LOMBARDIC, ANGLO-SAXON, CARLOVINGIAN AND GERMAN IVORIES
I. LOMBARD IVORY CARVINGS
We have seen how Constantinople, or the “New Rome,” became the centre
of the new Christian World as Alexandria had been of the Hellenistic;
and for many centuries the riches and splendour of this most luxurious
city shone out on the barbarian nations, as a lodestar for their
imagination and a pattern for all civilization and culture. Byzantine,
being an intrusive art in these countries, did not entirely crush
out native effort, but modified the design and vastly improved the
technique. Each imitator introduced more of himself and got further
from the Greek original, so there arose a composite style, strongly
influenced by the Byzantines, yet bearing in it the seeds of a national
art.
Leaving aside the large number of Syro-Byzantine and other Eastern
ivories, we must pass on to Italy, where the remains of the old Latin
art still lingered, though terribly debased and mingled with that of
the barbarian Lungobards. By the seventh century sculpture was reduced
to a deplorable state, and as Cattaneo says,[16] it is most unlikely
that the Ravenna carved sarcophagi were really made at this period;
they more probably belonged to ancient burials, with the new name
carved on the lid.
Even in ivory carving, which is always behind the age, we find an
almost ludicrous barbarity. An ivory tablet of the eighth century
in the Bologna Museum is a fair example of this mixed style; it has
three tiers of scenes from the _Nativity_, and shows strong Byzantine
influence, yet there is something in the treatment of the drapery,
barbaric as it is, which seems to lead on to the later Italian style
of the eleventh century, which definitely connects with the earliest
Gothic art in France.[17] An example of this may be seen in a plaque in
the Bargello, representing Christ in glory surrounded by angels.
By far the most celebrated example of this long period is the
diptych of Rambona in the Vatican, which in spite of the miserable
relief and the rudeness of the technique, plainly shows the two
influences, Lombardic and Byzantine. At the foot of the cross is a
large representation of Romulus and Remus with the Roman wolf. At
the top the familiar pair of flying angels, much curtailed, bear a
medallion containing a bust of Christ raising His hand to bless in
the Greek manner. On the second leaf the Virgin is enthroned between
two cherubim, the lower portion being ornamented with fragmentary
scroll-work of a northern type, surrounding figures of the saints of
more or less Byzantine design. An important inscription runs between
stating that the diptych was carved for a certain Ageltruda, who was
most probably the wife of Guy, Duke of Camerino and Spoleto, King of
Italy, and Emperor in 891.
In the Victoria and Albert Museum there are two noteworthy examples
of Lombard Art; a strange tall-figured group of _The Presentation of
Christ in the Temple_, with architecture of a strongly marked Lombard
type, and a plaque with a representation of _Joseph’s Dream_. Both of
these are carved in a large style with open surfaces, but show a very
rudimentary notion of drapery. The latter is especially interesting
as the design is almost exactly the same as in the elaborate series
of plaques from the _Paliotto_ or shrine in the Cathedral at Salerno
(eleventh to twelfth century). The subjects of these carvings are
taken from the life of Christ and from the Old Testament, and show an
unusually full series of scenes from Genesis, with most picturesque
representations of the creation. The fluency of the design and
technique of these plaques is a strange and sudden oasis in a desert of
barbarism. If they were made at Salerno, as seems likely, the technique
of some school in the old Greek city may have lingered on, receiving
new life from the encouragement of the Normans, who certainly showed
themselves ardent patrons of the arts in Sicily.
There had been little encouragement of the arts elsewhere in Italy.
Several objects of goldsmith’s work and ivory in the Basilica at
Monza are said to have belonged to Theodolinda, the Lombard queen, in
addition to the famous ivory diptych sent to her by Gregory the Great,
which was of an earlier date. Two hundred years later Popes Adrian and
Leo III., seconded Charlemagne in his efforts to restore learning and
culture; and finally Didier, the great abbot of Monte Cassino in 1018,
and afterwards Pope, was also a great admirer and benefactor of the
arts.
It is not surprising that poor Italy made so little progress, for all
this time she was ravaged, first by the Saracens, who invaded the
mainland from Sicily, which they had conquered from the Greeks, and
then by the Normans, who in the eleventh century, consolidated their
power in South Italy, and afterwards in Sicily, under Robert Guiscard.
