)genre of Tituli Historiarum between Ekphrasis, Iconography and Catechesis”, in Culture and Literature in Latin Late Antiquity. Continuities and Discontinuities, Paola Francesca Moretti, Roberta Ricci, Chiara Torre eds, Turnhout 2015, pp. 53– 68, sp. p. 61, n. 44. 38 For the “audience” of Early Christian narrative cycles cf. Herbert L. Kessler, “Diction in the ‘Bibles of the Illiterate’”, in Acts of the xxvith International Congress of the History of Art, vol. ii, University Park 1989, pp. 297 –308; idem, “Pictures as Scripture in Fifth-Century Churches”, in Studia artium orientalis et occidentalis, ii (1985), pp. 17–31. 39 Katrien Heene, “Merovingian and Carolingian Hagiography: Continuity or Change in Public and Aims?”, Analecta Bollandiana, clxvii (1989), pp. 415–428; on the context of production and spread of these texts cf. Marc Van Uytfanghe, “L’hagiographie de l’Antiquité tardive: une littérature populaire?”, Antiquité Tardive, ix (2002), pp. 201–218. 40 Marc Van Uytfanghe,“L’audience de l’hagiographie au vie siècle en Gaule”, in “Scribere sanctorum gesta”: Recueil d’études d’hagiographie médiévale offert à Guy Philippart, Étienne Renard et al. eds, Turnhout 2005, pp. 157 –177, sp. pp. 165–168. 41 In Africa the practice was promoted at the Synod of Hippo in 393, (Atti e passioni dei martiri, Antoine Bastiaensen ed., Milan 1987, p. x); on this matter cf. more generally Badouin De Gaiffier,“La lecture des Actes des martyrs dans la prière liturgique en Occident: à propos du passionnaire hispanique”,  Analecta Bollandiana, lxxii (1954), pp. 134–166. 42 Badouin De Gaiffier, “La lecture des passions des martyrs à Rome avant le ixe siècle”, Analecta Bollandiana, lxxxvii (1969), pp. 63– 78.

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12 /  Martyr being judged by the governor, north wall of the transept (detail), left arm, Santa Prassede, Rome, 817 – 824

13 /  The Judgement of Solomon, North-African red slip ware bowl, ca 350 –430 / Museum of Art and Archaeology, University of Missouri (Columbia), inv. 97.22

attest the fact that it would be Adrian i (770 – 795) who broke with tradition, legitimizing the reading of passiones during the liturgy in titular churches, at least on the occasion of the saint’s feast 43. Thus, the sources seem to demonstrate that until the second half of the eighth century it was prohibited to read the passiones during the liturgy, but the fact that many of these were preceded by a prologue in favor of their public reading invites caution in interpreting Adrian’s decision44. It is legitimate to think that there may have been a discrepancy between the customs of the official Church, and the widespread practices of the minor churches: Adrian would thus have only officialized a practice that was widely present in other contexts45. It does not seem possible, therefore, to dissociate the fortune of martyrdom-themed painting, in particular in Rome starting from the eighth century, from the increasing spread of the passiones in contemporary culture, and therefore from the practice of reading the passiones during the liturgy 46. While the place occupied by hagiographical readings in early medieval liturgy is yet to be clarified, especially in Rome, for our purposes it is sufficient to observe that the depictions in the transept at Santa Prassede evoke a material which overall was familiar to those who entered these spaces. It is therefore fundamental to understand how the narrative material was selected and organized in order to support its apprehension. Narrative strategies

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The overall organization, compositions, and iconographic choices show a clear intent to simplify the scenario, probably also to suit it to the space the paintings occupied, which was at a remarkable height. The narrative material was selected with the aim of presenting each story in a concise way and with a regular rhythm, based on a limited number of episodes. There are three episodes in particular: the confrontation between the martyr and the emperor or governor, the martyr’s arrest and conversion of the individuals involved in this story, and finally martyrdom [Figs 3–5]. Thus it is a rather repetitive system, which has added to the low esteem these paintings are held

14 /  Christ before Pilatus, lid of the Brescia casket (detail), end of the 4th century / Musei Civici (Brescia)

in, discredited because they were perceived as mo­notonous and tedious. However, the monotony ascribed to the iconography of these cycles has recently been reassessed, and rightly so, as a fundamental aspect of the whole ensemble47. Indeed, it is precisely this repetitiveness that facilitates understanding of the subject, and as we will examine in further detail, it is built on the scene of judgement 48. Repetitiveness and monotony also characterize much of early medieval hagiography, allowing it to be understood by less educated social strata49. The cycles at Santa Prassede are therefore expressly constructed in a repetitive way, in order to render the scenario accessible at first sight. This is demonstrated by the nearly exaggerated insistence of repetition of the scene in which the martyr is brought before the emperor or governor who pronounces the sentence. Making use of an unmistakable scheme with illustrious precedents – such as the scene of the Judgement of Solomon, or Christ before Pilate – the enthroned figure addresses the martyr standing before him or undergoing torture with imperious gestures [Figs 12–14]. This iconography was very widespread, and not only in Roman

cycles of martyrdom in the preceding century [Fig. 7], but also in previous narrative cycles at St Peter’s Basilica and at San Paolo fuori le mura. There is proof of it in both in the Old Testament cycle, where it is God the Father who is depicted with an analogous stance to that of the governor, 43 Likewise in his letter to Charlemagne, mgh, Epistolae, v, Berlin 1899, p. 49 and in the Ordo xii, written in Gaul at the end of the 8th or beginning of the 9th century. Michel Andrieu, Les Ordines Romani du haut Moyen-Âge. ii. Les textes (Ordines i–xiii), Leuven 1948, pp. 465–466. 44 On this prologue cf. Badouin De Gaiffier, “Un prologue hagiographique hostile au décret de Gélase?”, Analecta Bollandiana, lxxxii (1964), pp. 341–354. 45 Jessop, “Pictorial Cycles of Non-Biblical Saints” (n. 10), p. 254, that relies on Antoine Chavasse, “Les grands cadres de la célébration à Rome ‘in urbe’ et ‘extra muros’ jusqu’au viiie siècle”, Revue Benedictine, xcvi (1986), pp. 7 –26. 46 Jessop, “Pictorial Cycles of Non-Biblical Saints” (n. 10), pp. 253–254, proposes such a link in the case of the paintings of the Chapel of SS. Quirico and Giulitta. 47 Bordi/Mancho/Valentini, “Dipingere a Roma al tempo di Pasquale i” (n. 2), pp. 69 –70. 48 On the role of the judgement scene in identifying the background theme, cf. Mancho, “Della luna, della percezione” (n. 9), p. 356. 49 On monotony in passiones cf. Lapidge, The Roman Martyrs (n. 30); Lanéry, “Hagiographie d’Italie (300 –550)” (n. 28). Solemnity and brevity were typical of passiones written in the Roman area: Claudio Leonardi, “L’agiografia romana nel secolo ix”, in Hagiographie, cultures et sociétés, ive–xiie siècles. Actes du Colloque organisé à Nanterre et à Paris (2–5 mai 1979), Paris 1981, pp. 471–490, sp. p. 473.

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but also in hagiographical cycles, which characterize several episodes in the Pauline cycle – the only one for which we have an extant graphic representation – leading us to suppose broad use in the St Peter cycle as well50. It was an extremely well-known and highly recognizable image, which brings us back once again to the question of the links between the Santa Prassede cycle and

the Vatican “prototype”, and more generally the debt it owes to Early Christian painting. The rather methodical reproduction, in the different registers, of this iconographic scheme suggests the use of cartoons: it is a practice that should not only be seen as an “economical” measure, to reduce production times, but also as a strategy employed to ensure a nearly “serial” reproduction of the key

moment in each narrative segment, in order to render it immediately clear to all viewers. A glance at the way in which the scenes of confrontation between the martyr and governor are laid out [Fig. 15] clearly shows the will to direct the gaze and the understanding of the whole through this very scene. Among the extant pieces at least eleven remain, or about a third of the overall

scenes: the episode is not systematically set along the same vertical axis, because there is a fairly free organization of the narration, in line with the unfolding of each story. Following a guiding line, 50 Cecilia Proverbio, I cicli affrescati paleocristiani di San Pietro in Vaticano e San Paolo fuori le mura. Proposte di lettura, Turnhout 2016, e.g. pp. 213, 281, 284, 303–307, 312 and sp. p. 347, where the scheme is applied for the Flagellation of Paul.

15 /  Reconstruction of the painting of the transept, left arm (based on figs 3–5), with the scenes of the martyr being judged by the governor circled

16 / Martyrdom of Maurus and socii (detail), south wall of the transept, left arm, Santa Prassede, Rome, 817 – 824

the scene runs diagonally across the walls, almost passages and confer an emotive presence to the like on a chess board: those who entered the space faces [Figs 12, 16]. of the transept, coming from the lateral naves, or The comparison with the nearby mosaics has leaving the crypt, could in this way connect again led to the opinion that the workshop responsiwith the overall concept, from no matter which ble for the transept followed in a servile way the angle of vision. This “snapshot” multiplied the guidelines of the mosaicists, without being able to “entry points” in the depicted account, according equal them53. Such an opinion is born of prejudice to a principle in line with the overall fleeting con- – the idea that pictural technique is inferior to that templation, as it would be for those crossing the of the mosaic. In reality, details like the frames of space in order to descend into the crypt. the windows and the fine ornamentation of their The coarse gesturality of the figures, accentu- soffits demonstrate that the atelier at work in the ated by the disproportionately larger upper limbs, transept had means that were no different from helped the scenes to be immediately understand- those employed in creating the mosaics and the able; comprehension was further facilitated by liturgical furnishings. the emphasis on left-to-right movement that oriThe characteristics observed do not make these entated the “consequential” reading of the story paintings an example of “folk” art in the negative in each register 51. sense of the term which has often be used to presThese strategies demonstrate how, in conceiv- ent them. The simplification of sequences and ing the whole, the global perspective was kept forms is the result of a conscious process, linked in mind – developed so that each person could to the choice of technique and a humble stylistic grasp from the first glance that these were scenes and rhetorical register, calculated to be intelliof martyrdom from a passio. Six of the eleven gible to the wider public: it is a register that is extant scenes of confrontation are on the north congruous with the hagiographical account, and wall – the wall that can be seen when coming to in particular with the concreteness of the martyrs’ the transept from the naves. With the same in- passiones, a register that likewise characterizes sistency as a litany, repeated during a procession hagiographical literature as well54. The typology or in the course of the liturgy, this scene made of the images deployed in the transept thus led it possible to call to mind in an immediate way to a preference for a figurative rhetoric that difthe hagiographical background present in the fers from the rhetoric of the mosaic theophanies culture of the contemporary viewer 52. At the same “Dipingere a Roma al tempo di time, the emphasis on left-to-right directionality 51 Bordi/Mancho/Valentini, Pasquale i” (n. 2), p. 75 write of morphological deformations of the figures likely to favor certain viewpoints. This bears witness to the desire to encourage a deeper hypothesis is appealing and merits further development. contemplation of the whole, guiding the reading 52 Mancho, “I martiri nascosti” (n. 9), p. 373 is correct in speaking of an “anaphorical” and a litanical device. of each register. The cycle in its context

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Monotonous, ungraceful, awkward: such have been the terms applied to the paintings of Santa Prassede. This judgement is superficial, as we have seen, especially if we consider the qualitative discrepancies among the different parts of the work. While some pieces do demonstrate a certain rigidity, stemming from the fairly flat and linear treatment of the figures, others are proof of an atelier capable of reaching remarkable stylistic peaks, showing figures with a living form, obtained with broad brushstrokes, which define the chiaroscuro

53 Zaccagnini, “Nuove osservazioni sugli affreschi altomedievali della chiesa romana di S. Prassede” (n. 6), pp. 110 –111. 54 On sermo humilis the reference text remains Erich Auerbach, Lingua letteraria e pubblico nella tarda antichità latina e nel Medioevo, Milan 1960; on the role of rhetoric in Antique figurative language cf. esp. Tonio Hölscher, Römische Bildsprache als semantisches System, Heidelberg 1987 (with an introduction to the English translation of the volume by Jaś Elsner, “Foreword”, in Tonio Hölscher, The Language of Images in Roman Art, Cambridge 2004, pp. xv–xxxi). The question of choices in rhetoric underlying the stylistic plurality in Early Christian and early medieval monuments has been examined most recently by Ivan Foletti, “Physiognomic Representations as a Rhetorical Instrument: ‘Portraits’ in San Vittore in Ciel d’Oro, the Galla Placidia ‘Mausoleum’ and San Paolo Fuori le Mura”, in The Face of the Dead and the Early Christian World, idem ed., Rome 2013, pp. 61– 83; Ivan Foletti, Manuela Gianandrea, Zona liminare. Il nartece di Santa Sabina a Roma, la sua porta e l’iniziazione cristiana, Rome 2015, pp. 136 –147; Ivan Foletti, Oggetti, reliquie e migranti: la basilica Ambrosiana e il culto dei suoi santi (386 – 972), Rome 2018, pp. 107 –146.

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in the apse and arches: in order to recount the stories of the martyrs, the more direct technique of painting was preferred, well suited as it is to be used in a narrative register in a “humble” style, able to convey an important theme, but also particularly concrete because it is founded on an account that claims to be historical. Since the preceding and subsequent Roman examples are fragmentary in nature, and there is uncertainty around the Brescian example, the observations drawn from the study of the cycles at Santa Prassede cannot be unconditionally extended to apply to early medieval hagiographical painting in the West, and even less so to that of Byzantium, of which very little trace remains. This research has nevertheless provided an opportunity to clarify the sources and main figurative strategies in a pictural cycle of great substance, driven by refined patronage, and is in no way inferior to the mosaics and liturgical furnishing that the same patron, Pope Paschal, had wanted. Although it remains a unicum in its genre, especially by virtue of the particular context of the cult of relics devised by Paschal i, the transept paintings at Santa Prassede allow insight into one of the greatest black holes in Western art history – that of hagiographical narration in Rome in the Early Christian and early medieval epoch – and in particular, one of its principal nuclei, St Peter’s Basilica. This episode deserves to be revalued for its contribution to the clarification of crucial issues, such as the knowledge of hagiographical depictions and the status of narrative painting in the early Middle Ages. Likewise, the function and layout of a liminal zone such as that of the transept should be reassessed. These are questions that help situate Roman artistic production in the complicated circumstances in which the papacy found itself, between the proverbial rock and hard place of the Byzantine Empire and the Carolingian one.

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summary Znázornění příběhů Acta Martyrum v raném středověku „Ukazatelé“ liminálního prostoru, transeptu kostela svaté Praxedy v Římě (817–824)

Cyklus nástěnných maleb v transeptu kostela Santa Prassede, vyhotovený s největší pravděpodobností již v době založení kostela Paschalem i. (817 – 824), byl doposud v širší vědecké debatě pro svůj špatný stav zachování a zdánlivě marginální umístění spíše opomíjen. Transept sám o sobě je však v rámci prostoru baziliky, jemuž přirozeně dominuje krypta, zcela klíčovým prvkem. Zaujímá zde liminální pozici mezi prostorem presbytáře vyhrazeným duchovním a prostorem trojlodí, které je určeno především věřícím. Autorka článku bere v potaz toto specifické umístění a skrze analýzu znázorněných témat a ikonografických kompozic se snaží pochopit strategie objednavatele a jeho okruhu, jimiž chtěli věřícím usnadnit pochopení celého konceptu výzdoby. Ze zamyšlení nad ikonografickým programem mimo jiné vyplývá, že hagiografické prameny, z nichž čerpají obrazové cykly v transeptu Santa Prassede, byly v raně středověké kultuře široce rozšířeny. S ohledem na využití prostoru transeptu a na koncepci nástěnných maleb je také možné poukázat na některé z kompozičních a ikonografických strategií, které mohly napomoci snadnému a rychlému rozpoznání scén. Malby transeptu Santa Prassede tak zdaleka nejsou v Paschalově monumentálním projektu okrajovou záležitostí. Vybízejí též k úvahám nad statusem nástěnné malby v porovnání s jinými technikami – především pak s technikou mozaiky – a nad postavením narativního žánru vůči „ikonickému“: tedy nad otázkami, které jsou klíčové pro lepší pochopení raně středověkého umění.

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Abstract – Tabulae cum portis, vela, cortinae and sudaria. Remarks on the Liminal Zones in the Liturgical and Para-Liturgical Contexts in the Late Middle Ages – In the Middle Ages, an altar and its retable had a distinctly liminal status. The altarpiece defined and delimitated the place of the Eucharist and the transubstantiation of the host to the Corpus Christi. In addition, the lateral altar curtains served similarly to the winged retable, as is documented by numerous illustrations from the period. The dogma of transubstantiation is thus essential to an altarpiece’s being a liminal zone. At the onset of the early modern era, this is indirectly confirmed by Lutheran altarpieces, which, unlike Catholic or Utraquist retables, function practically as abolishers to liminality. The liminal function of the medieval altarpiece manifests itself also in the dramatic performances accompanying the Mass proper during the great liturgical feasts, especially during the Easter in the Officium visitationis sepulchrum. The liminal property of the altar, and of Christ the Savior in the three days leading up to His death, are underlined by, among other things, the ephemeral and provisional nature of the liturgical textiles used in the performance of the office. Keywords – Utraqiust, Lutheran, liminal zone, altarpiece, retable, Eucharist, transubstantiation, Officium visitationis sepulchrum, Visitation of the Holy Sepulchre, liturgical textiles, liturgical cloths, liturgical performances Jan Klípa Institute of Art History, Czech Academy of Sciences, Prague [email protected]

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Eliška Poláčková Institute of Philosophy, Czech Academy of Sciences, Prague Masaryk University, Brno [email protected]

Tabulae cum portis, vela, cortinae and sudaria Remarks on the Liminal Zones in the Liturgical and Para-Liturgical Contexts in the Late Middle Ages Jan Klípa & Eliška Poláčková

The interior of a medieval church and the accessibility of its individual parts were organized by a series of boundaries, dividing lines and limits – both permanent and temporary – that structured the space and its functions1. One of the central liminal zones of the high-medieval cultic space was the altar with the retable. By means of certain performances – whether liturgical, para-liturgical or unritualized – the altar ensemble

defined and delimited the time and space of the liturgy, particularly the peak liminal moments of transubstantiation and elevation of the transformed host. This study primarily focuses on the series of performative acts, during and closely related to the celebration of the Eucharist, in which 1

The most visible and important among them were, of course, portals, doors or rood screens, to which other essays in this volume are devoted.

