Material and Meaning: Umbrian Verres Églomisés

Figure 1

I find the study of materials and their greater cultural context to be a worthwhile method of understanding medieval art. Indeed, materials themselves offer indications of cultural practices from their inception and should not simply be looked over. In this blog post, I will focus on the cultural forces at work that centre on the use of verres églomisés in two Umbrian Franciscan reliquaries of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. The business of relics, both metaphorically and literally, was shaped by the rulings of the Fourth Lateran Council in 1213 to 1215, formalising the adornment of relics through papal decree. So decreed, ‘ancient relics shall not be displayed outside a reliquary or be put up for sale’ due in particular to unscrupulous individuals who ‘display them indiscriminately. [1] Yet the choice of materials in these reliquaries may further be seen as grounded in theories of optics, which grant an essential understanding of Umbrian verres églomisés reliquaries in the context of the medieval mind. By considering the greater context of papal decrees, Franciscan theological interests, and medieval understandings of optics, Umbrian verres églomisés reveal the deeper significance of gilded glass, beyond such explanations of cost and speed of production.

A Reliquary Diptych (Figure 1) from the fourteenth century features the Nativity and the Crucifixion, with boxes of texts and smaller images of saints surrounding the central images. The smaller pictorial chambers contain relics, some visible through the glass. Text and images, in this instance those of St. Francis, St. Claire of Assisi, Mary, and St. Louise of Toulouse, inform the viewer of what this reliquary contains. Additionally, two pieces of the True Cross are prominently displayed. (Figure 2) Each chamber in the border contains either a verres églomisés or text indicating the relic contained within. This reliquary emphasises a variety of relics through text, offering them to the viewer for clear identification and visual consumption. The verres églomisés in turn protects and seals the relic safely behind the glass, much like rock crystal though less sumptuous. While the production of verres églomisés follows the papal decree, showing a concern for display of their new saint’s relics through increased viability at the cost of decreased accessibility, the materiality itself speaks to Franciscan concerns over sumptuous culture.

Figure 2

A brief explanation Franciscan politics in the thirteenth century bears examining to illustrate Franciscan devotional concerns in Umbrian verres églomisés. St. Bonaventure entered the Franciscan order in 1243, only twenty-one years after St. Francis of Assisi received papal support for the new Order. In his Major Life written on St. Francis, St. Bonaventure addresses the concerns of his Order, which lacked cohesion due to the absence of adequate writings of St. Francis in light of the changing needs of the Brothers under papal endorsement. By creating a new life of St. Francis, St. Bonaventure sought to unite the two factions of his Order, the Spirituals and the Conventuals. However, it was St. Bonaventure’s generalate and his letter to the custodians in 1257 that is of particular interest to the art historian. Due to Franciscan strict vows of poverty, issues regarding donations continued to be addressed by Order officials. In this instance, St. Bonaventure writes on everything from building material, liturgical tools, to the iconographic themes approved as ‘even here the choice of images was restricted to Christ on the cross, the Blessed Virgin Mary, John, Francis, and Antony; if others were found, they were to be removed’. [2] Thus, the gilded glass with its visual references to enamel and rock crystal could be seen as poverty minded Franciscan expressions of more expensive reliquary practices.

The Umbrian Cross Reliquary (Figure 2) contains gilded glass, utilising only black and red, gold, parchment, and coral. The red is only used to highlight the spilling blood of Christ, calling the viewer's attention to the wounds of the suffering body of Jesus. The centrepiece of the cross is a verres églomisé panel of the crucifixion, above which is a relic of the True Cross. The sombre palette of the Umbrian Cross illustrates a leaning towards a limited application of adornment. While still sumptuous, the Umbrian Cross uses the verres églomisés rather than heavy enamel, as 'gilded glass itself was a cheap and quick way of achieving he effects of enamel'. [3] The Franciscan struggles over vows of poverty can be seen playing across the Umbrian Cross. By choosing a more illusionistic material, the reliquary is able to venerate the saintly remains contained within it while also remaining mindful of concerns over wealth and adornment. [4] Yet, the utilisation of verres églomisés also addressed medieval conceptions of optics.