II. ANGLO-SAXON IVORY CARVINGS.
The earliest carvings in the Northern countries still belonged to the
type of geometric and interlaced patterns roughly cut in walrus or
whalebone. The panels from the sarcophagus of St. Caletricus, Bishop
of Chartres in the sixth century, is an example of this rough kind of
decoration, which is also found on objects from the Germanic tombs.
The Anglo-Saxons were far more advanced, owing to the training of the
Keltic schools. In the British Museum there is a whalebone casket,
probably made in Northumbria in the eighth century. It is ornamented
with scenes from the Sagas, the Holy Scriptures and from Roman legends;
this range of subjects gives a clue to the explanation of the style,
which is Norse, influenced by Byzantine religious art, but the latter
has been so transformed by the unskilful craftsman that it is hardly
recognizable. The whole casket is bordered by a Runic inscription
relating the capture of the whale which supplied the bone; it has been
translated thus:
“The whale’s bones from the fishes’ flood,
I lifted on Fergen’s Hill:
He was dashed to death in his gambols
As a-ground he swam in the shallows.”
The name Fergen occurs on a charter of the eleventh century, and has
been identified with Ferry Hill in the county of Durham. The front
panel is divided into two, and represents the daughter of Herodias
receiving John Baptist’s head, the headless body lying on the ground,
and the Wise Men offering gifts, the word “Magi” being written in runes
above them. All that remains of the Byzantine model of the Virgin and
Child are two nimbed heads, one below the other, a lesser and a greater
disk sheltered by a typical Byzantine _ciborium_ or four-pillared
canopy. One end has a picture of Romulus and Remus and their wolf,
and the rest is decorated with scenes from the Sagas. The background
of these reliefs is so crowded by small objects and fragments of
scroll-work that the scenes are difficult to make out; but it is
extremely interesting as a sample of English art in the time of the
Heptarchy.
[Illustration: [VICTORIA AND ALBERT MUSEUM, LONDON
21. ADORATION OF THE MAGI
Anglo-Saxon, eleventh century]
_The Adoration of the Magi_ in the Victoria and Albert Museum (Fig.
21), has been also attributed to this period, but Westwood’s opinion
that it is of the eleventh century is more probably correct, the
workmanship being most delicate and finished, and the design closely
connected with the pictures in the tenth century Anglo-Saxon
manuscripts, which have the same crinkled edges to the drapery, large
heads and protruding eyes, with a sharply accentuated pupil. In the
relief the modelling of the face, with the hollow between the wide
cheekbones and the lips gives the face quite a Hibernian appearance
which is visible in several other ivories of this class, notably in a
most pathetic _Deposition_ in the same museum.
The richly embroidered dress and tiny feet and hands show Byzantine
influence, but the architecture, with the twin arch windows is
thoroughly Saxon. The mysterious man on the roof is a curious genre
addition, and the owl, most likely typifies the night. The hunting
scenes clearly show the two art waves, the lions are unintelligently
copied from the conventional Byzantine animal, but very considerable
first-hand information is shown in the drawing of the boars and bears,
with which the craftsman probably had some personal acquaintance.
_The Deposition_ referred to above is of the eleventh century, and has
a curious prototype in the Arundel Psalter (No. 60, British Museum),
with the same attenuated anatomy and finely plaited drapery. The design
is instinct with the spirit of these Anglo-Saxons and their Keltic
teachers, as is seen in the mournful expression of the faces, and the
utter deadness of Christ’s body as He falls forward from the cross,
hanging His threadlike arms. The whole feeling is of suffering and
sadness, very different from the cheerful scenes on the earlier, and
the calm, unmoved solemnity of the later Byzantine art. This research
for expression was a special feature of the more emotional Germanic
nations, and in spite of the almost comic peculiarities, there is a
sincere reverence and religious feeling, which is almost unknown in any
other school of ivory carving.
The series of chessmen made of walrus ivory that were found in the
Island of Lewis should be mentioned here; they have stumpy figures and
fine rugged countenances, and the thrones are carved with the elaborate
tracery so typical of this artistic movement. The game of chess was
early brought from the East, as was the game of draughts, and many
pieces are to be found in the various museums of Europe. In addition
to the chessmen, the British Museum possesses a fine set of draughts
deeply carved in Romanesque style, with men and animals.
In the Victoria and Albert Museum there is a specimen of a large
and elaborate set of chessmen, having tiers of attendants round the
principal figure. A charming story is told in one of the _Chansons de
Gestes_, and was repeatedly carved on mirror covers and other small
objects in the fourteenth century, showing the popularity of the game.