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the altarpiece with wings played the central role. The liminal zone of the altar cannot, however, be reduced to the retable only. The altar mensa is to be considered a liminal phenomenon as well, since the repeated performance of the Mass Sacrifice as the high liminal ritual took place directly on it. Furthermore, the liminality of the altar and its environment was not only activated during the Mass, but was also an important feature of certain para-liturgical performances, including the staging of liturgical drama. The material examined here comprises examples from medieval Bohemia of the pre-Reformation (12th to 14th century) as well as Reformation periods (15th to mid-16th century), with the necessary diversions to non-Bohemian artefacts related to the other issues discussed. The case of winged altarpiece: liminality and confessionality

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In terms of Arnold van Gennep’s and Victor Turner’s classical studies, the Mass is considered to be one of the strong rites of passage. The peak moment when the host becomes the body of Christ during the Canon (transubstantiation), and is then elevated and shown to the worshippers in front of the open altarpiece, is thus without any doubt a liminal moment2. The ritual of the Eucharistic service can be classified as a kind of a rite of passage especially from the point of view of the gathered community. Thus we could divide it into three parts – the separation part (the initial ceremonies and the sacrament of penance), the liminal part (the Eucharist), and incorporation, the postliminal part: the communion, most commonly communium per oculos, the moment when the individuals participating in the ritual become a community. Turner emphasizes this moment as the key one for the rites of passage 3. At the same time, the community and each of its members are being transformed by God’s Grace during this ritual. What distinguishes the sacrament of the Eucharist from the classical rites of passage (baptism, engagement, wedding, consecration, burial – the Western Christian culture has special sacraments or sacramentals established for these) is the fact that it does not change the

social status of the people involved in the ritual and this ritual is being repeated. This means that the community is being transformed and renewed again and again. In the late Middle Ages this recurrence could have forms that are difficult for people today to imagine. There were tens of altarpieces in some of the churches with tens of Masses per day 4. This means that in one moment, the church interior was structured as a complex of not sharply marked spaces directed towards altar services that took place at the same time and, on the other side, interspaces intended either for private devotion or currently not active in any ritual. It was primarily the open winged altarpiece that most clearly visually denoted the place within the church interior where the service was taking place, while the closed altarpiece mostly marked the space which was, temporarily, liturgically and ritually inactive. The visual sources, especially, seem to support the thesis that the winged altarpieces were ordinarily open during the service5 [Fig. 1]. It seems that the Mass could be served only extraordinarily in front of a closed retable – for instance during Lent. In this case the altarpiece was visually activated in some other way: most often, the place (and moment) of the Mass was defined by vela or decorated fabrics (which will be noticed later) and the altar mensa was in each case indicated by a processional cross6. With the liminal moment of transubstantiation and Elevation of the Host the liminal zone is thus associated, marked and realized by an opening of an open retable. The wings of the altarpiece were therefore one of the thresholds that marked and separated the spaces for everyday – often very profane – events and spaces for liturgical rituals in the church interior. It was the altar opening which activated the forthcoming process of service, which culminated then in the host being transformed into Christ’s body. Moreover, the altar interior – i.e. the central panel and the inner sides of the wings – was visible almost exclusively in connection with the acts performed during a Mass and together with elevation of the consecrated host. Communion per oculos during elevation was thus the visual climax of the Mass, when the central motif of the altarpiece was activated in the superposition with the true Corpus Christi 7. As well

2 3 4

5 6

7

Arnold van Gennep, Přechodové rituály. Systematické studium rituálů, Prague 1997, p. 45 (note 66). Victor Turner, The Ritual Process. Structure and Anti-Structure, Ithaca, ny 1966, p. 138. E.g. in Saint Paul’s Cathedral in Münster, there were 60 altars in the 15th century and ca 500 Masses taking place every week – which means approximately 70 services per day. Cf. Marius Rimmele, Das Triptychon als Metapher, Körper und Ort. Semantisierungen eines Bildträgers, Paderborn 2010, p. 52 (note 141). Norbert Wolf points to the dismal state of the written source on this issue: Norbert Wolf, Deutsche Schnitzretabel des 14. Jahrhunderts, Berlin 2002, pp. 341–343. Gerhard Weilandt, “Alltag einer Küsterin. Die Ausstattung und liturgische Nutzung von Chor und Nonnenempore der Nürnberger Dominikanerinnenkirche nach dem unbekannten ‘Notel der Küsterin’ (1436)”, in Kunst und Liturgie. Choranlagen des Spätmittelalters. Ihre Architektur, Ausstattung und Nutzung, Anna Moraht-Fromm ed., Ostfildern 2003, pp. 159–187, sp. p. 168. On the key role of the communio per oculos (or manducatio per visum) for late medieval lay devotion, see Achim Timmermann, Real Presence: Sacrament Houses and the Body of Christ c. 1270–1600, Turnhout 2009, pp. 3–7.

1 / Master of the Brussels Initials, The Elevation of the Host, Italy, 1389–1404 / J. Paul Getty Museum (Los Angeles), ms 34, fol. 130 (detail)

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as curtains and fabrics, the wings with pictures also serve so for the action of velatio and revelation, the innermost meaning of the Mass and its very liminal moment 8. Therefore the transition between the church interior which is not activated by the ongoing liturgy and the altarpiece interior activated by the elevated Host is delimited by the movable altar wings, mainly by their exterior sides, which can be seen from this point of view as a liminal zone in the strong sense of the word – the zone that separates the non-sacral or semi-sacral from the sacral itself. It delimits also the depiction of the heavenly sphere, which is symbolized by the interior of the altarpiece formally as well: the golden background, bright colors and many expensive decorative techniques. The sphere of the terrestrial world remains outside the altarpiece9. The wings are on the border of these two worlds – to quote Victor Turner, “betwixt and between” the earthly reality of the church interior and the heavenly reality inside the altar10. This liminal moment of the touching of heaven and world is properly illustrated by many depictions of the late medieval popular theme of the St Gregor’s Mass: the Christ on the altar mensa in front of the open retable is depicted in real form – the heaven breaks just through the altar into earth, and the terrestrial world opens into heaven11 [Fig. 2]. The opening of altarpiece is thus the very moment of the transition during which the retable’s interior is revealed, the moment which defines the space around the altar as a space prepared for the Mass and its liminal moment: transubstantiation. Hence it is highly remarkable that, generally, the opening was to happen in an unritualized way, without ceremony, and was fully independent of the presence of recipients and very likely also of the presence of the consecrated priest himself 12. Although we know that a ritual manipulation with the baldachin and various veils during the Mass was not included, there are no descriptions of opening the wings of the altar retable in the liturgical books or Libri ordinarii 13. Moreover the manipulation of the retable during a service was not possible for practical reasons. The movement of the wings would, in fact, cause most of the things that were laid on the altar mensa during

the Mass to fall – candlesticks or processional crosses or stepped displayed shirns and ciboria, which can we see in the contemporary illuminations14 [Fig. 3]. The opening of the winged retable is however mentioned as one of the tasks of sacristans or vergers in the written instructions of individual churches. These instructions also specified the exact days and occasions when the altarpiece should be opened. This task was often connected with a certain foundation and was mentioned in testaments15. However, the mensa culminating in an elaborated retable with movable wings was not the 8 Wolf, Deutsche Schnitzretabel (n. 5), pp. 357–358. On the veiling and revealing role of the image in Middle Ages, see Jeffrey R. Hamburger, “Seeing and Believing. The Suspicion of Sight and the Authentication of Vision in Late Medieval Art and Devotion”, in Imagination und Wirklichkeit, Klaus Krüger, Alessandro Nova eds, Mainz 2000, pp. 47–69, sp. pp. 51–52. 9 Lynn F. Jacobs, “The Thresholds of the Winged Altarpiece. Altarpiece Exteriors as Liminal Spaces”, in Klappeffekte. Faltbare Bildträgern in der Vormoderne, David Ganz, Marius Rimmele eds, Berlin 2016, pp. 209–210. 10 Victor Turner,“Betwixt and Between, the Liminal Period in Rites de Passage”, in idem, The Forest of Symbols: Aspects of Ndembu Ritual, Ithaca, ny 1967, pp. 93–111; cf. Alison CookSather, “Newly Betwixt and Between: Revising Liminality in the Context of a Teacher Preparation Program”, Anthropology and Education Quarterly, xxxvii (2006), pp. 110–127. 11 Caroline Walker Bynum, “Seeing and Seeing Beyond: The Mass of St. Gregory in the Fifteenth Century”, in The Mind´s Eye. Art and Theological Argument in the Middle Ages, Jeffrey F. Hamburger, Anne-Marie Bouché eds, Princeton 2006, pp. 208–240; Das Bild der Erscheinung. Die Gregorsmesse im Mittelalter, Andreas Gormans, Thomas Lente eds, Berlin 2007. 12 “Die Quellen offenbaren vielmehr ein ausgesprochen nüchternes Verhältnis der Zeitgenossen zu den Bildern auf den Altären. Die Tafel wurden in der Katharinenkirche am Vorabend des Festes ohne jegliches Zeremoniell geöffnet. […] Am Abend wurde das Retabel – wiederum ohne zeremoniellen Aufwand – geschlossen”. Weilandt, “Alltag einer Küsterin” (n. 6), p. 168. Against it Krischel and Nagel are thinking upon “…zumindest vereinzelt mit performativen Sinn-Entfaltungen, ja vielleicht gar inszenierten Öffnungshandlungen vor Publikum…”. Roland Krischel, Tobias Nagel, “Mediensynthesen in der spätmittelalterlichen Sakralkunst: Das Altarbild als Kulisse für liturgische Gegenstände und Handlungen”, Wallraf-Richartz-Jahrbuch, xlix (2008), pp. 73–167, sp. p. 75. 13 Louis van Tongeren, “Use and Function of Altars in Liturgical Practice According to the Libri ordinarii in the Low Coutries”,in Altar and Its Environment 1150–1400, Justin E. A. Kroesen, Victor M. Schmidt eds, Turnhout 2009, pp. 261–274. 14 Klaus Krüger,“‘Aller zierde wunder trugen die altaere’: zur Genese und Strukturentwicklung des Flügelaltarschreines im 14. Jahrhundert”, in Entstehung und Frühgeschichte des Flügelaltarschreins, Hartmut Krohm, Klaus Krüger, Matthias Weniger eds, Berlin 2001, pp. 72–73. 15 Weilandt, “Alltag einer Küsterin” (n. 6), pp. 159–187; Annegret Laabs, “Das Retabel als ‘Schaufenster’ zum göttlichen Heil. Ein Beitrag zur Stellung des Flügelretabels im sakralen Zeremoniell des Kirchenjahres”, Marburger Jahrbuch für Kunstwissenschaft, xxiv (1997) (= Kunst als Ästhetisches Ereignis), pp. 76–77.

2 / Pedro Bello, The Mass of Saint Gregor, ca 1500 / private property 3 / Ulrich Richental, Canonisation of St Brigitte of Sweden, Chronik des Konstanzer Konzils, ca 1465 / Rosgartenmuseum (Konstanz), Hs. 1, fol. 33r

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4 / Missa cantata attended by Philip the Good, Jean le Tavernier: Traité sur l'Oraison Dominicale, after 1457 / Bibliothèque Royale de Belgique (Brussels), ms 9092, fol. 9r 5 / Spanish painter, The Mass of Saint Gregory, oil and gold on wood, before 1500 / Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York), no. 1976.100.24

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prevailing altar ensemble in the church interiors of the late Middle Ages. The most common was rather the simple panel extension without wings, whether painted or carved16. As is obvious from the visual sources, even in this case the altar space in which the Mass was held was defined and activated. Various velae, cortinae and other fabrics were used for this purpose – to define the liturgically active spots within the church space and to hierarchize these individual places by an adequate staging. The instructive image in this sense could be the illumination of Jean le Tavernier [Fig. 4]. It depicts Mass in the presence of the Duke of Burgundy Philip the Good. The Mass takes place in the cathedral choir, which is separated from the ambulatory by the rich decorated curtains that enclose intercolumnia17. For the Duke a private oratory is built in the choir, made of textile canopy and curtains and separating him from the other participants. This space is characterized as a chapel by the presence of a private altar portatile with a prayer book and a hanging diptychon in place of the retable. Finally in our context, the hangings on the poles alongside the altar are particularly important; they allow the space of the liturgy to be more clearly demarcated or opened as needed. The nature of these hangings is similarly liminal: as is the case with the wings of an altarpiece, their liminality is temporary and is activated and deactivated in relation to cultic services. These curtains are mentioned in the written sources from, at the latest, the 13th century, when e.g. the Cologne synodal statute mentioned them18. The use of these velae is noticed and explained in Rationale Durandi (1286) as well19. As many contemporaneous examples show, during the Mass the hangings were drawn to define clearly the spot of the sacred performance. The similar role of curtains and movable wings can be seen in the panel painting of the Mass of Saint Gregory, where the curtain provides an analogous basis for images bound to the Sacrifice [Fig. 5]. Similarly, one of the panels from the Legend of St Ursula shows the curtain in an essentially concurrent function as the wing of the altarpiece [Fig. 6]: the liturgically active space is delimitated by both elements together at the same time20.

Liminality of the Utraquist altarpieces The theses of the connection between transubstantiation and the liminal character of the winged altarpiece, as expressed above, can be proven from the point of view of confessionality and by examining whether the features or aspects of liminality can be traced in a “non-catholic” altarpiece production. For this investigation the situation of the Bohemian Kingdom in 15th and 16th centuries is very suitable, because in that time we can speak about “the kingdom of two folks“21, meaning two denominations and two liturgies. Already almost a century before Luther, we can talk about the first European Reformation and the first process of confessionalisation22. In the Kingdom of Bohemia a unique situation of a forced tolerant coexistence of different denominational groups had come into being already by the first half of the 15th century – as a consequence of Hussite movement. The part of the Church faithful to Rome and the pope was a minority in that period. The majority Church during this time was the Utraquist Church, which originated in the Hussite movement. The Catholic Church acknowledged this Church as an independent local Church at the Council of Basel in 1436 23. The legal existence of the Utraquist Church as a part of the universal Church was then more or less accepted and legally confirmed until the victory of Catholic armies at White Mountain in 162024. Since the liminality of the altarpiece is related to the concept of the Mass and the understanding of the Eucharist dogma, it is necessary to introduce quickly the main features of Utraquist dogmatic theology. Regarding the Eucharist, Utraquists 16 Also common were the simple mensea put against the wall, with an altarpiece simulated by a mural. Cf. Verena Fuchβ, Das Altarensemble: Eine Analyse des Kompositcharakters früh- und hochmittelaltericher Altarsstattung, Weimar 1999, pp. 154–196; Justin E. A. Kroesen, Regnerus Steensma, Kirchen in Ostfriesland und ihre mittelalterliche Ausstattung, Petersberg 2011, pp. 66–68. 17 The delimitation of temporarily but particularly sacred spaces within the church interior has been documented since the Early Christian period, and its roots are found in Late Antique imperial ritual. Cf. Barbara Schellewald, “Hinter und vor dem Vorhang. Bildpraktiken der Enthüllung und des Verbergens in der Mittelalter”, in Hinter dem Vorhang. Verhüllung und Enthüllung seit der Renaissance – von Tizian bis Christo, Claudia Blümle, Beat Wismer eds, Düsseldorf 2017, pp. 124–131, sp. p. 127. 18 Roland Krischel, “Vorhänge vor Bildern. Eine Spurensuche in Köln und Venedig”, in Hinter dem Vorhang (n. 17), pp. 100–105, sp. pp. 103–104.

19 Gvillelmi Dvranti Rationale Divinorvm Officiorvm i–iv, Anselme Davril o.s.b., Timothy M. Thibodeau eds, Turnhout 1995, pp. 51, 414, 432. 20 In this connection, Bernhard Decker inscribes joining the functions of the wings and the hangings as an “aggregate”: Bernhard Decker, Das Ende des mittelalterlichen Kultbildes und die Plastik Hans Leinbergers, Bamberg 1985, p. 91. 21 Our state of knowledge about the broad subject of Utraquism and its era in Bohemian history is based on the huge amount of specialised scholarly literature from the second half of the 19th century onward. For the first orientation to this subject in English, see Confession and Nation in the Era of Reformations: Central Europe in Comparative Perspective, Eva Doležalová, Jaroslav Pánek eds, Prague 2011; for the Utraquist theology, see Zdeněk V. David, “Utraquism’s Liberal Ecclesiology”, in The Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice, vol. 6, Papers from the Sixth International Symposium on The Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice (Prague, 23–25 June 2004), Zdeněk V. David, David R. Holeton eds, Prague 2007, pp. 165–188, and Zdeněk V. David, “Utraquism as a Commoners’ Church”, in The Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice, vol. 8, Zdeněk V. David, David R. Holeton eds, Prague 2011, pp. 160–189; for the art, see From Hus to Luther. Visual Culture in the Bohemian Reformation (1380–1620), Kateřina Horníčková, Michal Šroněk eds, Turnhout 2016. 22 Cf. Winfried Eberhard, Konfessionsbildung und Stände in Böhmen 1478–1530, Munich/Vienna 1981, pp. 29–36; Anna Ohlidal,“Konfessionalisierung: Ein Paradigma der historischen Frühneuzeitforschung und die Frage seiner Anwendbarkeit auf Böhmen”, Studia Rudolphina, iii (2003), pp. 19–28, sp. p. 26; Thomas Packeiser, “Themenschwerpunkt / Focal Point: Kunst und Konfession. Zum Austausch von Konfessionalisierungsforschung und Kunstgeschichte”,in Als Frieden möglich war. 450 Jahre Augsburger Religionsfrieden, Carl A. Hoffmann, Markus Johanns, Annette Kranz, Christof Trepesch, Olivier Zeidler eds, Regensburg 2005, pp. 317–338, sp. p. 318. 23 Ernest F. Jacob, “The Bohemians at the Council of Basel”, in Prague Essays, Robert William Seton-Watson ed., Oxford 1949, pp. 81–123. 24 A brief introduction to the bicentenary history of the Utraquist church in Bohemia is Frederick G. Heymann, “The Hussite-Utraquist Church in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries”, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte, lii/1 (1961), pp. 1–16.

6 / The Master of the Legend of St Ursula, St Ursula with her Parents at the Altar, oil on wood, 1492–1496 / Groeningemuseum (Bruges)

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7 a, b/ Matouš Radouš, Graduale for the Choir Singer Brotherhood in church of Holy Spirit in Hradec Králové, 1592–1604 / The Museum of Eastern Bohemia (Hradec Králové), Hr-14, fol. 256v; with a detail of the altarpiece in the choir