The medieval theory of optics centres around two main understandings of light and the eyes, extramission and intromission. [5] Extramission was the earlier theory of optics stemming from Ptolemy's Optics. Extramission as a theory of vision posits that vision is formed by 'a visual fire emanating from the observer’s eye [as it] coupl[es] with light or fire coming from the perceived object'. [6] These rays are then brought into the areas of vision within the eye and head, creating an image of the perceived object. However, as the 'sensitive' rays emanating from the eyes would gather information, the process of seeing was conceptualised as innately dangerous and open to misinformation due to the viewer’s own lacking either spiritually or physically, while also created dangerous bodily concerns. 'For a proponent of extramission like Augustine, the senses are the dangerous open doorways reaching out to embrace cupidity, bridges between the world and body that have to be strictly guarded'. [7] However, extramission did give way to intromission through the writing of Alhacen's Kitāb al-Manāzir in the 1030s. Alhacen Kitāb al-Manāzir turns Ptolemy's theory around and proposes that 'objects are seen by means solely of what they radiate to the eye'. [8] Working off of this model, Robert Bacon wrote on Alhacen Kitāb al-Manāzir's theories in his De multiplicatione specierum  in 1260, followed by Witelo's Perspectiva completed in the mid 1270s and finally John Pecham, just five years after Witelo, with his Perspectivac ommunis, all which brought Alhacen Kitāb al-Manāzir's theories to a wider audience. [9] These works brought intromission to the forefront of optics and the understanding of a visual spiritual communion. Vision was 'not only the noblest of senses, but the corporeal origin and requirement of intellectual vision. The necessity of vision for knowing God is granted by all commentators'. [10]  This receptiveness could allow divine grace to enter the penitent through the eyes, especially when viewing sacred objects. By adding this layer of understanding to the visual examination of verres églomisés Umbrian reliquaries, deeper religious concerns are highlighted.

Figure 3

In the article 'The Mass Production of Franciscan Piety' by Dillian Gordon, the production of verres églomisés in Umbria in the late fourteenth century is attributed to Pietro Teutonico and possibly a workshop either operated or influenced by his work. [11] The similarity in iconography, relic placement, and materials attributed to verres églomisés and reliquaries by 'Pietro Teutonico smacks of mass production'. [12] While repeated idiosyncrasies within the verres églomisés do unite the pieces, the concept of mass production of the reliquaries is problematic. [13] While Gordon proposes that the 'gilded glass itself was a cheap and quick way of achieving enamel', the choice of verres églomisés could suggest an interest in protecting valued relics, but restrainedly. [14] The Franciscans battled with egresses in vows of poverty since their inception, and the restrained materials could indicate this concern, as well as intra-Order politics. Furthermore, the repetition of idiosyncrasies with the iconography are more in line with medieval desires for repetition as ‘creativity was much more a matter of the use of sources, including existing works, within established forms’. [15]

The verres églomisés technique granted visual primacy to the relics contained within them by incorporating relics explicitly both in compositional arrangements and in textual markers denoting the type of relic shown. The decrees of Fourth Lateran gave some structure to the maintenance of relics, before which there were no express mandates on their adornment. The glass of the verres églomisés can be seen as a more modest form of rock crystal. The iconographic element, especially in the incorporation of Franciscan relics, ties the reliquaries to the Brothers Minor. This modesty of materials could indicate an interest in maintaining a balance between sumptuous devotional objects and Franciscan ideals of poverty. Umbrian verres églomisés were more than mass produced devotional objects from a rapidly growing Order. Rather, their material and subject matter, when examined in light of medieval optics, papal decrees, and Franciscan concerns, reveals the verres églomisés reliquaries as intrinsically tied to efforts to understand divinity while honouring the Franciscan ideal of poverty.