It tells how the crusader Huon de Bordeaux was taken prisoner by the
Saracen admiral and condemned to death; one chance was given him, that
he should play a game of chess with the admiral’s daughter, the most
expert player of her day, the stakes being his life or the lady’s
hand; but it seems the lady looked too much in his eyes and too little
at the game, and the result was one more convert to the Christian faith.
The tracery which decorates the thrones of the chessmen is a small
example of the elaborate interlaced scroll-work, which is a leading
feature in Keltic and Anglo-Saxon work. In the manuscripts it is often
reduced to a series of calligraphic flourishes, but it also develops
into serpents and dragons inextricably woven together, and, later, more
varied animal forms are introduced and even human figures are seen
crushed in the serpentine rings. Forms from vegetation are rarely seen,
and the introduction of the acanthus into these intricacies is due to
the Carlovingian scribes of the ninth century and may be seen in the
Bible written for Charles the Bald.
Several objects decorated with the earlier forms of this wild tracery
are found in the great abbeys of Germany and Eastern France, and are
thought to have been made in Great Britain or Ireland and brought
over by the throng of missionaries who flocked on to the continent to
convert the wild tribes of Frisia, Germany and Switzerland, bearing
with them culture and learning.
Little Ireland in early days was a centre of artistic diffusion, almost
more important for the Northern nations than that of Constantinople.
Owing to freedom from invasion, Christianity and civilization had
continued to flourish and the remnant of the old Latin literature
was carefully preserved. Not long after the death of St. Patrick, the
Irish Church, having increased in strength and learning, sent forth the
famous St. Columba to minister to the hordes of barbarians who were
over-running Britain. St. Columba met with great success and founded
several large monasteries which became powerful centres of religion and
learning in Scotland and England. For hundreds of years the schools of
Ireland continued in great repute, numerous bands of missionaries were
sent across the sea to convert the Germanic tribes on the continent.
Most famous among these was St. Columbanus, who laboured in the East of
France for many years, and afterwards in Switzerland and Italy, dying
in 615 at the monastery he had founded at Bobbio. Everywhere these
monks went they took with them the seeds of art and learning, beautiful
illuminated manuscripts and other small works of art, which formed an
inexhaustible store of _motifs_ for the sculptors and goldsmiths of
the following centuries. One of the disciples of Columbanus, St. Gall,
who was called the “Apostle of Switzerland,” founded there the great
monastery named after him, which became a most flourishing art centre
in later years.
The Anglo-Saxons were not idle, and in the eighth century St. Boniface
and many others pierced far into the wild forests of Germany, founding
the great monastic establishments which exist to this day. This was
not a fleeting movement, but a close relation was kept up between
England and the continent till well into the eleventh century.
III. THE CARLOVINGIAN RENAISSANCE.
Charlemagne, crowned emperor in 800, if not perhaps the wondrous
hero of tradition, was a very powerful factor in the history and
civilization of his day, and exerted all his energy to introduce order
and learning among the vast hordes of barbarians who more or less
willingly acknowledged his rule. He stirred up all latent powers,
introduced new ideas and stimulated an admiration for all Roman
culture, being dazzled quite as much by the actual pomp and splendour
of the Constantinopolitan court as by the memories of ancient Rome. He
invited learned men from the East and the West, but the most famous
were Alcuin, who was born at York, and his pupil, Eginhardt, who became
Secretary and Chronicler to Charlemagne and his successor.
The Carlovingian renaissance was a most composite production. Byzantine
Art had long been known to the Northern races, and at this time its
influence was spread still further by the presence of artists exiled
by the iconoclasts; but the Anglo-Saxon influence was even stronger,
encouraged as it was by the bands of missionaries, and by Alcuin
and his followers. To these intermingled strains must be added the
independent Gallo-Roman reminiscence, the study of the monuments,
and also a strange, but undeniable Oriental tendency, arising from
communications with the East and the Moors in Spain. This renaissance,
though to a certain extent artificial, lasted for nearly three
centuries and affected the civilization of the whole of Western Europe.
Carlovingian art flourished for centuries in Germany, but the invasions
of the Normans checked for a while the artistic progress of Northern
France. What little art they had was in much the same Norse style, but
freshly barbaric and not like that of the British Isles, which had
undergone centuries of incubation and had the additional Latin element.