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gradually left Hus´s ideas of remanence and returned to the more or less traditional Catholic approach of transubstantiation25. The only distinctive features they insisted on that distinguished them from Catholicism were a strictly formulated requirement of a communion chalice and the distribution of Holy Communion under both kinds – sub utraque species – hence “Utraquism”. Otherwise the structure of the Utraquist liturgy remained similar to the Roman – including the reciting of the Canon and Elevation of the Host. The only difference was the re-introduction of frequent communion under both kinds for laypeople and the use of a national language. Laypeople thus could understand Bible readings and later on even the words of the Canon, which was something unprecedented over many preceding centuries26. Like the main concept of Eucharist, the concept of the altarpiece as a liminal sphere also does not change in Utraquism. We can even observe a certain accentuation of the border (limes) or threshold (limen) between the space of the church and the sacred sphere inside the altarpiece. In a number of Utraquist retables, Christ is depicted inside as the image of the Man of Sorrows in the ark in the central panel, flanked or carried by angels, representing here the crucial theme of the Corpus Christi. This can be found e.g. in the central panel of the Libiš Altarpiece and in the altarpiece formerly in Hradec Králové, which can be seen in Matouš Radouš’s Gradual book from the end of the 16th century27 [Fig. 7]. But in the Bohemian environment we can observe the specific and unique type of retable that went furthest in its pursuit of presenting real Divinity in an open altarpiece. These retables replaced the central image with an embedded niche, where the monstrance with a consecrated host was displayed and preserved. These altars, with the real Corpus Christi (Host) in a monstrance that is being worshipped, appeared as early as the 1420s, as we know from both written28 and visual29 sources. From the repeated reports of the chronicler Vavřinec of Březová, it can be seen that the consecrated Host stored in the tabernacle of the altarpiece often became a target of ritual and dogmatically motivated attacks committed by

both the combatant parties: the “Roman” one as well as the Hussite radicals30. For this reason, since the 1430s, the real Corpus Christi in the form of a Host in a monstrance has often alternated with the visual presence of it (the image of the Man of Sorrows). This solution finally prevailed during the 16th century. Nevertheless, some of the “arks” with niches for the monstrance from the 15th and 16th century have even survived until today. The best preserved altarpiece of this type is the one from Černěves (or Litoměřice?), where the niche has, moreover, some sort of slats in the backside that used to hold a trap-door31 [Fig. 8]. Also the huge Slavětín Altarpiece has a niche decorated with blind tracery and with two angels in adoration. It is still being used as the main altar in the church32 [Fig. 9]. In light of the above, it is right to consider these retables to be liminal phenomena and their wings to be liminal zones betwixt and between the human and divine worlds. In the same way as in the “Catholic” examples, the interior of these altarpieces serves as a background for the action of transubstantiation and elevation and points very clearly to the heavenly sphere. When the triptychs are open, the contact with divinity is even intensified by their unique concept and technology, as the central part focuses on depicting not only the Corpus Christi, but its real presence. According to Utraquists it is only the real Christ in the Host that can be worshipped and adored this sense; the opening of the wings is a more powerful sign of transition (passage) from the terrestrial to the celestial sphere than would be the case in the “Catholic” altarpieces from fifteenth-century Western Europe. Lutheran altarpieces in the Lutheran liturgy If the winged altarpiece could be seen as a liminal zone only in connection with belief in the transubstantiation of bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ during a Mass and its climactic moment, elevation, then it should be possible to verify this proposition by comparing the conception and structure of winged altarpieces that belonged to denominations that theologically grew apart from those we have discussed. We will focus

therefore on the Lutheran liturgy and on Lutheran altarpieces as a suitable example. In the 16th century the Lutheran liturgy became gradually different from the Catholic one on important questions we are following – transubstantiation and the practice of elevation. According to Luther’s doctrine, Christ is really present in the sacraments, but unlike the Catholic Church Luther teaches that the substance of the sacraments does not change33. In other words, the Host and wine contain Christ, but they are not essentially changed – we speak not of transubstantiation, but of consubstantiation. This leads Luther to the conclusion that the real presence of Christ occurs only at the moment of communion (in usu), not outside it (non extra usum), because the substance of the bread and wine remains 25 David R. Holeton, “The Evolution of Utraquist Eucharistic Liturgy: a Textual Study“, in The Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice, vol. 2, Papers from the xviiith World Congress of the Czechoslovak Society of Arts and Sciences (Brno 1996), Zdeněk V. David, David R. Holeton eds, Prague 1998, pp. 97–126. 26 David R. Holeton, “Lex orandi – lex credendi: The Evolution of Utraquist Theology”, in Angelus Pacis. Sborník prací k poctě Noemi Rejchrtové, Pavel B. Kůrka, Jaroslav Pánek, Miloslav Polívka eds, Prague 2008, pp. 257–271; David R. Holeton, “Liturgical Life During the Bohemian Reformation”, in From Hus to Luther (n. 21), pp. 121–142. 27 V oplatce jsi všecek tajně: Eucharistie v náboženské a vizuální kultuře Českých zemí do roku 1620, Aleš Mudra ed., Prague 2017, pp. 287–289. 28 The practice of displaying the monstrance with the Hosts in the altar niches is confirmed by the reports of the “annalist of Hussite Wars” Vavřinec of Březová. E.g. he recorded that when in May 1420 the papal legate Fernandus stayed in the town of Slaný, he commanded the breaking down of the arch (altarpiece) with Corpus Christi (“archu, v níž stálo tělo Krysta pána, na oltáři postavenou zkaziti rozkázal…”). Cf. Vavřince z Březové Kronika husitská, Antonín Dolenský ed., Prague 1940, p. 33. Later Vavřinec reports that there was a stone ark in every church at that time, and the Body of Christ was exposed within it in the monstrance for adoration by worshippers (“…v každém kostele na velikém oltáři byla archa z kamení tesaného, v nížto tělo pána Krysta v monstrancí bylo vystavováno k klanění věrným”). Cf. ibidem, p. 52. 29 See the depiction of the Mass on the folio 28r of Franus’ Gradual from Hradec Králové, created in the Prague workshop of Janíček Zmilelý in 1505. A rather simple altarpiece with wings and a triangular gable extension has a tabernacle niche in the centre with a clearly depicted monstrance [Fig. 10]. Cf. V oplatce (n. 27), pp. 287–288. 30 Vavřince z Březové (n. 28), pp. 33, 59, 116. 31 Bez hranic. Umění v  Krušnohoří mezi gotikou a renesancí, catalogue of the exhibition (Prague, National Gallery 2015), Jan Klípa, Michaela Ottová eds, Prague 2015, pp. 252–253, cat. no. ii-51 (authors: Jan Royt, Michaela Ottová). 32 Bez hranic (n. 31), pp. 362–363, cat. no. v-11 (authors: Jan Royt, Michaela Ottová). 33 For a concise presentation of the Lutheran conception of the Eucharist, see Volker Lepin, “Martin Luther”, in A Companion to the Eucharist in the Reformation, Lee Palmer Wandel ed., Leiden/Boston 2014, pp. 39–56.

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8 a, b/ Altarpiece from Černěves, tempera and oil on wood, ca 1530 / Regional Museum (Litoměřice), no. Do-24 (opened and closed)

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unchanged. This doctrine was finally codified in the Augsburg Confession34. Thus, the Catholic and Utraquist practice of adoration of a transubstantiated Host as the real Body of Christ is simply unthinkable in Lutheranism. The moment of Elevation of the Host – which is crucial for the conception of a retable as the liminal sphere, and for understanding its opening as an opening into the heavenly sphere and its wings as a threshold of this sphere – is considerably weakened in Lutheranism as well. Luther himself keeps elevation in his Deutsche Messe (1526)35, but he did not protest when many

parishes abandoned this practice36. In fact, he considered it to be unimportant and non-essential37. Thus, the inner side of a Lutheran altarpiece is not primarily the background for the holy process, stressed visually and by gestures, of transubstantiation of the Body of Christ38. Nor is it even an image of the celestial sphere. The depicted motifs from Salvation history are usually transposed into real and familiar contemporary interiors and scenes and filled with the recognizable figures of contemporaries. They are so presented to the spectators not for worshipping, but for their edification and as models worth following39. The wings

of the altarpiece in Wittenberg, made by Lucas Cranach the Elder, depict the very interior of the church in which the altar is situated, as can be seen from the fact that the parts of choir vault are 34 Joseph Pole, The Sacraments. A Dogmatic Treatise. Volume ii. The Holy Eucharist, St Louis / London 1917, p. 129; Irene Dingel, Robert Kolb, Nicole Kuropka, Timothy J. Wengert, Philip Melanchthon. Theologian in Classroom, Confession, and Controversy, Göttingen 2012, p. 242. 35 “Das auffheben wöllen wir nicht abthun / sonder behalten / darümb / das es feyn mit dem deutschen sanctus stymmet / vnd bedeut / das Christus befolhen hat / seyn zugedenken”. Martin Luther, Deutsche Messe und Ordnung Gottes diensts, Wittenberg 1526. 36 Thus, Luther and Bugenhagen in a letter to the Prince-elector Johann Friedrich i (1544, s.d.). Dr. Martin Luthers Sämtli-

che Schriften. Bd. xxi, t.2, Dr. Luthers Briefe, Zweite Abteilung, Johann G. Walch ed., St Louis 1904, col. 3054. 37 Thus, Luther in a letter to Prince Georg von Anhalt, Domprobst zu Magdeburg (1542, June 26). Luthers Briefe an die Fürsten von Anhalt, Heinrich Lindner ed., Dessau 1830, pp. 78–79. 38 On the function of the Lutheran winged altarpieces in liturgy and from the point of view of the “memoria concept”, see Heike Schlie, “Das Holz des Lebensbaumes, des Kreuzes und des Altarretabels. Die Cranach’sche Neufassung einer sakramentalen Bildgattung”, in Das Bild des neuen Glaubens. Das Cranach-Retabel in der Schneeberger St. Wolfgangskirche, Thomas Pöpper, Susanne Wegmann eds, Regensburg 2011, pp. 101–117, sp. pp. 101–103. 39 Joseph L. Koerner, The Reformation of the Image, Chicago 2004; Kunst der Reformationszeit, catalogue of the exhibition (Berlin, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin – Preussischer Kulturbesitz 1983), Berlin 1983; Christian Rogge, Luther und die Kirchenbilder seiner Zeit (= Schriften des Vereins für Reformationsgeschichte, xix/4, No. 108), Leipzig 1912.

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9 / High alterpiece, Church of St Jacob the Major, Slavětín, tempera and oil on wood, 1531 10 / The Mass of Saint Gregory, Janíček Zmilelý from Písek, Graduale of Jan Franus, 1505 / The Museum of Eastern Bohemia (Hradec Králové), Hr-6, fol. 28r (detail) 11 / Lucas Cranach sr., Altarpiece in the parish church in Wittenberg, 1547

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noticeable at the corners40. This placing of the de- so that the whole area is dedicated only to them. picted scenes into intimately known spaces leaves From their loges, the family members watched no doubt about the fact that this is not an opening the central scene. Not only is Luther present at into the heavenly sphere inhabited by saints and the Crucifixion, but the painter Lucas Cranach angels41 [Fig. 11]. Alongside with this feature, the himself too, and God’s mercy in the form of the placement of the scenes in the mundane sphere blood of the crucified Savior is falling upon him is emphasized by the common presence of real very intensely 42 [Fig. 12]. living people. Very often, these are the ReformOn the basis of both the given characteristics ers themselves and their protectors and patrons. of the Lutheran service and observation of the Thus, the altarpiece in Wittenberg shows the form and content the retables, it can be postulated three sacraments that are kept by Lutheranism. that – contrary to the “Roman” and the Utraquist On the wings we can see Philipp Melanchthon practices – the wings of Lutheran altarpieces do performing baptism and Johannes Bugenhagen – not delimit a border and do not create a threshthe “apostle” of Pomerania and Denmark – giving old between two different worlds or two different absolution after a confession. In the central panel levels of sacred space43. Thus, on one hand, the the Last Supper is depicted, with Martin Luther Lutheran altarpiece neither marks the boundary himself sitting at the table amongst the Apostles. nor represents a liminal zone. In fact, it even works Nevertheless, the Reformer is not moved to the as to abolish the liminality of sacral space and heavenly sphere; rather, the acts of God’s Grace indicates direct communication between God in and events of Salvation history are shifted and are his Word and Grace, and sinful man, without meoccurring here in our terrestrial space and time. diation by the images. On the other hand, we can The workshop of Lucas Cranach the Young- confirm the supposition that the liminality of the er created an altarpiece for the Herderkirche in “Roman” or Utraquist winged altarpiece is deeply Weimar, commissioned by Johann Friedrich i the related to the concept of the transubstantiation of Generous. The Prince-elector is depicted with his the Host, which is performed at the mensa in the wife and three sons on inner sides of the wings space delimited by the vela and open altar retable.

“Sudarium et vestes“: un-covering the mystery of Resurrection through the inside-out metaphor in the dramatized office of the Visitatio Sepulchri The above-mentioned assertions concerning the semiotics of the liminal moment of the opening and closing of the retable at the beginning and end of the Mass, as well as the covering and uncovering of the altar by the manipulation with curtains, can be further developed by discussing these elements of medieval liturgy in relation to the so-called dramatized liturgy or liturgical drama44 of the pre-Reformation Church. Having originated in the monastic convents of France and England in the 9th or at the beginning of the 10th century at the latest, the dramatized liturgical offices served, in the words of Bishop Ethelwold, “to strengthen the faith of uninformed and uninstructed people and neophytes in particular”45 by means of dramatic performances that employed both theatrical and ritual elements. Thus, the already rather dramatic and theatrical Easter ceremonies46 ‒ e.g. the spectacular Palm Sunday procession, the sorrowful Adoration of the Cross and its consequent Deposition on Good

Friday, as well as its almost horror-like Elevation, often including rather straightforwardly mimetic representations of the Harrowing of Hell, performed sometime during Holy Saturday ‒ were complemented at that time by the Officium ad visitandum sepulchrum (Office of the 40 In the ultimate stage of this approach, the work itself is depicted in its own interior in an endless regress or eternally multiplying effect. E.g. the predella of Mühlberg Altarpiece (Heinrich Göding, 1568) repeatedly mirrors itself in itself. Cf. Koerner, The Reformation (n. 38), pp. 429–440. 41 For a thorough analysis of the altarpiece, see Koerner, The Reformation (n. 38), pp. 329–335. 42 Peter Poscharsky, “Die Einbindung des Weimarer Cranach-Altars in Zeit und Raum”, in Bild und Bekenntnis. Die Cranach-Werkstatt in Weimar, Franziska Bomski, Hellmut T. Seemann, Thorsten Valk eds, Göttingen 2015, pp. 129–139. 43 The Lutheran altarpieces “guided the religious experience of the viewers not by housing a relic, working miracles, […] but, rather, through the teaching of Lutheran salvation. […] the image was itself not holy, it was a pedagogical tool”. Bonnie Noble, Lucas Cranach the Elder: Art and Devotion of the German Reformation, Lanham, md 2009, p. 75. 44 The discussion concerning the relation between drama and ritual in the medieval church has been going on for more than half a century, with a great number of important scholars having contributed to it. An overview of the problematics can be found, for example, in The Theatre of Medieval Europe, Simon Eckehard ed., Cambridge 1991. 45 Dunbar H. Ogden, The Staging of Drama in the Medieval Church, Newark/London 2002, p. 23. 46 On the dramatic aspects of the liturgy proper, see Osborne B. Hardison, Christian Rite and Christian Drama in the Middle Ages, Baltimore 1965; and Richard D. McCall, Do This: Liturgy as Performance, Notre Dame, in 2007.

12 / Lucas Cranach jr., Epitaph-altarpiece of Johann Friedrich the Magnanimous, Church Sts Peter and Paul (called Herderkirche), Weimar, 1555

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visitation of the Sepulchre) performed either af- which combines in itself the mensa of the Last ter the third responsory of the Easter matins, or Supper with the sarcophagus as a metonymy of right before the Introit of the Easter Mass in the the Sepulcher, the temporary deathbed of the presbytery by clerics of the given monastery or Savior on which he lay for three days before he chapter. Whichever of the two schemes had been was resurrected48. In order to “instruct the people” chosen for the particular performance (depend- so that they were able to fully grasp this double ing largely on the type of church in which the nature, so to say, of the altar, the concept was liturgy was celebrated)47, central to the office was stressed performatively in the dramatized liturgy always the journey of the three Marys to the grave, of Easter Sunday – where the altar often served followed by their meeting with God’s angel(s) as a scenic representation of the Holy Sepulcher, and his/their announcement of the euangelion of already absent Christ’s dead body, the matter Christ’s resurrection. This dramatic kernel was being announced happily by the angel, as well often accompanied by other scenes, such as the as the Apostles (Peter and John) and Mary MagApostles running to the empty grave or Mary dalene respectively in the Visitatio 49. Magdalene meeting the resurrected Christ in the This is, also, when the liminality comes into appearance of a gardener. On the model of the question, as Christ’s resurrection was originally Easter dramatic offices, the dramatized liturgy enacted in the Visitationes not by the presence of for Christmas was conceived soon afterwards to his live body, but by the absence thereof from the represent mimetically the birth of the Savior in empty grave (the scene with the gardener, aka the manger, and the Adoration of the child by the resurrected Christ, is a later addition to the drashepherds and the three Magi, in a performance maturgy of the Visitation). The Holy Sepulcher, called Officium Stellae (Office of the Star). re-created in all its pervasive material presence, The discussion in this paper is concentrated draws the attention of the faithful spectators atsolely on the chronologically earlier type of the tending the performance of the Visitatio to the dramatized liturgy, the different versions of the very idea of the Resurrection, making their minds Visitatio sepulchri, since its subject matter is closely dwell on it through the captivating force of the connected to the Eucharistic mystery and its rep- enacted narrative, and prompting questions such resentation in the Holy Mass as explored in the as, “How exactly might it have looked when Our first part of the paper. In the Visitatio, the central Lord was rising from the dead?”, “Did the angel point of the history of Salvation is re-enacted, see it happening?”, “How do I know he – Christ ‒ i.e. the moment when mankind – in person of is not still there in his grave, dead as a doornail?”, the three Marys making their way to the Holy “Can I make sure with my own eyes?”50. Sepulchre – is miraculously made aware of the The dramatic office of the Visitatio enhances fact that the Son of God did not actually die on such personal responses to the mystery of Christ’s the Cross, but has been mysteriously resurrected resurrection, but satisfies the spectator’s craving from the grave and lives again: only in the light for uncovering the mystery only partially. The of the Resurrection does Christ’s institution of extent to which the individual devotee is allowed the Eucharist at the Last Supper make any sense to gain insight (literally) into the mystery of the at all. In this sense, the Holy Sepulcher and the Grave depended – surprisingly enough, and quite table of the Last Supper become an epistemic unit contrary to the overall democratizing Christian wherein each of the two notions represent an in- message of the equality of everymen before the separable part of the other: there would be no Eu- God – on his or her position in the actual Church charist without the deadly grave that confirmed hierarchy. As a matter of fact, the symbolic hierthe sacrificial nature of the Eucharistic table, in archical distinction between the higher and lower the same vein as the grave receives its meaning clergy, male clerics and female nuns on one hand, only when it is being surpassed by Christ’s live and the laity with no direct access to the divine on body. This vital duality is expressed materially the other, was materialized more than poignantin the liturgy proper in the image of the Altar, ly in the physical church space: the chancel with

the main altar and the shrine was the confine of the clergy, while the laypeople were restricted to watching the liturgical ceremonies from the distance of the nave. The concrete location of the scenic representation of the Holy Sepulcher in the Easter liturgy, as well as its form and shape, were, thus, indicative of how much the individuals attending the liturgy could actually see of the dramatic performance, how well they could see what they could see and, consequently, how close to the mystery of the Resurrection they were allowed to get. The altar as the Holy Sepulcher In the following pages, we will try to demonstrate how different “adaptations”of the altar as the representation of the Holy Sepulcher in the Visitatio presuppose different levels of participation in the mystery of the Resurrection on the part of those attending the liturgy – and how the moment on the threshold between the life and death of Jesus Christ is represented in these performances using, besides the phenomenal bodies of both the faithful and the clerics, the liturgical cloths. Walter Ogden noted in his enlightening study of rubrics or stage directions of more than seven hundred individual pieces of the Visitatio sepulchri, gathered by Young and Chambers from all parts of Europe, two main locations of the permanent or temporary image of the Holy Sepulcher within the medieval church space. Both of the general layouts – the “French” as well as the “German” one – are attested for Bohemian liturgical practice from the 12th to 14th centuries (the timespan from which liturgical books with scripts of the offices are available). In the former, the Sepulcher was located within the sacred space of the chancel accessible only by the clergy, while in the latter the whole congregation could step close to the replica of the tomb, which was placed in the nave, often somewhere in the transept close to the entrance to the presbytery51. Either way, several basic schemes for the dramatic representation of the Sepulcher have been described, varying in the relative scale of mimetism/theatricality of the scenographic arrangement. On the non-mimetic, presentational end of

the scale lies the purely symbolic representation of the Sepulcher, as attested for instance for the ritual and ceremonial activities in the Cathedral in Metz. Here, the tomb of Christ was represented simply by (presumably) the main altar of the cathedral, which was for the sake of the Visitatio performance equipped with a reliquary case covered by a liturgical cloth. In the Quem queritis (“Whom do you seek?”) scene, two deacons standing behind the altar asked the angelic question of two other deacons dressed in white dalmatics, impersonating the two Marys; during the Resurrection announcement (Non est hic, “he is not here”), the silver relic case was apparently revealed by rising a levamen, a light cloth covering the reliquary, by some other priests using two rods52. Thus, the message of Christ’s resurrection was communicated simultaneously by two different media: the liturgical text in Latin (incomprehensible to most of the lay participants) and the performative, universally comprehensible synergy of the visual and auditive output. The more mimetic representations tended toward the other ways of materializing the Holy Sepulcher in the Easter dramatic offices enumerated by Ogden in The Staging of Drama in the Medieval Church, namely the use of a coffer (that stood on its own or as a part of a larger stone structure, see below), a temporary structure large enough to be entered (often called tentorium, “a tent”, in the extant scripts), and a permanent stone structure standing either independently in the space of the nave or in a chapel, such as the one in the 47 In the conventual and chapter churches, where officium horarum was part of the everyday liturgical celebrations, scheduling the Visitatio for the Matins was typical, while in the parish churches the only possibility was obviously the pre-Mass option; see Ogden, The Staging of Drama (n. 45), p. 40. 48 George R. Kerndole, The Theatre in History, Fayetteville/ London 1989, p. 213. 49 Either the episode with the Apostles or with Mary Magdalene (in the form of the abbreviated sequence Victimae paschali laudes, the Hortulanus scene, or both) complemented the central Quem queritis trope in some of the Visitatio offices as early as the 10th century; see Helmut de Boor, Die Textgeschichte der lateinischen Osterfeiern, Tübingen 1967, p. 223. 50 For the intersubjective nature of the embodied perception as experienced in theatrical performances, see e.g. Peter Woelert, “Human Cognition, Space, and the Sedimentation of Meaning”, Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences, x/1 (2011), pp. 113–137. 51 Ogden, The Staging of Drama (n. 45), p. 39. 52 William Tydeman, The Medieval European Stage, 500‒1550, Cambridge 2001, p. 93.

