A Wider Trecento Visualising the Middle Ages

Edited by Eva Frojmovic, University of Leeds (UK)

Editorial Board Madeline H. Caviness, Tufts University (USA) Catherine Harding, University of Victoria (Canada) Diane Wolfthal,Rice University (USA)

VOLUME 5

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.nl/vma

A Wider Trecento

Studies in 13th- and 14th-Century European Art Presented to Julian Gardner

Edited by Louise Bourdua Robert Gibbs

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2012 Cover illustration: Simone dei Crocefissi,Urban V, tempera on panel (1.97 × 0.625 m), Bologna. With kind permission of the Pinacoteca Nazionale di Bologna.

Frontispiece: Julian Gardner. Photograph © Richard Morris.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

A wider Trecento : studies in 13th- and 14th-century European art presented to Julian Gardner / edited by Louise Bourdua, Robert Gibbs. p. cm. — (Visualising the Middle Ages ; v. 5) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-21076-9 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Art, European—14th century. 2. Gardner, Julian. I. Gardner, Julian. II. Bourdua, Louise, 1962- III. Gibbs, Robert. IV. Title: Studies in 13th- and 14th-century European art presented to Julian Gardner.

N6310.W53 2012 709.02’3—dc23 2011037007

ISSN 1874-0448 ISBN 978 90 04 21076 9

Copyright 2012 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Global Oriental, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher.

Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. contents v

Contents

List of Contributors...... vii List of Plates, Figures and Illustrations...... ix Julian Gardner ...... xiv Serena Romano Bibliography of Julian Gardner’s Published Works ...... xxiii Joanne Anderson

Introduction...... 1 Louise Bourdua and Robert Gibbs

1 signifying Absence: Experiencing Monochrome Imagery in Medieval Painting...... 5 Jill Bain

2. A Possible Colonna Family Stemma in the Church of Santa Prassede, Rome...... 21 John Osborne

3 small Worlds: The Orbs in the Westminster Retable and the Wilton Diptych ...... 31 Dillian Gordon

4. Duccio and Devotion to the Virgin’s Foot in Early Sienese Painting ...... 39 Joanna Cannon

5. A Royal Gift from Paris to Assisi: The Evolution of Design and Iconography circa 1300...... 62 Virginia Glenn

6. TheO riginal Setting and Historical Context of the Fourteenth- Century ‘Anthropomorphic Trinity’ of the Museo di Roma at Palazzo Braschi ...... 83 Claudia Bolgia vi contents

7 Patronising Poverty: Devotional Imagery and the Franciscan spirituals in Romagna and the Marche ...... 99 Jill Farquhar

8. Celebrating the Scholar and Teacher: The Tomb of Thomas Gallus at Sant’Andrea in Vercelli (Mid 14th Century) . . . . . 117 Martina Schilling

9 Bartolomeo and Jacopino da Reggio’s Brera Triptych: A Possible Source for Its Provenance...... 144 Roberto Cobianchi

10. The Look of Love ...... 154 Anne Dunlop

11. Bologna and the Popes: Simone dei Crocefissi’s Portraits of Urban V ...... 166 Robert Gibbs

12 some Pilgrimage Sources for Altichiero...... 190 Louise Bourdua

Index ...... 201 contents vii

list of CONTRIBUTORS

Serena Romano Professeur ordinaire, Histoire de l’art, Université de Lausanne

All following/other contributors are former students of Julian Gardner.

Jill Bain Art History Instructor, University College of the Fraser Valley, British Columbia Claudia Bolgia Lecturer in History of Art, University of Edin burgh Louise Bourdua Reader in History of Art, University of Warwick Joanna Cannon Reader in History of Art, Courtauld Institute of Art Roberto Cobianchi Ricercatore, Dipartimento di Storia dell’arte, Università di Messina Anne Dunlop Associate Professor of Art History, Tulane University Jill Farquhar The Open University Robert Gibbs Professor of Pre-Humanist Art History, Uni versity of Glasgow Virginia Glenn formerly Deputy Keeper of Decorative Arts, National Museums of Scotland Dillian Gordon formerly Curator of Early Italian Paintings, National Gallery, London John Osborne Dean, Faculty of Arts and Sciences, Carleton University, Ottawa Martina Schilling Lecturer, Department of History of Art, Freie Universität, Berlin list of plates, figures and illustrations ix

List of Plates, Figures and Illustrations

1.1. Dado of the crypt of the cathedral of Aquileia: warrior and knight, late 12th century, fresco ...... 9 1.2. Dado of Santa Maria, Summaga: Desperacio, late 12th century, fresco ...... 11 1.3. Dado of Santa Maria, Summaga: Tem[perantia], late 12th century, fresco...... 11 1.4. Giotto, Arena Chapel, Padua: detail of dado on north wall, c. 1305, fresco ...... 12 1.5. Decorative schema of the Chapterhouse of Santa Maria di Pomposa, early 14th century...... 15 1.6. Detail of the north (and east) wall of the Chapterhouse of Santa Maria di Pomposa: Zechariah and John the Baptist are the second and third figures pictured on the north wall, early 14th century, fresco...... 16 1.7. Hubert and Jan van Eyck, Ghent altarpiece, Saint Bavo Cathedral, Ghent, 1432 ...... 19 2.1. Marble panel, c. 817–824, Santa Prassede Rome...... 22 3.1. The Westminster Retable, c. 1268, linseed oil on oak (95.9 × 333.0 cm), Westminster Abbey...... 32 3.2. Detail of the orb held by Christ in the Westminster Retable, c. 1268, linseed oil on oak...... 32 3.3. The Wilton Diptych, c. 1395–99, egg tempera on oak (each wing 47.5 × 29.2 cm), National Gallery, London ...... 36 3.4. Detail of the orb at the top of the standard in the Wilton Diptych, c. 1395–99, egg tempera on oak, National Gallery, London...... 36 4.1. Attributed to Duccio di Buoninsegna, Madonna dei Francescani (detail), c. 1280–90, tempera on panel (24 × 17 cm), Pinacoteca Nazionale, Siena, inv. no. 20...... 40 4.2. Duccio di Buoninsegna, Madonna ‘Rucellai’ (detail), 1285, tempera on panel (450 × 293 cm), from S. Maria Novella, Florence, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence ...... 41 x list of plates, figures and illustrations

4.3. Pope Benedict XI Grants a Plenary Indulgence to the Domi nicans of Perugia, Liber indulgentiae ordinis fratrum prae dicatorum de Perusio, 1343, Perugia, Biblioteca Augusta, MS 975, fol. 1v...... 44 4.4. Pope Pascal I Kneels before the Virgin and Child Enthroned Surrounded by Angels, 9th century, apse mosaic (detail), S. Maria in Domnica, Rome...... 45 4.5. Attributed to Duccio di Buoninsegna, Madonna dei Francescani, c. 1280–90, tempera on panel (24 × 17 cm), Pinacoteca Nazionale, Siena, inv. no. 20...... 46 4.6. Coppo di Marcovaldo, Madonna ‘del Bordone’, 1261, tempera on panel (220 × 125 cm), S. Maria dei Servi, Siena. . . 48 4.7. The Orthodox Nun Theotime before the Virgin and Child, psalter, Byzantine, c. 1274 (15 × 10.5 cm), Sinai, Monastery of St. Catherine, MS Gr. 61, fol. 256v...... 49 4.8. Circle of Biduino (?), Virgin and Child Enthroned with Kneeling Supplicant, second half of the 12th century, Virgin’s head replaced in 14th century, marble (130 × 46 × 37 cm), from the façade of the former oratory of the Madonnina at Porta San Pietro, Lucca, Museo Nazionale di Villa Guinigi, Lucca...... 54 4.9. Circle of Duccio (Maestro di Città di Castello?), Virgin and Child Enthroned with Angels and Supplicant, central panel of tabernacle, c. 1290–1300, tempera on panel (approx. 36 [central panel] × 43 [when open] cm), before restoration, Christ Church Picture Gallery, Oxford...... 55 4.10 nicola Pisano, associates and assistants, Virgin and Child and Adoration of the Magi (detail), pulpit, 1266–68, marble, Cathedral, Siena...... 58 4.11. Attributed to Ugolino da Siena, Virgin and Child and Four Saints (detail), polyptych, tempera on panel, Pinacoteca Nazionale, Siena, inv. no. 39...... 59 4.12. Duccio di Buoninsegna, Virgin and Child Enthroned (detail from the Maestà), c. 1308–11, tempera on panel, from the Cathedral of Siena, Museo dell’Opera della Metropolitana, Siena ...... 60 4.13. Workshop of Duccio di Buoninsegna (?), fragmentary Maestà (detail of the front face), tempera on panel, Cathedral of S. Cerbone, Massa Marittima...... 60 list of plates, figures and illustrations xi

5.1. Probably Paris, c. 1300, Reliquiario della Veste Inconsutile, façade, silver gilt (width 27.5 cm, depth 12.2 cm, height 29.2 cm), Museo-Tesoro della Basilica di San Francesco, Assisi...... 63 5.2. Probably Paris, c. 1300, Reliquiario della Veste Inconsutile, rear façade (width 27.5 cm, depth 12.2 cm, height 29.2 cm), Museo Tesoro della Basilica di San Francesco, Assisi. 65 5.3. Paris 1286, Herkenrode Monstrance, silver gilt (width 15.5 cm, height 44.5 cm), Cathedral of Saint-Quentin and Notre-Dame, on loan to Musée Stellingwerff-Waerdenhof, Hasselt ...... 66 5.4. Paris 1286, Decoration beneath the Lantern, detail of Herkenrode Monstrance, silver gilt, Cathedral of Saint- Quentin and Notre-Dame, on loan to Musée Stellingwerff- Waerdenhof, Hasselt ...... 68 5.5. Probably Paris, c. 1300, St Clare with Agnes and Beatrice at Her Feet, and St Francis with Ortolana, Mother of Clare, at His Feet, details, Reliquiario della Veste Inconsutile, facade, silver gilt (width 27.5 cm, depth 12.2 cm, height 29.2 cm), Museo-Tesoro della Basilica di San Francesco, Assisi . . . 72 6.1. Rome, Museo di Roma at Palazzo Braschi, Deposito, Anthropomorphic Trinity, detached fresco on cadorite support, mid-14th century ...... 84 6.2. Rome, San Marco, apse mosaic, Trinitarian Imagery, 828–29 ...... 88 6.3. Florence, Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Sant’Anna Met terza, c. 1340–50, probably from the church of Sant’Anna, near Orsanmichele...... 91 6.4. Rome, Santa Maria in Trastevere, transept, gabled niche 93 6.5. Rome, Piazza della Suburra, marble plaque mentioning San Salvatore ‘Trium Imaginum’...... 94 6.6. Rome, Piazza della Suburra, corner pier including the plaque mentioning San Salvatore ‘Trium Imaginum’ and the plaque (on top) with the name of Pope Alexander VI (1492–1503)...... 95 7.1. Pietro da Rimini or the Maestro del Coro di Sant’Agostino, Diptych with Madonna and Child and Other Scenes, tempera on panel (64 × 32 cm each), Alte Pinakothek, Munich...... 102 xii list of plates, figures and illustrations

7.2. Giovanni da Rimini, Panel with Coronation of the Virgin and Scenes from the Lives of the Saints, tempera on panel (52.5 × 34.5 cm), Collection of the Duke of Northumber land, Alnwick Castle, Alnwick...... 104 7.3. Giuliano da Rimini, Madonna and Child with Saints, tem pera on panel (164 × 300 cm), Isabella Gardner Museum, Boston ...... 105 7.4. Maestro di Verucchio, Panel with Saints, tempera on panel (44.5 × 31 cm), Galleria Nazionale dell’Umbria, Perugia ...... 106 7.5. Giovanni da Rimini, Panel with Scenes from the Life of Christ, tempera on panel (52.5 × 34.5 cm), Galleria Nazio nale d’Arte Antica, Rome ...... 114 8.1. Tomb of Thomas Gallus, Sant’Andrea, Vercelli ...... 118 8.2. Drawing of the tomb of Thomas Gallus at Sant’Andrea, Vercelli...... 122 8.3. Tomb of Thomas Gallus: central niche...... 124 8.4 tomb of Thomas Gallus: central niche, left wall...... 126 8.5 tomb of Thomas Gallus: central niche, right wall ...... 127 8.6. Tomb of Bonifacio Galluzzi, 1346, Museo Civico Medievale, Bologna ...... 129 8.7 st Augustine cycle, c. 1338, Hermits’ Church, Padua. . . . . 131 8.8. Thomas Aquinas teaching, initial from a 14th-century Antiphoner, Cambridge, Fitzwilliam Museum MS 287Br 137 8.9 tomb of Cino de’ Sighibuldi, 1337–39, Pistoia cathedral . 139 9.1. Bartolomeo and Jacopino da Reggio (signed), Triptych of the Crucifixion, Annunciation and Saints, Milan, Pina coteca di Brera, tempera on panel (67 × 93 cm) ...... 145 9.2. Gildaldo Bassi, photograph of the Triptych of the Cru cifixion, Annunciation and Saints by Bartolomeo and Jacopino da Reggio in Correggio, c. 1880...... 147 10.1. Attributed to Master of Santa Felicità, Camera d’amore, c. 1340, Castle of Sabbionara d’Avio...... 155 10.2. Camera d’amore: Love ...... 155 10.3. Camera d’amore: Youth Hit by a Lance of Love...... 156 10.4. Camera d’amore: Kissing Lovers...... 157 10.5. Camera d’amore: Boar Hunting Scene ...... 159 list of plates, figures and illustrations xiii

11.1 simone dei Crocefissi, Urban V, tempera on panel (1.97 × 0.625 m), Bologna, Pinacoteca Nazionale...... 167 11.2. Montpellier, University college and chapel (now Mont pellier Cathedral) ...... 171 11.3. Montpellier, interior of the nave of the university chapel/ cathedral ...... 172 11.4. Unknown Abruzzese painter, Urban V, fresco, S. Maria Assunta at Assergi...... 175 11.5 simone dei Crocefissi,Coronation, Crucifixion, Annuncia tion and Saints, tempera on panel (0.805 × 0.77 m), Bologna, Pinacoteca Nazionale...... 179 11.6 simone dei Crocefissi, Triptych of the Crucifixion with Saints and Urban V, tempera on panel (0.62 × 0.825 m), formerly the Sarti Gallery, London (June 1994)...... 180 11.7. Papal Bull of Urban V, British Museum inv. 1944, 12-2.1 . 185 11.8. Papal Bull of Urban V, British Museum inv. 1944, 12-2.1. 185 11.9. Pilgrimage badges from Rome, probably 14th century, private collection...... 186 11.10. Detail of Simone dei Crocefissi, Coronation, Crucifixion, Annunciation and Saints, tempera on panel (0.805 × 0.77 m), Bologna, Pinacoteca Nazionale...... 187 11.11. Detail of Simone dei Crocefissi,Triptych of the Crucifixion with Saints and Urban V, tempera on panel (0.62 × 0.825 m), formerly the Sarti Gallery, London (June 1994). 187 11.12. Urban V, fragmentary effigy from St Martial, Avignon, Musée du Petit-Palais...... 187 12.1. General view of chapel of St James, il Santo, Padua...... 191 12.2. View of lower east wall, chapel of St James, il Santo, Padua...... 194 12.3. Martyrdom of St James, detail, chapel of St James, il Santo, Padua ...... 196 12.4. Leonardo di ser Giovanni, Martyrdom of St James, detail, left side of silver altar of St James, cathedral of S. Zeno, Pistoia...... 197 xiv serena romano

JULIAN GARDNER

The youth from Balliol College who so soon became first a lecturer at the Courtauld Institute and was almost as swiftly appointed to the Chair of Art History at Warwick University, established his field of study in the ’60s while he was working on his doctoral thesis which Richard Krautheimer, not long ago, described as the ‘best work in existence on the patronage of Italian art in the Duecento’. His thesis was certainly a study of patronage: the title is unambiguous: The influ ence of popes’ and cardinals’ patronage on the introduction of the gothic style into Rome and the surrounding area. 1254–1305. It was also, however, in the intention of the young Welsh scholar (he considers himself Welsh, but I would not wish to neglect his other Scottish half – he has, so to speak, three halves, to recall also that other Oxford half) much more than a good idea for a suitable study to begin a career, as a doctoral thesis inevitably has to be. It was also, in reality, a new way of looking at those particular decades in history, and for several reasons. The first, I should say, was that the key to the visual world of art history was history, in its events and its personalities: it was perhaps a homage to his teacher, Christopher Hill, and it was a way of keeping one’s feet firmly on the ground, thus overcoming at a stroke the polemics of the ’60s, so acharnées in Italy too in the debates between the Longhians and the Iconographers. It was not a matter of finding a clever way out of the debates. Julian avoids, if he can, discussing works of art from the so-called ‘stylistic’ approach, so far as it is from a verbal recreation of the real emotions one feels before painting and sculpture (he is still, after all, a British subject) and perhaps sceptical of the possibility that such emotions could have any influence on the minds of others. Instead he uses his acute sensitivity to the formal values of the objects he studies in the framework of a system of extremely cultured visual and mental associations: the work is never, for him, a sort of miracle of genius but always the link within a chain, the provisional state of an incessant interconnection of facts, elements and solutions, which bounce successive connections off each other and in the process acquire a new meaning, lose something of the previous one, transform themselves and either preserve a recognisable continuity with the received view or disguise it almost completely. This way of julian gardner xv

JULIAN GARDNER

Il ragazzo del Balliol College, molto presto lecturer al Courtauld Institute e altrettanto rapidamente professore ordinario all’università di Warwick, ha fondato il suo campo di studi negli anni ’60, mentre lavorava alla sua tesi di dottorato che Richard Krautheimer, un po’ di tempo fa, definì ‘il miglior lavoro esistente sulla committenza dell’arte italiana nel Duecento’. Quello del suo Ph.D. era certo un lavoro sulla committenza, il titolo suona innegabile: The influence of popes’ and cardinals’ patronage on the introduction of the gothic style into Rome and the surrounding area. 1254–1305. Era però anche, nelle intenzioni del giovane gallese (lui ci tiene che lo si dica gallese, ma non vorrei far torto all’ altra metà scozzese: sono tre metà, per così dire, insieme all’altra oxfordiana), era – dicevo – molto più che una buona idea per uno studio atto a far carriera, come inevitabilmente i dottorati devono anche essere. Era in realtà un modo nuovo di guardare a quei decenni di storia, e per un buon numero di ragioni. La prima, direi, era che la chiave d’accesso al mondo visivo della storia dell’ arte era così la storia, nei suoi accadimenti e nei suoi perso- naggi: era forse un omaggio al suo maestro Christopher Hill, ed era un modo per poggiare i piedi in terra, superando d’un colpo le pole- miche degli anni ’60 e ben dopo, così acharnées anche in Italia tra i longhiani e gli iconologi. Non si trattava di una via d’ uscita in sordina. Julian evita, se può, di affrontare le opere dal punto di vista del cosid- detto ‘stile’, lontanissimo com’ è dalla ricreazione verbale delle proprie emozioni davanti a dipinti e sculture (è pur sempre un suddito britannico) e forse scettico sulla possibilità che queste emozioni pos- sano avere poi un’influsso qualunque sull’intelletto altrui. Usa piut tosto la sua acuta sensibilità per i valori formali degli oggetti che studia, nel quadro di un sistema di coltissime associazioni visuali e mentali: l’ opera, per lui, non è mai una sorta di miracolo del genio, ma sempre l’ anello di una catena, lo stadio provvisorio di un inces- sante incrociarsi di dati, elementi e soluzioni, che rimbalzano dall’ uno all’ altro dei successivi incroci e nel passaggio acquistano un senso nuovo, perdono una parte di quello precedente, si trasformano, man- tengono la riconoscibilità o si travestono fin quasi a perderla del tutto. Questo modo di guardare all’ oggetto artistico naturalmente richiede xvi serena romano looking at the artistic object naturally requires the greatest possible range of approaches, facts and cultural knowledge. And it has allowed him, for example, to discover in the St Louis de Toulouse of Simone Martini the mechanism of hidden quasi-persuasion in the compositional scheme which assimilates the transmission of power from the saint to the Angevin sovereign to that much older, Norman, one, which appears in the mosaic panel of the Martorana, a plausibile ‘ancestor’ evoked by the Angevin Roberto. It has led him to study the Stefaneschi Polyptych, or the ‘Christs’ of Giotto, or the polyptychs of Meo da Siena, in such a personal way that when one reads a paper of his, even without having seen who wrote it, there is no need to go and check the name of the author, so unmistakably are the style and the technical approach his own. But to return to the achievements of the doctoral thesis of which I was speaking a few lines back. A second, it seems to me, was the seren- ity with which the doctoral student, and then doctor, of those years, and the life-long scholar (till now, but I do not imagine he will change much over the next hundred years) twinned Florentine studies with Roman, passed happily from the lost decoration of San Paolo fuori le mura to the chapels of Santa Croce in Florence, from Nicholas IV and Santa Maria Maggiore to Taddeo Gaddi and the Baroncelli polyptych, returning constantly to the web of constructs around the figure of Giotto, and never respecting what seem ultimately to be frontiers and unwritten laws and constrictions within the established history of Italian Art, once more rooted, I believe, in academic divisions even more than in scholarly tradition. Again beyond Italy, he reached into the international réseau of European Gothic: inevitably he included the France of Louis IX within the dynamics of that Introduction of the Gothic Style, in a manner that owed nothing to the Franco-centric simplifications typical of Emile Mâle; and he paid attention also to regions like Spain and England itself, areas less considered within the prevailing geographic and cultural hierarchies. This 360º awareness is to be seen in his articles, and it is evident in the vast array of reviews which he put his name to from an early date. A difficult and risky field of writing, this, in terms of scholarly and human relations, and costly and demanding in the time and effort spent on reading and evaluating the work of others. But perhaps it is also this constant activity which has given him that bibliographic expertise which startles all his friends, and certainly fills me with dread! Julian will be forever capable of mentioning a title that you do julian gardner xvii di convogliare attorno ad esso il numero maggiore possibile di approcci, di dati, di conoscenze. E gli ha permesso ad esempio di sco- prire nel San Ludovico di Tolosa di Simone Martini il meccanismo di quasi-persuasione occulta dello schema compositivo, che assimila la trasmissione del potere dal santo al sovrano angioino, a quella ben più antica e normanna, che appare nel pannello musivo della Martorana, plausibile ‘antenato’ evocato dall’ angioino Roberto; gli ha fatto stu- diare il polittico Stefaneschi, o seguire i ‘Cristi’ di Giotto, o i polittici di Meo da Siena, in un modo così personale che quando si legge un suo articolo, anche a non aver visto la firma, è inutile andare a controllare il nome dell’autore, tanto lo stile e la tecnica di quegli articoli risultano inconfondibilmente suoi. Ma per tornare alle ragioni del dottorato di cui dicevo qualche riga fa. Una seconda, mi sembra, era la serenità con cui il dottorando e poi dottore di quegli anni, e lo studioso di tutta la vita (fino ad oggi: ma non credo che cambierà molto nei cent’anni futuri), gemellava gli studi fiorentini e quelli romani, passava dalla decorazione perduta di San Paolo fuori le mura alle cappelle di Santa Croce, da Nicolò IV e Santa Maria Maggiore a Taddeo Gaddi e al polittico Baroncelli, tornando costantemente al nesso giottesco, e non rispettando quelle che sembravano in fondo le frontiere e le consegne non scritte della storia dell’arte italiana, ancora una volta – credo – radicate nelle divisioni accademiche più ancora che nella tradizione degli studi. Ancora oltre l’ Italia, arrivava al réseau internazionale del mondo gotico europeo: includeva inevitabilmente la Francia di Luigi IX nelle dinamiche di questa Introduction of the Gothic Style, in un modo che non aveva nulla delle semplificazioni francocentriche alla Emile Mâle; e prestava attenzione agli apporti di regioni come la Spagna, o la stessa Inghilterra, meno considerate dalle tradizionali gerarchie geografiche e culturali. Questa apertura a 360 gradi si vede nei suoi articoli, e si vede nelle numerosissime recensioni che comincia molto presto a firmare, campo di scrittura, questo, difficile, rischioso in termini di rapporti scientifici e umani, costoso in quelli di fatica e di lavoro speso a leggere e valutare il lavoro altrui. Sarà forse anche questa costante atti- vità, quella che gli ha dato poi quella competenza bibliografica che spaventa tutti i suoi amici, e certamente spaventa me; Julian sarà sempre capace di menzionare un titolo che tu non conosci, di citare un libro che mai pensavi di leggere, e queste vertigini bibliografiche si aprono anche nei suoi propri scritti, dove nelle note si annidano rife- xviii serena romano not know, a book you never thought you would read, and these feats of bibliography open up also in his own writings, where in the notes references are tucked away in the driest possible way, challenging the reader to follow them up as in a treasure hunt where the treasure itself, for sure, is never to be found, but each clue, each trouvaille, sends you ever onward to another. A point of arrival does not exist, in truth, for the scholar: what exists is research and the coexistence of the largest possible number of details of knowledge and points of view. He has, in short, an extreme familiarity with the world of knowledge, which has become in turn a familiarity with people, and with the familiarity have come also so many friendships, free of the intellectual stiffness of academic life or of career interests. To turn again to his base at Warwick, never abandoned throughout his university career and sustained through taking on the demanding burdens of academic administration, very few people have found themselves at their ease in so many places in the world and with so many diverse people as Julian has. I am happy to think that Italy has been the most privileged, and, to count up all his study trips, his sabbaticals and the Venetian terms spent with his university students, he has spent very many years there. In his approach to Florence or Rome there has been none of the usual exotic complacency or the hunt for local colour, nothing indeed which ties him to the British or American traditions of a Forster or a Henry James. In Italy he looked, studied and worked (I am speaking of the past: but I should like to hope that he will now be able to look, study and work even more, and in the same way, not having to always go break off to return to his students at home). And so many of his papers were produced, touching naturally on Tuscany and the court of the popes, but also Treviso (Tommaso da Modena, and the previous history of the Dominicans there), the Marches (Cardinal Gentile, but then also Tolentino), Naples (his beloved Simone Martini and Catherine of Austria), and once more the Veneto, not just with the neglected Bertuccio, but also Lorenzo Lotto and Rocco Marconi, to dig deep into their medieval iconographic premises and propagandis- tic purposes. Whether for the sympathy he inspires or his extremely reliable scholarship, Julian has been so far for decades and will remain in the future a very dear friend and a first-class scholar, teacher and maestro for other scholars of high quality; his oldest pupils consider him as a friend alongside those who have always been his personal friends without being his pupils, and who however have always had something to learn from him, help and information, comments and julian gardner xix rimenti organizzati nel più secco dei modi possibili, sfida al lettore che li deve inseguire come in una caccia al tesoro dove il tesoro, appunto, non si raggiunge mai, perché ogni trouvaille rimanda ad un’altra, il punto d’arrivo in realtà non esiste, esiste la ricerca e la coesistenza del numero più ampio possibile di informazioni e di punti di vista. E’, insomma, una familiarità grandissima con il mondo della cono- scenza, che è divenuta anche familiarità con le persone, e con la fami- liarità anche tante amicizie, scevre da arroganze accademiche o da secondi fini carrieristici. Pur sempre tornando alla base warwickiana, mai abbandonata in tutta la vita universitaria e vissuta anche con l’impegno preciso dei doveri accademici, poche persone come Julian si sono trovate a proprio agio in tanti luoghi del mondo e con tante persone diverse. Mi fa piacere pensare che l’ Italia sia stata la più pri vilegiata, e che gli anni che ci ha passato, a sommare tutti i soggiorni e i sabbatici e i semestri veneziani della sua università, siano stati davvero molti. Nella sua disposizione verso Firenze o Roma non c’ è stato mai nulla del compiacimento esotico o della ricerca del colore locale, nulla nemmeno che lo riallacciasse alle tradizioni britanniche alla Forster o americane alla Henry James. In Italia guardava, studiava, e lavorava (parlo al passato: ma vorrei sperare che ora guarderà, studierà e lavorerà ancora di più, e nello stesso modo, non dovendo sempre tornare dai suoi studenti in patria) e così sono nati moltissimi dei suoi articoli, che toccano naturalmente la Toscana, e la corte dei papi, ma anche Treviso (Tommaso da Modena, e quanto lo precede fra i domenicani), le Marche (il cardinal Gentile, ma poi anche Tolentino), Napoli (l’ amato Simone Martini, e Caterina d’ Austria), e di nuovo il Veneto, non solo con il negletto Bertuccio, ma con Lorenzo Lotto e Rocco Marconi, per sviscerarne le premesse iconografiche e propagandistiche medievali. Sarà la simpatia che ispira, sarà la competenza solidissima, Julian è stato finora per decenni, e lo sarà in futuro, un amico carissimo e uno studioso di prima qualità, professore e maestro di altri studiosi di grande qualità; i suoi antichi allievi lo considerano amico, al pari di coloro che sono stati sempre suoi amici ma non allievi, e che però hanno sempre avuto da lui qualcosa da imparare, aiuti e informazioni e spunti di riflessioni, che spesso li hanno indotti a considerare questioni che sembravano ovvie o accla- rate, da un punto di vista diverso, sotto una luce cambiata. Tutti hanno – anzi, abbiamo – partecipato alla sua salutare, rinfrescante assenza di retorica, e ci siamo trovati a nostro agio nella sua civilissima conversa- zione. Con queste premesse, la sua Festschrift non poteva non essere xx serena romano reflections which have often led him to consider questions which seemed obvious from a different point of view and under a changed light. Everyone has, indeed we have personally, shared in his salutary, refreshing absence of rhetoric, and we have all found ourselves put at ease by his most civilized conversation. With these premises his Festschrift could not fail to be like the one I am presenting: his students are themselves now scholars and teachers in their turn. But this book has little of incense and professorial chairs or academic gowns; it does not have the shadows cast by the point of arrival and the end of the road; it takes the pretext of an anniversary and retirement to bring friendship and appreciation without pomp or sadness. I hope that the lines I have written are up to the occasion: I have not found a Latin citation to begin it, as I should, but would this not have been, had I managed, merely an imitation of the incipits Julian likes so much?

Serena Romano Université de Lausanne julian gardner xxi come questa che sto presentando: i suoi allievi sono a loro volta studiosi e professori, ma questo libro sa pochissimo di incenso e di cattedre e di toghe accademiche, non ha le ombre del punto d’ arrivo e della fine corsa; ha colto il pretesto di un anniversario e di un appun- tamento cronologico per far filtrare simpatia e affetto senza pompe e senza tristezze. Spero che le righe che ho scritto siano all’ altezza: non ho trovato una citazione latina per cominciarle, come avrei dovuto, ma non sarebbe stata, questa, solo un’ imitazione degli incipit favoriti di Julian?

Serena Romano Université de Lausanne julian gardner’s published works xxiii

Bibliography of Julian Gardner’s Published Works

Compiled by Joanne Anderson

1967 ‘The Ivories in the Gambier Parry Collection’, The Burlington Magazine 109, 139–44. 1969 The Influence of Popes’ and Cardinals’ Patronage on the Introduction of the Gothic Style into Rome and the Surrounding Area, 1254–1305, Ph.D, University of London, Courtauld Institute of Art. 1970 ‘A Relief in the Walker Art Gallery and Thirteenth-Century Italian Tomb Design’, Liverpool Bulletin, Walker Art Gallery 13, 5–19. ‘The Capocci Tabernacle in Santa Maria Maggiore’, Papers of the British School at Rome, 25, 220–34. 1971 ‘The Decoration of the Baroncelli Chapel in Santa Croce’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 34, 89–114. ‘S. Paolo Fuori Le Mura: Nicholas III and Pietro Cavallini’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 34, 240–8. ‘The Early Decoration of Santa Croce in Florence’, The Burlington Magazine 113, 391–2. 1972 ‘The Tomb of Cardinal Annibaldi by Arnolfo di Cambio’, The Burlington Magazine 114, 136–41. 1973 ‘Arnolfo di Cambio and Roman Tomb Design’, The Burlington Magazine 115, 420–39. ‘Nicholas IIIʼs Oratory of the Sancta Sanctorum and its Decoration’, The Burlington Magazine 115, 283–94. ‘Copies of Roman Mosaics in Edinburgh’, The Burlington Magazine 115, 583–91. ‘Pope Nicholas IV and the Decoration of Santa Maria Maggiore’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 36, 1–50. 1974 ‘The Stefaneschi Altarpiece: A Reconsideration’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 37, 57–103. 1975 ‘Simone Martini’s St. Louis of Toulouse’, Reading Medieval Studies 1, 16–25. ‘Some Cardinals’ Seals of the Thirteenth Century’,Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 38, 72–96. 1976 ‘Saint Louis of Toulouse, Robert of Anjou and Simone Martini’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 39, 12–33. 1979 ‘Andrea Di Bonaiuto and the Chapterhouse Frescoes in Santa Maria Novella’, Art History 2, 107–38. ‘Guido da Siena, 1221, and Tommaso da Modena’, The Burlington Magazine 121, 107–8. ‘A Double Tomb in Montefiore dellʼAso and Cardinal Gentile’,Acta historiae artium Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 25, 15–25. 1981 obituary: ‘Cesare Gnudi’, The Burlington Magazine 123, 304–7. ‘Some Franciscan Altars of the 13th and 14th centuries’, in The Vanishing xxiv julian gardner’s published works

Past: Studies of Medieval Art, Liturgy and Metrology Presented to Christopher Hohler, ed. A. Borg and A. Martindale, British Archaeological Reports: International Series 111, 29–38. 1982 ‘Les fastes du Gothique’: Grand Palais, Paris 9th October 1981 until 1st February 1982, The Burlington Magazine 124, 115–21. ‘The Louvre Stigmatization and the Problem of the Narrative Altarpiece’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 45, 217–47. obituary: ‘Edward B. Garrison’, The Burlington Magazine 124, 96–7. 1983 ‘Boniface VIII as a Patron of Sculpture’, in Atti della IV settimana di studi di storia dellʼarte medievale dellʼUniversità di Roma “La Sapienza” (19–24 maggio 1980), ed. A.M. Romanini, Rome, Mediaevalia 1, 513–27. ‘Fronts and Backs: Setting and Structure’, in La Pittura nel XIV e XV Secolo, il Contributo dellʼAnalisi Tecnica alla Storia dellʼArte, eds H. W van Os and J. R. J. van Asperen de Boer, Atti del XXIV Congresso Internazionale di Storia dell’Arte 3, 297–322. Exhibition Review: ‘Early Italian Paintings at Matthiesen, London’, The Burlington Magazine 125, 566–9. 1987 ‘Bizuti, Rusuti, Nicolaus and Johannes: Some Neglected Documents Concerning Roman Artists in France’, The Burlington Magazine 129, 381–3. ‘An Introduction to the Iconography of the Medieval Italian City Gate’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 41, 199–213. 1988 ‘A Princess Among Prelates: A Fourteenth-Century Neapolitan Tomb and Some Northern Relations’, Römisches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte 23/24, 29–60. obituary: ‘Cesare Brandi’, The Burlington Magazine 130, 770–1. ‘SCOAD, Its Inception and Aims’, Art Libraries Journal 13, 14–7. ‘The Cult of a Fourteenth-Century Saint; the Iconography of Louis of Toulouse’, in I Francescani nel Trecento Atti del XIV Convegno Internazionale, Assisi 16–18 Ottobre 1986, Perugia, 167–93. 1989 ‘Päpstliche Träume und Palastmalereien: ein Essay über mittelalterliche Traumikonographie’, in Träume im Mittelalter: ikonologische Studien, eds A. Paravicini Bagliani and G. Stabile, Stuttgart, 113–24. ‘Patterns of Papal Patronage circa 1260 – circa 1300’, in The Religious Roles of the Papacy: Ideals and Realities, 1150–1300, ed. C. Ryan, Toronto, Papers in Mediaeval Studies 8, 439–56. ‘The Cappellone diS an Nicola at Tolentino: Some Functions of a Fourteenth- Century Fresco Cycle’, in Italian Church Decoration of the Middle Ages and Early Renaissance: Functions, Forms and Regional Traditions: Ten Contributions to a Colloquium Held at the Villa Spelman, Florence, ed. W. Tronzo, Florence, Villa Spelman Colloquia 1, 101–17. ‘The Iconography of the Legend of the Life of Saint Francis at Assisi: An Alternative Approach’, in Raccolte di Vite di Santi dal XIII al XVIII Secolo: Strutture, Messaggi, Fruizioni, ed. S. Boesch Gajano, Collana del Dipartimento di Studi Storici dal Medioevo all’Età Contemporanea 5, Fasano di Brindisi, 91–7. 1990 ‘The Cosmati at Westminster: Some Anglo-Italian Reflexions’, in Skulptur und Grabmal des Spätmittelalters in Rom und Italien: Akten des Kongresses “Scultura e monumento sepolcrale del tardo medioevo a Roma e in Italia (Rom, 4.-6. Juli 1985): veranstaltet vom Historischen Institut beim Österreichischen Kulturinstitut in Rom und vom Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, eds J. Garms and A.M. Rominini, Vienna, Publikationen des Historischen Instituts beim Österreichischen Kulturinstitut in Rom 1, 10, 201–16. julian gardner’s published works xxv

‘The Back of the Panel of Christ Discovered in the Temple by Simone Martini’, Arte cristiana 78, 389–98. ‘The French Connexion: Thoughts about French Patrons and Italian Art c. 1250–1300’, in Art and Politics in Late Mediaeval and Early Renaissance Italy 1250–1500, ed. C.M. Rosenberg, Notre Dame, 81–102. 1991 ‘Giotto: First of the Moderns or Last of the Ancients?’, Wiener Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte 44, 63–78. ‘The Franciscan Iconography of the Coronation of the Virgin before Bellini’, in Essays in Honour of John White, eds H. Weston and D. Davies, London, 63–9. 1992 The Tomb and the Tiara: Curial Tomb Sculpture in Rome and Avignon in the Later Middle Ages, Oxford. 1993 ‘The Altar of the Lower Church of S. Francesco at Assisi’, The Burlington Magazine 135, 39. Obituary: ‘Hanno Walter Kruft (1938–93)’, The Burlington Magazine 135, 829. Patrons, Painters and Saints: Studies in Medieval Italian Painting, Aldershot. 1994 ‘Il Patrocinio Curiale e lʼIntroduzione del Gotico: 1260–1305’, Il Gotico Europeo in Italia, eds V. Pace and M. Bagnoli, Naples, 85–8. ‘L’Introduzione della tomba figurata in Italia centrale’, Il Gotico Europeo in Italia, ed. V. Pace and M. Bagnoli, Naples, 207–19. Appendix: ‘The Frescoes in the Choir of San Francesco’, in R. Brentano, A New World in a Small Place: Church and Religion in the Diocese of Rieti, 1188–1378, Berkeley, 321–5. ‘Altars, Altarpieces, and Art History: Legislation and Usage’, in Italian Altarpieces 1250–1550: Function and Design, eds E. Borsook and F. Superbi Gioffredi, Oxford, 5–19. ‘"Footfalls Echo in the Memory": Aspetti della tecnica negli affreschi del Trecento’, in Arte e Spiritualità nellʼOrdine Agostiniano e il Convento San Nicola a Tolentino, ed. G. Campisano, Rome, 47–65. ‘The Effigial Tomb in Rome: a Local Style?’, in Studien zur Geschichte der europäischen Skulptur im 12./13. Jahrhundert, ed. H. Beck, Frankfurt, Schriften des Liebieghauses 1, 605–16. 1995 ‘Nuns and Altarpieces: Agendas for Research’, Römisches Jahrbuch der Bibliotheca Hertziana 30, 27–57. Obituary: ‘Andrew Martindale (1932–1995)’, The Burlington Magazine 137, 517. ‘The Tomb of Bishop Peter Aquablanca in Hereford Cathedral’, in Medieval Art, Architecture and Archaeology at Hereford, ed. D. Whitehead, Leeds, Conference Transactions – British Archaeological Association, 15, 105–10. ‘Frühchristliche Einflüsse im venezianischen Cinquecento: ein Domini kaneraltar von Rocco Marconi in SS. Giovanni e Paolo’, in Für irdischen Ruhm und himmlischen Lohn, ed. H. Rudolf Meier, Berlin, 280–6. ‘Narrative and Pattern: Patrons and Programmes’, in Bilan et Perspectives des Études Médiévales en Europe (Actes du Premier Congrès Européen d’Études Médiévales, Spoleto 27–29 Mai 1993), ed. J. Hammesse, Louvain-la Neuve, 305–11. ‘L’Architettura del Sancta Sanctorum’, in Sancta Sanctorum, ed. C. Pietrangeli, Milan, 19–38. 1996 ‘Cardinal Ancher and the Piscina in Saint-Urbain at Troyes’, in Architectural Studies in Memory of Richard Krautheimer, ed. C.L. Striker, Mainz, 79–82. ‘The Façade of the Duomo at Orvieto’, in De l’Art Comme Mystagogie: xxvi julian gardner’s published works

Iconographie du Jugement Dernier et des Fins Dernières à lʼEpoque Gothique: Actes du Colloque de la Fondation Hardt Tenu à Genève du 13 au 16 février 1994, ed. Y. Christe, Poitiers, Civilisation Médiévale 3, 199–209. ‘Inscriptions and Imagination in Late-Mediaeval Italy’, in Épigraphie et Iconographie, ed. R. Favreau, Civilisation Médiévale 2, 101–10. ‘Rome: Federico II e l’Italia’, The Burlington Magazine 138, 424–6. ‘SantʼAntonino, Lorenzo Lotto and Dominican Historicism’, in Ars naturam adiuvans: Festschrift für Matthias Winner zum 11. März 1996, eds V. von Flemming and S. Schütze, Mainz, 139–49. 1997 ‘The Italian Earthquakes: “A Bulletin from the War Zone”’, Apollo 146: 430, 65. ‘“… Ante et super altare …”: From Antependium to Altarpiece’, in Das Aschaffenburger Tafelbild: Studien zur Tafelmalerei des 13. Jahrhunderts, eds E. Emmerling and C. Ringer, Munich, Arbeitshefte des Baverischen Landesamtes für Denkmalpflege 89, 25–40. ‘Richard Krautheimer e il Medioevo Romano’, in In Memoriam Richard Krautheimer, Relazioni della Giornata di Studi Roma 20 febbraio 1995, Rome, 61–6. 1998 ‘Nuns and Altarpieces’, Sitzungsberichte/Kunstgeschichtliche Gesellschaft zu Berlin 41/42 (1992/94), 27–57. ‘The Altarpiece by Meo da Siena for San Pietro at Perugia: Tradition Versus Innovation’, Städel-Jahrbuch 16 (1997), 7–34. ‘Seated Kings, Sea-Faring Saints and Heraldry: Some Themes in Angevin Iconography’, in LʼÉtat Angevin, Nuovi studi storici, 45; Collection de l’Ecole française de Rome, 245, Rome 45, 115–26. ‘Duccio, “Cimabue” and the Maestro di Casole: Early Sienese Paintings for Florentine Confraternities’, in Iconographica: Mélanges offerts à Piotr Skubiszewski par ses amis, ses collègues, ses élèves, eds R. Favreau and M.H. Debiès, Poitiers, Civilisation médiévale 7, 109–13. Obituary: ‘Marie-Madeleine Gauthier’, in: The Independent, 27th August 1998. 1999 obituary: ‘Marie-Madeleine Gauthier (1920–1998)’, in: Revue de lʼart 123, 83. ‘Gian Paolo Panini, San Paolo fuori le Mura and Pietro Cavallini; Some Notes on Colour and Setting’, in Mosaics of Friendship: Studies in Art and History for Eve Borsook, ed. O. Francisci Osti, Florence, 245–54. ‘LʼEnseignement de l’Histoire de l’Art au Royaume-Uni’, Revue de lʼart 125, 5–7. ‘The Artistic Patronage of PopeN icholas IV’, in Oreficerie e Smalti in Europa fra XIII e XV Secolo: Atti del Convegno di Studi, Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa, 7–8 novembre 1996, ed. A. Rosa Calderoni Masetti, Pisa, Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa Classe di Lettere e Filosofia: Quaderni 4, 1–8. 2000 ‘Legates, Cardinals and Kings: England and Italy in the Thirteenth Century’, in LʼEuropa e lʼArte Italiana, ed. M. Seidel, Venice, Collana del Kunsthistorisches Institut in Florenz 3, 74–93. ‘The Artistic Patronage of the Fieschi Family 1243–1336’, in Le Vie del Medioevo: Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Studi, Parma, 28 settembre-1 ottobre 1998, ed. A. Carlo Quintavalle, Milan, I Convegni di Parma 1, 309–18. 2001 ‘"Magister Bertucius Aurifex” et les Portes en Bronze de Saint-Marc, un Programme pour lʼAnnée Jubilaire’, Revue de lʼArt 134, 9–26. ‘"Sepulchrum … permagnificum et sumptuosum inter omnia sepulcra julian gardner’s published works xxvii

vicina": A Note on Cardinal Guillaume de Bray and His Tomb in Orvieto by Arnolfo di Cambio’, in Opere e giorni: studi su mille anni di arte europea: dedicati a Max Seidel, ed. K. Bergdolt, Venice, 85–90. ‘The Family Chapel: Artistic Patronage and ArchitecturalT ransformation in Italy circa 1275–1325’, in Art, Cérémonial et Liturgie au Moyen Age: Actes du Colloque de 3e Cycle Romand de Lettres, Lausanne-Fribourg, 24–25 mars, 14– 15 avril, 12–13 mai 2000, ed. N. Bock, Rome, Études Lausannoises d’Histoire de l’Art 1, 545–64. 2002 ‘Giotto in America (and Elsewhere)’, in Italian Panel Painting of the Duecento and Trecento, ed. V. M Schmidt, Studies in the History of Art 61, 160–81. ‘Torriti’s Birds’, in Medioevo: Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Studi, Parma, 26–29 settembre 2001, ed. A. Carlo Quintavalle, Milan, I convegni di Parma 2, 605–14. ‘“Sancta Dei Genetricis imago … reverenter compacta et sanctorum reli quiis cavato loco insignita”: The Altarpiece in Santa Maria Maggiore’, in L’”immagine antica”. La Madonna col Bambino di Santa Maria Maggiore, eds M. Ciatti and C. Frosinini, Florence, 57–62. 2003 ‘Likeness and/or Representation in English and French Royal Portraits c. 1250–c. 1300’, in Das Porträt vor der Erfindung des Porträts, eds M. Büchsel and P. Schmidt, Mainz, 141–51. ‘Innocent III and His Influence on Roman Art of the Thirteenth Century’, in Innocenzo III: Urbs et Orbis: Atti del Congresso Internazionale, Roma, 9–15 September, 1998, ed. A. Sommerlechner, Rome, Miscellanea della Società Romana di Storia Patria 44, 1245–60. ‘Some Aspects of the History of the Italian Altar, c. 1250–c. 1350: Placement and Decoration’, in Objects, Images and the Word, ed. C. Hourihane, Princeton, Occasional Papers, Princeton University, Index of Christian Art 6, 138–60. obituary: ‘Ernst Kitzinger’, in: The Independent, 8th February. obituary: ‘John Shearman’, in: The Independent, 22nd August. 2004 ‘The Artistic Patronage of Boniface VIII: the Perugian Inventory of the Papal Treasure of 1311’, Römisches Jahrbuch der Bibliotheca Hertziana 34, [2001/2002], 69–86. ‘The Painted City: Legal Domain or Visualized Utopia?’, in La Bellezza della Città: Stadtrecht und Stadtgestaltung im Italien des Mittelalters und der Renaissance, eds M. Stolleis and R. Wolff, Reihe der Villa Vigoni 16, 343–71. ‘Conclusion: Santa Maria Donna Regina in its European Context’, in The Church of Santa Maria Donna Regina: Art, Iconography and Patronage in Fourteenth Century Naples, eds J. Elliott and C. Warr, Aldershot, 195–201. 2005 ‘Arnolfo di Cambio: Perugia and Orvieto’, The Burlington Magazine 147, 845–7. ‘A Minor Episode of Public Disorder in Assisi: Francis Renounces his Inheritance’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 68, 275–85. ‘Introduction’, in M. Bonanni, Il Monumento Funebre ai Genitori del Cardinal Partino di Montefiore dellʼAso, Ascoli Piceno 8–10. ‘Prophet Dedications in Medieval and Renaissance Venice’, in Der unbestechliche Blick, ed. M. Gaier, Trier, 31–9. ‘Epilogue: “From Hence Your Memory Death Cannot Take"’, in Care for the Here and the Hereafter, ed. T. van Bueren, Turnhout, 291–6. ‘Arnolfo di Cambio e l’Europa’, in Arnolfo alle Origini del Rinascimento Fiorentino, ed. E. Neri Lusanna, Florence, 55–67. xxviii julian gardner’s published works

2006 ‘The Influence of Ugo Procacci as a Scholar Outside Italy’, in Ugo Procacci a Cento Anni dalla Nascita (1905–2005), ed. M. Ciatti, Storia e Teoria del Restauro: Studi 4, Florence, 231–42. ‘Opus Anglicanum, Goldsmithswork, Manuscript Illumination and Ivories in the Rome of Bonifacio VIII’, in Le culture di Bonifacio VIII: atti del convegno organizzato nellʼambito delle celebrazioni per il VII Centenario della morte, Bologna, 13–15 dicembre 2004 / Comitato Nazionale VII Centenario della Morte di Bonifacio VIII. Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio Evo, ed. M. Andaloro, Rome, 163–79. 2007 ‘Friars on the Façade: the Franciscans and Gothic sculpture’, in Medioevo mediterraneo: lʼOccidente, Bisanzio e lʼIslam. ed. A.C. Quintavalle, Milan, I Convegni di Parma 7, 696–705. ‘Giottoʼs portrait of Christ’, in Intorno al Sacro Volto: Genova, Bisanzio e il Mediterraneo (secoli XI – XIV), eds A.R. Calderoni Masetti, C. Dufour Bozzo, G. Wolf, Venice, 209–22. 2008 ‘Stone Saints: Commemoration and Likeness in Thirteenth-Century Italy, France, and Spain’, in Contemporary encounters with the medieval face: selected papers from The Metropolitan Museum of Art symposium “Facing the Middle Ages” held in honor of the fiftieth anniversary of the ICMA 14– 15 October 2006, ed. C. Maines, New York, 121–34. ‘Thirteenth-century Gothic Façades in Italy’, in Medioevo: arte e storia, ed. A.C. Quintavalle, Milan, I Convegni di Parma 10, 669–80. ‘Curial narratives: the Seals of Cardinal Deacons 1280–1305’, in Good Impression : Image and Authority in Medieval Seals, eds N. Adams, J. Cherry and J. Robinson, London, 85–90. ‘Painting in Florence and Siena after the Cold War’, inMedioevo: arte e storia, ed. A.C. Quintavalle, Milan, I Convegni di Parma 10, 662–8. 2009 Arnolfoʼs moment: acts of an international conference, Florence, Villa I Tatti, May 26–27, 2005 eds D. Friedman, J. Gardner, M. Haines, Florence. ‘Arnolfo di Cambio: from Rome to Florence’, in Arnolfoʼs moment, eds D. Friedman, J. Gardner, M. Haines, Florence, 141–57. “Foreword” in F. Schwartz, Il bel cimitero Santa Maria Novella in Florenz 1279–1348; Grabmäler, Architektur und Gesellschaft, Berlin, 13–17. ‘Paolo Veneziano as Narrator’, in I fondi oro della collezione Alberto Crespi al Museo Diocesano: questioni iconografiche e attributive, Cinisello Balsamo, Milan, 16–23. ‘Il polittico di Giotto di Bondone nella Pinacoteca Nazionale di Bologna’, in Il polittico di Giotto nella Pinacoteca Nazionale di Bologna: nuove letture, eds D. Cauzzi, C. Seccaroni, Florence, 8–21. “Sea-faring saints and landlubber painters: maritime miracles and Italian mediaeval painters,” in ed. M.S. Calò Mariani, I Santi venuti dal Mare Atti del V Convegno Internazionale di Studi. Bari – Brindisi 14–18 dicembre, 2005, Bari, 15–34. ‘Sealing Memory: Description and Authenticity’, in Medioevo: immagine e memoria, ed. A.C. Quintavalle, Milan, I Convegni di Parma 11, 319–24. “TheE uropean context of the Westminster Retable, eds P. Binski, A. Massing, The Westminster Retable History, technique, conservation, Cambridge, 66–78. 2010 ‘A thirteenth-century Franciscan building contract’, in Medioevo: le officine, ed. A.C. Quintavalle, Milan, I Convegni di Parma 12, 457–67. julian gardner’s published works xxix

“Aedificia iam in regales surgunt altitudines”: the Mendicant Great Church in the Trecento’, in Communes and Despots in Medieval and Renaissance Italy, eds J.E. Law and B. Paton, Aldershot, 307–27. “The Placement of Inscriptions on Painting and Sculpture in Italy c. 1250– c. 1350: Contexts and Status,” Las Inscripiones Góticas, eds E. Martín López, V. Garcia Lobo, II Colloquio Internacional de Epigrafia Medieval León del 11 al 15 de septiembre 2006, Corpus Inscriptionum Hispaniae Mediaevalium, León 2010, 351–66. “The tomb of Cardinal Guillaume de Bray by Arnolfo di Cambio in its European contexts”, in Arnolfo di Cambio: Il Monumento del Cardinale Guillaume de Bray dopo il restauro, Roma / Orvieto 9–11 dicembre 2004 (Bollettino d’Arte Volume speciale Serie VII 2009 [Novembre 2010], 52–66. 2011 Giotto and his Publics: Three Paradigms of Patronage, (The Berenson Lectures), Cambridge Mass. “For whom the bell tolls”: a Franciscan bell-founder, Franciscan bells and a Franciscan patron in late thirteenth-century Rome,” in Medioevo: I Committenti, ed. A.C. Quintavalle, I Convegni di Parma 13, 460–8.