It was to this Anglo-Saxon Art, conventional as it had become, the
human form often being reduced to a geometrical figure, that the
Carlovingian craftsmen turned for inspiration. Two classes of ivory
carving arose, one copied almost directly from the miniatures in the
Anglo-Saxon manuscripts, which were themselves derived from late Roman
types; and the second following more closely in the steps of the
Byzantines.
All through the Carlovingian period there is a close connection between
the illuminator and the ivory carver, the latter trying to treat
his subjects more in the manner of a painter, enlarged the cycle of
Christian representations and began to break with tradition and recover
his liberty. The figures still, in many cases, retain the heavy and
rather crushed forms of degenerate Roman art; and in the endeavour to
impart deeper expression the proportions were often spoiled, delicate
parts, as the features being delineated in undue size, and the research
for originality often leading to violent and exaggerated attitudes, and
to the overloading of detail, yet all the gestures are instinct with
life, and full of a naïve directness of action.
A small plaque in the museum at Zurich (Fig. 22) is a good illustration
of the immense influence of the miniatures on ivory carving. The Book
of Psalms was especially popular, and this plaque is a word for word
translation of certain verses of the XXVIIth Psalm (XXVI. in the
Vulgate) into plastic form. _v._ 2. “When the wicked, even my enemies
and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell.”
(The crowd of warriors, some of whom have fallen). _v._ 5. “For in the
time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion: in the secret of his
tabernacle he shall hide me: he shall set me up upon a rock.” (David
is seen being welcomed into the Tabernacle, which stands on a rock).
Part of _v._ 6. “Therefore will I offer in his tabernacle sacrifices
of joy” (altar and lamb). _V._ 10. “When my father and mother forsake
me then the Lord will take me up” (in the right corner a man and woman
turn away from a child). The hand above is typical of the protection of
God which is asked for throughout the psalm. The slight and thin-ankled
figures, and the continuous method of narration are characteristic of
the miniatures, which originally derived their technique from late
Roman Art, and carried on the old system of an unbroken series of
scenes which is to be found in the _bas-reliefs_ of Trajan’s Column. In
the Utrecht Psalter (Anglo-Saxon) is an almost identical illustration
of this psalm, which proves that this plaque was copied from it or some
analogous manuscript, as the Bodley Psalter (No. 603) in the British
Museum. These Psalters have furnished a model for another of these
scenic psalms, carved on a plaque set in the magnificent binding of the
_Psalter of Charles the Bald_, in the Bibliothèque nationale at Paris.
The manuscript was written between the years 842-869, and there is no
reason to think that the jewelled and ivory cover is not contemporary.
One side gives a graphic picture of the LVIth Psalm, and the other
represents Nathan telling David the story of the little ewe lamb (2
Sam. xii.). The Louvre possesses a plaque, also of the ninth century,
representing the interview of Abner and Joab (2 Sam. ii.), a subject
by no means of general interest, and unlikely to have a plastic type,
which proves still further the custom of copying the miniatures with
more or less servility.
[Illustration: [SCHWEIZERISCHER LANDESMUSEUM, ZURICH
22. ILLUSTRATION OF PSALM XXVII
Carlovingian, ninth century]
One more scenic plaque in the Louvre is of interest, not so much in
connection with the MSS., but from the strong resemblance to the
Probianus diptych (Fig. 2), especially in the lower scene, where the
figures raise their hands to Solomon on his judgment seat. On the
second half David is dictating his psalms to an assembly of clerks.
It is difficult to class the ivories of this long period, but the
majority are of German origin. Art and culture were a great deal
dependent on the Court, which had the effect of bringing into line
the work of craftsmen of very varying nationalities. Here also was
a fear lest the people should worship the images themselves, but an
iconoclastic spirit never arose, and these numerous carvings, besides
adding to the sumptuousness of the cult, were used for the instruction
of the unlettered.
Ivory was classed with the precious metals, and much sought after for
ecclesiastical purposes, the great abbeys of eastern France and Germany
became regular workshops, making a large number of exquisite objects in
goldsmith’s work and ivory. We are given a little side-light on the use
of ivory in a letter of Eginhardt to his son, in which he mentions that
he is sending him a carved ivory model of classical architecture that
he should better understand certain passages in Vitruvius.