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Konstanz Cathedral [Fig. 13], or attached to the church-shell, such as in the church of Gernrode (East Harz Mountain area, Germany, [Fig. 14]). The foureenth-century sources from Bohemia attest to both the above-mentioned types of representation of the Holy Sepulcher – the non-mimetic as well as mimetic. The latter can be found in two major extant corpora of liturgical scripts for the Visitatio that are related to the two main churches found in the precinct of the Prague Castle. A seat of the secular as well as the ecclesiastic power, the Castle accommodated the conventual church of the female Benedictine monastery of St George, the oldest Benedictine convent in Bohemia, and the Basilica of St Vitus with the chapter, that became the metropolitan church in 1344 when a Gothic cathedral of the same patrociny started to be built in its vicinity53. A group of thirteenth- and fourteenth-century liturgical manuscripts from St Vitus, apparently referring to the ritual practice of the old Romanesque basilica54, indicates the location of the Sepulcher “in medio ecclesiae” (“in the middle of the church”). In the topography of the Romanesque basilica, and in the subsequent Gothic cathedral alike, this expression would most probably indicate the middle part of the transept and the surrounding area (in the basilica possibly separated from the nave by a low grill-screen)55. Here, the temporary structure of the Sepulcher must have been erected close to the altar (of St Catherine in the basilica / of the St Cross in the cathedral[?]) so it could be “seated in”, “entered” and “inspected”, the types of stage action prescribed for the performers by the rubrics of the extant Visitatio scripts56. A scenographic structure fit for such mise-en-scène might have been similar to those described in other European Visitatio manuscripts, e.g. the one used in the ceremonies of the Holy Week at Barking Abbey (Greater London area) from 1404. This structure was supposed to be “fittingly decorated with a covering of hangings, with a pillow also, and with most beautiful linen cloths” (locum tapetum palleo auriculari quoque et lintheis nitidissimis decenter ornatum)57. Although no such precise description is to be found for the Prague replica of the Sepulcher in the extant liturgical scripts, the fourteenth-century inventories

of the Prague church list a number of precious cloths that might have been used for decorating a similar shrine-like stage piece, including the pillow58. In the inventory from 1387, the catalogue of liturgical cloths (cortinae) in the possession of the St Vitus chapter lists, among other textiles, “four white [hangings] and the fifth with an eagle on it”59 – a convenient number to drape a four-sided wooden frame with an entrance, created by hanging two pieces of the tapecia on the front side while leaving the split in between unattached. The white color of the listed cloths might also indicate their use on Easter Sunday. In the earlier inventory of the same church from 1354, a number of cortinae and cultra (“hangings”) are also listed, some of them made of linen (“de panno lintheo”) like those from Barking Abbey, others decorated by small fish (“cortinae cum pisciculis”)60 53 By the end of the 14th century, only the choir and the east part of the nave had been built, and the cathedral as a whole was not finished before 1929; see Klára Benešovská et al., The Story of Prague Castle, Prague 2003. 54 After the construction of the cathedral proceeded so far that the liturgy could have been celebrated in the new Gothic choir, the ritual prescriptions, including those of the Visitatio, were applied to the new spatial arrangement, often without reflecting the necessary changes of blocking in the liturgical manuscripts. See Jana Maříková-Kubková, David Eben, “Organizace liturgického prostoru v bazilice sv. Víta”,Castrum Pragense, ii (1999), pp. 227–240, sp. p. 228. 55 Maříková-Kubková/Eben, “Organizace liturgického prostoru” (n. 54), p. 230. Cf. Søren Kaspersen’s location of the altar of St Cross, a Volksaltar devoted to lay piety where the Eucharist was consecrated and distributed to laypeople on the high feast days, “in medio ecclesiae”; see Decorating the Lord’s Table. On the Dynamics Between Image and Altar in the Middle Ages, Søren Kaspersen, Erik Thunø eds, Copenhagen 2006, p. 43. The Cross Altar is mentioned in ms. vi.e.4a, National Library Prague, as the location where the vestments should be placed after their ostensio, further specifying the possible performance space of the Visitatio in the Gothic cathedral. The altar was most probably located in the southern transept, attached to the western wall of the St Wenceslas Chapel; see Petr Uličný,“Chóry katedrály sv. Víta v Praze”, Průzkumy památek, xviii/2 (2011), pp. 47–82, sp. p. 48; cf. also Staročeské velikonoční skladby dramatické, Jan Máchal ed., Prague 1906, p. 18. 56 Examples from St Vitus: “angelus sedens in sepulchro” ms. vi.e.4a in Staročeské velikonoční skladby (n. 55), p. 17; “intrantes sepulchrum” ms. iv.d.9, National Library Prague, ibidem, p. 16. Example from St George: “inclinavit se et prospexit in monumentum” ms. vi.e.13, National Library Prague, ibidem, p. 20. 57 Tydeman, The Medieval European Stage (n. 52), p. 83. 58 In the catalogue from 1355: “cussina xx diversi generis” (“20 pillows of various kinds”), Antonín Podlaha, Eduard Šlitter, Chrámový poklad u sv. Víta v Praze: jeho dějiny a popis, Prague 1903, p. xxi. 59 Orig.: „IIIIor blancze [tapecia] et quinta cum aquillis“; Podlaha/ Šlitter, Chrámový poklad (n. 58), p. xlii. 60 Ibidem, pp. vi, vii.

13 / Holy Sepulchre, St Maurice’s Rotunda, Konstanz Minster, 1260–1280 14 / Holy Sepulchre, Stiftskirche St Cyriakus, Gernrode, 1080–1130

that might also possibly have been used for fixing the Holy Sepulcher tentorium, with reference to the fish as symbolic of Jesus Christ. The most plausible “adept” for the task would be, however, the cortina from the inventory of 1355, labelled in the catalogue explicitly as a cortina that is to be used as the “curtain of the temple” (velum templi)61. The expression might refer to the above-mentioned side hangings of altar or Lenten cloth or cloths, which were in many churches hung around or in front of the choir at the beginning of Lent and removed during the reading of Luke’s passion on Holy Wednesday (at the moment of the reading velum templi scissum est medium, “[then the sun was darkened, and] the veil of the temple was torn in two”, Luke 23, 45)62. They were often made of linen in reference to Christ’s burial and his Resurrection, described in the gospel indirectly in several scenes, for example the one in which Simon Peter “went into the tomb; and he saw the linen cloths lying there, and the handkerchief that had been around His head” (John 20, 6‒7)63. These Lenten cloths, or similar textiles made of linen, might have been used also as drapery on the tent-like shrine-tomb temporary structure which represented the Sepulcher, symbolically stressing Christ’s passage from life to death and back to life during Holy Week. The liminal station of his mysterious two-day dwelling in the grave would be, thus, pinpointed in the very materiality of the representation of the Sepulcher in the Visitatio by use of the linen shrine-like “case”, imitating and referring to Christ’s burial shroud64. A cloth to divide, a cloth to unite

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The physical emptiness of the (stage) replica of the Holy Sepulcher could have been, however, experienced directly in the actual performance of the Visitatio only by a small number of the attendants – those who could, put very simply, see well enough or be close enough to the structure of the Sepulcher to have unimpeded vision, or be directly inside it for that matter. In the St Vitus Visitatio, the group of attendants who would have experienced relatively favorable sight-lines can be divided into three sub-groups according to their proximity to the Sepulcher.

The most distant group would be the lay spectators who stood outside of the media ecclesiae, whether it was delimited from the nave by the real physical barrier of the grill screen as in the basilica, or performatively, by the trajectories of the performers’ movement in the performative space, as in the Gothic cathedral. Either way, those lucky faithful (doubtless the most prominent members of the community: the nobles, members of the court, wealthy townsmen, etc.) would from the distance of several meters have been able to see quite distinctly the exterior of the Sepulcher, as well as the Mary(s) inspecting its mouth and entering the structure to meet the angel(s). What happened inside the Sepulcher was beyond their visual perception, although they could hear the sung Quem queritis dialogue, clearly audible from the inside of the tent-shrine, smell the frankincense burnt in the censers, and admire the splendor of the exquisite textiles. Those who could see the inside of the Sepulcher much more clearly were the clergy who found themselves right in the area of the medio ecclesiae. These were the members of the chapter (both of lower and higher ordinance), possibly prelates from other churches, and the scholares or members of the choir (schola), accompanying the sung masses with the Gregorian chorales. Among this rather large group, two more subgroups can be differentiated according to their (in)ability to enter the Sepulcher itself. While the greater part of the clergy had to stay outside the tent-shrine, representing the nameless biblical crowd of the Jews who witnessed the Resurrection only indirectly, a few prominent members of the ecclesiastic community had the honor to enter the very heart of the Mystery, the tomb itself. These were, in different versions of the office, the (young) clerics (or school boys) representing the two or, alternately, three Marys, two or three other (young) clerics representing the angels, another two clerics (possibly one older and one younger) representing Peter and John, and sometimes also the priest representing the resurrected Jesus Christ. These “chosen ones” could at least peep into, or even step inside the Sepulcher, in order to experience not only by sight but also with their whole body, sometimes even by touch65, the emptiness

of the tomb, its vacancy standing for the mystery elevation of the vestments, analogous to the Elof the Resurrection. evation of the Host during the Mass, was the The mise-en-scène of the Visitatio, organized only or the most illustrative demonstration of according to the inside-out dichotomy with the the main theme of the dramatized Easter liturgy imitatio of the Sepulcher as its focal point, thus en- – “Christ ist erstanden von der Marter alle” / “Buoh abled the individual attendants to experience the všemohúcí vstal z mrtvých žádúcí”. The cloths in the Mystery of the Church through distinctly varied dramatized Easter liturgy thus served as a means levels of participation, based on their respective of delineating and dividing the divine from the positions in the hierarchy of medieval society in mundane, the lay from the clerics, the higher from general (i.e. the clergy vs. the laity) and also their the lower ranks – yet at the same time united relative position in their closer community in these opposites by allowing all participants in the particular (those among the laity standing closer liturgy to perceive God’s redemptive mystery in to the transept vs. those standing further back; the image of the Holy Sepulcher and his shroud. those of the clergy chosen to represent the “lead roles” of the Visitatio in the given year vs. those 61 Podlaha/Šlitter, Chrámový poklad (n. 58), p. xxii. 62 See e.g. the collection of studies on the topic of high mestarring in the “collective roles” only). In this dieval liturgical textiles: The Fabric of Images. European Paintings on Textile Supports in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth respect, the textile hangings representing the Centuries, Caroline Villers ed., London 2000. Sepulcher separated, so to speak, the inside of 63 For the symbolic meaning of linen in the Christian Middle Ages, see Joseph Braun, Der christliche Altar in seiner gesthe tomb, with the restricted entrance “policy”, chichtlichen Entwicklung, vol. 2, Munich 1924, pp. 142‒143. from the performance space outside it accessible 64 The use of the Lenten cloths as the hangings of the temporary Sepulcher would explain the lack of cloths specifically without any restrictions for the clergy, and at least identified as cortiae for the Visitatio in the Prague Church inventories (when there are, at the same time, listed many visible from some distance for the lay communicloths with very specific purposes, e.g. the dorsalia cover66 ty (or parts of it) . Considering their by-default ing the backside of the choir-stalls, etc.), as well as other pieces that might be used for the same purpose, such temporary, easily degradable nature, liturgical as wooden coffers etc. This is, however, a preliminary cloths were an extremely appropriate medium to hypothesis that needs to be investigated further. communicate the message of the liminal and tran- 65 In an undated liturgical manuscript from the Cathedral of Parma, the clerics representing the Marys should “revsitory nature of Christ’s short and by no means erently enter the sepulchre and […] touch the clean linen cloths” (Sepulcrum Domini reverenter intrant […] et palpant permanent stay in his grave67. linteamina munda; Walther Lipphardt, Lateinische OsterfeiThe cloths in the performance of the Visitatio ern und Osterspiele, vol. i, Berlin / New York 1975, pp. 33‒34; transl. Tydeman, The Medieval European Stage (n. 52), p. 91. are, however, not only the means of covering the 66 Another chance for certain members of the chapter to enMystery of Christ’s death and resurrection, but ter the Sepulcher was the ceremony of Depositio crucis on Good Friday and the Elevation of the Cross; cf. Petr Uličný, also of its revelation to every single member of “Christ in Motion. Portable Objects and Scenographic Envithe Church, i.e. the community – even to those ronments in the Liturgy of Medieval Bohemia”, Theatralia, xiv/1 (2011), pp. 24‒64. who could not see the inside the empty tomb with 67 We owe this remark to Amálie Bulandrová, who drew my their own eyes. Usually towards the end of the attention to this crucial feature of cloths and its relation to their use as discussed in this paper. performance, there would follow a scene during 68 Both types of vestments are mentioned in the Bible (John which Christ’s shroud or winding-sheet (lintheam20, 6‒7) as well as in liturgical chants, especially in the sequence Victimae paschali laudes, parts of which were ina) and sudary (sudarium)68 were taken out of the adopted by some versions of the Visitatio, especially the tomb either by the angel(s), the Apostles or the question of the choir dic nobis, Maria, quod vidisti in via (“tell us, Mary, what did you see on your journey”) and Marys themselves, with both vestments shown her reply angelicos testes, sudarium et vestes (“angelic wit(sometimes first to the clergy and only then) to nesses, the sudary and His shroud”). the whole congregation with unambiguous sung 69 The whole episode in ms vi.e.4a: “Interim duo de fratribus portantes cereos et induti cappis vadunt ad sepulcrum lines, “surrexit Dominus de sepulcro”. Then they et acceptis duobus lintheaminibus stantes ante chorum et extendentes ea cantant antiphonam: ‘Cernitis, o socii, ecce would be placed on a nearby altar in a performalintheamina et sudarium, et corpus non est in sepulcro inventum.’ Quia finite incipit prelatus antiphonam: ‘Surrexit tive analogy to the representations of the Quem Dominus de sepulcro,’ quam chorus finit. Interim deponuntur queritis scene in the visual arts [Fig. 15] 69. For some lintheamina in altari sancta crucis”. Staročeské velikonoční skladby (n. 55), pp. 17‒18. of the participants who could not see the visit of the Sepulcher clearly or at all, the ritualized

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Conclusion 15 / Quem queritis scene, Breviary of Benedict von Waldstein, Bohemia, ca 1410, 1430, and 1493 / National Library (Prague), ms vi g 6, fol. 249v

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The fourteenth-century Prague versions of the dramatic office Visitatio sepulchri thus bring to the fore the material aspect of medieval liturgy that is often overlooked or underscored – the liturgical cloths and their importance for the semiotics of the individual parts of pre-Reformation ritual and ceremonial practice. Clearly, the cloths did matter in the liturgy proper as well as in its dramatic variants. In the former, the vela veiled and revealed the altar, while in the latter the cortinae covering the mystery of Christ’s deathbed, together with the cloths representing his sudary and shroud, activated and stressed the double representation of the altar as the tomb and Eucharistic table of the Savior.

The fact that the winged altarpiece and the altar mensa itself can be considered as liminal spheres at all is shown by the highly transitional character of the events or rite that the altar ensemble primarily served – the transubstitution of the Eucharistic elements into the “true Christ’s body and blood”. This conclusion can be supported by comparing the three concepts of transubstantiation in terms of the three confessional environments at the end of the Middle Ages. In comparison to the “Roman” one, the Utraquist liturgy in fifteenth-century Bohemia mediated the presence of the Divine more evidently, as the Utraquist winged altarpieces in their utmost form physically integrated the consecrated Host using a unique form of intermediality. Lutheranism, to the contrary, abolished all manifestations of liminality during the liturgy and in its altar ensemble in favor of an emphasis on the doctrinal and pedagogical content of the depicted images. The liminality of the altar within the “Roman” (and Utraquist) Church is performed by opening/ closing or veiling/revealing the central part of the ensemble. In both cases, the principal semantic gesture consists in the transition from the state of concealment (closed altar, closed Holy Sepulcher) to the state of revelation (open retable, uncovered entrance to the Sepulcher). In the morphological replication of the elevation gesture, what has been obscure becomes visible by the kinaesthetic activity of opening a precious container which, in one case, conceals the Body of Christ in the form of the Eucharist, and in the other reveals the absence of the same dead body, thus testifying to its resurrection. Both dramatic liturgy and liturgy proper thus re-enacts the central dogma of the Church: the transfigured Host in the hands of the priest turns into the live, eucharistic Christ who sacrificed himself for mankind and saved him through his grave, i.e. the death, from which he resurrected on the third day. What strikes one as truly performative is the fact that this dogma was not presented as a static, “immobile” fact, but as a process: in covering and uncovering, elevating and lowering, the Truth was communicated in motion – an extremely useful method both to convey the information and also to captivate the participants’ feelings.

summary Tabulae cum portis, vela, cortinae a sudaria. Poznámky k liminálním zónám v liturgických a paraliturgických kontextech v pozdním středověku

Prostor středověkého kostela byl členěn celou soustavou liminálních zón od portálu po vstup do chóru či oltářního prostoru. Liminální zónu sui generis však tvoří i oltář sám. Je totiž místem zpřítomňování Kristovy oběti a  proměňování svátostných způsob v Tělo a Krev Páně, jež lze interpretoval jako vrcholný liminální moment křesťanského rituálu. Aktivaci oltářní liminální zóny zviditelňuje zejména v pozdním středověku manipulace s  křídlovým oltářním nástavcem, který v  otevřeném stavu utváří místo konání bohoslužby v rámci kostelního prostoru, a zároveň tvoří vizuální pozadí, na němž se odehrává transsubstanciace a elevace proměněné hostie. Ve spíše typickém případě jednoduchého bezkřídlého retabula pak suplují funkci křídel vymezujících prostor mše postranní oltářní závěsy – cortiny či véla. Ty dokládají, že i textilie, užívané v kostelním interiéru mnohým způsobem (jednomu specifickému je pak věnována druhá část příspěvku), lze chápat jako markanty liminálních zón, ohraničujících děje o různém stupni posvátnosti. Liminální kvality oltáře, respektive oltářního retabula (ale i oltářních cortin) coby pomezní zóny mezi reálným světem a nebeskou sférou a jejím působením, jsou přitom pevně svázány s transsubstanciačním dogmatem. Je to patrné na rozdílných formách a námětech oltářních arch „katolických“ a utrakvistických na straně jedné (utrakvisté zastávali tradiční učení o transsubstanciaci a zachovávali v liturgii moment elevace proměněné hostie) a luteránských na straně druhé (s Lutherovým

učením o  konsubstanciaci souvisí i  postupný ústup od pozdvihování a úplné odmítnutí úcty k  „proměněné“ hostii). Luteránské oltáře pak mnohem zřetelněji propojují známý pozemský svět a jeho konkrétní aktéry se zobrazovanými událostmi z dějin spásy – namísto toho, aby tyto dvě zóny oddělovaly. Liminální moment je tak v případě těchto oltářních ansámblů zcela potlačen. Liminalita oltáře v prostoru středověkého kostela se projevuje rovněž ve způsobu jeho zapojení do paraliturgických performancí spojených s oslavami Velikonoc, zejména v dramatizovaném officiu Visitatio sepulchri (Navštívení hrobu). Oltář zde často funguje jako nejdůležitější scénografický prvek, který prostřednictvím performance dramatického děje, v němž tři Marie přicházejí ke hrobu pomazat mrtvé tělo Ježíše Krista, avšak místo toho se dozvídají o jeho zmrtvýchvstání, zpřítomňuje metonymický vztah mezi Kristovým hrobem (oltář jako sarkofág) a eucharistickým stolem (oltář jako menza). Tato eucharistická sémiotika zdůrazňující podstatu Krista jakožto „spásonosné oběti“ a „chleba života“, je v teatralizované slavnosti Visitatio sepulchri realizovaná mimo jiné prostřednictvím liturgických látek. Ty formálně odkazují ke Kristově posmrtné roušce (sudarium) a rubáši (vestes), materiálně zdůrazňují jeho liminální status v období čekání na Vzkříšení coby mrtvého-živého a scénograficky oddělují skrytý prostor tajemství uvnitř Božího hrobu a „profánní“ prostor přístupný všem bez rozdílu mimo něj.