Book Reviews

1966 R. Branner, St. Louis and the Court Style in Gothic Architecture, London, 1965, in: The Journal of the British Archaeological Association 29, 158–9. 1968 G. Henderson, Gothic, Harmondsworth, 1967, in: The Burlington Magazine 110, 524. 1970 e Battisti, Cimabue, Milan, 1963, in: The Burlington Magazine 112, 52–3. 1972 B. Degenhart and A. Schmitt, Corpus der italienischen Zeichnungen 1300– 1450, Berlin, 1968, in: The Burlington Magazine 114, 32–4. 1974 M. Seidel, La scultura lignea di Giovanni Pisano, Florence, 1971, in: The Burlington Magazine 116, 115–6. 1975 W. Sauerländer, Gothic Sculpture in France 1140–1270, London, in: The Burlington Magazine 117, 54–5. F. Neidhart Steigerwald, Das Grabmal Heinrichs des Löwen und Mathildes im Dom zu Braunschweig: eine Studie z. figürlichen Kunst des frühen 13. Jahrhunderts, insbesondere d. bildhauerischen, Braunschweig, 1972, in: The Burlington Magazine 117, 175. 1976 A. Carotti, Gli affreschi della grotta delle fornelle a Calvi Vecchia, Rome, 1974, in: The Burlington Magazine 118, 522. G. Matthiae, Pietro Cavallini, Rome, 1972, in: Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia, 30, 185–7. 1977 K. Cohen, The Metamorphosis of a Death Symbol: The Transi Tomb in the Late Middle Ages and Renaissance, Berkeley, 1973, in: The Burlington Magazine 119, 202–5. F.A. Greenhill, Incised Effigial Slabs, vol. I and II, London, 1976, in: The Burlington Magazine 119, 580. 1979 H. Belting, Die Oberkirche von San Francesco in Assisi: ihre Dekoration als Aufgabe und die Genese einer neuen Wandmalerei, Berlin, 1977, in: Kunstchronik 32, 63–84. 1980 P. Hetherington, Pietro Cavallini: A Study in the Art of Late Medieval Rome, London, 1979, in: The Burlington Magazine 122, 255–8. xxx julian gardner’s published works

F. Bologna, Napoli e le rotte mediterranee della pitura, Naples, 1977, in: The Burlington Magazine 122, 266. 1981 M. Scott, Late Gothic Europe, 1400–1500, (The History of Dress Series), London, 1980, in: Apollo 114, 65–6. I.M. Gomez, Temas Profanos en la Escultura Gótica Española: las Sillerias de Coro, Madrid, 1979, in: The Burlington Magazine 123, 47. s M. Newton, Fashion in the Age of the Black Prince, Ipswich, 1980, in: Apollo 114, 65–6. 1982 e Borsook, The Mural Painters of Tuscany, Oxford, 1980, in: The Burlington Magazine 124, 104–6. 1983 J. Garms, R. Juffinger and B. Ward-Perkins, Die mittelalterlichen Grabmäler in Rom und Latium vom 13. bis 15. Jahrhundert: I – die Grabplatten und Tafeln, in: The Burlington Magazine 125, 623. 1984 G. Bresc-Bautier, Artistes, Patriciens et Confréries: Production et Consom mation de lʼOeuvre dʼArt à Palerme et en Sicile Occidentale (1348–1460), Rome, 1979, in: The Burlington Magazine 126, 160–1. A. Ladis, Taddeo Gaddi, Columbia, 1982, in: The Burlington Magazine 126, 571–3. 1985 F. Deuchler, Duccio: Lʼopera completa, trad. di L. Coeta Rome, 1984, in: The Burlington Magazine 127, 43–4. M. Burresi, Andrea, Nino e Tommaso, Scultori Pisani, Milan, 1983, in Andrea Pisano und die toskanische Skulptur des 14. Jahrhunderts, G. Kreytenberg, Munich, 1984, in: The Burlington Magazine 127, 535–6. V. Moleta, From St. Francis to Giotto, Chicago, 1985, in: Journal of Eccle siastical History, 36, 324. 1986 I. Herklotz, “Sepulcra” e “Monumenta” del Medioevo, Rome, 1985, in: Kunst chronik 39, 247–51. 1988 A. Moskowitz, The Sculpture of Andrea and Nino Pisano, Cambridge, 1986, in: Apollo 128, 213–4. M. Boskovits, Frühe Italienische Malerei, Gemäldegalerie Berlin Katalog der Gemälde, Berlin, 1988, in: Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, 52, 432–7. V. Moleta, ed., Art and Public in Trecento Italy, Florence, 1986, in: Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 39, 252–3. G. Holmes, Florence, Rome and the Origins of the Renaissance, Oxford, 1986 in: Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 39, 592–4. 1989 P. Leone de Castris, Arte di Corte nella Napoli Angioina, Florence, 1986, in: The Burlington Magazine 131, 562–3. M. Boskovits, Frühe italienische Malerei – Gemäldegalerie Berlin, Katalog der Gemälde, Berlin, 1988, in: Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 52, 433–7. L. Bellosi, ed., Simone Martini: Complete Edition, A. Martindale, Oxford, 1988, in Simone Martini: atti del convegno, Florence, 1988, in: The Burlington Magazine 131, 487–90. A. Martindale, Simone Martini, Oxford, 1988, in: The Burlington Magazine, 131, 487–90. 1990 L.C. Marques, La Peinture du Duecento en Italie Centrale, Paris, 1987, in: The Burlington Magazine 132, 497. 1991 R. Offner, A Critical and Historical Corpus of Florentine Painting: The Fourteenth Century – The Works of Bernardo Daddi, Florence, 1990, sect. III, Vol. III, in: The Burlington Magazine 133, 200–1. 1993 J. Beck, Jacopo della Quercia, New York, 1992, in: The Burlington Magazine 135, 833. julian gardner’s published works xxxi

S. Romano, Eclissi di Roma: Pittura Murale a Roma e nel Lazio da Bonifazio VIII a Martino V (1295–1431), Rome, 1992, in: The Burlington Magazine 135, 631–2. M. Aronberg Lavin, The Place of Narrative: Mural Decoration in Italian Churches, 431–1600, Chicago, 1990, in: The Burlington Magazine 135, 42. D.S. Chambers, A Renaissance Cardinal and his Worldly Goods, London, 1992, in: Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 44, 556–7. 1994 A. Tomei, Jacobus Torriti pictor: una vicenda figurativa del tardo Duecento Romano, Rome, 1990, in: Speculum 69, 1286–7. P.A. Riedl, ed., Die Kirchen von Siena: Vol. II, 1–4, Munich, 1992, in: The Burlington Magazine 136, 174–5. C.F. Lewin, The Sistine Chapel Walls and the Liturgy, University Park, 1993, in: Apollo, 140, 55–6. C. Freigang, Imitare Ecclesias Nobiles. Die Kathedralen von Narbonne, Toulouse und Rodez, Worms, 1992, in: Apollo, 140, 63–4. C.M.S. Johns, Papal Art and Cultural Politics, Cambridge, 1993, in: Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 45, 55. P.M. Jones, Federico Borromeo and the Ambrosiana, Cambridge, 1993, in: Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 45, 170–80. 1995 K. Krüger, Der frühe Bildkult des Franziskus in Italien: Gestalt-und Funk tionswandel des Tafelbildes in Italien, Berlin, 1992, in: Kunstchronik 48, 286– 7. C. Frugoni, Francesco e l’invenzione delle stimmate, Turin, 1993, in: The Burlington Magazine 137, 551–2. 1996 J. Garms, ed., Die mittelalterlichen Grabmäler in Rom und Latium vom 13. bis zum 15. Jahrhundert: II; die Monumentalgräber, Vienna, 1994, in: The Burlington Magazine 138, 830. M. Jacoff, The Horses of San Marco and the Quadriga of the Lord, Princeton, 1993, in: Speculum, 71, 965–7. 1997 P. Harpring, The Sienese Trecento Painter Bartolo di Fredi, Cranbury, 1993; G. Freuler, Bartolo di Fredi Cini, Disentis, 1994, in: The Burlington Magazine 139, 478–80. G.M. Radke, Viterbo: Profile of a Thirteenth-Century Papal Palace, Cambridge, 1996, in: Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 56, 506–8. s de Blaauw, Cultus et Decor: liturgia e architettura nella Roma tardoantica e medievale: Basilica Salvatoris, Sanctae Mariae, Sancti Petri, Città del Vaticano, 1996, Studi e testi, 335/336, in: Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 55, 482–4. 1998 A. Claridge and J. Osborne, The Paper Museum of Cassiano del Pozzo: Early Christian and Medieval Antiquities – I. Mosaics and Wallpaintings in Roman Churches, London, 1996, in: The Burlington Magazine 140, 43–4. B. Zanardi, Il Cantiere di Giotto: le storie di San Francesco ad Assisi, Milan, 1996, in: The Burlington Magazine 140, 269–70. J. Tripps, Tendencies of Gothic in Florence: Andrea Bonaiuti, Florence, 1996, in A Critical and Historical Painting, IV (VII,1), 264, in: The Burlington Magazine 140, 480–1. P. Fortini Brown, Venice and Antiquity, London, 1996, in: Speculum, 73, 815– 6. s Epstein, Genoa and the Genoese 958–1526, in: Italian Studies, 53, 167. 1999 H.B.J. Maginnis, Painting in the Age of Giotto: A Historical Re-evaluation, University Park PA, 1997, in: Italian Studies 54, 193–5. xxxii julian gardner’s published works

2000 D. Pincus, The Tombs of the Doges of Venice, Cambridge, 2000, in: The Burlington Magazine 142, 780. J. Cannon and A. Vauchez, Margherita of Cortona and the Lorenzetti. University Park PA, 1999, in: History, 85, 709–10. 2001 G. Kreytenberg, Orcagna: Andrea di Cione – ein universeller Künstler der Gotik in Florenz, Mainz, 2000, in: The Burlington Magazine 143, 570–2. 2002 M.C. Miller, The Bishopʼs Palace: Architecture and Authority in Medieval Italy, Ithaca. NY, 2000, in: Speculum 77, 1363–4. s Romano, La Basilica di San Francesco ad Assisi: pittori, botteghe, strategie narrative, Rome, 2001, in: The Burlington Magazine 144, 295–6. M. Vale, The Princely Court: Medieval Courts and Culture in North-West Europe, Oxford, 2001, in: The International History Review, 24, 874. 2003 L. Grant and R. Mortimer, eds, Westminster Abbey: The Cosmati Pavements, Aldershot, 2002, in: Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 54, 752–3. 2005 G. Mazzoni, ed., Falsi dʼAutore: Icilio Federico Joni e la cultura del falso tra otto e novecento, Siena, 2004, in: The Burlington Magazine 147, 760. exhibition Review: Arnolfo di Cambio: A Rebirth in Medieval Umbria. 7 July 2005–8 January 2006, in: The Burlington Magazine 167. L. Bourdua, The Franciscans and Art Patronage in Late Medieval Italy, Cambridge, 2004, in: Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 56, 149–50. 2008 J.B. Steinhoff,Sienese Painting after the Black Death: Artistic Pluralism, Politics, and the New Art Market, Cambridge, 2007, in: Speculum, 83:3, 763–4. 2009 B. Cassidy, Politics, Civic Ideals and Sculpture in Italy: c.1240–1400, in The Burlington Magazine, 151, 553–4. 2010 P.C. Claussen, Corpus Cosmatorum, Stuttgart, 1987 (Forschungen zur Kunstgeschichte und christlichen Archäologie.). 2. Die Kirchen der Stadt Rom im Mittelalter 1050–1300; 2,2. S. Giovanni in Laterano, 2008. (Forschungen zur Kunstgeschichte und christlichen Archäologie; 21), in: Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, 69:3, 446–48. 2011 A. Fiderer Moskowitz, The façade reliefs of Orvieto Cathedral, London, 2009, in: The Burlington Magazine, 153, 46. introduction 1

INTRODUCTION

Louise Bourdua and Robert Gibbs

Julian Gardner has been an inspirational teacher and guide to three generations of scholars, which can certainly be seen to constitute a school. This volume presents papers by some of them. They, and hope- fully their own students in turn, are deeply indebted to the breadth and flexibility of his approach, as Serena Romano has so vividly expounded in her appreciation. This is evident both in the scope of the papers here presented and in their numerous references to Julian’s own work. Those who studied with Julian have not only learned from their teacher but from each other in a true spirit of collegiality; as teaching academics, museum curators, consultants, editors, they have pursued his ideas and concerns in many different ways, yet with an awareness of the range of possibilities that his teaching opened up that constitutes an undeniable tradition within the broader field of medieval studies. Like a Vasarian Life, Julian’s teaching career has undergone three phases: the earliest at the Courtauld, Reading and at Warwick, where he began teaching undergraduates while supervising PhD students still registered at the Courtauld. By the 1980s, PhD candidates began registering at Warwick and the twenty-five years that followed saw broadly two generations – a smattering in the mid 80s and a burst in the 1990s onward. Thus began the heroic era of the WarwickT recento Seminar at which Julian’s first generation of postgrads and his new Warwick research students were not only kept in touch with each other but with those studying with other major scholars such as John White, Andrew Martindale, Robin Cormack, who Julian knew so well. New research and new ideas circulated freely, uninhibited by the con- straints of many continental schools of a more baronial nature. Never did one feel obliged to dutifully follow Julian’s own conclusions, and one could challenge those of colleagues without any feeling of scholarly animosity arising. By the 1980s students from other universities where those first researchers now taught joined this expanding circle 2 louise bourdua and robert gibbs of acolytes, reaching by the 1990s from the Courtauld Institute to Aberdeen and Belfast, not to mention Texas and Ottawa. We hope that Julian’s interests in what one might call the ‘Wider and Longer Duecento and Trecento’, involving the tastes and patronage of prelates from England and France as well as Italy within an ever flexible view of Roman art, their seals and tombs as well as the painting and sculpture of traditional art history, are suitably reflected in the scope of the papers presented here. So too, perhaps, is his awareness of the historical determinates of artistic results. And Julian’s increasingly evident view of the Italian peninsula as a whole rather than as a frame for the traditionally favoured hegemony of Florence is strongly represented, even if Venice, to which much of his Warwick teaching has been devoted, is only touched upon in our opening study. Jill Bain focuses on the dado area of 12th to 14th-century churches, proposing Venetian models for Giotto’s famous use of grisaille for the Virtues and Vices in the Arena chapel, Padua. Their use of monochrome fulfils many purposes, not least as a marker of different levels of reality from the colourful murals above them. This issue of pictorial illusion is taken up again by Anne Dunlop. This time it is a complex notion of love which unfolds behind the hangings depicted in the middle of the 14th century in the Camera d’Amore in the castle of Sabbionara d’Avio. John Osborne suggests the adaptation of an ancient marble in S. Prassede, Rome, to reflect the new interest in heraldry typical of French influence in Rome, in this case by the Colonna who played a major part on Roman ecclesiastical patronage before being victimised by Boniface VIII. Robert Gibbs takes up a theme explored by John Osborne in an earlier tribute to Julian, the widespread devotion to the memory of Urban V, this time in the context of Bologna’s troubled relationship with its papal overlords in the later 14th century. Dillian Gordon shows that despite their very different visual lan- guages, the inscription of the Cosmati floor in Westminster Abbey is intimately related to the prominent depictions of cosmic globes in English royal imagery. Joanna Cannon shows how the devotional kissing of the Virgin’s foot in one of Duccio’s most delicate works draws on an equally far-flung cultural background, notably the Byzan tine proskynesis, and represents an equally deep-seated aspect of Tuscan devotion. Virginia Glenn’s study of late 13th-century Parisian metalwork focuses upon a remarkable gift to Assisi by a French queen, probably Jeanne de Navarre, in the context of other innovatory introduction 3 designs such as the earliest known monstrance at Herkenrode, and explores its novel Clarissan imagery, uniting French artistry with extremely current Franciscan ideas. Claudia Bolgia and Roberto Cobianchi both address the origins of works divorced from their original contexts: Bolgia argues that her Roman Trinity fresco belongs to a lost church whose very identity derived from its distinctive imagery. Exploiting the discovery of a photographic archive, Cobianchi shows that a very distinctive signed triptych by the only significant Trecento artists from Reggio Emilia came not from Piacenza, as current trends in attributional connois- seurship might suggest, but from the neglected centre of Correggio and rather more modest levels of Franciscan patronage than the Assisi reliquary Virginia Glenn presents. The importance of religious orders in the history of art, where Julian was undoubtedly a pioneering influence on his students is further evident in Jill Farquhar’s paper offering new contextual readings of a series of Riminese panels whose unusual iconography including Christ stripped of his clothes, can be explained by Franciscan spiritual tendencies. Martina Schilling’s essay, on the other hand, sheds light on the neglected tomb of Anthony of Padua’s teacher, the regular Augustinian canon Thomas Gallus (d. 1246) in Vercelli, while also opening up the significant issue of the representation of scholars and teachers in the art of the Trecento. The concluding study by Louise Bourdua returns once more to a Franciscan context and the home of Anthony of Padua himself in exploring other devotional aspects of one of the greatest fresco cycles of the Trecento, the Lupi Chapel dedicated to St James, and the way in which issues of pilgrimage and personal devotion direct the choice of programme and its realisation and interpretation. This, then, is not a straightforward cross-section of current interest in Italian Art of 1250–1400, to borrow a definition from more than one popular division of European art history, far less a bland selection from the art-historical papers from some international Medieval conference. Rather it is a sample of how a coherent but wide-ranging perspective of the visual culture of a major formative period in European history can be both related to and derived from what sud- denly became after centuries its most creative centre, and this without accepting as a given what has subsequently become the dominant his- toriography within Western Art History. As Serena Romano has emphasised, this multiple curiosity together with a strong sense of 4 louise bourdua and robert gibbs overall cohesive purpose and perspective is something we all owe in our individual ways to Julian Gardner’s teaching and writing and to those awesome instant bibliographies written on the back of an invariably appropriate postcard with which he has disciplined and enriched our own contributions. signifying absence 5

chapter one

SIGNIFYING ABSENCE: EXPERIENCING MONOCHROME IMAGERY IN MEDIEVAL PAINTING∗

Jill Bain

In the classic 1939 film, the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy steps out of her modest Kansas farmhouse into the fantastical land of Oz, that place ‘somewhere over the rainbow’,1 the distinction between the two realms of existence is signified by the transition from sepia-toned black-and-white into glowing Technicolor. For theatre-going audiences in 1939, the visual experience of this transition was striking, partly because of its novelty, in that a new technology was being used, but more importantly, because the technology was being used to convey meaning. While the Wizard of Oz was amongst the first films to make use of the contrast of colour and black-and-white technologies, more recent films have capitalized on this juxtaposition for similar purposes, perhaps most conspicuously in Pleasantville (1998),2 in which the contrast of black-and-white with colour imagery is used to denote differing times (respectively, past and present), differing levels of reality (the black-and-white scenes take place in a television world into which the characters have stumbled), and differing states of consciousness (colour begins to creep slowly into the black-and-white world – flowers bloom in colour, faces and clothing take on naturalistic hues – as a result of the characters experiencing revelations of some sort).3 Significantly, it is with the juxtaposition of colour and black-

∗ I have selected this essay to honour Julian Gardner in that its central thesis relates to the transition from absence to presence, from lack to fulfillment, from ignorance to revelation. As anyone who has had the pleasure of conversing with Professor Gardner well knows, this same transition takes place in the eager listener, who may arrive en grisaille, but leaves fully chromatic. Many thanks, Julian, for enlightening so many of us. 1 H. Arlen and E.Y. Harburg, Over the Rainbow, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1938. 2 J. Calhoun, ‘Black & White in Color’, Theatre Crafts International, 32:10, (November, 1998), 48–52. 3 There are numerous examples of films that make use of the juxtaposition of colour and black-and-white imagery to suggest these themes of transformation, rev- 6 jill bain and-white imagery that these films’ binaries become clear and meaningful, and while the films exploit and reference the specific technologies of their medium, the meanings derived do not rely on 20th-century technology, but suggest more universal responses in relation to colour and its absence. The absence of colour is also central to the meaning of one of the most famous paintings of the twentieth century, Picasso’s Guernica, created in 1937 in response to the aerial bombardment of the Basque town. In choosing to paint Guernica in shades of grey with black and white, Picasso emphasized the bleak reality of the horror of death and destruction through such inhumane means, and the association of death with such sombre pigmentation;4 a sense of absence and loss is conveyed in a way that it could not be in a fully chromatic painting.5 It has been suggested that the monochrome treatment of Guernica was inspired in part by its original context in the Spanish Pavilion at the 1937 Paris World’s Fair; Picasso wanted the painting to stand out amidst the colour and bustle of the fair, thus again creating meaning through the juxtaposition of monochrome and colour.6 Guernica’s lack of colour has also been related to reportage,7 in resembling the black-and-white print and photographs of newspapers, from which Picasso learned of the bombing.8

elation and temporal difference; a small sampling would include I’m Not There (2007), Memento (2001), American History X (1998), Ladri di Saponette (1989), and Wings of Desire (1987). I would like to thank participants at the 2005 Universities Art Association of Canada Annual Conference, and film critic Robert Moyes, for contributing many titles to a larger list. 4 see D. de Menil, et al., Gray is the Color: An Exhibition of Grisaille Painting XIIIth-XXth Centuries, Houston, 1974, 9 and passim. 5 Picasso’s use of monochromatic palettes for various purposes is acknowledged as one of the marked traits of his career; see de Menil, op. cit., 99. 6 P. Tuchman, ‘Guernica and Guernica’, Artforum, 21: 8 (April 1983), 44–51, 45. 7 Ibid., 45. 8 H. B. Chipp, Picasso’s Guernica: History, Transformations, Meanings, Berkeley, 1988, 38ff. In the twenty-first century, we have a strong association of black-and- white with these older technologies of twentieth-century mass media, such as black-and-white newspapers, black-and-white photography, and black-and-white films and television programmes. Thus the use of black-and-white can suggest, for the twenty-first century viewer, the realism or ‘factualism’ of reportage, and/or temporal difference. This latter aspect of black-and-white imagery in evoking the past has been claimed as the motivation for grisaille imagery in the late medieval and early Renaissance period by S. Blumenröder, ‘Andrea Mantegna’s Grisaille Paintings: Colour Metamorphosis as a Metaphor for History’, in Symbols of Time in the History of Art, eds C. Heck and K. Lippincott, Turnhout, 2002, 41–56. She notes, for exam- signifying absence 7

What the Wizard of Oz, Pleasantville, and Guernica all demonstrate, albeit in the 20th century, is the significance of colour and its absence in determining our reading, and hence the meaning, of an image. I would suggest that this reading is not dependent on twentieth-century associations, however, and that viewers of images in the middle ages, being the focus of the explorations in this brief paper, would have similar responses to 20th or 21st-century audiences in viewing monochromatic9 representation. I have cited the popular culture medium of film specifically, as it seems to me to be an appropriate comparison to the painted narratives of church walls in the middle ages, in that popular films and medieval murals both desire to communicate meaning in a readily comprehensible manner to the average viewer,10 while allowing for more complex readings by more sophisticated audiences. In discussing how colour can influence the reading of a film, Flo Leibowitz notes that ‘The Wizard of Oz contrasted color and black-and-white – color Oz looked exotic; black- and-white Kansas looked ordinary. In the end, the fantasy land had more presence [emphasis added] than the real land, which was presumably the intended effect … color gave the objects pictured a presence of a fantastic type’. 11 Steven Hamelman similarly refers to the ‘monochrome desolation’ 12 of Kansas, and declares of this black-and- white land known as ‘home’, that ‘Home is about absence. Home is something which Dorothy wishes to absent because it is absence’. 13 We see and experience the world in colour; when colour is absent or suppressed, we naturally search for meaning in this. The signifying of

ple, that all of Mantegna’s independent grisaille panels represent either Old Testa- ment or ancient (i.e. pre-Christian) subjects (45). 9 I am here using the term ‘monochrome’ loosely to indicate a significantly reduced colour scheme in contrast to polychromy. 10 one might here think of the words of Gregory the Great in his famous letter to Serenus of Marseille, ‘What Scripture is to the educated, images are to the ignorant, who see through them what they must accept; they read in them what they cannot read in books’, trans. in C. Davis-Weyer, Early Medieval Art: 300–1150, Toronto, 1986, 48. It may be tempting to substitute ‘the written word’ for ‘Scripture’, and ‘moving pictures’ for ‘images’. For further consideration of the letter of Gregory and its implications, see H.L. Kessler, Spiritual Seeing: Picturing God’s Invisibility in Medieval Art, Philadelphia, 2000, 104–48. 11 F. Leibowitz, ‘Movie Colorization and the Expression of Mood’, Journal of Aes thetics and Art Criticism, 49:4 (1991), 363–5, 364. 12 s Hamelman, ‘The Deconstructive Search For Oz’, Literature Film Quarterly, 28: 4 (2000), 312–9, 315. 13 Ibid, 316. 8 jill bain absence, I believe, can be proposed as a general theme for the purpose of much monochromatic imagery of the middle ages and beyond. In the wall-painting programmes of medieval churches, monochrome imagery was often featured in the dado area.14 Figural dado paintings in ecclesiastical settings are usually coded in ways which suggest how they were intended to be read.15 First, their placement on the wall, in the lowest register of decoration; second, their frequent rendering as fictive curtains (signifying matter);16 third, their monochromatic or limited colour schemes; and fourth, their manner of rendering, which appears rapid and free, with an emphasis on line. The placement of dado images indicates their place in the hierarchy of ecclesiastical imagery as being closest to the viewer, closest to the earthly realm, and thus an appropriate place for their usually secular, or at least non-biblical, subject matter.17 Thefaux presentation, lack of

14 The dado can feature a single colour, but is often two colours, typically a red- ochre and yellow-ochre or black combination against a white background. A sampling of the numerous extant (but often fragmentary) examples to feature painted drapery include: the crypt of the Cathedral of Aquileia; Sta Maria, Summaga; San Maurizio, Roccaforte Mondovi; San Remigio, Pallanza; San Tommaso, Briga Nova- rese; San Vincenzo, Pombia; San Martino, Carugo; San Giusto, Trieste. These are all found in northern Italy and date to the late 12th and early 13th centuries. A comprehensive list will be published in a work-in-progress, tentatively entitled Decoding the Dado: Marginal Imagery in Italian Romanesque Painting, co-authored by J. Osborne. 15 see J. Osborne, ‘Dado Imagery in the Lower Church of San Clemente, Rome, and Santa Maria Immacolata at Ceri’, in Shaping Sacred Space and Institutional Iden tity in Romanesque Mural Painting: Essays in Honour of Otto Demus, eds T. Dale and J. Mitchell, London, 2004, 35–50. 16 The replication of a physical object is important here, both in the desire to create a convincing likeness and to connect the image with the physical world; these points will be revisited in the essay. For a recent overview of the significance of materials in the medieval experience of art, see H.L. Kessler, Seeing Medieval Art, Peter- borough, 2004, 19–44. On the renewed interest in the representation of materials in the late medieval period, see P. Reutersward, ‘The Breakthrough of Monochrome Sculpture during the Renaissance’, Konsthistorisk Tidskrift 69 (2000), 125–49, 128. 17 There are also the practical matters of damage and economics; being closest to the floor, the dado is also more susceptible to damage by getting in the way of feet, brooms, and furnishings, and hence less sacred imagery may be desired, while the reduced colour schemes would also represent a less costly enterprise than the full polychromy accorded to the more sanctified imagery above. This does not diminish, however, the more meaningful function of these monochromatic areas, as can be readily witnessed in the dado of Giotto’s Arena Chapel. On the latter, see S. Pfeiffen- berger, The Iconology of Giotto’s Virtues and Vices at Padua, Ph.D. diss., Bryn Mawr College, 1966; R. Steiner, ‘Paradoxien der Nachahmung bei Giotto: die Grisaillen der Arenakapelle zu Padua’, in Die Trauben des Zeuxis: Formen künstlerischer Wirklich keitsaneignung, ed. Hans Körner et al., Hildesheim, 1990, 61–86; J. Tripps, ‘Giotto an der Mauer des Paradieses: Ein Interpretationsvorschlag sum Tugenden- und Laster- signifying absence 9

Figure 1.1. Dado of the crypt of the cathedral of Aquileia: warrior and knight, late 12th century, fresco. colour, and the manner in which these images are rendered, work together with placement to reinforce the separation of the dado subjects from the religious imagery represented above.18 One of the better-known examples of Romanesque dado painting that demonstrates these qualities is to be found in the crypt of the cathedral of Aquileia, the illustration here representing a knight in pursuit of a warrior characterized as ‘foreign’, likely a Saracen (Fig. 1.1),19 while a lesser-known zyklus der Arena-Kapelle zu Padua’, Pantheon 51 (1993), 188–96; M. Krieger, Gri saille als Metapher: Zum Entstehen der Peinture en Camaieu im frühen 14. Jahrhundert, Vienna, 1995, 54–67; B. Cole, ‘Virtues and Vices in Giotto’s Arena Chapel’, in Studies in the History of Italian Art, 1250–1550, London, 1996, 337–63; J. Osborne, ‘The Dado Programme in Giotto’s Arena Chapel and its Italian Roman- esque Antecedents’, Burlington Magazine 145 (2003), 361–5. 18 These ideas are more fully explored in Osborne and Bain, Decoding the Dado (see note 14). The features described represent the majority of dado images, but exceptions to these general rules do exist: some dados feature polychrome imagery, and some are not painted in imitation of drapery. 19 The specific subjects of these scenes cannot be firmly identified, but other parts of the dado include images of animals, figures brandishing weapons, men presenting themselves to a seated figure, and other seated and standing figures, most clearly secular in nature, under New Testament scenes and renderings of the lives of Sts Hermagorus and Fortunatus. The knight and Saracen illustrated here appear directly beneath a polychrome Deposition. See T. Dale, Relics, Prayer and Politics in Medieval Venetia: Romanesque Painting in the Crypt of Aquileia Cathedral, Princeton, 1997, 66–76; and J. Bain, Romanesque Figural Dado Imagery in Northern Italy: Three Case Studies, M.A. thesis, University of Victoria, 1990, 122–72. 10 jill bain but pertinent example is to be found in the nearby abbey church of Santa Maria in Summaga20 (Figs 1.2 and 1.3), both likely dating from the late 12th century. This last example, clearly representing images of Virtues and Vices21 rendered in monochrome on a convincingly illusionistic curtain, demonstrates that there is a precedent for the early trecento grisaille Virtues and Vices painted by Giotto in the Arena Chapel (Fig. 1.4).22 Although the programme and methods of representation present some obvious differences (Summaga’s Virtues and Vices are presented in four pairs, with the virtue triumphantly trampling on the van- quished vice, whereas Giotto places seven Virtues on the south wall, and the seven Vices on the north, so that the opposing pairs face one another across the distance of the width of the chapel), there are some interesting similarities. The placement in the dado, the limited colour schemes, the fictive nature of their settings (the drapery of Summaga and the marble niches and paneling of the Arena Chapel), the placement below full colour Christian narratives, and, of course, the subject matter, provide convincing parallels, and, considered together with the fact that Summaga is in the Veneto region, not far from Padua, suggest that this may have been a regional practice. Thomas Dale’s identification of scenes from the dado of the crypt of Aquileia, also in this region, as representing battles of Virtues and Vices would help to support this theory.23 The lack of colour in each of these sets of dado paintings certainly reinforces its differing level of reality from the polychrome narratives above, not only in representing fictive drapery and stone, but also in its human, or earthly subject matter: the battle of the Virtues and Vices is, after all, being fought in the human soul, and is thus a part of our terrestrial existence.24 Other dados allude less literally to the battle

20 scenes of armed combat between men, a man wrestling a lion, a bowman aim- ing at a dragon, a fowler, and allegories of the Vices and Virtues are found beneath Old and New Testament imagery; see Osborne, Dado Programme, 365; Dale, Relics, Prayer and Politics, 69; Bain, Romanesque Figural Dado Imagery, 9–75. 21 only two of the Vices can be identified by inscription: Avaricia and Desperacio (the latter illustrated in Fig. 1.2), while the only inscription surviving for a Virtue is TEM, presumably Temperantia (see Fig. 1.3). 22 osborne, ‘Dado Programme’, 361–6. Earlier precedents for the use of grisaille in the Arena Chapel dado have been discussed by J. Gardner, ‘Giotto: “First of the Moderns” or Last of the Ancients?’, Wiener Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte 44 (1991), 63–78. 23 Dale, Relics, Prayer and Politics, 68ff. 24 The popularity of the personification of the Virtues and Vices for use as Chris- tian moral exempla is attested to by the large number of extant examples. See A. Kat- signifying absence 11

Figure 1.2. Dado of Santa Maria, Summaga: Desperacio, late 12th century, fresco (Jill Bain).

Figure 1.3. Dado of Santa Maria, Summaga: Tem[perantia], late 12th century, fresco (Jill Bain). 12 jill bain

Figure 1.4. Giotto, Arena Chapel, Padua: detail of dado on north wall, c. 1305, fresco (Alinari/Art Resource, NY). signifying absence 13 for the soul, but the popularity in dado imagery of sirens, chimeras and other hybrid creatures that symbolize sinfulness, as well as battles between humans, or between humans and animals or hybrid crea tures,25 suggest that this is a common theme for the dado.26 The subdued dado colours and the earthly subjects suggest, by contrast with the full colour glory of the celestial imagery above, the more bleak and diminished nature of human existence prior to the soul’s union with God. But the dado can also mediate between heaven and earth, and its ultimate purpose is didactic, in providing the viewer with instruction on how to attain heavenly reward in following the path of the Virtues, and warning one away from the Vices, for heaven can only be achieved by the virtuous.27 The faithful are made complete upon entering the heavenly realm, moving from the subdued monochrome of the lowest part of the wall into a glorious polychromy

zenellenbogen, Allegories of the Virtues and Vices in Medieval Art: From Early Christian Times to the Thirteenth Century, London, 1939, rpt Toronto, 1989; J.S. Norman, Metamorphoses of an Allegory: the Iconography of the Psychomachia in Medieval Art, New York, 1988; J. O’Reilly, Studies in the Iconography of the Virtues and Vices in the Middle Ages, New York, 1988. On the imagery of the early sixth- century Psychomachia by Prudentius, see H. Woodruff, The Illustrated Manuscripts of Prudentius, Cambridge, Mass., 1929. Blumenröder, Andrea Mantegna’s Grisaille Paintings, argues that grisaille is usually intended to denote temporal difference, suggesting that Giotto’s use of grisaille is designed to create ‘a set of atemporal figures that balance the time-bound historical action of the narrative scenes’ (44ff). 25 These can be interpreted as battles between good and evil, referencing the Psy chomachia and Psalm 90:13 amongst other possible allegorical battles; see C. Verzar Bornstein, ‘Victory over Evil: Variations on the Image of Psalm 90:13 in the Art of Nicholaus’, in Scritti di storia dell’arte in onore di Roberto Salvini, Florence, 1984, 45–51 and P. Verdier, ‘Dominus potens in praelio’, Wallraf-Richartz-Jahrbuch 43 (1982), 35–106; see also A. D. Kartsonis (Anastasis: The Making of an Image, Prince ton, 1986, 71–5), regarding the related image of Christ trampling Hades. 26 one or more of these elements can be found in all of the dados listed in note 14, with the exception of Pallanza, as well as in the vast majority of those documented; see Bain, Romanesque Figural Dado Imagery, passim and Appendix, 218–21. 27 Giotto’s north wall Vices lead the viewer directly to Hell on the west wall’s Last Judgment, while his Virtues lead to Heaven via the south wall. In Summaga the dominant direction is vertical, with the conquering Virtues standing triumphantly over the Vices. I have suggested (Bain, Romanesque Figural Dado Imagery, 183–5) that this didactic function of the dado was later incorporated into the predella of the Italian altarpiece, which often features the earthly existence of a saint and helps to explain how he or she achieved salvation. Like the dado, the liveliness of the predella’s imagery is often in contrast to the more static and iconic imagery above; see R. Salvini and L. Traverso, The Predella from the XIIIth to the XVI Centuries, Lon- don, 1960, viii. 14 jill bain above.28 The implied materiality of the dado reinforces the distinction between the two realms, as the convincing representation of drapery and stone connects it with the physical world of the spectator.29 While Giotto’s polychrome narratives above the dado are rendered to create a convincing sense of three-dimensional figures occupying a “real” space, it is worth noting that in the majority of 12th- and 13th-century examples the dado imagery is rendered more realistically than the Christian narratives above, with the latter being far more abstract in nature, reinforcing the notion of a less familiar, more celestial setting. Thus hierarchy can be implied not only through placement, but through levels of abstraction and colour.30 To reinforce the revelatory nature of polychrome, we will look to an example to the south of Padua, in the chapterhouse of the abbey of Santa Maria di Pomposa, likely painted in the first or second decade of the 14th century.31 In this case, we are not looking at dado imagery,32 but at the effective use of monochome and polychrome imagery juxta-

28 A similar sacred hierarchy conveyed by colour is seen in Netherlandish folding altarpieces; see, for example, the observations of B.L. Rothstein, Sight and Spirituality in Early Netherlandish Painting, Cambridge, 2005, 47 and 141ff. 29 In the case of Giotto’s Virtues and Vices, while personified, their abstract nature is preserved by the suppression of colour so as to avoid confusion with the historical figures represented above; see Steiner, Paradoxien der Nachahmung, 68ff. Monochrome Virtues alone are represented in a more lofty position in the Baroncelli chapel; see J. Gardner, ‘The Decoration of the Baroncelli Chapel in Santa Croce’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 34 (1982), 89–114, 94ff. 30 steiner, Paradoxien der Nachahmung, 70–3, describes the distinction created by Giotto’s use of pictorial space in the dado as compared with that of the polychrome narratives above; the Virtues and Vices exist in a compressed space which compels them to project from their niches to ‘occupy’ the real space of the chapel, whereas the polychrome figures above recede to occupy a shelf-like space beyond the physical wall. It is worth noting that this same method could also be said to apply to one of the most hierarchical of Renaissance paintings, Masaccio’s Trinity in Sta Maria Novella, Florence (c. 1426). 31 M. Salmi, L’Abbazia di Pomposa, Rome, 1936; 2nd ed., Milan, 1966, 149–61; M. Faietti, ‘L’aula capitolare, il refettorio e la chiesa di Pomposa’, in La regola e l’arte: opera d’arte restaurate da complessi benedettini, Bologna, 1982, 37–55; C. Muscolino, ‘Gli affreschi della sala capitolare’, in Pomposa: la fabbrica, I restauri, Ravenna, 1992, 40–8; S. Hauer, Erneuerung im Bild: Die Benediktinerabtei Pomposa und ihre Wand malereien des 14. Jahrhunderts, Wiesbaden, 1998, 19–45. 32 Although painted dado drapery featuring birds and animals, probably of the late 12th century, is still present below much of the trecento imagery of the chapterhouse; see Salmi, L’Abbazia di Pomposa, 143 and figs 300–1. The abbey church of Pomposa also features griffins and birds in the dado of the west wall; see Salmi, L’Abbazia di Pomposa, 133 and figs 282–3. signifying absence 15

Figure 1.5. Decorative schema of the Chapterhouse of Santa Maria di Pomposa, early 14th century. Not to scale (Diagram: Bill Napier-Hemy). posed to create meaning. Following what seems to be a standard schema of trecento chapterhouse decoration,33 the eastern wall of the chapterhouse of Pomposa features a Crucifixion scene in the centre; this is flanked by two windows, to either side of which areS aints Peter and Paul (Fig. 1.5). The images of the east wall are polychromatic, and the full colour scheme of the eastern wall extends westward to include the two order saints, Benedict on the north wall and Guido (an illustrious 11th-century abbot of Pomposa) on the south.34 The visual contrast set up by the monochromatic rendering of the twelve prophets that fill the remainder of the north and south walls (there are no fig-

33 see J. Gardner, ‘Andrea di Bonaiuto and the Chapterhouse Frescoes in Santa Maria Novella’, Art History, 2 (1979), 107–38; M. Boskovits, ‘Insegnare per imma gini: la decorazione murale nelle sale capitolari’, Arte Cristiana 78 (1990), 123–42. 34 see P. Laghi, ‘S. Guido, abate di Pomposa’, Analecta Pomposiana III, Bologna, 1967, 7–107. 16 jill bain

Figure 1.6. Detail of the north (and east) wall of the Chapterhouse of Santa Maria di Pomposa: Zechariah and John the Baptist are the second and third figures pictured on the north wall, early 14th century, fresco (Jill Bain). ures on the west wall) is essential to the conception of the programme, being the visual cue that prompts the viewer to look for meaning in the cycle as a whole. The use of grisaille signifies a different realm of existence for these figures, with the prophets belonging to ‘an eraante legem’,35 before the promise of salvation that comes with the new law. That this is not simply a division between those who existed before Christ, belonging to the Old Testament, and those who co-exist with Christ in the New Testament, is clearly demonstrated by the prominent placement (being closest to Benedict on the north wall) of John the Baptist among the grisaille Old Testament prophets (Fig. 1.6). The moment at which history divides into the two distinct realms of the old and the new law is at the moment of Christ’s death on the cross, when the symbolic veil of the temple is destroyed (Luke 23:45), ‘sym- bolizing the removal of the barrier between man and God, for man was thus enabled ‘to enter into the holiest by the blood of Jesus’ (Heb

35 Gardner, ‘Andrea di Bonaiuto’, 115; Gardner draws our attention to the presence of two grisaille prophets on the altar wall of the chapterhouse of Santa Maria Novella, suggesting a programmatic link with the chapterhouse of Pomposa (115ff). Blumenröder’s suggestion (Andrea Mantegna’s Grisaille Paintings, 45) that the grisaille figures belong to ‘the pre-Christian era’ is less accurate, as will be discussed in relation to the presence of St John the Baptist. signifying absence 17

10:19).36 Thus the essential difference between the grisaille andthe colour figures is that the former died before Christ’s own death, while the latter died after. Those who died after Christ were thus able to benefit from his sacrifice, being granted immediate access, if they were eligible, to eternal life in heaven, while the grisaille of the prophets likely signifies their former state of inaccessibility to eternal life.37 This reading is reinforced by the words of the scroll held by the prophet Zachariah, who stands directly beside John the Baptist: sanguine testamenti tui eduxisti vinctos de vacu: ‘because of the blood of your convenant, I am sending back your captives from the pit [in which there is no water]’ (Zachariah 9:11).38 The grisaille rendering of figures lends them the quality of statues, an effect often commented on in relation toN etherlandish grisailles in particular.39 The prophets of the Pomposa chapterhouse, the Virtues and Vices of the Arena Chapel, and the imagery of the earlier dado paintings suggest some parallels with the practice of placing grisaille or reduced-colour figures on the exterior wings of Netherlandish altarpieces. For example, the Ghent Altarpiece (Hubert and Jan van Eyck, 1432; Saint Bavo Cathedral, Ghent, Belgium) features grisaille figures of Saints John the Baptist and John the Evangelist, and a near

36 J.C.J. Metford, Dictionary of Christian Lore and Legend, London, 1983, 252. 37 one can witness a similar phenomenon in the obscure and often grey-toned images of Hell and its inhabitants, as seen in some representations of the Anastasis and the Last Judgment. See Kartsonis, Anastasis, 82–4, 231ff; regional examples can be found in the rendering of Hell on the west wall of the Arena Chapel, or in the Anastasis of the western arch of the central dome of San Marco, Venice. 38 salmi, L’Abbazia di Pomposa, 175 n.1, records this inscription; according to Hauer, Erneuerung im Bild, 36 n. 95, a more fragmentary inscription now remains: … \ test [ament]i \ . .i edv \ . ist1 v \ inctos \ de la [cu] 39 These are too frequent to cite, but one of the lengthier investigations of this theme appears in M. Grams-Thieme, Lebendige Steine: Studien zur Niederländischen Grisaillemaleriei des 15. und frühen 16. Jahrhunderts, Cologne, 1988. The relation of Italian Renaissance grisailles to ancient sculpture is discussed by Blumenröder (Andrea Mantegna’s Grisaille Paintings, passim), while Steiner (Paradoxien der Nachahmung, 74–7) discusses the levels of imitation in Giotto’s rendering of the Virtues and Vices of the Arena Chapel, which both mimic and contradict sculptural form. The connection between the grisaille figures of Jean Pucelle and sculpture has been noted a number of times; see E. Balas, ‘Jean Pucelle and the Gothic Cathedral Sculptures: a Hypothesis’, Gazette des Beaux-Arts 99 (1982), 39–44; S.H. Ferber, ‘Jean Pucelle and Giovanni Pisano, Art Bulletin 66 (1984), 65–72; Krieger, Grisaille als Metapher, 7–37. I have deliberately avoided comparing the uses of grisaille in manuscripts with those of monumental paintings in that the functions, contexts and audiences of manuscripts are different enough to warrant a lengthier analysis than could be accommodated here. 18 jill bain monochromatic representation of the Annunciation above (here the two donors to either side of the grisaille saints and the scroll-bearing prophets and sibyls above the Annunciation are polychromed; Fig. 1.7).40 Winged altarpieces of this type were traditionally opened only on religious holidays, being kept in their closed position for everyday use and for the duration of Lent; because the Feast of the Annunciation occurs during Easter, it is often featured, albeit in this subdued manner or in grisaille, on the exterior of altarpieces.41 It has been proposed that this tradition of grisaille paintings on the exterior of altarpieces developed out of the practice of covering church ornament with monochrome drapery (Lenten veils) for the duration of Lent.42 In some cases this drapery was figural, in others it bore only a simple cross, but what seemed to be of the most significance was its limited colour scheme, deemed appropriate to the penitential season of Lent.43 As in the Pomposa chapterhouse, it is the Crucifixion of Christ which holds the promise not just of redemption, but of revelation, after which the glory of heaven can be unveiled, with Lent being over after Good Friday, when church ornament could be uncovered and the brilliant polychromy of Netherlandish altarpieces revealed.44

40 It is worth noting that here (as on most Netherlandish grisaille exteriors) it is a New Testament narrative and saints that are rendered in grisaille, an obvious difference from the earlier examples cited. I would suggest that this use of a reduced colour scheme is still indicative of a desire to connote differing levels of existence, here separating the New Testament imagery from the polychrome patrons, prophets and sibyls, the latter figures being connected to one another by belonging to the eras before and after the coming of Christ. Hence, the temporal continues to be signified by the juxtaposition of monochrome and polychrome. Other layers of meaning can be read in the horizontal and vertical alignments of the outer panels of the Ghent Altarpiece, but that falls outside of the scope of this essay. 41 M. Teasdale Smith, ‘The Use of Grisaille as a Lenten Observance’, Marsyas 8 (1959), 43–54, 45 & 49; Smith lists examples of altarpieces featuring a grisaille rendering of the Annunciation on the exterior panels on page 51. The frequency of the subject of the Annunciation in grisaille on altarpiece exteriors has also been linked to its significance for the Incarnation, the latter being the theme of the revelatory imagery of the polychrome interiors, and hence suggesting a movement from absence to presence; see C. Harbison, Jan Van Eyck: The Play of Realism, London, 1997, 131. 42 smith, ‘Use of Grisaille, passim; Reutersward, Breakthrough of Monochrome Sculpture, 129. 43 Lenten cloths could feature grisaille renderings, or red on a white background; Smith, ‘Use of Grisaille’, 47. 44 It is acknowledged that the experience of the polychrome interiors of altarpieces is not limited to the Lenten period; see Harbison, Jan Van Eyck, 131. signifying absence 19

Figure 1.7. Hubert and Jan van Eyck, Ghent altarpiece, Saint Bavo Cathedral, Ghent, 1432 (Erich Lessing/Art Resource, NY). 20 jill bain

If grisaille figures on the exterior wings of altarpieces did develop from a tradition of monochrome Lenten drapery, what connections might there be between this and the development of dado imagery? Placement on the exterior of the altarpiece, like placement in the dado, gives a sense of separation from the celestial realm. The grisaille figures on the exterior of Netherlandish altarpieces are often cited as imitating sculpture; the fact that most contemporary sculpture was polychromed is usually resolved by suggesting that these represent ‘unfinished’ sculpture.45 This also makes sense in the context of being excluded from the heavenly realm: the figures are ‘incomplete’, a human creation in a universe which can only be completed by God. This state of being incomplete is similar to that indicated by the monochromatic treatment of the prophets of Pomposa, awaiting salvation, and in the dado paintings of figures that belong to the earthly, rather than the heavenly, realm. The earth-bound, and thus ‘real’ quality of the imagery is reinforced in each case by it imitating a physical object: sculpture or drapery, and, in the case of dado paintings, the free, linear treatment of figures makes them appear like underpaintings, or preparatory drawings (thus akin to unpainted sculpture), awaiting their full polychrome treatment.46 This sense of temporal difference, of ‘before-and-after’, is reinforced in the anticipatory nature of the monochrome imagery, be it an Annunciation, a series of prophets, or a moralizing struggle. The juxtaposition of monochrome and polychrome in many instances can thus be viewed as instructive: it reminds us of absence, of lack, of incompleteness in one’s earthly state, and of the promise of a more glorious existence which awaits in the eternal realm of living colour, be it heaven, or Oz.

45 References are numerous; for a summary discussion, see M. Krieger, ‘Die nie derländische Grisaillemalerei des 15. Jahrhunderts: Bemerkungen zu neuerer Litera- tur’, Kunstchronik 49 (1996), 575–88, esp. 578ff; and her related discussion in ‘Zum Problem des Illusionismus im 14. und 15. Jahrhundert: ein Deutungsversuch’, Pan theon 54 (1996), 4–18. 46 one might think of the words of Bernard of Clairvaux: ‘If you show someone a beautiful picture of a saint, he comes to the conclusion that the saint is as holy as the picture is brightly coloured’. M. Casey trans., ‘Apologia to Abbot William’, Trea tises I, Spencer, Mass., 1970, 64. Kessler, Spiritual Seeing, 53–63, discusses sources that, using the artistic process of painting as metaphor, suggest the Old Testament was seen as a preliminary ‘sketch’, to be completed by the coloured ‘overpainting’ of the New Testament. a possible colonna family stemma 21

chapter two

A POSSIBLE COLONNA FAMILY STEMMA IN THE CHURCH OF SANTA PRASSEDE, ROME

John Osborne

In 1914 a major restoration of the floor pavement of the Roman church of Santa Prassede was undertaken by Antonio Muñoz, the first significant such intervention since the mid-18th century.1 Upon lifting two sizeable marble panels, each just over two metres long and one metre wide, Muñoz discovered that the undersides of both stone slabs were elaborately carved with a series of geometric designs and crosses, easily identifiable as belonging to the flowering of sculpture in early medieval Rome which characterized the era of the ‘Carolingian’ popes of the late 8th and first half of the 9th century.2 He identified both pieces as having once belonged to a schola cantorum, presumably dating from the time of the construction and decoration of Santa Prassede early in the pontificate of Pope Paschal I (817–24).3 At some unknown date, this schola cantorum had been completely dismantled

1 For the building history of Santa Prassede, see R. Krautheimer and S. Corbett, ‘S. Prassede’ in Corpus Basilicarum Christianarum Romae, 5 vols, Vatican City, 1937–77, III, 232–59. Prior to the work of Muñoz, repairs to the floor pavement are recorded in the period 1489–1503, under the titular cardinal Antoniotto Pallavicini, and again in 1742: ibid., 236–7. 2 For the discovery, A. Muñoz, ‘Studi sulle basiliche romane di S. Sabina e di S. Prassede’, in Dissertazioni della Pontificia Accademia Romana di Archeologia, ser. II, 13 (1918), 117–28, at 127–8. For the fragments, Corpus della Scultura Altomedi evale. VII: La Diocesi di Roma. Tomo primo: La IV Regione Ecclesiastica, ed. L. Pani Ermini, Spoleto, 1974, 116–9, cat. nos 58–9, pls XXIV-XXV. Also to be associated with these two panels are two smaller fragments, ibid., 128–9, cat. nos 70–1, pl. XXX. The latter pieces were formerly attached: see photograph in . S L alvatorelli, L’Italia medioevale dalle invasioni barbariche agli inizi del secolo XI, Milan, 1938, 462 fig. 305 [upper left]. 3 Le Liber pontificalis, ed. L. Duchesne, 2 vols, Paris, 1886–1892, II, 54–5. For a reconstruction of Paschal I’s liturgical arrangements in S. Prassede, and for their meaning, see J. Emerick, ‘Focusing on the Celebrant: the Column Display inside Santa Prassede’, Mededelingen van het Nederlands Instituut te Rome 59 (2000), 129– 59, esp. fig. 10. For the larger context of scholae cantorum in early medieval Rome, F. Guidobaldi, ‘Struttura e cronologia delle recinzioni liturgiche nelle chiese di Roma dal VI al IX secolo’, ibid., 81–99. 22 john osborne

Figure 2.1. Marble panel, c. 817–24, Santa Prassede Rome (photo: E21108, Fototeca Nazionale–ICCD, Rome). and removed, with some components later being recycled for use in a new floor pavement, their decorated sides placed face downwards. These pieces, along with various other fragments which came to light in the course of Muñoz’s restoration, were subsequently set into the walls of the right transept chapel (Cappella del Crocefisso), adjacent to the side entrance to the church, where they remain today.4 The two plutei display roughly the same decorative pattern: a central eight-pointed star composed of two intersecting squares, one set on an angle to the other, flanked by two elongated diamonds (Fig. 2.1). All three geometric figures are occupied by a cross. The remaining spaces are filled with a series of rosettes and stylized lilies, characteristic of the sculptural vocabulary of this age. The central cross on each panel is additionally decorated with a design of ribbon interlace.

4 A. Muñoz (‘Studi e restauri nelle chiese di Roma: S. Giorgio al Velabro, S. Pras- sede’, Capitolium, 3 [1927], 441–51, at 450–1), explains that not enough material survived to permit a reconstruction of the schola cantorum, as he would subsequently accomplish with another screen from the first half of the 9th century, at S. Sabina. a possible colonna family stemma 23

The two large panels, and the two smaller fragments which each display a single cross within a square ribboned field, are remarkable for one highly unusual and very distinctive feature: at some point in their history, the transverse arms of each cross were very meticulously removed, leaving only their vertical stems. Muñoz recognized that this had been done deliberately, but declined to offer any possible explanation.5 Subsequently it has been generally assumed that this mutilation was undertaken when the marble panels were first put to new use in the floor, with the aim of preventing any possible desecra- tion of, or insult to, Christianity’s most sacred and potent symbol. By altering the form of the signifier, the possibility of sacrilege was elimi- nated.6 However, while certainly possible, in the absence of any contemporary documentation such an explanation is impossible to prove, and it does leave at least one fundamental question unanswered. The effort made to remove the horizontal arm of each cross seems to have been not merely careful but in fact surgically precise, with a conscious attempt having been made to smooth the resulting surface, thus leaving little evident trace of the alteration. Would this effort have been made if the design was to be hidden from all view, presumably forever? Or, would it not have sufficed simply to disfigure the image to a point at which its original function as a signifier of the Cross was no longer tenable? At the same time, it should be noted that similar concerns do not seem to have been widely prevalent elsewhere in the early Middle Ages, and there are also instances of crosses re-used in contexts where it is evident that no ‘deconsecration’ was deemed necessary. A particular prominent example of the latter is provided by the cross, accompanied by an image of the agnus Dei, discovered overturned and redeployed in a later tomb at Mola di Monte Gelato, north of Rome, the site of a papal domusculta founded in the 8th century. This piece bears no evidence of any attempt to remove or otherwise alter the sacred images.7 Also of interest to this discussion is another fragment of an early medieval panel, possibly also dating from the first half of the 9th century, of unknown provenance but now set into a wall of the

5 Muñoz, ‘Studi sulle basiliche romane’, 128. 6 Corpus della Scultura Altomedievale VII,1, 116 n. 2: ‘È stato ritenuto che proprio tale destinazione abbia portato a togliere dall’ornato ogni segno di croce’. 7 J. Osborne, ‘A Carolingian Agnus Dei relief from Mola di Monte Gelato, near Rome’, Gesta, 33, (1994), 73–8. 24 john osborne

Palazzo Venezia in Rome. Here, in a similar fashion to Santa Prassede, the transverse arm of the cross has been removed, for an unknown purpose at some unknown age.8 Given the lack of any documentation for the motives of those who undertook the alterations at Santa Prassede, in the end these must remain the subject of complete speculation, and the traditional explanation may well be correct. However, it is interesting to entertain other possibilities, and one in particular may merit some consideration. In view of the care and attention given to the re-working of the crosses, it may be possible that we are dealing not with an attempt to neutralize a holy sign, but rather with an effort to convert one sign into another. This paper will suggest that the alteration may have taken place at a time when the panels were still very much on public display, with the intention being to convert the cross into a column, and more specifically into the stemma of the Colonna family which played a prominent role in the political and religious life of Rome in the later Middle Ages. One of Julian Gardner’s most significant contributions to our understanding of the arts of late medieval Italy has been his documentation of the importation in the second half of the 13th century of new ideas from beyond the Alps, in part by French cardinals resident at the papal court and in part by the Angevin nobility newly installed at Naples. One primary manifestation of this patronage was in tomb sculpture, but a second and closely related development was the introduction of heraldry.9 There is no evidence for the use of family crests or other heraldic devices in Rome prior to the 13th century. The first documented instances may have been provided by two floor pavements, both now lost, in the churches of Santa Maria Maggiore and San Lorenzo fuori

8 M. Latini, ‘Sculture altomedievali inedite del Museo Nazionale del Palazzo di Venezia in Roma’, Rivista dell’Istituto Nazionale d’Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte 57 (2002), 113–52, at 119–20, 149 cat. no. 6, and fig. 11. Although the cross is described as missing its vertical arm, it seems likely that it is currently set sideways into the wall – and thus it is the original horizontal arm that has been removed, in a close parallel to the examples at Santa Prassede, while perhaps lacking the same degree of precision. The provenance of the piece unfortunately is not recorded. 9 The bibliography is considerable, but see in particular . J Gardner, The Tomb and the Tiara: Curial tomb sculpture in Rome and Avignon in the later Middle Ages, Oxford, 1992; and idem, ‘Seated kings, sea-faring saints and heraldry: some themes in Angevin iconography’, in L’État Angevin. Pouvoir, culture et société entre XIIIe et XIVe siècle, Collection de l’École française de Rome 245, Rome, 1998, 115–26. a possible colonna family stemma 25 le mura. These are known from earlier drawings and engravings, and in the case of San Lorenzo from photographs taken before the tragic bombing of the church in July 1943.10 More secure evidence of heraldry is provided by a series of tomb slabs and funerary monuments created for wealthy and important patrons in the latter half of the century; and as was also the case with the introduction of effigy figures, it may have been the tombs of French prelates which pointed the way: for example, those of Cardinal Guillaume de Bray (d. 1282) in San Domenico at Orvieto, Cardinal Pantaléon Anchier de Troyes (d. 1286) in Santa Prassede, or Bishop Guillaume Durand de Mende (d. 1296) in Santa Maria sopra Minerva.11 Italian patrons did not lag far behind in their adoption of this new fashion, and it was at approximately this same time that the concept of a ‘family chapel’, with the ius patronatus clearly displayed through what Gardner has described as ‘ostentatious heraldry’, came into its own, particularly in the context of churches belonging to the new mendicant orders.12 Among the earliest and most prominent is the space accorded to the Savelli family in Santa Maria in Aracoeli, a church which developed close ties to a number of prominent Roman families, reflecting a more general Franciscan practice that has numerous parallels elsewhere. The tomb of Luca Savelli (d. 1266), for which a terminus post quem of 1285 is provided by the inscription referring to the election of his son as Pope Honorius IV, prominently displays the family stemma; and dating from about the same time is the floor tomb of the deacon Pietro Savelli (d. 1287) in Santi Bonifacio ed Alessio on the Aventine, in which the effigy figure of the deceased is

10 V. Pace, ‘Committenza aristocratica e ostentazione araldica nella Roma del Duecento’ in Roma Medievale. Aggiornamenti, ed. P. Delogu, Florence, 1998, 175– 91, at 177–8; rpt in V. Pace, Arte a Roma nel medioevo. Committenza, ideologia, e cultura figurativa in monumenti e libri, Naples, 2000, 175–97. For the San Lorenzo pavement, see also J. Osborne and A. Claridge, The Paper Museum of Cassiano Dal Pozzo, ser. A, part II. 1–2: Early Christian & Medieval Antiquities, London 1996–98, II, 291–2, cat. no. 304. 11 For the de Bray tomb in Orvieto, see Gardner, Tomb and the Tiara, 97–102. For the Roman examples: Die mittelalterliche Grabmäler in Rom und Latium vom 13. bis zum 15. Jahrhundert, ed. J. Garms et al., 2 vols, Rome-Vienna, 1981–94, II, 90–5 cat. no. 27 (Guillaume Durand) and 165–8, cat. no. 55 (Pantaléon Anchier). 12 Gardner, Tomb and the Tiara, 77; and idem, ‘The family chapel: artistic patronage and architectural transformation in Italy circa 1275–1325’, Art, Cérémo nial et Liturgie au Moyen Age, ed. N. Bock et al., Rome, 2002, 545–68. 26 john osborne flanked by two Savelli crests.13 But the Savelli were by no means the only Roman family to enthusiastically adopt this new practice in the last quarter of the 13th century, and numerous other monuments from the years around 1300 also feature heraldic devices as a prominent element of their decoration. Nor was this use limited to funerary monuments, witness the stemma which accompanies the donor figure of Bertoldo Stefaneschi in the apse of Santa Maria in Trastevere.14 Indeed, the use of heraldry in public ecclesiastical contexts unrelated to tombs must be viewed as a blatant attempt to lay claim to liturgical space, and by implication to some measure of spiritual authority.15 Another family which played a very prominent role in the often turbulent life of late medieval Rome was the Colonna. Their geographic origins lay in the area to the south and south-east of the city, along the via Praenestina and its adjacent hills, including such centres as Zagarolo and Palestrina in addition to Colonna itself, a locality first recorded in 1047, from which the family derived its name.16 By the end of the 12th century the Colonna were also a presence in Rome, and subsequently they figure prominently in the spheres of civic and ecclesiastical politics. In the second half of the 13th century, for example, Giovanni Colonna (c. 1235–c. 1292) served multiple terms as Senator of Rome, while his sister Margherita (d. 1280) sponsored an important convent of Franciscan nuns at San Silvestro in Capite.17 Perhaps best known are Giovanni’s brother, Giacomo Colonna (c. 1250–1318), and his son, Pietro Colonna (c. 1260–1326), both of

13 For the tomb of Luca Savelli, I. Herklotz, ‘I Savelli e le loro cappelle di fami- glia’, Roma anno 1300, ed. A.M. Romanini, Rome, 1983, 567–83; Die mittelalterliche Grabmäler II, 64–9, cat. no. 16; and Gardner, Tomb and the Tiara, 77–8. For the deacon Pietro Savelli, Die mittelalterliche Grabmäler I, 52–3, cat. no. VI,1. 14 For the apse mosaic, Osborne and Claridge, Early Christian and Medieval Antiquities I, 250–1, cat. no. 108; and Pace, ‘Committenza aristocratica’, 188–9 and pl. VIIIc. The stemma also appears on his tomb: Die mittelalterliche Grabmäler I, 220–1, cat. no. XLI,1. 15 For a useful discussion of such claims by the Rufolo family in late 13-century Ravello, see J. Caskey, Art and Patronage in the Medieval Mediterranean: Merchant Culture in the Region of Amalfi, Cambridge, 2004, 164–89. 16 P. Colonna, I Colonna dalle origini all’inizio del secolo XIX, Rome, 1927, 5–10; S. Carocci, Baroni di Roma. Dominazioni signorili e lignaggi aristocratici nel duecento e nel primo trecento, Rome, 1993, 353–69; S. Romano, ‘I Colonna a Roma: 1288– 1297’, in La nobilità romana nel medioevo, ed. S. Carocci, Rome, 2006, 291–312. 17 D. Waley, ‘Colonna, Giovanni’ in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani [hereafter DBI] XXVII, 331–3. For the Colonna nunnery at S. Silvestro in Capite: G. Barone, ‘Margherita Colonna e le clarisse di S. Silvestro in Capite’, Roma anno 1300, 799– 805. a possible colonna family stemma 27 whom were appointed cardinals, with their titular churches at Santa Maria in Via Lata and Sant’Eustachio respectively.18 The family ap pears to have been particularly prominent during the reigns of popes Nicholas III (1277–80) and Nicholas IV (1288–92), and it is probably significant that Nicholas IV was formerly Bishop of Palestrina, one of the principal Colonna strongholds. This pope appears with cardinal Giacomo Colonna in the apse mosaic of Santa Maria Maggiore, of which church the latter held the position of archpriest.19 However, following the death of Nicholas IV in 1292, amid growing tensions between the Colonna and their Orsini and Caetani rivals, the family’s fortunes began to ebb. In May 1297 the Caetani pope, Boniface VIII, launched an open attack, not only stripping both cardinals of their rank and possessions, but also declaring them heretics. In December, Boniface launched a formal crusade against the Colonna and their supporters, many of whom were forced into hiding or exile.20 Both Giacomo and Pietro would be restored to their ecclesiastical rank and dignities by Pope Clement V in 1306. Both would follow the papal court to Avignon, where they spent their final years, and the remains of both would be returned to Rome for burial in Santa Maria Maggiore. Both also appeared in the mosaic on the façade of that church, along with representations of the family stemma.21 Not surprisingly, their heraldic device was a column. The family would continue to enjoy prominence in subsequent centuries. Oddo Colonna, elected pope as Martin V (1417–31), would undertake the definitive return of the papacy to Rome in the 15th century, and the Colonna family palazzo still survives at the foot of the Quirinal hill, near the church of Santi Apostoli. In addition to the mosaics in the apse and on the façade of Santa Maria Maggiore, Colonna patronage can be documented in a number of Roman churches. Like a number of other prominent families, they were patrons of a chapel in Santa Maria in Aracoeli on the Capitoline,

18 D. Waley, ‘Colonna, Giacomo’ in DBI XXVII, 311–4; and idem, ‘Colonna, Pietro’, ibid., 399–402. 19 For Nicholas IV and the Colonna at Santa Maria Maggiore, J. Gardner, ‘Pope Nicholas IV and the decoration of Santa Maria Maggiore’, Zeitschrift für Kunstge schichte 36 (1973), 1–50. 20 see A. Paravicini Bagliani, Bonifacio VIII, Turin, 2003, 137–205. 21 Gardner, ‘Pope Nicholas IV’, 22–3, suggesting a date between 1292 and 1297. For a possible later dating in the years 1306–10, see E. Thunø, ‘The dating of the façade mosaics of S. Maria Maggiore in Rome’, Analecta Romana Instituti Danici 23 (1996), 61–82. 28 john osborne from which survives a mosaic panel, moved from the church to a chapel in the family palace in 1625. This depicts Senator Giovanni Colonna being presented to the Madonna and Child by St Francis (an important family patron) and St John the Evangelist (his name saint). At the far left is a shield bearing the Colonna stemma: a single fluted column with a Corinthian capital.22 While the date and the precise original context for the mosaic are not known, it is likely to represent the earliest surviving depiction of the family crest. Other churches also fell within the Colonna family orbit. In 1295 Giacomo Colonna presided at the dedication of the altar in a chapel of St Nicholas in Santa Maria in Aquiro, as documented by a lost inscription;23 and the presence of shields bearing the family stemma in the right arm of the transept of San Silvestro in Capite attests to their strong continuing connections to this former convent of poor Clares.24 The church of Santa Prassede, in close proximity to Santa Maria Maggiore, was certainly within the geographic area of Colonna interest and influence. Although served by Vallombrosan monks, not Franciscan friars, Cardinal Giacomo Colonna had been appointed the official protector of the Vallombrosans by PopeN icholas IV, and thus he may have taken a special interest in this order, or possibly vice ver- sa.25 But perhaps more significantly, Santa Prassede did have another very important Colonna connection, and one which may possibly serve to explain the family’s particular devotion to St Francis. Among the earliest members of the Colonna family known to have risen to prominence in the Church was an earlier Giovanni Colonna (d. 1245), who is recorded as cardinal priest of Santa Prassede from at least 1217, having previously served as cardinal deacon of Santi Cosma

22 For family chapels in Santa Maria in Aracoeli, see C. Bolgia, ‘Ostentation, Power, and Family Competition in Late-Medieval Rome: the Earliest Chapels at S. Maria in Aracoeli’, in Aspects of Power and Authority in the Middle Ages, eds B. Bolton and C. Meek, Turnhout, 2007, 73–106. A second mosaic panel, still in Santa Maria in Aracoeli, depicting an unidentified kneeling senator being presented to the Madonna and Child by saints Francis and John the Baptist, may also represent Giovanni Colonna; see L. Oliger, ‘Due musaici con S. Francesco della chiesa di Ara- coeli in Roma’, Archivum Franciscarum Historicum 4 (1911), 233–51; and Pace, ‘Committenza aristocratica’, 184–6, pl. VII a/b. For a full colour reproduction of the mosaic now in the Palazzo Colonna, see E. Safarik, Palazzo Colonna, Rome, 1999, 165, fig. 297. 23 V. Forcella, Iscrizioni delle chiese e d’altri edifici di Roma dal secolo XI fino ai giorni nostri, 14 vols, Rome, 1869–84, II, 434. 24 Bolgia, ‘Ostentation, Power, and Family Competition’, 75 and fig. 14. 25 DBI XXVII, 311. a possible colonna family stemma 29 e Damiano.26 He would have an unusually eventful career. Appointed by Pope Honorius III as papal legate with a mandate to reorganize the church in ‘Romania’ (the Latin Empire of Constantinople in the aftermath of the Fourth Crusade), Giovanni Colonna set out for Byzantium with the army of the newly crowned emperor, Pierre de Courtenay, in the spring of 1217. The land route across the southern Balkans proved to be perilous, and the entire party was captured by the Despot of Epirus, Theodore Komnenos Doukas (Angelos). Pierre de Courtenay would disappear in captivity, his ultimate fate not recorded, but the fervent appeals and threats launched by Pope Honorius succeeded in securing the release of his papal legate, who did eventually make his way to Constantinople.27 By March 1222 he had returned to Rome, bringing with him a very significant relic: the column to which Christ had been bound while suffering his flagellation (Mark 15:15; John 19:1). Not only did this carry considerable status in the general hierarchy of relics, as an object directly associated with Christ’s passion, but it also bore a particular relevance for the Colonna family, given their name. Giovanni Colonna presented the relic to his titular church, Santa Prassede, where it remains today in a special chapel adjacent to the right aisle, entered from the adjoining San Zeno chapel. A memo- rial plaque recording the gift was commissioned in 1635 by another family member, Francesco Colonna.28 The connection between cardinal Giovanni Colonna and Francis of Assisi is less well documented, but possibly of considerable significance. It is claimed that during his sojourn in the eastern Mediterranean the papal legate participated in the Fifth Crusade, which in 1219 succeeded in capturing Damietta in the Nile delta, although the legate himself was once again taken prisoner. Condemned to a cruel death, his life was eventually spared through the personal intervention of St Francis, in the course of the latter’s visit to the Sultan of Egypt, al- Kamil.29 This story does not appear to be verifiable from independent sources outside the Colonna family, but if true would perhaps help to

26 W. Maleczek, ‘Colonna, Giovanni’, DBI XXVII, 324–8. 27 see D. Nicol, The Despotate of Epiros, Oxford, 1957, 50–3. 28 Forcella, Iscrizioni II, 512, no. 1546. The relic itself is illustrated in B.M. Apol- lonj-Ghetti, Santa Prassede, Rome, 1961, fig. 34. 29 Colonna, I Colonna, 14–5. The claim is at least possible, given that Francis did visit the Sultan at this time. For an overview of the Fifth Crusade seeA History of the Crusades. II: The Later Crusades, 1189–1311, ed. K.M. Setton, Philadelphia, 1962, 377–428. 30 john osborne explain the subsequent close relationship between the Colonna and the Franciscan order. The church of Santa Prassede was thus of some considerable interest to the Colonna, which makes the mutilated panels of the schola cantorum all the more interesting. While there is no proof that their alteration represents a deliberate attempt to convert crosses into representations of the family stemma, the documented connection between the Colonna and this church, coupled with the family’s known predilection for prominent heraldic display, certainly leaves this as an intriguing possibility. small worlds 31

chapter three

SMALL WORLDS: THE ORBS IN THE WESTMINSTER RETABLE AND THE WILTON DIPTYCH

Dillian Gordon

It has been convincingly argued that the Westminster Retable was painted during the 1260s, probably completed by 1268 when the Abbey was dedicated, that it was almost certainly an altarpiece and not an altar frontal, and that it almost certainly stood on the high altar of the Abbey.1 What has not been noted, however, is that there is a specific link between the Retable and the Cosmati floor of Westminster Abbey, securing the Westminster Retable very firmly on the high altar of the Abbey and going some way towards explaining its iconography. The lack of any comparative material surviving from the English Middle Ages makes it difficult to be categorical about anyinterpretation of the Westminster Retable (Fig. 3.1), compounded by the fact that half the narrative scenes which might have illuminated the iconography are missing. The parts of the painting which remain show Christ standing at the centre, flanked by the Virgin and Saint John the Evangelist holding palms, all three standing on a ground with small plants. At the outer left is Saint Peter holding a key and four narrative scenes showing Christ raising Jairus’ daughter, the Feeding of the Five Thousand, and the Healing of the Blind Man. Missing from the extreme right is the standing figure of Saint Paul, and four other narrative scenes. One of the most intriguing and unusual details of the painting is the small orb held by Christ which shows a small boat in the sea, birds,

1 After cleaning and restoration by the Hamilton Kerr Institute, the Westminster Retable was the subject of a two-day symposium organised by the University of Cambridge. The discovery during cleaning that the Retable has imitation porphyry painted on the back would seem finally to rule out the possibility that it was ever an antependium. For the Westminster Retable see P. Binski, Westminster Abbey and the Plantagenets: Kingship and the Representation of Power 1200–1400, London 1995, 152–67, with bibliography; and the papers of the Cambridge symposium (forthcom- ing at the time of writing), in The Westminster Retable. History, Technique, Conser vation, eds P. Binski and A. Massing, Turnhout, 2008. 32 dillian gordon

Figure 3.1. The Westminster Retable, c. 1268, linseed oil on oak (95.9 × 333.0 cm), Westminster Abbey (The Dean and Chapter of Westminster Abbey).