 

 -Samuel

Work Cited:

[1] Nuechterlein, J. 2005. ‘Hans Memling’s St. Ursula Shrine: The Subject as Object of Pilgrimage’. Studies in Medieval and Reformation Traditions (Leiden, Brill Academic Publishers): 51

 [2] Bourdua, Louise. 2004. The Franciscans and Art Patronage in Late Medieval Italy (New
           York, Cambridge University Press): 24.

 [3] Gordon, Dillian. 1994. ‘The Mass Production of Franciscan Piety: Another Look at Some Umbrian verre églomisés’,  Apollo: The International Magazine of Art & Antiques, 394: 34

 [4] Even with the relative peace St. Bonaventure brought to the Order, Franciscan conflicts with vows of poverty continued. Bourdua, 2004, 25.

[5] Devons, Samuel. 1985. ‘Optics through the Eyes of the Medieval Churchmen’, Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, 441: 210.

[6] Camille, Michael. 2000. ‘Before the Gaze: The Internal Senses and Late Medieval Practices of Seeing’, Visuality before and beyond the Renaissance: Seeing as Others Saw (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press): 204.

[7] Ibid., 206.

[8] Smith, A. M. 2004. ‘What Is the History of Medieval Optics Really About?’, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 148.2: 182.

[9] Smith, 2004, 182-3.

[10] Hahn, Cynthia. 2000. ‘Visio Dei’, Visuality before and beyond the Renaissance: Seeing as  
           Others Saw (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press): 188.

[11] Gordon, 1994, 37.

[12] Ibid., 41.

[13] Ibid., 36-8.

[14] Ibid, 34.

[15] Hubert, Susan J. 1998. ‘Theological and Polemical Uses of Hagiography: A Consideration of Bonaventure's Legenda Major of St. Francis’, Comitatus: A Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 29: 53.

Images:

Figure 1-2: Reliquary Diptych, ca 14^th Century, Verre églomisé, painted and gilded wood, parchment, (open): 6 13/16 x17.3 x 22.3 x 4.6 cm,  (closed): 17.3 x 11.2 x 3.7 cm. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 17.190.982

Figure 3: Umbrian Cross Reliquary, ca 14^th Century, Gilded glass, parchment, coral. S. Maria degli Angeli

The Equivocal Woman: Shifting Perceptions of Synagoga

     Synagoga and Ecclesia first appeared in the ninth century in Northern France and Southern Germany, where they were intended as representations of the Old and New Testament and personifications of Judaism and Christianity, respectively. Through their depiction in carved ivory panels, to stained glass windows and manuscript illuminations, the figures developed a distinct iconographical tradition, which featured prominently in the pictorial arts, contemporary drama as well as in Christian theology, appearing in commentaries, exegesis, and sermons.[i] For example, Ecclesia and Synagoga were the main actors in Pseudo-Augustine’s sixth century Sermo Contra Paganos, Judaeos et Arianos, (Sermon Against Pagans, Jews and Heretics) as well as central figures in the twelfth- century exegetical sermons of the French abbot, Bernard of Clairvaux.^[ii] The ubiquitous presence of the figures in medieval art and literature makes it almost impossible to engage in medieval studies without coming across Synagoga and her Christian counterpart.[iii]

     Any discussion of the figures must begin with a description of Synagoga and Ecclesia’s traditional iconography. In order to do so, it is perhaps best to turn to, what is acknowledged as one of the most celebrated examples of the motif; the south facade of Strasbourg Cathedral.[iv]

     On the right of the facade is the regal Ecclesia. Adopting a powerful stance, her legs are set wide apart as she throws her shoulders back in an upright posture. The heavy drapery of her robe gathers in orderly folds at her feet and she is the image of might and stability. Every movement of her body appears decisive and controlled as she tightly grips a cross in her hand. A crown sits firmly on top of her head and identifies Ecclesia as a ruling Queen. No aspect of Ecclesia’s appearance communicates inertia, uncertainty or any other weakness. Her power and strength are absolute.