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Abstract – “Blessed Are the Eyes Which See Divine Spirit Through the Letter’s Veil.” The Book as Object and Idea This paper considers medieval and Late Antique representations of books depicted as they actually, physically, were as well as certain aspects of how they functioned in representations – i.e., as symbols of concealing and revealing and as liminal points of passage. On the one hand, there is considerable evidence that the details of shape, binding, fastening, and decoration depicted in book representations correspond to the makeup and appearance of actual books of their time; books in depictions were clearly intended to be understood as referencing actual books. On the other hand, however, it is also clear from the ways in which books are represented, and from the contexts in which they appear, that they served as focal signs – as providing access to the salvific 134 that lead to Paradise and everlasting life. words

Keywords – codex, volumen, capsa, book-bindings, book clasps, book ties, board markers, sewing structures, open and closed books, concealment, revelation, threshold, gateway, veil, liminal marker, passage, gemstones, cross, flowers John Mitchell University of East Anglia, Norwich [email protected] Nicholas Pickwoad University of the Arts, London [email protected]

“Blessed Are the Eyes Which See Divine Spirit Through the Letter’s Veil” The Book as Object and Idea John Mitchell & Nicholas Pickwoad

In this paper we will be concerned principally with books as they appear in visual representations, with the relationship between depicted books and actual books, as far as this can be established, and with certain aspects of the roles played by books when they are shown in painting, mosaic and carved relief. Books, in the Roman world, were objects of high standing. They contained and represented the works of authors who as a class were held in high esteem. In honorific

and commemorative statuary, volumina, rolled books, were the principal attributes of an individual’s engagement in public life and political career. And the libraries in which major public literary collections were kept were among the prominent buildings in any urban center 1. In Late Antiquity, the book, the volumen and increasingly 1

Horst Blanck, Das Buch in der Antike, Munich 1992, pp. 160 –214; La biblioteca in-finita. I luoghi del sapere nel mondo antico, Roberto Meneghini, Rossella Rea eds, Milan 2014.

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the codex, the book with leaves joined at the spine, acquired if anything an enhanced status as one of the chief emblems of the new Christian Church, ubiquitous in imagery in all media, where it is held by Christ and his Apostles and saints as well as by the prophets of the Old Testament2. The book in the hands of Christ represents the Gospel, the new law and way to salvation, which the Apostles in turn took and disseminated throughout the world, and the books held by saints, prophets and other unidentified heroes of the faith must represent sacred scripture, from the Old Testament as well as the New. However, the contexts in which books are deployed and the ways in which they are depicted in Early Christian and early medieval visual imagery would seem to indicate that in many cases they were not being represented just as sacred texts. Regularly they appear to have been designed to function as focal images in themselves, as portals, doors, as liminal screens giving access to salvific truths and to everlasting life. Nevertheless, when they are represented, they are usually depicted with considerable attention paid to the details of format, binding, fastening and decoration. It is the nexus of detailed pictorial description and meaning that we want to address here. The focus in the first part of the paper will be on the actual make-up and appearance of books in the period, as far as this can be determined from surviving examples and from their representations in painting, mosaic and carved relief. In the second part attention will turn to some of the roles that books play in images, rather than to representations as more or less exact simulacra of the actual books themselves; it will consider depicted books as iconic images and as indexes of certain ways in which books may have been seen and understood in Late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages. The relationship between books as they are represented and books as they actually were is critical, since both the similarities and the differences between how they are shown and configured when depicted and what actual books really looked like are likely to throw light on the symbolic meanings associated with books in the pictorial contexts in which they are represented. It will also show how actual books were understood

as artifacts in the social life of Christians, in death and commemoration, in the experience of liturgical practice and in the conceptual place they occupied in the minds of the faithful. The three most prevalent forms of ancient books are widely represented in Late Antiquity, the volumen, pugilares, the small oblong codex usually with wooden leaves coated with wax, and the regular codex with leaves of parchment or papyrus3. We will touch on all three here, together with the capsa, the cylindrical book-box used to contain volumina and also the armarium, the cupboard in which codices were kept; but the focus will be on the predominant form that the book took in Christian usage, the codex. Represented books and actual books Books depicted in Christian art may be shown closed or open, in a variety of different ways, and with varying degrees of physical detail. From the fourth century onwards, they can be presented in a somewhat formulaic way that suggests a familiarity with the type, but which resulted in a simplification of the physical details of the books depicted. In the almost total absence of similar intact surviving books of the period, this can make the interpretation of those details quite difficult. What we can be sure of, however, is that even though the presence of a book in a work of art may be intended to represent an intellectual or theological concept or to give status to whoever is holding it, in order to be recognized as a book, the image must be derived from a physical reality that would have been familiar to its audience. One must look, therefore, for the reality that lies behind the sometimes puzzling lines and marks that appear on painted or sculpted books. Examples of this phenomenon can be found in wall paintings in three arcosolia in the Catacombs of San Gennaro in Naples. Two of these, both of women, in the same gallery, contain a central portrait of the deceased in an orans posture, with hands extended to each side, and hovering above each hand an open book. The better preserved of the two is that of Cerula [Fig. 1] and although the painting is not very detailed or exactly realistic, the images of the two books contain certain

details that indicate that the artist was entirely familiar with the physical appearance of books and reproduced recognizable details of contemporary book-making 4. Perhaps the most significant detail in this respect is the indication of a stab-sewn structure in the form of the small horizontal lines crossing the gutters of the open books. Giorgios Boudalis relates this to the sewing structures originally devised for books of wax tablets with wooden leaves, but subsequently used for books with flexible leaves of papyrus or parchment5. The painting of Cerula shows only single stitched threads, similar to those seen on the fifth-century mosaic of Ecclesia ex Gentibus in the church of Santa Sabina in Rome6. The double threads which such a structure would more often have presented are shown in the early sixth-century mosaics of the evangelists Mark and Luke in the presbytery of the Basilica of San Vitale in Ravenna7. What these details tell us is that the artist responsible for the painting of Cerula included visible indications of their structures that would have been evident – though not necessarily understood – either from personal observation of books or from

an established model of such a representation that might be copied by other artists. The opening characteristics of the books are also accurately observed, if only by deduction. The stab-sewn structures indicated by the short horizontal lengths of thread would have created a caudex, held together by thread or thongs along 2

3 4

5 6

7

On the transition from roll to codex in the late Roman period, see Colin H. Roberts, Theodore C. Skeat, The Birth of the Codex, London 1983; Harry Y. Gamble,  “Bible and Book”,  in In the Beginning: Bibles Before the Year 1000, Michel P. Brown ed., Washington, dc 2006, pp. 15–25, sp. pp. 22–26. Georgios Boudalis, The Codex and Crafts in Late Antiquity, New York 2018. Giovanni Liccardo, “Donne e madonne delle catacombe di Napoli”, Marianum, lv (1993), pp. 225–243, sp. p. 236; Matteo Braconi, “L’arcosolio di Cerula nelle catacombe di San Gennaro a Napoli: prime intuizioni e recenti scoperte”, in Nicola Ciavolino a vent’anno dalla scomparsa: il presbitero, lo studioso, l’archeologo. Volume monografico del Campania Sacra, ilvi–ilvii (2016), pp. 129 –146; Ally Kateusz, Mary and Early Christian Women: Hidden Leadership, Cham 2019, pp. 156 –161. Boudalis, The Codex (n. 3), pp. 61– 64. Hugo Brandenburg, Die frühchristliche Kirchen in Rom vom 4. Bis 7. Jahrhundert, Milan/Regensburg 2005, p. 174; Joachim Poeschke, Italian Mosaics, 300 –1300, New York / London 2010, pl. 7. Friedrich W. Deichmann, Frühchristliche Bauten und Mosaiken von Ravenna, Baden-Baden 1958, figs 332–335; Boudalis, The Codex (n. 3), fig. 42; Deborah Mauskopf Deliyannis, Ravenna in Late Antiquity, Cambridge 2010, p. 246, fig. 86.

1 / Arcosolium tomb of Cerula, Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, late 5th century

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2 / Detail of wax tablet caudex, Child’s sarcophagus, Catacombs of Cyriaca, Rome, 270 –290 ad / Vatican Museums, inv. 2422 3 / Martyrdom of St Laurence or Vincent, Mausoleum of Galla Placidia, Ravenna, mid 5th century

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the spine edge and opening from the opposite edge, the fore-edge. The “leaves” of the wax tablet book, being by their nature inflexible, will only open if the structure is sufficiently flexible to allow them to do so, and this is evidenced in numerous paintings and sculptures in which they appear. The open wax-tablet book on the lid of a Child’s Sarcophagus of 270 –290 ad, found in the Catacomb of Cyriaca in Rome, shows a book of eight tablets, opened flat between the third and fourth tablets, with the spine edges of the tablets on each side of the opening folded to line up against each other, separated by a vertical line [Fig. 2] 8. Similarly a stone relief from Ostia, with a man described as an orator (or perhaps a Christian teacher), standing between two scribes, each seated at a table, writing in an open wax-tablet book with a stylus, shows a similarly opened book on the left-hand table, with three tablets on each side9. The same stab-sewing technique found on wax-tablet books was also used for groups of papyrus or parchment leaves (or individual gatherings); these are indicated by the horizontal black

threads in the Cerula painting. This structure resulted in the same opening characteristics between the blocks of leaves as in the wax-tablet books. These characteristics are also found on unsupported sewing structures with flat spines that are known to have been used on the earliest codices (a tradition that survived into the twentieth century in Ethiopic bookbinding) 10. In the mosaics of St Matthew and St Mark in San Vitale in Ravenna, a vertical line is used to represent the spine of the book folded back on itself as it is opened flat in the middle of the bookblock, just as in the wax-tablet book on the Vatican Museum sarcophagus and in the open sewn bookblock on the left hand of Christ on the Sarcophagus of Concordius, the first Bishop of Arles, of ca 385 ad11. In the Cerula painting, the representation of the opening characteristics has been further simplified, in that the vertical lines indicating the spines of the books have been left out, leaving only the horizontal lines indicating the gatherings (the same phenomenon is found in the open book in the fifth-century mosaic of St Laurence

in the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia in Ravenna [Fig. 3]) 12. The inner margins of the exposed leaves of the open book are indicated by a line of shadow painted from head to tail, across which can be seen the black sewing threads. This has, therefore, to mark the spine of the book. It could be that the artist of the Cerula painting did not understand the significance of the vertical lines; however, what remains must derive from an unsupported sewing structure, in which the lines of the gatherings would lie flat across the spine, as here depicted. A further arcosolium in the Catacombs of San Gennaro in Naples, that of Heleusinius, has an open book painted on each of the reveals of the arch, showing a different observed phenomenon of early book structure [Figs 4, 5]13. The books are once again shown opened flat, but there are double threads visible towards the head and tail of the spine, crossing a pronounced gap between the gatherings at the opening, within which the covering material can be seen. This seems to be an exaggerated recognition within the artistic vocabulary of the depiction of books of the increasing

looseness between the gatherings of both the stab-sewn and unsupported sewing structures as a book is opened. This is visible on both books, though more clearly on the better-preserved example on the right reveal; both also show a large number of ties and/or board markers on the tailand fore-edges of the open books. 8 Vatican Museum, inv. 2422. Janet Huskinson, Roman Children’s Sarcophagi: Their Decoration and Its Social Significance, Oxford 1996, p. 39. 9 Museo Ostiense, Roma Ostiense, late 4th century, inv. 130, found in a Late Antique room near the Tempio di Ercole: Paul Zanker, The Mask of Socrates. The Image of the Intellectual in Antiquity, Berkeley 1995, fig. 140; http://www. ostia-antica.org/vmuseum/marble_6.htm (accessed on 9 May 2019). 10 Ligatus Language of Bindings thesaurus: http://w3id.org/ lob/concept/1703 (accesed on 30 June 2019). 11 Musée departmental d’Arles antique, Arles: Thilo Ulbert, Brigitte Christern-Briesenick, Repertorium der christlich-antiken Sarkophage. 3. Bd., Frankreich, Algerien, Tunesien, Mainz 2003, p. 65, pl. 24, 1; Thomas Rainer, Das Buch und die vier Ecken der Welt, Wiesbaden 2011, figs 155a – b. 12 Deichmann, Frühchristliche Bauten (n. 7), fig. 7; Boudalis, The Codex (n. 3), fig. 102. 13 Danilo Mazzoleni, “Note e osservazioni sulle iscrizioni del complesso monumentale di San Gennaro”,  Campania Sacra, xxxvii (2006), pp. 147 –164, sp. p. 153; Giovanni Liccardo, Redemptor meus vivit. Iscrizioni cristiane antiche dell’area Napoletana, Trapani 2008, p. 68.

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4 / Arcosolium tomb of Heleusinius, Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, late 5th / early 6th century 5 / Detail of book on right reveal of arch, Arcosolium tomb of Heleusinius, Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, late 5th / early 6th century

6 / Arcosolium tomb of Bitalia, Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, late 5th century

The sharp v-shaped opening of the spine seen in other early depictions of codex-form books that are only partly opened indicates the same structures, both with wax-tablet books and those with papyrus or parchment leaves. The wax-tablet book on the table on the right side of the relief of the lawyer in the stone relief from Ostia, held open at approximately 130°, clearly shows the sharply-pointed v-shape in the spine, as does the open book shown in an alcove above an altar in a miniature showing the second Council of Constantinople, in a late ninth-century Byzantine manuscript of the Homilies of Gregory of Nazianzus 14, and one in the hands of a disciple on a late fourth-century Christian sarcophagus, said to be that of St Maurice, in the crypt of the church of St Victor in Marseilles 15. What these depictions of open codices tell us is that the artists represented, even at one or more removes, the physical reality of actual books. We should therefore be prepared to consider that other elements visible in books depicted in early mosaics and paintings should be considered to be equally rooted in a physical reality.

The presence, therefore, of different types of markers, ties and other forms of fastening (such as loops and toggles) should be taken at face value, even if the artists have, on occasion, once again simplified the depiction to a sort of shorthand indication of the real thing. The fact that the ties in the Cerula painting taper to a point suggests strips of animal skin – they can be described as thongs. There is no reason not to take the presence of thongs on the edges and corners of books, as in the painting of Cerula, at face value, a presumption reinforced by the appearance of similar thongs on the books visible in the painting of Bitalia, on her arcosolium tomb in the same gallery as that of Cerula in the Catacombs of San Gennaro in Naples  [Fig. 6]16. Similar thongs are also to be seen 14 Gregory of Nazianzus, Homilies, Paris, bnf, ms Gr. 510, fol. 355: Leslie Brubaker, Vision and Meaning in Ninth-Century Byzantium. Image as Exegesis in the Homilies of Gregory of Nazianzus, Cambridge 1999, fig. 36; Ralf M. W. Stammberger, Scriptor und Scriptorium: das Buch im Spiegel mittelalterliche Handschriften, Graz 2003, p. 131. 15 Ulbert/Christern-Briesenick, Repertorium (n. 11), p. 144, pls 73, 5. 16 Liccardo, “Donne” (n. 4), pp. 235–236; Braconi, “L’arcosolio” (n. 4), p. 137; Kateusz, Mary (n. 4), p. 157.

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7 / Arcosolium tomb of Trebius Iustus, Via Latina, Rome, early 4th century

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in the open book in the mosaic of Ecclesia ex circumcisione in Santa Sabina in Rome 17, as well as in the open book in the left hand of the central figure in a detached fresco discovered during the restoration of the Basilica di San Gennaro extra Moenia in the Catacombs of San Gennaro in Naples, which also has double sewing threads crossing the spine 18. It is important to try to confirm whether original artefacts lie behind these depictions of books, lest the unfamiliar features that they contain be over-interpreted or misrepresented. It has been suggested, for instance, that the wavy configuration of the thongs in the Cerula

painting represent the tongues of fire referred to by Severian of Gabala as descending onto bish­o­ ps from open books held over their heads during their ordination19. However, to sustain this argument, there should be no other similar thongs found in circumstances that do not illustrate or reference the ordination of bishops. There can, for instance, be no reason to think that the even more extravagantly wavy thongs on the fore-edges of the book on the knees of the twenty-one-year-old Trebius Iustus in a late third-/early fourth-century painting in the Via Latina catacomb in Rome represent anything other than ties, as the image is devoid of any Christian reference [Fig. 7] 20.

The wavy, gravity-defying profile of the ties was presumably a conventional and decorative way in which to represent the soft, flexible nature of the lengths of tanned skin. Ties represented as wavy thongs are also found in the full-page miniature of St Luke in the late sixth-century St Augustine Gospels at Corpus Christi College, in which the saint is shown holding an open book oriented towards the viewer with pairs of undulant ties emerging from the visible edges of the book21. There is no suggestion here that these thongs represent anything other than the physical reality of such books. As a token of that reality, the artist responsible for the painting of Cerula has shown the upper ties lying along the head edges of the two books (this is particularly evident in the volume containing Luke and Matthew). These cannot represent flames22. The positioning of the thongs was also subject to a great deal of variation and has clear implications for their intended use. In the case of the codex held by Trebius Iustus, there is a single pair of thongs in the center of the fore-edges of the boards, which are most likely to have been ties, though they could possibly also represent board strap markers. The books in the painting of Bitalia and the painting of Luke in the St Augustine Gospels clearly show two pairs of thongs on the fore- and tail-edges of the books (damage to the painting of Bitalia makes it hard to determine how the thongs at the head were depicted, but they would appear, as in the Cerula painting, to be lying across the head edges of the books), and these must represent ties, as board strap markers at head and tail, especially toward the spine end of those edges, would be awkward to handle. Pairs of fastenings at the head- and tail-edges are not common in either graphic representations or physical survivals, but pairs of strap and pin fastenings can be found on the right boards of the Morgan Coptic codices m. 569 and m. 587, and toggle and loop fastenings on m. 588 and m. 583. All these volumes are of a similar size and it is not clear why some have two fastenings at head and tail and others (the majority) do not. The closed book shown between a pair of scrolls in the full-page miniature in the late ninth-century Homilies of Gregory of Nazianzus referred to above 23, has two pairs

of double-strap fastenings on either the head- or tail-edge (it is impossible to know which way the book is oriented) and the book in the hand of St Luke in the Augustine Gospels also has two ties visible on the tail-edge of the left board. The books in both the Cerula painting and the mosaics of Ecclesia ex circumcisione and Ecclesia ex gentibus in Santa Sabina show thongs hanging from the tail-edge outer corners of both boards 24. Unlike the Cerula image, the latter do not show similar thongs on the head-edge corners, though that may have been the result of simplifying the images as executed in mosaic. The books held by Sts Peter and Paul in the mosaics over the triumphal arch in Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome, have lengths of a red material (leather?) at all the outer corners of the bindings and no ties in the centers of the edges of the boards (the book in the left hand of St Paul has what appears to be a thong emerging from the tail-edge of the book, lining up with the left side of the saint’s hand; the purpose of this remains a mystery)25. The books on each side of the figure of Cerula, unlike those in the Bitalia painting, have single ties on the head-, tail- and fore-edges of the boards, but show the corner thongs on all four outer corners of the boards (there is no thong visible at the top left corner of the Mark/John volume to the left of the central figure, but as thongs at both top corners are visible on the other volume, it may be that there was a thong there originally). 17 Brandenburg, Die frühchristliche Kirchen (n. 6), p. 174; Poeschke, Italian Mosaics (n. 6), pl. 6. 18 All three figures in the fragment have haloes, but the central figure, who is bearded and raises his right hand in a gesture of address, is probably Christ. A photograph taken shortly after excavation in 1927 shows more detail than is now visible: Carlo Ebanista,  “Gli scavi e i restauri del xx secolo nella basilica di S. Gennaro extra Moenia a Napoli per una rilettura del monumento”, in Dalle Steppe al Mediterraneo: popoli, culture, integrazione, Carlo Ebanista, Marcello Rotili eds, Naples 2017, p. 43, fig. 17b. 19 Kateusz, Mary (n. 4), pp. 160 –161. 20 L’Ipogeo di Trebbio Giusto sulla Via Latina: scavi e restauri, Rosella Rea ed., Vatican City 2004, fig. 98, p. 109, figs 117, 118, pp. 156 –157; Boudalis, The Codex (n. 3), fig. 2. 21 Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, ms 286, fol. 129v: Francis Wormald, The Miniatures in the Gospels of St. Augustine, Cambridge 1954, pls ii, vii. 22 Kateusz, Mary (n. 4), p. 160, claims that the absence of “pendants” or “tendrils” along the head edges of the volumes reflects Severian’s description of the tongues of fire descending during the ordination service. 23 See n. 14. 24 See n. 4 and n. 6. 25 Poeschke, Italian Mosaics (n. 6), pl. 11.