Figure 3.2. Detail of the orb held by Christ in the Westminster Retable, c. 1268, linseed oil on oak (The Dean and Chapter of Westminster Abbey). animals and trees, and sky (Fig. 3.2). By analogy with other orbs one may argue that the orb refers to Christ’s dominion over the earth. It is relatively unusual to find such detailed orbs, and it is extremely unusual for the adult Christ to be shown standing. Most commonly when the Redeemer is shown holding an orb he is enthroned.2 For

2 one comparable example of the standing Redeemer holding an orb occurs in the antependium, now in the Musée de Cluny, Paris (noted also by Julian Gardner in ‘The European context of the Westminster Retable’, The Westminster Retable). This golden altarfrontal which shows the standing Redeemer at the centre flanked by small worlds 33 example, the enthroned Redeemer in a 13th-century French manuscript given to San Francesco, Assisi, holds a plain disc divided into three parts.3 It is not always clear to what the three parts precisely refer. A pictorially detailed orb in the sinopia of the frescoes by Simone Martini in Notre Dame des Doms, Avignon (on deposit at the Palais des Papes), c. 1340 shows the sphere held by the Blessing Redeemer divided into a starry sky, earth with trees, and the waves of the sea.4 An orb divided into three held by the Christ Child in a painting in Santa Maria sopra Minerva, Rome, painted by Benozzo Gozzoli c. 1448–49 is labeled asia.africa.europa.5 One detailed rendition is the orb containing land masses with small buildings, divided by rivers, held by the enthroned Christ who is crowned and holds a scepter in the other hand in the eponymous panel of about 1336 by the Master of the Dominican Effigies.6 One very specific orb is that in the high altarpiece of San Marco, Florence, painted around 1433 by Fra Angelico, which William Hood has identified as a map of the world with the Holy Land at its centre marked by a star.7

Saint Benedict, and the archangels, Gabriel, Michael and Raphael was presented by the Emperor Henry II to Basel Minster, for the dedication of the minster in 1019 (see E. du Sommerard, Catalogue et description des Objets d’Art de l’Antiquité du Moyen Age et de la Renaissance, Musée de Cluny, Paris, 1883, cat. no. 4988, 397–401). It has since been argued that it was presented by him to the Benedictine Abbey of Fulda: J. Wollasch, ‘Bemerkungen zur goldenen Altartafel von Basel’, in Texte und Bild. Aspekte des Zusammenwirkens zweier Künste in Mittelalter und Neuzeit, eds C. Meier and U. Ruberg, Wiesbaden, 1990, 383–407, esp. 395ff. One may tentatively speculate that Henry III could have been consciously emulating his namesake. One man who could have seen it was the Abbot of Westminster, Richard Ware, who frequently traveled to Rome and as a Benedictine would have had good reason to visit the frontal which commemorated Saint Benedict’s thaumaturgical powers in its inscription. Richard Ware was instrumental in bringing to the Abbey the Cosmati pavement. See below. 3 see the exhibition catalogue The Treasury of Saint Francis of Assisi, eds G. Morello and L.B. Kanter, Milan 1999, cat. no. 35, 136–7. 4 A. Martindale, Simone Martini, Oxford 1988, cat. no. 5, 181–3, and plate 100; and P. Leone De Castris, Simone Martini, Milan 2003, illustrated 314–7. 5 see the exhibition catalogue Benozzo Gozzoli. Allievo a Roma. Maestro in Umbria, eds B. Toscano and G. Capitelli, Milan 2002, cat. 15, 192–3. Benozzo Goz- zoli was obsessed with labels and habitually painted the names of the saints in their haloes, and even labelled the Christ Child. 6 For an illustration see R. Fremantle, Florentine Gothic Painters from Giotto to Masaccio, London 1975, fig. 205. 7 W. Hood, Fra Angelico at San Marco, New Haven and London 1993, 109, and plate 92. During the 15th century the orb held by the Christ Child was more often just a golden sphere denoting presumably his role as Lux Mundi, as for example in the triptych painted in 1433 by Fra Angelico for the guild of the Linaiuoli in Florence (illustrated in Hood, plate 14), and in its derivation by Zanobi Strozzi, painted prob- 34 dillian gordon

Paul Binski has drawn attention to the similarities of the orb in the Westminster Retable with an orb in a 13th-century English Apocalypse manuscript (British Library, Add. MS 35166, f.10 v) which he inter- prets as representing the world.8 By analogy with later examples the orb refers not in a general way to dominion, but specifically to dominion over the whole world. The orb in the Westminster Retable as referring to Christ’s dominion over the earth is therefore particularly suitable for the high altar of the coronation church of the English kings for whom an orb is still part of the coronation regalia. The high altar of Westminster Abbey is mentioned in conjunction with the Cosmati floor which was installed in front of it: in the Patent Roll entry of 1269 when Henry III acknowledges a debt to the Abbot of Westminster, Richard of Ware, for the pavement “which he brought with him from the curia at Rome to be installed for our use in our church of Westminster, before our high altar there”.9 The Cos- mati floor contains the inscription: xpi: milleno: bis: centeno: dvuodeno: cum: sexageno: subdvctis: qvatvor: anno: tercivs: henricvs: rex: vrbs: odoricvs: et : abbas: hos: compegere: porphyreos: lapides si: lector: posita: prvdenter: cvncta: revolvat: hic: finem: primi: mobilis: inveniet: sepes: trima: canes: et: eqvos: homi nesqve: svbaddas: cervos: et: corvos: aqvilas: immania: cete: mvndvm: qvodqve: seqvens: preevntis: triplicat: annos spericus: archetypvm: globvs: hic: monstrat: macrocosmvm. This has been translated by Paul Binski as: “In A.D. one thousand two hundred and twelve, with sixty minus four, King Henry the Third, the City, Odoricus and the Abbot joined together these porphyry stones. If the reader prudently considers all that is set down, he will find here the end of the primum mobile. The hedge [lives] three years; add dogs and horses and men, stags and ravens, eagles, huge sea serpents, the world: whatever follows triples the years of the foregoing”.

ably for Santa Maria Nuova, Florence, in 1435 (see the exhibition catalogue Minia tura del ’400 a San Marco, eds M. Scudieri and G. Rasario, Florence 2003, cat. I, 24, 125–32); both paintings now in San Marco, Florence. 8 P. Binski, ‘What was the Westminster Retable?’, Journal of the British Archaeo logical Association, 140 (1987), 152–74, esp. 163. 9 Binski, Westminster Abbey and the Plantagenets, 97. small worlds 35

The meaning of this enigmatic inscription has been the subject of debate.10 What seems incontrovertible, however, is the connection between the inscription and the Westminster Retable in the part which runs: spericus: archetypvm: globvs: hic: monstrat: ma- crocosmum which Binski translates as “This spherical globe[?] shows the archetypal macrocosm.” This surely is a reference to the globe or orb held by Christ in the Retable. It seems very likely that it was Abbot Richard Ware, who was Abbot from 1259–83, who oversaw both commissions, and could well have planned them both in tandem (together with the nearby shrine of Edward the Confessor): he was himself eventually buried near the high altar. As discussed above, very detailed representations of the world in these small orbs are rare. A very similar small world is contained within the orb at the top of the standard in the Wilton Diptych in the National Gallery, London, painted c. 1395–99 (Figs 3.3 and 3.4). This tiny globe, 1.00 cm. wide, contains a green island with a white castle with two turrets and black windows. Below is a silver sea with, as in the Westminster Retable, a masted boat in full sail and above is blue sky. By analogy with a lost altarpiece once in the English college in Rome, which showed Richard II and Anne of Bohemia presenting a globe to the Virgin Mary, it can be argued that the orb in the Wilton Diptych represents England, known then as the dowry of the Virgin (“Dos Mariae”).11 The precise vehicle of influence is difficult to assess. The painter of the Rome altarpiece and the painter of the Wilton Diptych (one and the same person?) almost certainly knew the Westminster Retable. Moreover, the relationship between the Wilton Diptych and Westminster Abbey was a close one, and indeed between Richard II and the Abbey.12 This was already adumbrated by Francis

10 see Westminster Abbey. The Cosmati Pavements, eds L. Grant and R. Mor- timer, Courtauld Research Papers, Ashgate 2002, passim. 11 see D. Gordon, in The Regal Image of Richard II and the Wilton Diptych, eds D. Gordon, L. Monnas and C. Elam, with an introduction by C.M. Barron, London 1997, 22–6. 12 There are numerous examples of Richard’s close relationship with the Abbey. See the exhibition catalogue by D. Gordon (with an essay by Caroline Barron and contributions by Ashok Roy and Martin Wyld), Making and Meaning. The Wilton Diptych, The National Gallery, London, 1993, 60–1. For Richard II’s portrait in Westminster Abbey see J.J.G. Alexander, ‘The Portrait of Richard II in Westminster Abbey’, in The Regal Image of Richard II and the Wilton Diptych, 197–206. 36 dillian gordon

Figure 3.3. The Wilton Diptych, c. 1395–99, egg tempera on oak (each wing 47.5 × 29.2 cm), National Gallery, London (The Trustees of the National Gallery).

Figure 3.4. Detail of the orb at the top of the standard in the Wilton Diptych, c. 1395–99, egg tempera on oak, National Gallery, London (The Trustees of the National Gallery). small worlds 37

Wormald when he pointed out that the saints who present Richard in the Wilton Diptych – Edmund, Edward the Confessor and John the Baptist – are in the same order as their chapels in the abbey.13 The theme of kingship is dominant in the Wilton Diptych: the kneeling Richard is implicitly one of the three Magi, crowns feature prominently in the decoration of Saint Edmund’s robe, and the orb in the banner suggests the Virgin and Child are bestowing their blessing on Richard’s right to rule England, of special significance to the Virgin as her dowry.14 Interwoven with this is the theme of salvation: Richard is being presented by John the Baptist, often shown together with the Virgin as an intercessor for mankind at the Last Judgment, who is invoked in the inscription on his tomb,15 and the Baptist is carrying the Agnus Dei, in reference to his words spoken at the Baptism of Christ: “Ecce Agnus Dei qui tollit peccata mundi” (Behold the Lamb of God which taketh away the sins of the world. John 1, 29). The Virgin delicately presents the sole of the foot of the Christ Child which will be pierced by a nail on the cross, and his halo is decorated with the crown of thorns and three nails, symbolic of his redemption of mankind through his Passion. Through this redemption Richard will implicitly pass from the barren earth on which he kneels to the heaven strewn with flowers and thronging with angels in which the Virgin stands holding the Child. The two themes of kingship and salvation would have been present also for Richard in Westminster Abbey, the church in which he was crowned and in which he planned to be buried in a tomb near the shrine of Edward the Confessor. The Wilton Diptych is manifestly portable: one of the altars on which it would surely sometimes have been set up would have been the small chapel of Saint Mary de la Pew, next to the chapel of Saint John the Baptist in the abbey, almost certainly used by Richard as his private oratory.16 In this chapel the relationship between the two paintings, the Wilton Diptych and the Westminster Retable could not have failed to resonate with

13 F. Wormald, ‘The Wilton Diptych’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 17 (1954), 191–203, esp. 200. 14 For a different interpretation seeN. Morgan,‘TheS ignification of the Banner in the Wilton Diptych’ in The Regal Image of The Wilton Diptych, 179–88. 15 For Richard’s tomb see P. Lindley, ‘Absolutism and Regal Image in Ricardian Sculpture’, in ibid., 61–83. 16 see Gordon, in Making and Meaning. The Wilton Diptych, 61, fig. 19, 62. 38 dillian gordon

Richard:17 the archetypal macrocosm of the world in the Westminster Retable has in the Wilton Diptych been transmuted into the micro- cosm of England.

17 This is assuming of course that the Westminster Retable was still on the high altar in the 1390s. duccio and devotion to the virgin’s foot 39

chapter four

duccio and devotion to the virgin’s foot in early sienese painting*

Joanna Cannon

In the Madonna dei francescani, attributed to Duccio, and probably executed in the ninth decade of the 13th century, the artist represents three Franciscans adoring the Virgin (Figs 4.1 and 4.5).1 They kneel before her, sheltering beneath her protecting mantle, performing pro- gressively deeper prostrations. The friar at the front of the trio, who bows most profoundly, holds the Virgin’s right foot, placing his palms around, and partly beneath, her shoe. The diagonal of forward and downward motion that the poses of the three Franciscans suggest, imply that his movement will continue, and that he is about to kiss the Virgin’s foot. Another, much larger image of the Virgin and Child Enthroned, the Madonna Rucellai, painted by Duccio for the Laudesi confraternity of the Dominican church of Santa Maria Novella in Florence in 1285, also draws attention to the foot of the Virgin (Fig. 4.2).2 The tip of her elaborately-gilded blue slipper, framed by her red robe and the fringed hem of her mantle, projects beyond the footstool on which it is supported, near the central axis of the painting. As

* For Julian, remembering with particular gratitude how you inspired me to be a medievalist. The theme chosen for this homage proved to be richer, more complex and more wide-ranging than anticipated. What follows here is a rehearsal of the main points. A more detailed study of the material is published under the title ‘Kissing the Vir- gin’s Foot. Adoratio before the Madonna and Child enacted, depicted, imagined’, Studies in Iconography, 31 (2010), 1–50. 1 siena, Pinacoteca Nazionale inv. no. 20. 24 × 17 cm. For a recent discussion of several key aspects of the painting, with brief reference to the gesture of the foremost friar, see V. Schmidt, ‘La “Madonna dei francescani” di Duccio: forma, contentuti, funzione’, Prospettiva, 97 (2000), 30–44. For a subsequent listing of the bibliography see his entry in Duccio: Alle origini della pittura senese, exh cat, Siena, 2003, eds A. Bagnoli, R. Bartalini, L. Bellosi, M. Laclotte, Milan, 2003, 158–60, rpt in Duccio. Siena fra tradizione bizantina e mondo gotico, ed. A. Bagnoli, R. Bartalini, L. Bellosi, M. Laclotte, Milan 2003, 148–50. 2 Florence, Galleria degli Uffizi. 450 × 293 cm. For recent discussion and bibliography see the entry by G. Ragioneri in ibid., 152–7. 40 joanna cannon

Figure 4.1. Attributed to Duccio di Buoninsegna, Madonna dei Francescani (detail), c. 1280–90, tempera on panel (24 × 17 cm), Pinacoteca Nazionale, Siena, inv. no. 20 (Foto Lensini, Siena). duccio and devotion to the virgin’s foot 41

Figure 4.2. Duccio di Buoninsegna, Madonna ‘Rucellai’ (detail), 1285, tempera on panel (450 × 293 cm), from S. Maria Novella, Florence, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence (Gabinetto Fotografico, Soprintendenza Speciale per il Polo Museale Fiorentino).

Hans Belting has observed, the Virgin ‘offers her foot, to the public in general, and the corporation in particular, for a symbolic kiss’.3 The Madonna dei francescani is the only surviving representation of such an action performed by a supplicant among the many Sienese panel paintings of the Virgin produced in the Duecento and Trecento. As such, it raises certain questions. Are the Franciscans of the Madonna dei francescani expressing a devotion that we should envis- age in the minds of the faithful in the presence of many other early Sienese paintings of the Virgin and Child? Would spectators have understood, as Belting implies, that the right foot of the Madonna

3 H. Belting, Likeness and Presence. A History of the Image before the Era of Art, trans. E. Jephcott, Chicago and London, 1994, 397. ‘. . . bietet sie dagegen ihren Fuß dem Publikum im allgemeinen und der Korporation im besonderen zum sym- bolischen Fußkuß dar’, H. Belting, Bild und Kult. Eine Geschichte des Bildes vor dem Zeitalter der Kunst, Munich, 1990, 444. 42 joanna cannon

Rucellai was proffered for ‘a symbolic kiss’? Did the faithful sometimes really touch or kiss the Virgin’s foot in the painted image, perhaps leaving some physical signs of their devotion? Was abasement at the feet of the Virgin a well-established and long-lasting feature of Tuscan religious practice and, if so, did such ritual activity affect the way in which painters were required to represent the Virgin enthroned? Was there a pre-existing visual context for Duccio’s representation of the anonymous Franciscan who holds, and prepares to kiss, the Virgin’s foot? Did the Virgin’s slipper excite the imagination or devotion of the artist himself,4 or was its form and location in many Tuscan paintings simply the product of the unthinking repetition of an attractive and convenient motif? Abasement at the foot of an emperor, king, victorious general, pope, abbot, or other figure of temporal or ecclesiastical power is an act of submission that has been practiced in many cultures, periods, and places. In Christianity it has a biblical pedigree, for example, in the Magdalen’s anointing and wiping of Christ’s feet,5 and in St Matthew’s description of Mary Magdalen and one of the other Marys falling at the feet of the Risen Christ,6 and it was an act familiar in imperial Roman, Byzantine and papal court ceremonial.7 Ritual submission (Latin: adoratio; Greek: προσκύνησις – proskynesis) could take various forms, ranging from a simple inclination of the head to

4 For a 20th-century interpretation of the power of the foot and, more specifically, the big toe, see G. Bataille, ‘Le gros orteil’, Documents, 6 (1929), 297–302. Bataille’s essay raises issues of fetishism that are implicit in the visual material and devotional activities gathered together here. These are not explored in the present study but offer an intriguing direction for further research. 5 Matthew 26:6–16; Mark 14:3–11; Luke 7:36–50; John 12:1–8. 6 Matthew 28:9. 7 For Imperial Rome see A. Alföldi, ‘Die Ausgestaltung des monarchischen Zere moniells am römischen Kaiserhofe’, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts. Römische abteilung, 49 (1934), 1–118 at 45–79; for Byzantium see A. Gra- bar, L’Empereur dans l’Art Byzantin, Paris, 1936, 43–5, 48–50, 85–8, 98–101, 147–9, 206; I. Spatharakis, ‘The proskynesis in Byzantine Art’, Bulletin Antieke Beschaving, 49 (1974), 190–205; and the entry by M. McCormick in The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, 3 vols, New York and Oxford, 1991, s.v. Proskynesis, with further bibliography; for papal ceremonial see G. Ladner, I ritratti dei papi nellʼantichità e nel medioevo, 3 vols, Vatican City, 1941–84, vol. 2, 80–90 and M. Andrieu, Le Pontifical romain au moyen-age, vol. 3, Le pontifical de la curie romaine au XIIIe siècle, Studi e Testi, 87, Vatican City, 1940, 267, 273–4. For foot-kissing and prostration during monastic profession see the entry by L. Gougaud in Dictionnaire de spiritualité ascé tique et mystique. Doctrine et histoire, Paris, 1937–96, s.v. Baiser; Lexikon für Theolo gie und Kirche, Freiburg 1957–68, s.v. Kuß and subheading Fußkuß, both with further bibliography. duccio and devotion to the virgin’s foot 43 the more usual prostration, and often including the kissing of the foot of the dominant personage.8 Although such submission was current practice throughout the period under consideration here in, for example, monastic and papal ceremonial, it was seldom depicted. A rare example is found in a manuscript of 1343, now in the Biblioteca Augusta, Perugia, concerning the grant of a plenary indulgence to the Dominicans of Perugia by Pope Benedict XI (Fig. 4.3).9 In the presence of the curia and of eccle- siastic and civic dignitaries, a friar kneels to place his hand beneath the papal slipper as he kisses it. Devotion to the foot of the Virgin herself can be found in one or two examples of papal imagery. The 9th- century apse mosaic of Santa Maria in Domnica in Rome shows Pascal I, patron of the church, kneeling to clasp the red slipper of the enthroned Virgin’s right foot as he receives the Christ Child’s blessing (Fig. 4.4).10 The pope is thus shown offering the Virgin the homage that, in actual practice, he himself received.11 Interestingly, James Stubblebine made the convincing proposal that this mosaic was one of the monuments of Rome that Duccio visited, so there may be a direct connection between this image and the conception of the Madonna dei francescani (Fig. 4.5).12

8 other areas might be kissed, including the hem of the garment, or the hand, breast, or cheek. Although the written sources indicate that these practices were frequent, representations of them in ceremonial contexts are extremely rare, as noted by Alföldi and Grabar, presumably because of a reluctance to perpetuate the image of high-status Roman or Byzantine court functionaries abasing themselves. 9 Liber indulgentiae ordinis fratrum praedicatorum de Perusio, Perugia, Biblioteca Augusta, MS 975, fol. 1v. See C. Frova, and A.I. Galletti, ‘Cultura e comunicazione: i Predicatori a Perugia fra Duecento e Trecento’, in Canto e colore. I corali di San Domenico di Perugia nella Biblioteca comunale Augusta (XIII-XIV sec.), ed. C. Par- meggiani, exhibition catalogue, Perugia, 2006, 19–31 at 19–24, 148–9, with colour illustration and further bibliography. 10 Ladner, I ritratti dei papi, vol. 1, 136–9. This papal pose may derive from an earlier Roman image, the 8th-century Madonna della Clemenza in S. Maria in Trastevere, for which see Belting, Likeness and Presence, 126–7. 11 A prostration said to have been performed by the Emperor Justin before Pope John I in the 6th century, and only discontinued in papal audiences by Pius XI, The Catholic Encyclopaedia, New York, 1907–18, s.v. Kiss, subheading Kissing of the Feet; Lexikon für Theologie, s.v. Kuß, subheading Fußkuß; Ladner, I ritratti dei papi, vol. 2, 83–90. For a late-12th-century representation see the tomb of Pope Lucius III (d. 1185) in Verona Cathedral, ibid., 39 and pl. vi; J. Gardner, The Tomb and the Tiara. Curial Tomb Sculpture in Rome and Avignon in the Later Middle Ages, Oxford, 1992, 29–30 and fig. 12. 12 J.H. Stubblebine, Duccio di Buoninsegna and his School, 2 vols., Princeton NJ, 1979, vol. 1, 38. While in the eternal city the artist could also have seen the early 13th-century apse mosaic of S. Paolo fuori le mura, with its representation of the 44 joanna cannon

Figure 4.3. Pope Benedict XI Grants a Plenary Indulgence to the Dominicans of Perugia, Liber indulgentiae ordinis fratrum praedicatorum de Perusio, 1343, Perugia, Biblioteca Augusta, MS 975, fol. 1v (Dillian Gordon). duccio and devotion to the virgin’s foot 45

Figure 4.4. Pope Pascal I Kneels before the Virgin and Child Enthroned Surrounded by Angels, 9th century, apse mosaic (detail), S. Maria in Domnica, Rome (SCALA, Florence). 46 joanna cannon

Figure 4.5. Attributed to Duccio di Buoninsegna, Madonna dei Francescani, c. 1280–90, tempera on panel, (24 × 17 cm), Pinacoteca Nazionale, Siena, inv. no. 20 (by permission of the Ministero per i Beni e le attività culturali. Photo: Soprintendenza PSAE di Siena e Grosseto). duccio and devotion to the virgin’s foot 47

Did artists in the generation before Duccio, painting for a Sienese clientele, show any particular interest in providing visual access to the Virgin’s foot? Coppo di Marcovaldo’s Madonna del bordone of 1261, for the Servites of Siena,13 presents the right foot of the Virgin close to the central axis of the painting (Fig. 4.6). The central positioning of the foot seems to be a deliberate choice that, as a consequence, caused the artist some problems in the representation of the Virgin’s right thigh and hip. The hem of the Virgin’s robe is raised in a diagonal to reveal the red and gold slipper that rests, in turn, on the lower part of the fabric of her robe. The spectator’s eye is drawn to the slipper not only through this combination of hues, but also by the outlines of the Virgin’s leg, forming a near-vertical at the centre of the painting, decorated with an eye-catching sunburst of mordant gilding. Following the compositional line formed by the Virgin’s foot and lower leg, the eye is drawn upwards to her right hand, placed at the centre of the composition. Her hand holds the Christ Child’s bare foot, the thumb touching the top of the foot, and the fingers curving to touch the sole. This gesture has been convincingly interpreted by Rebecca Corrie as drawing attention to the future position of the nail of the crucifixion.14 But it may also indicate the submission of the Virgin before Christ, in her role as intercessor.15 The motif, represented at the heart of the diminutive figure of Pope Honorius III, crouching beneath Christ’s huge left foot, placing his extended right hand beneath Christ’s toes (see H. Kessler and J. Zacha- rias, Rome 1300: on the path of the pilgrim, New Haven and London, 2000, 178, fig. 178; Ladner, I ritratti dei papi, vol. 2, 80–91). He might also have seen the Madonna della Clemenza in S. Maria in Trastevere, but he is most unlikely to have seen the early-12th-century murals (now lost) ‘the Apotheosis of Popes Callixtus and Ana cletus following the Investiture Crisis’ in the Lateran Palace Chapel of St Nicholas constructed by Callixtus II, which showed the two popes kneeling before the Virgin and Child Enthroned and holding the Virgin’s feet (Ladner, I ritratti dei papi, vol. 1, 202–18 and pl. xx). 13 For important recent studies of the painting and further bibliography see R.W. Corrie, ‘The Political Meaning of Coppo di Marcovaldoʼs Madonna and Child in Siena’, Gesta, 29 (1990), 61–75, and eadem, ‘Coppo di Marcovaldo’s Madonna del bordone and the Meaning of the Bare-Legged Christ Child in Siena and the East’, Gesta, 35 (1996), 43–65. 14 Corrie, The Political Meaning, 70, note 9; G.A. Mina, ‘Coppo di Marcovaldoʼs Madonna del Bordone: Political Statement or Profession of Faith?’ Art, Politics, and Civic Religion In Central Italy 1261–1352, eds J. Cannon and B. Williamson, Alder- shot, 2000, 237–93 at 251. 15 This possibility is noted in Belting, Likeness and Presence, 390: ‘Finally, in a very personal manner, Mary is touching the Child’s foot, instead of pointing to him. Perhaps the gesture suggests a petition through prostration at his feet, but that must remain conjecture until we know more about the language of such gestures’. Part of 48 joanna cannon

Figure 4.6. Coppo di Marcovaldo, Madonna ‘del Bordone’, 1261, tempera on panel (220 × 125 cm.), S. Maria dei Servi, Siena (by permission of the Ministero per i Beni e le attività culturali. Photo: Soprintendenza PSAE di Siena e Grosseto). duccio and devotion to the virgin’s foot 49

Figure 4.7. The Orthodox Nun Theotime before the Virgin and Child, psalter, Byzantine, c. 1274 (15 × 10.5 cm), Sinai, Monastery of St. Catherine, MS Gr. 61, fol. 256v (The Holy Monastery of Saint Catherine, Sinai). 50 joanna cannon image, offers an exemplum for the gesture of supplication that the spectator may imagine performing at the Virgin’s own foot. We can see this dual supplication illustrated in a miniature from a Byzantine Psalter in the monastery of St Catherine, Sinai (MS Gr. 61, fol. 256v) that was produced c. 1274 (Fig. 4.7).16 An orthodox nun, identified by an inscription as Theotime, prostrates herself to touch the foot of the enthroned Virgin. The Virgin, who holds the Christ Child on her lap, places her hand close to his feet, in a gesture that echoes that of Theotime.17 The success of this two-stage supplication is recorded in the Christ Child’s gesture of blessing, directed at the kneeling nun. A Servite friar at prayer before the Madonna del bordone was presumably well equipped, as a servant of Mary, to understand the devotional possibilities offered to him by the Virgin’s foot. In a later image associated with the Servite Order we find visual confirmation of this suggestion: a painting of the Madonna della Misericordia, attributed to Barnaba da Modena, working in around 1372, in the Servite church in Genoa, shows a group of lay and religious devotees gathered under the Virgin’s mantle, protected from the arrows of plague. Leading the faithful are two members of the Servite Order, one of whom kneels forward to enclose the tip of the Virgin’s right slipper in his hands.18 This devotional focus on the foot, or feet, of the Virgin was also favoured in other images of the Virgin and Child Enthroned produced in Siena and elsewhere in central Italy.19 Florentine and other artists working in Tuscany in the 13th century presented the Virgin’s foot the argument of the present essay is that the Virgin’s gesture can, indeed, be interpreted in this way. 16 Catalogue entry by J. Ball in Byzantium Faith and Power, 343–44, with further bibliography. For the dating, deduced from the Easter cycle, see V. Gardthausen, Catalogus Codicum Graecorum Sinaiticorum, Oxford, 1886, 15. 17 The small size of the book (15 × 10.5 cm) also suggests that it was a personal possession for private devotion. 18 G. Algeri, ‘L’attività tarda di Barnaba da Modena: una nuova ipotesi di rico- struzione’, Arte Cristiana, 77 (1989), 189–210 at 197, fig. 10. 19 For Siena see, for example, the Virgin and Child now Florence, Accademia, inv. no. 435, E.B. Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting. An Illustrated Index. A New Edition on CD-ROM, Courtauld Institute of Art, London, 1998, no. 183; J.H. Stubblebine, Guido da Siena, Princeton NJ, 1964, 76–7, fig. 39; the Virgin from S. Regolo in Montaione, touching the Christ Child’s foot although not placing her hand unambiguously beneath it: Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 207; Duccio. Alle origini, 92–3; the Virgin and Child in S. Domenico, Siena signed by Guido da Siena, Duccio. Alle origini, 39, fig. 1; and the Virgin (enthroned with Christ) in the monastery of the Clarisse in Siena, Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 161; Duccio. Alle origini, 74–6. duccio and devotion to the virgin’s foot 51 either centrally, or to the side, shown prominently and often projecting beyond the front face of the footstool.20 In a significant number of cases the Virgin was also shown placing her hand beneath the child’s foot, with the child bestowing a blessing.21 Was devotion to the painted foot of the Virgin purely conceptual? Three-dimensional forms invite touching: both feet of Arnolfo di Cambio’s bronze statue of the enthroned St Peter, now displayed in the treasury of St Peter’s, have been smoothed down by frequent han- dling, and the extended right foot in particular has been worn to a blur.22 Wooden polychromed figures of the enthroned Virgin and

20 Centrally: e.g. Castagnola, near Lugano, Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection, Gar- rison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 177, attrib. Magdalen Master; Flor- ence, S. Maria del Carmine, Madonna ‘del Popolo’, Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 185; L’arte a Firenze nell’età di Dante (1250–1300), eds A. Tar- tuferi and M. Scalini, exhibition catalogue, Florence and Milan, 2004, 89. To the side: e.g. Fiesole, S. Maria Primerana, Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 216; L’arte a Firenze 2004, 90–1. A combination of both: e.g. Certaldo, Museo di Arte Sacra, Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 35; L’arte a Firenze, 94–5; Montefioralle (near Florence),S. S tefano, Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Paint ing, no. 191; L’arte a Firenze, 96–7; Remole, S. Giovanni Battista (Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 29; L’arte a Firenze, 102–3) 21 Attributed to the Bigallo Master: Conservatorio delle Montalve, Villa la Quiete, Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 224. Signed by Margarito d’Arezzo: Arezzo, Museo Statale di Arte Medievale e Moderna, ex S. Maria, Monte- lungo, Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 226; London, National Gal- lery, Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 365; Washington, National Gallery of Art, Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 237. Attributed to the Magdalen Master: Arezzo, Museo Statale di Arte Medievale e Moderna, ex S. Fedele, Poppi, Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 28; Berlin, Gemäldegalerie, Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 6 (the base of the panel is cut, so the Virgin’s feet are missing. The Christ Child’s foot is severely damaged, perhaps through devotional wear); Paris, Musée des Arts Decoratifs, Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 368; formerly Compiobbi (near Fiesole), S. Donato ai Torriti, Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 33 (also attributed to the milieu of the Bigallo Master); Rovezzano (near Florence), S. Michele, Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 200. Attributed to Deo- dato Orlandi: Altenburg, Lindenau Museum, Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 248; Pisa, Museo Nazionale di S. Matteo, inv. no. 1587, Garrison, Ital ian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 197. Occasionally the blessing seems directed at the Virgin herself, but generally the gesture is directed outside the painting, towards the spectator or, if applicable, towards a supplicant represented kneeling within the image. Some (but by no means all) of these works bear a close resemblance, in certain features, to the paintings for the Servites of Siena and Orvieto, raising the possibility, as has several times been proposed, that the Madonna del bordone reflects a lost work, perhaps painted for the mother house of the Servites in Florence. 22 For the dating, attribution, and condition of the work see A.M. Romanini, ‘Nuovi dati sulla statua bronzea di San Pietro in Vaticano’, with additional contribu- 52 joanna cannon

Child – the sedes sapientiae – were very popular in France in the high middle ages,23 and the taste for such sculptures is also apparent in central Italy in the 12th, 13th and early 14th centuries.24 The frequent repainting of these wooden images makes it difficult to detect traces of devotional wear, but an unusual marble sculpture of the Virgin and Child Enthroned, now in the Museo Nazionale di Villa Guinigi in Lucca, shows explicitly the devotion that can generally only be imagined in the context of such works. The sculpture, which probably orig- inates from the demolished church of San Pietro Maggiore in Lucca, has been attributed to Biduino, or his circle, active in the second half of the 12th century (Fig. 4.8).25 The Virgin’s head has been replaced, probably during the 14th century, in an updating reminiscent of those carried out on Coppo’s Madonna del bordone and on Guido’s San Domenico Madonna. Before the throne step kneels a bearded and tonsured devotee. The Virgin rests her left foot on his back ashe reaches forward to touch her right foot and deliver a kiss. The sculpture shows us actions that would only have existed in the onlooker’s mind (for example, supporting the Virgin’s foot on his back), combined with others – the touching and kissing of the sculpture – that could have been frequently carried out. The early 13th-century Virgin and Child from the Siena Duomo, now in the Museo dell’Opera della Metropolitana in Siena, constitutes a fusion of painting and sculpture.26 The Virgin’s gilded right foot is placed precisely at the corner of her footstool, and she touches the blessing Christ Child’s foot with forefinger and thumb. The slightly raised surface of the Virgin’s feet could have encouraged spontaneous tions by S. Angelucci, P. Réfice, R. Caglianone and A. Iazeolla, Arte Medievale, ser. II, 4 (1990), 1–71. 23 see I. Forsyth, The Throne of Wisdom. Wood sculptures of the Madonna in Romanesque France, Princeton NJ, 1972. 24 see, for example, Scultura dipinta. Maestri di legname e pittori a Siena, exhibition catalogue, Florence, 1987, 16–8; K. Krüger, Der frühe Bildkult des Franziskus in Italien, Berlin, 1992, 219–30; M. Bacci, ‘La tipologia della Madonna in trono: innovazioni e resistenze’, Scultura lignea. Lucca 1200–1425, ed. C. Baracchini, exhibition catalogue, Florence, 1995, vol. 1, 59–80; L’arte a Firenze, 147–9, all with further bibliography. 25 Dimensions: 130 × 46 × 37cm. Museo di Villa Guinigi. La villa e le collezioni, Lucca, 1968, 87 and fig. 31; J. Poeschke, Die Skulptur des Mittelalters in Italien, I, Romanik, Munich, 1998, 11, 148, fig. 108. I am very grateful to Jessica Richardson for having told me about this sculpture. 26 Garrison, Italian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 377. For this work as a hybrid between Romanesque sculpture and icon painting see Belting, Likeness and Presence, 387–9. duccio and devotion to the virgin’s foot 53 touching and kissing, and the image may have provided a devotional bridge between practices associated with the feet of frontal wooden sculptures of the Virgin and Child and devotions focusing on two- dimensional images. In Byzantium the ritualised kissing of icons was long established;27 a small-scale version of a major image might even be supplied to bear the brunt of potential damage.28 The base of a panel painting is often vulnerable, making it hard to distinguish general wear and tear in our Tuscan examples from signs of focused devotion, but in a few cases there seems to be substantial surface abrasion localised in the area of the foot. An interesting example is the 13th- century Sienese tabernacle in the Christ Church Picture Gallery in Oxford, first studied in depth by Edward B. Garrison,29 and more recently placed close to the activity of Duccio in the last decade of the 13th century by Luciano Bellosi (Fig. 4.9).30 In the central panel of this small painting31 the Virgin’s right foot, and the area directly below it, has lost almost all the original paint surface. The tabernacle, evidently for personal use, includes the figure of a supplicant, kneeling to the left of the Virgin. The image does not show the devotee prostrated, or holding the Virgin’s foot, but the abraded picture surface indicates sustained devotional touching and kissing at that site as an entreaty for the Virgin’s intercession. The devotee is shown, instead, looking upwards to receive the blessing that the Virgin has obtained, on the

27 see Belting, Likeness and Presence, 172, 183, 225; for kissing an image in Ven- ice see ibid., 196; for the papal kissing of the foot of the Acheropita image of Christ in the Sancta Sanctorum at Easter see ibid., 311. 28 For example in the case of an icon of the Virgin Hodegetria, as illustrated in the Hamilton Psalter. See Mother of God, 389; Byzantium Faith and Power, 153. Pro- vision of a ‘sacrificial’ area of imagery is also found in the West in the small Crucifix- ion sometimes provided at the foot of the main Crucifixion image supplied to receive the priestly kiss at the canon of the Mass. See, for example, the Missal of Abbot Nicholas of Lytlington, London, Westminster Abbey, MS 37, fol. 157v, in R. Marks and N. Morgan, The Golden Age of English Manuscript Painting 1200–1500, London, 1981, 88–9. 29 e B. Garrison, ‘A New Devotional Panel Type in Fourteenth-Century Italy’, Marsyas, 3 (1943–45), 15–69, 42–5. For subsequent bibliography see Garrison, Ital ian Romanesque Panel Painting, no. 356. Garrison attributed the painting to the Maestro di Città di Castello. 30 L. Bellosi, ‘Il percorso di Duccio’, Duccio. Alle origini, 118–45, 131–2. Schmidt (Madonna dei francescani, 30), supports an attribution to Duccio himself. Stubble- bine (Duccio di Buoninsegna, vol. 1, 121–3), proposed a separate ‘Christ Church Tab- ernacle’ Master, to whom he attributed the eponymous work and the small tabernacle in the Fogg Art Museum. 31 Approximate dimensions: height of central panel: 36 cm; overall width of tabernacle when open: 43 cm. 54 joanna cannon

Figure 4.8. Circle of Biduino (?), Virgin and Child Enthroned with Kneeling Supplicant, second half of the 12th century, Virgin’s head replaced in 14th century, marble (130 × 46 × 37 cm), from the façade of the former oratory of the Madonnina at Porta San Pietro, Lucca, Museo Nazionale di Villa Guinigi, Lucca (Museo Nazionale di Villa Guinigi, Lucca). duccio and devotion to the virgin’s foot 55

Figure 4.9. Circle of Duccio (Maestro di Città di Castello?), Virgin and Child Enthroned with Angels and Supplicant, central panel of tabernacle, c. 1290–1300, tempera on panel (approx. 36 [central panel] × 43 [when open] cm), before restoration, Christ Church Picture Gallery, Oxford (detail of photograph in Garrison Collection, Courtauld Institute of Art). 56 joanna cannon devotee’s behalf, through making her own supplication to the Christ Child, whose right foot she holds. The Christ Church tabernacle invites us to think further about representations of devotion paid directly to the feet of the Christ Child. The model for such imagery seems to be the scene of the Adoration of the Magi on the Siena Cathedral pulpit produced by Nicola Pisano and his associates and assistants between 1266 and 1268.32 The Virgin seated at the right end of the relief steadies the Christ Child on her lap so that his bare, extended, right foot can be held, and its sole kissed, by the kneeling magus (Fig. 4.10). This detail is not found in the pulpit for the Pisa Baptistery, made by Nicola and his assistants a few years earlier, and seems to be the first known example in Italian art,33 raising the question of whether this theme, reminiscent of devotions before an image or sculpture of the enthroned Virgin and Child, was initi- ated in Siena. As is well known, it certainly engendered a response among Sienese painters, in the Adoration panel, now in the Lindenau Museum, Altenburg, from the series of panels from the Badia Ardenga, probably painted in the 1270s,34 and subsequently in the front predella of Duccio’s Maestà of c. 1308 to 1311, that stood on the high altar of Siena cathedral, near the pulpit.35 If we look at the standing figure of the Virgin and Child placed immediately to the right of the Adoration of the Magi on the Siena pulpit (Fig. 4.10), we see that the Virgin places her hand beneath the Child’s feet in a gesture that appears to combine submission with the act of making those feet visually available to all spectators. Adoration of the foot of the Virgin was obviously impossible in the half-length images of the standing Virgin found on so many Sienese polyptych panels from around 1300 onwards. But these images could still provide visual access to the foot of the Child, offered directly to the

32 see J. Poeschke, Die Skulptur des Mittelalters in Italien, II, Gotik, Munich, 2000, 71–5 and pls 24–5, for illustrations and bibliography. See Garrison, A New Devotional Panel Type, 31–3, for wider comparisons with Adoration compositions, and 38 and note 92, for a specific comparison between the pulpit relief and the Madonna dei francescani. 33 Lexikon der christlichen Ikonographie Rome, 1968–76, vol. 1, col. 544; H. Thode, Franz von Assisi und die Anfänge der Kunst der Renaissance in Italien, 2nd ed., Berlin, 1904, 469. 34 Illustrated Duccio. Alle origini, 67. The motif was also followed in the murals of the undercroft beneath the east end of the Duomo in Siena, although the damaged condition of the Adoration scene makes it difficult to discern. See Sotto il Duomo di Siena. Scoperte archeologiche, architettoniche e figurative, eds R. Guerrini with M. Seidel, Siena and Milan, 2003, 112, fig. 9. 35 Illustrated Duccio. Alle origini, 217. duccio and devotion to the virgin’s foot 57 onlooker by the Virgin. In Siena Pinacoteca Polyptych No. 28, attributed to Duccio, one of the earliest surviving Sienese examples of this altarpiece type, the Virgin supports and holds the Child’s foot in a gesture that combines submission and proffering in a pose presumably derived from the standing Virgin of the Siena Duomo pulpit.36 Another polyptych in the Siena Pinacoteca, no. 39, attributed to Ugolino da Siena, and probably painted for the Clarissan nuns of Santa Chiara in Siena, repeats the pose of the Virgin and Child (Fig. 4.11).37 In this case severe surface wear in the area of the Child’s foot suggests that the devotion existed not only in the mind, but also in practice. That is not to say that every Sienese trecento image in which the Virgin holds the Christ Child’s foot tenderly or playfully was intended by the artist, requested by the commissioner, or received by every spectator, as an invitation to focused devotion, encompass- ing the mental rehearsal of touching, kissing and submission. But I would argue that these early examples, especially those devised by Duccio, deserve to be considered in that light. Duccio’s continuing interest in the representation of the Virgin’s foot can be seen in the Siena Duomo Maestà of c. 1308–11.38 The Virgin’s robe, painted in a rich red with elaborate gilded patterning, falls in elegant folds on the polygonal step of her throne (Fig. 4.12). Schooled by the earlier images of the Virgin discussed above, we look for the place at which this drapery is ostentatiously folded back and lifted to reveal her patterned slipper. At first it appears simply to be absent, but closer inspection reveals the shape of the toe, picked out through simple modulation of the layers of red lake, creating a tonally lighter area denoting the toe of the slipper, just visible beneath the drapery.39 It is possible that the commissioners asked for the Virgin’s foot not to be shown, or that it is covered in order to indicate that only the four patron saints of Siena, kneeling uprightly before the Virgin, have the possibility of access to her foot in order to make supplica-

36 For illustration, a recent summary of dating and attribution, and previous bibliography, see Duccio. Alle origini, 200–4. 37 P. Torriti, La Pinacoteca Nazionale di Siena: I dipinti, 2nd ed., Genoa, 1981, 31–2. 38 For a recent summary with illustrations and bibliography see Duccio. Alle origini, 208–18. 39 The deliberate aspect of this covering of the Virgin’s foot is underlined by a comparison with the Virgin of the Ducciesque Massa Marittima Maestà, in many respects a replica of the Siena Duomo Maestà, in which the tip of the Virgin’s foot is revealed in the expected manner (Fig. 4.13). See Duccio. Alle origini, 244–54. 58 joanna cannon

Figure 4.10 nicola Pisano, associates and assistants, Virgin and Child and Adoration of the Magi (detail), pulpit, 1266–68, marble, Cathedral, Siena (Conway Library, Courtauld Institute of Art). duccio and devotion to the virgin’s foot 59

Figure 4.11. Attributed to Ugolino da Siena, Virgin and Child and Four Saints (detail), polyptych, tempera on panel, Pinacoteca Nazionale, Siena, inv. no. 39 (John Lowden). tions on behalf of the Sienese people. But it may also be that every one of those people is being invited to imagine having their own personal moment of devotion. Directly above her right foot, the Virgin’s blue mantle has been turned back, revealing its red lining. The first step in uncovering the slipper has been taken, but it is up to each spectator to imagine that the Virgin will proffer her foot for a ‘symbolic kiss’. Perhaps the viewer might even contemplate reaching forward, taking between finger and thumb the fold of drapery projecting at the centre of the step, and lifting it reverently in order to approach and venerate the Virgin’s slipper. The devotion explicitly illustrated in Duccio’s Madonna dei francescani, and offered, by implication, in theMadonna Rucellai, is here available in thought to all those willing to enter into the world of Duccio’s painting. The artist, who, as the inscription on the footstool declares, ‘painted you thus’, reserves to himself a special 60 joanna cannon

Figure 4.12. Duccio di Buoninsegna, Virgin and Child Enthroned (detail from the Maestà), c. 1308–11, tempera on panel, from the Cathedral of Siena, Museo dell’Opera della Metropolitana, Siena (Opera della Metropolitana, Siena).

Figure 4.13. Workshop of Duccio di Buoninsegna (?), fragmentary Maestà (detail of the front face), tempera on panel, Cathedral of S. Cerbone, Massa Marittima (by permission of the Ministero per i Beni e le attività culturali. Photo: Soprintendenza PSAE di Siena e Grosseto). supplication, placing the Virgin’s foot very slightly to the right of centre, pointing directly to his name.40 This most subtle artistic outcome of devotion to the Virgin’s foot, which confirms, through the expected behaviour of the spectator implicit in the image, the importance of this locus of supplication in Sienese painting of the late 13th and early 14th centuries, may also mark its last flowering. Four or five years laterS imone Martini painted his version of the central composition of Duccio’s Maestà for the Sala del Consiglio of the Palazzo Pubblico in Siena.41 The Virgin is dressed in a heavy patterned brocade that falls in numerous folds on the throne step. A large cushion is provided, on which to rest her feet, but

40 The use of the Virgin’s foot as a pointer is found in earlier inscriptions: in the Madonna del bordone, it points to ‘me pinxit’, and in the Virgins attributed to Mar- garito d’Arezzo, now in the Museo Statale in Arezzo and in the National Gallery, Washington, it points to ‘de aritio’. 41 A. Bagnoli, La Maestà di Simone Martini, Milan, 1999, for extensive illustration, bibliography, and discussion of the different phases of work. duccio and devotion to the virgin’s foot 61 the feet themselves are invisible, and the multiple folds of the hem give no clear indication of their location.42 Nevertheless, the theme of submission is still important. The Virgin places her open hand beneath the right foot of the standing Christ.43 In addition to acting as an intercessor, she is the chief representative of the people of Siena. The four principal patron saints of the city kneel and (after the alterations of 1321) hold scrolls proclaiming their petitions, but it is the Virgin, as head of state, who performs, in this single gesture, submission at the feet of the supreme judge and ruler.44 No visual allusion is made to the necessity to seek and activate the Virgin’s intercession by prostration at her own feet. What does a consideration of the Virgin’s foot in early Sienese painting reveal about the relationship between what is represented, what is envisaged, and what is enacted? Duccio, and some of his predecessors and contemporaries, responded to the devotional practices of their commissioners, and helped to nourish these practices by picturing or visually facilitating them. For a short time, two or three generations at most, there seems to have been intense interest, among artists, commissioners and at least some viewers, in enacting, or imag- ining, this abasement. The theme was given its greatest visual expression by Duccio in his series of painted devotions to the foot of the Virgin. But he also nurtured the imaginations of the faithful in their approach to the Virgin’s son, and in so doing he may have helped to hasten a refocusing of devotional attention.

42 There may be an implication that access to the foot could be gained by lifting the large u-shaped fold placed on the vertical line below her knee, but the repeated breaking folds of the hem suggest that this fold is simply part of the general pattern making. In Lippo Memmi’s S. Gimignano version of the figure there is no clear indication of the location of the foot. See Bagnoli, La Maestà, figs 17 and 122. 43 Christ’s scroll is inscribed, ‘Diligite iustitiam qui iudicatis terram’. (Love justice you that are the judges of the earth) Wisdom, 1:1. 44 For the alterations of 1321 see Bagnoli, La Maestà, esp. 172. The implication of submission in this gesture is noted by D.C. Shorr, The Christ Child in Devotional Images in Italy during the Fourteenth Century, New York, 1954, 26: ‘It is she, the patron saint of Siena, who receives [the celestial courtiers’] homage; yet by the inclination of her proud head and her right hand placed beneath the sole of the child’s foot, she seems to acknowledge his sovereignty’. Also noted in passing by H.P. Riedl, Das Maestà-Bild in der sieneser Malerei des Trecento, Tübingen, 1991, 43: ‘Das Unterstützen des Füßchens ist zugleich Demutszeichen’. 62 virginia glenn

chapter five

A ROYAL GIFT FROM PARIS TO ASSISI: THE EVOLUTION OF DESIGN AND ICONOGRAPHY CIRCA 1300*

Virginia Glenn

The Tesoro of San Francesco in Assisi is among the most impressive and historically important in Europe, but even so it now contains only a fraction of its medieval riches. By the 1330s gifts embellished with gold, silver and enamel had arrived from popes, cardinals and royal dynasties in honour of St Francis.1 One such object known for centuries as the Reliquiario della Veste Inconsutile appears in the 1338 inventory as “Item aliud tabernaculum de argento inauratum, in quo sunt ymagines Salvatoris, sancti Francisci et sancte Clare, et tribus ymaginibus Monialium ad pedem eorum; cum pede super quatuor baboynis; quod portavit Frater Guilielmus Gene ralis”.2 By 1370, the inventory description reads “Item unum taberna culum peraplum de argento inauratum in quo sunt ymagines Salvatoris, sancti Francisci et sancte Clare, cum tribus ymaginibus Monialium ad pedes eorum; quo misit domina Johanna regina, uxor quondam Phylippi Regis Francie per Fratrem Guilielmum Generalum nostrum. In quo est de triplici ligno Crucis Christi, de columpna ubi fuit ligatus Christus, de corda cum qua fuit ligatus Christus et multi alii sanctis

* I should like to thank Geoffrey Barrow and John Cherry, who both read this whole script and saved me from numerous pitfalls. John Higgitt posed a number of astute questions about the iconography, which I have attempted to answer, and Joanna Cannon provided valuable advice about the background of Italian art. 1 F. Pennacchi and L. Alessandri, ‘I più antichi inventari della Sacristia del sacro Convento di Assisi (1338–1473)’, Archivum Francescanum Historicum, VII (1914), 76–9. 2 D.L. Bemporad, ‘Oreficerie e avori’, in Il Tesoro della Basilica di San Francesco ad Assisi, Florence, 1980, 94–5, pls C-CII, no. 20. A portion of the Veste Inconsutile, a seamless robe made by the Virgin, had been sent to Assisi in a large silver taber naculum with a number of other relics, by Bonaventura, when Vicar General; it was transferred to the reliquary which now bears its name at some date after 1473, Pennacchi and Alessandri, ‘I più antichi inventari’, 78 no. 32, 79 no. 50, 90 no. 3, 294 no. 4. a royal gift from paris to assisi 63

Figure 5.1. Probably Paris, c. 1300, Reliquiario della Veste Inconsutile, façade, silver gilt (width 27.5 cm, depth 12.2 cm, height 29.2 cm), Museo-Tesoro della Basilica di San Francesco, Assisi (copyright A. Quattrone). sime relique”.3 There has been much discussion about the identities of the queen and the vicar general in question. The possible candidates are considered at the end of this paper, in the light of the stylistic evidence for dating the object itself. It is a silver gilt reliquary in the form of an architectural tabernacle, the side niches of which contain figures of St Francis and St Clare (Fig. 5.1). The design reveals an emerging awareness of optical and spatial illusion on an object closely comparable to other Parisian

3 Ibid., 294 no 3. 64 virginia glenn orfèvrerie, datable to the last quarter of the 13th century. By this period, a detailed literary and visual imagery had evolved to illustrate the lives and sanctity of both saints, although representations of Clare are much less numerous. The iconography of the reliquary differs considerably from the more familiar images widespread in the painting of central and northern Italy around 1300.4 The reliquary has three cusped pointed arches under gables on the front façade, originally flanked by four slender piers with pinnacles under a spire in the centre (the spire and one pinnacle are now missing).5 The back is flat, consisting of a rectangular panel, hinged to give access to the contents, under a gabled tympanum (Fig. 5.2). The tympanum diminishes in size, from a large central triangle, between two smaller triangles and flanked by two outer half triangles. Although all the gables are a single sheet of metal in one plane, this gradation provides an impression of recession, enhanced by the treatment of their moulded and chamfered framing. On top of the two half triangles, this is widened to create the deceptive effect that these end sections are angled away from the spectator. It is a small detail, but an innovative use of visual perspective. The rectangular base, which mea- sures 24 X 9.5 cm, is also made to look considerably deeper from the front by the plan of the tabernacle, which is an elongated half hexa- gon, with two canted flanking niches narrower and lower than the central one. The earliest known piece of silver with a Paris hall mark also has an elongated hexagonal plan (Fig. 5.3). This is the Herkenrode- mon strance, now in Hasselt.6 It too is silver gilt, stamped on the foot with the fleur-de-lis and has an inscription engraved around the base of the lantern: anno. domini m° cc° lxxx vj° fecit. istud. vas. fieri. domina. heilewigis. de. dist. priorissa. in. herkenrode . cuius. commemoracio. in. perpetuum. cum. fidelibus, habeatur.7

4 K. Krüger, Der Frühe Bildkult des Franziskus in Italien, Berlin, 1992, passim. 5 Pennacchi and Alessandri, ‘I più antichi inventari’, 312 no. 4: the 1430 inventory already records this damage. 6 R. Didier, in Filles de Cîteaux, Brussels, 1990, 85–7 no. 64; idem in Un trésor gothique. La châsse de Nivelles, exh cat, Cologne, Paris, 1995–6, 330–1 no. 27. 7 J. Moons, Herkenrode 800 Jaar, exh cat, Hasselt, 1982, 67 no. 2, which broadly agrees with my own reading. Monasticon Belge ( IV, 1976, 148), gives the inscription as Hoc vas fecit fieri Alydis de Diest priorissa in Herkenrode 1286, probably a quota- tion from a chronicle. I am very grateful to Ann Delbeke and Tessa Vanpaeschen, Stedelijke Museum Stellingwerff-Waerdenhof, Hasselt, for an opportunity to re- examine this object in September 2004. a royal gift from paris to assisi 65

Figure 5.2. Probably Paris, c. 1300, Reliquiario della Veste Inconsutile, rear façade (width 27.5 cm, depth 12.2 cm, height 29.2 cm), Museo-Tesoro della Basilica di San Francesco, Assisi (copyright A. Quattrone).