The mention of the work done in the monasteries brings us to the Abbey
of St. Gall and the monk Tuotilo, who has long been the hero of the
craft; but, alas, the charming picture that the chronicler Ekkehardt
gives, a hundred years later, of this Leonardo among craftsmen is
utterly without foundation; that there was a monk Tuotilo at the end of
the ninth and the beginning of the tenth centuries the records of the
monastery tell us, and a note added by a later hand says that he was
learned and a sculptor.
Ekkehardt spoils his argument in favour of Tuotilo by attributing
to him too many perfections, and by finally quoting the opinion of
Charlemagne, who had been dead and buried nearly a hundred years. It
is very sad to have to give up the one real individual who greets
us on the rather weary path of anonymity. The fine book cover, one
leaf of which Ekkehardt attributes to Tuotilo (Fig. 23), is still
safely preserved in the Abbey of St. Gall, but the two leaves appear
to be by the same hand, though there is every reason to attribute
the workmanship to the ninth century. On the upper leaf Christ is
represented in glory, youthful and beardless in type, as is often the
case in Carlovingian ivories which come from the Germanic part of
the empire. There was a flourishing school of German craftsmen who
closely imitated the ivories of the Italo-Byzantine school of the
sixth century, the great abbeys having many specimens of ancient ivory
carving in their treasuries. The two cherubim and Four Evangelists with
their symbolic beasts are also strongly Byzantine; above are busts of
the sun and moon and beneath the figures of Ocean and Earth. In fact,
the arrangement is borrowed wholesale from a very frequent Carlovingian
type of the crucifixion (Fig. 24), even to the little tombs which have
no connection with the subject. The workmanship is delicate, but very
conventional, and the concentric folds on this and on the second leaf,
point to the influence of the manuscripts. The second leaf represents
the Assumption of the Virgin, the attitude is stiff and the drapery is
terribly unreal, having almost the appearance of corrugated iron, but
the movements of the angels are freer, especially the forward movement
of the one on the Virgin’s right.
[Illustration: SCHOBINGER AND] [EPISCOPAL LIBRARY,
SANDHERR PHOTO. ST. GALL, SWITZERLAND
23. COVER OF A BOOK OF THE GOSPELS
Carlovingian, ninth century]
The lower scene represents St. Gall taming the bears, which bring
him bread whilst his companion sleeps. In this carving we see what
the craftsman can do when left to himself; it is not a very artistic
production, but it has a freshness entirely lacking in the other
panels. The ornamental panels are splendidly carved, and recall the
beautiful openwork panels on the book cover at Monza, which most
probably belonged to Berenger, King of Italy in 888, and Emperor 916,
and also the marble screens and balustrades which decorate so many
Byzantine buildings. There are two more plaques at Cluny[18] which
should be classed with these, and which are decorated with scroll-work
containing figures of men fighting with satyrs and lions. The figures
have a great likeness to those on the sixth century diptychs,
especially the diptych in the Hermitage at St. Petersburg; and as
that diptych formed part of the treasure of Metz Cathedral, it could
easily have served as a model to the Carlovingian ivory workers. The
rich border is of scroll-work with alternating rosettes and animals.
The second plaque is still more like the Byzantine original, and this
similarity has caused many writers to differ with Molinier and class it
among pure Byzantine work.
[Illustration: [VICTORIA AND ALBERT MUSEUM, LONDON
24. CRUCIFIXION
Carlovingian, ninth century]
One of the most important ivories of the tenth century is the Frankfort
book cover; the second leaf is still in the Library, but the other was
in the late Spitzer Collection. It represents the large figure of _An
Archbishop chanting the Psalms_ in company with some smaller canons,
the whole group being surrounded by a battlemented wall, probably
that of the convent. The work is dry, but very exact and particularly
interesting for the study of early ecclesiastical vestments, which
are given with great detail. In the Frankfort leaf, the Archbishop
celebrates the mass, surrounded by attendant priests and acolytes.
The numerous representations of the crucifixion of the ninth and tenth
centuries can be roughly divided into two classes: those decidedly
original and others copied from Byzantine models. The Carlovingian
type is filled with symbolism, not altogether of Christian origin.
These plaques are very numerous and all vary slightly. Fig. 24 is
typical of a large number. The whole scene is emotional, all creation
is moved, the sun and moon are represented with mournful faces,
while the attendant angels weep bitterly; and below, the old pagan
personifications of Earth and Sea bow their heads in sorrow. Stephaton
with reed and sponge, and Longinus with his spear, stand on each side
of the Cross, and the Virgin and St. John are always near. The two
women carrying banners are allegorical figures of the Church and the
Synagogue[19] or the Old and New Dispensations; the banner of the
latter is sometimes reversed and broken, while the Church in some
renderings of the scene catches the blood of the Redeemer in a chalice.