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To refer, therefore, to the number of thongs on the books in the Cerula and Bitalia paintings as “excessive” implies a great deal more than we know, as these features in both books can be found in other images as well as on some of the surviving fragments of early bindings 26. The use of board strap markers was a common feature in “most of the eastern Mediterranean bookbinding traditions” in which the codex-form book was being made 27. The use of such markers was made possible by the design of the codex, as such markers could not be used in scrolls, and they are present in some of the earliest preserved codices (e.g. Chester Beatty codices 813 and 814). They do not need to be long to serve this function, unlike the endband string markers (such as the ribbons of more modern use), which enter the bookblock at the spine end of the head edge and need to project from the tail-edge of the bookblock to allow them to be used to open the book. The board strap marker needs only to penetrate far enough into the bookblock to remain in place and mark the desired opening, and to this extent could easily be the same length as ties or even shorter and function perfectly well. In later medieval art, the clasps of books are sometimes shown used for this purpose. The position of markers at the corner of the boards would appear to rule out their use as ties, as they would be awkward to tie in this position, and there are no known examples of ties being placed in the corners of covers in any codex-making tradition of which I am aware. Single holes that were most probably used to anchor board-strap markers have been found in the upper outer corners of one or both boards of early bound manuscripts, from the fifth-century Glazier Codex, through ninth- and tenth-century Coptic bindings in the Morgan Library collection, to later Georgian, Greek and Syriac codices in the library of St Catherine on Mount Sinai28. It is difficult to think of another function for the truncated length of tanned skin at the corner of the right board of Leiden rmo ms Anast. 9, a binding which was fastened with loops and toggles 29. It would appear that the artists who created these images of books were working within what seems to have been a well-established iconographical tradition in which certain easily recognizable

elements of actual book structures were used more or less realistically to identify the objects so depicted as books. If the books are depicted “floating” in the air in the Cerula painting, an intrinsically unrealistic position for any book, then the pattern-forming radiating arrangement of the ties and markers around the perimeter of the open books can be seen as a device used by the artist to create a satisfying artistic design and maybe also to articulate an iconographic point. As the books themselves defied gravity, so too could the ties and markers, as they do in the painting of Trebius Iustus. It would appear, however, that the artist did not extend this element of the design to the head-edge, where gravity was allowed to exert its influence on the ties. The artist responsible for the painting of Bitalia, despite also allowing the books to float in the air, felt obliged to show the ties hanging downwards as gravity demands [Fig. 6]. Within the iconographical tradition, there was clearly room for variety. The more complex fastenings that can often be seen in the paintings and mosaics were subject to the same process of formalized representation as other binding features. On some rare occasions features in images can be replicated by the surviving remains of early bindings, such the three “buttons” on the detached cover of the Faddan More Psalter 30 which appear to be represented on the books held by St Luke in the ninth-century MacDurnan Gospels31, by St Mark in the eighth- or ninth-century Cadmug Gospels32 and St John as eagle in the late eighth-century Book of Dimma33. Each of these shows a highly formalized image of a book-cover with a fore-edge envelope flap with three circular or semi-circular features which can be related to the surviving fore-edge envelope flap and three horn “buttons” on the Faddan More cover 34. As there are no corresponding button-holes on the cover, their original function, unless purely decorative, is unclear. The use of fore-edge envelope flaps of a different design and fastening in early books from the eastern Mediterranean is confirmed by the bindings found in 1945 on the Nag Hammadi codices35. The flap of leather with a single hole punched in it attached to the right board of the book held by St Laurence in the mosaic in the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia in Ravenna may

also perhaps be taken to represent a fore-edge envelope flap [Fig. 3]. More interestingly, the mosaic of St Luke in San Vitale in Ravenna shows an open book in his left hand with three loops attached to the fore-edge of the left side of the cover, with a spacer between the loops and the fore-edge of the bookblock that could represent a fore-edge envelope flap which, when closed, would very closely resemble the book held by St Luke in the MacDurnan Gospels36. As the cover of the Faddan More Psalter is lined with papyrus and has traces of gold leaf on it, both materials not known to have been in use in Ireland at the relevant period, suggesting that the cover is an import, the Ravenna mosaic is particularly suggestive 37. What these fore-edge envelope flaps suggest is that we should take other representations with equal seriousness, even though we do not have surviving examples to “confirm” what is depicted, as in the St Laurence mosaic just described. The three loop and bead or toggle fastenings shown in the mosaic of St Mark in San Vitale in Ravenna (placed, incidentally, at the same heights as the buttons in the Faddan More Psalter) may therefore be taken to represent actual fastenings, even though the loops are long enough to fit over pins or possibly toggles attached by short thongs to the other side of the cover – unlike the short loops seen on the right side of the cover of Leiden rmo ms Anast. 9, which must have had toggles at the ends of longer thongs attached to the opposite board. The bindings from the monastery of St Michael in the Desert near the village of Hamuli in Egypt, mostly now in the Pierpont Morgan Library, show both loop and edge pins and loop and toggle fastenings, clasping from left to right and right to left 38. Fastenings of one sort or another seem to have been almost universal on these early codices, a reflection, as Boudalis has pointed out, of the fourth-century Rule of St Pachomius, which enjoins the fathers not to leave their books unfastened when they go to the synaxis or the refectory 39. The longer flexible thongs or straps which appear with some regularity at either the head- or tail-edges of open books in a number of depictions are more puzzling, and their function has not yet been satisfactorily explained40. Perhaps the most clearly depicted are those hanging from the

head-edge of the book in the left hand of St Laurence in the Galla Placidia mosaics in Ravenna [Fig. 3]. Here long straps or thongs hang from the upper outer corner of each board and two loops of the same material are attached to the same corners and either to the inner corner of each board (forming two loops) or in a single loop held to the spine by the martyr’s hand41. The book shown to the right of the scene of St Petronella introducing St Veneranda to Heaven in the Catacombs of Domitilla in Rome has both a loop and long strap emerging from the tail end of the spine of the open book [Fig. 8], and similar straps can be seen at the tail-edge of the book held by St Luke in San Vitale in Ravenna. A mosaic in the cupola of the Baptistery of Neon in Ravenna shows open books on four altar tables in which the two halves of each of the open bookblocks are divided by a vertical line. The book representing the Gospel of Matthew shows two straps, each one attached to the inner Kateusz, Mary (n. 4), p. 60. Boudalis, The Codex (n. 3), pp. 148 –149. Ibidem, pp. 149 –150. János A. Szirmai, The Archaeology of Medieval Bookbinding, London / New York 1999, fig. 3.8. 30 See Bernard Meehan, “Faddan More Book Cover”, in Art and Architecture of Ireland, vol. 1: Medieval, ca 400 – ca 1600, Andrew Carpenter ed., Dublin 2014, p. 246, fig. 268. 31 London, Lambeth Palace Library, ms 1370, fol. 115v: Jonathan J. G. Alexander, Insular Manuscripts 6th to the 9th Century, London 1978, cat. 70, ill. 327. 32 Fulda, Landesbibliothek, Codex Bonifatianus 3; fol. 24v: Alexander, Insular Manuscripts (n. 31), cat. 49, fig. 228. 33 Dublin, Trinity College, ms 59: Alexander, Insular Manuscripts (n. 31), cat. 48, fig. 225. 34 Meehan, “Faddan More” (n. 30), p. 246. 35 Jean Doresse, “Les reliures des manuscrits gnostiques coptes découverts à Khénoboskion”, Revue d’Égyptologie, xiii (1961), pp. 27 –49. 36 See n. 7. 37 Meehan, “Faddan More” (n. 30), p. 246. 38 Julia Miller, Books Will Speak Plain, Ann Arbor 2010, p. 33. 39 Boudalis, The Codex (n. 3), p. 133. 40 Books with similar straps/wrapping bands appeared in the Notitia Dignitatum Imperii Romani, a fifth-century manuscript, now lost, copied in four sixteenth-century manuscripts with a printed edition with woodcuts published in Basel in 1552 and in Lyon in 1608. The Munich manuscript (Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm. 10291) is reproduced in Pamela C. Berger, The Insignia of the Notitia Dignitatem, New York / London 1981, pls 19, 20, 63, 64; pl. 127 shows a leaf, “The Insigne of the Master of the Record Office”, from the Cambridge manuscript, (Fitzwilliam Museum, ms 86 -1972), and the manuscript now in Paris (bnf, Cod. lat. 9661) is reproduced in: Notitia Dignitatum Imperii Romani, Paris n.d., pls 35, 36, 79, 80. 41 The books in the cupboard as well as the one in the hand of St Laurence in the mosaic in the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia all show this feature (Guglielmo Cavallo, “Il segno cristiano. Le biblioteche tardo-antiche”,  in La biblioteca in-finita [n. 1], pp. 202–223, fig. 3). 26 27 28 29

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8 / Arcosolium tomb of Veneranda, Catacombs of Domitilla, Rome, 4th century

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and outer lower corners of one of the boards42. It is hard to determine the function of these straps, and why only one of the four books in the Baptistery of Neon should have them is equally unclear. The thong and the strap attached to each of the bottom outer corners of the book held by Christ in a painting at the back of the Cubiculum of Leone in the Catacombs of Commodilla remain to be explained, but appear to be of the same kind as those in the Galla Placidia mosaic 43. What is clear is that these features must represent, however distantly, a recognized feature of early codex bindings. They may be a reflection of the complex wrapping bands found on the Glazier Codex 44. On the other hand they could possibly represent hanging or carrying straps, an interpretation supported by the presence of fore-edge fastenings visible on the book held by the enthroned Christ in a seventh-century icon in St Catherine’s Monastery 45. There a single strap is attached to each of the upper outer corners of the boards, and triple leather straps with pin clasps at their outer ends are attached to the fore-edge of the right board with corresponding edge pins on the left board. The single strap across the head-edge could only have been safely used as a hanging or carrying strap if the edges of the bookblock were clasped. This type of fastening, using edge pins and pin clasps, became the predominant type of fastening used on Byzantine bindings, though its earliest history is only recorded in pictorial form46. The famous sixth-century icon of Christ Pantocrator at St Catherine’s Monastery shows double straps (rather than the more usual triple straps) attached to the right board and just discernible pin clasps at their outer ends, fitting over edge pins in the left board47. This type of fastening explains the many books in both paintings and mosaics that are shown with double lines running at right-angles across their edges48; however, the representations rarely show the detail of the fastenings and it is therefore impossible to see in which direction they fasten – from left side to right or vice versa. In sum, it can be said that although the archaeological record of the early centuries of the codex-form book is sparse, the painted and sculpted images of books from the first eight centuries of the Christian era provide enough material

to allow us to create at least a partial account of its appearance and early development. The artists often give enough detail in otherwise often very formulaic renderings of the books to allow the identification of features and structures which must originally have been based on real books, even if at several removes. This in turn suggests that features the purpose of which at present remains unclear would have been based on real book components that still remain to be explained. Books as indices of concealment and revelation The books held by Christ, by the prophets of the Old Testament, by the disciples and by saints in visual imagery from Late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages are then on the whole described to a high degree of accuracy, with their bindings and fastenings depicted more less as they were in actual books of the period. It would appear that the observer is being asked to recognize in them the same books as those used in the church in the performance of the liturgy and in the everyday ceremonial and usage of the Christian community. This would be conducive to a direct and familiar engagement with the books and so also with the individuals who hold them, as they appear on the walls. What then is the function of the books so prominently displayed in the visual imagery of the period and what is the operation with which the observer is being invited to engage so closely? One of the most extensive early sequences of nimbed figures holding books in both volumen and codex form is at Sant’Apollinare Nuovo in Ravenna, where a long series of thirty-two haloed witnesses, from around 500, is depicted in mosaic between the high windows of the nave [Fig. 9] 49. Here the majority, twenty-one, hold volumina, some closed, others open, but always only partly open. These are interspersed with eleven figures holding codices, always closed. The figures holding codices tend to be shown framed by those with volumina, and where three figures are depicted together, at the extremities of the two walls, the codex-bearer has the central position. The distinction may be between Old Testament prophets and the Apostles, although the numbers

do not accord exactly with the usual canonical tallies of members of the two groups50. Books here, rather than being mere attributes of scriptural authorship and authority, would appear also to be working as signifiers of concealment and revelation. Volumina are either scrolled tightly shut or shown half-open to the viewer, with the text partly covered and partly visible. This would be appropriate for prophets, whose utterances were generally understood by commentators on Scripture as veiled prefigurations of the salvific scheme of Redemption made possible by the Incarnation. The codices are more prominent visually than the monochrome volumina, with their bright red goatskin covers, set with blue and green gemstones and pearls. All are closed, some clasped, others with fastenings loosened for opening. If the figures holding books are to be identified with the Apostles, this would appear incongruous, since the church fathers generally saw the New Testament as the place in which the mysteries adumbrated in the Old Testament were finally thrown open and resolved51. The two forms of book here are clearly contrasted but at the same time they may both be functioning in cognate ways, as instruments of revelation but also of veiling. 42 Deichmann, Frühchristliche Bauten (n. 7), fig. 67. 43 Johann G. Deckers, Gabriele Mietke, Albrecht Wieland, Die Katakombe “Commodilla”. Repertorium der Malereien, Vatican City 1994, p. 94, colour pls 23–24. 44 Boudalis, The Codex (n. 3), pp. 71–72. 45 Sinai: Treasures of the Monastery of Saint Catherine, Konstantinos Manafis ed., Athens 1990, p. 137; Kurt Weitzmann, The Monastery of Saint Catherine at Mount Sinai. The Icons. i. From the Sixth to the Tenth Century, Princeton 1976, pl. xviii; Boudalis, The Codex (n. 3), fig. 125. 46 Szirmai, The Archaeology (n. 29), pp. 81– 83. 47 Sinai (n. 45), p. 136; Weitzmann, The Icons (n. 45), pl. i. 48 By way of example, see the roundels showing St Mark and St Matthew from the border of the apse mosaic in the church in the Monastery of Saint Catherine: Sinai (n. 45), pp. 74–75; George H. Forsyth, Kurt Weitzmann, The Monastery of Saint Catherine at Mount Sinai. The Church and Fortress of Justinian, Ann Arbor 1973, pl. cxvii b. 49 Deichmann, Frühchristliche Bauten (n. 7), pls 98 –107, 136  –151. The most comprehensive discussion of these figures is to be found in Friedrich W. Deichmann, Ravenna, Hauptstadt des spätantiken Abendlandes. Kommentar, 1. Teil, Wiesbaden 1974, pp. 152–154. Also Emanuela Penni Iacco, La basilica di Sant’Apollinare Nuovo di Ravenna attraverso i secoli, Bologna 2004, pp. 50 –51. 50 For a review of the various identities that have been proposed for these figures, see Deichmann, Ravenna (n. 49), p. 152. 51 Eg. Augustine, Quaestiones in Heptateuchum 2, 73, pl 34, col. 623.

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9 / Figures with books, Sant’Apollinare Nuovo, Ravenna, ca 500 10 / Apse with Christ and Apostles, Cappella di Sant’Aquilino, San Lorenzo Maggiore, Milan, late 4th century

Open and closed books

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A related item which seems to assume a similarly critical role in Early Christian imagery is the box for volumina, the capsa. In one of the angle-apses in the chapel of Sant’Aquilino, in San Lorenzo Maggiore, in Milan, in a late fourth-century mosaic, Christ is shown seated among his Apostles [Fig. 10]. Christ holds a partly open volumen, three of the Apostles have what may be closed codices, and an open capsa full of tightly-rolled scrolls is depicted prominently in the center foreground52. Again books are depicted as the principal foils for the human figures, closed yet available. Here the capsa acts visually as a point of entry into the depicted action. The capsa in Early Christian visual contexts has been identified as an image of the closed scriptures of the Old Testament and Law, which will be fulfilled and revealed with the coming of Christ at the Incarnation and the promulgation of the New Law, the salvific Word of God53. In this reading, the capsa depicted in the apse in Sant’Aquilino would represent an emblematic antetype for Christ as the embodiment of the Word, and an opening to the salvific message of the Gospel54.

In both Sant’Apollinare Nuovo and in Sant’Aquilino books are being shown as things that both conceal and reveal, as points of access to truths whose revelation will open the way to everlasting life. However, it is with death that the issues of salvation become most pressing on the individual, and it is not surprising that closed books were depicted to particularly dramatic effect in the catacombs of Rome and Naples, particularly in the painted imagery of arcosolium tombs. In the lunette over the fourth-century tomb in the Catacombs of Domitilla, outside Rome, described above, a lady, Veneranda, is being led forward towards a bank of red flowers by a female named Petronella, sometimes identified with St Peter’s daughter [Fig. 8] 55. The flowers suggest that Veneranda is being ushered into paradise56. She extends her left hand towards an open capsa, lid cast aside, full of scrolled volumina. Above is a codex, its boards and pages thrown open to reveal summarily indicated lines of text, with a long strap, which may have served to bind the book securely shut, loose and trailing. Here, on the preserved half of the arcosolium, the open

capsa of closed volumina below and the open codex levitating above, painted large, are the two signs chosen to accompany the deceased, to mark her passage to everlasting life 57. As we have seen, open books, the Gospels, similarly play indexical supporting parts in three late fifth-century tombs in the Catacombs of San Gennaro in Naples. At one, the deceased lady, Cerula, arms raised in a gesture of prayer, perhaps of acceptance and ascent, is accompanied by two codices, one either side of her head, above her extended hands. These are identified as containing the Gospels of Mark and John, Luke and Matthew [Fig. 1] 58. The books are thrown open, with their securing ties and their board markers flying free. A further tomb in the same gallery in the Naples catacombs with exactly the same imagery is that of another lady, Bitalia [Fig. 6] 59. Again there is emphasis on the ties, which are shown hanging down in realistic manner, if anything more prominent than those on the tomb of Cerula. Books figure prominently in a third arcosolium tomb in the Catacombs of San Gennaro,

that of Heleusinius, portrayed in a medallion amid a scrolling vine heavy with grapes [Fig. 4] 60. Here open codices have their own separate spaces at the feet of the intrados of the arch, at either side of the tomb [Fig. 5]. The pages carry summarily indicated lines of text and the ties are still just 52 Per J. Nordhagen, “Mosaici di Sant’Aquilino: originali e rifacimenti”, in Il millennio ambrosiano. Milano, un capitale da Ambrogio ai Carolingi, Carlo Bertelli ed., Milan 1987, pp. 162–177, fig. 181. 53 Rainer, Das Buch (n. 11), pp. 144–145. 54 On the capsa, see Theodor Birt, Die Buchrolle in der Kunst, Leipzig 1907, pp. 248 –255; For its depiction and role in Christian contexts, see Rainer, Das Buch (n. 11), pp. 139 –146. 55 Josef Wilpert, Die Malereien der Katakomben Roms, Freiburg im Breisgau 1903, i, pp. 466 –467, pl. 213; Raffaella Giuliani, “Il restauro dell’arcosolio di Veneranda nelle catacombe di Domitilla sulla Via Ardeatina”,  Rivista di Archeologia Cristiana, lxx (1994), pp. 61– 87; Boudalis, The Codex (n. 3), fig. 103; Rainer, Das Buch (n. 11), pp. 144–145. 56 On the symbolism of red flowers in funerary contexts in late antiquity, see n. 80. 57 For Rainer, Das Buch (n. 11), pp. 144–145, they chart for the deceased the passage from the veiled prefigurations and prophesies of the writings of Moses and the prophets to the revealed truths of Christ’s Gospel. 58 See n. 4. 59 Liccardo, “Donne” (n. 4), pp. 235–236; Braconi, “L’arcosolio” (n. 4), p. 137; Kateusz, Mary (n. 4), p. 157. 60 Mazzoleni,“Note e osservazioni”(n. 13), sp. p. 153; Liccardo, Redemptor meus vivit (n. 13), p. 68.