In many ways, the object is an important milestone in the study of orfèvrerie in late 13th-century France. Its date of 1286 is just eleven years after the king, Philippe III, prescribed the marking of Parisian goldsmiths’ work.8 Traditionally, it is also the oldest monstrance to have survived. The feast of Corpus Christi, which celebrated the central significance of the Eucharist in the mass, was finally made obliga- tory in 1264 by Urban IV and subsequently had an office written for

8 Didier, Filles de Cîteaux, 330. 66 virginia glenn

Figure 5.3. Paris 1286, Herkenrode Monstrance, silver gilt (width 15.5 cm, height 44.5 cm), Cathedral of Saint-Quentin and Notre-Dame, on loan to Musée Stellingwerff- Waerdenhof, Hasselt (courtesy of Musée Stellingwerff-Waerdenhof, Hasselt). a royal gift from paris to assisi 67 the occasion by Thomas Aquinas.9 The Herkenrode vas10 was an early and sophisticated exercise in converting an established reliquary design to a different purpose: a suitably ceremonial vessel to contain and protect the consecrated wafer during the new mass, while exhibit- ing it to the worshippers as was now required. The realistic architecture developed particularly on large reliquary châsses11 was adapted and opened up for the upper part of the monstrance, using crystal panels for the sides to reveal its contents.12 The resulting edifice was mounted on a stem with a decorative knop mounted on a hexagonal foot, in the same manner as an altar cross or chalice.13 The conscious awareness of the function of the monstrance in the rites is obvious from the fact that the most highly decorated surface of the object, richly encrusted with naturalistic foliage in high relief, is applied to the underneath of the lantern. It would only have been clearly visible at the dramatic moment when the priest raised the monstrance in the Elevation of the Host (Fig. 5.4). However, this valuable piece of evidence is somewhat flawed. The entire monstrance has been heavily regilded in comparatively recent times. It is also made in two separate sections which are now held together by an obviously modern fitting, the foot with the Paris poin çon and the lantern with the inscription. Verlet, writing in 1953,

9 W.J O’Shea, New Catholic Encyclopaedia, Washington, 1966, vol 4, 345. 10 VAS is a rather general term frequently used in 13th-century and later inventories for basins of various kinds, aquamaniles, censers and alms dishes; vasculum, for which it may be an abbreviation here, was used ad Corpus Domini from at least the late 11th century, B. Bischoff, Mittelalterliche Schatzverzeichnisse, vol.1, Munich, 1967, 200–1. 11 notable surviving examples being the châsses of St Taurin at Evreux and Ste Gertrude at Nivelles, J. Braun, Die Reliquiare des Christlichen Kultes und ihre Ent wicklung, Freiburg im Breisgau, 1940, 116, 181, 182, fig. 113 and 166, 177, 184, fig. 114. 12 In 13th-century France, corporeal relics were normally fully concealed within their reliquaries. The probably Parisian reliquaries of St Austreberthe’s head, Montreuil-sur-Mer, 1296 and St Louis’ finger, Bologna, c. 1300, enclosed the bones in crystal boxes, possibly influenced by monstrance design. See D. Gaborit-Chopin, L’Art au temps des rois maudits Philippe le Bel et ses fils 1285–1328, exh cat, Paris, 1998, 186–7 no. 115, 198–9 no. 122. Wider availability of crystal may also have been a factor in both developments. 13 Variations on this arrangement were also used for smaller reliquaries throughout the 13th century, Trésors des Églises de France, exh cat, Paris, 1965, 34–5 no. 74, pl 92; 35–6 no. 76, pl 91; 67 no. 134, pl 90; 82 no. 165, pl 97; 193 no. 355, pl 72; 198–9 no. 365, pl 71. 68 virginia glenn

Figure 5.4. Paris 1286, Decoration beneath the Lantern, detail of Herkenrode Monstrance, silver gilt, Cathedral of Saint-Quentin and Notre-Dame, on loan to Musée Stellingwerff-Waerdenhof, Hasselt (courtesy of Musée Stellingwerff- Waerdenhof, Hasselt). thought that the six quatrefoils on the foot were replacements.14 From examination of the underside this seems uncertain, although the quatrefoils are missing a filling, possibly of translucent enamel. Some refurbishment has certainly taken place, probably in the nineteenth century after the abbey had been closed and the remnants of its treasury transferred to the cathedral of Saint-Quentin in Hasselt.15 Nevertheless, it is an elegant creation and I am satisfied that the upper and lower parts belong together. The same technical precision and delicacy of execution distinguish the foot, the lantern and the Crucifixion figures; from the six tiny lions on which it stands, to the

14 P. Verlet, ‘Orfèvrerie mosane et orfèvrerie Parisienne au XIIIe siècle’, in L’Art Mosan, ed. P. Francastel, Paris, 1953, 213–5. 15 Monasticon Belge, IV, 1976, 159. The crescent for holding the wafer is certainly modern; the ingenious hinged arrangement of the lantern, which can be opened by unplugging one of the decorated pendants seems to be original. a royal gift from paris to assisi 69 exquisite leafy finials on the buttress spires and the highly wrought foliage terminals of the cross. As Verlet says, one would otherwise have to suppose the existence of two such vessels of the same size, style and virtuosity, which the restorer could have combined. The spread of the foot, the proportions of the knop and the height of the stem form a balanced and harmonious whole with the miniature architectural form which they support. The similarities between the monstrance and the Assisi reliquary, which are comparable in scale,16 are obvious enough to give a date between c. 1280 and 1300 for the latter also. Architectural decoration had been used by Parisian goldsmiths earlier in the 13th century; the St Lucien reliquary for the Sainte Chapelle17 and the St Blasien book- cover18 are well known examples, but the approach of their creators was much more cautious, consisting of decorative motifs laid against flat surfaces, arranged on simple rectilinear plans. The lantern of the Herkenrode piece, on the other hand, is a three-dimensional exercise, inventive in its own right. The plan, the angled buttresses and the openwork canopy, bear rather the same relationship to the simple box of the St Lucien reliquary as a fully developed rayonnant building like Saint Urbain at Troyes does to the Sainte Chapelle itself. In a conception just as carefully evolved as that of the Herkenrode monstrance, the design and iconography of the Assisi reliquary were intricately planned in order to convey complex messages about what it contained and to whom it was to be presented. In 1370 among the contents were “de triplici ligno Crucis Christi, de columpna ubi fuit ligatus Christus, de corda cum qua fuit ligatus Christus, et multi alie sanctissime reliquie”.19 As a French royal gift, the obvious source for the portions of the True Cross and the other sanctissime reliquie would have been the Grande Châsse, installed in the Sainte Chapelle by St Louis to hold the relics which he had acquired from Constantinople between 1238 and 1246.20

16 The monstrance is 44.5 cm high × 15.5 cm wide. 17 e taburet-Delahaye, ‘Reliquaire des saints Maxien, Lucien, Julien’, in Le trésor de la Sainte-Chapelle, exh cat, Paris, 2001, 164–6. 18 H. Westermann-Angerhausen, ‘Reliure d’un livre cassette ornée de scènes mariales et de saints en pied’, in Un trésor gothique, 344–6, no. 34. 19 Bemporad, ‘Oreficerie e avori’, 94. 20 C.V. Glenn, The Emergence of the Gothic Style in 13th-century Parisian Gold smiths’ Work, Ph.D. thesis, Courtauld Institute of Art, London, 1990, 36–73. 70 virginia glenn

Of these twenty-two relics, fifteen were associated with the Passion of Christ, including the Crown of Thorns and a large and a small piece of the True Cross, while two related to the Nativity. There was also the occiput of the Baptist and the rod of Moses, plus the heads of Sts Clement, Blaise and Simeon.21 At the focal point of the Assisi reliquary is a grille of twenty quatrefoils in roundels, below a trilobite tympanum framing a half-length figure of the risen Christ, showing his wounds. Each quatrefoil would originally have displayed a labelled relic. It is a reasonable assumption that the relics which would have been left out were the non-biblical ones of Clement, Blaise and Simeon.22 Therefore, the Christ figure is rising dramatically fromrelics of his infancy, his two prominent precursors and, most portentously, the instruments of his persecution and death. The only relics listed in the Assisi Reliquiario in 1370 which do not seem to have come from the Sainte Chapelle are those of the column and the cords. None of the Parisian inventories between the late 13th century and 1377 mention them,23 nor are they included in the item ised report on the contents of the Grande Châsse of 1534.24 They were presumably inserted after the arrival of the shrine at Assisi.25 The Column of the Flagellation was seen by Anthony, bishop of Novgorod, in 1200 and by Robert de Clari in 1203, at the monastery church of the Apostles in Constantinople. They were told it had been placed there by the Emperor Constantine and his mother Helena, who were buried in the church.26 It is unknown when a fist-sized piece of the granite column arrived in the treasury of San Marco in Venice, where it was placed in a spectacular reliquary in 1375.27 Perhaps, during prepara-

21 Comte P. de Riant, ‘Des dépouilles religieuses enlevées à Constantinople au XIIIe siècle par les Latins’, Mémoires de la société nationale des antiquaires de France’, 36 (1875), 180–3; J. Durand, ‘La translation des reliques imperiales de Con- stantinople à Paris’, in Le trésor de la Sainte-Chapelle, 37–41. 22 The 1370 inventory implies that three relics of the True Cross were extracted from the two in the Grande Châsse, making the numbers up to twenty. 23 A. Vidier, ‘Le trésor de la Sainte-Chapelle’, Mémoires de la société de l’histoire de Paris et de l’Île-de-France, 34 (1907), 201–1, 36 (1909), 291–302. 24 Ibid, vol 35, 1908, 191–3. 25 Alessandri and Pennacchi, ‘I più antichi inventari’, 294 no. 3. 26 Comte P. de Riant, Exuviae sacrae Constantinopolitanae. Fasciculus documen torum ecclesiasticorum ad byzantina lipsana in Occidentem saec, XIII translata, spec tantium, 2 vols, Geneva, 1878, vol. 2, 225, 232. 27 H. Hahnloser, Il Tesoro di San Marco, Florence, 1971, 166–8, no. 164, pls CLVI-CLVII, G. Perocco, S. Bettini, D. Alcouffe, M.E. Frazer, W.D. Wixom, D. Gaborit-Chopin, The Treasury of San Marco Venice, exh cat, Milan, 1985, 306–9, no. 46. a royal gift from paris to assisi 71 tions for this, fragments were detached from the Flagellation relics and given to the Franciscans of Assisi,28 who felt it appropriate to place them in the Parisian shrine with the others connected to the Passion. Indeed, such a notable acquisition could have prompted the writing of an updated inventory. Surviving documents record that between 1239 and 1270, St Louis himself donated fragments of the Constantinopolitan relics to at least thirteen churches in France, Spain, Switzerland and Italy, including Assisi.29 A thorn reliquary, which survives in the Tesoro, is listed from 1338 onwards as one of his gifts.30 The tradition continued under his successors. The magnificent silver gilt Holy Sepulchre reliquary in Pamplona was almost certainly a royal gift containing a fragment of the relic from Christ’s shroud in the Grande Châsse (Fig. 5.5).31 It may have been presented to Pamplona cathedral, either to commemorate the marriage of Jeanne de Navarre and Philippe le Bel in 1284, or the coronation of their son Louis X of France as king of Navarre, which took place there in 1307.32 The Holy Sepulchre reliquary also features an imposing architectural canopy, with a tall central tower and spire. It fills a rectangular base with canted corners and has open sides framed by round arches with trilobite openwork cusping, under gables containing enamelled oculi. Under the canopy is the open tomb, with a large angel sitting on one end, smaller standing figures of the three Maries behind and even

28 A large fragment of the column in Padua is also mounted in an imposing reliquary, related in style to that in San Marco, also generally dated to the late 14th century, M. Collareta, Marco, G. Mariani Canova, A.M. Spiazzi, Basilica del Santo. Le oreficerie, Padua, 1995, 94–5, no 9. It seems most likely that the Assisi acquisition was associated with these developments roughly contemporary with the new inventory, rather than the relic in Santa Prassede in Rome, believed to have been brought back from the Crusades by Cardinal Giovanni Colonna about 1223, Riant, Exuviae sacrae Constantinopolitanae, vol. 2, clxxxvj. 29 Ibid., vol. 2, 125, 138, 140, 141, 143, 154, 156, 158. 30 Bemporad, ‘Oreficerie e avori’, 96, pl. CIII, cat no 21; L. Carolus-Barré, ‘Le reliquaire de la Sainte Épine d’Assise: fra Mansueto et le traité de Paris 1258–1259’, Bulletin de la société des antiquaires de France, 1989, 121–31; E. Taburet-Delahaye, ‘Reliquaires des Saintes Épines donnés par saint Louis. Remarques sur l’orfèvrerie française du milieu du XIIIe siècle’, Cahiers Archéologiques, 47 (1999), 205–14. 31 e steingräber, ‘Beiträge zur Gotischen Goldschmiedekunst Frankreichs’, Pan theon, 20 (1962), 156–65. 32 D. Gaborit-Chopin, ‘Reliquaire du Saint–Sépulchre’, in L’Art au temps des rois maudits, 195–7. 72 virginia glenn

Figure 5.5. Probably Paris, c. 1300, St Clare with Agnes and Beatrice at Her Feet, and St Francis with Ortolana, Mother of Clare, at His Feet, details, Reliquiario della Veste Inconsutile, facade, silver gilt (width 27.5 cm, depth 12.2 cm, height 29.2 cm), Museo-Tesoro della Basilica di San Francesco, Assisi (copyright A. Quattrone). smaller scale figures of two sleeping soldiers seated on the ground in front, with a cloth and vessels remaining from a meal between them. There are significant similarities and noticeable differences between the Pamplona and Assisi reliquaries. The larger figures on both are formed by casting a core form and then applying folded metal sheet for extra drapery. This technique, which is most clearly revealed by some of the shattered pieces of the shrine of St Gertrude at Nivelles,33 is used for the Three Maries on the reliquary in Spain and also for St Clare on the Reliquiario della Veste Inconsutile. Gaborit-Chopin points out the stylistic parallels between the three kneeling figures in Assisi and the three standing women in Pamplona.34 There is too, a striking likeness between the characteristics of Mary at the right hand

33 Glenn, The emergence of the Gothic style, pl. 173; Un Trésor Gothique, 21 Fig. 1, 200 Fig. 4, 204 Fig. 11. Although none of the three makers named in the Nivelles contract has known Parisian connections, many of the decorative elements can be seen as emanating from the capital; see B. Kurmann-Schwarz, ‘La châsse de Sainte Gertrude et l’art de la cour en France au XIIIe siècle’, in Un Trésor Gothique, 237–49. 34 ‘Reliquaire du Saint-Sépulchre’, in L’Art au Temps des Rois Maudits, 195–7 no. 121. a royal gift from paris to assisi 73 of the angel behind the Holy Sepulchre35 and Clare’s backwards lean- ing stance, her raised hands, the arrangement of her habit and wimple and her slightly aged features on the Reliquiario. The placing of smaller scale entirely cast figures, in reverse perspective in front of the prin cipal personages on both objects, is also handled in a distinctively similar manner. These elements are almost sufficient to suggest the work of the same artist. The canopy of the Holy Sepulchre, on the other hand, harks back to the style of the Sainte Chapelle, justifying Gaborit-Chopin’s epithet archaїsme,36 whilst the structures on the Franciscan shrine and the Herkenrode monstrance explore the angled plans and layered planes of arches and tracery characteristic of rayon nant architecture. This immediately implies that more than one specialist silversmith worked on all these major items, a fact confirmed in the case of Nivelles. Their 1272 contract tells us that there were three craftsmen involved in its production, one of whom was to provide a drawing as a basis.37 The distribution of the Paris orfèvres in the 1292 tax list indicates how this worked. They operated in one main colony, stretching from the Barillerie outside the palace gates, over the Grant-Pont and into the parish of Saint Germain. With two exceptions, the craftsmen in the Barillerie paid less than 20 sous tax, the majority under 10 sous.38 The preponderance of small establishments packed closely together, would have allowed for constant co-operation between specialists in particular skills, who would have collaborated on large complicated commissions. Similar co-operation was characteristic of the Birming ham Jewellery Quarter of the 19th and earlier 20th centuries39 and remains the norm with many modern master goldsmiths. For example, when Louis Osman created a new crown for the investiture of the Prince of Wales in 1968, he engaged a brilliant recent graduate, Malcolm Appleby, to engrave prominent sections of it; in 1988–89

35 D. Gaborit-Chopin, ‘La châsse de Nivelles et les arts précieux’, in Un Trésor Gothique, 250–5, especially Fig. 4. 36 D. Gaborit-Chopin, ‘Reliquaire avec saint François sainte Claire’, in L’Art au temps des rois maudits, 192. 37 H.D. Bork, ‘Le contrat de la châsse. Texte et transcription’, in Un trésor gothique, 79–81. 38 H. Géraud, Paris sous Philippe le Bel d’après les documents originaux et notam ment d’après un manuscript contenant le rôle de la taille imposée sur les habitants de Paris en 1292, Paris, 1837, 135 (rpt. with index by C. Bourlet and L. Fossier, Tübin- gen, 1991). Lorens des Chans paid 70 sous and Oudet his apprentice 3 sous. 39 V. Skipp, The Making of Victorian Birmingham, Birmingham, 1983, 50–3. 74 virginia glenn

Appleby, now an artist of international standing, made a large cup and cover for the National Museums of Scotland, using other craftsmen to do the raising, precision casting and enamelling.40 Further evidence of a joint effort is provided by the fact that the three Maries of the Holy Sepulchre reliquary were clearly designed as free-standing figures regardless of their position behind the tomb. The patterns of their drapery folds are arbitrarily cut across by the sarcophagus and seen from the side, they look cramped and awkward in their space. Similarly, the feet of Clare and Francis project over their hexagonal plinths as though they were about to step out into the space inhabited by the viewer, which might be intentional like the numerous examples in later 13th-century French illumination, or equally a sign that they were made in a separate workshop and simply do not quite fit. There are other signs of more than one hand at work within the reliquiario. The reverse is covered by two engraved panels, Christ in Majesty between two censing angels in the gables and a conventional rendering of the Nativity in the rectangular plaque below; a reference to the relics of Christ’s swaddling clothes and the Virgin’s milk from the Grande Châsse. These sections are rather different in style from the graceful curving figures on the front of the object. The technique itself and the jagged angular fold style make their appearance on Parisian and northern French metalwork soon after the mid-13th century. Some writers have speculated that the whole piece is earlier than 1280, or even that the back panels were re-used, although both technique and style persisted in Picardy and on the Flemish borders until at least the early 14th century as Gaborit Chopin points out.41 Boileau, setting out the regulations for the métiers of the Paris goldsmiths after the mid-13th century, allowed each master to have one apprentice estrange.42 In 1292, Girart l’Alemant, Richart d’Arraz and Gilebert l’Englois were listed as orfèvres working just outside the palace and the Sainte Chapelle.43 An older northerner in a large workshop, who clung

40 V. Glenn, in Malcolm Appleby, exh. booklet, Aberdeen Art Gallery and Museum, 1998, unpaginated; J. Moore, ‘Louis Osman – maverick visionary’, Gold smiths Review, 2005/2006, 40–1; C. Rew, ‘Malcolm Appleby – a man for all seasons’, ibid, 24–7. 41 Gaborit-Chopin, L’Art au temps des rois maudits, 195. 42 R. de Lespinasse and F. Bernardot, Les métiers et corporations de la ville de Paris: XIIIe siècle. Le livre des métiers d’Étienne Boileau, Paris, 1879, 32–4. 43 Géraud, Paris sous Philippe-le-Bel, 135–6. a royal gift from paris to assisi 75 to his earlier style, might well have been entrusted with this less prominent area of the tabernacle. On the Reliquiario, St Clare and St Francis stand with outstretched arms raised in wonder towards the Saviour, looking downwards to the praying figures below. The arrangement of Clare on Christ’s right and Francis to his left is reminiscent of the established composition of the Crucifixion scene, where the Virgin and St John occupy the same positions, their heads bowed. In French metalwork, this combination was frequently used by Limoges enamellers on châsses and bookcovers from at least the second half of the 12th century. St John almost invariably stands with his right hand raised, palm inwards and a book held in his bent left arm, the pose adopted for Francis. The Virgin more often clasps her hands or occasionally raises her leftarm shrouded in her robes.44 However, on two bookcovers of the 1170s or 80s, she stands in precisely the posture transformed here into the Gothic style for Clare.45 The juxtaposition of the two mendicants in the places normally occupied by the two major New Testament figures, while based on a familiar composition, would also have seemed entirely appropriate to the French orfèvre. As the rest of the Reliquiario programme seems to be so carefully considered, surely the reference had a clear significance. The extensive literature on both Francis and Clare began to appear very shortly after his death in 1226 and hers in 1253.46 It inspired two of the earliest attempts to devise an iconography for Francis himself, made at Limoges. These are on very similar quadrilobe enamel panels, one now detached, the other forming the back of a complete reliquary (Fig. 5.5).47 Reliquaries of this shape, mounted on a foot with a knop, have their origins in the 12th century and continued to be produced outside metropolitan France throughout the 13th century.48 The tech-

44 De Limoges à Silos, exh cat, Madrid, Brussels, Silos, 2001–2, 115–7, nos 12–3, 120–5, nos 15–7, 176–82, nos 50–2, 282–4, no. 75. 45 L’oeuvre de Limoges, exh cat, Paris, New York, 1996, 41 fig. 12b, 112–3 no. 18. 46 AA.SS. Oct II, 545–1004 (Francis) AA.SS. Aug II, 754–67 (Clare); F. Uribe, Introduzione alle fonti agiografiche di San Francesco e Santa Chiara d’Assisi (saec XIII–XIV), Assisi, 2002, passim. 47 L’Œuvre de Limoges, 306–9 no. 102, gives the best recent account of this object, with extensive notes and a full bibliography by Elisabeth Taburet-Delahaye; see also De Limoges à Silos, 334–6 no. 90. 48 Reims, Reliquary of St Sixte, Les trésors des églises de France, exh cat, Paris, 1965, 66–7 no. 133, pl. 96, c. 1200; Louvre, Paris, Reliquary of St Henry, from Hildesheim, c. 1175, M.-M. Gauthier, Émaux du moyen âge occidental, Fribourg, 76 virginia glenn nique of areas of the enamelling is itself rather archaic, even for a date very shortly after the canonization of the saint in 1228. The scene which is portrayed on these two enamels is based very closely on Thomas of Celano’s account of Francis receiving the stigmata.49 Against a gilded, vermiculated ground, he stands barefoot in a blue habit, the hood covering the back of his head, his characteristic long rope girdle with the prominent knots carefully reserved in gold.50 The five wounds of the stigmata are plainly shown against the white enamel of his skin. He is depicted between sprouting bushes representing the hermitage of La Verna, where his vision took place. Above in the uppermost circular lobe, a seraph hovers over a cloud formation between the sun and the moon, on a gilded ground engraved with stars whose six points echo his silhouette. Francis with his rough shaggy beard is an unassuming figure, as Celano tells us he chose to be in life.51 The Stigmatization appeared in painted cycles devoted to Francis from an early date and was also used, sometimes along with the scene of the saint preaching to the birds, in manuscript illumination.52 Among the six scenes flanking the standing figure ofS t Francis on the altarpiece in Pescia by Bonaventura Berlinghieri, dated 1235, there is a composition very similar to that on the Limoges enamels, except that the saint is kneeling and the scene is flanked by tall buildings.53 The same humble figure is shown praying at the feet of Christ onT recento crucifix panels to the end of the century and beyond.54 The Franciscan Order was already established in both southern France and Paris in the saint’s own lifetime, including a house at Limoges founded in 1224.55 French books with Franciscan iconography were produced from the mid century, including illuminations

1972, 359 no. 108; E. Taburet-Delahaye, L’Orfèvrerie gothique au musée de Cluny, Paris, 1989, 99–103 no. 30: ‘milieu ou deuxième moitié du XIIIe siècle’. 49 H. Matrod, Deux émaux franciscains au Louvre. Les stigmates de saint François, leur plus anciennes représentations connues, Paris, 1906, 516. 50 R.J. Armstrong, J.A. Wayne Hellmann, and W.J. Short, Francis of Assisi: Early Documents, New York, 1999, 460, ‘The Versified Life of St Francis’, by Henri d’Avranches (1232–39), where Francis is described as wearing a halter as a belt. 51 Ibid., 145. 52 C. Frugoni, Francesco e l’invenzione delle stimmate: un storia per parole e immagini fino a Bonaventura e Giotto, Turin, 1993, passim. 53 Ibid., ill. 11. 54 Krüger, Der Frühe Bildkult, 159 et seq, pls 296–311. 55 J.R.H. Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order, Oxford, 1968, 66. St Anthony of Padua assisted in the foundation. a royal gift from paris to assisi 77 with an idiosyncratic version of the Stigmatization taking place indoors in front of an altar.56 As the order rapidly grew in popularity in noble and court circles, more cosmopolitan patrons like Isabelle of France in the 1260s,57 and Yolande de Soissons two decades later, owned manuscripts showing the more conventional outdoor scene.58 The saint as represented on the Reliquiario stems from a development separate from the narrative scenes of the enamels, manuscripts and altarpieces. There may well have been Franciscan painted panels with single standing iconic figures in the centre in France, as in Italy, but none has survived.59 Presumably, such icons would have changed and developed in the course of the 13th century as they did elsewhere. Scarpellini charts the progression of Franciscan iconography, from images of il Poverello d’Assisi to San Francesco gladiatore;60 a similar comparison can be drawn between the figure on the Limoges enamels and that on the silver gilt shrine. The slender, elegant, clean shaven saint on the Reliquiario carrying a book bears little relationship to the historic Francis. His hood is thrown back to show a neat tonsure, the handsome facial features are small and idealised. There is only the slightest indication of the stigmata on his side, hands or feet. Like St Clare, Francis has tiny, elegant bare feet, exquisitely modelled and cast.61 This courtly figure reflects the style of contemporary French painting, sculpture and ivory carv- ing, but is the only three-dimensional silver image of the saint to survive from the period.62 This conception of St Francis followed the

56 Krüger, Der Frühe Bildkult, 150 pl. 280; Frugoni, Francesco, pls 4, 10. 57 P. Binski and S. Panayotova, The Cambridge Illuminations: Ten Centuries of Book Production in the Medieval West, exh cat, London, 2005, 178–80 no. 72; S.C. Cockerell, A Psalter and Hours executed before 1270 for a Lady connected with St Louis, Chiswick, 1905. 58 K. Gould, The Psalter and Hours of Yolande de Soissons, Cambridge, Mass., 1978, 94–107; F. Avril, ‘Psautier-livre d’heures de Yolande de Soissons’, in L’art au temps des rois maudits, 298–300 no. 202. 59 e B. Hohler, N.J. Morgan, and A. Wichstrøm, Painted Altar Frontals of Nor way 1250–1350, vol. 1; 2 n. 12. 60 ‘Iconografia francescana nei secoli XIII e XIV’, in Francesco d’Assisi: storia e arte, ed. F. Porzio, Milan 1982, 91, 93. 61 I am immensely grateful to Padre Pasquale Magro, the Direttore del Museo- Tesoro della basilica di San Francesco for allowing me to examine the Reliquario in strong lighting out of the showcase, in November 2006, and for giving me the benefit of his learned opinions on the details of Franciscan iconography. 62 The faithfully rendered plain Franciscan habits make comparisons difficult, but the backwards curve of the figure of Francis, the fold patterns of his sleeves and his elegantly pointed feet emerging from below his hem line, bear a fairly close 78 virginia glenn widespread reforms of the Franciscan Order under Bonaventura of Bagnoreggio and in particular his rewriting of the Life of Francis, which the Chapter announced in 1266 should supersede all previous versions.63 Bonaventura, himself a great scholar, guided the friars away from the life of humble manual work, where they actively pursued primitive ideals of poverty and simplicity. Instead, the Franciscans were to become members of well regulated religious houses, where education and a respected position in the wider community was a pri- ority.64 St Clare is a rare subject in 13th-century art. A pyx or monstrance became the saint’s usual attribute in the 14th century, commemo rating the only dramatic event in her life of contemplation and strict seclusion when, armed only with the sacrament, she put to flight a band of Saracens who attacked her convent in 1240.65 In earlier Italian images she is also shown with a palm, a lily or a cross.66 On the Reliquiario, however, Clare holds an object in her right hand, which is probably a book, sign of her authority as founding head of her order.67 The three kneeling figures at the feet of the saints are a very original element of the whole scheme. Every writer, from the compiler of the 1338 inventory to Gaborit- Chopin in 1998, has regarded them simply as “nuns”. Nevertheless, they very possibly represent specific individuals. At first glance, the asymmetrical grouping is most unusual in an otherwise formal medieval composition. Why not have four nuns in balancing pairs? There is also the fact that the figure at the feetof Francis is larger than the other two. No fitting has been removed, there is no sign of damage or repair to the base on either the upper surface or underneath. In 1338, there were already only three monia resemblance to the effigy of Pierre d’Alençon from Poissy of. c 1300 (L’art au temps des rois maudits, 89, no. 41); Clare has general similarities in dress and facial features to the Limoges enamel effigy of Blanche de Champagne of 1286–1305 (ibid, 124, .no 70). 63 Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order, 152 n. 1. 64 Ibid., 151–4. The fact that Francis is given a book as his attribute is symp tomatic of the reforms. 65 e Franceschini, ‘I due assalti dei saraceni a S. Damiano e ad Assisi’ in Nel segno di Francesco, Assisi, 1988, 381–405. 66 J. Wood, ‘Perceptions of holiness in Thirteenth-Century Italian Painting: Clare of Assisi’, Art History, 14 (1991), 325 n. 39. 67 Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order, 207; as it is a squarer shape than the book held by Francis, it is perhaps possible that it represents the ‘little box’ in which Sister Francesca, a witness in the Process of Canonization, reported that the saint instructed the sisters to carry the sacrament against the infidels. a royal gift from paris to assisi 79 les. The explanation must be that they represent actual personages; the larger single figure being Clare’s mother, Ortolana, the smaller pair her sisters, Catherine, in religion called Agnes, and Beatrice.68 All three ladies eventually joined Clare in her convent of San Damiano, the mother as a widow.69 The gestures of the figures tell a story which would have been familiar to both clergy and laity. In the centre, Christ looks straight ahead into heavenly space. To his right, Clare gesticulates towards him with her left hand, but looks down towards her kneeling mother. Ortolana, her hands clasped, gazes up at the Saviour and her daughter, whose sanctity according to one canonization witness, was already revealed to her mother while the baby was still in the womb.70 Ortolana’s profoundly religious nature and her foreign pilgrimages, including one to the Holy Land are described in a passage attributed to Celano.71 The mother’s vision while pregnant, where a voice told her that her daughter would be “a light which would illumine the entire world” would have been well known to the scholar who devised this miniature mise- en-scène.72 Agnes joined Clare as a child of fifteen, shortly after the future saint had attached herself to the Franciscans in 1212. A dozen men of the family were said to have dragged her away by force, but the prayers of Clare intervened and her sister became so heavy that they were unable

68 P. Torriti, in Il gotico a Siena, exh cat, Siena, 1982, 19, 89–90, no. 24; V. Schmidt, in Duccio: Alle origini della pittura senese, exh cat, Siena, 2003, eds A. Bagnoli, R. Bartalini, L. Bellosi, M. Laclotte, Milan, 2003, pp. 158–61 no. 24. Duc- cio includes three kneeling supplicant friars without haloes in his Madonna dei Fran cescani, Siena, Pinacoteca Nazionale, no. 20, at about the same date as the Reliquiario. They are clearly differentiated from each other, so perhaps they too are intended as specific individuals, as Schmidt also argues. As the original provenance is unknown this can only be speculative, but Celano and Bonaventura (not canonised until 1482) are possibilities, along with the head of the house which commissioned the panel. 69 AA.SS, Aug II, 742, para 16. 70 AA.SS, loc cit, 755, para 2, Vita: autore anonymo coaevo (Auctor Alexandrum IV alloquens, ‘Prægnans denique mulier, et partui jam vicina, cum ante crucem in ecclesia Crucifixum attente oraret, u team de partus periculo salubriter expediret, vocem audivit dicentem sibi: Ne paveas mulier: quia quoddam lumen salva parturies, quod ipsum mundum clarius illustrabit. Quo edocta oraculo, natam infantulam sacro baptismate renascentem, Claram vocari jussit, sperans promissi luminis clari- tatem pro divinae beneplacito voluntatis aliqualiter fore complendam’. 71 Ibid, para 1. 72 The comparison with Christ is inherent and the words a reflection of the Ser- mon on the Mount, Matthew 5: 14–6. 80 virginia glenn to lift the girl. An attempt by her uncle to strike Agnes was also pre- vented, when his arm was paralysed by an intolerable pain. Francis himself performed the tonsure on both girls. These scenes taken directly from the Vita, are compressed into one half lunette at the top of a vita panel in Assisi dated to 1283, but I know of no other representations of Clare’s sisters in Trecento art.73 Agnes was an important foundation member of the order, eventually becoming abbess at Monticelli, near Florence nine years later.74 In 1229, their youngest sister, Beatrice, also came to San Damiano. She was another prominent witness, telling of Clare’s angelic and vir- ginal childhood, her works of charity, the distribution of her dowry to the needy and above all the story of her conversion by Francis.75 Thus the two sisters raise their hands in supplication, not only to Christ, but across the shrine to Francis, in a very personal sense, their spiritual mentor. Given the strictly cloistered nature of Clare’s life after she entered the order, narrative details from her childhood played an all important part in both her hagiography and her sparse iconography. There has been much discussion about which Queen of France and which Vicar General is alluded to, in the successive Assisi inventories.76 The candidates are Jeanne de Navarre (d.1305), wife of Philippe le Bel (d.1314) and Jeanne de Bourgogne (d.1330), wife of Philippe le Long (d.1322). The donor, Domina Johanna regina uxor quondam Phylippi Regis Francie, is named for the first time in 1370. This description was interpreted by early 20th-century writers to mean that the queen was a widow, which could only be Jeanne de Bourgogne.77 However, “quondam” could simply mean that the king in question

73 J. Cannon, ‘Beyond the Limitations of Visual Typology: Reconsidering the Function and Audience of Three Vita Panels of Women Saints c. 1300’, in Italian Panel Painting of the Duecento and Trecento, Studies in the History of Art, Centre for Advanced Study in the Visual Arts, Symposium Papers XXXVIII, ed. V.M. Schmidt, New Haven & London, 2002, 291–313; Krüger, Der Frühe Bildkult, 67 n. 15, quotes references from Vasari and later to an altarpiece of St Agnes with flanking scenes in San Paolo a Ripa d’Arno, now lost. 74 Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order, 39. 75 M. Bartoli, Clare of Assisi, London, 1993, 24, 39, 40, 47. 76 Gaborit-Chopin 1998, 193–4, gives a succinct summary of the history of the documentary and historical evidence. 77 B. Kleinschmidt, Die Basilika San Francesco in Assisi, 3 vols, Assisi, 1915–26, vol. 1, 276–7; B. da Marinangeli, ‘Il tempietto d’argento’, Miscellanea Francescana, XVIII, fasc. VI (1917), 135–8; U. Gnoli, ‘Il Tesoro di San Francesco d’Assisi’, Dedalo, 2 (1921–2), 430–2. a royal gift from paris to assisi 81 was dead by the time the list was written, not when his queen made the presentation. For Vicar General the possibilities are rather confused. Guglielmo de Falgario (d.1297) has often been identified with Peter de Falco, Vicar General in Paris 1283–87, but Moorman disputes this.78 Guglielmo il Farinier, Minister General 1348–57 is another candidate, but this would mean that he brought a royal gift to Assisi which was at least fifty years old, nearly twenty years after the death of the donor.79 Furthermore, the word quondam used in 1370 could mean either that the reliquary was given by the former queen of Philip king of France, or simply that the king in question was deceased by the time the list was written. Anyone familiar with the records of even the most meticulous modern museum will be aware how easily errors stemming from incomplete record keeping, word of mouth, wishful thinking or simple confusion between objects in the same collection can creep into the documentation, in the course of fifty or a hundred years. In the case of Assisi, the town had been captured by Ghibelline factions in 1320, which was followed by decades of quarrels and unrest, probably prompting the Chapter General to order an inventory to be made for security reasons in June 1337.80 Possibly, the inventory of the treasury was written rather hastily and in difficult circumstances. Some of the eminent donors mentioned had been dead for many years,81 which could have led to lost or misattributed labelling of the objects. Perhaps, as he was after all a Franciscan himself and contemporary with the Reliquiario, Occam’s Razor should be applied. The unusual dominance of Clarisse iconography on the reliquary points to a commission for a female client or an order of nuns. However, donations of relics from the Grande Châsse were normally made only to major religious institutions and not to individuals, even within the ruling family.82 The figure of Clare is so similar in style and technique tothe

78 Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order, 249, n 5. 79 C. Cenci, ‘Fra Guglielmo de Falgar o Fr. Guglielmo Farinier?’ Archivum Fran ciscanum Historicum, 78 (1985), 481–9. 80 Pennacchi and Alessandri, ‘I più antichi inventari’, 74–5. 81 Ibid., eg, Louis IX (d. 1270) 78 item 31, Bonaventura (d. 1274) 78 item 32, Nicholas IV (d. 1292) 295 item 10, Matthew of Aquasparta (d.1302) 77 item 19. 82 Cenci (‘Fra Guglielmo de Falgar’, 481–9), proposes that the reliquary may have belonged at some stage to Blanche, daughter of Philip V, who was a Clarissa at Long- champ; Riant (Exuviae sacrae Constantinopolitanae, 125–59), lists a dozen recipients of Constantinopolitan relics from St Louis, but all addressed to prelates or the heads 82 virginia glenn central Mary on the Holy Sepulchre reliquary that it could be by the same artist. The latter, containing another Sainte Chapelle relic, was almost certainly a gift from Philippe le Bel and his wife or their son. Circumstantially, Queen Jeanne de Navarre and Vicar General Falgario are the likeliest protagonists. The reliquary and its contents appear to have been specifically designed as a French royal gesture of veneration for presentation to San Francesco in Assisi.

of religious houses on behalf of their institutions. If it had been given to Longchamp, not to Blanche personally, it is very unlikely that the house would have passed it on, even to Assisi. the ‘anthropomorphic trinity’ of the museo di roma 83

chapter six

THE ORIGINAL SETTING AND HISTORICAL CONTEXT OF THE FOURTEENTH-CENTURY ‘ANTHROPOMORPHIC TRINITY’ OF THE MUSEO DI ROMA AT PALAZZO BRASCHI*

Claudia Bolgia

A remarkable fresco fragment of considerable size (179 × 145 cm), detached from its original setting and mounted on a modern cadorite support, is preserved in the storeroom of the Museo di Roma at Palazzo Braschi (Fig. 6.1). This mural painting seems to be an unicum from an iconographical point of view: it shows a strikingly anomalous representation of the Trinity, with an enthroned, youthful, bearded and blondish God the Father holding an identical but smaller figure on his lap who in turn holds another identical but smaller figure; the lower half of the three figures is enclosed within the large mantle of the Father. The painter has created an image of the greatest visual impact: seated on an imposing solid throne, the three identical figures are rigidly frontal; their glance is penetrating but impersonal. They are simultaneously spiritually remote and powerfully present. This fragment, first mentioned by Hermanin in 1942 and briefly recorded in two publications on the Museo di Roma and in a recent volume on the representation of the Trinity in Italian medieval art, was the subject of an article in 2002 and was displayed in the exhibition Dipinti romani tra Giotto e Cavallini held at the Musei Capitolini in April-June 2004.1 The author of both the article and the entry in the

* I am grateful to Christiane Klapisch-Zuber, Sylvia Huot and Valerio Pacini for stimulating conversations and bibliographical references. 1 F. Hermanin, ‘Di alcune pitture medievali romane sconosciute (comunicazione letta nell’adunanza del 9 aprile 1942 alla R. Accademia d’Italia)’, Atti della Reale Accademia d’Italia. Memorie della Classe di Scienze Morali e Storiche, ser. 7, 3 (1942), 299–316, at 312–4; Mostra delle novità dei Musei Comunali: Acquisti, ritrovamenti, restauri, Museo di Roma, Palazzo Braschi, maggio 1954, Rome, 1954, 7; C. Pietran geli, Il Museo di Roma: documenti e iconografia, Bologna, 1971, 35; P. Iacobone, ‘Mysterium Trinitatis’. Dogma e Iconografia nell’Italia medievale, Rome, 1997, 233; T. Strinati, ‘Nota sulla Trinità antropomorfa di Palazzo Braschi’, Bollettino dei Musei Comunali di Roma n.s. 16, 2002, 34–48; id., ‘Trinità antropomorfa’, in Dipinti romani tra Giotto e Cavallini, eds T. Strinati and A. Tartuferi, Rome, 2004, 86–7. 84 claudia bolgia

Figure 6.1. Rome, Museo di Roma at Palazzo Braschi, Deposito, Anthropomorphic Trinity, detached fresco on cadorite support, mid-14th century (Claudia Bolgia). exhibition catalogue, who mainly discussed the technical-stylistic features of the fresco (ascribing it to a Roman workshop and suggesting a dating around the mid-14th century), observed that ‘purtroppo non si sa nulla, prima del 1952, della storia e della provenienza di questo interessantissimo affresco, e questo è grave per un dipinto murale che acquista una sua legittimità solo se in rapporto ad un preciso contesto architettonico; così com’è la Trinità di Palazzo Braschi è come se non fosse mai esistita’.2 It is true that a mural painting detached from its original context loses its raison d’être, becoming a silent ghost.

2 strinati ‘Trinità antropomorfa’, 86. the ‘anthropomorphic trinity’ of the museo di roma 85

Nothing is known about the provenance of this piece, aside from the fact that it was donated to the Musei Comunali di Roma in 1952 by its former owner, the Senator Raffaele Bastianelli.3 To contextual- ize the piece, I shall begin with a brief mention of monumental depictions of the Trinity in medieval Rome. The dogma of the Triune Deity, first formulated at the Council of Nicea in 325, is one of the most complex dogmas of Christianity, and was thus at the centre of theological controversies and heresies. Medieval artistic imagination was always on difficult ground when attempting to depict the Trinity: the multiplicity of different solutions indicates the problem.4 The Middle Ages often produced monsters, such as the tricephalous Trinities prohibited by a decree of Pope Urban VIII in 1628.5 In the earliest Christian paintings, particularly in catacombs, the three divine Persons were never represented together, but depicted individually in symbolic forms: the Father was represented as a hand extending from the sky; the Son as a lamb, a fish or a cross; the Holy Ghost as a dove. Subsequently, symbols were combined with human figures to give shape to the threefold God. One of the first representations of the Trinity in Early Christian Rome was a narrative scene in the fresco cycle of the nave of San Paolo

3 strinati, Nota sulla Trinità, 39, n. 5. 4 The bibliography on the iconography of the Trinity is extensive. See, notably, A.N. Didron, Iconographie chrétienne, Histoire de Dieu, Paris, 1843, 499–583; K. Künstle, Ikonographie der christlichen Kunst, Freiburg, 1928, 221–300; A. Hackel, Die Trinität in der Kunst: Eine ikonographische Untersuchung, Berlin, 1931; A. Hei- mann, ‘L’iconographie de la Trinité: Une formule byzantine et son développement en Occident’, L’Art chrétien 1 (1934), 37–57; H. Leclercq, s.v. ‘Trinité’, in F. Cabrol and H. Leclerq, Dictionnaire d’archéologie chrétienne et de liturgie, XV, 2, Paris, 1953, cols. 2787–91; W. Braunfels, Die Heilige Dreifaltigkeit, Düsseldorf, 1954; L. Réau, Iconographie de l’art chrétien, II, 1, Paris, 1956, 14–29; W. Braunfels, s.v. ‘Drei faltigkeit’, in Lexicon der christlichen Iconographie, I, Rome-Freiburg-Basel-Wien, 1968, cols. 525–36; P. Verdier, ‘Iconography of the Holy Trinity’, New Catholic Ency clopedia, XIV, New York, 1964, cols. 307–9; G. de Pamplona, Iconografia de la santis sima Trinidad en el arte medieval espanól, Madrid, 1970; A. M. D’Achille, ‘Sull’iconografia trinitaria medievale: La Trinità del Santuario sul Monte Autore presso Vallepietra’, Arte Medievale, ser. II, V, 1, 1991, 49–73; Iacobone, Mysterium Trinitatis; B. C. Raw, ‘Trinity and Incarnation in Anglo-Saxon Art and Thought’, Cambridge 1997. 5 G.J. Hoogewerff, Vultus‘ Trifrons. Emblema diabolico: Immagine improba della Santissima Trinità’, Rendiconti della Pontificia Accademia Romana di Archeologia 19 (1942–43), 205–45; R. Pettazzoni, ‘The Pagan Origins of the Three-Headed Repre- sentation of the Christian Trinity’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 9 (1946), 135–51. 86 claudia bolgia fuori le mura, where the Creation of Adam and Eve was performed by an axial Trinitarian group comprising a bust-length God the Father at the top, a central cross-haloed Agnus Dei on a hillock and a haloed Holy Ghost in the shape of a dove at the bottom.6 The scene was destroyed in the fire of 1823, and it is uncertain whether its graphic record (a 17th-century watercolour copy) documents the original appearance of the mural (from the time of Pope Leo the Great, 440– 61) or a later modification which might have taken place when Pietro Cavallini restored the frescoes as part of the restoration campaign recorded by Lorenzo Ghiberti. Scholars seem to favour the hypothesis of the integrity of the Genesis scenes, which means that the Trinity at San Paolo, combining an anthropomorphic God the Father with the two other Persons in symbolic forms, was conceived around the mid- 5th century.7 According to 16th- and 17th-century copies, the apse mosaic of Santa Pudenziana (completed c. 401–17) showed an axial Trinitarian image in the centre, including – from top to bottom – the still extant enthroned God the Father, a Holy Ghost in the shape of a dove and an Agnus Dei.8 The Holy Dove and the Holy Lamb disappeared in 1711, when the lower portion of the mosaic was cropped and a baldachin was installed above the new high altar. Problems regarding the dating of this Trinitarian composition arise from Ciacconio’s copy, showing three interwoven capital letters (HRD) above the image of the Holy Dove (which do not appear in the later watercolours): they were added by Ciacconio, who recalled seeing this monogram at the apex of the apsidal conch before the cropping of the upper part of the mosaic in

6 For a theological discussion of the creation and the Trinity see R.C. Neville, ‘Creation and the Trinity’, Theological Studies 30, 1969, 3–26. 7 Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana (henceforth BAV), Barb. Lat. 4406, fol. 23; S. Waetzoldt, Die Kopien des 17. Jahrhunderts nach Mosaiken und Wandmalereien in Rom, Vienna/Munich, 1964, 57, nr 590, fig. 328; J. White, ‘Caval- lini and the lost frescoes in S. Paolo’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 19 (1956), 84–95; J. Gardner, ‘S. Paolo fuori le mura, Nicholas III and Pietro Caval- lini’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 34 (1971), 240–8; idem, ‘Gian Paolo Panini, S. Paolo fuori le mura and Pietro Cavallini: Some notes on colour and setting’, Mosa ics of Friendship: Studies in Art and History for Eve Borsook, ed. O. Francisci Osti, Florence, 1999, 245–54; D. Verkerk, Early medieval Bible illumination and the Ash burnham Pentateuch, Cambridge, 2004, 64–8, 165–70, 186. 8 BAV, Vat. Lat. 5407 (Ciacconio), fol. 154. A photograph of this copy can be found in S. Waetzoldt, Die Kopien, 73–4, nr 996 (and nrs 997–1000 for further copies); J. Osborne and A. Claridge, The Paper Museum of Cassiano Dal Pozzo, ser. A, part II. 1–2: Early Christian & Medieval Antiquities, vol I, Mosaics & Wall-paintings in Roman Churches, London, 1996–98, 306–7, nr. 142. the ‘anthropomorphic trinity’ of the museo di roma 87

1588.9 If this were the monogram of Pope Hadrian I (772–95) – the promoter of a restoration campaign at Santa Pudenziana, according to the Liber Pontificalis – he may have also caused a restoration (and possible iconographical interpolation) of the mosaics.10 TheT rinitarian controversies of the 8th century may have brought about such an insertion but might equally have simply led to the faithful restoration of a pre-existing Trinitarian composition.11 The presence of a haloed dove resting on a small hillock immediately below the figure of Christ in the apsidal conch of San Marco in Rome (Fig. 6.2), commissioned by Pope Gregory IV around 828–29, is also to be explained as the third component of a Trinitarian group.12 The Dextera Domini at the top of the composition is a representation of the Father, and some features of the monumental blessing Son underline the Trinitarian meaning of the group (these features are the Alpha and Omega on his footstool, often included in Trinitarian representations, and the inscription on his book ‘ego sum lux, ego sum vita, ego sum resurrectio’, alluding to the threefold character of the tripartite Deity). The fragmentaryT rinity at Palazzo Braschi, on the other hand, does not show any iconographic relationship with its Roman predecessors, which were all products of papal ‘orthodox’ patronage, and seems to be equally unprecedented in medieval art. ‘Anthropomorphic’ Trinities, portraying three male figures seated on a single bench or throne, are known: in such cases the three Persons are disposed horizontally, though, not vertically, and can be either identical to each other or different (in appearance, age and/or attri-

9 G. Matthiae, Mosaici medioevali delle chiese di Roma, Rome, 1967, 55–76; G. Bovini, Mosaici paleocristiani di Roma (secoli III-VI), Bologna, 1971, 104–5. 10 on Hadrian I’s interventions in Rome, see F.A. Bauer, ‘Il rinnovamento di Roma sotto Adriano I alla luce del Liber Pontificalis: Immagine e realtà’, Mededelin gen van het Nederlands Instituut te Rome. Historical Studies [liber Pontificalis e la storia materiale] 60/61 (2001-2002), 2003, 189–203, at 191. 11 neither San Paolo fuori le mura and its filiations, nor Santa Pudenziana or San Marco are discussed in Iacobone, Mysterium Trinitatis, which is the most comprehensive work on the iconography of the Trinity in Italian medieval art. I intend to discuss papal visual ‘trinitarian statements’ from Hadrian I to Gregory IV elsewhere. 12 on these mosaics, see C. Bolgia, ‘The Mosaics of Gregory IV at S. Marco, Rome: Papal Response to Venice, Byzantium, and the Carolingians’, Speculum 81 (2006), 1–34. 88 claudia bolgia

Figure 6.2. Rome, San Marco, apse mosaic, Trinitarian Imagery, 828–29 (by permission Donatella Zari & Carlo Giantomassi). the ‘anthropomorphic trinity’ of the museo di roma 89 butes), but are all of the same size. In these images, the notion of pluralism clearly prevails over that of unity.13 In a number of examples, especially in the more imaginative world of manuscript illumination, the three Persons, seated side by side in a horizontal grouping, are ‘united’ by special devices: an illumination in a 14th-century French Augustinian Missal shows the three identical anthropomorphic figures of Father, Son and Holy Ghost sharing a common crown and swathed in one all-enveloping robe. This image probably derives from the unusual illustration of the Trinity in the 13th-century Breviari d’Amor of Matfré Ermengau, where the three identical figures also share a single cross-nimbus.14 Despite the attempt to unify the three Persons, one is left with the impression of uncom- fortable cohabitation rather than indissoluble unity. The fragment at Palazzo Braschi shows a unique combination of ideas and iconographical motifs. Its iconography seems to be a con taminatio between the above-mentioned anthropomorphic Trinity (found especially in illuminated manuscripts) with a type of vertical, axial, Trinity – the so-called Paternitas type – portraying God the Father in the act of holding on his knees a Son in human form, who in his turn holds the dove of the Holy Ghost. A monumental example of the Paternitas type of Trinity – of Byzantine origin and clearly inspired by images of the Theotokos holding the Son frontally (thus underlying the ‘paternity’ of God) – is the late 13th-century fresco on the trium- phal arch of the Greek abbey church of Grottaferrata, not far from Rome.15 The vertical representation of the three figures has allowed the anonymous author of the Palazzo Braschi fresco to employ the device of the all-enveloping garment in a much more convincing way than in the above-mentioned examples; the Father’s portentous gesture of opening his arms resembles similar gestures in illuminated manuscripts, such as a 13th-century Averroes’ Commentary on the Meta physics of Aristotle, now at Oxford, where an enthroned Lady

13 D’Achille, Sull’iconografia trinitaria, 52–73; Z. Kovács, ‘Trinitas in hominis specie. Quelques remarques à propos de l’iconographie des représentations anthro- pomorphes de la Trinité’, Bulletin du Musée Hongrois des Beaux-Arts 77 (1992), 41–58; Iacobone, Mysterium Trinitatis, 159–246. 14 toulouse, Bibliothèque Municipale, MS 91, fol. 121r and Escorial, MS S.I.3, fol. XVIr respectively: published in J.F. Hamburger, The Rothschild Canticles. Art and Mysticism in Flanders and the Rhineland circa 1300, New Haven–London, 1990, 127, figs 199–200. 15 see Iacobone, Mysterium Trinitatis, 231–4. 90 claudia bolgia

Philosophy shelters her daughters, the Liberal Arts, under her cloak, and the most beloved daughter is disposed frontally before her.16 In the Palazzo Braschi Trinity (Fig. 6.1) an elegant and weightless movement of arms and hands – almost a ballet gesture – has replaced the rather awkward movement of the Oxford figure. The gesture here is simultaneously protective and revelatory: the numinous extension of arms reveals to the beholder the mysterious proceeding of the Holy Spirit from the Father and the Son. A possible source of inspiration for this vertical representation can be found in the so-called ‘matriarchal earthly Trinity’, especially in the form known in Italian as Sant’Anna Metterza, in German as Anna Selbdritt and in Dutch as Anna te Drieen.17 It consists of St Anne with the Virgin and Child, often arranged so that a small figure of Mary holding her infant son sits upon the lap of the enthroned St Anne. The most famous example of such iconography is the painting by Masaccio and Masolino (1424–25) today at the Uffizi, but there are numerous earlier examples, including the impressive and highly accomplished wooden group at the Bargello (Fig. 6.3, from c. 1330–40), the most probable prototype for the other known Tuscan examples.18 In the Roman fresco, the identical features and dress of the three persons suggest their consubstantiality, while the vertical grouping and the emergence of the three busts from within one single garment indicate their unity and indivisibility. Where was this unique representation of the Trinity as three human hieratic blondish figures, identical in appearance yet different in size, originally located? And why did it remain unparalleled? The perimeter of the fragment at Palazzo Braschi (Fig. 6.1) seems to indicate that the upper part of the painting was triangular: a fact confirmed by an old black-and-white photograph in the Archivio del

16 oxford, Merton College, Ms 269 (F.I.4), datable c. 1260. Published in N.J. Morgan, Early Gothic Manuscripts, 1250–1285, London, 1988, vol. II, cat. 146b, 132–3, ills. 222–4, 228–9. 17 on the representations of Anna Selbridtt the most complete work is still B. Kleinschmidt, Die heilige Anna. Ihre Verehrung in Geschichte, Kunst und Volks tum, Düsseldorf, 1930; see also P. Sheingorn, ‘Appropriating the Holy Kinship: Gen- der and Family History’, in K. Ashley and P. Sheingorn (eds.), Interpreting Cultural Symbols: Sainte Anne in Late Medieval Society, Athens and London, 1990, 169–98; M. Buchholz, Anna Selbdritt: Bilder einer wirkungsmächtigen Heiligen, Königstein im Taunus, 2005. 18 see photographs in T. Verdon, ‘Aspetti teologici della raffigurazione di SantʼAnna a Firenze’, in A. Valentini (ed.), S. Anna dei Fiorentini. Storia, fede, arte, tradizione, Florence, 2003, 139–48, ills. 53–4. the ‘anthropomorphic trinity’ of the museo di roma 91

Figure 6.3. Florence, Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Sant’Anna Metterza, c. 1340–50, probably from the church of Sant’Anna, near Orsanmichele (Soprintendenza Speciale per il Patrimonio Storico, Artistico ed Etnoantropologico e per il Polo Museale della città di Firenze). 92 claudia bolgia

Museo di Roma, showing that the mural had a support with a gabled end before receiving its actual cadorite support at an unknown date after 1952.19 The support documented by the photograph was probably still the one to which the fresco was attached when it was removed from its former location and, in any event, very likely reflected the shape of the painting’s original setting. If the fragment were bigger in size, one could have suggested that it formed the top of a painted cycle decorating a wall: the top of a transept arm, for instance, or of a nave or counter-façade, where the open timber roof required gabled ends. Yet, the fragment is too small, and its proportions and perspective show that it was meant to be seen in a position higher than human height, but not as high up as the top of the wall of a church. Private family chapels annexed to churches were usually covered by groined vaults, which means that their walls had lunettes and not gabled ends. The most likely hypothesis for the location of the painting isa gabled niche, set either inside or outside a church, both types very common in the Middle Ages. Among the examples of external niches still visible in Rome, one should recall that on the wall of the transept of Santa Maria in Trastevere, which has lost its original painting (Fig. 6.4). Despite the innumerable interventions and transformations over the centuries, Rome still preserves, immured in the walls of its buildings or embedded into later structures, fragmented traces of its fasci- nating past. An inscription immured at the corner of a late 19th-century building in Piazza della Suburra is interesting for recording that a certain Stefano Coppo da Gemignano restored at his own expenses the small church of ‘the Saviour of the Three Images’ (Fig. 6.5): aedicvlam salvatoris / trivm imaginvm svbvrani / ambitvs reg montensivm / ne memoria interiret / stephanvs coppvs / geminianensis / s. impen. in cvlctiorem form / redegit / aeditvoq annvos svmptvs / perpetvo consecravit (‘Stefano Coppo from Geminiano brought to a better standard and beauty at his own expense the chapel of the Saviour of the Three Images of the Suburra in the area of the Monti region so that its memory would not be lost and granted to the custodian an annual income in perpetuity’). The inscription is part of a carved ‘pier’ composed of different marble slabs (Fig. 6.6): since the one at the top shows a small plaque flanked by putti and bearing the inscription ‘alexandro vi pont max’, it is

19 strinati, Nota sulla Trinità, 40, n. 8 the ‘anthropomorphic trinity’ of the museo di roma 93

Figure 6.4. Rome, Santa Maria in Trastevere, transept, gabled niche (Claudia Bolgia). 94 claudia bolgia

Figure 6.5. Rome, Piazza della Suburra, marble plaque mentioning San Salvatore ʼTrium Imaginum’ (Claudia Bolgia). possible that the restoration of the church was undertaken during the Borgia pontificate (1492–1503).20 Does any earlier mention of such a chapel survive? The epitaph of a certain Petrus Rubeus, who died in 1359, reveals that there was a con trada in medieval Rome called ‘Trium Imaginum’.21 In that contrada, in the present area of Piazza della Suburra, there stood a chapel dedicated to the Saviour, which was already listed in the 1192 Catalogue of Cencio Camerario as San Salvatore ‘Trium Ymaginum’ and recorded in a 1244 Bull of Innocent IV as a dependency of Santa Maria Maggiore.22 In the 14th-century Turin Catalogue the chapel is men-

20 Ch. Hülsen, Le chiese di Roma nel Medio Evo. Cataloghi ed appunti, Florence, 1927, 441. The inscription was formerly set on the architrave above the door of the church, as recorded by Fioravante Martinelli: ‘[…] a Stephano Copo sua impensa instauratum ut superliminare legebatur’. F. Martinelli, Roma ex ethnica sacra sanc torum Petri, et Pauli apostolica praedicatione profuso sanguine, Rome, 1653, 392. 21 P. Adinolfi, Roma nell’età di mezzo, 2 vols, Rome, 1881, II, 100, quoting from a Borghese manuscript (MS 756, fol. 5): ‘hic requiescit corpus petri rubei / de contrada trium / imaginum / qui obiit anno domini mccclix […] die […] mensis […] cuius anima / requiescat in pace amen’. 22 R. Valentini and G. Zucchetti eds, Codice topografico della città di Roma, 4 vols, Rome, 1940–53, III, 237: ‘Sancto Salvatori Trium Ymaginum .VI. den’. On this church Adinolfi, Roma nell’étà di mezzo, II, 100–1; Hülsen, Le chiese di Roma, 441–2; M. Armellini and C. Cecchelli, Le chiese di Roma dal secolo IV al XIX, 2 vols., I, the ‘anthropomorphic trinity’ of the museo di roma 95

Figure 6.6. Rome, Piazza della Suburra, corner pier including the plaque mentioning San Salvatore ‘Trium Imaginum’ and the plaque (on top) with the name of Pope Alexander VI (1492–1503) (Claudia Bolgia). 96 claudia bolgia tioned as ‘Sancti Salvatoris Tribus Imaginibus’, and it is called San Salvatore ‘de Tribus Ymaginibus’ in Nicolò Signorili’s Descriptio Urbis Romae (c. 1427–30), while it is recorded as San Salvatore ‘ad tre inmagine [sic] alli holmi’ in the Liber Anniversariorum S. Mariae in Aracoeli (1489) and as San Salvatore ‘ad tres imagines alli olmi’ in the coeval Liber Diversorum dell’Arciconfraternita del Gonfalone: the toponym ‘alli holmi’ (or ‘olmi’) apparently alluded to the presence of elm-trees on that site and might have survived in the present toponym Via del Boschetto.23 Later sources provide information on the appellation of the church: in his Tesori nascosti dell’alma città di Roma (1625), Ottavio Panciroli stated that ‘erano già in questa picciola chiesa, come dissero alcuni, tre immagini tanto simili tra se che per vederle molti ci venivano. Et é da credere, che à rappresentare il misterio della Santissima Trinità fos- sero dipinte’24 and added that the building, formerly bigger, had been reduced in size to make way for the street leading up to San Pietro in Vincoli; Pietro Martire Felini, also writing in 1625, explained that in the past the church of San Salvatorello alla Suburra was also called ‘S. Salvatore de le Tre Immagini, le quali erano qui dipinte tanto simili che parevano una stessa’.25 It seems clear that by 1625 any physical evidence of the original appellation of the church and the contrada had disappeared. In 1651 the church was granted to the lay confraternity of San Francesco di Paola and converted into an oratory which was demolished in 1888 to make way for the present Via Cavour.26 The fact that the church was called ‘Trium Imaginum’ because of the presence of three painted images of the Saviour ‘so identical to each other that they looked like one and the same’ strongly suggests that the fresco now at Palazzo Braschi was associated with that church.