These figures seem to be the successors of the little cities of
Jerusalem and Bethlehem in the Early Christian mosaics, which likewise
typified the Old and New Dispensations.
At the foot of the Cross is often rolled a serpent, emblem of Christ’s
triumph over Evil and Death; and on each side the dead are rising and
stretching out their hands towards their Redeemer.
On the Metz book cover in the Bibliothèque nationale, Adam and Eve
crouch beneath the feet of the Saviour. On the Brunswick casket, Sol
and Luna are each depicted driving in a _biga_ and bearing torches.
On this Brunswick casket, and on one in the Berlin Museum, Christ is
represented beardless, and the technique is close to the St. Gall book
cover.
In the Carlovingian period the plaques are nearly always framed by
a deeply cut acanthus border. Many of these carvings show traces of
colour and others have been studded with gold nails, and portions
incrusted with gold foil (Fig. 24). Two plaques in the Bargello have a
charming additional border of tiny dots and beads inlaid with gold.
In the ivory plaque on the cover of the gospels which were presented
by the Emperor Henry II. to the Abbey at Bamberg (now in the Munich
Library), the stronger Byzantine influence is visible, the relief,
also, is exceptionally deep, the figures of the two soldiers being
almost detached, as in the purely Byzantine ivory of _The Death of
the Virgin_ in the same library. This Byzantine influence is also to
be seen in _The Crucifixion_ in the Musée de Cluny; the arrangement
of this carving is more like a Reliquary of the True Cross, the four
compartments being crowded with figures. The figure of Christ is robed
in a flowing garment, as in many Byzantine renderings of the subject,
and there is a greater delicacy of technique, showing the more intimate
knowledge of Byzantine models.
The drapery on the Essen and Tongres plaques is particularly good, and
they probably were carved in the same atelier.
IV. GERMAN IVORY CARVING IN THE TIME OF THE OTTOS.
Otto the Great having consolidated his power in Germany, undertook, in
962, the classic expedition to Rome to be crowned Emperor of the West.
An ivory tablet, now in the Trivulzio Collection at Milan, appears to
commemorate that event. It represents Otto, his wife Adelheid, and
their little son, kneeling at the feet of Christ, while their patron
saints, Maurice and Mary, intercede for them, the name OTTO IMPERATOR
being inscribed beneath. The apparent age of the young Otto, about
seven years, would coincide with the date of the coronation, making
this carving valuable for comparison with other German ivories, many
being of far earlier date and closely connected with the Carlovingian,
from which this characteristically German art slowly developed.
The style of the Trivulzio plaque is rude, the figures heavy and
inclined to be coarse, but there is a largeness of design, the drapery
being arranged in wide planes, and the energetic heads, with the
typical long pointed beards and round cut hair, are of marked Germanic
type.
With this certain knowledge of the German style in the second half
of the tenth century, it is easier to turn back and examine the
transitional period, which is represented by a series of caskets in the
Louvre, Brunswick Museum, and the Bamberg Reliquary, half of which is
at Munich, and half in the Berlin Museum.
The Louvre casket has many Carlovingian features, the long tiled roofs
with slender columns are exactly like those in the Bible of Charles
le Chauve (ninth century). That of Brunswick shows strong Byzantine
influence, and the Bamberg casket is typical of the German imitations
of Byzantine type; the forms have a greater fulness and a certain
swing is introduced into the placid folds of the Byzantine drapery, a
swing which develops into the gusty flutterings which are a curious
characteristic of some of the German schools.[20] A gorgeous ivory
casket is still preserved in the cathedral at Quedlinburg adorned
with exquisite jewelled filigree work, and _repoussée_ plaques. The
plaques are in conventional Byzantine design, while the ivory sides
of the casket are ornamented with seated figures and scenes from the
gospels, of Byzantine inspiration it is true, but translated into the
most colloquial German. Martin Luther might have sat as a model for the
heavily built angel in the Easter Morning scene, and if this casket
really dates back to the time of Henry the Fowler, whose gift it is
said to have been, it proves that this German national art had existed
as early as the second decade of the tenth century.