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discernible, an array of curling ribbons falling out from the covers. The books are not identified, but by analogy with the other two tombs it is very likely that they represent the Gospels. It should be noted that the soffit of the arch above the books is filled with a lattice, a diagonal grid. At one level this serves as a filler; however, the diagonal grill in Antiquity was in common practical use to screen openings to indicate a permeable barrier. It is a device that was widely deployed as one of the principal visual signifiers used in the period to announce the proximity, the threshold, of a site of particular sanctity, like the relic-presence of a saint, or even the Holy Sepulcher of Christ itself 61. The implication here could be that the books lie at a threshold, offering a means of passage to a higher, more sacred precinct and existence. Compositions analogous to those of Cerula and Bitalia, comprising an axial figure with qualifying flanking figures or symbols over each shoulder, are not common. However, at another arcosolium tomb in the same catacomb in Naples, St Januarius is depicted in the central position with a cross either side of his head, between the two deceased, Cominia and the child Nicatiola62. These crosses, set above each of the saint’s hands, raised in a gesture of intercession for the mother and child, can be taken as representing the divine response to the saint’s request. They would appear to have a cognate function to the Gospels flanking Cerula, serving as signs and guarantors of victory over death and of salvation granted to the two deceased below, as fingerposts to eternity. The relationship of the open to the closed book, when they appear together in a funerary context, is clearly shown in the lunette composition of a saint going to his martyrdom in the oratory of Galla Placidia, a funerary oratory, annexed to the narthex of the church of Santa Croce in Ravenna [Fig. 3] 63. On the left is a book-cupboard, allegorically the image of Christ as the ark of the new covenant, conceived as the heavenly tabernacle in the image of the Torah shrine, with the four Gospels, the fulfillment of the Law, identified, on shelves, closed but with their clasps undone and their bands and fastenings loose and hanging 64. On the right, the saint, St Laurence or St Vincent,

hurries to his death on the gridiron, one hand grasping a long-stemmed golden cross, the other holding a codex, wide open, the text exposed and the bands and fastenings similarly falling away 65. The sequence of closed books with loosened covers, on the one hand, and the open book, on the other, would appear to show that the way to Paradise is open, just as the flames leaping through the gridiron meet and are transformed into the divine light of God’s intervention and presence as it streams in through the window above. Saint, cupboard and gridiron all stand in paragone, all three exempla of transcendence and everlasting life, cross, books and flames. The cupboard filled with the books of the Gospel, loosened and ready for opening, and with its doors thrown wide, figures as one portal to Paradise66. It shares this function with the other rectangular elements in the composition, the window, the flaming gridiron and the open book held by the martyr. With its open doors and solid white-leaved books, the cupboard parallels the saint, configured likewise with the wings of his brilliant white pallium flying out on either side. All are doors to salvation, the red covers and ties of the books echoing the flames which envelope the gridiron and referencing the blood of the saint, the veil of the flesh which is the final way to the perfect vision of God and eternal life67. A few texts from the Early Christian fathers such as those by Tyconius, writing in Carthage in the second half of the 4th century, and Primasius, in Hadrumetum, in modern Tunisia, in the mid 6th century directly gloss the significance of the open book. In their commentaries on the Apocalypse, both explicate the “open book” held in his hand by the mighty angel, of Revelation 10, 2, clothed in a cloud, a rainbow on his head, his face like the sun and his feet like pillars of fire, as showing that the secrets of the Old Testament, which had been clouded in mystery, are now laid open and revealed in the New Testament 68. The visual evidence would seem to indicate that the open book is commonly deployed to announce the direct revelation of the Word of the incarnate God and the access to the salvation that it promises; and Thomas Rainer has argued that it evolved as the image of the self-revelation of Christ, as the

ideal symbol for the truths concealed within Old Testament scripture, in the Torah and the prophets, that are made manifest in the salvific message of Christ’s Gospel69. Perhaps the most telling elucidation of the open book in Christian exegesis is to be found not in Early Christian authors but in the writing of Ambrosius Autpertus, a major theologian working at the southern Beneventan monastery of San Vincenzo al Volturno in the third quarter of the 8th century. In his commentary on the Book of Revelation, Autpert interprets the little open book held out by the angel with a face like the sun, who descended from the heavens 70, as a revelation of the grace of the New Testament: “The angel coming down from heaven removed the veil, and opened the book with the brilliance of his countenance, because our Mediator Christ appearing in the flesh, abandoned the observances of the law, and declared the grace of the New Testament fulfilled in his own person”71. Autpert goes on to say: “Those who behold the glory of God, with countenance revealed, are invited to the open book”72. And later he comments repeatedly on the opened Book of Life, in which the deeds of the dead are recorded, by which they will be judged at the Last Judgment, and in which the names of the elect, the saints and the pure, predestined for salvation, are registered73. Ambrosius Autpertus’ interpretation of the open books described in the Apocalypse are of particular interest in relation to the open codices held by painted figures in a ninth-century subterranean funerary oratory, the so-called Crypt of Epyphanius, at San Vincenzo al Volturno, the monastery at which he had spent his working life and had been abbot. In the context of an extensive and complex painted program of imagery that covers the walls of the oratory, one of these open books is held by Christ, represented standing between Sts Laurence and Stephen in a niche over a small altar in the north arm of the crypt [Fig. 11] 74. The other is held by the Virgin Mary, enthroned as Queen of Heaven in the vault of the focal western arm [Fig. 12] 75. The book held by Christ is inscribed with the words Ego Sum Deus Abraham – I am the God of Abraham76. These are the words which Moses heard as he approached

61 Richard Hodges, Sarah Leppard, John Mitchell, San Vincenzo and its Workshops, London 2011, pp. 77 –  7 9, 86 – 87; John Mitchell, “L’idea di un monastero nell’alto medioevo: l’esempio di San Vincenzo al Volturno”,  in Dal ducato al principato: I Longobardi del sud, Atti del Convegno internazionale di studi (Benevento, 23–25 novembre 2017), Marcello Rotili ed., Spoleto (forthcoming). 62 Umberto M. Fasola, Le catacombe di S. Gennaro a Capidimonte, Rome 1974, pp. 102–107, fig. 70, pl. vii; Fabrizio Bisconti, “Riflessi del culto di San Gennaro nel complesso catacombale di Capidimonte”, in San Gennaro nel xvii Centenario del martirio (305–2005), Gennaro Luongo ed., Naples 2006, pp. 165–176, fig. 5. 63 Deichmann, Frühchristliche Bauten (n. 7), pls 5–7; Poeschke, Italian Mosaics (n. 6), pl. 34. The most comprehensive discussion of this image is to be found in Deichmann, Ravenna (n. 49), pp. 75–79. On the function of the chapel, see Gillian Mackie, Early Christian Chapels in the West. Decoration, Function and Patronage, Toronto/ Buffalo/London 2003, pp. 172–194. See also Rainer, Das Buch (n. 11), pp. 149 –150. 64 Cavallo, “Il segno cristiano” (n. 41), fig. 3; Carl Wendel, “Der antike Bücherschrank”, Nachrichten der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen, Phil.-Hist. Klasse, vii (1943), pp. 267–299, sp. pp. 278 –279; Deichmann, Ravenna (n. 49), pp. 77–78; Jennifer O’Reilly, “The Library of Scripture. Views from Vivarium and Wearmouth-Jarrow”, in New Offerings, Ancient Treasures. Studies in Medieval Art for George Henderson, Paul Binski, William Noel eds, Stroud 2001, pp. 3–39, sp. pp. 7 – 8; Rainer, Das Buch (n. 11), pp. 147 –151. 65 The saint is usually identified as St Laurence; however Gilliam Mackie has argued for him being St Vincent of Saragossa: Gillian Mackie, “New Light on the So-Called St. Lawrence Panel at the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia in Ravenna”, Gesta, xxix (1990), pp. 54– 60, sp. pp. 56 –58; idem, Early Christian Chapels (n. 63), pp. 189 –192. 66 If it is St Vincent that is pictured here, as Gillian Mackie has argued, the books in the cupboard may also represent the secret writings which Prudentius describes the Governor of Spain, Datianus, as demanding that the saint disclose: Prudentius, Peristephanon, 5, 181–188; Mackie, Early Christian Chapels (n. 63), pp. 189 –190; idem, “New Light” (n. 65), pp. 57. 67 Heb 10, 19 –20. The many different interpretations of this image are comprehensively reviewed by Deichmann, Ravenna (n. 49), pp. 75–79; see also, more recently, Mackie, Early Christian Chapels (n. 63), pp. 185–191; O’Reilly, “The Library of Scripture” (n. 64), pp. 3–39, sp. pp. 7– 8; and especially Rainer, Das Buch (n. 11), pp. 147 –151. 68 Tyconius, Expositio Apocalyseos 3, 23, line 1, Corpus Christianorum, Clavis Patrum Latinorum 710, p. 164; Primasius, Commentarius in Apocalypsin 3, 10, line 23, cpl 873. In a related vein, Gregory the Great, in the late 6th century and Pseudo Isidore of Seville, both identify the open book with the Book of Life in which are written the deeds by which the dead shall be judged (Pseudo Isidore, Testimonia divinae scripturae et partum 7. 21, cpl 385; Gregory, Moralia in Job 24, 8, line 56, cpl 1708). 69 Rainer, Das Buch (n. 11), p. 144. 70 Rev. 10, 1–2. 71 In Apocalypsin v.10, 2a, ll. 12–16; Ambrosii Autperti, Opera, Robert Weber ed., i, Turnhout 1975, p. 390. 72 In Apocalypsin v.10, 8, ll. 13–15; Ambrosii Autperti Opera (n. 71), i, p. 399. 73 Rev. 3, 5; 20.12–15; In Apocalypsin vi.13, 7b, ll. 55ff; viii.17, 8b, ll. 34–49; ix.20, 14, ll. 37 – 75; Ambrosii Autperti Opera (n. 71), ii, pp. 501–502, 656, 774–775. 74 John Mitchell, “The Crypt Reappraised”,  in San Vincenzo al Volturno 1. The 1980 – 86 Excavations. Part i, Richard Hodges ed., London 1993, pp. 75–114, sp. pp. 77, 88 – 89 and passim, figs 7:9 –10. 75 Mitchell,  “The Crypt Reappraised” (n. 74), pp. 80, 93– 95, figs 7:23 and 25. 76 Ex. 3, 6.

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the Burning Bush, the first veiled theophany, in which God spoke to Moses but did not reveal himself to Moses’ sight. In the painted niche, the words announce the theophanic presence of God; and the image of Christ holding the book, with the Greek word ΦωΣ – light – in his cross-halo, shows that this is a direct vision, in which the chosen faithful can now behold the incarnate God directly face to face, brilliant in his full divinity. The words written in the book held by Mary, now almost illegible, are a variant reading from the third verse of the Magnificat, the canticle she sang at the Visitation: “ex hoc enim beatam me dicent” – for (behold) from henceforth (all generations) shall call me blessed77. These words serve as a key to the whole program of imagery in the oratory, in which Mary is exalted, raised in status to be Queen of Heaven, on account of her humility and obedience in accepting her role as the vessel of the incarnation78. In this she, together with Christ in his crucifixion and Sts Laurence and Stephen in their martyrdoms, depicted on the adjacent walls, provides a model of obedient service and sacrifice for the individual entombed in the oratory, so opening the path to everlasting life. In both cases these open books act as points of access to Paradise, the one held by Christ promising the replacement of Moses’ veiled encounter with God at the Burning Bush with an immediate face-toface vision of the now visible incarnate God, the other offering resurrection and salvation, through the example set by Mary. What about closed books? Closed books, tightly clasped, their covers adorned with jewels and pearls, often embellishing a large cross, depicted in the hands of Christ, his saints and church dignitaries are to be found throughout the Christian world in Late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages. Like the open books depicted on the arcosolium tombs in the Catacombs of San Gennaro, closed codices were to be prominently featured signifiers in a funerary context in Lombardy a generation earlier than the crypt at San Vincenzo al Volturno. On the walls of an extraordinary block-built tomb of a late eighth-century abbess, named Ariperga, excavated twenty years ago in the atrium of the elite monastery church of San Felice in Pavia, the four Gospels, closed and fastened on all three

edges, covered in gold and richly jeweled, figure prominently in the dense visual apparatus of passage surrounding the deceased [Fig. 13] 79. Here they complement crosses and flowers, the former to a degree protective, but all probably figuring primarily as liminal markers, showing the way to salvation80. The inscriptions on the walls of the tomb confirm this. All call for the resurrection and rebirth of Ariperga into eternal life, reading: “God have mercy on me and raise me to new life at the coming of your glory”, “Lord, give salvation to your servant Abbess Ariperga who lays her hope in you” and “I know that my redeemer lives and that in the last day I shall rise up and will be clothed again in my skin”81. Similarly, closed books were depicted in funerary contexts in Late Antiquity. In the socalled Crypt of the Bishops, in the Catacombs of San Gennaro in Naples, a sequence of fifth-century bishops are depicted, half-figure in medallion frames, some in mosaic, others in paint, in the lunettes of their arcosolium tombs [Fig. 14] 82. Four mosaic lunettes are preserved, although damaged, and in two of these the deceased are shown holding large codices. The better preserved of these has a cover sumptuously embellished with a large cross surrounded by the beast-symbols of the four Evangelists83. The book is shown on the slant with

its internal pages delineated on the two visible edges, and the cross and the beasts on the cover are in gold, picked out in blue glass tesserae in imitation of gemstones. Lawrence Nees has argued that this reproduces an actual deluxe book-cover of the period, the antecedent of the four-symbols pages which subsequently were 77 Luke i, 48. 78 Robert Deshman, “Servants of the Mother of God in Byzantine and Medieval Art”, Word and Image, v/1 (1989), pp. 33–70, sp. pp. 46 –50; Mitchell, “The Crypt Reapprai­ sed”(n. 74), pp. 83– 92, 100 –102; Francesca Dell’Acqua, Iconophilia: Religion, Politics, and Sacred Images in Italy c. 680 – 880, Birmingham (forthcoming). 79 Saverio Lomartire, Anna Segagni, “San Felice. 264. Tomba della badessa Ariperga”,   in Il futuro dei Longobardi. L’Italia e la costruzione dell’Europa di Carlo Magno, Carlo Bertelli, Gian Pietro Brogiolo eds, Milan 2000, pp. 248 –249. 80 On the symbolism of flowers in funerary and other contexts in Late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages, see Patricia Cox Miller, “’The Little Blue Flower Is Red’: Relics and Poetizing of the Body”,  Journal of Early Christian Studies, viii/2 (2000), pp. 72– 88; Serena La Mantia, “Come il vento con i papaveri. L’immagine del martire e le nuove simbologie floreali nell’alto medioevo”, in Un medioevo in lungo e in largo da Bisanzio al occidente (vi –xvi secolo). Studi per Valentino Pace, Vittoria Camelliti, Alessia Trivellone eds, Pisa 2014, pp. 41–49; and on the role played by crosses and flowers in funerary contexts, see Mitchell, “L’idea” (n. 61). 81 Lomartire/Segagni,“San Felice”(n. 79), pp. 248 –249. “+Miserere me Deus et resuscitat me in aventum regni gloriae tuae”; “+Salvam fac ancillam tuam Aripergam abbatissam Deus meus sperantem in te”; “Scio enim quia redemptor vivit et in novissimo die de terra surrecturus sum et rursum circumdabor pelle mea” (Job 19, 25– 6). 82 Fasola, Le catacombe di S. Gennaro (n. 62), pp. 133–150. 83 Ibidem, pp. 155–160, fig. 98, pl. xiia.

11 / Christ with book, Crypt of Epyphanius, San Vincenzo al Volturno, ca 825– 830 12 / Virgin Mary with book, Crypt of Epyphanius, San Vincenzo al Volturno, ca 825– 830 13 / Tomb of Abbess Ariperga, San Felice, Pavia, late 8th century

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to be a feature of insular Gospel Books 84. This is pretty certainly the case. However, the book figures large and together with the face of the deceased is one of the two focuses of the image. Furthermore the bishop holds it up at an angle, and with the fingers of his free hand draws the attention of the observer to the composition on the cover. This is the jeweled cross, the cross that will precede the Second Coming of the Lord and the Last Judgement at the end of time, with the four beasts, the four Evangelists in their transfigured states but also the four beasts of the apocalyptic vision, which surround the throne of God as he was revealed in his full presence and radiance to St John85. The book, the Gospels to judge from the beasts on its cover, is closed but its pages are palpably visible. The sense would appear to be that the epiphany of the jeweled cross attended by the beasts, evangelistic but also apocalyptic, heralds the Second Coming, the direct vision of God and the salvation of the individual. At the same time the imagery provides the key to the closed book, to unveiling the closed utterances of the prophets

and to providing access to the salvific promise of everlasting life in Christ’s Gospel. A somewhat different richly adorned closed codex is held by Christ in a panel with an extended Traditio Clavium, from the early 6th century, in the Catacombs of Commodilla, outside Rome [Fig. 15] 86. This is a resplendent book, also purposefully depicted on the slant, to show the block of pages containing the text, with clasping bands binding it tightly shut. As in the tomb of Ariperga, the fastenings closing the book are many and multiple. The painted surface is damaged; two clasps are preserved on the long lateral fore-edge, and one on the upper edge; however their positions suggest that originally there was another clasp on each edge – giving three on the long edge and two on each of the shorter upper and lower edges, seven in all. A similar book is held by Christ on an eighth-century openwork ivory book-cover from north-western Europe, the Genoels-Elderen diptych [Fig. 16] 87. Here the book is complete, with three clasps on the fore-edge, two on the upper edge and two on the tail (invisible), again seven in total.