Rome, 1942, 278; F. Lombardi, Roma: Le chiese scomparse. La memoria storica della città, Rome, 1996, 121 (with caution), which includes illustrations from the views of Rome by Maggi (1625) and Falda (1678), as well as Nolli’s plan, showing the original location of the church. 23 Valentini and Zucchetti, Codice topografico della città di Roma, III, 302 (Cata- logue of Turin); ibid., IV, 153; Hülsen, Le chiese di Roma, 68 (Liber Anniversariorum S. Mariae in Aracoeli); ibid., 441 (Liber Diversorum dell’Arciconfraternita del Gonfa lone). 24 o Panciroli, Tesori nascosti dell’alma città di Roma, Rome, 1625, 208. 25 P.M. Felini, Trattato nuovo delle cose meravigliose dell’alma città di Roma, Rome, 1625, 183. 26 Hülsen, Le chiese di Roma, 442. the ‘anthropomorphic trinity’ of the museo di roma 97

The gabled niche housing the fresco might have been located inside or outside the church; in the latter case it might have been a triangular lunette above the door, of the kind very common in the 14th century (the most famous example is Simone Martini’s Redeemer lunette formerly on the façade of Notre-dame des Domes at Avignon).27 The church’s name might have originated in a vision or miraculous apparition, as was often the case in the Middle Ages. In any event, the church of San Salvatore was already known as ‘of the Three Images’ in 1192, as witnessed by Cencio Camerario; and it seems probable that there was already a work of art displaying three identical images of the Saviour by the time Cencio compiled his catalogue. The fresco now at Palazzo Braschi was executed later, possibly to replace an earlier damaged work, and it is tempting to suggest that this took place some time after 1334, when the feast of the Holy Trinity was introduced in the Roman calendar by Pope John XXII.28 However, it should be underlined that – although it was certainly meant to signify a Trinity (as Panciroli already observed in 1625) – the three male figures of the Suburra, so similar to each other that they looked like one and the same, were always referred to as ‘Three Images’ of the Saviour rather than a ‘Trinity’. The use of this appellation corroborates the hypothesis that the fresco fragment presently at Palazzo Braschi comes from there: the image of Palazzo Braschi is not at all an ‘orthodox’ Trinity and could even have generated heretical thoughts if ‘labelled’ as a Trinity: since the three images were identical in appearance yet different in size, the co-equality of the three Persons was not guaranteed. This may also explain why the image remained unparalleled.

27 An admittedly problematic indication in favour of this hypothesis might be a later account by Giovanni Marangoni, who recorded that the church in Suburra ‘fù appellata alle Tre Immagini poiché sopra la porta vi era affisso un busto di marmo figurante tre teste del Salvatore tutte tre similissime: ma essendo stata ultimamente ristorata la facciata di questo oratorio, è stato tolto questo antico monumento’. G. Marangoni, Istoria dell’antichissimo oratorio o cappella di S. Lorenzo nel Patriar chio lateranense comunemente appellato ‘Sancta Sanctorum’, Rome, 1747, 186. It is difficult to establish the reliability of Marangoni since he wrote more than a century later than Panciroli and Felini, and consequently more than a century after the ‘Three Images’ had disappeared: it is likely that he was wrong on the material the three images were made of (that is marble) since both Panciroli and Felini recorded a painting, but it is possible that the indication regarding the location is correct (neither Panciroli nor Marangoni give any indication about the setting of the depiction). Yet one cannot exclude the possibility that a marble bust with the three images of the Saviour also existed once. 28 on this feast, see Iacobone, Mysterium Trinitatis, 135–9. 98 claudia bolgia

Was the niche with the fresco inside or outside the church, and when did it disappear from view? Already when Panciroli was writing in 1625 it had ceased to be visible and may have disappeared as a consequence of the Counter-Reformation, when insolitae imagines were vehemently criticised and often banned, for they could prompt magi- cal and superstitious approaches.29 As a consequence, many devotional panels or frescoes were removed from streets and open spaces to enter churches and chapels; in other words, they were put under tighter ecclesiastical control. If their subject was, however, considered somehow ‘unorthodox’, the preferred solution was to remove or hide them from view. It is possible that the niche of San Salvatore Trium Imaginum, whether outside or inside the church, was shifted to the sacristy or annexed buildings or entered the sphere of private devotion due to the Counter-Reformation, never to recover its original function. The fragment now at Palazzo Braschi is a luminous, visionary, highly original, visual embodiment of the Trinitarian paradox: its author must have been well acquainted with illuminated sources, but also drew upon painted representations of Christ. The iconography of a blondish youthful Saviour wearing a red tunic and a bluish cloak had already featured – inter alia – at Assisi, in the Pantocrator’s vault, and in Rome in a vault depiction reproduced in a watercolour drawing in Cassiano dal Pozzo’s Collection at Windsor.30 The solution of three figures vertically grouped, one embracing the other, different in size, but identical in appearance, united by the protective and revelatory gesture of God the Father and by an all-enveloping cloak, suggests in a powerful and inventive (but rather unorthodox) way the mysterious nature of the Triune Deity and his epiphany in a contrada of the Suburra, which unsurprisingly acquired the appellation ‘Trium Ima ginum’.

29 M. Batlori, P. Prodi, R. De Maio and A. Marabottini, ‘La regolata iconografia della Controriforma nella Roma del Cinquecento’, Ricerche per la Storia Religiosa di Roma 2, 1978; L. Fiorani, ‘Le edicole nella vita religiosa di Roma tra Cinquecento e Settecento’, in L. Cardilli Alloisi ed., Edicole sacre, exhibition cat., Rome, 1990, 96–106. 30 Waetzoldt, Die Kopien, nr. 136, fig. 79; Osborne and Claridge, The Paper Museum, I, nr. 159, 340. The type of throne, so-called ‘Sopradornato’, had also already appeared: a well-known example is the image of justice in Giotto’s Scrovegni chapel. patronising poverty 99

chapter seven

PATRONISING POVERTY: DEVOTIONAL IMAGERY AND THE FRANCISCAN SPIRITUALS IN ROMAGNA AND THE MARCHE

Jill Farquhar

The curious and artistically interrelated group of Trecento panels traditionally labelled ‘School of Rimini’ by art historians have, until recently, consistently been discussed solely in terms of their stylistic relationship with Giotto, who is recorded as working in Rimini at the beginning of the Trecento. However, the panels display distinctive and unusual formal and iconographical characteristics peculiar to the region, despite their superficially derivative nature. The distinctive qualities of the panels can be linked specifically to particular emphases in devotional practices predominant in the area around Rimini. The panels demonstrate a specifically Franciscan approach to personal devotion, an approach which is marked in its focus on private and autonomous patterns of Christian piety, and in its relationship to various texts.1 This essay will draw particular attention to the links to the Franciscan Spiritual movement which had strongholds in the Marches and, through these, to the writings and prophesies of the 12th-century abbot and mystic Joachim of Fiore (c. 1135–1202). The ‘Riminese’ panels are, in fact, products of workshops which worked as far afield as Padua in the north and Tolentino in the south. They are characterised by a remarkable homogeneity probably due, as the sparse documentation suggests, to close interaction and collabora- tion between the workshops. Although the panels include various types of object, most notably painted crosses and altarpieces, it is small devotional panels which are of interest here due to their distinctive

1 elsewhere I have discussed the links between the panels and the Meditationes Vitae Christi, and the writings and biographies of a group of 13th and 14th-century female mystics: J. Farquhar, Trecento Panel Painting in Romagna and Marche: Ico nography, Form and Function, PhD thesis, Warwick, 2005. 100 jill farquhar content which repeatedly reflects mendicant, and specifically Fran ciscan, concerns. The mendicants, exceptional for their close interaction with the laity, were in an ideal situation to influence the spread of a new form of personal devotion and its accompanying imagery to the general public. Not only were they present in the larger towns and cities, but their association with the laity through the institutions of the confraternities and the tertiary orders allowed their particular mode of piety to be effectively transmitted to the larger population.2 For this reason it is very common to find that the particular concerns of the mendicant orders are reflected in the imagery of the devotional panel in Italy, and again the Franciscans seem to have been particularly influential here. This is certainly true of Rimini, and in fact seems more accurate for Rimini than for most other areas where the devotional panel was developing in this period. The most obvious sign of the Franciscan influence on the Riminese devotional panel is the predominance of Franciscan saints among those depicted. Very few devotional panels which include standing saints omit Francis himself, whilst Clare and Louis of Toulouse are also frequently found, with the occasional appearance of Anthony of Padua. Other than the standing saints usually placed in minor positions within the composition, there is relatively little iconic imagery employed in the Riminese devotional panels. Instead the most commonly employed form of imagery is the narrative, most usually the Christological narrative. In addition, the narratives are almost exclusively those of Christ’s Passion, with a few scenes of his infancy included in selected panels.3 Perhaps the best example of this is represented by the group of twelve panels by Giovanni Baronzio split between Venice, Rome and Berlin which are exclusively images of Christ’s Passion followed by events post mortem and concluding with the Last Judgement.4

2 For an in depth discussion of this phenomenon in reference to the specific case of San Sepolcro in Umbria, see: J. Banker, Death in the Community: Memorialization and Confraternities in an Italian Commune in the late Middle Ages, Georgia, 1988. 3 Rare examples of devotional panels in which scenes of Christ’s infancy appear are the diptych leaf by Giovanni da Rimini in Rome (52.5 × 34.5 cm, Galleria Nazio- nale d’Arte, inv. 1441), which includes a Nativity scene and a panel by Giovanni Baronzio in Vaduz (57.3 × 31 cms, Liechtenstein Collection) which includes an image of the Adoration of the Magi. 4 six of the panels survive in the Accademia Gallery in Venice (inv. 559); The Betrayal of Christ (17.2 × 14.7 cm), Pilate washes his hands (17.1 × 14.7 cm), The patronising poverty 101

The predominance of narrative imagery of the Passion of Christ further underlines the strong influence of the FranciscanO rder which, at Assisi and elsewhere, had demonstrated its fondness for narrative imagery, a form which suited both their ideology and provided obvious visual allusions to the particular type of piety exemplified by Francis himself.5 The functions of the narrative panels are numerous. On a most basic level they provided an image of an event which had salvific significance or demonstrated the qualities of the person or persons depicted in a manner to be imitated. One of the primary functions of the large scale narrative (particularly in the context of fresco painting) is not relevant for the private devotional panel. They were not designed to illustrate the lives or actions of the saints or other holy figures for the benefit of the illiterate, as their audience would generally be members of a religious community or members of the upper classes, persons who were generally literate. Rather than interacting directly with the viewer, as does the iconic panel, the narrative forms a different type of aid to devotion; instead of invoking presence the narrative provides a path to the direct experience of God through the contemplation of the life and especially the Passion of Christ. This exact function of the Riminese devotional panels is reflected in their iconography. The predominance of the Passion scenes indicates a particular focus for the devotee. In addition the remarkable concentration on the details of Christ’s sufferings are significant. Alongside the Christological narratives, however, other distinctive iconographic characteristics emerge. A good example is the inclusion, on many panels, of Sts Mary Magdalen, John the Baptist and Francis, included within the same field, and frequently alongside narrative sequences. These saints are frequently contextualised even when other accompanying saints are not. This is the case in the pair of panels by

Ascent of the Cross (16.8 × 14.8 cm), the Crucifixion (16.9 × 14.8), the Descent from the Cross (16.9 × 14.8 cm) and The Last Judgement (17.3 × 14.9 cm). See C. Volpe, La Pittura Riminese del Trecento, Milan, 1965, 42,48, cat. no. 96. Five are preserved in the Staatliche Museen in Berlin (inv. 1110); Christ before Pilate (17.2 × 15 cm), The Resurrection (17.2 × 14.7 cm), Christ in Limbo (17.2 × 14.9 cm), The Ascension (17 × 15cm) and Pentecost (17 × 14.7 cm). See Volpe, 42, 48, cat. no. 97. The remaining panel, in a private collection in Rome, represents the Entombment. 5 For the Franciscans and their use of the narrative see: J. Gardner, ‘The Louvre Stigmatization and the problem of the narrative altarpiece’, Zeitschrift für Kunstge schichte, 45, 1982, 217–47, and A. Derbes, Picturing the Passion in Late Medieval Italy: Narrative Painting, Franciscan Ideologies and the Levant, Cambridge, 1996. 102 jill farquhar

Figure 7.1. Pietro da Rimini or the Maestro del Coro di SantʼAgostino, Diptych with Madonna and Child and Other Scenes, tempera on panel (64 × 32 cm each), Alte Pinakothek, Munich (Bayerische Staatsgemäldesammlungen, Alte Pinakothek Munich [Owner WAF]).

Pietro da Rimini in Munich where all three saints are included amongst other saints in the lower field (Fig. 7.1).6 While the background behind the other saints is typically blank, these three saints have been depicted against the rocky backdrop in which Francis receives the stigmata. The composition emphasises the three eremiti-

6 These panels are now in the Alte Pinakothek, Munich (inv. No. 838). Both panels measure 64 × 32 cm. For further details see Volpe, La Pittura Riminese, 34, cat. no. 44. patronising poverty 103 cal saints and sets them apart from the others quite categorically, by their setting and their attire. A similar contextualisation occurs in the Alnwick portion of a diptych by Giovanni da Rimini (Fig. 7.2).7 Here it is the Baptist and Francis who are depicted within the same small rectangular field and against the rocky backdrop. In this instance again, Francis is receiving the stigmata. This same method of distinguishing Francis and the Magdalen can be observed in a Riminese altarpiece by Giuliano da Rimini in the Isabella Gardner Museum in Boston (Fig. 7.3).8 Although this panel is not a private devotional image, it is of interest here as a panel commissioned by a consorority associated with the Franciscan Order.9 In the panel the two saints are both depicted within the same desert setting and both, unlike the saints which accompany them on the panel, are shown during an event from their lives: Francis receiving the stigmata, and the Magdalen communing with the angels.10 In a panel in the Galleria Nazionale dell’Umbria, attributed to the Maestro di Verucchio, the Magdalen and the Baptist are shown in separate fields yet within similar contexts (Fig. 7.4).11 The Baptist is

7 The Alnwick panel represents one half of a diptych and is located in the collection of the Duke of Northumberland, Alnwick Castle (52.5 × 34.5 cm, inv. 648). The other half is located in the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Rome, (52.5 × 34.5 cm, inv. 1441). 8 The panel is signed and dated by Giuliano to 1307 (164 × 300 cm, Isabella Gardner Museum, Boston). 9 The panel was originally located in the town of Urbania known, in the period under discussion, as Castel Durante. The panel appears to have been associated with the Franciscans of the town, as indicated by its iconography. Volpe states that the panel belonged to the chapel of the Confraternità di San Giovanni decollato, also known as della morte due to its close proximity to the cemetery of the Franciscan complex to which it belonged. (Volpe, La Pittura Riminese, cat. no. 24.) Leonardi, on the other hand, indicates that the dossal, along with a monumental painted cross by Pietro da Rimini, was located within the Franciscan church itself. See C. Leonardi, ‘I francescani e la pittura riminese nelle Marche’, in Notizie da Palazzo Albani, 16 (1988), 25–34. The association with a confraternity, or in this case consorority, is made obvious through the inclusion of the portraits at the foot of the Virgin’s throne. This suggests that the dossal was originally located on an altar maintained by the consorority, either within the main Franciscan church, or, as Volpe states, within the chapel near the cemetery. 10 Although it must be remembered in this case that these two images are reliant on frescoes in the Lower Church at Assisi, and this to a degree dictates the way in which they are represented. 11 The panel has been dated to around the third or fourth decades of the century and may represent one half of a diptych. Its measurements are 44.5 cm × 31 cm (Gal- leria Nazionale dellʼUmbria, Perugia, inv. 68). See Volpe, La Pittura Riminese, 40 & 81; D. Benati, ed., Il Trecento Riminese: Maestri e botteghe tra Romagna e Marche, 104 jill farquhar

Figure 7.2. Giovanni da Rimini, Panel with Coronation of the Virgin and Scenes from the Lives of the Saints, tempera on panel (52.5 × 34.5 cm), Collection of the Duke of Northumberland, Alnwick Castle, Alnwick (Photographic Survey, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London, Private Collection). patronising poverty 105

Figure 7.3. Giuliano da Rimini, Madonna and Child with Saints, tempera on panel (164 × 300 cm), Isabella Gardner Museum, Boston (copyright Isabella Gardner Museum, Boston). shown before a rocky backdrop while the Magdalen is shown being borne aloft by the angels, an episode which is recounted inThe Golden Legend, and which occurred during her self-imposed period of solitude in the desert: ‘The Blessed Mary Magdalen, wishing to devote herself to heavenly contemplation, retired to an empty wilderness, and lived there for 30 years in a place made ready by the hands of angels. There were no streams of water, nor the comfort of grass or trees; thus it was made clear that our Redeemer had determined to fill her not with earthly viands but only with the good things of heaven. Every day at the seven canonical hours she was carried aloft by angels and her bodily ears heard the glorious chants of the celestial hosts’.12 Francis himself, of course, provides the same form of exemplar as the Magdalen in terms of his attainment of the direct experience of the divine through contemplation of the Passion. It is in this role that he is included, along with the Magdalen and the Baptist in the desert context within the Riminese devotional panels. In particular Francis’s experience of the divine is significant as he was granted the ultimate privilege of having Christ’s wounds imprinted on his own body. This direct physical experience of Christ’s wounds was achieved through

Milan, 1995, 232–3 and M. Boskovits, ‘Per la storia della pittura tra Romagna e le Marche ai primi del’ 300’, Arte Cristiana, 81 (1993), 95–114. 12 J. De Voragine, The Golden Legend (transl. W.G. Ryan.), Princeton, 1993, 386. 106 jill farquhar

Figure 7.4. Maestro di Verucchio, Panel with Saints, tempera on panel (44.5 × 31 cm), Galleria Nazionale dellʼUmbria, Perugia (Soprintendenza Beni Storici Artistici ed Etnoantropologici dell’Umbria, Perugia, Italy). patronising poverty 107 the intense and continual contemplation of Christ’s Passion during a period spent in the solitude of La Verna. This barren and eremitic setting allows parallels to be drawn with the other saints and beate who underwent visionary experiences. Francis’s achievement of bodily assuming the injuries of Christ was unprecedented and unique in its time.13 It appears as the ultimate stage of the contemplative process encouraged by both the Franciscan movement and employed by the female mystics of the 13th and 14th centuries. Later, the introduction of the Meditationes vitae Christi cites Francis as the specific example to be emulated: ‘Do you not believe that the Blessed Francis would have attained such abundance of virtue and such illuminated knowledge of the Scriptures and such subtle experience of the deception of the enemy and of vices if not by familiar conversation with and contemplation of his Lord Jesus? With such ardour did he change himself that he became almost one with Him and tried to follow them as completely as possible in all virtues, and when he was finally complete and perfect in Jesus, by the impression of the sacred stigmata he was transformed into him’. 14 In this text the contemplation of Christ is described as one of the essential steps in the path to experiencing the divine, and the physical assumption of Christ’s wounds is the ultimate reward of this process.

13 It was Bonaventure in his Legenda major who first developed the theme of Francis as Alter Christus, but this was a theme which was developed further in the later hagiographical writings of the Franciscan Order. For the development and dis- semination of the image of Francis see D. Blume, Wandmalerei als Ordenspropa ganda. Bildprogramme im Chorbereich franziskanischer Konvente Italiens bis zur Mitte des 14. Jahrhunderts, Worms, 1983, and more recently K. Krüger, Der frühe Bildkult des Franziskus in Italien. Gestalt- und Funktionswandel des Tafelbildes im 13. und 14. Jahrhundert, Berlin, 1992, and C. Frugoni, Francesco e lʼinvenzione delle stimmate, Turin, 1993. On the stigmatisation of Francis and its representations see also A. Vauchez, ‘Les stigmates de Saint François et leurs détracteurs dans les der niers siècles du moyen âge’, Mélanges d’Archéologie et d’Histoire 86 (1968), 695–725; J. White, ‘The Date of the Legend of St. Francis at Assisi’, Burlington Magazine 98 (1956), 344–51; H. Van Os, ‘St Francis of Assisi as a Second Christ in Early Italian Painting’, Simiolus 7 (1974), 115–32, and Gardner, ‘The Louvre Stigmatization’, 217–47. 14 I. Ragusa and R.B. Green, Meditations on the life of Christ. An illustrated man uscript of the Fourteenth Century, Princeton, 1961, 3. The Meditationes vitae Christi were written between c. 1346 and c. 1364 by a Franciscan author generally known as the Pseudo-Bonaventura. See also C.M. Stallings-Taney, ed., Iohannis de Caulibus Meditaciones Vite Christi, (Corpus Christianorum Cont. Med. 153), Turnhout, 1997, and C.M. Stallings-Taney, ‘The Pseudo-Bonaventure Meditaciones Vite Christi: Opus integrum’, Franciscan Studies, 55 (1998), 253–80. 108 jill farquhar

This ascetic imagery, highlighting contemplative practice, employed in many of the Riminese devotional panels, also finds a parallel in the rhetoric and practices of the Franciscan Spirituals, a group who had a particular stronghold in the Marches and the surrounding area.15 The Spirituals emerged within the Franciscan Order in the latter decades of the 13th century in response to what they perceived as a move away from the original ideals of the Order and of Francis himself. The controversy partly hinged around the interpretation of the usus pauper which was defined in increasingly lax terms by the Order.16 The Spirituals advocated a return to complete poverty and to the lifestyle of their founder, Francis himself. The Conventuals, on the other hand, saw the use of property and the increasingly static and ordered lifestyle of the friars as essential in their role in urban society, and as servants of the Church. The emergence of the Spirituals was a threat to the stability of the Franciscan Order and the risk of a schism led to the intervention of various Popes, most notably Celestine V (1294), and other church officials. This intervention took various forms; at one extreme Celestine approved the formation of a separate order of the Poor Hermits, under which the Spirituals could live according to their ideals, but this is to be contrasted with the harsh treatment of the Spirituals under his successor Pope Boniface VIII (1294–1303).17

15 This significant group of spirituals appear to have been present in the Marches of Ancona from the 1270s, later led by Peter of Macerata and by Angelo Clareno. Although they were excommunicated by John XXII by the Bull Sancta Romana et universalis Ecclesia in 1317, they survived under the loose definition ofFraticelli . For a full discussion of the Franciscan Spirituals see D. Nimmo, Reform and Division in the Medieval Franciscan Order. From Saint Francis to the Foundation of the Capu chins, Rome, 1986, and D. Burr, The Spiritual Franciscans. From Protest to Persecu tion in the Century after Saint Francis, University Park, Pennsylvania, 2001. For a discussion of the Spirituals in the Marches see R. Lambertini, ‘Spirituali e Fraticelli: le molte anime della dissidenza francescana nelle Marche tra XIII e XV secolo’, in L. Pellegrini and R. Paciocco, eds, I francescani nelle Marche. Secoli XIII-XVI, Cini sello Balsamo, 2000, 38–53. For the influence of Joachim of Fiore on the Spirituals see M. Lambert, Medieval Heresy: Popular Movements from the Gregorian Reform to the Reformation, Oxford, 1977, 189–214, and M. Reeves, Joachim of Fiore and the Prophetic Future: A Medieval Study in Historical Thinking, London, 1976, 29–58. 16 J.R.H. Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order from its Origins to the Year 1517, Oxford, 1968, 193–4. 17 Celestine V released the Spirituals from their allegiance to the Franciscan Order and appointed Peter of Macerata, one of the leaders of the Spirituals of the Marches, as their Minister General. See Moorman, 1968, 195. Celestine was, however, pope for only five months. In December 1294 he abdicated and was followed by Boniface VIII. The Poor Hermits, who had already fled to Greece, were subjected to patronising poverty 109

The accusations of heresy which were levelled at the Spirituals in this period are not without some justification. The group came, to varying degrees, under the influence of the writings and prophecies of Joachim of Fiore (c. 1135–1202).18 He took the habit at a Benedictine monastery in 1171 but later fell under the influence of St Bernard of Clairvaux and became closely associated with the Cistercian Order. In 1196 he was given leave to form his own Order of San Giovanni in Fiore. Joachim’s prophecy is a complicated issue, but his writings were based partly on the idea that all phases of history are interlinked and interrelated. Joachim found complex relationships and typologies between the Old Testament events and those of the New Testament. Although this in itself is not unusual, Joachim went further in building a very structured model of history which encompassed modern and future ‘history’. This structure was based on the idea of three states, each associated with one of the three persons of the Trinity. The first state was that of God the Father which corresponded to the Old Testament events; the second state was that of God the Son which began with the Incarnation. The third state, corresponding to God the Holy Spirit, was imminent, but had not yet begun.19 The idea of the three states is derived partly from Augustine’s model of the seven ages (corresponding to the seven days of creation, where the seventh day is the Sabbath), and in fact Joachim also incorporates the seven age model structure into his three status model. However, Joachim differed from Augustine in that, for him, this “Sabbath” period fell before the Last Judgement and hence before the end of time.20 Joachim’s prophecy, and model of history had already proved popular with the young mendicant orders, in particular the Dominicans and the Franciscans. The main reason for this is that Joachim had pre- dicted that the advent of the third status would be preceded by the appearance of two new orders of spiritual men. As Reeves states: ‘These are essentially transitional, intermediary orders, one of a her-

a period of extreme censure and oppression, during which time the accusation of heresy was levelled at them and their counterparts in Naples and Provence. 18 Reeves, Joachim of Fiore, 1–5. 19 Lambert, Medieval Heresy, 195. 20 Reeves, Joachim of Fiore, 8. 110 jill farquhar mit type to agonise for the Church in tribulation on the mountain top, the other a preaching order to labour in the world’. 21 The appeal of this prophecy to the two main mendicant orders is immediately obvious. The Franciscans and Dominicans appeared as established orders only decades after Joachim’s death, and their identification with the new spiritual men was almost unavoidable. In particular though, the prophecies appealed to the Franciscan Order, and the existing tradition of associating Francis with the advent of the seventh age (and with the apocalyptic angel of the sixth seal) led to a further identification of Francis with the herald of the third status.22 As Christ’s Incarnation marked the transition from the first to the second status, likewise the life of Francis marked the transition from the second to the third. 23 This element of Joachim’s prophecy neatly fitted the Order’s growing awareness of Francis as an Alter Christus, an awareness which is made visually apparent in the iconography of Francis in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth century. For the Spirituals of the Marches and Provence though, Joachim’s writings had a particular resonance. Many of this group specifically identified the spiritual movement with Joachim’s spiritual men. Their struggle against oppression and their perception of the growing deca- dence of the Church, and particularly of the Franciscan Order, fitted into the iconography of the prophecies and, in particular, their eschatological nature. For some of the Spirituals these struggles marked the imminent transition to the third status, of which they were the her- alds. For these reasons Joachim’s ideas fell on fruitful ground when they were developed by the Spirituals. The question arises as to whether the Spirituals and their concerns had a noticeable impact on visual imagery in Romagna and Marche in this period. We should not expect a movement concerned with extreme poverty to commission expensive imagery to reflect their concerns, and the more transient nature of the Spirituals’ lifestyle was, in any case, not suited to the production of any imagery other that of an ephemeral nature. On the other hand, the presence of the Spirituals in the Marches and the neighbouring areas may have had an impact on the commissioning classes. The Franciscans themselves, as has been noted, were very influential on the types of devotional imagery

21 Reeves, Joachim of Fiore, 13. 22 Reeves, Joachim of Fiore, 37. 23 Reeves, Joachim of Fiore, 46. patronising poverty 111 produced in this area, and there is no reason to suppose that this influence was entirely restricted to the Conventual branch of the Order. As Derbes has already pointed out, the scene of The Stripping of Christ appears to be very rare, at this date, outside of the area of Emilia, Romagna, Umbria and the Marches.24 In these scenes “the emphasis on Christ’s stripping in Franciscan Passion cycles can, (…) be read as a visual justification of the vow of poverty.”25 Derbes goes on to suggest that the popularity of the image in this area could be due to the presence of the Spirituals.26 The Spirituals put great emphasis on the poverty of clothing and one accusation they levelled at the Conventuals was that they allowed a friar the use of two habits rather than one, as was advocated by Francis himself. However, we do not see in the Riminese panels quite the same emphasis on the poverty of dress that can be recognised in later Obser vant Franciscan imagery.27 Instead the greater emphasis appears to be on setting, on the rocky wilderness which contextualises Saints Francis, the Baptist and the Magdalen, in several of the devotional panels. This iconography of eremiticism is also suited to the outlook of the Spirituals whose imitation of Francis, as well as their oppression, led them to much more eremitical lifestyles then their Conventual counterparts. The rocky backdrop, of course, refers both to the location of the stigmatization on La Verna and to the wildernesses of the Magdalen’s and/or Baptist’s periods in solitude, but on another level, it also finds a parallel in the language employed by Joachim to describe his spiritual men. As Reeves has stated, the first of the two orders would be ‘of a hermit type to agonise for the Church in tribulation on the mountain top’.28 The image of the mountain and its summit recurs

24 The scene was usually included as an extra episode in the scene of the Ascent to the Cross but occasionally appears as an individual scene in its own right. See Derbes, Picturing the Passion 151–2. 25 Derbes, Picturing the Passion, 151. 26 Derbes, Picturing the Passion, 152. The scene appears, for example, in two panels produced in Romagna in the late duecento. Both are one in a sequence of Christological narratives. In both the image appears as instead of the scene of the Ascent of the Cross, and Christ is shown removing his garments as the ladder is laid against the cross. The first of these panels, by the so-called Maestro da Faenza, was formerly located in the Pinacoteca Nazionale in Bologna dates from c. 1260–80 and the second, by the Maestro di Forli, formerly in New York, probably dates from c. 1290–1300. See Il Trecento Riminese, 148–54. 27 For the dress of the differing branches of the Franciscan Order see: S. Gieben, ‘Per la storia dellʼabito Francescano’, Collectanea Francescana 66 (1996), 431–78. 28 Reeves, Joachim of Fiore, 13. 112 jill farquhar in Joachim’s discussion of this first order, and it is also a theme which is employed in the Fioretti, partly written by a group of spirituals in the Marches in the second half of the Duecento.29 This iconography of the hermit in the wilderness suited the ideals of the Spirituals per- fectly, and in this way the prophecies of Joachim acted as a justification for the Spirituals’ insistence on absolute poverty and a stricter observance of the rule. Another distinction made by Joachim, between the two orders, was that of the active and contemplative life. While one of the two orders would be active preachers by nature, the second, eremitical order would be contemplative, and further withdrawn from the world.30 The role of Francis, the Magdalen and the Baptist as advocates and exemplars of the contemplative life links the Riminese panels closely with the ideals of the Franciscan Spirituals. The eschatological nature of Joachim’s prophecies and the belief that the third and final state was imminent, a belief shared with the Spirituals, may in part explain another aspect of the imagery employed in the Riminese devotional panels. The inclusion of the Last Judgement scene in several of the panels is very unusual. The scene is rarely seen in panel painting in general, and even less so in small scale panel painting. The Last Judgement is an image which is both complex and dog- matic in nature, and is therefore most frequently found in monumental form, either in fresco or mosaic.31 In Italy, of course, it most frequently appears on the interior west wall of the church or chapel. The iconographical and visual complexity of the scene is less suited for panel painting, yet among the surviving Riminese panels there are at least four examples.32

29 For the iconography of the Fioretti see, Reeves, Joachim of Fiore, 35–6, and H.R. Patch, ‘The Bridge of Judgement in theFioretti ’, Speculum, 21 (1946), 343–4. 30 Reeves, Joachim of Fiore, 29. 31 For the Last Judgement see J. Baschet, Les justices de l’au-delà: les représenta tions de l’enfer en France et en Italie (XIIe–Xve siècle), Rome, 1993, and J. Elliot, The Last Judgement Scene in Central Italian Painting c. 1266–1343: The impact of Guelf Politics, Papal Power and Angevin Iconography, PhD Thesis, Warwick, 2000. 32 These four known examples are Baronzio’s panels in the Accademia in Venice (see above note 4), and in the Metropolitan Museum in New York (66.7 × 38.1 cm, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; Volpe, La Pittura Riminese, 82–3, cat. no. 77), Pietro da Rimini’s panel in the Alte Pinakothek in Munich (see note 6) and Giovanni da Rimini’s panel in the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte in Rome (see note 7). patronising poverty 113

All four are remarkably similar in their composition, which, for obvious reasons, has been reduced to its bare essentials. In all, Christ is shown seated within a mandorla and flanked by the Madonna and the Baptist who are turned towards him in their roles as intercessors. Flanking them are the Apostles and beneath, in their usual positions, are the damned and the elect. These are of course the basic elements of the standard Last Judgement scene, and in these instances form the image in its entirety, bar a few details which vary from scene to scene. Three of the four surviving images are very close indeed, to a point where it must be suggested that either a common model existed, or that drawings were circulated between workshops. These three are Giovanni da Rimini’s version in Rome, the partner of the Alnwick panel (Figs 7.2 and 7.5), and those attributed to Baronzio in Venice and in the Metropolitan Museum in New York.33 In all three the Madonna, Baptist and Apostles are seated, as if enthroned, and the former are emphasised by their turning towards Christ and their imploring gestures. Beneath Christ angels sound the Last Trump (in the two Baronzio examples they emerge from beneath Christ’s mandorla, while in the Rome panel they are positioned above the damned and raise their eyes to Christ). The most unusual feature is the angel, which appears directly below Christ in the Venice and Rome panels. This distinctive element seems to be peculiar to Rimini. This unusual presence of Last Judgement scenes in small scale narrative sequences needs explanation. Their inclusion is problematic and rather incongruous as the representation of a future symbolic event rather than an actual ‘historical’ occurrence that can be presented as a narrative. There are few parallel examples of this inclusion of the Last Judgement in a panel sequence, but an exception can be found in the uppermost register of Paolo da Venezia’s polyptych for the Church of Santa Chiara in Venice.34 In this example the scene is placed opposite that of the Pentecost and forms the final scene of a sequence of narratives running from the Nativity through the Passion, the Resurrection and through narratives from the lives of Francis and Clare. It functions as the ‘full stop’ at the end of this extensive chronological sequence, emphasizing the actions of the two Franciscan saints

33 If there was a common model belonging to the Riminese context it no longer exists; the frescoed Last Judgement in Sant’Agostino in Rimini is very different in conception to the versions on panel. 34 Paolo Veneziano, Santa Chiara Altarpiece. Tempera on panel, 167 × 285 cm, Accademia, Venice. 114 jill farquhar

Figure 7.5. Giovanni da Rimini, Panel with Scenes from the Life of Christ, tempera on panel (52.5 × 34.5 cm), Galleria Nazionale dʼArte Antica, Rome (by courtesy of the Archivio Fotografico della Soprintendenza Speciale per il Patrimonio Storico Artistico ed Etnoantropologico e per il Polo Museale della città di Roma). patronising poverty 115 as part of the continuing story of God’s plan and as successors to Apostolic tradition.35 In all of these panels the scene appears amongst narratives of the life of Christ, but significantly, in two cases the image appears in close proximity to images of Francis, the Baptist and/or the Magdalen. In the diptych by Giovanni da Rimini split between Rome and Alnwick (Figs 7.2 and 7.5) the Last Judgement appears opposite the image of St Francis and the Baptist. In this case Francis receives the stigmata, and both saints are set in the same field against the rocky backdrop. In the two panels in Munich, the same juxtaposition occurs; the saints are placed opposite the image of the Last Judgement, although here the Magdalen is also included (Fig. 7.1). It is possible that the juxtaposition of these images in both cases has been influenced by the ideals of the Spirituals and that the juxtaposition of Francis, in this eremitical context, with the Last Judgement, is a visual representation of the significance of his Joachimite role as the herald of the third and final status, preceding the Last Judgement itself. 36 This essay has highlighted several links between the iconographies employed on Riminese panels and the Franciscan spiritual movement. While the use of Christological narratives and the predominance of Franciscan saints indicates the general influence of the Friars Minor on devotional imagery in the area, other aspects point to the specific influence of the Spirituals. The juxtaposition and contextualisation of Saints Mary Magdalen, John the Baptist and Francis emphasise a concern for the contemplative and eremitical lifestyle promoted by the movement, while the emphasis on dress and undressing also high- lights the Spirituals’ regard for a closer observation of Francis’s ideals of poverty. More specifically the use of the mountain or wilderness setting for images of Francis, and the recurrence of the Last Judgement scene in the Riminese panels links the imagery closely with the prophesies of Joachim of Fiore, utilised by the spirituals as justification for

35 This arrangement specifically emphasises the roles of the two Franciscan saints in the ‘divine plan’ and allows the events of their lives to be read as a continu- ation of the biblical events depicted in the lower registers which is finally terminated with the Last Judgement scene at the far right. In addition there is a typological parallel drawn between the images of the two saints and the Christological narratives below as for example, in the placement of the scene depicting St Francis renouncing his earthly father above the scene of The Baptism of Christ. 36 The visual association of Francis and Christ is here particularly pertinent in that Francis was the herald of the third Joachimite age, as Christ was of the second. 116 jill farquhar their rejection of the ideals of the Conventuals, and to highlight the expedience of following an apostolic tradition. Many questions are raised by these works, most notably the conflict between the panels as expensive and sumptuous objects, and their emphatic allusions to poverty. Further investigation into the mecha- nisms of patronage employed in the commissioning of devotional panels both in the Marches, and elsewhere, is thus essential for a full understanding of the links between the rhetoric of marginalised religious movements and the visual and textual practice of devotion within late Medieval society. celebrating the scholar and teacher 117

chapter eight

CELEBRATING THE SCHOLAR AND TEACHER: THE TOMB OF THOMAS GALLUS AT SANT’ANDREA IN VERCELLI (MID 14TH CENTURY)

Martina Schilling

The abbey church ofS ant’Andrea at Vercelli (Piedmont), built after its foundation in 1219, has long been acknowledged an important place in architectural history, as one of the earliest examples of Gothic style in Italy. Of the medieval furnishings very little survives, yet the south- ernmost transept chapel still contains a large and elaborate wall tomb that, due to its later date and the focus of scholarship on the Gothic impact of the church architecture itself, has received little attention (Fig. 8.1). It belongs to the first abbot of Sant’Andrea, the Frenchman Thomas Gallus, a famous scholar and theologian who presided over this house of Victorine canons from 1224 to 1246. The tomb is lavishly decorated with sculpture and fresco painting and presents us with an elaborate figurative programme, thus combining high artistic quality with a conspicuous invitation to remember the man and reflect upon the early history of the abbey. Reproduced rarely and without much further comment, the tomb has remained practically unknown and has never been the subject of specifically directed research. The aim of this essay is to remedy this undeserved neglect by providing a brief presentation of the tomb’s structure and programme. Following a survey of the archaeological and documentary evidence for the fabric as a whole, the main focus will be on the iconography of the central scene, which shows Thomas Gallus as a teacher surrounded by students (Fig. 8.3). Apart from identifying the individual figures and analysing the nature of their gathering, I intend to trace possible models of this iconography and interpret its occurrence in this specific context, i.e. in relation to the historical figure of Thomas Gallus and his 14th-century commemoration in the abbey church at Vercelli. The tomb’s structure is tri-partite, consisting of an approximately 2 metre-wide sarcophagus, niche, and canopy. The niche is recessed into the chapel wall, its depth determined by the sarcophagus which is 118 martina schilling

Figure 8.1 tomb of Thomas Gallus, Sant’Andrea, Vercelli (Martina Schilling). celebrating the scholar and teacher 119 sunk into the wall in such a way that only the front panel in high relief projects. This projection, approximately 12cm deep, rests on two corbels and carries the niche-framing canopy. With a wide pointed arch on paired colonnettes, cusped into a trefoil arch on the inside, square upper angles and a steep gable over the middle section, the canopy rises up high and fills the entire wall between the vault shafts of the polygonal chapel. The material is stone, and the whole fabric is cov ered by relief or fresco painting.1 The sarcophagus bears a deep sculptural relief of the enthroned Virgin and Child, flanked by standing saints and the kneeling figure of the deceased. The background today appears dark red, and traces of polychromy on the figures indicate that they were also once painted. The corbels bear reliefs of a cen- taur to the left and a lion to the right. The upper edge of the sarcophagus is decorated with a carved foliage ribbon, arising on the left from a sculpted mask and spiralled loosely around a stick. It is extremely delicate in its three-dimensional treatment and painted with stripes of blue and red. The coupled colonnettes of the canopy have lush foliage capitals, and the five panels that make up the pointed arch are filled with Grotesque-like relief, including a small half-figure of Christ blessing in the apex. Triangular bunches of carved foliage adorn the steep sides of the gable. The entire face of the gable and spandrels is covered with frescoes of the Coronation of the Virgin and music- making angels; so too are the back and side walls of the niche, featuring Thomas Gallus as teacher among his students. The refined interplay of different artistic media, painting and sculpture, is a vital feature of the ensemble. An artist’s inscription runs along the bottom of the sarcophagus, very faded and only in parts legible. 19th-century records that might help in its reconstruction turn out to be extremely disparate and suggest that the inscription was no more legible then. For example, in 1819 De Gregory recorded ‘fakiriolus quatrator et frater eius cretonarius primo caepit hoc opus’, while Pareto in 1862 read ‘fakiriolus quatrator et cretonarius fecerunt ochopus’. 2

1 According to Brizio in Vercelli, Catalogo delle cose d’arte e di antichità, ed. A.M. Brizio, vol. 8, Rome, 1935, 22, the foliage-decorated voussoirs of the pointed arch are made of terracotta. 2 G. De Gregory, Istoria della Vercellese letteratura ed arti, I, Turin, 1819, 349; R. Pareto, ‘Chiesa di Sant’Andrea in Vercelli’, Giornale dell ‘ingegnere, architetto ed agronomo, 10, 1862, offprint, 1–14 at 10. 120 martina schilling

The frescoes were last restored in 1992 and today appear well-preserved.3 In 1935, by contrast, the tomb was described as ‘remodelled in its various parts’, and the frescoes as ‘worn out, faded and gone over’.4 The damaged figures on the sarcophagus still testify to a rougher past. Several hands have been broken off and are missing; the Christ child has also lost his head, the kneeling figure his head and both arms. The damage is probably due to the aftermath of the French Revolution, when the abbey was dissolved (1798) and the tomb broken up in search of precious objects. It was repaired in the restoration campaign of 1822.5 Further parts are missing today, as we learn from a description of 1819 by De Gregory, who still noted two free-standing figures of the Annunciation, c. 50 cm high, on the upper corners of the can opy, as well as a single figure, allegedly Thomas Gallus, on top of the gable.6 Moreover, De Gregory recorded a now lost inscription which, according to an illustrative drawing,7 (Fig. 8.2) was situated below the sarcophagus:8

3 The 1992 campaign is documented by a small metal plate on the wall below the tomb. 4 Brizio, Vercelli, 22: ‘Questa tomba è stata rimaneggiata nelle varie parti; gli affreschi sono sciupati, sbiaditi e ripassati’. 5 Brizio, Vercelli, 22; R. Pasté and F. Mella, L’abbazia di Sant’Andrea di Vercelli, Vercelli, 1907, 66, referring to C.E. Arborio Mella, Cenni istorici sulla Chiesa ed Abbazia di Sant’Andrea in Vercelli, Turin, 1856, 33. The earliest photographs of the tomb in Pasté/Mella, L’abbazia di Sant’Andrea, 65, and P. Toesca, La pittura e la miniature nella Lombardia, Milan, 1912, 197, show the heads of the Christ child and the kneeling figure (tonsured) still in their place, probably 19th-century copies subsequently removed. 6 De Gregory, Istoria, 351: ‘In forma piramidale si eleva sopra la nicchia un altro frontone, alle cui basi furono collocate due statuette di mezzo metro d’altezza, rappresentanti da un lato la Beata Vergine, dall’altro l’Angelo annunziatore … In cima al monumento si trova di nuovo l’abate Tommaso Gallo vestito da monaco, e da scalpello assai buono delineato’. 7 De Gregory, Istoria, 349; reproduced in R. Ordano, La Basilica [di Sant’Andrea], Vercelli, 1981, 31. The drawing, made by Martorelli, is the earliest pictorial record of the tomb, and shows the three figures on top of the canopy still in place. It conforms with the description by De Gregory, who underlines that ‘la forma del mausoleo è esattamente secondo il disegno’ (Istoria, 350). However, it is evident from the standing monument that this claim cannot have concerned the painted programme, whose sketchy reproduction in the drawing is extremely simplified, inaccurate and faulty in many details. While for the overall structure and dimensions the drawing may be a faithful record, it has to be dismissed for the painted programme. 8 The following version of the inscription is taken from De Gregory Istoria, 300. The inscription, ‘simply written onto the wall’, was still visible to Arborio Mella in 1856, Cenni istorici, 35: ‘Morì il celebre Abbate Tommaso nel 1246, ne accerta la funeraria iscrizione sulla di lui tomba ancor esistente oggidì: l’iscrizione semplice- celebrating the scholar and teacher 121

‘Bis tres viginti currebant mille ducenti Anni, cum Thomas obiit venerabilis Abbas9 Primitus istius templi, summeque peritus Cunctis in artibus liberalibus,10 atque magister In hierarchia: nunc arca clauditur ista Quem celebri fama vegetavit Pagina Sacra’. The date of Thomas Gallus’ death can be read as1246.11 However, from a stylistic point of view the tomb cannot date from before the mid-14th century, which means that it was made around 100 years after Thomas’ death.12 Neither do we have documentary evidence for its commission or execution, nor any knowledge of an earlier tomb.13 Only the recessed niche itself may hint at an earlier structure in this place, because its shape and surface, although covered with plaster, appears too smooth and regular to have been broken into the chapel wall belatedly. This may suggest that the recess was actually built together with the chapel, i.e. shortly after 1219, and that the 14th-century tomb was then adjusted in and around it. Let us turn now to the sarcophagus relief and the painted niche, both of which feature Thomas Gallus in his life and afterlife. On the sarcophagus the kneeling figure and his recommending saint approach the enthroned Virgin and Child from the right (Fig. 8.1). To her left two more standing saints, a woman and a holy bishop, act as further supporters of the deceased. The sepulchral context leaves no doubt mente scritta sul muro fu ne’ guasti di quella Cappella interamente cancellata: ma troppi autori l’avan rieferita in intero, perchè dubitar si possa della di lei esattezza..’.. See Pareto, Chiesa di Sant’Andrea, 9: ‘Vi si leggeva sopra, prima delle degradazioni del cominciar di questo secolo, la seguente iscrizione’. 9 Pasté/Mella, L’abbazia di Sant’Andrea, 66: ‘quanto Thomas obiit’. 10 De Gregory, Istoria, drew on a 16th-century record, 301: ‘Nel mausoleo il verso priucipia [sic] per Contis, e noi crediamo sia stato male ristaurata dopo la fedele copia a noi trasmessa dal Ferrero nel secolo XVI’. Pasté/Mella 66: ‘Artibus in cunctis liberalibus …’ 11 G. Théry, ‘Thomas Gallus. Aperçu biographique’, Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du Moyen Age, 12 (1939), 141–208, at 206f. 12 toesca, La pittura, 198; R. Passoni, ‘Pittura del Trecento in Piemonte’, La pit tura in Italia. Il Duecento e il Trecento, I, ed. E. Castelnuovo, Venice, 1985, 49–60, at 57. 13 In 1243 the mounting political pressure and violent conflicts between the Guelf and Ghibelline parties in Vercelli had forced Gallus, who sided with the Ghi- bellines, into exile at Ivrea; Théry ‘Thomas Gallus’, 194–202. That he was back in Vercelli by the time of his death, 5 December 1246, is suggested by the fact that he appointed a new administrator to the hospital of Sant’Andrea earlier in the same year; Pasté/Mella, L’abbazia di Sant’Andrea, 64; Théry, ‘Thomas Gallus’, 208. 122 martina schilling

Figure 8.2. Drawing of the tomb of Thomas Gallus at Sant’Andrea, Vercelli (reproduced from: G. De Gregory, Istoria della Vercellese letteratura ed arti, I, Turin, 1819, 349). celebrating the scholar and teacher 123 that the kneeling figure is Thomas Gallus, who is further characterised by his dress, the black cloak and white tunic of his order, the canons regular of St Victor.14 The standing saints, without inscriptions or significant attributes, are less easy to identify. The bearded one in the wide ancient-style garment to the right, directly behind Thomas and presenting him with his right arm, is most likely to be St Andrew, the patron saint of the church.15 The two on the left have been identified as St Catherine of Alexandria, patroness of philosophy, and the Greek archbishop Dionysius Areopagite, i.e. Pseudo-Dionysius, whose writings were a life-long concern of Thomas Gallus.16 The female saint no longer holds any objects; nevertheless, her crown, open hair and fash- ionable dress suit the iconographic tradition of St Catherine, a king’s daughter, whose legendary erudition would also suit the central theme – teaching and learning – of the monument.17 For the same reason the identification of the mitred bishop with Dionysius Areopagite seems plausible. There were a number of holy bishops venerated at Sant’Andrea who might also be taken into account, such as St Augustine, St Eusebius, patron saint of Vercelli, or St Thomas of Can terbury, name saint of the deceased.18 But the central role Dionysius played in Thomas Gallus’ intellectual life, acknowledged by the inscription’s praise of Thomas’ expertise ‘in hierarchia’, which can only refer to the Dionysian works on the Ecclesiastical and Celestial Hierarchy, along with our knowledge that one of the north transept chapels of Sant’Andrea was once dedicated to the Areopagite,19 would

14 see De Gregory, Istoria, 350; Pasté/Mella, L’abbazia di Sant’Andrea, 485. Brizio’s suggestion of this figure being Cardinal Guala Bicchieri lacks any substantial reason; Brizio, Vercelli, 22. 15 Already suggested by De Gregory, Istoria, 350, pointing out the ‘abito naza- reno’; followed by Pasté/Mella, L’abbazia di Sant’Andrea, 485. 16 De Gregory, Istoria, 350; see Pasté/Mella, L’abbazia di Sant’Andrea, 485. 17 P. Assion, ‘Katharina von Alexandrien’, Lexikon der christlichen Ikonographie, VII, Freiburg im Breisgau, 1974, cc. 289–97, at 290. For contemporary depictions of St Catherine in Italy see the murals at Castel San Pietro from c. 1345, in G. Kaftal, Iconography of the Saints in the Painting of North West Italy, Florence, 1985, cc. 183f; or the fresco cycle in the chapel dedicated to her at San Francesco in Assisi from c. 1368, showing her in debate with the philosophers in La Basilica di San Francesco ad Assisi. Basilica inferiore, ed. G. Bonsanti, Modena, 2002, fig. 178. 18 M. Schilling, ‘Victorine Liturgy and its Architectural Setting at the Church of Sant’Andrea in Vercelli’, Gesta, 42:2 (2003), 115–30 at 123f. Of St Thomas of Canter- bury Sant’Andrea possessed a relic, donated by Guala in 1224; see G.A. Frova, Gua lae Bicherii Presbyteri Cardinalis S. Martini in Montibus Vita et Gesta collecta a Philadelpho Libico, Milan, 1767, 143. 19 Pasté/Mella, L’abbazia di Sant’Andrea, 317. 124 martina schilling

Figure 8.3. Tomb of Thomas Gallus: central niche (Martina Schilling). speak strongly in his favour.20 The tomb chapel itself is today dedicated to St Francis of Sales (1567–1622, canonized 1665), and its origi nal dedication is no longer known.21 The niche fresco features Thomas Gallus as teacher (Fig. 8.3). Seated centrally in cathedra and facing us frontally, his large figure is the strong focal point of attention, clearly the heart and reason of the monument, compositionally and figuratively. While his dress, again the black-and-white habit of the canons regular, and bare tonsured head may appear conspicuously modest, the grand and elaborate throne-like cathedra renders majesty, authority and, surrounding his head like a halo, a strong air of sanctity. In front of him is a tall desk

20 Iconographically the bishop’s figure does not obviously follow the tradition that identified Dionysius Areopagite with the martyred Dionysius of Paris (Denis) and depicted him decapitated, his head in his hands. But the decapitated type was only one of several types common at the time, sided by others that show Dionysius/ Denis with his head intact; see A.M. Ritter, ‘Dionysius Areopagita’, Lexikon der christlichen Ikonographie, VI, Freiburg im Breisgau, 1974, cc. 60–1; D. Kimpel, ‘Dio- nysius (Denis) von Paris’, ibid., cc. 61–7; see Kaftal 1985, cc. 229–34. 21 on the sketchy tradition of the medieval altar dedications in Sant’Andrea see Schilling, Victorine Liturgy, 124f. celebrating the scholar and teacher 125 with an open book, and his hands are raised in a refined gesture of explanation, markedly contrasted against the dark of his cloak. He is flanked on either side by three students who are much smaller than him and densely seated on benches. They also have books on their desks, and some are engaged in debate, while others have turned towards the teacher, watching and listening attentively. The faces betray different ages, but their common habit and tonsures identify them all as Thomas’s fellow regular canons.22 The scene continues on the side walls of the niche, with another pair of students on either side (Figs 8.4 and 8.5). Smaller than Thomas Gallus but larger than the other students, these four are clearly set aside, in terms of scale, position and, most of all, by a striking variety of dress. To the left we find another pair of clerics, indicated as such by their habits and tonsures. The left one is a Franciscan, in the characteristic brown habit with the knotted cord that can be made out underneath the desk. His companion wears a white or light grey habit and might, therefore, be a Cistercian. The two are turned towards each other and absorbed in conversation, the latter listening and resting his hand on the desk, the Franciscan explaining, his hands raised and his fingers performing another carefully observed and depicted gesture of analysis. The figures on the right side wall clearly differ from the monks and canons by their lavish, worldly dress. The left one wears a light- coloured garment consisting of a long-sleeved, high-necked tunic, and a wide supertunic. His elaborate headgear can be identified as a cappuccio, a rather complicated article of lay fashion that could be worn in a variety of ways and was in vogue throughout the 14th and 15th centuries.23 We find it depicted in many fresco cycles, such as, for example, among the citizens in the Allegory of Good Government in the Palazzo Pubblico in Siena from 1338–39, in the Triumph of Death in the Camposanto in Pisa, or the Road to Salvation in the

22 on the habit of the Augustinian canons regular see G. Kaftal, Iconography of Saints in Tuscan Painting, Florence, 1952, c. 1158: ‘a black cloak with slits for arms over a white tunic; sometimes the cloak is almost like that of the Dominicans’. 23 The cappuccio was a long hood that, instead of being pulled over the head, was placed with the face-opening on top of the head, the brim rolled up, the bag-like point hanging down to one side, while the shoulder-piece could be folded like a fan and put up straight on the other side, fixed by the rolled-up brim. C. Collier Frick, Dressing Renaissance Florence, Baltimore/London, 2002, 149; A. Güdesen, ‘Das Welt liche Kostüm des italienischen Trecento 1330–1380’, Zeitschrift für historische Waffen- und Kostümkunde, New series, 4:7 (1933), 145–57 at 147. 126 martina schilling

Figure 8.4 tomb of Thomas Gallus: central niche, left wall (Martina Schilling). celebrating the scholar and teacher 127

Figure 8.5 tomb of Thomas Gallus: central niche, right wall (Martina Schilling). 128 martina schilling

Spanish Chapel at Santa Maria Novella in Florence from the late 1360s. The cappuccio was worn by mature men of a certain social standing, without making any further definition or distinction in terms of a particular profession.24 Hence, the figure on the Thomas Gallus tomb – without further attributes, his hands simply resting, one palm on the other, on the desk – does not obviously embody someone other than a distinguished, educated layman. Next to him is another cleric, indicated as such by his corona and tonsure, wearing a much more elaborate dress than the regular canons and monks. Neither a habit of a religious order nor a festive liturgical garment, his strikingly luxurious and decidedly worldly attire can only show him to be a member of the secular clergy, some dignitary in the robes pertaining to an exalted office. His left hand is raised above an open book in front of him, the index-finger pointing, while the fingers of the right hand emerge strangely detached and anatomically unconvincing from behind his protruding body. Considering the diligence in the depiction of the hand gestures already seen, and noting the poor state of the fresco in this particular area, one is inclined to ascribe the unfortunate posture to some post-medieval remodelling or poor restoration. For a more specific classification of this figure we can distinguish several parts of his dress: a tight long-sleeved tunic, covered by another tunic with shorter sleeves, both in light hues; then a long sleeveless red garment in the shape of a scapular, finally a broad shoulder piece trimmed with fur and, enclosing his neck like a collar, a hood lined with ermine, as indicated by the faint black dots. Literature on medieval dress shows the ‘shoulder piece’, the use of fur, and the red colour in particular to be characteristics of academic dress and, more specifically, the attire of doctors from the university of Bologna. Typical for academic dress in general at this period were the subtunica and supertunica, that is two long garments, one on top of the other, plus a shoulder piece with hood, and a round cap (pileus) as headdress. These basic elements could vary in material and colour, from place to place, but also to distinguish faculties or degrees.25

24 H. Floerke, Die Moden der Renaissance, Munich, 1924, 76; for examples in painting see 111f; detailed illustrations in J. Poeschke, Wandmalerei der Giottozeit in Italien, 1280–1400, Munich, 2003, figs 194, 197, 221/222, and Malerei und Stadtkul tur in der Dantezeit. Die Argumentation der Bilder, eds H. Belting and D. Blume, Munich, 1989, figs 15, 18. 25 W.N. Hargreaves-Mawdsley, A History of Academic Dress in Europe until the end of the Eighteenth century, Oxford, 1963, 4–12; M. Bringemeier, Priester- und Gelehrtenkleidung. Ein Beitrag zur geistesgeschichtlichen Kostümforschung, Münster, celebrating the scholar and teacher 129

Figure 8.6. Tomb of Bonifacio Galluzzi, 1346, Museo Civico Medievale, Bologna (reproduced from Renzo Grandi, I monumenti di dottori e la scultura a Bologna (1267–1348), Bologna, 1982, pl. 104, photo: Marcello Bertoni).