     Standing across from Ecclesia, to the left of Solomon, is the figure of Synagoga. Although her beauty matches that of Ecclesia, unlike her counterpart Synagoga is the image of weakness and defencelessness. Her stance is weak and she is hunched over. Her movements seem uncertain and she appears to be slipping out of the design, with her elbows protruding beyond the facade. The drapery of her robe falls in a muddled pile at her feet, giving the impression that she may trip over it. Her frailty is further emphasised by the blindfold tightly wrapped around her eyes which represents the Jews inability to see Christ as their true Messiah. In her hand she holds the tablets of the law which are slipping from her grasp and tangled up within the holds of her robe; symbolising the Jewish attachment to the now obsolete Old Law. Like the broken staff in her hand, Synagoga looks damaged and defeated. She is isolated and turns away from the rest of the facade. Her only symbol of power was a crown, which is no longer visible, located at her feet.  It suggests Synagoga is the overthrown Queen who was once powerful but whose time has now passed. [v] 

     Together, Synagoga and Ecclesia represent the contrast of defeat and victory; of subordination and power and of despair and hope.[vi] This opposition of conquered and conqueror was a defining feature of the motif from the eleventh century onwards and creates a powerfully dramatic but also highly enigmatic image which begs further investigation.

     In light of her omnipresence and striking appearance, it is not surprising that since the late nineteenth century Synagoga’s flimsy beauty has inspired a wealth of literature and numerous interpretations.[vii] One of the earliest studies of Synagoga was carried out in 1894 by Paul Weber. His fundamental text Geistliches Schauspiel und kirchliche Kunst (Religious Drama and Church Art) studied the relationship between pictorial representations of Synagoga and her depiction in medieval drama.[viii] Weber’s study viewed the figure as the embodiment of medieval anti-Semitism. He concluded that despite the figure’s beautiful appearance, like the deformed male Jew of Christian art, Synagoga condemned medieval Jews. Therefore initially the figure was seen as a further manifestation of Christian anti-Semitism, reflecting the writings of the Church Fathers, such as John Chrysostom, who condemned the Jews and accused them of immorality and madness.[ix]

     This negative interpretation of Synagoga was questioned by Wolfgang Seiferth. His text, Synagogue and Church in the Middle Ages: Two Symbols in Art and Literature, reached a more ambiguous conclusion.[x] Studying the development of the iconography of Synagoga, from the ninth through to the fifteenth century, he concluded that due to the allegorical nature of the figure it denies any concrete definition. Seiferth traced the use of the female allegories or personification to Classical Antiquity when female allegories would often be used within a historical context to represent ideas which they did not literally represent. ^[xi]  Using the example of the two female personifications of conquered lands depicted on the armour of the statue of Augustus at Prima Porta, Seiferth shows how multifaceted an allegory could be. Building of the argument that the meaning of the personification is volatile and strictly dependant on the context in which they appear, Seiferth concluded that when removed from the initial context the female personification could stand for anything.

     This interpretation draws from the classical understanding of the function of the personification as presented by Morton Bloomfield, who stated that the connotations of a personification are not determined by what it represents but the predicates that are attached to it.[xii] As such Seiferth presents Synagoga as a far more complex figure which reflected the dual nature of Judaism in medieval Christian theology.[xiii] While the Jews were accused of deicide and condemned they were also acknowledged as God’s first chosen people. This can be seen in the writings of the French abbot Bernard of Clairvaux who adopting the fourth century ideology of St Augustine stated, ‘slay them not least my people forget.’[xiv] He believed that Jews should be protected as they are living relics of the Old Testament, and their conversion is a condition of the second coming of Christ. Thus he presented the Jews as playing a vital role in the past and future of Christian salvation history.