14 / Tomb of a bishop (Quodvultdeus?), Crypt of the Bishops, Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, 5th century 15 / Christ with book, Catacombs of Commodilla, Rome, 4th century 16 / Christ trampling beasts, ivory diptych from Genoels-Elderen, 8th century / Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire (Brussels)

To judge from the surviving evidence, books in this period were not regularly fitted with as many as three fastenings on the fore-edges and two on the upper and lower edges – in the Byzantine eastern Mediterranean one or two fastenings on the fore-edge and sometimes one each at head and tail seem to have been a regular provision, in the early medieval West just two fastenings on the fore-edge with additional ones often at head and tail on books made in Italy 88. Like the extravagantly flying ties on the open books in the Catacombs of San Gennaro and the often over-large gems typically depicted on the covers of closed deluxe codices, the depiction of codices on the slant to show the edges with compressed pages and the meticulous rendition of multiple fastenings, while reproducing the features of actual books, may be indexical and possibly symbolic rather than purely descriptive. The conceit of the tightly clasped book calls to mind the sealed Book of Revelation, and the seven clasps on the books held by Christ in the Catacombs of Commodilla and on the ivory diptych from Genoels-Elderen inevitably brings

to mind its Seven Seals. This is the book that will be unsealed by the Lion of Judah and the Lamb and opened in the run-up to the general resurrection89. As is argued in the first part of this paper, these books are represented as veristic likenesses, generally and in many details true to life, in their forms and in the manner of their make-up. However, the ties of the open codices, rather than hanging loosely, are often shown flying out from 84 Lawrence Nees, “A Fifth-Century Book Cover and the Origin of the Four Evangelist Symbols Page in the Book of Durrow”,  Gesta, xvii/1 (1978), pp. 3– 8. 85 Matt. 24, 30; Rev. 4. 86 Deckers/Mietke/Wieland, Die Katakombe “Commodilla”(n. 43), pp. 52–53, colour pls 3a, 4. 87 Adolf Goldschmidt, Die Elfenenbeinskulpturen aus der Zeit der karolingischen und sächsichen Kaiser viii.–xi. Jahrhundert, vol. i, Berlin 1914, pl. 1. 88 Boudalis, The Codex (n. 3), figs 4–5; Szirmai, The Archaeology (n. 29), pp. 81, 131–132. However, late Coptic books did regularly have three fastenings on the fore-edge and one or two at head and tail (Szirmai, The Archeology [n. 29], p. 41). It should be added that triple clasps are very difficult to handle. 89 Rev. 5– 8. Indeed, in the apse of San Vitale at Ravenna, Christ is depicted holding his book in the form of the Apocalyptic volumen with its seven seals yet to be opened (Deichmann, Frühchristliche Bauten [n. 7], pl. 351).

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the book, drawing attention to the pages flung wide open; and the covers of the closed books, often set with oversize gems, one at the center and four at the corner angles, or with a great cross, with a prominent large colored stone set at the center, and others on each of the four arms and in each of the quadrants, do not exactly correspond to the little we know of the actual composition of deluxe jeweled bindings from the first millennium 90. Depicted codices, despite closely referencing actual books, may be doing something more. We have seen how open books, particularly when depicted in funerary contexts, can function as invitations and means of access to a direct unveiled vision of God, functioning as emblematic psychopomps and gateways to eternal life 91. However, of all the books represented in funerary contexts and on the walls of churches, some partly open, some wide open and some closed, the closed ones are the most visually striking and also the most enigmatic – demonstrably shut and usually fastened, and with their covers displayed in flat projection and set with large and brilliant gemstones. The fastenings which secure the books can be taken as references to the seals of the Book of Revelation, the unsealing and opening of which will lead to the general resurrection of the elect and the new Paradise. They are the fastenings which secure the door to eternal life. The precious stones and the crosses which often form the central accent of the composition, in this reading, are the keys to its unlocking, the instruments that can pierce and rend the veil of the text, in which the message and truths of salvation are shrouded. Gemstones were understood by Christian authors of the period as embodying in their very material and luminosity the qualities of Christ and his saints, as well as constituting the foundations of Paradise, the celestial Jerusalem92. The cross was many-functioned and polyvalent but above all it was a marker of thresholds, and a sign, a standard of victorious passage – crosses over the entrances of houses, sewn to the shrouds of Christians in death, painted on the walls of graves, cut into gravestones, constituting focal accents on and in funerary oratories, the cross on which the incarnate God died and transited from a human to a divine state, and the cross, the sign of the Son

of Man, which will appear in heaven to announce the Parousia, the Second Coming of the Lord and the Last Judgement93. In the patristic tradition, Holy Scripture was understood as a veil or screen, giving onto inlying salvific truths. Commonly the Old Testament was seen as a veiled book, concealing a message of victory over death and everlasting life, truths that with the incarnation and the coming of Christ were revealed in the New Testament, in which the veil was removed. However, there was a tendency to understand all sacred texts, all letters, as veils, existing in the realm of earthly carnality. So, Claudius of Turin, writing around 800, writes: “When the Word of God was shown to men through the lawgiver and the prophets, it was not shown them without suitable clothing. There (in the Old Testament) it is covered by the veil of the flesh, here (in the New Testament and now) by the veil of the letter. The letter appears as flesh; but the true spiritual sense within is known as divinity […] Blessed are the eyes which see divine spirit through the letter’s veil94 ”.

The book is a veil, a screen both closed and open, a means of access not only to the promise of everlasting life contained within, but to the divine spirit, to the very presence of the saving God. A final example will give an idea of how these conceits may have played out in liturgical practice in Late Antiquity. In one of the two mosaic compositions of imperial presence in the apse of San Vitale, in Ravenna, the emperor, Justinian, is depicted in the context of the First Entrance of the Divine Liturgy, holding a great golden bowl, an ideal eucharistic offering, which he is making to the church [Fig. 17] 95. The scene constitutes one of a constellation of images of offering deployed on the walls and vaults of the sanctuary, including St Vitalis and the Bishop Ecclesius in the conch, and Old Testament prefigurations of Christ’s eucharistic sacrifice on the walls of the sanctuary, all directed to the figure of Christ, enthroned on the universal globe in the apse 96. In the imperial panel below, Justinian is shown stationed on the threshold of the divine, behind the altar and approaching the presence of Christ in the vault of the apse above. Justinian is preceded by four figures, a man dressed in court attire, probably the patron of the church Julianus Argentarius,

90 Frauke Steenbock, Der kirchliche Prachteinband im frühen Mittelalter, Berlin 1965; David Ganz, Buch-Gewänder. Prachteinbände im Mittelalter, Berlin 2015. 91 Christ speaks of himself as the door to salvation (John 10, 9) and the apostles also are referred to by Caesarius of Arles as doors, who through their teaching (doctrinam) open the way to life eternal: Commentary on the Apocalypse, Homily xix, pl 35, col. 2451; Corpus Christianorum, cpl 1016, part 19, 274, ll. 17–18). 92 Christel Meier, Gemma Spiritalis. Methode und Gebrauch der Edelsteinallegorese vom frühen Christentum bis ins 18. Jahrhundert, Munich 1977; Dominic Janes, God and Gold in Late Antiquity, Cambridge 1998, pp. 79 – 84. 93 Crosses on the walls of graves: Cinzia Fiorio Tedone, “Dati e riflessioni sulle tombe altomedievali internamente intonacate e dipinte rinvenute a Milano e in Italia settentrionale”, in Atti del 10. Congresso internazionale di studi sull’alto medioevo, Milan 26 –30 settembre 1983, Spoleto 1986, pp. 403–428; eadem, “Tombe dipinte altomedievali rinvenute a Verona”,  Archeologia Veneta, vii (1985), pp. 251–288. Crosses on gravestones: John Mitchell, “Script About the Cross: the Tombstones of San Vincenzo al Volturno”, in Roman, Runes and Ogham: Medieval Inscriptions in the Insular World and on the Continent, Katherine Forsyth, John Higgitt, David N. Parsons eds, Donington 2002, pp. 158 –74. Crosses on funerary shrouds: Die Goldblattkreuze des frühen Mittelalters, Wolfgang Hübener ed., Baden 1975; Horst W. Böhme, “Goldblattkreuze”, in Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, vol. 12: Getränke–Greiftierstil,

Berlin / New York 1998, pp. 312–318; Caterina Giostra, Le croci in lamina d’oro di età longobarda tra organizzazione artigianale, mutamenti ideologici distinzione sociale, doctoral thesis, (Università degli Studi dell’Aquila), L’Aquila 2000/2001. Crosses on funerary oratories: Judson J. Emerick, The Tempietto del Clitunno near Spoleto, University Park, pa 1998, pp. 251–258, figs 4, 5, 15, 36 –38. Cross and Parousia: Matt. 24, 30. 94 Commentary on Leviticus, preface, pl 104, col. 617; cited and translated by Herbert L. Kessler, Spiritual Seeing. Picturing God’s Invisibility in Medieval Art, Philadelphia 2000, p. 187. 95 Deichmann, Frühchristliche Bauten (n. 7), figs 359, 369; André Grabar, L’età d’oro di Giustiniano dall morte di Teodosio all’Islam, Milan 1966, pl. 171. For discussions of this composition, see Thomas F. Mathews, The Early Churches of Constantinople: Architecture and Liturgy, University Park / London 1971, pp. 146 –147; Friedrich W. Deichmann, Ravenna, Hauptstadt des spätantiken Abendlandes. Kommentar, 2. Teil, Wiesbaden 1976, pp. 180 –187, sp. pp. 180 –181; Sabine G. MacCormack, Art and Ceremony in Late Antiquity, Berkeley / Los Angeles / London 1981, pp. 259 –266; Jaś Elsner, Art and the Roman Viewer. The Transformation of Art from the Pagan World to Christianity, Cambridge 1995, pp. 177–189; Deliyannis, Ravenna in Late Antiquity (n. 7), pp. 238 –243; Carola Jäggi, Ravenna. Kunst und Kultur einer spätantiken Residenzstadt, Regensburg 2013, pp. 253–255. 96 For a description of the program, see Deliyannis, Ravenna in Late Antiquity (n. 7), pp. 237–250; Jäggi, Ravenna (n. 95), pp. 249 –259.

17 / Justinian with his entourage making an offering to the church and to Christ, San Vitale, Ravenna, ca 547

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the bishop, Maximianus, who holds a jeweled gold Any study of books and the depiction of books cross, and two deacons, one holding a great codex from Late Antiquity and the earliest Middle Ages with a golden jeweled cover, the other swing- is inevitably hampered by the almost complete ing a censer with glowing coals and corns of in- loss of deluxe codices with their original bindcense. As Bissera Pentcheva has argued, the smoke ings and covers preserved. Apart from assemand smell of incense announce the presence of the blages of ivory plaques with figural imagery Holy Spirit, indicating the empsychosis, the inspir- which once embellished book-covers, the only iting, of the offertory gifts97. Incense was used in surviving example earlier than the late 8th cenliturgical ceremonial as a material instantiation tury are the covers of a book which the Lombard of sacrifice, offering, veneration, the symbol of queen, Theodelinda, presented to her foundation, worship and prayer, visibly rising to heaven with San Giovanni Battista, at Monza, soon after 60099. 98 its intense, fragrant fumes . Here the codex is be- We have no means of ascertaining the precise ing carried in to be placed on the altar. However, appearance and composition of high-end books the jeweled book, together with the cross held by made for ceremonial use in the Christian liturgy the bishop and the glowing censer carried by the – like the fifty copies of scripture commissioned foremost deacon, can all be understood as liminal from Eusebius by the emperor Constantine in markers, enabling passage over the threshold to 332 or the jeweled codices written in gold and the divine presence of Christ in the apse conch silver on which St Jerome turned his wrath – other above. It should be noted that the foremost deacon, than by reference to the depictions of books in swinging the censer, overlaps with his free hand contemporary visual imagery100. In this process, and with his foremost foot the jeweled column unfortunately, there is always the danger of dethat frames the scene; he is shown moving out scent into circular reasoning. However, a careful of the constraints of the depicted narrative into consideration of the evidence of more humble the real space of the sanctuary and into the tran- books from the period which do survive with scendental space conjured up by the narratives in their bindings and covers more or less preserved mosaic depicted on the surrounding wall-surfaces. can provide a measure of objective control on the It is the jeweled book that is the most prominent brilliantly ornate simulacra of codices that figure of these liminal markers. in paintings, mosaics and carvings of the period101. The deluxe codex, the four-square three-dimensional casket-like book, sealed by multiple 97 Bissera V. Pentcheva, The Sensual Icon. Space, Ritual and the fastenings, embellished with settings of large Senses in Byzantium, University Park, pa 2010, pp. 36 –44. polychrome luminous gemstones, often config- 98 Hiltrud Westermann-Angerhausen, Erlösung reichen. Weihrauch in Kunst und Kult (16. Sigurd Greven-Vorlesung, ured about a brilliant cross on the displayed cover, 21. November 2012), Cologne 2012, pp. 8, 12, fig. 16. See also eadem, Mittelalterliche Weihrauchfässer von 800 bis 1500, is one of the most unlikely but most powerful Petersberg 2014, pp. 32–34, 43–44. symbols of the new Christian religious imagery 99 Il tesoro del Duomo di Monza, Lamberto Vitali ed., Milan 1966, pp. 30 –31, pls 45– 8; Il Duomo di Monza: I tesori, Roin the late Roman world. The salvific text is conberto Conti ed., Milan 1990, pp. 24–25; Ganz, Buch-Gewänder (n. 90), pp. 231–232; Rainer, Das Buch (n. 11), pp. 57 – 89, tained, fully veiled and closed and yet at the same pl. xiii–xiv. time is directly accessible via the jewels and the 100 Eusebius, Life of Constantine 4, 36: In the Beginning (n. 2), pp. 32–33; St Jerome, Letter 27, 32: Bernhard Bischoff, Latin cross. It is the unresolved conjunction of these Palaeography, Cambridge 1990, p. 184. elements that makes these books such powerful 101 Our thanks for help of various kinds in the preparation of this paper to Jane Chick, Valeria Ciao, Susan Haskins, liminal veils, icons of transcendent passage, such Carola Jäggi, Bea Leal, Richard Maguire, Victoria Mitchell, striking gateways to everlasting life. Saverio Lomartire and Nick Warr.

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summary „Blaze očím, jež vidí svatého Ducha skrze závoj písma“ Kniha jako předmět a idea

První část článku je věnována podobě knih kontextu mohly otevřené knihy s volnými, téměř a procesu jejich výroby v pozdní antice, alespoň létajícími stuhami vizuálně evokovat „dveře“ ke nakolik jsme jej schopni odvodit z dochovaných spáse. Tuto metaforu popisují a podporují dokonce příkladů či znázornění na malbách, mozaikách i zobrazené textové úryvky, alespoň v případech, nebo reliéfech. Ve druhé části je pozornost věno- kdy jsme schopni je rozluštit. Poprvé je tato myšlenvána některým z rolí, které knihy v obrazech hrají, ka nastíněna již v raně křesťanských exegetických především pak jako ikonické obrazy a indexy urči- spisech, ale plně ji zformuloval až v osmém století tých způsobů, jakými mohly být v daném období Ambrosius Aupertus. Ten interpretuje malou otenahlíženy a chápány. vřenou knihu podávanou andělem v knize Zjevení Detaily knižních vazeb evangeliářů, zřetel- (10, 1–2) jako zjevení milosti Nového zákona a píše: ně znázorněné na malbách v katakombách sv. “Ti, kdož vidí slávu Boží s odkrytou tváří jsou ví‑ Januaria v Neapoli z pátého století, včetně detailů táni, aby otevřeli knihu.” Z tohoto pohledu je oteskladby, struktury vazby, vázání a zapínání odpo- vřená kniha cestou k přímému setkání s Bohem. vídají dochovaným fragmentům nejstarších knih Paradoxně se zdá, že vyobrazení zavřených a lze je tak považovat za zhotovené na základě knih vzbuzovalo stejné konotace. Jsou zobrazoreality. Podobně také bohatě zdobené obaly zob- vány pevně sevřené s  deskami sepnutými po razených knih zřejmě představují, ačkoli s jistou stranách několika svorkami: spásný text je skrytý mírou nadsázky, vzhled skutečných, luxusně pro- uvnitř, demonstrativně nepřístupný podobně jako vedených kodexů. kniha Apokalypsy se svými sedmi pečetěmi, které Knihy – ať už svitky (volumina) nebo vázané budou rozlomeny Lvem z Judy a beránkem až před kodexy – bývají zobrazovány otevřené i zavřené. posledním vzkříšením. Obaly těchto kodexů jsou Svitky v některých případech bývají i částečně roz- luxusně zdobené velkými drahými kameny, často vinuté, takže text je zčásti skrytý i odkrytý. Tato uspořádanými do tvaru kříže. Kříž a drahokamy dialektika otevírání a zavírání se objevuje zejmé- zde slouží jako liminální ukazatele, které značí cesna ve funerálním kontextu na malovaných hrob- tu a přístup k poselství spásy, a jsou tak branami kách, hrobech či v pohřebních oratořích. V tomto k věčnému životu.

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photographic credits

K. DOLEŽALOVÁ / I. FOLETTI – Fig. 1, © Wikimedia Commons, Sailko, cc by-sa 3.0; Fig. 2, © Wikimedia Commons, Agnieszka Wolska, cc by-sa 3.0; Fig. 3, © Domenico Ventura; Fig. 4, © Convento di Santa Sabina; Fig. 5, from Alessandra Squizzato, Francesca Tasso, Gli avori Trivulzio. Arte, studio e collezionismo antiquario a Milano fra xviii e xx secolo, Padua 2017, fig. 41; Fig. 6, from Manuela Studer-Karlen, “Zur spätantiken Elfenbeinpyxis in Sion”, Boreas, 33 (2010), pp. 43–54, taf. 9; Fig. 7, drawing by Anna Kelblová; Fig. 8, from Jutta Dresken-Weiland, Mosaics of Ravenna. Image and Meaning, Regensburg 2016, p. 155. I. FOLETTI / K. KRAVČÍKOVÁ – Fig. 1, from Friedrich Gerke, Spätantike und frühes Christentum, Baden-Baden 1967, p. 85, fig. 4; Fig. 2, from Monika Brenišínová, “Millénarisme des ordres mendiants en Nouvelle Espagne du xvie siècle et ses manifestations dans l’art et l’architecture”, Convivium, i/1 (2014), pp. 208–217, sp. p. 208, fig. 1; Fig. 3, from Paul Marie Letarouilly, Édifices de Rome moderne, 1840; Figs 4a, 4b, from Marcel Durliat, “La cathédrale du Puy”,

Copyright rules K autorským právům In the matter of copyright, every author is responsible for the illustrations published. In general, Convivium follows § 31 of the law no. 121/2000 Coll. (Copyright Act), where in paragraph 1 c explicitly states: “Copyright is not infringed by anybody who uses the work while teaching for illustration purposes or during scientific research, without seeking to achieve direct or indirect economic or commercial advantage and without exceeding the extent adequate to the given purpose; however, if possible, the name of the author, unless the work is an anonymous work, or the name of the person under whose name the work is being introduced in public and the title of the work and source, shall always be indicated.” Ve věci autorských práv ilustrací je každý autor odpovědný za publikované ilustrace. Obecně se ale Convivium řídí ust. § 31 zákona č. 121/2000 Sb. (autorský zákon), kde je v odst. 1, písm. c) výslovně řečeno: „Do práva autorského nezasahuje ten, kdo užije dílo při vyučování pro ilustrační účel nebo při vědeckém výzkumu, jejichž účelem není dosažení přímého nebo nepřímého hospodářského nebo obchodního prospěchu, a nepřesáhne rozsah odpovídající sledovanému účelu; vždy je však nutno uvést, je-li to možné, jméno autora, nejde-li o dílo anonymní, nebo jméno osoby, pod jejímž jménem se dílo uvádí na veřejnost, a dále název díla a pramen.“

Congrès archéologique de France, cxxxiii (1975), pp. 55–163, sp. p. 74, figs 5–6; Fig. 5, © Petr Vronský, Ivan Foletti; Figs 6a, 7, 8, 10, photo by Katarína Kravčíková; Fig. 6b, photo by Filip Fuchs; Figs 9a, 9b, © Convento di Santa Sabina; Fig. 11, © Wikimedia Commons, public domain. S. DE BLAAUW / K. DOLEŽALOVÁ

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