A most interesting series of square plaques belong to the second half
of the century, and are much the same type as the Trivulzio tablet; the
figures are positively grotesque, with their peculiar cap-like hair,
staring eyes, heavy features, and large unmodelled forms, yet there is
such a sincere reverence and solemn earnestness about them, that the
attention is forcibly arrested.
The Darmstadt plaque represents _Christ healing the Demoniac_, who is
held, whilst the evil spirit struggles forth from his lips. The British
Museum possesses an equally well-carved plaque with the _Raising of
the Widow’s Son at Nain_, the vertical folds are finely fluted, and
the features, though peculiar, are in no way coarse. The background of
this plaque like one in the Berlin Museum, and another at Liverpool,
is covered with a diaper of cruciform perforations, like those on St.
Patrick’s Bell and other early Irish antiquities. Christ is youthful
and beardless on the Berlin plaque, which represents _Mary and Joseph
finding Him in the Temple_. The technique in this and the remaining
plaques at Liverpool is slightly coarser, but the style in all is
identical. Christ alone is nimbed, and in each the figures have heavy
masses of hair drawn back half over the ears, and strange solid robes,
with the folded edge of the transverse drapery passing just below the
knee.
Another very exceptional series, which must be the work of some Rhenish
master at the end of the century, is intensely forcible in style; but
the artist is already preoccupied with the technical effects of which
he shows himself such a master. The cover of the Echternach codex,
which is said to have belonged to the Empress Theophano, bears in the
centre an ivory plaque representing Christ on the Cross, with Longinus
and Stephaton. These bizarre figures seem to presage the whole future
of German art, the love of descriptive figures, that evil should appear
evil, and earthly things should have no heavenly aspect. Perhaps they
carried their love of naturalism to extremes, and as heavenly things
were few and far between, they also gained a strong earthly taint.
The Crucifixion on a binding in the John Rylands Library at Manchester
(Fig. 25) is evidently by the same artist. The grouping is purely
Byzantine, but the severance of feeling is as far as the East is from
the West. The gesture of the beloved disciple as he clasps his hands to
control his passionate emotion, is worth all the stereotyped poses of
Byzantine art, and one forgets the crudity of the whole thing in wonder
at the emotion pent up in those rugged forms.
The clumsy features and moustache divided into two solid pieces,
with the forceful attitudes and the peculiar drapery edged with an
embroidered hem, are found again on several other carvings,[21] notably
an aged figure of St. Paul in the Musée de Cluny. The bald head,
wrinkled forehead, and the fulness of the drooping lids, are portrayed
with wonderful realism in a wide and rough technique, the very reverse
of the caressing finish of the contemporary Byzantine artist.
This contrast of German and Byzantine art on a book belonging to the
Empress, raises the question of how much of the Byzantine influence
was attributable to Theophano, grandchild of the artistic Constantine
Porphrygenitus, and sister of the Emperors Basil and Constantine.
After long hesitation on the part of the proud Byzantine Court, the
German offer was accepted and Theophano, the delicately nurtured
Porphrygenite, was married to that little boy we see kneeling by his
mother’s side on the Trivulzio tablet, and set forth on a journey to
the savage wilds of Germany. Otto II. grew up to be an heroic dreamer,
and on his early death, during one of his campaigns in Italy, the
youthful Theophano claimed to be regent, and had a hard struggle for
the rights of her young son, Otto III.
[Illustration: [JOHN RYLANDS LIBRARY, MANCHESTER
25. CRUCIFIXION
German, tenth century]
Theophano, whose grand figure stands out against a background of
incredible rudeness and turbulence, must, undoubtedly, have had
considerable influence in introducing the softer Byzantine manners.
Her husband, Otto II., is said to have adopted much of the Byzantine
court ceremonial, and the wedding presents she brought with her, on her
arrival in 972, must have formed a fund of novel design for the German
craftsmen. Yet it is very easy to exaggerate her personal influence.
Byzantium had always been a remarkable civilizing agent, and in the
tenth to eleventh centuries was exercising the strongest influence
on the West. Relations with Germany had been established long before
the time of Theophano, and were continued long after. In reality Otto
III. was the more special admirer and imitator of Byzantine arts and
customs, this influence coming, no doubt, indirectly from his mother’s
care in choosing for his masters, men of high culture. One of these
men, the most trusted councillor of Theophano, was the refined and
learned Greek, John of Calabria; and the other, the German, Bernward,
was a most enthusiastic amateur of the arts, and on his appointment to
the See of Hildesheim, helped to create the new German school which
flourished all through the eleventh and twelfth centuries.