Pictorial records survive in a considerable number of 14th-century scholars’ tombs at Bologna, commemorating doctors in the disciplines taught there, i.e. civil law, canon law, and medicine, with effigies of sculpted relief (Fig. 8.6). Their gowns vary in detail, but the double- layering and the fur-trimmed shoulder piece are distinctive recurring features.26 Mostly devoid of paint today, these tombs yield no information about the colour of dress, but written sources confirm that the scarlet red was a characteristic of Bolognese doctors already by the early 14th century. As such it was generally noticed and recognized, as indicated by the mid-14th-century tale in Boccaccio’s Decameron about ‘… a physician, who had set out for Bologna as a sheep-brain, but returned to Florence with a fur-trimmed academic hood. As we see every day, our townsmen return here from Bologna, this one a judge, that one a doctor and a third a notary, decked out with robes long and large and scarlet gowns and furs and bags of other fine accoutrements, and they make a mighty fine show, but we can see every day how far their skills match their display. Among the rest a certain Master Simone

1974, 29f. On Bologna Hargreaves-Mawdsley, A History of Academic Dress, 14–6. 26 R. Grandi, I monumenti dei dottori e la scultura a Bologna (1267–1348), Bolo- gna, 1982: see in particular the tombs of Matteo Gandoni, a lawyer (d. 1330), 151, fig. 84; Bonifacio Galluzzi, doctor in canon law (d. 1346), figs 105f; and Taddeo Pepoli (1347), figs 126, 130, 132. See also Il Museo e lo Studio (sec. XI-XIV), Museo Civico Medievale Sezione Didattica, ed. R. Grandi, Bologna, 1991, 33f, 36f, and the tomb of the physician Bartolomeo da Vernazza (d. 1348), 40–2. 130 martina schilling

da Villa, richer in inherited goods than in learning, returned here, not long ago, as a doctor of medicine, according to himself, robed all in scarlet and with a great miniver hood (…)’ 27 And later in direct speech, we find Master Simone himself saying: ‘Moreover, I tell you that, to do you credit when I come there, I’ll wear my scarlet gown that I wore when I received my degree as doctor, and we’ll see if the company doesn’t rejoice when they see me and if they don’t elect me captain on the spot’.28 By repeatedly referring to Simone’s pretentious dress, Boccaccio’s mockery demonstrates that the fur-trimmed scarlet robe was sup- posed to signal the distinction and dignity of the university doctor and associate its bearer with erudition and intellectual achievement. In this general sense we find it used in painting, for the depiction of various scholars and teachers, from the communal teacher in Siena’s Good Government to the pagan philosophers in St Catherine’s chapel in the lower church of San Francesco in Assisi (c. 1368).29 In the latter the philosophers’ robes have different colours, but their fur-lined hoods, tight-sleeved subtunics, and wide supertunics closely resemble the elements of dress seen on the Vercelli figure. This is also how the young St Augustine, before his baptism and consecration as bishop, occurs in fourteenth and fifteenth-century cycles: as a scholar, graduate in the liberal arts at Carthage, and teacher of rhetoric in Rome and Milan.30 Early examples are his fresco cycle at the Augustinian Hermits’ church in Padua painted between 1334–68, where he is depicted in a tight subtunic and wide supertunic, with ermine shoulder piece and a small fur-lined hood (Fig. 8.7), or his sculpted tomb at San Pietro in Ciel d’Oro in Pavia, dated 1362, where he is shown wearing a multi-layered

27 Giovanni Boccaccio, Decameron, new English version by Cormac Ó Cuille anáin, based on John Payne’s 1886 translation, Ware, 2004, 592 (Eigth Day, Ninth Story). 28 Ibid, 603. For an illustration of this episode, in the earliest completely illuminated manuscript of the Decameron from c. 1415, see E. König, Boccaccio Deca meron. Alle 100 Miniaturen der ersten Bildhandschrift, Stuttgart/Zurich, 1989, 197f. 29 A colour reproduction of the Sienese teacher in I. Danilowa, Wandmalerei der Frührenaissance in Italien, Dresden, 1983, fig. 48; black-and-white in Grandi, I mo numenti, fig.194. The Assisi scene in Bonsanti,La Basilica di San Francesco, fig. 178; see R. Gibbs, ‘Images of Higher Education in 14th-Century Bologna’, Medieval Architecture and its Intellectual Context: Studies in Honour of Peter Kidson, eds E. Fernie and P. Crossley, London, 1990, pp. 269–81 at 280–1. 30 e sauser, ‘Augustinus von Hippo’, Lexikon der christlichen Ikonographie, V. Freiburg im Breisgau, 1973, cc. 277–90 at 279–82. celebrating the scholar and teacher 131

Figure 8.7 st Augustine cycle, c. 1338, Hermits’ Church, Padua (reproduced from: S. Bettini and L. Puppi, La Chiesa degli Eremitani di Padova, Vicenza 1970, pl. 58; photo: Anderson, Rome). garment with shoulder piece and the cappuccio as worldly attribute.31 From the 15th century the fresco cycle at San Giminiano by Benozzo Gozzoli (dated 1465) should be noted, where great care was given to the depiction of dress in general, including the most distinctive scarlet and fur-lined academic robe of Augustine’s.32

31 Descriptions in J. Courcelle and P. Courcelle, Iconographie de Saint Augustin, 2 vols, vol. I. Les cycles du XIVe siècle, Paris, 1965, 50, 64f, pl. XLVI-A, LIII-LVII. 32 J. Courcelle and P. Courcelle, Iconographie de Saint Augustin, vol. II. Les cycles du XVe siècle, Paris, 1969, 90–7, pl. XLVIII, LI-LVIII; D. Cole Ahl, ‘Benozzo Gozzoli: The Life of Saint Augustine in San Gimignano’, in Augustine in Iconography. History and Legend, eds J.C. Schnaubelt and F. Van Fleteren, New York, 1999, 359–81, 359; colour reproductions in L. Dania and D. Funari, S. Agostino. Il Santo nella pittura del XIV al XVIII secolo, Aquaviva Picena, 1988, 44, 80f, 117, 120. 132 martina schilling

Returning to the dress of our Vercelli figure (Fig. 8.5), various differences in detail could be noted but, considering the wide range of comparison, the overall and pervading similarities appear more significant. Besides corroborating our interpretation of this figure as a scholar, they confirm that university doctors in the 14th and 15th centuries wore a particular kind and distinctive style of dress. Moreover, they show how contemporary academic dress entered and shaped the iconography of the scholar/teacher in the visual arts, demonstrating the erudition of legendary pagan philosophers and of the young Augustine as well as of the 14th-century Bolognese doctor, providing the beholder with a sign of recognition in various contexts. This broad application of a dress formula would hardly allow a more specific classification of the Vercelli scholar, were it not for his distinctive headgear: instead of the pileus or cappuccio, typical and common to most of the examples referred to, he wears the clerical tonsure and corona.33 This could be for various reasons. First of all, at the medieval university, going bare-headed could indicate a lesser academic degree.34 Yet while the student status assigned by the classroom context may support such a hierarchical interpretation, his privileged doctoral robe clearly speaks against it.35 The display of thecorona and tonsure seems more likely to derive from a particular concern to show the figure’s clerical status, in contrast to the lay cappuccio bearer next to him, and in association with the monks, canons and, not least, Thomas Gallus himself. Having stated that, a closer look reveals that his tonsure differs from those of the monks and regular canons. While their heads are shaved both on top and in the neck, leaving but a narrow strip/ band of hair above the ears, his tonsure leaves a smaller corona and longer hair at the sides and back. That this might be a deliberate and meaningful differentiation emerges from medieval regulations on the

33 ‘Corona’ denotes the circle on top of the head, while ‘tonsure’ means the raz- ing in general, including the neck, which leaves the characteristic hair band. On the varied use of these terms in medieval sources see L. Trichet, La tonsure. Vie et mort d’une pratique ecclésiastique, Paris, 1990, 109f. 34 According to the 13th and 14th-century statutes for the English nation at Paris, for example, bachelors of the arts were obliged to wear a gown with a plain hood but, nevertheless, go bare-headed at all times; see Hargreaves-Mawdsley, A History of Academic Dress, 36f. The same applied to masters of Arts in 14th-century England, who were not allowed to wear a pileus or any other form of headdress, as this was reserved to doctors of the higher subjects; ibid., 79f. 35 According to the 14th-century dress-regulations at Bologna, the garments of non-doctors and undergraduates had to be made of black ‘statute cloth’; ibid., 16. celebrating the scholar and teacher 133 clerical tonsure, according to which the size and shape could stand in relation to the status or rank of its bearer. Thus, we learn that monks had to adhere to a large corona and narrow circular hair band, out of tradition and in order to distinguish themselves from the secular clergy, who seem to have abandoned this severe style by the end of the 13th century, in favour of a smaller corona and longer side and neck hair.36 The often minute prescriptions in these sources precisely match the monks’ tonsures depicted in the tomb and once more confirm both the high awareness of such detail and their meaning in the conception of the painted programme and the great amount of care that was given to their accurate depiction. It was obviously considered important to distinguish this scholar as a secular clerk, by which we have traced a level of differentiation that may allow some final thoughts concerning his faculty. For his clerical status would have excluded him from being a doctor of civil law, as Honorius III had forbidden the study of civil law to the generality of clergy in 1219.37 The most likely subject for him would be canon law, because canonists had also adopted the scarlet robe or, like Italian university doctors in general, were at least associated with it.38 Only theologians are known to have differed considerably and deliberately from other faculties in terms of dress. Due to their sacred calling, and largely conform with the regulations of clerical dress, they avoided the red colour and an extensive show of fur but dressed in a conspicuously plain and modest way, keeping to the so-called cappa clausa, a long fully enclosing dark cloak with two or just one frontal opening for the arms.39 If we assume that the unknown painter or commissioner

36 trichet, La tonsure, 118–20. 37 P. Clarke, ‘The Growth of Canon and Civil Law Studies, 1070–1535’, in Illumi nating the Law. Legal Manuscripts in Cambridge Collections, exhibition catalogue, eds S. L’ Engle and R. Gibbs, London, 2001, 22–38, 31. 38 According to Hargreaves-Mawdsley, A History of Academic Dress, 12, generally speaking ‘the most constant of the colours was scarlet for Canon Law’. This was certainly the case in Paris, where doctors in canon law adopted the red colour in the fourteenth century, following an enactment of Pope Benedict XII in 1336 (37f). At Bologna the scarlet robe was worn by civil lawyers and physicians, while doctors in canon law are documented to have worn a blue cappa manicata (14). Nevertheless, the scarlet robe became a kind of general uniform, 16: ‘Thus we may say that as early as the fourteenth century the dress of Bolognese doctors and those of other Italian universities, except of Theology, had come to consist of a round scarlet pileus and a long supertunica of the same colour’. 39 Hargreaves-Mawdsley, A History of Academic Dress, 20, 36–40, 64f, 191f; Bringemeier, Priester- und Gelehrtenkleidung, 31f. On the prohibition of red and green colours and other regulations for clerical dress, formulated by the Fourth Lat- eran Council and valid throughout the later Middle Ages, see L. Trichet, Le Costume 134 martina schilling responsible for the programme were familiar with these academic customs – and the repeatedly observed awareness and diligence in matters of dress would argue in favour of it – one might even venture to recognize the cloak of the theologian Thomas Gallus as a cappa clausa. Are Thomas’ students perhaps identifiable historical individuals? This is rather unlikely, both in case of his fellow canons and the figures on the side walls. In 1819, De Gregory suggested identifying the Fran ciscan with St Anthony of Padua, who is known to have been a pupil of Thomas Gallus, on the basis of a halo (‘aureola al capo’).40 However, when examining the frescoes today, no trace of a halo can be dis- cerned, neither on the Franciscan nor on any of the other figures. As already noted, their differentiation is made exclusively by means of dress. Therefore, we are more likely to be seeing anonymous representatives of various groups from the world of learning. The juxtaposition is less of clerical and lay than of regular and secular: with monastic and mendicant orders – the Augustinian canons regular, the Bene dictine Cistercians, and the Franciscan friars – on one side, and the secular clergy and the new patrician clientèle of the communal secular Italian university on the other. This diversity in Thomas’ classroom does not appear to express opposition or rivalry, but to underline the great unifying purpose, namely the relevance of Thomas’ scholarship to all the groups represented, a universal claim across the borders of disciplines and society. This universal claim extends to the beholder who is drawn into the classroom scene and assigned a student role, too. This is achieved by the refined illusionistic interplay of different artistic media and modes of representation. Thomas Gallus and his students are framed by painted architecture, on the back wall a wide trefoil arch on colonnettes with foliage capitals, on the side walls steep tabernacles whose gables reach up high into the barrel vault of the niche. By embracing three walls, the painted architecture is not confined to a flat decorative role but uses, articulates, and stresses the three-dimensional space of the niche, creating the illusion of a built interior that opens up to us. We find ourselves on the fourth side of the classroom, under the fourth trefoil arch that repeats the shape and style of the painted du Clergé. Ses origines et son évolution en France d’après les règlements de l’église, Paris, 1986, 59–76. 40 De Gregory, Istoria, 351; without further comment repeated by Ordano, La Basilica, 30. celebrating the scholar and teacher 135 arches but, now sculpted, emerges spatially, mediating and making the transition between painted illusion and our tangible three-dimensional reality. Faced frontally and, as it were, addressed directly by Thomas Gallus, we are included in the scene and, like the painted students, we cannot help gazing at the teacher in the position of admiring students ourselves. The iconography of the teaching scene derives from two separate strands. The frontally seated figure of the teacher evolves from representations of the Church fathers and other learned authorities, in which the motif of central enthronement was used to symbolize spiritual authority.41 This ancient formula was taken up in the 14th century by the learned religious orders to promote their great intellectuals – mostly St Augustine by the Augustinian Hermits and St Thomas Aquinas by the Dominicans – and embedded in extensive allegorical programmes. Examples are St Augustine and the allegory of knowledge in Bolognese manuscript painting from the 1340s and their alleged model, according to Hansen a former mural at the Augustinian Hermits’ church at Bologna, or St Thomas Aquinas’ ‘Apotheosis’ in the Dominican Chapter House of Santa Maria Novella in Florence from the later 1360s.42 The dimension of teaching became explicit in further narrative classroom scenes of the same period, in which Thomas Aquinas is shown seated behind a desk, surrounded not by allegorical figures but by a mixed crowd of students. These appear in various costumes, pos- tures and occupations – a more genre-like manner that clearly reflects on contemporary academic life. Early examples of Aquinas with students are a small panel by the Maestro del Biadaiolo, dated to the second quarter of the 14th century,43 and painted initials in Dominican choir books from Bologna that began to appear shortly after his canonization in 1323.44 Obviously influenced by their place of origin, they

41 Gibbs, Images of Higher Education, 273f; B. Bøggild Johannsen, ‘Zum Thema der weltlichen Glorifikation des Herrscher- und Gelehrtengrabmals des Trecentos’, Hafnia, 6 (1979), 81–105 at 95f. 42 D. Hansen, Das Bild des Ordenslehrers und die Allegorie des Wissens. Ein gemaltes Programm der Augustiner, Berlin, 1995, for the Bolognese examples 2f, 56, 61–5, 72f; for their chronological precedence over the Dominican programmes, 100f. 43 Hansen, Das Bild, 101f. 44 The following references were kindly provided by Robert Gibbs: Bologna, S. Domenico, cod. cor. 26; Venice, Fondazione Giorgio Cini 2032 (33); Bologna, Mus. Civ. ms. 516, fol. 229r; ms. 545, fol. 77v: See P. V. Alce and P. A. D’Amato, La Biblioteca di S. Domenico in Bologna, Firenze 1961, 141–69; G. Mariani Canova, 136 martina schilling show Thomas Aquinasin cathedra and at his feet a symbolic gathering of distinguished pupils who, like those at Vercelli, represent different groups and are identified by their dress, including, for example, a mitred bishop and a university doctor with fur-lined cap and shoulder piece (Fig. 8.8).45 According to Gibbs this teaching iconography was adapted from the already mentioned doctors’ tombs at Bologna, in which a profane version of the same imagery had first occurred in 1318.46 This shows the university doctor seated frontally in the centre, flanked on either side by students in varied costume. Gradually re placing an earlier design, in which the teacher was depicted in profile at one side of the scene and his students aligning to the other, the centralized symmetrical composition offered further glorification to the scholar’s worldly fame and, by association with images of learned authorities from the past, may reflect the growing self-confidence and social standing of the university doctor (Fig. 8.6).47 The centralized design was standard by the 1330/40s and was adhered to, increasingly detailed and elaborated, into the 15th century. Developed in Bologna and peculiar to the doctors’ tombs, this iconography was only occasionally adopted in other places,48 and the Thomas Gallus tomb in Vercelli has to be seen as one of them. Here the teaching scene follows the more recent centralized design, and appears most closely related to Bolognese examples from the later 1340s, such as the tomb of Bonifacio Galluzzi (d. 1346), as regards the variety of dress among the students (Fig. 8.6), or that of Giovanni di

Miniature dell’ Italia Settentrionale nella Fondazione Giorgio Cini, Vicenza, 1978, no. 10, 7–8, fig. 10, and ‘Nuovi contributi alla serie liturgica degli antifonari di S. Domenico in Bologna’, La miniatura italiana in età romana e gotica, Atti del I Congresso della Societa di Storia della Miniatura, Cortona 1978, Florence, 1979, 371– 93; M. Medica, Libri miniati del Museo Medievale, Bologna, 1997, 10, fig. 10 and cover. 45 L’Engle and Gibbs, Illuminating the Law, 236f; F. Wormald and P.M. Giles, A Descriptive Catalogue of the Additional Illuminated Manuscripts in the Fitzwilliam Museum acquired between 1895 and 1979, 2 vols, Cambridge, 1982, I, 235. 46 L’Engle and Gibbs, Illuminating the Law, 237; Gibbs, Images of Higher Educa tion, 274. 47 Gibbs, Images of Higher Education, 270, 274; Grandi, I monumenti, 62. On the programmatic shift towards the representation of worldly fame in Trecento tombs Bøggild Johannsen, Zum Thema der weltlichen Glorifikation, 81–3. 48 Ibid., 98. Two examples from Verona in Storia della cultura Veneta. Il Trecento, ed Neri Pozza, Vicenza, 1976, figs 53f. For doctor’s tombs in Padua, where the Bolognese iconography hardly played a role, see R. Wolff, ‘Le tombe dei dottori al Santo. Considerazioni sulla loro tipologia’, Il Santo, 42 (2002), 277–97, 280f, 294. celebrating the scholar and teacher 137

Figure 8.8. Thomas Aquinas teaching, initial from a 14th-century Antiphoner, Cambridge, Fitzwilliam Museum MS 287Br (Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge). 138 martina schilling

Andrea (d. 1348), for the students’ dense seating behind diagonally set desks.49 Thus, when judged by Bolognese standards, the teaching scene in Vercelli can hardly date from much before 1350. As it occurs in a sepulchral context it draws on the Bolognese tradition both iconographically and iconologically. In terms of artistic techniques and the position within the monument, however, it was adopted in a very idiosyncratic way: not a sculpted relief on the sarcophagus, as we know it from Bologna, but painted above, filling the back and side walls of a central niche. It was integrated in a tomb design – typologi- cally a recessed elevated wall tomb, tri-partite in its formal and programmatic structure – that drew on other than Bolognese sources.50 A comparable example of such an integration is the wall tomb of Cino de’ Sighibuldi, doctor in civil law (d. 1336), at Pistoia cathedral (Fig. 8.9).51 Although not sunk into the wall, this tomb similarly consists of a sarcophagus on corbels and a large canopy on columns, with figurative scenes at three levels. In this case a teaching scene of the earlier linear Bolognese formula was adopted and also executed in the Bolognese way, i.e. as sculpted relief on the sarcophagus. The main scene under the canopy is formed by a sculpted group, whose symmetrical arrangement around the central oversized figure of Cino, seated yet towering over his bystanders, may well draw on the more recent Bolognese formula. The tabernacle on top of the canopy shows the presentation of the deceased to the Virgin, again executed in sculpture. In terms of artistic modes and techniques, Cino’s wall tomb is closer to the Bolognese models in that all figurative scenes are sculpted, at least in the tomb’s present state, whereas at Vercelli the extensive use of fresco painting marks a considerable departure from the Bolognese tomb fashion. One could suspect financial or other practical reasons, yet these would not explain why the teaching scene was not executed on the sarcophagus and in sculpted relief but in the niche and in painting. Perhaps the different mode of representation had to

49 Grandi, I monumenti, 150f, 163–7, 286–9, 323–8. 50 on the typology of wall tombs see H. Körner, Grabmonumente des Mittelalters, Darmstadt, 1997, 61–75, who distinguishes the ‘hanging wall tomb’ on corbels as an Italian peculiarity that developed in the second half of the thirteenth century (72–5). See also J. Gardner, The Tomb and the Tiara. Curial tomb sculpture in Rome and Avignon in the Later Middle Ages, Oxford, 1992, 55f. 51 Poeschke, Die Skulptur des Mittelalters, 160f; Bøggild Johannsen, Zum Thema der weltlichen Glorifikation, 96f; K. Bauch, Das mittelalterliche Grabbild, Berlin, New York, 1976, 174f. celebrating the scholar and teacher 139

Figure 8.9 tomb of Cino de’ Sighibuldi, 1337–39, Pistoia cathedral (Hirmer Photoarchiv München). 140 martina schilling do with the different status and image of Thomas Gallus, who was not a contemporary but already a historical figure from the previous century, not a lawyer or physician from Bologna but a theologian from Paris, not a secular dignitary but a regular canon, abbot, and prominent head of his congregation.52 In scholastic circles his commentaries were well known and widely received, so that he could have been considered a famous author and learned representative of his order, the Victorine canons who, after all, had built their reputation on their scholastic achievements in twelfth-century Paris.53 In this respect the representation of the teaching Thomas Gallus may also be seen, to some extent, as a tribute to Victorine tradition, as an act of self-promotion of the order and, therefore, as closely related to similar images of Thomas Aquinas such as those in the Dominican choir books. Perhaps the medium of painting was even chosen to facilitate the association with the monumental fresco representations of saintly authorities and, thus, in a suggestive way further stress the universal importance of Thomas Gallus’ scholarship. The combination and interplay of artistic media might, therefore, be interpreted as a means to access different levels of meaning and allude to different traditions, thus providing a refined synthesis of memoria and propaganda. While the possibility of Victorine propaganda is certainly intriguing, its importance for the Thomas Gallus tomb cannot be further assessed, as too little is known about their situation in 14th-century Vercelli. Moreover, Augustinian canons and their art in Italy have hardly been subject as a whole to this art historical approach.54 The

52 For Thomas Gallus’ biography see Théry, Thomas Gallus; P. Glorieux, ‘Thomas Gallus’, Dictionnaire de Théologie Catholique, XV.1, 1946, cc. 773–7; P. Edwards, ‘Thomas Gallus of Vercelli’, New Catholic Encyclopedia, XIV, 1967, cc. 120f.; M. Capellino, Tommaso il Primo Abate di S. Andrea, Vercelli, 1982, 9–13; J. Barbet, ‘Thomas Gallus’, Dictionnaire de Spiritualité, XV, 1991, cc. 800–16, cc. 800–2. 53 on Thomas Gallus’ works and their importance see . P Rorem, Pseudo-Diony sius. A Commentary on the Texts and an Introduction to Their Influence, New York/ Oxford, 1993, 218f; Barbet, Thomas Gallus, cc. 802–06. On the Victorines in 12th and 13th-century Paris see H.G. Walther, ‘St. Victor und die Schulen in Paris vor der Entstehung der Universität’, in Schule und Schüler im Mittelalter. Beiträge zur europäischen Bildungsgeschichte des 9. bis 15. Jahrhunderts, eds M. Kintzinger, S. Lorenz and M. Walter, Cologne, Weimar, Vienna, 1996, 53–74 ; S.C. Feruolo, The Origins of the University. The Schools of Paris and their Critics, 1100–1215, Stanford, 1985, 29. On the history of the order in general see F. Bonnard, Histoire de l’abbaye royale et de l’ordre des chanoines réguliers de St.-Victor de Paris, 2 vols, Paris, 1904– 1907, vol. 1. 54 one exception is Art and the Augustinian Order in Early Renaissance Italy, eds L. Bourdua and A. Dunlop, Aldershot, 2007. That regular canons felt a need to stand celebrating the scholar and teacher 141 dimension of memoria, by contrast, can be further explored. Apart from symbolically glorifying the general importance of Thomas Gallus’ scholarship, the borrowing of the Bolognese iconography may have aimed at a more literal reading, namely the remembrance of Thomas as a university teacher. This can be suggested by casting a ret rospective glance at the educational activities at Vercelli during Thomas’ lifetime, i.e. the second quarter of the 13th century. For in 1228, about four years after Thomas’ arrival, a studium generale was opened, established by students and masters from Padua who, driven out by legal challenges, drew up a contract with the commune of Vercelli instead.55 This provided funds for a comprehensive curricu- lum, with one teaching post in theology, three in civil law, four in canon law, two in medicine, two in dialectics, and two in grammar.56 This is particularly noteworthy, because an open theological faculty did not yet exist in Padua, nor in Bologna or anywhere in Italy by that time. Considering this and the fact that there was only one other university in the whole of Europe, Oxford, to provide the whole range of

as an order and promote their identity in artistic programmes emerges from their rivalry with the Augustinian Hermits, who claimed St Augustine to be exclusively their, and not the canons’, founding father; see K. Elm, ‘Augustinus Canonicus – Augustinus Eremita. A Quattrocento Cause Célèbre’, Christianity and the Renais sance. Image and Religious Imagination in the Quattrocento, eds T. Verdon and J. Henderson, Syracuse, 1990, 83–107. As a result, the act of rule-giving was of central importance in painted cycles of both orders, showing St Augustine either in the canons’ or the hermits’ habit; ibid, 96f. 55 The institution of a studium generale implied that students from the whole of Europe were accepted, and that apart from the preparatory liberal arts at least one of the higher subjects – law, medicine, and theology – was taught; see O. Pedersen, The first universities: studium generale and the origins of university education in Europe, Cambridge, 1997, 133; J. Verger, ‘Grundlagen’, Geschichte der Universität in Europa, I-III, ed. W. Rüegg, Munich, 1993–2004, I, 49–80 at 54f. In Northern Italy the higher subjects were traditionally civil and canon law, first at Bologna, then followed by Padua and a number of other cities that temporarily became host to a studium generale in the 13th century. The studium at Vercelli was initially projected for eight years, and there is no certainty as to how much longer it existed; see H. Rashdall, The Universities of Europe in the Middle Ages, II, 1895, re-edited F.M. Powicke and A.B. Emden, Oxford, 1936, 26f; P. Classen, ‘Die ältesten Univer- sitätsreformen und Universitätsgründungen des Mittelalters’, Heidelberger Jahr bücher, new series, 12 (1968), 72–92 at 75; Verger, Grundlagen, 57f, 63. 56 on the contract H. Denifle, Die Entstehung der Universitäten des Mittelalters bis 1400, Berlin, 1885, 278f, 292, 339; G. Arnaldi, ‘Le Origine dello Studio di Padova. Dalla Migrazione universitaria del 1222 alla Fine del Periodo Ezzeliniano’, La Cul tura. Rivista di Filosofia, Letteratura e Storia, 15 (1977), 388–431, 408–12. 142 martina schilling subjects,57 the foundation at Vercelli started out with extraordinary ambitions. The name of the first theology master is not known, and there is no documentary evidence that Thomas Gallus was involved. But the contextual evidence strongly suggests that the presence of him and his Victorine community at Sant’Andrea at least favoured the choice of Vercelli for the opening of a first theological faculty.58 Already by the time of his arrival Thomas was a renowned theologian and experi- enced teacher from the stronghold of theology, Paris. Moreover, we do know that during his 22 years as abbot he continued to write and teach. That he attracted students from afar is suggested by his encounter with the future saint Anthony of Padua who, according to his late 13th-century vita, had been sent to Gallus by Francis of Assisi himself, in order to be taught mystical theology.59 The precise date and institutional circumstances of this instruction are not known, but a terminus ante quem is provided by Anthony’s death in 1231. In his comment on the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy from 1244 Thomas Gallus himself remembered the teaching of the meanwhile canonized (1232) Anthony.60 Given this background of local history, Thomas Gallus’ mid-14th- century tomb may have worked as a reference to this formative era of the university, celebrating him not only as a famous scholar but, by adopting the characteristic iconography of the Bolognese doctors’ tombs, commemorating him precisely as a university teacher. In the context of Sant’Andrea this would also have reflected on the abbey’s origin and prestige under its first abbot, and its share in the pioneer-

57 Classen, Die ältesten Universitätsreformen, 83; Verger, Grundlagen, 54. 58 Théry, Thomas Gallus, 179f; C. Frova, ‘Città e ‘Studium’ a Vercelli (secoli XII e XIII’, Luoghi e metodi di insegnamento nel’Italia Medioevale (secoli XII-XIV). Atti del Convegno Internazionale di studi, eds L. Gargan and O. Limone, Galatina, 1989, 85–99, 94f; C. Frova, ‘Teologia a Vercelli alla fine del secolo XII: I libri del canonico Cotta’, L’Università di Vercelli nel Medioevo. Atti del secondo Congresso Storico Vercellese 23–25 ottobre 1992, ed. Società Storica Vercellese, Vercelli, 1994, 311–33 at 324f; M. Schilling, ‘Von Paris nach Piemont, ein Kulturtransfer im frühen 13. Jahrhundert: Kardinal Guala Bicchieri, die Viktorinerabtei von Sant’Andrea und das Theologiestudium in Vercelli’, Bibel und Exegese in der Abtei Saint-Victor zu Paris. Form und Funktion eines Grundtextes im europäischen Rahmen, ed. R. Berndt, Mün- ster, 2009, 503–26. 59 J. Châtillon, ‘Saint Antoine de Padoue et les victorins’, Le fonti e la teologia dei sermoni Antoniani: Il Santo, 22, 1982, 171–202; rpt in Jean Châtillon, Le Mouvement Canonial au Moyen Age. Réforme de l’Église, Spiritualité et Culture, ed. P. Sicard, Paris, Turnhout, 1992, 255–92; Théry, Saint Antoine, 94–115; V. Mandelli, Il comune di Vercelli nel Medioevo, 4 vols, Vercelli, 1857–61, vol. III (1858), 8. 60 Châtillon, Saint Antoine, 269, 273f; Frova, Città e ‘Studium’, 94. celebrating the scholar and teacher 143 ing educational work of those years. That the abbey’s existence was inseparably linked with the figure of its first abbot is, at long last, emphasized and visualized in that the sarcophagus is deeply embedded in the chapel wall, thus making Thomas Gallus an integral part of the architecture, the symbolic cornerstone on which the church is raised.61

The tomb of Thomas Gallus stands out as an extremely elaborate monument and, in view of the refined programme and its artistic integration, an unusual and highly idiosyncratic creation both in con ception and execution. A case of precise knowledge and borrowing of a genuine Bolognese iconography, it shows how the imagery of the teaching university doctor could be adapted and transformed in appearance, owing to its specific purposes in the church of Sant’ Andrea of at once commemorating the historical figure of its first abbot and also representing the resident community of Victorine canons. The translation into fresco painting associates the teaching Thomas with monumental representations of saintly learned authorities, such as St Thomas Aquinas. Since Thomas Gallus was not canonized, his tomb was perhaps the only possible place for such an allusion, providing the occasion for a subliminal yet deliberate claim. The universal importance of his scholarship is symbolized by the mixed gathering of students, a cross-section through the learned parts of society in mid 14th-century Italy. At the same time the glorification of the abbot as a scholar suited the Victorine tradition as a learned order and thus, apart from celebrating an individual, would have promoted the canons’ standing and fame in 14th-century Vercelli. This certainly drew on the founding years of the abbey in the 1220s, when the presence of the prominent theologian from Paris coincided with the opening of a studium generale and the first theological faculty in Italy. Thomas Gallus’ move to Vercelli, which demands explanation, might well have been motivated by academic ambitions. The Bolognese teaching iconography was, after all, not removed from its university context, but may have been adopted precisely for this connotation, remembering Thomas Gallus not only as a great scholar and learned head of his order, but as a university teacher from the pioneering years of the studium generale in 13th-century Vercelli.

61 on this topos in medieval tombs see Körner, Grabmonumente, 71f. 144 roberto cobianchi

chapter nine

BARTOLOMEO AND JACOPINO DA REGGIO’S BRERA TRIPTYCH: A POSSIBLE SOURCE FOR ITS PROVENANCE

Roberto Cobianchi

The triptych of the Crucifixion and saints now in the Pinacoteca di Brera, Milan, is the only signed work by the painters Bartolomeo and Jacopino da Reggio (Fig. 9.1).1 The line of text inscribed at the bottom of the narrative scene depicting the Crucifixion in the upper register of the central panel, reads: ‘hanc tabula feceru(n)t bartolomeu(s) et jacopinu(s) de regio’. The two artists seem to have directed an active workshop during the third quarter of the Trecento; so far, however, documents have only been found relating to Jacopino, recorded from 1349 in Piacenza, where a considerable number of works have been ascribed to him and his companion.2 On stylistic ground the Brera triptych has been dated c. 1350–55. Furthermore, it has been argued that the painting was not executed for their home town from the fact that the painters emphasised their origin from Reggio Emilia in the signature, and Lottici Tessadri has hypothetically suggested that the painting came from Piacenza.3 The work was originally hinged, and the central panel flanked on each side by a wing. With the exception of the central part of the upper register, occupied by a larger and higher gothic trifoliate arched field with the scene of the Crucifixion, the ensemble is divided homoge- neously into two superimposed rows of gothic arches subdivided into two smaller arches by a slender column in relief. The columns, alter-

1 on the triptych see the entry no. 17, by C. Giacobino, Pinacoteca di Brera. Scuola emiliana, Milan, 1991, 51–6, and the entry no. 9, by G. Lottici Tessadri, in Il Gotico a Piacenza. Maestri e botteghe tra Emilia e Lombardia, eds P. Ceschi Lava getto and A. Gigli, Ex. Cat., Milan, 1998, 167–8, with previous bibliography. And most recently Paola Strada’s entry in Per Brera. Collezionisti e doni alla Pinacoteca dal 1882 al 2000, eds M. Ceriana and C. Quattrini, Florence, 2004, 23–4. 2 For a summary of the activity of the two artists, with bibliography, see the entry by D. Benati, ‘Bartolomeo e Jacopino da Reggio’, in Gotico a Piacenza, 162–5. 3 Ibid., 163; Lottici Tessadri in Gotico a Piacenza, 168. bartolomeo and jacopino da reggio’s brera triptych 145

Figure 9.1. Bartolomeo and Jacopino da Reggio (signed), Triptych of the Cruci- fixion, Annunciation and Saints, Milan, Pinacoteca di Brera, tempera on panel (67 × 93 cm). nately twisted or polygonal, stand on a base, also in relief. Pinnacle sections bearing a further third level that closed over the top of the central gable also surmount the top far end of each wing. The elegant gothic carpentry with gables on the top is enriched by fifteen circular holes, one in each gable, which originally were likely to have housed relics enclosed by glass.4 A flamboyant line of crockets, now almost completely lost, once ran along the top of the gables. Apart from the Crucifixion central to the whole work, the Annun ciation to the Virgin in the left hand gable is the only narrative in the triptych, which otherwise shows thirty standing figures of saints. The reverse is worked as imitation marble, but the wings are in very poor condition, and most of the paint is lost, yet there are still traces of a

4 A similar system of displaying relics can be seen, for instance, in Simone dei Crocifissi’s triptych of c. 1360, now in the Louvre. For Simone dei Crocifissi’s work see: D. Thiébaut, in Polyptyques. Le tableau multiple du moyen âge au vingtième sièc- le, Paris 1990, 67–9, who also mentions other examples by Lippo Vanni and Naddo Ceccarelli in the Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore. Another example is Francesco di Vannuccio’s reliquary depicting the Virgin of Humility, of c. 1350–1400 in the Met- ropolitan Museum, New York. 146 roberto cobianchi roundel in each shutter, perhaps once occupied by a coat of arms or a geometrical pattern.5 A 19th-century photograph, which I found, documents the early state of the triptych’s conservation, and, above all, provides important clues to assess a forgotten step in the provenance of the painting’s later history, suggesting that it may have been formerly housed in the church of San Francesco in Correggio. The analysis of the iconography of the triptych, and a relatively precise identification of saints, also show a strong connection with Franciscan devotion. Furthermore, it will here be proposed that the triptych’s patrons were the da Correggio family. The triptych is first recorded in Crowe and Cavalcaselle’s Italian edition of the Storia della pittura in Italia dal secolo II al secolo XVI.6 Sometime between 1864, when the English edition appeared, and 1887, when the fourth volume of the Italian updated translation was published, Cavalcaselle saw the painting in a private collection: ‘… questo dipinto è posseduto dal signor dottor Luciano Aragona di Ribecco d’Oglio nella provincia di Cremona, il qual signore, oltre all’averci fatto vedere il dipinto, ci favorì d’esso una fotografia; e ci è caro di qui rendergli grazie delle molte cortesie usateci’.7 Little is known about Luciano Aragona who in 1889 bequeathed the painting to the Regia Pinacoteca di Brera.8 According to the documents concerning Aragona’s bequest, the triptych had been found in a ‘casolare’ in the countryside near Parma.9 A photograph of the triptych was taken in the late 19th century by the photographer Gildaldo Bassi (1852–1932), and it is known to me in two copies, one in the Biblioteca Comunale of Correggio and one in a private collection in the same town.10 (Fig. 9.2) Bassi’s photograph has been recently published on three occasions without the painting being recognised. Taparelli first presented the photograph in an issue of the bulletin of the local parish community of Correggio, affirming

5 on the decoration on the verso of portable paintings see V.M. Schmidt, Painted Piety. Panel Paintings for Personal Devotion in Tuscany, 1250–1400, Flor- ence, 2005, 44–58. 6 G.B. Cavalcaselle and J.A. Crowe, Storia della pittura in Italia dal secolo II al secolo XVI, 11 vols, 1883–1908, Florence, IV, 1887, 240–1. 7 Ibid., 241, note 1. 8 on Luciano Aragona see M. Tavola’s short entry in Per Brera, 23. 9 see Giacobino, in Pinacoteca di Brera, 52. 10 on Gildaldo Bassi see Gildaldo Bassi fotografo (1852–1932), eds L. Gasparini and M. Montanari, Reggio Emilia, 1994. bartolomeo and jacopino da reggio’s brera triptych 147

Figure 9.2. Gildaldo Bassi, photograph of the Triptych of the Crucifixion, Annunciation and Saints by Bartolomeo and Jacopino da Reggio in Correggio, c. 1880. that the painting was in the church of San Francesco at Correggio, perhaps in the sacristy.11 The triptych was neither identified in the exhibition catalogue dedicated to Bassi’s photographs, nor in a recent book on the church of San Francesco at Correggio, where it is however stated, with no explanation, to have been in the church of San Francesco.12

11 G. Taparelli, ‘Curiosità e notizie su alcuni altari delle Chiese di Correggio’, Bol lettino Parrocchiale, October 1988. In his article Taparelli mentions, but without a bibliographic reference, a publication of the Touring Club Italiano of 1921 in which the triptych is listed among the notable works of art in town. The Guida Regionale Illustrata Emilia, of 1921, is to my knowledge the only TCI publication of that year in which the town of Correggio is described, yet there is no mention of the triptych. I would like to thank Oscar Scalambra, of the Biblioteca del TCI, Milan, for making the TCI publications of 1921available to me. 12 Gasparini and Montanari, Gildaldo Bassi, fig. 134 and entry on 160. M. Severi, La chiesa di San Francesco in Correggio. Storia e restauri, Florence 2000, 21; Severi does not provide any explanation for his statement: ‘Polittico già in San Francesco, ubicazione ignota’. 148 roberto cobianchi

There is no doubt that Bassi’s photograph portrays the triptych now in the Brera, though there is no visual clue in the photograph which indicates where it was exactly taken: the painting seems to rest against a plain wall. The lower part of the panels are already partly lost, and the surface is covered with a thick layer of dirt and dust, precisely as it was described by Cavalcaselle: ‘… il colore però s’è fatto alquanto scuro per l’azione del tempo, è inoltre coperto di polvere e macchiato, e talune delle figure dipinte nella parte inferiore mancano dei piedi o d’una porzione delle vesti’.13 The photograph also shows that a wooden bar had been fixed to the back of the triptych, in its lower part, plausibly to reinforce the entire structure and keep the wings permanently open. It is worth noting that Cavalcaselle states in a footnote discussing the signature on the painting: ‘… anche la cornice ha più qua e più là sofferto, specialmente nella parte inferiore, oltre all’essere oscurata nel colore; ma non sembra però manomessa, e così le figure non sono state restaurate. Noi abbiamo letto. hanc . tabvla . fecerut . bartolomeu . et . jacobinu . d . regio . Ma per quanto ci venne riferito, altri lessero di Correggio, patria del famoso pittore Allegri, invece che Reggio …’14 Consequently, when Cavalcaselle saw the triptych, he was in some ways made aware of a link with the town of Correggio. Luciano Aragona, who probably knew more about the triptych’s provenance than the later documentation reveals, is likely to have provided this piece of information. It is suggestive also to think that the photograph Luciano Aragona supplied to Cavalcaselle may have been a copy of that taken by Gildaldo Bassi himself. Gildaldo Bassi’s workshop was located in Correggio and, despite being occasionally documented as an itinerant photographer, he did most of his work in this town. The photograph of the triptych formed part of a portfolio entirely dedicated to the town of Correggio and its monuments. The album was dedicated c. 1880–81 to the mayor of Correggio, Emidio Salati, and such dedication would situate the execution of the photographs around 1879–80. Unfortunately all the copies of the portfolio once made were subsequently taken apart, but some observations can still be made. The photographs in Correggio’s public library, including that showing the triptych, are all glued on a board of identical size which still have part of a ribbon used for bind- ing the images together. Therefore, there is no doubt that the photo-

13 Cavalcaselle and Crowe, Storia della pittura, 241. 14 Ibid., 241 n. 3. bartolomeo and jacopino da reggio’s brera triptych 149 graph of the triptych once belonged to the same album, but what is missing today is the sequence of the photographs, which originally was arranged in some kind of topographical order. Despite the fact that the photograph of the triptych is the only one which does not have a caption indicating its subject, there is very little doubt that it was taken in Correggio and that the triptych was considered an object well worth including in a compilation of ‘treasures’ of the town. Its presence in the late 1870s in Correggio, as documented by Bassi’s photograph, makes therefore less plausible any possible provenance from Piacenza. As a matter of fact, a considerable number of photographs in Gildaldo Bassi’s album were dedicated to the church of San Francesco, and it can be suggested that the one portraying the triptych was part of this grouping. While it cannot be completely excluded that the triptych was in a private collection in the town, this seems to me much less plausible. The triptych’s function and iconography still need to be considered before making further suggestions concerning the possible provenance and patronage. Its rather small scale (now 67 × 93 cm) has encouraged scholars to assume that it was designed as a portable object for private devotion. The lower part of the panels is considerably damaged, yet a pedestal may have been an integral part of the original carpentry making the work taller and more stupendous than it is today. Though slightly smaller in height, the triptych could be compared with that by Serafino de’ Serafini now in the Cathedral of Piacenza (120 × 92 cm) which seems to have been designed to be displayed on an altar in a church.15 It is therefore better to employ here the expression ‘personal’ use, in the sense employed by Schmidt, rather than ‘private’.16 When compared, moreover, to Florentine triptychs usually regarded as for personal devotion, the Brera one is not just considerably bigger but also significantly different in iconography.17 Most of these Florentine triptychs show in the central panel the Virgin and Child, accompanied by saints or saints and angels.18 On

15 see A. De Marchi, La Passione secondo Serafino, Piacenza, 1999, 11. 16 I prefer to use here ‘personal’ in the sense employed by Schmidt, Painted Piety, chapter 3, rather than the more often used ‘private’. 17 on Florentine triptychs see D.G. Wilkins, ‘Opening the Doors to Devotion: Trecento Triptychs and Suggestions concerning Images and Domestic Practice in Florence’, in V.M. Schmidt, ed., Italian Panel Painting of the Duecento and Trecento, New Haven and London 2002, 371–93. See also Schmidt, Painted Piety, especially Chapter 3. 18 Wilkins, Opening the Doors, 372. 150 roberto cobianchi the other hand, the choice of the Crucifixion as the main narrative suggest that the Brera triptych could have functioned, if not exclusively, as a small altarpiece in front of which to celebrate the Eucharist.19 In this respect it can be compared to the triptych by the Master of 1333 in the Louvre, but originally in the church of Santi Vitale e Agricola, Bologna, even though the latter is considerably bigger (140 × 115 cm).20 As a result it cannot be excluded that Bartolomeo and Jacopino’s triptych may also have been originally set on an altar either in a domestic chapel or in a side chapel of a church.21 The emphasis on the Passion of Christ, expressed by the choice of the Crucifixion as the central narrative, seems to indicate a possible connection with Franciscan customs.22 This argument is augmented by the presence of Sts Francis of Assisi and Louis of Toulouse in the lower register below the Crucifixion itself. The link with the Franciscan Order is reinforced if the female saint in the next arch may be identified as Clare of Assisi, as previously only noted by Fabio Bisogni.23 She carries a closed book and a spray of lily, indicating her virginity, and a small portion of the knotted cord of the Franciscans appears under the scapular she wears, at the very bottom.24 Moreover the colour of the habit is the same of that of the two other Franciscan saints, reinforcing the identification with Clare. Furthermore, the only two narratives in the triptych, the Crucifixion and the Annunciation of the Virgin, form an abbreviated cycle upon the history of human salvation.

19 Ibid., 388, note 19, suggests that ‘triptychs that feature the Crucifixion in the central panel may have had a liturgical as well as a devotional purpose’. 20 on the Louvre triptych see M. Laclotte’s entry in Retables italiens du XIIIe au XVe siècle, eds C. Ressort, S. Béguin and M. Laclotte, Paris, 1978, 15–7. 21 on domestic chapels and oratories see Schmidt, Painted Piety, 90–4. 22 see A. Derbes, Picturing the passion in late medieval Italy: narrative painting, Franciscan ideologies, and the Levant, Cambridge 1996. 23 F. Bisogni, ‘Per un census delle rappresentazioni di santa Chiara nella pittura in Emilia,Romagna e Veneto sino alla fine del Quattrocento’, inMovimento religioso femminile e Francescanesimo nel secolo XIII, Atti del VII Convegno della Società Internazionale di Studi Francescani, Assisi, 11–3 ottobre 1979, Assisi, 1980, 133–65, in particula 148–9. Bisogni’s identification has been completely ignored in more recent scholarship: Giacobino, in Pinacoteca di Brera, 52, suggests ‘una santa monaca (Monica?)’; Lottici Tessadri, in Gotico a Piacenza, 167–8, proposes ‘Sant’Agostino e la madre Monica (oppure San Benedetto e Santa Scolastica)’. 24 An identical ending of the Franciscan rope appears in the figure of St Louis of Toulouse in a panel also attributed to Barolomeo and Jacopino da Reggio, and now in a private collection, reproduced in Gotico a Piacenza, 93. bartolomeo and jacopino da reggio’s brera triptych 151

The gathering of such a large number of saints, which includes along with eight apostles two popes and six bishops, is also a rather unusual feature of this triptych. It is now impossible to establish whether there was any correspondence between the relics encased in the triptych and the saints represented in it, yet it is likely that at least a relic of the true cross was housed in the cell right above the Crucifixion; some of the saints, however, could have been chosen for different reasons. Not all the saints, unfortunately, can be identified. With the exception of St Louis of Toulouse, for instance, only one other bishop can be precisely identify as St Blaise, in that he carries, together with a branch of palm tree symbol of his martyrdom, a wool carding comb.25 Moving from left to right, on the upper register, are paired a young warrior martyr, with a sword and a branch of palm tree, and St John the Baptist; a young apostle with a book, plausibly St John the Evan gelist, as suggested by Giacobino and subsequently Lottici Tessadri, and St James the apostle with a book and two shells on his mantle; St Paul with a sword and St Peter. Next to the central scene of the Crucifixion, there are Sts Andrew with a red cross and Bartholomew with a knife and a book; an apostle, Philip for Giacobino and Lottici Tessadri, and Mark; a canonised pope and bishop with no attributes. In the lower level, also from left to right, the row of saints begins with two unidentified bishops, one probably blessing and the second carrying three books, Ambrose (?) for Giacobino; St Margaret of Antioch with a dragon at her feet, and an unidentified female martyr carrying a branch of palm tree; an unidentified holy pope and St Blaise; Sts Francis of Assisi and Louis of Toulouse; St Benedict, convincingly identified first by Bisogni, with the mitre and the abbot’s crosier, and St Clare of Assisi; a youthful saint with tonsure and displaying an open book – the figure is however not a deacon, as stated by Giacobino and Lottici Tessadri, because he does not wear a dalmatic but an azure monastic habit with a sort of red collar – and a young martyr; Sts Mary Magdalene carrying a vase and Catherine of Alexandria; a holy bishop and an unidentified young tonsured saint, but again not a deacon as proposed by Giacobino and Lottici Tessadri, because he is wrapped in an azure cloak lined with fur around the collar. The pinnacle of the right wing of the triptych shows Sts Stephen and Lawrence.

25 Correctly identified by Giacobino, in Pinacoteca di Brera, 52. 152 roberto cobianchi

The rather strong Franciscan iconography and the documented presence of the painting in Correggio in the late 19th century would encourage looking at the local Franciscan church as a plausible place of provenance for the painting. The extant church of San Francesco, however, is the result of an almost complete rebuilding undergone in the 15th century of a much smaller church, the date of foundation of which is unknown, but there is evidence to suggest that it was originally there in the 14th century. In his will of 24 July 1321, Giberto da Correggio († 1321) made a bequest for the foundation of a Franciscan house in his territory of Castelnuovo.26 On 25 January 1322, the Minister General of the Franciscan Order gave permission to his friars to accept a locus near Castrum novum, in the diocese of Parma, which Giberto’s sons Azzo, Simone and Guido wanted to build.27 According to Francesco Sansovino in 1322, Giberto’s son, Azzo (c. 1303–62/4), in Avignon was granted permission from Pope John XII (1316–44) to build in Correggio, instead of Castelnuovo, the convent that his father wanted built for the Franciscans.28 As a matter of fact no Franciscan house was ever established in Castelnuovo, and it is likely that it was actually founded in Correggio during the pontificate of John XXII, under the patronage of the da Correggio family and expecially of Azzo. For its material qualities and style the triptych was certainly commissioned by an extremely wealthy patron, and the iconography suggests that such patron had a strong link with the Franciscan Order. For its configuration and iconography too the triptych could have functioned as an altarpiece, rather than an object exclusively kept in a private oratory. Though hypothetically, the presence of the triptych in Correggio would therefore encourage linking its commission to the da Correggio family and the local Franciscan foundation. For the dating of the altarpiece in the 1350s, Azzo could also be regarded as a possible patron of the triptych.29 When very young Azzo had undertaken

26 see Regesto, in Severi, La chiesa, 27. On Giberto da Correggio see, G. Montec- chi, ad vocem ‘Correggio, Giberto da, in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, Rome 1983, vol 29, 439–44. 27 Bullarium Franciscanum, V, Rome 1899, 458, 219. 28 F. Sansovino, Della origine, et de’ fatti delle famiglie illustri d’Italia, Venice, 1582, 272, referred to by G. Tiraboschi in Dizionario topografico-storico degli Stati estensi, Modena, 1824, I, 180 and 227. See also Regesto, in Severi, La chiesa, 29. 29 see G. Montecchi, ad vocem ‘Correggio, Azzo da’, in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, 29, Rome 1983, 425–30. bartolomeo and jacopino da reggio’s brera triptych 153 an ecclesiastical career, becoming ‘preposito’ of Borgo San Donnino (Fidenza) in 1318; however, he left the church and marriedT ommasina Gonzaga in 1340, and subequently had two sons Giberto and Luigi. Azzo died in Milan and was buried there, but he seems to have been the actual founder, following his father’s will, of the first Franciscan church at Correggio. Consequent to this hypothesis, despite the absence of more specific attributes, the young warrior represented in the triptych could be tentativelly identified as St Donnino.30 There remains the possibility that the triptych was not originally intended for the church of San Francesco in Correggio, and only later donated to it by a member of the da Correggio family. In 1467, for instance, Bianca Rangone, wife of Antonio da Correggio bestowed several precious object both to the church of San Quirino and to that of San Francesco in Correggio.31 Antonio da Correggio had been responsible for the rebuilding of the church of San Francesco in Correggio, and both he and his wife were buried in that church. Despite the lack of earlier documents, Bassi’s photograph records the early condition of the painting and provides valuable information on a crucial step of its provenance. The possibility, therefore, that a member of the da Correggio family, and perhaps Azzo himself, was responsible for the commission of the triptych opens also new perspectives on Bartolomeo and Jacopino da Reggio’s circle of patrons.

30 st Donnino is always represented as a young warrior; when not carrying his severed head, he often shows as attribute a dog, a chalice and a sword. Yet he is occasionally represented only with the sword, such as in a 15th-century fresco in the crypt of S. Michele al Pozzo Bianco, Bergamo (reproduced in San Donnino: imma gini di una presenza nella storia, nel culto, nellʼarte, eds S. Costa, M. Galli and G. Ponzi, Fidenza, 1983, fig. 87). 31 see V. Pratissoli, ‘Il cofanetto di Bianca Rangone: le vicende storice’, in Il cofa netto eburneo quattrocentesco del tesoro di San Quirino, ed. G. Fabbrici, Correggio, 1995, 8–16. 154 anne dunlop

chapter ten

The Look of Love

Anne Dunlop

In the castle of Sabbionara d’Avio north of Verona, there is a painted Chamber of Love.1 The castle was once a stronghold of the Castelbarco family, a great feudal dynasty with ties to the courts and humanists of both Trento and Verona, and sometime around the mid-Trecento, one of its members had frescoes done at the top of the medieval tower.2 What remains is the last of a teasing illusion (Fig. 10.1). Coming into this room, one enters a fictive pavilion hung with jewelled curtains of fur. The hangings part at intervals to reveal lovers attacked by Cupid, riding on a pale horse (Fig. 10.2). A young man sinks to his knees on a rocky outcrop as he is hit (Fig. 10.3). The lady beyond him remains oblivious; a couple in the same colours are embracing farther on, though we are denied what has happened before this kiss (Fig. 10.4). The painter is unknown, but closely associated with the Master of Santa Felicità, active in the church of that name at Verona at the mid-century.3

1 The fundamental study is Castellum Ava. Il castello di Avio e la sua decorazione pittorica, ed. E. Castelnuovo, Trent, 1987. See also G. degli Avancini, ‘Il Trentino e la pittura profana nel Trecento’, in Le vie del Gotico. Il Trentino fra Trecento e Quat trocento, eds L. Dal Prà et al., Trent, 2002, 128–63, and 534–71 for the catalogue entries by her. The same study is also printed in Il Gotico nelle Alpi 1350–1450, eds E. Castelnuovo and F. De Gramatica, Trent, 2002, 288–321. The castle may be first recorded as ‘Ava’ in the Chronicon benedictorum in 1053, but Avio is invariably ‘Avi’ in other references to it. 2 The Castelbarco family is first documented in 1172, when a peace pact was drawn up for one Aldrighetto Castelbarco after he helped to murder his overlord, the prince-bishop of Trent. The castle at Avio passed to the Castelbarco in 1198, when Briano Castelbarco was formally invested with it as vassal of the prince-bishop. See Una dinastia allo specchio: Il mecenatismo dei Castelbarco nel territorio di Avio e nella città di Verona, Avio and Rovereto, 2005. 3 For this painter, see E. Cozzi, ‘Verona’, in La pittura nel Veneto: Il Trecento, ed. M. Lucco, Milan, 1992, 2 vols, 2, 303–79, especially 333–4, 344–50 and 539. Most authors argue simply for a stylistic relation, particularly as the corpus of the master is hazy, but I feel that the relation is extremely close. the look of love 155

Figure 10.1. Attributed to Master of Santa Felicità, Camera d’amore, c. 1340, Castle of Sabbionara d’Avio (Archivio Restauri, Soprintendenza per i Beni Storico-artistici, Provincia Autonoma di Trento/Studio Fotografico Gianni Zotta).