     For Seiferth, Synagoga’s allegorical nature could accommodate the various incarnation of the Jew in Christian theology. Therefore rather than interpret the figure as a positive or negative representation of Judaism, he believed that the connotations of the figure were directly related to the specific circumstances of her representation. A similar conclusion was reached by Bernhard Blumenkranz who believed that Synagoga could both condemn the Jews and communicate their position within Christianity and Christian salvation history. However, Blumenkranz believed that the downtrodden appearance of Synagoga, contrasted against the victorious Ecclesia always communicated a sense of subordination and while the figure may not have been a negative representation, it did present Judaism as inferior to Christianity.

     Ruth Mellinkoff’s study of medieval iconography supported this conclusion stating that the figures had a firmly established iconographical tradition which was intended on communicating the superiority of Christianity over Judaism. Synagoga’s traditional attributes of a blindfold, slipping tablets of the law and a broken banner all communicate weakness which was emphasised by the contrast with Ecclesia who’s attributes of a crown and upturned chalice are indicative of power.[xv]

     These early studies focused on Synagoga and Ecclesia’s iconography in light of the Christian theological conception of the Jews; a conception which at times appears almost schizophrenic. While failing to agree on whether Synagoga was a flattering of damning representation of Judaism, all of these studies concluded that despite her beauty, Synagoga’s dissolute and defeated appearance communicated the secondary role attributed to Judaism in Christian theology.

     What these early studies have provided is a solid foundation for the examination of Synagoga. However, there is a limit to how much can be achieved through iconographical analysis which is only examined in relation to Christian theology. Although these studies are a logical starting point, this approach fails to acknowledge Synagoga’s prominence and also the complexity of medieval Jewish-Christian relations. In medieval Christian Europe “the Jew” was not a mystical creature only featured in theology; the Jewish community played a significant role in medieval society and like their Christian counterpart was influenced and shaped by social and political change. Simultaneously, Synagoga was not limited to theological contexts and clerical audiences. Featured on public spaces such as cathedral facades, which would have been visible to Christians and Jews alike, it is necessary to consider the possibility that the figures could have functioned out with the context of Christian theology.

     More recent scholarship has begun to take these wider considerations into account. Accepting the complexity of Synagoga’s iconography and the context in which she was displayed, scholars such as Sara Lipton and Nina Rowe are beginning to consider Synagoga’s multifarious nature more carefully. By building on the previous scholarly tradition, Lipton and Rowe are paving the way for a new chapter in Synagoga’s scholarship, whose contribution and significance deserves a blog entry of their own.

Contributed by: Monika Winiarczyk

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[i] Wolfgang S. Seiferth, Synagogue and Church in the Middle Ages: Two Symbols in Art and Literature, trans. by Lee Chadeayne and Paul Gottwald (New York: Frederick Ungar Publishing Co., 1970), p.108; for example of drama see: John Wright, trans., Play of Antichrist (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1967).

[ii] St Augustine, Sermo contra judaeos, paganos, et Arianos de Symbolo, Migne, P.L. XLII, 1117-30 and  Bernard of Clairvaux, ‘Sermones Super Cantica Canticorum’ 14.2.4 in Opera, ed. by Jean Leclercq et al. (Rome, 1957-77); Migne Patrologia Latina 42, 1115-1139.

[iii] Nina Rowe, ‘Rethinking Ecclesia and Synagoga in the thirteenth century,’ Hourihane, Colum, (ed.), Gothic Art & Thought in the Later Medieval Period: Essays in Honour of Willibald Sauerlander, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011) p.265

[iv] Nina Rowe, ‘Idealization and Subjection at the south Façade of Strasbourg Cathedral’ in Beyond the Yellow Badge: Anti-Judaism and Anti-Semitism in Medieval and Early Modern Visual Culture, ed. by Mitchell B. Merback (Leiden: Brill, 2008), p.179 and footnote 13 for list of example of Synagoga’s appearances on Cathedrals.

[v] This crown is no longer visible but the image shows a sixteenth century engraving which shows that originally there was a crown located at Synagoga’s feet.