In every museum there are examples of the Byzantino-German school, one
branch of which was situated in the Rhine Provinces. The relief of the
Rhenish carvings is usually bold, and the figures large and long, but
they often lack both the spontaneity of the Germans and the elegance of
the Byzantines. A charming representation of the _Nativity_ encircled
by an embattled wall, and another plaque with the _Visitation of the
Magi_, in the Victoria and Albert Museum, show these features, the
figures having almost the appearance of children’s toys set out at
random without the slightest relation to the background. A peculiar
feature in some of these carvings, is the row of dots drilled down
the centre of each fold. There was also a school of direct copiers of
Byzantine carvings, which varies from the most miserable caricatures to
such splendidly finished work, that critics experience great difficulty
in deciding for or against the Byzantine origin. A case in point is
the magnificent book cover in the Vatican, which came from the Abbey
of Lorsch in Germany, and the similar panel in the Victoria and Albert
Museum.
The central figure of Christ on the Vatican panel has a wide smooth
face (without a beard), as in the sixth century sculptures. The
Virgin’s face is much narrower and more of the Byzantine type, and
the robes are treated with a wonderful complexity of folds. Both
these panels are divided like the five-piece diptych (Fig. 10, with a
single figure on each side), and have a similar pair of flying angels
above, and long narrow scene beneath. Westwood has attributed them to
Italy in the sixth to eighth centuries, but that is impossible, as
the actual technique is far more delicate than anything that could
have been accomplished even in the sixth century. Molinier thinks
it probable that the Vatican panel is an original from the finest
period of Byzantine Art, and the English panel is an imitation by an
almost contemporary German craftsman. The extraordinary similarity of
technique, even down to such small details as the folds of drapery on
the thighs of the standing figures, seems to point that the two panels
came from the same atelier, even if they were not made for the same
book cover, the latter seeming to be disproved owing to the slight
variation in size and shape of some of the panels. The book cover in
the Bodleian Library at Oxford is a variant of the panel in the Vatican.
[Illustration: [BRITISH MUSEUM
26. CEREMONIAL COMB
English, eleventh century]
Most of the small objects connected with ecclesiastical ceremonial are
of this period, for instance the liturgic combs used by the bishop
or officiating priest before celebrating high mass; the comb was a
special feature in Anglo-Saxon ritual, and several have been found in
Great Britain. The strange large comb in the British Museum is said to
have been found in Wales, and is probably about the eleventh century
(Fig. 26). It shows the later forms of the Anglo-Saxon scroll-work
and has much in connection with Romanesque decoration. The comb of
St. Gauzelin, Bishop of Toul is still preserved in the cathedral at
Nancy, and the comb of St. Loup in the cathedral at Sens; both betray
strong Byzantine and oriental influence, and both date from the tenth
century. These combs all have the more general arrangement of a double
row of teeth, in two sizes; but that attributed to St. Heribert (in
Cologne Museum), has only one row, and is probably more ancient, as the
grouping of the Crucifixion is like that on the Carlovingian plaques
of the ninth century (Fig. 24). The _urcei_, or holy water stoups are
usually of German origin. A magnificent example in Milan Cathedral
bears the inscription of Gotfredus, Archbishop of Milan, 973-978. It
is very handsome in design, being surrounded by an arcade, above which
rise the towers of the new Jerusalem. Underneath are seated the Virgin
and Child and the Four Evangelists, modelled in the rather heavy German
style of the tenth century.
Another _urceus_ in the Hermitage Museum at St. Petersburg is of the
same bucket shape, but ornamented with two tiers of arcades containing
complicated scenes from the Passion. The Cathedral Treasury at
Aix-la-Chapelle contains two of these _urcei_ one of an octagon shape,
each panel having two figures. The style of carving is like that of
the school of ivory carvers founded by Bernward at Hildesheim in the
eleventh century.
FOOTNOTES:
[16] _L’Archittetura in Italia, VI.-XI. cent._ Venice, 1890.
[17] See Marcel Reymond, _La Sculpture Toscane_. Florence, 1897.
[18] Nos. 1041-2, Cat. 1881.
[19] Dr. Paul Weber, _Geistliche Schauspiel und Kirchliche Kunst_.
[20] See a plaque in the British Museum with the Nativity, and notably
the Salutation.
[21] See article by Dr. W. Vöge in the _Jahrbuch der kgl. preuss.
Kunst-samml._, 1899.