Figure 10.2. Camera d’amore: Love (Archivio Restauri, Soprintendenza per i Beni Storico-artistici, Provincia Autonoma di Trento/Foto Studio Lambda). 156 anne dunlop

Figure 10.3. Camera d’amore: Youth Hit by a Lance of Love (Archivio Restauri, Soprintendenza per i Beni Storico-artistici, Provincia Autonoma di Trento/Foto Studio Lambda). The God of Love at Sabbionara has an interesting place in the history of art. He is the pivotal figure in one of the five chapters ofE rwin Panofsky’s Studies in Iconology, which codified Panofsky’s tripartite model of meaning in the visual arts: natural subject matter, conventional subject matter, and intrinsic meaning or content.4 Why, asked Panofsky, did medieval and early-modern Europe consistently represent Love as blindfolded? Classical texts spoke metaphorically of blind love or lust, but antique images never showed Love in this way. Yet when Duecento and Trecento artists and writers adopted classical imagery – the nude boy with wings, bow, and arrows still familiar to

4 e Panofsky, ‘Blind Cupid’, in Studies in Iconology: Humanistic Themes in the Art of the Renaissance, New York, 1972, first published Oxford, 1939, 95–127. the look of love 157

Figure 10.4. Camera d’amore: Kissing Lovers (Archivio Restauri, Soprintendenza per i Beni Storico-artistici, Provincia Autonoma di Trento/Foto Studio Lambda). us – Love’s eyes were covered, a blindness aligning Eros with evils from death to the devil. For Panofsky, the missing link was a medieval hybrid, a ‘little monster’. The frenzied and taloned Amor ofS abbionara was a clear indication of this lost prototype, a personification of debased carnal love rather than the more noble courtly desire. Only under a humanist pressure conflating Blind Cupid with antique putti, and a Neoplatonic drive to reclaim all love as a higher human faculty, did this representation shift, with pagan nudity once more aligned with divine truth and all blindfolds off. In its ambivalent role, the Eros of Sabbionara seems to encapsulate the larger thesis of Panofsky’s later and more famous Renaissance and Renascences, which placed 158 anne dunlop

Trecento art at the dawn of the new age, the pagan past emerging from misshapen medieval blindness.5 Yet the longer one looks at this room, the more troubling it becomes. Love is a figure from a nightmare, taloned on a frenzied horse. The shock of the figure is heightened by the bright and clear palette of the painter, and because the figure has so clearly been van- dalized: someone at some time has tried to destroy it. Further, the lovers materialize from behind the hangings which notionally ring the walls, which suggests that Love has erupted from outside into our space; yet as the rider kisses his lover good-bye, his horse seems to be directed into, not out of, the room, as if they have been inside a pavilion for private games (Fig. 10.4). Somehow, then, we are inside and outside this lavish curtained space. The vaults, almost entirely gone, come back to a relative flatness with what seem to have been enthroned personifications, notionally supported on a console. But the games of real and fictive space seem calculated and acutely self-conscious: the painted space only effaces itself entirely where the real space beyond the room intrudes: in the window wells are monsters and fantastic animals against flat or flattened grounds. Like Love himself, they are surprisingly brutal: a grisaille dragon has blood-red claws, and the human lovers have been intercut with a bloody hunt under one window, placed against a panel of fictive stone (Fig. 10.5). It is a dark inversion of an ancient metaphor, the hunt of love.6 Like Panofsky, I want to suggest that something can be seen to be shifting at Sabbionara, and that love lies at the heart of it. There have been important studies of the linking of art and eros in the pre-modern period, and what follows here grows out of this work, though it proceeds in a different direction.7 I want to step away from iconography, and to suggest the Room of Love at Sabbionara points to a early model for the reception of wall paintings that has not been sufficiently recognized. Like the medieval idea of love, this model of viewing hinged on the troubling of cognition by pleasure, and it built on the permeability of the body to painted space. In the early Renaissance, however, both love and painting were becoming sources of anxiety for

5 e Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences in Western Art, New York, 1972. 6 M. Thiébaux, The Stag of Love: The Chase in Medieval Literature, Ithaca and London, 1974, 89–143. 7 For a good overview, see M. Camille, The Medieval Art of Love: Objects and Subjects of Desire, New York, 1998; G. Agamben, Stanzas: Word and Phantasm in Western Culture, trans. R.L. Martinez, Minneapolis and London, 1993. the look of love 159

Figure 10.5. Camera d’amore: Boar Hunting Scene (Archivio Restauri, Soprintendenza per i Beni Storico-artistici, Provincia Autonoma di Trento/Foto Studio Lambda). the elites who dwelt in rooms like Sabbionara’s Chamber of Love, a room which seems to make these conflicts visible. To make this argument, I will briefly review the intertwined theories of love, vision, and perception in the period. I will then move to how both art and love were slowly being recast in these years, and I will conclude by returning to Sabbionara and the stresses that have marked it. In the courts of early-Renaissance Italy, love was lived as theatre for others, and it pivoted on looking at every point. This was a world ruled at least in theory by the stereotypes of courtly love: a young man would choose a lady, offering himself as her slave and servant, and she would set him a series of tasks, yielding body and soul when he suc- 160 anne dunlop ceeded and thereby proved his worth.8 The basic model was spread in a hundred romance tales that might be sung or read in spaces like the tower room at Sabbionara, and Italian walls were painted with stories of Tristan and Isolde and the knights of the Round Table. Love of the lady might be a foretaste of the divine: Dante’s beloved Beatrice became his guide in paradise, Petrarch claimed Simone Martini had to go see Laura in Paradise to make an image of her, and even Ovid’s erotic stories were cast as moralizing allegories. Tales of love were per- vasive in Trecento Europe, and some of the earliest painted palace rooms to come down to us are covered in love stories. The term ‘courtly love’ is a modern one, and there has been considerable debate about whether such love existed and what form it might have taken. For medieval Europeans, however, it was clear that love was a condition predicated on sight. According to the De amore of Andreas Cappellanus, written in the 1180s, ‘Love is a certain inborn suffering derived from the sight of and excessive meditation upon the beauty of the opposite sex, which causes each one to wish above all things the embraces of the other and by common desire to carry out all of love’s precepts in the other’s embrace’.9 Only the blind from birth were therefore entirely immune. So it is not surprising that early- Renaissance courts were an emerging scopophilic paradise, with lovers’ bodies on display as never before. The Trecento saw the modern birth of dress as erotic maker and marker of the body: the introduction of bias-cutting allowed clothing to cling and drape more closely; women’s necklines dipped onto their shoulders and breasts, padding accentuated men’s shoulders and chests, and men’s hems rose to expose their thighs and buttocks to the scandal of conservative contemporaries.10 Jousts and dances proliferated at weddings and other celebrations; women danced, and young men were encouraged to

8 Camille, Medieval Art of Love; E. Kosofsky Sedgwick, ‘Gender Asymmetry and Erotic Triangles’, in Between Men: English Literature and Male Homosocial Desire, New York, 1885, 1–27 and notes; S. Žižek, ‘Courtly Love, or, Woman as Thing’, in The Metastases of Enjoyment: Six Essays on Woman and Causality, London and New York, 1994, 89–112. 9 Andreas Cappellanus, The Art of Courtly Love, ed. and trans. J.J. Parry, New York, 1960, 28. See also T. Moi, ‘Desire in Language: Andreas Cappellanus and the Controversy of Courtly Love’, in Medieval Literature: Criticism, Ideology, and His tory, ed. D. Aers, New York, 1986, 11–31. 10 see O. Blanc, ‘From Battlefield to court: the invention of fashion in the fourteenth century’, in Encountering Medieval Textiles and Dress: Objects, Texts, Images, eds D.G. Koslin and J.E. Snyder, London, 2002, 157–72; and for law-making D. Owen Hughes, ‘Sumptuary Law and Social Relations in Renaissance Italy’, in Dis the look of love 161 mime the martial skills that defined the noble elites for the pleasure of women and older men.11 It seems suggestive that three centuries before absolutist Versailles, the Visconti palace at Pavia had a hall done in coloured mirrored glass.12 Already one existed at least partly as spectacle for others. It is well established that what underpinned the model of love was a particular model of seeing.13 There was an explosion of interest in vision in the later Duecento, based in a re-engagement with classical authors, and it is no coincidence that eyeglasses are an invention of the late thirteenth century: in the treatises of Roger Bacon and others, vision involved optical rays, assimilated to rays of light, traveling between the objects of the world and the human eye. Vision therefore relied upon the body’s permeability to the world, but it was debated whether these rays originated in the eye to reach outward, or whether the eye took in rays from exterior objects. In either case, however, it was believed that the information gathered then imprinted itself on the memory of the viewer as a seal impressed itself in wax – a metaphor ultimately descended from Aristotle. Thinking was a process of sifting through and recombining these elements stored in the memory.14 Arguably, this exchange between the mind and the world through the eye is also found in discussions of painting, at least rhetorically. The most obvious case is Lombardo della Seta’s 1379 praise of the lost painted room of the ‘Illustrious Men’ at Padua – the figures taken putes and Settlements: Law and Human Relations in the West, ed. J. Bossy, Cam- bridge, 1983, 69–99. 11 M. Padovan, ‘Da Dante a Leonardo: la danza italiana attraverso le fonti storiche’, La danza italiana 3 (1985), 5–37; R. Barber and J. Barker, Tournaments, Woodbridge, 1989, 2000, 76–93. 12 R. Maiocchi, Codice diplomatico artistico di Pavia dall’anno 1330 all’anno 1550, 2 vols, Pavia, 1937, 1949, 1, 162–5, documents 745–7. 13 There is an important bibligraphy on this topic. The fundamental study is D. Lindberg, Theories of Vision from Al-Kindi to Kepler, Chicago and London, 1976, especially 31–146. See also S. Conklin Akbari, Seeing through the Veil: Optical Theory and Medieval Allegory, Toronto, 2004, 3–44; D.G. Dennery II, Seeing and Being Seen in the Later Medieval World: Optics, Theology, and Religious Life, Cambridge, 2005; P. Hills, The Light of Early Italian Painting, New Haven and London, 1987, 3–28; K.H. Tachau, Vision and Certitude in the Age of Ockham: Optics, Epistemology and the Foundations of Semantics, 1250–1345, Leiden, 1988; and the essays in Visuality before and beyond the Renaissance: seeing as others saw, ed. R.S. Nelson, Cambridge and New York, 2000. 14 M. Carruthers, The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture, Cambridge, 1990, 46–79. 162 anne dunlop from Petrarch’s De viris illustribus. Lombardo cast the figures both as external examples and as an extensions of their Carrara patron, telling him that: he had ‘extended hospitality to these illustrious men, not only in your heart and mind, but also very magnificently in the most beautiful part of your palace’. The painted figures are therefore guests at the Carrara court; and yet Lombardo continues: ‘To the inward conception of your keen mind you have given outward expression in the form of most excellent pictures, so that you may always keep in sight these men whom you are eager to love for the greatness of their deeds’.15 A similar slippage is apparent in the Domus pudicitiae, a 1389 poem by another Petrarchan protégé, Antonio Loschi (1368–1441), written for the Paduan humanist Maddalena Scrovegni (1356–1429). It describes a Shrine of Chastity adorned with painted exemplars of continence. Loschi also composed a letter explaining his conceits, and in it he notes this space is a figure of Scrovegni’s own study in her father’s home, with Scrovegni the scholar as Chastity within it.16 But the same shrine is also the ‘deeply hidden human memory’, in which, says Loschi, we collect our deeds and the deeds of others; and the painted images are not only ornaments of the poem, but emanations of Scrovegni’s own mind and thought, deposited there because we are drawn, according to Loschi, to examples and stories of those things that suit us best.17

15 The basic source is T.E. Mommsen, ‘Petrarch and the Decoration of the Sala virorum illustrium in Padua’, Art Bulletin 34 (1952), 95–116, here at 96, citing BN cod. Lat 6069 F, folio 144r: ‘Hos non modo mente et animo ut virtutum amantissi- mus hospes digne suscepisti, sed et aule tue pulcerrima parte magnifice collocasti et more maiorum hospitaliter honoratos auro et purpura cultos ymaginibus et titulis admirandos ornatissime tua prestitit magni animi gloriosa conceptio, que cum simi- les sui ut supra dictum est reddat effectus, nec tui nec innate virtutis oblitus in forma excellentissime picture extrinsecus expressisti, quod intus ad arduo erat conceptum ingenio, ut assidue in conspectu haberes, quos diligere ob magnitudinem rerum stu- dueras’. 16 M.L. King, ‘Goddess and Captive: Antonio Loschi’s Poetic Tribute to Mad- dalena Scrovegni (1389), Study and Text’, Medievalia et Humanistica, new series, 10 (1981), 103–27. Loschi was inspired by Boccaccio’s Teseida, in which the Temple of Venus has images of famous lovers on walls. 17 King, ‘Goddess and Captive’, 121, lines 99ff: At quid super cella ista notabimus quam variis scribimus esse ymaginibus insignitam? – horum scilicet non tamen omnium sed quorundam qui pudiciciam omni mentis studio ad extremem usque vel ipsa morte servaverunt, vel violatam propriis manibus ulti sunt. Sed omissis vel fa bulis vel historiis que apud autores suos satis aperte patent, ad id quod allegorice hic senciam veniamus. Est enim cella ista quasi intus cellata humana memoria, in qua et aliorum et per nos gesta colligimus, unde / fit, ut quia non omnes unum cupimus sed diversa, pro diversitate affectuum diversis cuique exemplis sua memoria plena sit. the look of love 163

Yet not everyone was happy with the reciprocity between exterior image and the seeing subject. Among those raising an alarm was perhaps the most influential proto-humanist poet, Petrarch. In the Secretum, Petrarch called on no lesser authorities than Augustine, the apostle Paul, and Cicero to underpin his view that the self could be undermined by disordered stocking of the mind by images: innumerable shapes and images of visible things, which entered through the bodily senses one at a time, come together and crowd into the innermost parts of the soul. And the soul, not made for this and not able to take in so many different images, gets weighed down and confused. And so that plague of apparitions rips and mangles your thinking, and with its fatal multiplicity obstructs the way to illuminating meditation, through which we are raised up to the one and only highest light.18 And so it seems suggestive that in intellectual circles in these years, love was becoming a pathology. From the mid-thirteenth century, the disease ‘amor heroicus’ emerged in medical literature. It was particularly an illness of aristocratic men, and fatal if left untreated.19 For Arnald of Villanova (c. 1276–88) or Gerard of Berry (pre-1237), love was defined precisely as the troubling of the highest faculty ofthe brain, the virtus estimativa: as the image of the woman came into the mind through the eyes, the expectation of pleasure in coitus caused a superheating of the heart, and this in turn dried out the chambers of the brain, impairing judgment, the highest human faculty, and ensur-

Itaque qui in bellicis rebus vel cesorum hostium titulis delectantur, Cesaris sepenu- mero vel Hannibalis, ceterorumque qui se multis militari gloria pretulerant facta commemorant. Si quos eciam eloquencie vel poesis studium tenet, his Homero, Cycerone, Virgilio plena sunt capita. Et quem irritat avaricia, summam Cremetis miseriam sepe a se laudatam appellat industriam; cui vero in imis ossibus amor sedit, nullum putes iocum aut luxuriosam commessacionem Pamphili oblitum esse (ut a Comico duo saltem nomina, avari senis et perditi adolescentis accipiam.) Que omnia in hanc rem argumenta produxi ut quod ante dixeram comprobarem: hiis videlicet rebus quibus se ingenium applicat refertam esse memoriam. Quod cum ita sit, oportere non dubito cui pudicicia cara est, talium plenam fore exemplorum memoriam qualia per istas ymagines demonstrantur, que ideo sic proprie figurantur ut ornacius sit poema’. 18 Francesco Petrarch, The Secret, ed. C.E. Quillen, Boston and New York, 2003, 68. 19 For this and what follows: M.F. Wack, Lovesickness in the Middle Ages: The Viaticum and Its Commentaries, Philadelphia, 1990; Eros and Anteros: The Medical Traditions of Love in the Renaissance, eds D.A. Beecher and M. Ciavolella, Ottawa, 1992; Arnaldi de Villanova Opera medica omnia III: Tractatus de amore heroico; Epistola de dosi tyraicalium medicinarum, ed. M.R. McVaugh, Barcelona, 1985. 164 anne dunlop ing that the image was clearly retained in the overheated imagination where it further tormented the sufferer. With this shifting aetiology, it also becomes less surprising that the great love poets of the early- Renaissance move so easily from their delight in the beloved into the morbid and grotesque. Dante’s Vita nuova begins with a dream he had on the day Beatrice first greeted him. Love entered his room in a burning light, with Beatrice, naked but for a blood-red drape, sleeping in his arms. Love wakes her, and forces her to eat Dante’s flaming heart. Love weeps, they disappear, and Dante wakes. Dante sent the poem he then composed, ‘A ciascun’ alma presa e gentile core’, to friends for responses; one, Dante da Maiano, wrote that if the poet were otherwise in good health, he should bathe his scrotum (‘che lavi la tua coglia largamenta’), to cure his deranged imagination.20 Petrarch, far more dire, warned in the Canzoniere and elsewhere that love dis- torted vision and understanding. He tells in a letter to a friend of Charlemagne bewitched into necrophilia and nearly destroyed by lovesickness; as he wrote in a sonnet to another friend, love tricks the mind and distorts the healthy eye.21 What I am suggesting, then, is that in Trecento commentators we see a model of painted image based on the permeability of subject and object in sight, and painters seem to have played with the same model in the quest to create visual pleasure. The slippage of interior and exterior in vision could be thematized insistently by painted rooms like Sabbionara, where an entire environment was created in which the viewer had the troubling sense of being both inside and outside the space, of the eye tricked in a room given over to love, just as love itself might trick the eye. The monsters in the window wells were reminders that both love and painting created grotesque illusions. The vicious

20 Dante Aligheri, Vita nuova, ed. L.C. Rossi, Milan, 1999, 5–31; and for the response, ‘Di ciò che stato sei dimandatore’, see C. Kleinhenz, ‘Texts, Naked and Thinly Veiled: Erotic elements in medieval Italian literature’, in J.E. Salisbury, Sex in the Middle Ages: A Book of Essays, New York and London, 1991, 83–109, here at 105 n. 2. 21 For Charlemagne, Petrarch, Rerum familiarum libri VIII, trans. A.S. Bernardo, Albany, 1975, 25–8, letter I, 4, to Cardinal Giovanni Colonna, Aix, 21 June. For the sonnet, ‘Il male mi preme, e me spaventa il peggio’, see Francesco Petrarca, Canzo niere, ed. P. Cudini, Milan, 1983, CCXLIV, 318: ‘Ben ch’i’ non sia di quel grand’onor degno / che mi fai, ché te n’inganna Amore / che spesso occhio ben san fa veder torto’. Significantly, the poem was written as a response to Giovanni Dondi dall’Orologio’s ‘Io non so ben s’io vedo quel ch’io veggio’, itself about uncertain vision. the look of love 165 hunt of both Love and the human hunter, suggested the outcome would be an unhappy one. Yet if love at least became a disease caught by sight, it may be that models of painting too had to change. It is well known that when, in 1435, Alberti was casting about for the inventor of painting, he turned to the story of Narcissus, the young man condemned to pine away for love of his own image. Painting, said Alberti, is the flower of all arts, and the act of embracing by means of art the surface of the pool.22 The same De Pictura introduced the veil as an aid to the painter: a gridded screen of any colour between subject and object, quantifying their separation and allowing the observed illusion to be stopped and fixed by the hand. In this, modern painting theory begins with a kind of protective disembodying. In place of the embracing illusion of Love at Sabbionara, a gridded safety net has been thrown across Narcissus’s pool, catching the arrows of love before they strike the eyes.

22 L. B. Alberti, On Painting and On Sculpture: the Latin texts of De Pictura and De statuis, ed. and trans. C. Grayson, Oxford, 1972, 60–3, here at 62–3: ‘nam cum sit omnium artium flos pictura … Quid est enim aliud pingere quam arte superficiem illam fontis amplecti?’ 166 robert gibbs

chapter eleven

BOLOGNA AND THE POPES: SIMONE DEI CROCEFISSI’S PORTRAITS OF URBAN V

Robert Gibbs

One of the most striking of Simone da Bologna’s works is the large portrait of Urban V painted probably less than a decade after Urban’s death, and showing him already as the subject of a widespread if possibly localised cult (Fig. 11.1).1 This image epitomises one of the most important aspects of Bologna’s history, her many-faceted relationship to the Church of Rome and its head, not only as the fountain of the Church’s administrative expertise but from 1278 as a subject city state,2 the second city of the Papal Domain, and, from 1305 to 1377 its most important centre of art patronage and production. Between 1327 and 1332 John XXII clearly intended to make Bologna the very seat of the curia.3 The relationship between Bologna and the peripatetic ‘Rome’ was far from trouble-free – the rule of papal legates was vio- lently overthrown twice in the 14th century and only established on a

1 Bologna, Pinacoteca Nazionale, inv. 302: F. Lollini in Pinacoteca Nazionale di Bologna: Catalogo Generale: 1: Dal Duecento a Francesco Francia, eds J Bentini, G.P. Cammarota, D.S. Kalescian, Venice, 2004, no. 37, 138–9; R. D’ Amico, in La Pinacoteca Nazionale di Bologna, ed. A. Emiliani, Milan, 1997, cat. 43, 43. Simone signs himself ‘de bononia’ in certain works presumably for non-Bolognese patrons but has generally been nicknamed (‘dei Crocefissi’) since the Counter-Reformation. 2 For the events leading up to the renunciation of all imperial claims to the Romagna and Bologna by Rudolf of Hapsburg, made to Nicholas III in Rome on 4th May, 1278, and for the subsequent oaths of loyalty by the communes concerned, see A. Hessel, Geschichte der Stadt Bologna, Berlin, 1910; trans. as Storia della Città di Bologna,1116–1280, ed. G. Fasoli, Bologna, 1975, 263–75. The constitutional issues are discussed by G. Tamba, I documenti del governo del comune bolognese (1116– 1512), Bologna, 1978, 11. 3 see Giotto e le arti a Bologna al tempo di Bertrando dal Poggetto, ed. M. Medica, Milan 2005, passim; also G. Mollat, The Popes at Avignon 1305–1378, Paris, 1949, English edition, London 1963, 100, citing Giovanni Villani’s sceptical interpretations of John XXII’s intentions (Istorie fiorentine, Book X, chapters cxcix, cc, ccxi, and Petrarchʼs 23rd sonnet. bologna and the popes 167

Figure 11.1 simone dei Crocefissi, Urban V, tempera on panel (1.97 × 0.625 m), Bologna, Pinacoteca Nazionale (Robert Gibbs). 168 robert gibbs permanent footing after the fall of the Bentivoglio signoria in 1512.4 And as a leading centre of political consciousness in the Risorgimento, 19th-century Bologna saw its papal masters as the primary obstacle to its own share of Italian nationhood.5 But to the 14th-century city papal rule could offer urban tranquillity through the suppression of political factions, security against Ghibelline and Visconti domination, mod eration towards the non-Guelf parties in times of peace, and, of course, the promotion of the city’s university and its own political status. But there was a price to be paid too: loss of independence, papal taxation and involvement in the continuing wars waged against Louis of Bavaria, Bernabo Visconti and his heirs, the rebellious signori of the Romagna, and eventually even the major Guelf and neutral powers, Florence, Ferrara and Venice. These reversals of allegiance provoked the major Bolognese rebellion of 1334 and the establishment of the

4 After the major defeat of Bolognese and Guelph forces at Zappolino by the Modenese in 1325 the city sought the help of the Churchʼs general and papal legate, Cardinal Bertrand du Poujet, who was invited to become the signore of the city in February 1327. The severity of his rule, and particularly the financial exactions and military demands of the Church’s wars in the Romagna, led to a revolt in 1334, after which the fortress at the Porta Galliera built by him, and in which he had taken ref- uge, was torn down. See Tamba, I documenti, 15; G. Benevolo, ‘Bertrando del Poggetto e la sede papale a Bologna: un progetto fallitto’, in Medica, Giotto e le arti a Bologna, 21–35; G. Fasoli, ‘Bologna nell’ età medievale’ in Storia di Bologna, eds A. Ferri and G. Roversi, Bologna, 1978, 177, and for fuller studies of Poujet, L. Ciac- cio, ‘Il cardinale legato Bertrando del Poggetto in Bologna’, Atti e Memorie della R. Deputazione Storia Patria per Ie Provincie di Romagna ser. III, 23 (1905), 85–196, 456–537, and G. Orlandelli, La supplica a Taddeo Pepoli, Bologna, 1962, 41–72. In 1360 Cardinal Egidio Alborñoz, in a similar role to Poujet, recovered the city from its Visconti rulers, and sixteen years of rule by papal legates and governors ensued. In 1376 the legate Cardinal Guillaume de Noëllet was forced to abandon Bologna, and by the peace treaty of 4th July, 1377, the Papacy recognised the autonomy of the city and made the Bolognese canonist Giovanni da Legnano its vicar: see Tamba, I documenti, 17–9; Fasoli, ‘Bologna nell’ età medievale’, 180–1; O. Vancini, La rivolta dei bolognesi al governo del vicario della Chiesa (1376–1377), Bologna, 1906, and for the papal position and the conflicts over Papal control of the Romagna, Mollat, The Popes, 70–173. For 1512 see M. Fanti, ‘Bologna nell’ età moderna’ in Storia di Bolo gna, 204–11; C.M. Ady, The Bentivoglio of Bologna: A study in Despotism, London, 1937; trans. as I Bentivoglio, Varese, 1965. 5 on 1st May 1849 the Consiglio Comunale of Bologna, protesting against French support for the Papal Government of the Papal States described the latter in the following terms: ‘governo universalmente riprovato dall’ esperienza come osta- colo a nazionalità e ad incivilimento: il governo clericale’. The change of policy of Pius IX from liberal to autocratic reactionary reinforced such sentiments: see G. Cavazza, ‘Bologna dall’ età napoleonica al primo novecento’, in Storia di Bologna, particularly 358. bologna and the popes 169 signoria of the Pepoli, the most powerful family in the city.6 On the death of Taddeo Pepoli the Visconti forced his sons to surrender the city to them. In this story of shifting fortunes and changes of attitude Urban V occupies a remarkably positive position: as the Pope who first brought the curia back to Italy and as a generous patron of the visual arts (aspects represented by Simone), whose personal austerity contrasted with this lavish patronage (he wore his monastic habit continuously until his death7), as the patron of scholarship, secular as well as sacred, but also as the liberator of Bologna from the control of the Visconti’s lieutenant and successor, Giovanni da Oleggio.8 Urban is often portrayed as an ascetic monk whose election to the Papacy was the unexpected result of divine inspiration on the con- clave: Urban himself and Petrarch in complimenting him both described the election as such.9 But Guillaume de Grimoard (1310– 70) had exactly the right credentials for a candidate from outside the Sacred College. He belonged to the minor gentry of Languedoc, his father being lord of Grisac, but entered the Benedictine order at an early age, later joining the Cluniac affiliation. His family had no important connexions in the higher clergy, but Grimoard and his brother Anglic both acquired influence by their own abilities. Guil laume became an eminent civil and canon lawyer, holding successive chairs of canon law at Montpellier and Paris. He was vicar general to Bishop Pierre d’Aigrefeuille, who as a former Benedictine abbot passed through a remarkable series of dioceses between 1347 and 1357 (Tulle, Vabres, Clermont and Uzès), and subsequently procurator of

6 The league of Ferrara, September 1332, united the Estense of Ferrara, leaders of the Guelph party, the Scaligeri of Verona and the Visconti of Milan, their Ghibel- line counterparts, the Gonzaga of Mantua and the cities of Florence, Siena, Perugia, Orvieto and the King of Naples against John of Bohemia, whom they believed to be supported by John XXII; Bertrand du Poujet entered the conflict against Ferrara. Poujet and his commander Jean I d’Armagnac lost a force of Bolognese and Roma gnole cavalry at Ferrara, and d’Armagnac himself was captured. Bologna rose against Poujet on 17th August 1334 while his forces were decoyed by a pre-planned attack on the contada by the Ferrarese; in effect its leading citizens were joining the league (Villani, Istorie fiorentine, Book X, ch. ccxvii; Mollat, The Popes, 106–10). 7 M. Chaillan, Le bienheureux Urbain V, Paris, 1911, 33, citing his confessor. 8 As Abbot of Saint Germain, Auxerre, Urban was sent as papal legate to Cardi- nal Alborñoz to keep him informed of Innocent VI’s intentions after Giovanni da Oleggio’s surrender of the city to Alborñoz, and to deliver the papal rejection of the Visconti claims to Bernabo: Chaillan, Le bienheureux Urbain V, 17–9. 9 For Urban’s reaction, ‘A Domino factum est istud et est mirabilis in oculis nos tris’ and Petrarch’s, see Chaillan, Le bienheureux Urbain V, 23–4. 170 robert gibbs the Cluniac order at Avignon: presumably d’Aigrefeuille was seen as an outstanding trouble-shooter. His own offices won Grimoard a succession of monastic promotions: Prior of Notre-Dame du Pré at Auxerre, Abbot of Saint Germain d’ Auxerre (1352), Abbot of Saint Victor, Marseille (1362).10 Saint Germain was one of the major shrines of France, Saint Victor one of the earliest Benedictine monasteries and the head of several reformed houses throughout the south of France; it was also the abbey where Grimoard had entered the order. Grimoard’s life had been dominated by law and administration rather than the cloister, and from 1352 to 1362 he was also plunged into the heart of papal politics by a series of legations to Italy, journeys that undoubtedly influenced his later determination to return the Papacy to Rome. In 1352 Grimoard took charge of the formal recognition of Giovanni Visconti’s Vicariate of Bologna: the city was formally surrendered to him and then made over legally to Visconti, so that Grimoard could be said to have been Bologna’s lord for a few minutes. In 1354 he was sent to take care of the maintenance of St Peter’s in Rome. But in 1360 he had the toughest mission of the day, to support Cardinal Alborñoz in the recovery of the Papal states, including Bologna, and to deliver to Bernabo Visconti the pope’s rejection of all Bernabo’s claims to the city. It is claimed that Bernabo forced Grimoard to eat the papal letter, a reception which gave added vigour to his immediate prosecution and excommunication of Visconti after his election.11 It was from the last of his legations, to advise Queen Joanna of Naples after the death of her second husband, Louis of Taranto, that Grimoard was summoned to take the papal throne, assuming the title of Urban V. Grimoard himself is said to have vowed on visiting Montecassino during his 1362 legation to reform the abbey if ever he became pope and was soon able to realise what appears to

10 Prima Vita Urbani V, in S. Baluzius, Vitae Paparum Avenionensium, ed. G. Mollat, Paris, 1914, vol. I, 374f.; Chaillan, Le bienheureux Urbain; E. Müntz, ‘Le Pape Urbain V, essai sur l’histoire des Arts à Avignon’, Revue archéologique, 14 (1889), 403–12 ; 15 (1890), 378–402. 11 Baluzius, Vitae Paparum, vol. 2, 496, citing Trithemius, Chronico Hirsaugi- ensi, vol. 2, 257. In the most colourful version of the encounter, Bernabo met the ambassadors on a bridge over a river and asked them whether they preferred to eat or drink (D. Muir, A History of Milan, London, 1924, 70). One of his earliest under- takings as pope was to conclude a peace treaty with Bernabo Visconti in February 1364, despite this episode and Bernabo’s excommunication, that preserved intact the Bolognese territory though at the price of an indemnity of 500,000 florins and the replacement of Alborñoz who became the legate to Central Italy, Mollat, The Popes, 144. bologna and the popes 171

Figure 11.2. Montpellier, University college and chapel (now Montpellier Cathedral) (Robert Gibbs). have been a prophetic ambition. He abolished the recently established bishopric and installed the Camaldolese brother Andrea as abbot.12 Urban’s title had French associations and saintly ones too. Urban I was a 3rd-century Roman martyr, Urban II a beatified French noble, Odo de Chatillon. Even more apposite was Urban IV, the self-made son of a cobbler of Troyes, Jacques Pantaléon Ancher, Patriarch of Constantinople. Having lost his province in 1261, Urban IV failed also to enter a hostile Rome throughout his reign (1261–64). Grimoard appears to have been a man of great energy and determination: on his election he applied this energy first to the widespread improvement of educational facilities, particularly in Southern France and Provence, and secondly to the return of the Papacy to Rome.13 By 1364 he had established a studium for Provence; two colleges at the

12 Prima Vita Urbani V, 373; Chaillan, Le bienheureux Urbain, 138–9. 13 Mollat, The Popes, 56; Chaillan, Le bienheureux Urbain, 207, J.H. Albanès and U. Chevalier, Actes anciens et documents concernant le Bienheureux Urbain V, Paris, 1897, 414. Urban is said to have accepted that many of the students he endowed would take up secular professions and considered all education to be of value. For his support and employment of ‘Viros litteratos’ clearly proto-humanists rather than churchmen, see the Prima Vita, 378–9, Chaillan, Le bienheureux Urbain, 41. 172 robert gibbs

Figure 11.3. Montpellier, Interior of the nave of the university chapel/cathedral (Robert Gibbs).

University of Montpellier for arts and theological students and for medical students soon followed (Collèges de St Benoit et des Douze Médecins) (Figs 11.2 and 11.3). The former was a particularly lavish foundation created between 1364 and 1368: already splendidly decorated when Urban himself visited Montpellier to consecrate the chapel in 1366, its nave survives as part of the present cathedral. Montpellier through its frontier situation enjoyed an autonomy and oligarchic democracy similar to the North Italian communes. Urban reformed the University, which had been devastated by plague in 1361, besides providing grants for poor students to the Universities of Orange, Cahors, Orleans and Avignon. He founded a school of music at Toulouse and was instrumental in the establishment of the Universities of Cracow and Vienna. Urban’s general promotion of education, lay as well as ecclesiastical, did not leave Bologna untouched. The best of the poor students of the Provence college at Trets (later Manosque) were sent to Bologna,14

14 Chaillan, Le bienheureux Urbain, 41–4, and Idem, Studium du bienheureux Pape Urbain V à Trets, Paris, 1898; Idem, Studium du bienheureux Pape Urbain V à Manosque, Aix en Provence, 1904. bologna and the popes 173 and Urban provided for a further twenty poor students from the Papal states there. His former colleague in the campaign against the Visconti in 1360, Cardinal Alborñoz, whom he retained as legate in the Romagna, and then, after a painful peace-treaty with Bernabò, as leg ate to Naples and Central Italy, founded the Collegio di Spagna in Bologna with his encouragement.15 There were students and teachers alike in Bologna who had reason to be grateful to Urban for their social and intellectual advancement. Urban’s own artistic tastes were quite lavish: the interior of the Chapel of Saint Benoit at Montpellier had the walls of its chapel painted by Simonet de Columba and enriched by a series of 56 can- vases by the major Viterbo painter, Matteo di Giovanetto, showing the life of the patron saint still unfinished at the consecration, while equal attention was given to the stalls of its choir, the reliquaries of its altar by Giovanni Baroncelli and Marco Landi, its retable by Jacopo ‘called Rossetus’ da Vercelli, and the embroidered vestments by local and Florentine craftsmen.16 But his projects were generally restricted, concentrated within a small physical space like the dazzlingly bejew- elled reliquary heads of Sts Peter and Paul in the Lateran, or of colle- giate rather than cathedral scale and realised by extremely conservative Provençal architects – he expressed openly his disappointment with the surprisingly dull rebuilding of Saint Victor de Marseille that he had funded.17 We should not draw too simple a parallel between the austerity of life that he promoted and his personal aesthetics. Petrarch wrote to Urban as a friend and rejoiced in his election and his move to Rome; he expressed quite bitterly his disappointment at

15 see most recently A. Cros-Gutiérrez, The artistic patronage Of Gil De Albor- noz (1302–67), a cardinal in context, PhD., University of Warwick, 2008. 16 Müntz, ‘Le Pape Urbain V’, 388–9. 17 Urban undertook major repairs and rebuilding at his abbey of Saint Victor in Marseille, even before his election as Pope. These included the rebuilding of the sanctuary of the church and the fortification of the perimeter: there is a tradition (Chaillan, Le bienheureux Urbain, 102) that Urban was disappointed by the work on the church as opposed to the monastery and said: ‘You have made the house of His servants more splendid than the House of the Lord!’ This must be, if true, one of the most intelligible judgements of art to survive from the Middle Ages, for the apse of the church is extremely plain and conservative, its windows slits devoid of tracery, closer to the transitional style than to high gothic. The church was, however, endowed with splendid reliquaries. and jewels, and eventually his own tomb (Prima Vita Urbani V, 361; J. Gardner, The Tomb and the Tiara, Oxford, 1992, 151–2, fig. 203). For Saint Victor see St. Victor de Marseille, Musée du Vieux Marseille, Sep- tember, 1973 and the picture guide, St. Victor de Marseille, Lyon, 1968. 174 robert gibbs the return to Avignon that marked the end of both their lives. Urban was revered throughout the Italian peninsula for his attempt to re- establish the Curia in Rome between 1367 and 1370. Despite his fail- ure to secure sufficient stability in the region, it was a momentous period which saw the visit of two emperors to Rome. In October 1368 Urban crowned Elizabeth of Pomerania as Empress in the presence of her husband Charles IV; the following October the Emperor John Paleologue came to Rome for the reconciliation of the Greek with the Roman Church. And, despite Urban’s return to Avignon just before his death in 1370, his successor, Gregory XI, brought the Papacy back to Rome in 1377, and there it remained through the schisms and tem- porary exiles of the next hundred years. One symbolic event was to haunt Urban’s memory and iconography beyond these significant political achievements: the disclosure of the heads of the papal saints Peter and Paul, then housed in the relic sanctuary of the Sancta Sanctorum within the Lateran Palace, and their relocation in a grand ciborium which marked the beginning of the restoration of the ruinous cathedral of Rome next to it. The importance of Bologna for Urban’s plans and for the Papal Realm as a whole is indicated by the appointment of his brother, Cardinal Anglic Grimoard, as its governor, 1368–71.18 Anglic, named after their uncle who had been prior of Chirac where Urban entered the novitiate, was the prior of Saint Pierre at Dié when Urban promoted him to the see of Avignon in 1362; in 1366 he became a cardinal.19 Although Urban repaid his own benefactors with the promotion of Pierre d’Aigrefeuille to the see of Avignon and Guillaume d’Aigre feuille to the purple, he is generally considered to have refrained from the nepotism customary among the Avignon popes. His family’s only heir married a merchant’s daughter in Avignon with Urban’s full approval.20 It is likely that Anglic shared his brother’s ability; the Prima Vita Urbani V speaks of his outstanding prudence, and his rule of Bologna was a period of outstanding stability for the city. Since

18 Corpus Chronicorum Bononiensium, ed. A. Sorbelli in Rerum Italicarum Scrip tores, ed. L.A. Muratori, 2nd. edn, eds G. Carducci and V. Fiorini, Città di Castello and Bologna, 1900–present, vol. 18, pt. I, 219f.; Mollat, The Popes, 146; Chaillan, Le bienheureux Urbain, 194, 206. 19 C. Eubel, Hierarchia Catholica Medii Aevi, 2nd.edition, Regensberg, 1913, 123; Prima Vita Urbani V, 351–2, 359. 20 Prima Vita Urbani V, 381, gives this as an example of Urbanʼs restraint in promoting his family together with his refusal to promote relatives beyond their deserts; a previous paragraph discusses his hatred of simony. bologna and the popes 175

Figure 11.4. Unknown Abruzzese painter, Urban V, fresco, S. Maria Assunta at Assergi (Robert Gibbs).

Anglic was in residence when the news of Urban’s death was received in Bologna, the city commemorated him particularly lavishly: there was a week’s mourning with the shops closed and a procession in volving all the neighbouring heads of state. The city’s critical appreciation of Urban and Anglic is expressed very clearly in its Chronicles: ‘As long as his brother, Pope Urban, lived, the city never had such a good governor in maintaining peace and removing injustices as far as he could … so that one could say that he was a saint to us. But imme diately after the death of his brother the old enemy won him over … to hoard money, to give offensive answers to the citizens, to let justice break down, with robberies night and day and men murdered in vil- lages and in the city and the coming of mercenary troops that no-one wanted, so that everyone was fed up. And always corrupt officials …’21

21 Corpus Chronicorum Bononiensium, 262, 271–2. 176 robert gibbs

It is not difficult, then, to explain the veneration that Urban appears to have inspired in Bologna. The remote but admirable overlord of the city, who had helped personally in the liberation of the city from the Visconti, his reputation remained untouched by the general revolt against papal rule in 1376. His well known support for education and his personal austerity were qualities of direct appeal to the university city, and his contribution to the re-establishment of Rome as the Head of Christendom and his lavish expenditure on the re-housing of the heads of Sts Peter and Paul had an even wider appeal. There are three published documents referring to the commission ing of representations of Urban and two surviving pictures of him in Bologna; at least four paintings by Simone survive. While two of the documents may refer to the surviving works, none has a certain provenance, and it is quite likely that they are the few remains of a more substantial devotion to Urban not confined to Bologna. A handful of paintings in the rest of Italy show his wider following.22 He was also

22 For representations of Urban, officially beatified in 1870, see. O J sborne, ‘Lost Roman Images of Pope Urban V’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, 57 (1991), 20–32, and C. Bolgia, ‘Cassiano’s Popes rediscovered: Urban V in Rome’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, 65 (2002), 562–74. Bolgia notes Sacchetti’s disapproval of the spread of Urban’s cult in Central Italy. Published surviving paintings include: i) a damaged and rather primitive fresco in the apse of the church at Ninfa (Velletri); ii) a fresco in the crypt of San Francesco, Irsina (G. Kaftal, Iconography of the Saints in Central and South Italian Schools of Painting, Florence, 1965, cols. 1107–8); iii) a fresco in the crypt of San Domenico, Spoleto (ibid.); iv) a fresco of 1477 in the cathedral of Spo- leto (ibid.); v) a fresco probably identifiable as Urban V rather than Urban IV in San Flaviano, Montefiascone (Osborne, ‘Lost Roman Images’, 26); vi) a fresco in Santa Chiara, Assisi (ibid., 25–6, fig. 6); vii–viii) a mural in Sant’Egidio at Filiacciano and Santa Maria at Sovano (Bolgia, ‘Cassiano’s Popes’, 563; ix-x) a fresco in the oratory of Sant’Urbano, San Miniato and another at the Eremo of Lecceto (Bolgia, ibid.) a panel in the Museo Bardini (Corsi bequest), Florence (G. Kaftal, Iconography of the Saints in Tuscan Painting, Florence, 1952, cols. 993–4); xi) the wing of a triptych by A. Puccinelli, formerly Radensleben, Von Quast Collection (ibid.); xii) two scenes frescoed in Bolzano Cathedral (G. Kaftal, Iconography of the Saints in the painting of North East Italy, Florence, 1978, cols. 1007–8, and Osborne, ‘Lost Roman Images’, 26–7; xiii) a panel by Luca di Tomè at Princeton (Bolgia, ‘Cassiano’s Popes’, 564). To these may be added the fresco in the choir of Santa Maria Assunta at Assergi (Fig. 11.4; the church before its 18th-century refurbishment was stripped out to reveal numerous fresco fragments, see M. Moretti, Architettura medioevale in Abruz zo, Rome, no date, 148–55). There are also three (presumably) lost frescoes recorded in the Cassiano dal Pozzo volumes (see below) and a late copy of a similar image recorded hanging in the chancel of Saint Victor, Marseille, in a photograph of the Biblioteca Hertziana, Rome, while Osborne notes that a fourth, perhaps from the Gesuati church of Santi Giovanni e Paolo, records Urban V approving the Order in 1367; this is a 15th-century narrative very different from the other images. bologna and the popes 177 commemorated in a magnificent tomb in Saint Victor at Marseille now known only from an engraving, and a fragment from the tomb in which his corpse was first deposited among the Benedictines of Saint Martial at Avignon.23 The largest published concentration of surviving paintings and recorded documentation of others, however, is in Bologna itself. On 24th January, 1378, Caterina Pappazoni, widow of Francesco di Castel San Pietro disposed in her will for the painting of ‘a panel with saints among which should be painted Mary and her Son who is crowning her, St John the Baptist, St Anthony and Pope Urban’ for an altar in Santo Stefano, Bologna, perhaps the most venerable of all Benedictine houses in the city (una tabula a santis in qua sint picti viz. Maria et Filius qui eam coronet, sanctus Johannes Baptista, S. Antonius et papa Urbanus). A panel which includes most of this imagery is preserved in the Pinacoteca Nazionale (Figs 11.5 and 11.10), and the modest sum of £6 that Caterina provided would accord well with its vivacious but sketchy execution in chalky pigments over an exposed blackish ground in the case of the figures, a manner typical ofS imone’s smaller commissions. However, Anthony is not obviously included while a number of other saints are, including a prominent female saint, Chiara or Caterina of Siena, perhaps precluding a direct association with the Pinacoteca panel.24 On 2nd March 1378, Caterina q. Dino Albari, wife of Giovanni Bentivoglio, disposed in her will for the painting ‘in front of the home of the said testatrix (in the parish of San Damiano) of the figures of the Blessed Pope Urban and Sts James the Apostle and Zeno’, ante hos tium habitationis dicte testatricis figuras beati Urbani pape et sancto

23 see AA.SS., Antwerp, 1709, Maii, Propyl. Urbanus, 93 and Junii V, 442–5, F. Müntz, ‘La statue du Pape Urbain V au Musée d’ Avignon’, Gazette Archéologique 9 (1884), 98–104, and St. Victor de Marseille, entries 93–7; Gardner, Tomb, 151–3, Figs 203–4. 24 Inv. 302, Lollini, Pinacoteca Nazionale di Bologna: Catalogo Generale, no. 42, 148–50; D’Amico, La Pinacoteca Nazionale, cat. 48, 46–7. D’Amico’s proposal that the nun might be St Bridget of Sweden does not seem justifiable in the absence of her normal white veil, and, although the use of pale blues and shot colours for other fabrics is a characteristic of Simone’s late work, notably the later polyptych of the Pinacoteca Nazionale, ibid., inv. 298, cat. 47, 45: the panel is earlier in its general style, particularly the still refined proportions of the faces; Lollini, however, argues for an extremely late dating in the 1390s. For Simone’s career and different types of execution see R. Gibbs, ‘Bolognese Trecento Painting’, The Burlington Magazine 120 (1978), 237–8, and Idem, ‘Two families of painters at Bologna in the later fourteenth century’, The Burlington Magazine, 121 (1979), 560–8. 178 robert gibbs rum Jacobi apostoli et Zenonis. This appears to have been a frescoed tabernacle at the door of the Bentivoglio residence, but the programme is most unusual for either a votive street image (usually a Madonna and Child) or a façade decoration and appears to be lost without trace. On 20th Febrary 1384, the friars of San Francesco allowed the head of their infirmary to use a deposit for the painting ofS t Urban: ‘Brother Florino da Policino is assigned three gold bolognini which he had in deposit from a Burgundian for the purpose of making an image of Pope Urban, and this amounts to £5.2s.0d in all, and if the said Burgundian should return he should be held to give back the aforesaid three bolognini to him’ (Assignat frater Florinus de Policino infirma rius tres bon. aureos quos habebat in deposito ab uno borgognono causa faciendi imaginem pape Urbani et capiunt in summa £5.2s.0d’.). The three gold bolognini, approximately florins, amount to considerably less than the six florins spent on the Madonna of Giovanni da Piacenza in 1378, which probably precludes the document referring to Simone’s large panel of Urban V, Bologna, Pinacoteca Nazionale inv. 303 (Fig. 11.1).25 Simone painted Urban V at least twice more, though probably on other occasions too. During the 1990s the Sarti Gallery of St James’, Piccadilly, acquired from a private French collection an extremely fine triptych by Simone showing the Crucifixion attended by Urban and St James, the Magdalene at the foot of the Cross, and the Annunciation, Nativity, Adoration of the Magi, Flagellation, and Christ before Pilate in the wings (Figs 11.6 and 11.11). In the Pinacoteca’s little Coronation- Crucifixion panel, Urban is shown as no more than a token bust- length witness to the events behind him, and his face is an essentially generic repetition of the large panel. In the triptych, on the other hand, he is a standing figure clearly labelled (‘beatus urbanus’) below, and much more clearly characterised. The smoothly modelled figures, still dressed in garments with strong local colours but robustly padded in the torso, suggest a date in the early 1380s, probably contemporary with or perhaps just before the small panel, each a step away from Simone’s most vivid presentation which has all the force of his work in the 1370s.

25 Lollini, Pinacoteca Nazionale di Bologna: Catalogo Generale, no. 37, 138–9; D’Amico, La Pinacoteca Nazionale, cat. 43, 43. For these three documents see Filip- pini and Zucchini, Miniatori e Pittori a Bologna, 249, 251, citing Archivio dello Stato, Bologna: Memoriali, vol. 302, fol. 425v and 121r, and A. Carrati, Estratti dell’ Archivio di S. Francesco, Biblioteca Comunale, Bologna, Ms. 491 c. 135. bologna and the popes 179

Figure 11.5 simone dei Crocefissi, Coronation, Crucifixion, Annunciation and Saints, tempera on panel (0.805 × 0.77 m), Bologna, Pinacoteca Nazionale (Robert Gibbs).

A little later Simone also represented Urban in the company of St Bartholomew, flanking a representation of the Crucifixion between Mary, Mary Magdalene and St John, with the Annunciation in the gable of a polylobed panel, perhaps the centre of a small triptych.26 In his major representation (Fig. 11.1) Simone shows Urban in full papal regalia, a white surplice presumably hiding his monastic habit. Osborne notes that Simone’s tiara triple crowned with lilies to the front, not often represented in other paintings of him, is the most accurate representation of papal attire of the period.27 He is already beatified, attended and crowned by angels, blessing the beholder from the full regal authority of his office, and holding in his hand a diptych

26 I am indebted to Massimo Medica for showing me a photograph of this otherwise unpublished fragment. 27 As in the Cassiano dal Pozzo drawing, Windsor, Royal Library 9202: Osborne, ‘Lost Roman Images’, 25. 180 robert gibbs

Figure 11.6 simone dei Crocefissi, Triptych of the Crucifixion with Saints and Urban V, tempera on panel (0.62 × 0.825 m), formerly the Sarti Gallery, London (June 1994) (Robert Gibbs). which represents the celebrated reliquaries that he had made for the heads of Sts Peter and Paul at a cost of over 30,000 florins: this was the achievement of his reign which painters or their patrons found most conducive to pictorial representation as Urban’s identifying attribute. To celebrate the rediscovery of the bodies of Sts Peter and Paul in the Sancta Sanctorum, reliquaries were made for their heads by the Sienese goldsmith Giovanni di Bartolo, and these were set up in the upper part of a new ciborium for San Giovanni built by the Sienese Giovanni di Stefano which still survives, the original reliquaries reportedly disappearing in the Napoleonic era.28

28 Prima Vita Urbani V, 374; Osborne, ‘Lost Roman Images’, 21–2; E. Cancellieri, Memorie istoriche delle sacre teste dei Santi Apostoli Pietro e Paolo, Rome, 1806, esp. 18–23. Urban paid for the reliquaries but their crowns were the gift of the Queens of France and Navarre. Each weighed 1700 marks of silver and was studded with gems and pearls, with gold and silver attributes. They were enamelled, probably to give a bologna and the popes 181

Simone applied a range of fine pigments to his portrait and some unusual gold tooling. In contrast to other surviving versions he fills his narrow frame with the pope’s figure, the brilliant vermillion of his cope completely dominating it and set off against its own acid lime and chrome lining and a softer reddish brown cloth of gold raised behind Urban, its velvet pattern left in reserve, and beyond these the gold backgrounds of the diptych and the panel itself. Simone, who had numerous punches, uses here a wider range than in perhaps any of his other panels, including his distinctive oval quill and a unique large cross of florettes.29 But we are looking at a commune’s art, not a pope’s, governed perhaps by his preaching and philosophy, but not by his more sumptuous example in his own art patronage. His image is restricted, by the for- mality of the composition and physically by the tight contour of the work. Even among the tightly packed figures of Simone’s later altarpieces this is remarkable, perhaps constrained by a narrow pillar for which it might originally have been destined. Several Bolognese churches including San Francesco, particularly in its chevet, have broad-sided piers where such an altarpiece or devotional panel might have been set up. D’Amico and Ferretti both date the work close to Urban’s death in 1370, but its upper angels are quite similar to those of the Madonna of Giovanni da Piacenza commissioned by his bequest in 1378, when Urban’s cult would seem to be at its peak.30 Urban is shown exemplifying papal authority supported by divine favour revealed in the discovery of the relics and the achievement of reconciliation between papacy and both emperors, Holy Roman and natural appearance of flesh and fabric: comparison may be made between the engraving published by the Bollandists, AA. SS. Junii V, 442–5, and Giovanni di Bar- tolo’s surviving reliquary in the cathedral of Catania (F. Rossi, Capolavori di Ore ficeria Italiana, Milan, 1956, fig. 3). J.-C.Maire Vigueur, ‘Arti o rioni? Appunti sulle forme di organizzazione del popolo nel commune romano’, Studi sulle società e le culture del medioevo per Girolamo Arnaldi, eds L. Getto and P. Supino Martini, 2 vols, Florence, 2002, vol. 1, 327–40 at 338, n. 1, claims that the original reliquaries are still in place, rather than 19th-century replacements: despite the logistical diffi- culties of examining reliquaries above the high altar of a major Roman church, this deserves urgent investigation. 29 Letizia Lodi, ‘Note sulla decorazione punzonata di dipinti su tavola di area emiliana dalla metà alla fine del Trecento’, Musei Ferraresi, 11 (1981), 9–208, no. 40, 89–90, lacking the last two figures, and with the punches inaccurately drawn by Roberto Selmi. 30 Massimo Ferretti in F. Arcangeli, Pittura Bolognese del ‘300, Bologna, 1978, 184–209, particularly 198–203, where he sets it in sequence between the Pietà of Giovanni Elthinl (d. 1368) and Giovanni da Piacenza’s Madonna. 182 robert gibbs

Byzantine. The crowning by angels is a specific convention in Bolo gnese illumination, particularly for the Distribution of Powers that opens 14th-century illuminated copies of the Decretum Gratiani, the granting of Canon and Civil Law by Christ to the Pope and Emperor. Occasionally the Pope is himself enthroned and crowned separately, as in the Crowning of the Pope in Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale Nouv. acq. lat. 2508, fol. 0v.31 This imagery, shown in numerous Gratians including copies in Naples and Siena,32 is cited by Simone Martini in his St Louis of Toulouse for King Robert of Naples which invites comparison with Urban V as a representation of a recent and well-remembered saint from the ecclesiastical hierarchy.33 The angels holding a curtain behind Urban belong to a more general tradition of exaltation, often used for the Madonna and referring to the cloth of honour on or in place of a ruler’s throne: Urban is, of course, a monarch as well as a cleric. Angels are not generally associated with representations of Urban, but a pair supporting his tiara in the Assergi fresco provides another exception (Fig. 11.4). Papal imagery makes up a large part of the monumental and miniature art of Bologna. The commonest and most universally important aspect of this is the elaboration by the illuminators of Canon Law Texts showing the granting of papal authority in the frontispiece of the Decretum Gratiani and its exercise, in council or in judgement of particular cases. The image of the pope enthroned amid the curia became standard for those law texts issued by papal authority, the Decretals of Gregory IX, the Liber Sextus of Boniface VIII and the Clementines, where the popes appear as the authors of the decrees

31 A. Melnikas, The corpus of the miniatures in the manuscripts of Decretum Gra tiani, Rome, 1975, pl. Distinctiones (Pars I) pl. XIV. The crowning of kneeling popes and emperors paired as sacred and secular rulers is commonly shown in the frontispiece of this text at Bologna, as the conferring upon them of divine authority for their respective rules. In the Paris copy this theme is unusually simplified to show first the Pope and then the Emperor (1r) enthroned and crowned by angels; normally it is God/Christ himself who is enthroned at the centre of the composition. 32 naples. Bibl. Naz. Ms. XII. A. 1, fol. 1, and Siena, Bibl. Comunale, Ms. K. I. 3, fol. 1: ibid. 81–2, figs 36–7. 33 naples, Museo di Capodimonte, inv. I. C. 28, 29, from the Franciscan church of San Lorenzo. Most recently discussed in M. Pierini, Simone Martini, Cinisello Bal- samo, 2000, 96–100, and P. Leone de Castris, Simone Martini, Milan, 2003, 136–54, but see also J. Gardner, ‘Simone Martiniʼs St. Louis of Toulouse’, Reading Medieval Studies, I (1975), 16–29, and ‘Saint Louis of Toulouse, Robert of Anjou and Simone Martini’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, 39, 12–33, and A. Martindale, Simone Mar tini, Oxford, 1988, cat. 16, 18, 192–4. bologna and the popes 183 embodied and instigators and promulgators of the collections themselves. The constitutional and formal issues involved were of direct interest to the teachers and lawyers who commissioned the manuscripts. They influenced the representation of popes, doctors and St Peter and his local rival Petronius in Bolognese art and as rulers of Bologna itself on the later 14th-century coinage of the city.34 Of all these popes and their representatives, Alborñoz excepted, no-one had such a direct involvement with Bologna as Urban V; nor were they given the same devotional status that is so important for the establishment of a medieval tradition of representation. After Gregory XI established the curia in Rome, Bologna had ceased to be central to the security of the Papal states; it was merely a buffer, and a rather unreli- able one, against the pretensions of the Visconti and other North Italian princes. Its university competed with new studia across the whole of Europe, and the decline of legal illumination reduced its artistic importance to a strictly local context. Urban’s reign coincides with this change of artistic standing and undoubtedly caused many of the historical developments responsible for it. It is clear that Simone’s knowledge of Urban’s prominently displayed reliquaries was extremely indirect: they were actually fully modelled in the round, illusionistically enamelled and bedecked with jewels. Simone gives the busts a strong plasticity, but they are conceived as a painted diptych, a quite inaccurate representation of them. This simplification of Urban’s great devotional coup de théâtre into a flat painting, more a badge of office than a record of his actual discovery, is by far the most characteristic representation of Pope Urban both in Rome and elsewhere, to judge from the modest Spoleto, Ninfa and Assergi fragments (reduced to skulls by a succession of graffito artists in the latter case) and drawings of lost murals representing him in Rome.35 One of the latter shows Urban holding a recognisable model of the ciborium of the Lateran Church, another holding the two busts, but the third has him holding a rectangular icon of the two. In Rome itself the nature of Urban’s work should have been easily

34 such as the Pseudo-Jacopino’s St Gregory (perhaps by Lando di Antonio) and Tomaso da Modena’s Resignation of Pope Cyriacus; Arcangeli, Pittura Bolognese, 128–30, pl. XVIII, fig. 53; R. Gibbs, Tomaso da Modena: Painting in Emilia and the March of Treviso, 1340–80, Cambridge, 1989, 146–7, figs 47, 52–3, pl. 75. 35 osborne, ‘Lost Roman images’, passim; Osborne and Claridge, The Paper Museum of Cassiano dal Pozzo, Part 2, vol. 1, 331–5. 184 robert gibbs verifiable, had artists and their patrons wished to do so. The simple gabled form of Simone’s diptych is not found in actual surviving Bolognese paintings of this period, but similar structures often appear in altarpieces depicted in painting and illumination, as if to distance their representation from the present time.36 A strong influence on the depiction of Urban V is likely to have come from the depictions of St Sylvester presenting an icon of Sts Peter and Paul to the Emperor Constantine, first in the St Sylvester cycle of the chapel in Santi Quattro Coronati and then in the atrium of Old Saint Peter’s itself, recorded in the 17th century and copied by Deodato Orlandi in the frescoes of San Piero a Grado.37 For Wollesen the latter records an actual icon probably transferred from the Lateran to the Vatican and recorded in the two successive churches by Iohannes Diaconus in his 12th-century account of the Lateran and the priest Romanus in his additions to Petrus Mallius’ Descriptio Basilicae vaticanis around 1192. All three representations of St Sylvester’s icon show Peter on the viewer’s right and Paul on the dexter side; this hier archically surprising design presumably inspired the papal bulla applied to the curia’s legal documents, which shows the faces of Sts Peter and Paul on the obverse and the name of the current pope on the reverse (Figs 11.7–11.8).38 Not only the papal bull but the Roman pilgrims’ badges carried this imagery throughout Europe, though later examples of the badge restore Peter to the dexter before the two saints become indistinguishable (Fig. 11.9).39 Julian Gardner has pointed out that this has an ancient precedent in the apse mosaics of the Roman basilicas, from the 4th/5th century mosaics of Santa Pudenziana to those of San Pietro and San Paolo restored by Innocent III and

36 Vitale’s St Peter with a pilgrim from Mezzaratta; a crocketed and cusped altarpiece closer to normal practice in Simone’s predella and another in Niccolò’s missal in Venice, a simpler example in Niccolò’s Jena Gratian (Univ. Bibl., E1, f. 1c, De Poenitentiae: P. D’Ancona, ‘Nicolò da Bologna miniaturista del secolo XIV’, Arte Lombarda 14:2 (1969), 1–22, fig. 18 and figs 27–8, and E. Aeschlimann, ‘Aggiunte a Nicolò da Bologna’, Arte Lombarda 14:2 (1969), 23–35, figs 9, 18). The illustrations of Canon Law MSS have innumerable representations of such retables, invariably single-storeyed and simple in their framing. 37 J.T. Wollesen, Pictures and Reality: Monumental Frescoes and Mosaics in Rome around 1300, New York, 1998, 66–8, figs 24–7. 38 J. Grisar, F. de Lasala, Aspetti della Sigillografia, Rome, 1997, 33–40. 39 B. Spencer, Pilgrim Souvenirs and Secular Badges, London (Museum of Lon- don, Medieval Finds from Excavations in London: 2), 248–5. bologna and the popes 185

Figure 11.7. Papal Bull of Urban V, Figure 11.8. Papal Bull of Urban V, British Museum inv. 1944, 12–2.1 British Museum inv. 1944, 12–2.1 (Robert Gibbs). (Robert Gibbs).

Honorius III.40 St Sylvester’s icon clearly had a particular relevance for Urban, of whose bulla the British Museum preserves an exceptionally fine copy (inv. 1944. 12–2.1: Figs 11.7 and 11.8). Surprisingly the design of the bulla was not substantially changed from the rather cari- catural treatment of the saints typical from Alexander IV to Eugenius IV (1254–1447), but it does appear to be more sharply cut and with a better balanced design than any other of this era.41 However, in all the paintings of Urban V, Peter naturally appears to Urban’s own right side. Of these Bolgia located two of the lost Roman frescoes to San Salvatore della Corte (later rededicated as Santa Maria della Luce) from their description in 1642 by Sebastiano Vannini who recorded with anger that a senior colleague misidentified one of them as St Sylvester and had its inscription to Urban V removed.42 Despite Simone’s very generalised identification of Urban’s achievements he personalises his subject by the quite distinctive features of his face which are still recognisable also in the 17th-century copies of the lost Roman portraits (Figs 11.1, 11.10 and 11.11). ‘Obeso vultu et

40 J. Gardner, ‘The European Context of the Westminster Retable’, in The West- minster Retable History, technique, conservation (Painting and Practice), London, 2009, 66, 75, nn. 14–7. 41 From Innocent III to Gregory IX and Innocent IV much finer depictions of Peter and Paul of probably Byzantine inspiration appear. The mid-14th-century inscriptions of the Avignon curia are marked by the addition of stars or florettes; Urban’s flourishes are irregular and hard to read, but may be lion heads. 42 Bolgia, Cassiano’s Popes, 566–8. 186 robert gibbs

Figure 11.9. Pilgrimage badges from Rome, probably 14th century, private collection (Robert Gibbs). pendentibus genis’ was the description of the representation on Urban’s tomb, while the wide flat cheeks, close-set eyes – boss-eyed even – and the short, flat chin correspond to the fragment from Saint Martial in Avignon (Fig. 11.12); they are distinct from Simone’s conventional papal types, such as the St Sixtus of a three-part panel in the Museo di Santo Stefano of a similar date.43 It would appear that Simone had used commemorative sculpture or his own and others’ recollections of the man to achieve a genuine representation of the Pope who had visited Bologna twice; one may compare Tomaso da Modena’s use of tombs and perhaps recollections in painting the other canonised 14th-century pope, Benedict XI, and St Dominic and other friars, in the chapterhouse of San Nicolò at Treviso.44

43 P. Capparoni, ‘Lo strabismo di Papa Urbano V’, Il Comune di Bologna 21 (1934), n. 12, 94–5; H.K. Mann, Tombs and Portraits of the Popes of the Middle Ages, London, n.d.[1928], 142–3, both referring to Ciacconius, Vitae Paparum Romano rum I, Rome, 1630, 936. For the Santo Stefano panel, one of three but from a different work to the others, see Lodi, ‘Decorazione punzonata’, 50, 107; M. Fanti, S. Stefano di Bologna., Milan, 1981, pl. 11, and P. Foschi, E. Astorri, A. Vianelli, S. Livi, La Basilica di Santo Stefano a Bologna, Bologna, 1997, no. 9, 84: the longer and leaner proportions of Sixtus’ face are almost identical to those of St Proculus next to him. 44 tomaso da Modena drew the portraits of Nicole Boccassini, Benedict XI, Jacopo Salamone da Venezia and St Dominic from the representations on their tombs: see Gibbs, Tomaso da Modena, 79–80. bologna and the popes 187

Figure 11.10. Detail of Figure 11.11. Detail of Simone dei Crocefissi, Simone dei Crocefissi, Coro Triptych of the Crucifixion with Saints and Urban nation, Crucifixion, Annun V, tempera on panel (0.62 × 0.825 m), formerly the ciation and Saints, tempera Sarti Gallery, London (June 1994) (Robert Gibbs). on panel (0.805 × 0.77 m), Bologna, Pinacoteca Nazio nale (Robert Gibbs).

Figure 11.12. Urban V, fragmentary effigy from St Martial, Avignon, Musée du Petit-Palais (Robert Gibbs).

For Bologna Urban is more than the subject of a few privately commissioned paintings: there was a much more urgent reason for celebrating this sympathetic overlord at the time of the documents which probably corresponds well to Simone’s surviving paintings. In 1376, the chroniclers note, the city’s papal taxation was assessed at ‘200,000 florins or gold ducats’. On the evening of 18th March a substantial force of nobles and ‘rustics’ from the Bolognese countryside broke 188 robert gibbs into the city; the following morning with many citizens of the Scacchesi (the populist ‘Chessboard’ faction) they occupied the main square and government palazzi with cries of ‘Viva il Popolo!’ The papal legate, Cardinal de Noillet, was beaten up by a group of men from the con- tado and his ring torn from his finger by the aptly named Count Antonio da Bruscholo, a village on the mountain frontier towards Florence from which several of the accused came. His principal assail- ant eventually paid with his life for this assault, hanged by the popu- lace in the Piazza Grande. Excessive papal taxation was cited as a major cause of this rebellion against papal overlordship, but it was part of a widespread hostility to papal ambitions in Italy, and Bologna was soon allied with Florence, where the ciompi were engaged in a double rejection of their own plutocracy as well as papal intervention.45 The city’s richest and most eminent legal family, Riccardo and Roberto da Saliceto (Salaxedo), were seen as leading participants in this revolt and a new political alliance of merchant oligarchs throughout the Papal States, the ‘Raspanti’. After the 1376 revolt they were dispos- sessed for their role in its leadership, their houses threatened with destruction, and perhaps actually burnt down. Riccardo had commissioned perhaps the finest set of mid-14th-century Bolognese lawbooks, extensively illuminated by the major artist of the 1340s, ‘L’Illustratore’ (probably Tomaso di Galvano), and his contemporary, the ‘Paris Gratian Master’ who painted the Papal Coronation in Paris B.N. Nouv. acq. lat. 2508. These volumes can be directly traced back to Riccardo from a pawnbroker’s note to Riccardo that he had received the Volumen, vat. lat. 1436, from his son Robert against the loan of fifty ducats to pay the legate’s tax.46 At around this time the heir to the

45 The revolt in March came at the height of the ‘War of the Eight Saints’ between the City of Florence, supported by the cities of the Papal States, and the Papacy, Bologna joining the Florentine ranks, though along with the cities of the Romagna she came to terms with Gregory XI long before Florence (Mollat, The Popes, 165–72; P. Partner, ‘Florence and the Papacy 1300–1375’, Europe in the late Middle Ages, ed. J. Hale, London, 1965, 76–122 ). For a summary of the chroniclers and a rather different account in the criminal proceedings against this band, see S.K. Cohn, Popular Protest in Late Medieval Europe, Manchester, 2004, 137–41. 46 Bibl. Vaticana, vat. lat. 1409, 1425, 1430, 1436, 2514, of which three received their intended illumination by the Illustrator and the Paris Gratian Master: S. Kuttner and R. Elze, A Catalogue of Canon and Roman Law manuscripts in the Vatican Library, 2 vols, Vatican City, 1986, I, 204, 224–5, 231–2, 241–2, and II, 88–9; G. Pace, Riccardo Saliceto, un giurista bolognese del Trecento, Rome, 1995, 75–86; G. Speciale, La memoria dell diritto commune. Sulle tracce d’uso del Codex di Gius tiniano (secoli XII–XV), Rome, 1994, 208, 222, 233, 330–1; F. Flores d’Arcais, bologna and the popes 189

Illustrator’s mantle, Niccolò di Giacomo, Simone’s personal friend and executor of his will, incorporated an anguished doctor of laws as the impoverished gentleman in his representation of St Nicholas res- cuing his daughters from their ‘fate worse than death’, perhaps a direct reference to the outstanding civil lawyer of the time.47 The city as a whole fared better. It sent an embassy led by Giovanni da Legnano, Bologna’s leading professor of Canon Law, to the Pope in Avignon, and Giovanni was appointed papal legate and governor of the city. As the city’s new master (and advocate) Giovanni da Legnano prepared a lavish edition of his own writings illuminated by both the most important illuminators of his day, Niccolò and Stefano di Alberto Azzi, an illuminator whose family bore the name of Bologna’s most celebrated legist.48 This Giovanni da Legnano presented, evidently, to the pope himself, since it is still in the Vatican Library as ms. vat. lat. 2639. Pope Gregory XI succeeded in re-establishing the papacy in Rome, and his successor, Bartolomeo Prignani of Naples, clearly chose his title Urban VI as a tribute to Grimoard. On da Legnano’s death in 1382 Urban appointed the anziani themselves, the council elected to rule the city every two months, as his notional legate. In this period of successful reconciliation which led to the longest period of effective self-government and perhaps the most broadly based government in Bologna’s and Italian history, Pope Urban V as an academic and venerated man of the church provided the ideal saintly patron for both parties and a natural subject for the leading Bolognese painter of the day.