[vi] Nina Rowe 2008 p.179 and footnote 13 for list of example of Synagoga’s appearances on Cathedrals.

[vii] See: Rowe 2008; Seiferth 1970; Nina Rowe, The Jew, the Cathedral and the Medieval City: Synagoga and Ecclesia in the Thirteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011); Bernd Nicolai, ‘Orders in Stone: Social Reality and Artistic Approach. The Case of the Strasbourg South Portal,’ Gesta, Vol. 41, No. 2 (2002), p. 111-128; Otto Von Simson, ‘Le Programme Sculptural du Transept Meridonal de la Cathedrale de Strasbourg,’ Bulletin de la Societe des Amis de la Cathedrale de Strasbourg, Vol. 10, 1972, p.33-50 and Adolf Weis, ‘Die “Synagoge” am Südquerhaus zu Straßburg,’ Das Münster, Nr. 1 (1947), p.65-80; Ruth Mellinkoff, Outcasts: signs of otherness in northern European art of the late Middle Ages (Oxford : University of California Press, 1993); Annette Weber, ‘Glaube und Wissen-Ecclesia et Synagoga,’ in Wissenspopularisierung: Konzepte der Wissensverbreitung im Wandel, ed. by Carsten Kretschmann (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2003); Herbert Jochum, Ecclesia und Synagoga: Das Judentum in der Christlichen Kunst: Austellungskatalog (Saarbrücken: Museum, 1993); Cohen, E., ‘The Controversy Between Church and Synagoga in some of Bosch’s Paintings,’ Studia Rosenthaliana, Vol.18 (1984), p.1-11; Bernhard Blumenkranz, ‘Geographie historique d’un theme de l’iconographic religieuse: Les Representations de Synagoga en France,’ in Melanges offerts a Rene Crozet, ed. by P. Gallais and Y.J. Rious, 2 vols. (Poiteres: Societe d’Etudes Medievales, 1966), II, p. 1142-57; for discussion of Jews in medieval theology see Jeremy Cohen, Living Letters of the Law: Ideas of the Jew in Medieval Christianity (London: University of California Press, 1999), for example p.134.

[viii] Paul Weber, Geistliches Schauspiel und kirchliche Kunst in ihrem Verhaltnis erlautert an einer Ikonographie der Kirche und Synagogue: Eine kunsthistorische Studie(Stuttgart; Ebner & Seubert, 1894)

[ix] John Chrysostom, Logoi kata Ioudaion I.6, Patrologia Graeca 48:852

[x] See: Seiferth 1970

[xi] James J. Paxson, ‘Personification's Gender,’ Rhetorica, Vol. 16, No. 2 (Spring, 1998), p.153.

[xii] Morton W. Bloomfield, ‘A Grammatical Approach to Personification Allegory,’ Modern Philology, Vol. 60, No. 3 (Feb., 1963), p.165.

[xiii] For discussion of Jews in medieval theology see Jeremy Cohen, Living Letters of the Law: Ideas of the Jew in Medieval Christianity (London: University of California Press, 1999)

[xiv] Robert Chazan, The Jews of Medieval Western Christendom, 1000-1500 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006) p.37

[xv] Mellinkoff, Ruth, Outcasts: Signs of Otherness in Northern European Art of the Late Middle Ages, vol. 1 (Oxford : University of California Press, 1993), p.49.

Beyond Borders would like to introduce our newest contributor, Monika Winiarczyk.

Monika Winiarczyk is PhD candidate at the University of Glasgow, where she completed her undergraduate degree in History of Art and a Masters in Medieval and Renaissance Studies. Her research focuses on the representation of women and religious minorities within medieval Christian art, as well as medieval depictions of the human body. More specifically she is interested in the iconography of the medieval Christian personification of Judaism, Synagoga. Her thesis entitled, If you prick her, will she bleed? Synagoga and Medieval Female Jewish bodies, examines the figure of Synagoga in relation to medieval ideas surrounding the Jewish and female body.