‘L’Illustratore’ tra Bologna e Padova, Arte Veneta 31 (1977), 27–41; Cassee, missal, 26–7, 74, 116, figs 16, 18, 19, 94; Conti, La miniatura., 14, 88–91, figs 260, 264–5, 271–4. 47 L’Engle and Gibbs, Illuminating the Law, cat. 22, Fitzwilliam ms. 278a, 236–7. 48 P. Fiorelli, ‘Azzone’, Dizionario biografico degli italiani, vol. 4, Rome, 1962, 774–81, on Azzo, noting that his own name replaced that of his father Soldano as the family surname and that of his descendants ‘alcuni fecero i miniatori’ (776), and M. Chiarini, ‘Stefano Azzi’, in Dizionario biografico degli italiani, vol. 4, Rome, 1962, 763–4. Far from being a pupil of Niccolò as traditionally assumed, Stefano was through his family and his father, the illuminator Alberto, of probably higher social status and distinct stylistic origins, though certainly overshadowed by Niccolò as an artist. 190 louise bourdua

chapter twelve

SOME PILGRIMAGE SOURCES FOR ALTICHIERO

Louise Bourdua

The chapel of St James opposite that of St Anthony of Padua in the Franciscan church of that city (the Santo) is well known and unusually well documented.1 The function of its fresco cycle, overseen by Altichiero between 1377 and 1379, and its iconographic sources retain some mysteries, however. The purpose of this note is to revisit the importance of pilgrimage for its genesis and to suggest new pictorial sources. A cycle of the life of Jesus is condensed on the lower register of the back wall, with the Crucifixion in the centre, the Annunciation split between the side spandrels, and the Entombment and Resurrection located above two hanging wall tombs (Fig. 12.1). The remains of three Rossi knights, relatives of the patron Bonifacio Lupi, are in the left bier with the patron on the right. The lower west wall, surviving only in part, is dominated by a votive donor scene in which the enthroned Virgin Mary and Child is flanked by Sts Catherine and James who present Bonifacio and his second wife Caterina dei Francesi di Staggia. The preaching, martyrdom and posthumous miracles of the titular saint James of Compostela occupy the upper lunettes on the east wall, wrap around the west and south wall, ending on a lower register underneath the starting point.2

1 starting from 12 February 1372, as revealed in a lengthy architectural contract drawn up between Andriolo de’ Santi, the top Venetian stonecutter and Bonifacio Lupi, a prominent mercenary exiled from Parma, formerly captain of Florentine army (replaced by John Hawkwood), who settled in Padua in the 1360s. The chapel was rededicated to St Felix. For all aspects of this chapel see L. Bourdua, The Francis cans and Art Patronage in Late Medieval Italy, Cambridge, 2004, chapter 4. 2 For pictorial parallels between the Martyrdom of James and the Crucifixion of Jesus, see the summary in D. Norman, ‘Those Who Pay, Those Who Pray and Those Who Paint: Two Funerary Chapels’, in Siena, Florence and Padua. Art, Society and Religion 1280–1400, ed. D. Norman, 2 vols, Yale and London, 1995, vol. 2, 169–93, 189. some pilgrimage sources for altichiero 191

Figure 12.1. General view of chapel of St James, il Santo, Padua (courtesy of Messagero S. Antonio Editrice; Giorgio Deganello, photographer).

Much has been written about these carefully selected episodes from the life of St James, which share something of the conciseness of John Beleth’s Summa de ecclesiasticis officiis,3 but rely primarily on James of Voragine’s Golden Legend.4 Nonetheless they would have reminded those in the know that the patrons of the cycle – the Lupi or Lovo whose emblem is a wolf – shared the same name as the major protagonist – Queen Lupa or Lova.5 Thus, the majority of the scenes focus on the sufferings inflicted by the wicked queen Lupa on the disciples and body of James whom she persecuted until her own final conversion, having witnessed enough miracles. Contrite, she turned her own palace into a church dedicated to James and ended her life doing good works. Now, it might seem a little odd to choose to be associated with an evil protagonist like Queen Lupa, but the key point is her conver-

3 Johannis Beleth, Summa de ecclesiasticis officiis, ed. H. Douteil (Corpus Chris- tianorum Continuatio Medievalis 41–1a), Turnhout, 1976, 274–6. 4 Iacopo da Varazze, Legenda aurea, ed. G.P. Moggioni, 2 vols, Florence, 1998, vol. 1, 650–62. 5 For a summary, see Bourdua, The Franciscans, 109–20. 192 louise bourdua sion and her major benefaction. Thus, like Queen Lupa, Bonifacio and Caterina Lupi – who knows after what possible wicked deeds – lavishly endowed a foundation dedicated to St James, ensuring salvation for their souls. More can be said of this chapel’s pilgrimage function, possibly acting as the focal point of devotion to St James of Compostela in Padua. The year of foundation of the chapel, 1372, was no ordinary one but a Compostellan Holy Year, as John Richards noted recently; he also proposed that Bonifacio and Caterina appear as pilgrims in the seventh lunette of the fresco cycle.6 The chapel had two altars: aside from that located in its centre, for which the Crucifixion fresco acted as an altarpiece, the second in the sacristy was provided with its own liturgical equipment. Masses for the founders and their deceased relatives’ souls only began in 1384 with the establishment of a chantry that year. Most significantly, Pope Urban IV in 1386, granted an indulgence of one year and forty days to visitors who came on the feast day of St James.7 Two reliquaries of St James were acquired and recorded in the basilica’s inventory taken in 1396, although they no longer survive: one was described as ‘a long tabernacle of silver with four enamels on the foot and a small cross with two crucifixes with a long crystal on its summit containing relics of St James the intercessor and many others with a silver capitello’. The other was smaller, kept in the sacristy, and described as a ‘little altar with relics inside’.8 The provenance of James’ relic is obscure, to say the least. As far as I can ascertain, the last report of the accessibility of his tomb in Compostela during the middle ages was the removal of hair and bone fragments of moderate dimensions in 1138, which Gelmirez sent to the bishop of Pistoia.9 Thanks to this

6 J. Richards, Altichiero. An Artist and his Patrons in the Italian Trecento, Cam- bridge, 2000, 151. 7 Padua, Archivio di Stato, Diplomatico, b. 88, perg. 9079; published in A. Sar- tori, ‘La cappella di S. Giacomo al Santo’, Il Santo (1966), 267–359, 274; Archivio Sartori. Documenti di Storia e Arte Francescana, I, Basilica e Convento del Santo, ed. G. Luisetto, Padua, 1983, 473. This was nine years before the bishop of Pistoia secured a permanent indulgence for the chapel of St James. D. Herlihy, Medieval and Renaissance Pistoia. The Social History of an Italian Town, 1200–1430, New Haven and London, 1967, 255. 8 ‘… altariolus cum reliquijs internis’. Four extant enamels representing Sts James, Antony, Francis and Prosdocimo may have come from one of these reliquaries. Padua, Biblioteca Antoniana, MS. 572, ff. 26r, 47r. Full bibliography in Bourdua, The Franciscans, 120 n. 181. 9 t Hauschild, ‘Archaeology and the Tomb of St James’, in The Codex Callixtinus and the Shrine of St James, eds J. Williams and A. Stones, Tubingen, 1992, 89–103, 91. some pilgrimage sources for altichiero 193 gift, the cathedral of San Zeno in this city became the greatest centre for the cult of James outside Compostela. A possible provenance for the Paduan relics may have been Pistoia itself; and as will be discussed below, Padua was indebted to Pistoia for some visual aspects of the cult. The fresco cycle itself can be related to James’ relics.10 The first two lunettes display his ability as preacher and miracle worker: James preaches, confronts and defeats the magician Hermogenes’ envoy and demons by miraculous intervention. The third, located above Jesus’ Crucifixion, depicts his martyrdom with a miracle on the way (James cures a paralytic and baptises the scribe Josiah who had put the rope around his head). With the fourth begins the miracle of his bodily remains: recovered by his disciples, they set off in a rudderless boat trusting God to choose a place for burial; an angel has guided the boat to Galicia and instructs the disciples to deposit James’ body onto a stone which softens like wax to create a sarcophagus. The disciples introduce themselves to the local noble, queen Lupa and relate their miraculous arrival. The fifth and sixth lunettes are devoted to his disciples’ miraculous rescue, for Queen Lupa treacherously sends them to the king of Spain to seek his consent for burial, but he puts them into jail. An angel intervenes and frees them, and a bridge collapses underneath soldiers in pursuit. The seventh scene focuses again on the power of James’ body: when the disciples return to Lupa to tell her that the king has given consent for burial, she tells them to take her oxen and put together a cart for James’ body and authorises them to build a tomb wherever they choose. The three following moments are depicted: on the way to mountains, they meet a fire-breathing dragon which they deal with by making the sign of cross and then cutting him in half; as for the oxen (who are wild), they become gentle again thanks to the sign of the cross; finally, the tamed oxen carry James’ body in his stone sarcophagus unguided into Lupaʼs palace. She observes this from her balcony in astonishment. The eighth lunette is the conversion of the queen, shown here as a baptism, and the transformation of her house into a place of pilgrimage: the body has entered that house, and a proclamation read in her presence. The ninth is the revelation of the lost relics to Emperor Charlemagne; the tenth is the public account

10 The cycle is fully illustrated in F. Flores d’Arcais, Altichiero e Avanzo. La cap pella di San Giacomo, Milan, 2001. 194 louise bourdua

Figure 12.2. View of lower east wall, chapel of St James, il Santo, Padua (courtesy of Messagero S. Antonio Editrice; Giorgio Deganello, photographer). of this and, finally, the eleventh is the announcement of the prophecy that a great pilgrimage will begin. These last three scenes, situated on the lower east wall, have been interpreted in various ways and need a bit more attention. They represent a dream, a council and a battle (Fig. 12.2). Admittedly, the identification of the narrative is complicated by the many versions of medieval chivalric events in circulation at the time. The first account, proposed over a century ago, relates a legend in which St James helped King Ramiro 1st of Oviedo: the saint appears in a dream to predict an imminent victory over the Moors, the king announces this to his court, and during the subsequent battle of Clavijo, St James makes the walls of the city crumble over the enemy.11 This version’s basic problems, namely the absence of a white charger ridden by James -essential in depictions of the battle of Clavijo – and the depiction of a large crown (more fitting of an emperor) for an obscure, little king were highlighted by Jeanne Cuénod in 1910.12 Her convincing interpretation, on the other hand, reads the narrative as the delivery of St James’ tomb from the infidels by Emperor Charlemagne: thus, Charlemagne has a dream in which James asks him to free him from the hands of the Saracens, predicting that a great pilgrimage could then occur on

11 For a summary of findings, see Bourdua,The Franciscans, 118–20. 12 J. Cuénod, ‘Les apparitions de saint Jacques et deux fresques dʼAltichiero’, Gazette des Beaux-Arts 52 (1910), 293–315, 314. For a summary of her following, see Bourdua, The Franciscans, 118–20. some pilgrimage sources for altichiero 195 the route. Charlemagne sets off and besieges Pamplona for three months, then asks the saint to intervene. Finally, no sooner had St James spoken, than the walls of the city crumbled and it was captured by Charlemagneʼs army.13 One hitherto noted connection is that between the Paduan frescoes and the silver altar of St James in the cathedral of Pistoia.14 There is at first a general iconographic indebtedness, in that both combine a christological and Jamesian cycle. Admittedly, the sequence of the reliefs of 1316 on what now constitutes the altar frontal is rather different, but I have often wondered about their order, given their read- aptation after 1785 for another location until WWII, and its subsequent reassembly. More significantly, the cover of the left side made in Florence between 1368 and 1371 by the goldsmith Leonardo di ser Giovanni consists of nine narrative reliefs. It can be argued that some of these are key compositional sources for Altichiero’s frescoes which were painted only six years later (Figs 12.3 and 12.4). If we compare both representations of the martyrdom of James, we note a similar circular disposition of executioners behind their victims. Secondly, Altichiero has repeated the bunching of foot soldiers on the left, while the first soldier on the left adopts quite a similar stance: a slight con- trapposto and the right arm bent at the elbow. Both executioners raise their sword and are frozen when they are about to strike, and their left hand holds the scabbard. There is also a grouping of mounted men on the right who hold lances and a flag. There are differences of course, not least in the added dynamism of Altichiero’s painting, but there can be no doubt that the silver reliefs were a model. He would use them again for his second fresco cycle executed between 1379–84 in the oratory of St George, an external chapel on the same site. These similarities have much to offer us, not least in revealing that small

13 There could still be room for hidden political allusions in these three images and the decoration may have worked at other levels, perhaps understood only by the elite Carrara inner-circle. After all, Padua was at war with its colonial neighbours while the cycle was being painted, the patron was a man of war; and finally, now that the cycle has been restored there may be some mileage in studying the heraldry of the enemies: the Lupi arms certainly appear on the side of the victors but those of the enemies have not yet been deciphered. I plan to return to these issues in a future article. 14 C.L. Ragghianti (‘La formazione di Altichiero’, in Pittura tra Giotto e Pisanello, Ferrara, 1987, 49–63, 49), noted the parallelisms between Altichiero and the goldsmith responsible for the reliefs in Pistoia, Leonardo di ser Giovanni, but without further elaboration. 196 louise bourdua

Figure 12.3. Martyrdom of St James, detail, chapel of St James, il Santo, Padua (courtesy of Messagero S. Antonio Editrice; Giorgio Deganello, photographer). some pilgrimage sources for altichiero 197

Figure 12.4. Leonardo di ser Giovanni, Martyrdom of St James, detail, left side of silver altar of St James, cathedral of S. Zeno, Pistoia (Louise Bourdua). scale objects in precious metal could serve as important models for monumental painting. Moreover, the transmission was fresh: the silver reliefs were commissioned only six years before the frescoes. All this evidence taken together suggests a wish to transform the chapel of St James into a cult area. As for who was responsible for such an import, we can suggest various possibilities starting with the Franciscans. Although cycles of St James the Great are not common in the Order’s churches, the 14th-century Deeds of Blessed Francis and his Companions and the slightly later Fioretti record that Francis of Assisi went on a pilgrimage to Compostela in the early days of the order: significantly, Francis had a revelation in St James’ church ‘that he would take places throughout the world, because his Order was to expand into a great multitude’.15 Moreover, Francis’ third companion, Giles, was likened to James the Greater in another 14th-century text, Arnald of Sarrant’s The Kinship of Saint Francis, a treatise which paved

15 ‘The Deeds of Blessed Francis and His Companions by Ugolino Boniscambi of Montegiorgio (1328–1337)’, translation of Actus Beati Francisci et Sociorum Eius, in Francis of Assisi: Early Documents, eds R.J. Armstrong, J.A. Wayne Helmann, W.J. Short, 3 vols, New York, 2001, vol. 1, 435–565, 440–1; see also ‘The Little Flow- ers of Saint Francis’, translation of Fioretti, in ibid, 566–658, 571–2. A. López, ‘Viaje de San Francisco a España’, Archivo ibero-americano 1 (1914), 13–45, 257–89, remains useful. 198 louise bourdua the way to Bartholomew of Pisa’s Conformity of Life.16 This devotion and interest in St James ought to be seen in the context of transformations in the church of St Anthony of Padua from the middle of the 14th century. The Franciscans may have hoped to create an additional pilgrimage station in their second Franciscan shrine by dedicating a chapel to St James of Compostela right opposite their own local saint, Anthony. It is highly indicative that these two shallow transept chap els were refurbished in a manner that transformed them into the most important and accessible devotional areas. Did the friars harbour dreams of making the Santo a stopover on the pilgrimage land route from Venice to Compostela? As noted earlier, the titulus of St James also suited the Lupi family for onomastic reasons. In literary plots at least, couples made a vow to make the pilgrimage to St James at Compostela if paternity was to occur.17 Could this have been the case for a childless couple such as Bonifacio Lupi and Caterina di Staggia? The Lupi were not the first in Padua to demonstrate a keen interest in St James. The anonymous Paduan who authored L’Entrée d’Espagne – which ended with the taking of Pamplona (Prise de Pampelune) – the source of the fresco – dedicated his text to Jesus and the apostle James.18 Finally, that the interest in James did not stem from the Carrara lords can be seen in their lack of interest in the saint’s cult. Not only is he conspicuously absent from the 108 figures depicted in the Paradise dome of the Baptistery of Padua,19 but his feastday (25 July) was remembered only and belatedly as that tragic day in 1391 when the count Jean d’ Armagnac (a French ally of the Carrara), died at the hands of the Visconti side on the plains of Marengo.20

16 ‘By his call Saint James was the third apostle … In a similar way, Brother Giles was the third brother called after Francis … after Bernard and Peter, just as James … followed Christ after Andrew and Peter’, in ‘Arnald ofS arrant, The Kingship ofS aint Francis (1365)’, translation of De Cognatione S. Francisci, in Francis of Assisi: Early Documents, vol. 1, 678–733, 685–6. 17 G. Allaire, ‘Medieval Italian Pilgrims to Santiago de Compostela: New Literary Evidence’, Journal of Medieval History, 24 (1998), 177–89, 178. 18 L’ Entrée d’Espagne, ed. A. Thomas, 2 vols, Paris 1913, vol. 1, p. xxxvi. 19 Judging from the list compiled by Benjamin Kohl and presented at the Renais- sance Society of America conference in San Francisco (2006); the source is C. Belli- nati, ‘Iconografia e teologia negli affreschi del Battistero’, in Giusto de Menabuoi nel Battistero di Padova, ed. A.M. Spiazzi, Trieste, 1989, 47–9, 80–1. 20 G. and B. Gatari, Cronaca Carrarese, in RIS, ed. A. Medin and G. Tolomei, vol. 17, part 1, vol. 1 (Città di Castello, 1931), 435–6. I am grateful to the late Ben Kohl for drawing my attention to these issues. some pilgrimage sources for altichiero 199

Altichiero’s cycle of the life of St James may have had more to do with pilgrimage than has been hitherto recognised. First, the frescoes express messages easily understood by pilgrims: his miracles, martyrdom, search for a burial place and tribulations endured, followed by triumph, and later the delivery of his tomb from infidels. Second, the presence of not one but two furnished altars (in addition to reliquaries holding relics of the saint), suggests that daily masses occurred in the sacristy, freeing the main altar for other ‘public’ functions. Finally the frescoes’ pictorial sources stem in part from the saints’ shrine in Pistoia.

index 201

INDEX

Abbot William 20 Aquinas, see St Thomas academic Aragona di Ribecco d’Oglio, Luciano 146 degree 130, 132 Arborio Mella, C. E. 120n dress 128, 129n, 131–2, 133n Arezzo, Museo Statale 51n, 60n Acheropita 53n Aristotle 89, 161 Acquablanca, Peter, bishop xxv Armagnac, counts of 169, 198 Actus Beati Francisci et Sociorum Eius 197n Arnald of Sarrant 197, 198n adoratio 39n, 42 Arnald of Villanova 163 Adoration of the Magi 56, 58, 100n, 178 Arnolfo di Cambio xxiii, xxvii, xxviii, Agnes, sister of St Clare 76, 79, 80 xxix, xxxii, 51 agnus Dei 23, 37, 86 Ascent of the Cross 101n, 111n d’ Aigre feuille, Guillaume, cardinal 174 Assergi 175,176n, 182–3 d’ Aigrefeuille, Pierre, bishop 169, 174 Assisi xxiv, xxvii, 80, 81 Alberti, Leon Battista 165 santa Chiara 78–9, 176n Alborñoz, Cardinal Egidio 168–9n, 170, s Francesco xxv, xxix, xxxi, xxxii, 2, 173, 183 3, 33, 62–3, 69–72, 76, 81–2, 98, Alexander IV, pope 185 101, 103n, 107n, 123n, 130 Alexander VI, pope 94n, 95 Reliquiario della Veste Inconsutile 62, Allegory of knowledge 135 63, 65, 72, 76 Alnwick 103–4, 113, 115 Augustinian altarpieces xxiii-vii, 13n, 14n, 17, 18, 19, canons 3, 125, 134, 140–41n 20 31, 33, 35, 57, 77, 80n, 99, 101n, Hermits 130, 135, 141 103, 113n, 150, 152, 181, 184, 192 missal 89 altar frontals 31, 32–3n, 195 Auxerre 170 Altenburg, Lindenau Museum 51n, 56 saint Germain, 169–170 Alter Christus 107n, 110 Avaricia 10, 163 Altichiero 190, 192n, 195–6, 199 Averroes 89 de amore 160, 163n Avignon xxv, 24, 27, 152, 170, 172, 174, Anacletus, pope 47n 177n, 185n, 189 Anastasis 13n, 17n Musee du Petit-Palais 187 Ancher/Anchier, Jacques Pantaleon Notre Dame des Doms 33, 97 (Pope Urban IV) 65, 171, 176, 192 Palais des Papes 33 Anchier de Troyes, Cardinal Pantaleon, St Martial 177, 186–7 xxv, 25 Avio: see Sabbionara Andrea di Bonaiuto xxiii, 15–6n Azzo/Azo, legist 189n Angelico, Fra, painter 33 Azzi, Stefano di Alberto, illuminator 189 Angevin xvi, xxvi, 24, 112 animals 9n, 13, 14n, 32, 34, 158 Bacon, Roger 161 Anna Selbdritt, Anna te Drieen 90 Badia Ardenga panels 56 Annunciation 18, 120, 145, 147, 150, 178, Balliol College, Oxford xiv, xv, xxiii 179, 190 Baltimore, Walters Art Gallery 145n Anthony, bishop of Novgorod 70 baptism 130, 193 Apocalypse manuscript 34 of Christ 37, 115n Appleby, Malcolm 74 Barnaba da Modena 50 Aquileia 8–10 Baroncelli, Giovanni 173 202 index

Baronzio, Giovanni 100, 112n, 113 s Francesco 178, 181 Bartholomew of Pisa 198 S. Giacomo (Augustinian Hermits) Bartolomeo and Jacopino da Reggio 135 144–5, 147, 150, 153 S. Stefano 177, 186 Basel Minster 32–3n ss Vitale e Agricola 150 Bassi, Gildaldo , photographer, 146–8 Bolzano 176n Bastianelli, Senator Raffaele 85 bookcovers 69, 75 Beatrice, Dante’s 164 Bonaventura, see St Bonaventura Beatrice, sister of St Clare 72, 79–80 Bonaventura Berlinghieri 76 Beleth, John 191 Boniface VIII, pope xxiv, xxvii, 2, 27, Bellosi, Luciano xxx, 39n, 53, 79n 108, 182 Belting, Hans xxix, 41, 43n, 47n, 52–3n, Borgo S. Donnino 153 128n Boston, Isabella Gardner Museum 103, Benedict XI, pope and saint 43–4,186 105 Benedict XII, pope 133n Breviari d’Amor 89 Benedictine order 33n, 109, 134, 169, Briga Novarese 8 170, 177 Bruscholo, Count Antonio da 188 Benozzo Gozzoli 33, 131 Burgundians 178 Bentivoglio 168, 178 Byzantium 29, 53, 69, 70, Caterina, wife of Giovanni, 177–8 Byzantine 2, 42, 43n, 49, 50, 85, 89, 182, Bergamo, San Michele al Pozzo Bianco 185 153n emperor 29, 174, 181–2 Berlin, Gemäldegalerie xxx, 51n Caetani 27 staatliche Museen 100, 101n Cahors, University of, 172 Bertrand du Poujet, Cardinal, 168–9n Callixtus I, pope 47n Bernard and Peter, Franciscans 198n Callixtus II, pope 47n Betrayal of Christ 100n Camaldolese 171 Bertuccio, xviii, xix Cambridge, Hamilton Kerr Institute 31 Bicchieri Guala cardinal 123n, 142n camera d’ amore see Chamber of Love Biduino 52, 54 Canon Law 129, 133, 138, 141, 169, 182, Bigallo Master 51n 184n, 189 Binski xxviii, 31n, 34–5, 77n cappa clausa 133–4 birds xxvii, 14n, 31, 34, 77 cappa manicata 133 Birmingham, Jewelry Quarter 73 Cappellanus, Andreas 160 Bisogni, Fabio 150–1 cappuccio 125, 128, 131–2 Blanche de Champagne 78n Carolingian 21, 23n, 87n boats 31, 35, 193 Carrara, da 162, 195, 198 Boccaccio Carthage 130 Decamerone 129–30 Carugo 8 Teseida 162n Cassiano dal Pozzo 25n, 86n, 98, 176n, Bologna 2, 67, 111, 128–9, 130, 133, 135– 179n, 183n, 185 6, 138, 140–1, 166, 168–9, 170, Castagnola, Thyssen-Bornemisza Collec- 172–8, 179, 182–3, 186–9 tion, no.117 51 Archivio di Stato 178n Castelbarco 154 Biblioteca Comunale 178n Castelnuovo 152 Collegio di Spagna 173 Caterina q. Dino Albari, wife of Gio- Dominican choir books 134–5, 140 vanni Bentivoglio 177–8 iconography 129, 136n, 138, 143, 182 Caterina dei Francesi 190 illumination 135, 182–5, 188n in cathedra 124, 136 lawbooks 188 Catherine of Austria xviii, xix Pinacoteca Nazionale 166–7, 177– G. B. Cavalcaselle 146, 148 9, 187 Cavallini, Pietro xxiii, xxvi, xxix, 83, 86 index 203

Celestine V, pope 108 colour of dress 128–9, 130, 133, 150, Cencio camerario 94, 96 154, 177n, 178 Ceri 8n column, architectural 24, 27–8, 138, 144 Certaldo, Museo di Arte Sacra 51n of the Flagellation 21n, 29, 68–9, 70–1 Chamber of Love 154–7, 159 Compiobbi (near Fiesole), S. Donato ai chapterhouse xxiii, 14–8, 186 Torriti 51n Charlemagne, emperor 164, 193–5 Compostella 192 CharlesIV, Emperor, 174 Constantine, emperor, 70, 184 chasses 64n, 67, 69, 70–5, 81 Constantinople, 29, 53, 69, 70 Chastity 162 Patriarch of 171 chimera 13 Coppo di Marcovaldo 47 Chirac, priory 174 Madonna del bordone 47–8, 50, 51n, Christ xvi, xvii, xxv, xxviii, 3, 13n, 16–8, 52, 60 21, 29, 31–5, 37, 42–3, 47, 50, 51n, Corona 128, 132–3 52, 53n, 56–7, 61–2, 69, 70–1, Coronation 34, 71 74–5, 77, 79, 80n, 81, 87, 98, 99n, of the Virgin xxv, 104, 119, 178, 179 100–1, 105, 107, 110–1, 113–5, papal 188 119, 120, 150, 178, 182, 198n Corpus Christi 65 in Majesty 74 Correggio 3, 146, 148–9, 152 Christ Church Tabernacle Master, 53n Biblioteca Comunale 146 Church, Roman, 28, 108, 110, 166, 168, san Francesco 146–7, 152–3 174 Correggio, da 146, 148, 152–3 Ciacconio 86 Giberto 152 Cicero 163 Azzo 152–3 Cino de’ Sighibuldi, da Pistoia, doctor of Simone and Guido 152 civil law and poet 138–9 Giberto and Luigi 153 Cistercians 109, 125, 134 Antonio 153 Civil Law 129, 133, 141, 182, 189 Bianca Rangone, eife of Antonio 153 Clare of Assisi, Saint 62–4, 72–5, 78– 82, Corrie, Rebecca 47 82, 100, 113, 150–1, 177 Cosmati xxiv, xxxii, 2, 31, 33n, 34, 35n family of 79 Councils of the Church, 85, 133n, 182 Clares, Order of poor, 3, 26n, 28, 50, 57, Counter-Reformation 98, 166 81–2n Cracow, University of, 172 Clavijo, battle of 194 Creation of Adam and Eve 85 Clement V, pope 27 Cremona 146 Clementines 182 ‘Cretonarius’ 119 Cluniac 169, 170 cross 16, 18, 22–4, 37, 67, 69, 70, 79, cobbler 171 85–6, 89, 101, 103, 111, 151, 178, Colonna 26 181, 192, 193 family, 2, 21, 24, 26–30 Crowe and Cavalcaselle 146, 148 Francesco 29 Crown of Thorns 37, 70 Giacomo 26–8 Crucifixion 15, 18, 47, 53n, 68, 75, 101n, Giovanni (i, d. 1245) 28–9, 71n 144–5, 147, 150–1, 178–80, 190, Giovanni (ii c. 1239–92) 26, 28 192–3 Giovanni (iii) 164n Crusades 27 Margherita 26 Fourth 29 oddo, (Martin V) 27 Fifth 29 palazzo 27–8 Cuénod, Jeanne 194 Pietro 26–7 Cupid 154–7 colour xxvi, 2, 5–10, 13–5, 17–8, 29, 86n, Cyriacus, pope 183n 161, 165 204 index dado 2, 8–14, 17, 20 England xvi, xvii, xxvi, 2, 35, 37, 38, 132n Dale Thomas 9, 10 Entombment 101n, 190 Damietta 29 Epirus, Despot of 29 Dante 160, 161n, 164 Eros 157, 158, 163n Dante da Maiano 164 Escorial, MS S.I.3 89n deacons xxviii, 25, 26n, 29, 151 Eugenius IV, pope 185 Decretales Gregorii IX 182 Evreux , St Taurin 67n Decretum Gratiani 182 van Eyck, Hubert and Jan Deeds of Blessed Francis and his Com Ghent Altarpiece 17, 18n, 19 panions 197 eyeglasses 161 Deodato Orlandi 51n, 184 Descent from the Cross 101n ‘Fakiriolus’ 119, Desperacio 10, 11 Falda 96n Dié, Saint Pierre 174 Feeding of the FiveThousand 31 Dionysius Areopagite 123, 124n feet 8, 39, 42, 43n, 47n, 50–3, 56, 60–1, Dionysius of Paris 124n 74, 77–8 diptychs 3, 35–8, 100n, 102–3, 115, 179, Felini, Pietro Martire, 96 181, 183–4 Ferrara 168, 169n Distribution of Powers 182 League of, 169n doctors xiv–vii, 128–9, 130, 132–3, 136, Fidenza 153 138, 142–3, 183, 189 Fiesole, S. Maria Primerana 51n Dominican(s)/Dominican Order xviii, Filiacciano 176n xix, xxvi, 33, 43–4, 109–10, 125, film 5–7 135 Fiore, Order of San Giovanni 109 choirbooks 135, 140 Fioretti 112, 197 domusculta 23 Flagellation 29, 62, 69–71, 178 dragons 10, 151, 158, 193 Florence xvi, xvii, xxi, xxiii, xxviii, xxx, dress xxx, 78, 90, 111, 115, 123–5, 128, xxxi, 2, 51, 125, 128–9, 168, 169n, 129–34, 136, 160 176, 188, 190, 195 fashion in xxx, 125, 160n Accademia 50n Duccio ciompi 188 Madonna dei francescani 39–41, 43, Galleria degli Uffizi 39n, 41, 90 46, 53, 56n, 59, 79n guild of the Linaiuoli 33n Madonna Rucellai 39, 59 Museo Bardini 176n Maestà for Duomo of Siena 56–7, 60 Museo Nazionale del Bargello 90–1 Maestà for the Sala del Consiglio san Marco 33–4 of the Palazzo Pubblico 60 santa Croce xvi, xvii, xxiii, 14 Siena Pinacoteca inv. no. 28 Baroncelli chapel xvi, xxiii, 14 Duccio, Circle of (?) s Maria del Carmine, Madonna ‘del Maestà from Cathedral of San Cer- Popolo’ 51 bone, Massa Marittima 57n santa Maria Maggiore xxvii Tabernacle, Christ Church Picture santa Maria Novella 14n, ...39, 135, Gallery, Oxford 53, 55 149 Durandus 25 spanish Chapel 125–8, 135 Santa Maria Nuova 33n Easter 18, 50n, 53n servites 51 Egypt, al-Kamil, Sultan of 29 Florino da Policino, friar, 178 Elizabeth of Pomerania, Empress 174 France xvi, xvii, xxiv, xxviii, xxix, 2, 52, embroidery 173 65, 67, 70, 71, 72, 75, 76, 77, 80, 81, emperors 29, 32, 42, 43, 70, 174, 182, 112, 134, 170–1, 180 184, 194 Francesco di Vannuccio 145n index 205

Francis of Assisi: see Saint, 29, 75, 77, Giovanni Baroncelli 173 101, 142, 150–1, 197, 198n Giovanni Baronzio 100, 112n, 113 Franciscans/Franciscan Order xxiii, xxv, Giovanni di Bartolo, goldsmith 180, xxviii, xxix, 3, 25–6, 28, 30, 39, 42, 181n 73, 77–8, 79n, 81, 99, 100–1, 103, Giovanni di Stefano, mason 180 107–8, 110–3, 115, 125, 134, 146, Giovanni da Legnano 168n, 189 150, 152–3, 182, 190, 198 Giovanni da Oleggio 169 Chapters General 81 Giovanni da Piacenza 178, 181 Conventuals 108, 111, 116 Giovanni da Rimini 100 observants 111 panels in Rome and Alnwick 101–3, spirituals 3, 99, 108, 110–2, 115 104, 113–5 usus pauper 108 Giovanni Elthinl 181n vicar general 62–3, 80-1 Girart l’Alemant, goldsmith 74 French cardinals 24 Giuliano da Rimini 103, 105 Influence 2 gold punchwork 181 manuscripts 33, 74, 77, 89 The Golden Legend 105, 191 metalwork 3, 74–5 goldsmiths xxviii, 64–5, 69, 73–5, 76n, painting 78 180, 195 patrons xxv Gonzaga 169 prelates 25 Tommasina 153 Revolution 120 Gozzoli, Benozzo 33, 131 royalty xxvii, 2, 69, 82 Greece 108n friars 39, 43, 50, 62, 111 Gregory I, the Great, pope and saint 7n, Fulda, abbey of 33n 183n Gregory IV, pope 87 Gaborit-Chopin, D. 67, 73, 74n, 78, 80n Gregory IX, pope 182, 185n Gaddi, Taddeo, xvi, xvii, xxx Gregory XI, pope, 174, 183, 188n, 189 Baroncelli chapel, frescoes 14 De Gregory, G. 119, 120, 121n, 122, Galicia 193 123n, 134 Galluzzi, Bonifacio 129, 136 Grimoard Gardner, Julian : pp. xv-xxxii, 1, 4–5, 10, Anglic, Cardinal, 169, 174–5 14–6, 24–7, 32, 43, 86, 101, 103, Guillaume de (Urban V) 2, 166, 167, 105, 107, 138, 173, 177, 182–5 169–74, 175, 176–8, 179–80, 181– Garrison, Edward B. xxiv, 50n, 51n, 53, 6, 187, 189 55, 56n Grisac 169 Genoa xxxi, 50 grisaille 2, 5n-7n, 10, 13n, 16–8, 20, 158; Gerard of Berry 163 see also monochrome Ghent 17–9 Grottaferrata, abbey of S. Nilo 89 Ghibelline 81, 121n, 168, 169n Guelf 121n, 168 Ghiberti, Lorenzo 86 Guglielmo de Falgario, vicar general 81 Gibbs, Robert 2, 136 Guglielmo il Farinier, vicar general 81 Gilebert l’Englois, goldsmith 74 Guido da Siena xxiii, 50n, 52 Giles, brother, Franciscan 198n Guillaume de Bray xxvii, xxix, 25, 25 Giotto xvi, xvii, xxv, xxvii–xxxi, 9–10, 33, Guillaume Durand de Mende 25 77, 83, 99, 128, Guillaume de Noellet, Cardinal 168n, Baroncelli polyptych xvi, xvii, xxiii 188 in Bologna, xxviii Guilielmus Generalis, Frater 62 Padua, frescoes in, 2, 8, 10, 12–4, 17 Hadrian I, pope 87 stefaneschi Polyptych xvi, xvii, xxiii Hamelman, Steven 7 Giovanni d’ Andrea 137–8 Hamilton Psalter 53n 206 index

Hansen, Dorothy, 135 Jesus 16, 107, 190, 193, 198 Hasselt, cathedral 64, 66, 68 Joachim of Fiore 99, 108–9, 110–2, 115 Hawkwood, Sir John 190n Joanna, Queen of Naples, 170 Healing of the Blind Man 31 Johanna regina 62, 80 Hell 13n, 17n John I, pope 43n Henri d’Avranches 76n John XII, pope 152 Henry II, emperor 32 John XXII, pope, 97, 108, 152, 166, 169 Henry III, King of England 33n, 34 John of Bohemia, King 169n heraldry xxvi, 2, 24–7, 30, 195 John Paleologue, Emperor, 174 Herkenrode 3, 64, 66–9, 73 Josiah, scribe 193 Hermanin, F. 83 Justin, Emperor 43n hermits 76, 108, 111–2, 130, 131, 135, 141n kissing 2, 39n, 41–3, 52–3, 57, 59, 154, Hermogenes, magician 193 157 Hildesheim 76n knight 9 Hill, Christopher xiv, xv knights of the Round Table 160 Hodegetria 53n Krautheimer, Richard xiv, xv, xxv–vi, Hood, William 33 21 Holy Ghost/Spirit 85–6, 89–90, 109 Holy Land 33, 79 Languedoc 169 Holy Sepulchre 71, 73–4, 82 Last Judgment 13n, 17n, 37, 100, 101n, Holy Trinity, feast 97 109, 112–3, 115 Honorius III, pope 29, 47n, 133, 185 Lateran Council 133n Honorius IV, pope 25 Laudesi 39 hybrid creatures 13 Laura 160 Law, see Canon, Civil Iacobone, Mysterium Trinitatis, 97n Lecceto 176n ‘L’Illustratore’ 188 Legenda major 107n Incarnation 18n, 109–10 Leibowitz, Flo 7 Innocent III, pope, xxvii, 184, 185n Lent 18 Innocent IV, pope, 94, 185n Leo the Great, pope 86 Innocent VI, pope, 169n Leonardo di ser Giovanni, goldsmith insolitae imagines 98 195, 197 Iohannes Diaconus 184 Liber Sextus Irsina, San Francesco 176n Liberal Arts 90, 130, 141 Isabelle of France 77 Limoges 76 Italy xiv, xv, xviii, xix, xxv–xxx, xxxii, 2, enamels 75, 77–8 8n, 24, 25n, 50, 52, 64, 71, 77, 100, Lippo Vanni 145n 112, 117, 123n, 140–1, 143, 159, Lombardo della Seta 161–2 160n, 169, 170, 173, 176, 188 London Ivrea 121n British Library, Add. MS 35166 34 British Museum 185 Jacopino da Reggio 144–5, 147, 150, 153 Courtauld Institute xiv, xv, xxiii, 1, 2, Jacopo‘called Rossetus’ da Vercelli 173 50, 55, 58, 69, 85–6, 104 Jacopo Salamone da Venezia 186 Jairus’ daughter 31 Museum of London 184n Jean I d’Armagnac 169 National Gallery vii, 35, 36–7, 51n Jean III d’ Armagnac 198 Sarti Gallery178, 180, 187 Jean Pucelle 17n Westminster Abbey xxxii, 2, 31, 33n, Jeanne de Bourgogne, Queen of France 34–5, 37 80 Abbot 33n Jeanne de Navarre, Queen of France 2, chapels 37 [62] 71, 80, 82 Chapel of St John Baptist 37 index 207

Chapel of Saint Mary de la Pew 37 Avignon, frescoes, 33, 97, Cosmati floor xxiv, xxxii, 2, 31, siena, Maestà 60, 61n 33n, 34, 35n Christ Discovered in the Temple xxv high altar 31, 32n, 33–5, 38n st Louis of Toulouse xvi, xvii, xxiii, Missal of Abbot Nicholas of Lyt- 182 lington, ms 37, 53n Martorana, Palermo, mosaics of xvi, xvii retable xxviii, 31–5, 37–8, 185n Martorelli 120n Lorenzetti, Ambrogio Mary, Mother of Christ, see St Mary Allegory of Good Government 125 Marys, three 42, 71–2 Loschi, Antonio 162 Masaccio 14n, 90 Lorenzo Lotto xviii, xix, xxvi Masolino 90 Lottici Tessadri, G. 144, 150n, 151 Massa Marittima, Louis IX, King of France xvi, xvii, xxix, Maestà from Cathedral of San Cer- 67n, 69, 71, 82 bone 57n Louis X, King of France 71 Master of 1333 150 Louis of Bavaria 168 Master of the Dominican Effigies 33 Louis of Taranto 170 Lova, Lovo, see Lupa, Lupi Master of Santa Felicita 154–7, 159 Love 154–65 Matteo di Giovanetto 173 Luca di Tomè 176n Matfré Ermengau 89 Lucca, Meditationes Vitae Christi 99n, 107 Museo Nazionale di Villa Guinigi Memmi, Lippo 61n Virgin and Child Enthroned with mendicants xxix, 25, 75, 100, 109–10, Kneeling Supplicant 52, 54 134 s Pietro Maggiore 52 Meo da Siena xvi, xvii, xxvi Lucius III, 43n metalwork 2, 74–5; see also orfèvrerie Lupa, Queen 191 Milan 51n, 130, 147n, 153, 169n-70n Lupi 190–1 Brera 144–6, 148–50 Bonifacio and Caterina 192, 198 Modena 168n Lux Mundi, 33n Mola di Monte Gelato 23 monochrome 2, 5–8, 13–4, 18, 20; see Madonna, see St Mary also grisaille Maestro del Biadaiolo 135 monstrance 3, 64–9, 73, 78 Maestro di Città di Castello (?), Montecassino 170 tabernacle, Christ Church Picture Montefiascone 176n Gallery, Oxford Montefioralle (near Florence), S. Stefano Maestro del Coro di Sant_Agostino 102 51n Maestro di Verucchio 103, 106 Monticelli 80 Magdalen Master 51 Montpellier 169, 171–3 Maggi 96n Montreuil-sur-Mer 67n Mâle, Emile xvi, xvii Moors 194 Manosque 172 Moorman, J. R. H. 79–81n, 108n Mantegna, Andrea 6–7n, 13n, 16n mosaics xvi, xvii, xxiii, xxvi, xxxi, 26–8, Marangoni,, Giovanni 97n 43, 45, 86–8, 112, 184 Marche, xviii, xix, 99, 103, 105, 108, 110– Moyes, Robert 6n 2, 116 Munich 102, 112n, 115, 128n Marco Landi 173 Muñoz, Antonio 21–3 Marengo 198 Margarito d’Arezzo 51n, 60n Naddo Ceccarelli 145n Marseille, St Victor 170, 173, 176n, 177 Naples, xviii, xix, xxvii, xxx, 24, 109n, Martin V, pope 27 169–70, 173, 182, 189 Martini, Simone xvi, xvii, xviii, xix, xxx, naples. Bibl. Naz. Ms. XII. A. 1 182n 33, 60, 160 Narcissus 165 208 index

National Museums of Scotland vii, 74 Pamplona 71–2, 195, 198 Nativity 70, 74, 100n, 113, 178 Panciroli, Ottavio 96, 98 Navarre 71 Panofsky, Erwin 156–8 Queen of 180n; see also Jeanne de Paolo Veneziano xxviii, 113 Navarre papal attributes 179 Neoplatonism 157 papal bulla 170, 184–5 Netherlandish art 17–8 papal legate 29, 166, 168–9, 188–9 altarpieces 14, 17–8, 20 papal state 166, 168, 170, 173–4, 183, 188 Niccolò di Giacomo/ da Bologna 184n, papal treasure xxvii 189 Pappazoni, Caterina 177 Nicea, Council of 85 Paradise 160, 198 Nicholas III, Pope xxiii, 27, 86, 166 Pareto, R. 119, 121n Nicholas IV, Pope xvi, xvii, xx, xxiii, Paris xxvi, 27–8, 82 Barillerie 73 Nicholas of Lytlington, Abbot of West- Franciscans in 76 minster 53n Louvre, xxiv, 76n, 101n, 107n, 145n, Ninfa 176n, 183 150 Nivelles, shrine of St Gertrude 67n, 72–3 Musée des Arts Decoratifs 51n Nolli 96n sainte Chapelle 69, 70, 73–5, 82 saint Germain 73 Occam 81 Paris Gratian Master 188 Odoricus 34 Paris hall mark 64 Parisian metalwork 64 Orange, University of, 172 Parma xxvi, xxvii, xxix, 146, 152, 190n orb 31–7 Pascal I, pope 21, 43, 45 orfèvrerie 64–5, 68n; see also goldsmiths Passion of Christ 29, 37, 70–1, 100–1, Orleans, University of, 172 105, 107, 111, 113, 150 Orsini 27 Patriarch of Constantinople 171 Ortolana, mother of St Clare 72, 79–80 Pavia 161 Orvieto xxv, xxvii, xxix, xxxii, 25, 51n, san Pietro in Ciel d’Oro 130 169n pavilions 6, 154, 158 Osman, Louis 73–4 Pentecost 101n, 113 Ovid 160 Pepoli 169 Oxen 193 taddeo 129, 168n, 169 Oxford xiv, xv, 89, 90, 141 Perugia xxvi, xxvii, 106, 169n Christ Church Picture Gallery 53, 55 Biblioteca Augusta, 43–4 Merton College, Ms 269 (F.I.4), 89–90 Galleria Nazionale dell’ Umbria 103, 106 Padua 2, 10, 14, 71, 99, 136n, 141, 161, Perus Mallius 184 162n, 190, 192–3, 195n, 198 Pescia 76 Arena/ Scrovegni Chapel 2, 8n, 9n, 10, Peter de Falco, vicar general 81 12, 17 Peter of Macerata 108n Baptistery 198 Petrarch 160, 162–4, 166, 169, 173 Church of St Anthony 71n, 136n, 190, Petrus Rubeus 94 198 Philippe III, ‘Le Bel’, King of France 62, chapel of St James 3, 190–2, 194, 65, 67n, 71, 80, 82 196, 198 Philippe IV, ‘le Long’, King of France, 80 Church of the Augustinian Hermits Philosophy 90, 123 130–1 philosophers 123, 130, 132 sala of the Illustrious Men 161 Piacenza, 3, 144, 149, 150n Palestrina 26–7 Giovanni da 178, 181 Pallanza 8, 13n Picasso Pallavicini, cardinal Antoniotto 21n Guernica 6–7 index 209

Pierre d’ Aigrefeuille, bishop 169, 174 putti 92, 157 Pierre d’Alençon 78n pyx 78 Pierre de Courtenay, Byzantine emperor 29 Ramiro I, King of Oviedo 194 Pietro Cavallini xxiii,xxvi, xxix, 83, 86 Rangoni, Bianca, wife of Antonio da Pietro da Rimini 102, 103n Correggio 153n Pilate 100n, 101n , 178 Raspanti 188 pileus 128, 132, 133n Redeemer 32, 33, 97, 105 pilgrimage 3, 80, 184n, 190, 192–4, 197–9 Reggio Emilia 3, 144, 146n, 148 pilgrims’ badge 184, 186 Reims, Reliquary of St Sixte 76n Pisa relics 29, 62n, 67n, 69–71, 74, 82, 123n, Baptistery Pulpit 56 145, 151, 174, 181, 192–3, 199 Camposanto, Triumph of Death 125 reliquaries 3, 62n, 63–4, 67, 69–72, 74–6, Pisa, Museo Nazionale di S. Matteo, 78, 81, 82, 145n, 173, 176, 180, inv. no. 1587 51n 181, 183, 192, 199 san Paolo a Ripa d’Arno, 80n Remole, S. Giovanni Battista 51n Pisano Renaissance xxiv, xxv, xxvii, xxix, xxx, Andrea and Nino xxx xxxi, 6n, 14, 17, 158, 160, 164 Giovanni 17n, xxix Renaissance and Renascences 157, 158n nicola 56, 58 Resurrection 101, 113, 190 Pistoia 138, 192–3 Richard II, King of England 35, 37–8 cathedral of S. Zeno, 138 Richart d’Arraz, goldsmith 74 chapel of St James 192–3, 195, 197, Richard Ware, Abbot of Westminster 199 33n, 34–5 Pius IX, pope 168n Rimini 99, 100, 113 Pius XI, pope 43n sant’Agostino 113n Plague 50, 172 school of 99 Pleasantville 5, 7 Risorgimento 168 plutei 22 Robers de Clari 70 polychromy 7, 8–9n, 10, 14, 15, 18, 20, Robert of Anjou, King of Naples xvi, 51, 119 polyptych xvi, xvii, 56–7, 59, 113, 177n xvii, xx, xxiii, 169, 182 Pombia 8 Roccaforte Mondovi 8 Pomposa 14–18, 20 Rocco Marconi xviii, xix, xxv Poor Hermits, order of 108 Romagna 99, 110–1, 150n, 166n, 168, popes xiv, xv, xvii, xxiii, 21, 27, 42, 47n, 173, 188n 62, 108, 151, 166n, 174, 182–4, Romanesque 8n, 9, 10n, 13n, 50n, 51n, 186, 189 52n, 53n Pope and Emperor 182 Romanus, priest 184 Popolo 51, 181, 188 Rome xvi, xvii, xviii, xix, xxiii–iv, xxvi, Porphyry 31n, 34 xxviii–xxxi, 2, 21–4, 26–7, 29, 34, Prignani, Bartolomeo ( Urban VI) 189 35, 42, 43, 47, 83, 85, 92, 94–6, 98, Prince of Wales 73 100, 130, 138, 166, 170–1, 173, Princeton 176n 174, 176, 183, 184, 186, 189 prophets 15–18, 20 Aventine 25 proskynesis 2, 42 Galleria Nazionale 100n Provence 109n, 110, 171–2 Musei Capitolini 83 Pseudo-Bonaventura 107n Museo di Roma at Palazzo Braschi 83, Pseudo-Dionysius 123, 140n 84, 87, 89–90, 96–8 Pseudo-Jacopino 183n Palazzo Venezia 24 Psychomachia 13 Quirinal 27 Puccinelli 176n ss Apostoli 27 210 index

ss Bonifacio ed Alessio 25 Rossi, knights, 190 san Clemente 8n, 21 Rovezzano (near Florence), S. Michele ss Cosma e Damiano 28 512n sant’Eustachio 27 Rudolf of Habsburg 166 san Francesco di Paola 96 s Giovanni in Laterano xxxii, 47, 97, Sabbath 109 183, 184 Sabbionara d’Avio 154, 156–60, 164–5 ciborium 174, 180, 183 Sacchetti 176n reliquaries of Sts Peter and Paul Salati, Emidio, mayor of Correggio 148 173, 174, 180, 183, 184 da Saliceto, Riccardo and Roberto, legists ss Giovanni e Paolo 176n 188 san Lorenzo fuori le Mura 24–5 San Miniato 176n san Marco, apse mosaic, 87, 88 Saints santa Maria in Aquiro 28 Agnes 79 santa Maria in Aracoeli 25, 27–8, 96 Anthony 177 santa Maria in Domnica, apse mosaic, Anthony of Padua 3, 77n, 100, 142, 43, 45 190, 198 santa Maria della Luce 185 Augustine, 109, 123, 130–2, 135, santa Maria Maggiore xvi, xvii, xxiii, 141n, 163 24, 27 St Austreberthe 67n santa Maria sopra Minerva 33 Bartholomew 151, 179–80 santa Maria in Trastevere 26, 43n, Benedict 15–6, 32n, 151 47n, 92, 93 Bernard of Clairvaux 20, 109, 198 santa Maria in Via Lata 27 Blaise 70, 151 san Paolo fuori le mura xvi, xvii, xxvi, Blasien 69 85–6, 87n, 184 Bridget of Sweden 177n apse mosaic 43n Bonaventura 62n, 78, 79n, 81n san Pietro 51, 170, 184 Catherine of Alexandria 123, 151, 190 stefaneschi poplyptych, xvi, xvii, Catherine of Siena 177 xxiii Clare of Assisi, Saint 62–4, 72–6, san Pietro in Vincoli 96 78–80, 82, 100, 113, 150–1, 177 santa Prassede 2, 21–2, 24–5, 28–30, Clement 70 Denis 124n 71, 83 Dominic 186 s Pudenziana, 87 Donnino 153 apse mosaic 86, 184 Eusebius 123 santi Quattro Coronati 184 Francis of Assisi 28–9, 62, 75, 77, s Sabina 21n, 22n 100–1, 107, 112–3, 115, 134, 142, san Salvatore della Corte 185 150–1, 197, 198n s Salvatore ‘Trium Imaginum’ 92, 94, Francis of Sales 124 96–7 Gabriel 32n san Silvestro in Capite 26, 28 Gertrude 67n, 72–3 sancta Sanctorum xxiii, xxv, 53n, 97n, Gregory 7n, 183n 174, 180 Guido 15 Senator 26 Helena 70 Suburra 92, 94–5, 96–8 James Major 3, 151, 177–8, 190–9 Trium Imaginum, contrada of John the Baptist 16–7, 28n, 37, 70, Vatican 184 101, 103, 105, 111–3, 115, 151, Biblioteca Apostolica 86n, 188–9 177 Via del Boschetto 96 John the Evangelist 17, 28, 31, 75, Via Cavour 96 151, 177, 179 via Praenestina 26 Edmund 37 index 211

Edward the Confessor 35–7 Schmidt, V.M. xxvii, 39n, 53n, 79n, 80n, Fortunatus 9 146n, 149 Henry 76n schola cantorum 21, 22n, 30 Hermagorus 9 scholars xiv, xv, xvi, xvii, 1, 3, 78, 80, 86, Lawrence 151 117, 162, 169 Louis IX, King of France xvi, xvii, Scrovegni, Maddalena 162 xxix, 67n, 69, 71, 82 sedes sapientiae 52 Louis of Toulouse xvi, xvii, xxiii, xxiv, Serafino de’ Serafini 149 100, 150–1, 182 Serenus of Marseille 7 Lucien 69 Servites/Servite Order 39, 50, 51n Mary Magdalene 42, 101, 103, 105, seven ages 109–10 111–2, 115, 151, 178, 179 shoe 39 Mary, Virgin, Mother of Christ xxv, Siena xxviii, xxxi, 39n, 40, 46–8, 50, 51n, xxvii, 28, 31, 35, 37, 39, 40, 41–3, 52, 56–61, 79n, 125, 130, 169n, 45–61, 62n, 72, 75, 79n, 82, 90, 182, 190n 102, 104–5, 113, 119, 121, 138, Bibl. Comunale, Ms. K. I. 3 182n 145, 149, 177–9, 181–2, 190 Duomo 56–7, 60 Michael 32n Pulpit 56–8 Paul 15, 31, 94n, 151, 163, 173–4, 176, Museo dell’Opera della Metropolitana 180, 184–5 52, 60, Peter 15, 31, 51, 151, 173, 174, 176, s Chiara 50n, 57 180, 183, 184–5, 198 s Domenico 52 Petronius 183 Palazzo Pubblico Raphael 32n Allegory of Good Government 125, Simeon 70 130 Sixtus, pope 75n, 186 Maestà for Sala del Consiglio 60 Stephen 151 Pinacoteca, 39, 57n, 59, Sylvester, pope 184–5 Madonna dei francescani Taurin 67n Polyptych, inv. no 28 57 Thomas Aquinas 67, 135–7, 140, 143 Polyptych, inv. no 39 57, 59 Thomas Becket, of Canterbury 123 S. Maria dei Servi 47–8 Victor 123, 140v Signorili, Nicolo 96 Zeno 177–8 ‘Simone, Master’, physician 129–30 Sts Peter and Paul 15, 173–4, 176, 180, Simone da Bologna (Simone dei Croce- 184–5 fissi) 145n, 166–7, 169, 176–88, San Giminiano 131 cover, 11.1, 11.5, 11.6, 11.10, 11.11 San Piero a Grado 184 Simone Martini xvi, xvii, xviii, xix, xxx, San Regolo in Montaione 50 33, 60, 160 San Sepolcro, Umbria 100 Avignon, frescoes, 33, 97 Sant’Anna Metterza 90 Siena, Maestà 60, 61n Santiago see Compostella Christ Discovered in the Temple xxv Saracens 9, 78, 193 St Louis of Toulouse xvi, xvii, xxiii, sarcophagus 74, 117, 119, 120, 121, 138, 182 143, 193 Simone da Villa 129–30 Sarti Gallery 178, 180, 187 Simonet de Columba, painter, 173 Savelli 25, 26 Sinai, Monastery of St Catherine, Ms. Gr. Luca 25 61, 49–50 Pietro 25–6 siren 13 Scacchesi 188 slipper 39, 42–3, 47, 50, 57, 59 Scaligeri 169 Sovano 176n scarlet (red) 129–31, 133 Spain xvi, xvii, xxviii, 71–2, 193 212 index

Spoleto xxv, 176n, 183 Paternitas type 89 Stefaneschi xvi, xvii, xxiii tricephalous Trinity 85 Bertoldo 26 triptych 3, 33n, 144–53, 176n, 178–80, Stefano Coppo da Gemignano 92 187 Stefano di Alberto Azzi 189 Tristan and Isolde 160 Stigmatization of Francis xxiv, 76–8, Troyes 170 101n, 102–3, 107, 111, 115 st Urbain xxv, 69 The Stripping of Christ 111 tunic 98, 123, 125, 128 Stubblebine, James 43, 50n, 53n supertunic 125, 130 students vii, xvi, xvii, xx, xxi, 1, 3, 117, Tuscany xvii, xxi, xxx, 50, 146 119, 125, 132, 134–6, 138, 141–3, 171n, 172–3 Ugolino di Nerio/da Siena 57, 59 studium generale 141, 143 Siena Pinacoteca inv. no. 39 Suburra: see Rome Umbria xxxii, 33, 100, 103, 106, 111 Summa de ecclesiasticis officiis 191 universities xiv, xv, 128, 130, 132–4, 136, Summaga 8, 10–1, 13n 140n, 141–3, 168, 171–2, 176, 183 Switzerland 71 Urban I, pope 171 Urban II, pope 171 tabernacle xxiii, 53, 55–6, 62–4, 75, 134, Urban IV, pope 65, 171, 176, 192 138, 178, 192 Urban V, pope 2, 166–7, 169–87, 189 Taparelli, G 146, 147n Urban VI, pope 189 teachers xiv, xv, xx, xxi, 1,3, 117, 119, Urban VIII, pope 85 124, 125, 130, 132, 135, 136,m 141–3, 173, 183 Vaduz, Liechtenstein Collection 100n Temperantia 10, 11 Vallombrosans 28 Theodore Komnenos Doukas 29 Vannini, Sebastiano 185 Theology 133, 141–2, 161n, Varazze, Iacopo da: see Voragine, Golden Theotokos 89 Legend Thomas of Celano 76, 77, 79 vas 64, 67 Thomas Gallus 3, 117–28, 132, 134–6, Veneto xviii, xix, 10, 150, 154 140–3 Venice xxvii, xxxi, xxxii, 2, 53, 87n, 100, Tolentino, xviii, xix, xxiv, xxv, 99 112n, 113, 135n, 168, 184n, 198 Tomaso di Galvano, illuminator 188 Accademia 100, 112–3n Tomaso da Modena xviii, xix, xxiii, 183, san Marco 17, 70, 71n 186 santa Chiara 113 tombs xxiii-v, 24–6, 37, 43, 71, 74, Vercelli 3, 120, 123, 140–3 117–8, 120–2, 124, 126–30, 133, abbey of Sant’Andrea 117–20, 122, 136, 138–40, 142–4, 173n, 177, 123n, 130, 132, 138, 142 186, 190, 193–4, 199 Vercelli, Jacopo‘called Rossetus’ da, 173 tonsure 78, 80, 128, 132–3, 151 Verlet, P 67–9 Toulouse, Bibliothèque Municipale, MS Verona 43, 136n, 154, 169n 91 89n La Verna, hermitage 76, 107, 111 Trento 154–7, 159 Versailles 161 Trets 172 Vices 2, 8n, 9n, 10, 13, 14n, 17, 107 Treviso: see Tomaso da Modena Victorine canons 117, 123, 124n, 140, san Nicolo 186 142–3 Trieste, San Giusto 8 Vienna, University of, 172 Trinity: 3, 14n, 83, 85–6, 87n, 89, 96–7, Villani, Giovanni 166n, 169n 109 Virgin, the: see St Mary, Mother of Anthropomorphic Trinity 84, 86–7, Christ 89–90, 96–8 Virgin of Humility 145n matriarchal earthly Trinity 90–1 de viris illustribus. (Petrarch) 162 index 213

Virtues 2, 8n, 9n, 10, 13, 14n, 17, 107 wilderness 105, 111–2, 115 Visconti 161, 168–70, 173, 176, 183, 198 Wilton Diptych 31, 35,–8 Bernabo 168, 170 Windsor 98 Giovanni 170 Wizard of Oz 5, 7 Vitale da Bologna 184n Wormald, Francis 35–7, 136 Viterbo xxxi, 173 Voragine, Iacobus de 105n, 191; see also Yolande de Soissons 77 Golden Legend Zachariah 17 Warwick University xiv, xv, xviii, xix, Zagarolo 26 1–2, 99, 112, 173 Zanobi Strozzi 33n Washington, National Gallery of Art 51n Zappolino 168n Westminster Retable xxviii, 31–5, 37–8, 185n