THE PORTICO DE GLORIA
A wonderful portico--The triple archway--Origin of Western
Christian art--A system of symbols--“Bible of the Poor”--Mosaic
gives place to statuary--A magnificent design--The focus of the
world--The figure of Christ--The Four Evangelists--The
four-and-twenty elders--Musical instruments--Jews and Gentiles--The
Man Christ Jesus--The central pillar--The seated figure of St.
James--The Stem of Jesse--Custom and superstition--Judith--The
prophets--The bases of the pillars--Mateo represents
himself--Another superstition--“The saint with the curls”--The
capitals--A lifelike effect--A great thought--Didron--The
drapery--The portico at South Kensington--Colouring--Mateo’s
inscription--Mateo’s birthplace
The Cathedral of Santiago di Compostella is celebrated all the world
over for the exquisite beauty of its sculpture not only as regards its
statuary but also for its ornamentation generally. Here at least the
Cathedral of St. Sernin, or St. Saturnine, as it is sometimes called,
does not attempt to compete with it: here it stands absolutely alone and
unrivalled.
Facing due west, and concealed by the Churrigueresque façade, is the
most wonderfully sculptured portico that human eye has yet seen. This
portico, or _narthex_,[143] was originally part of the exterior; now it
is part of the interior of the cathedral. It was once an open façade;
the pillars which supported its front on either side stood far apart,
and pilgrims caught sight of its beauty even before they entered the
building, and rain and wind as well as daylight and sunlight played
freely upon the flesh-coloured and lifelike features of the sculptured
saints. But in our day the brickwork of the modern façade so darkens the
portico that even when the doors are flung open it is never seen at its
best.
A triple archway gives entrance to the three naves of the cathedral; the
central arch fronts the principal nave, and the smaller arches (to the
north and south), the two collateral naves, or, as some would call
them, the side aisles. These three arches and their tympana are covered
with statues which have been adapted to the architecture with such skill
that at a little distance they appear to be carved out of the actual
material of which the arches are composed. Examined closely, every
statue, every ornament is a masterpiece of delicate sculpture. The whole
is intended to represent the Christian Church--the entrance to the House
of God, of which Christ is “the chief Corner-Stone.”[144]
It is to the walls of the catacombs that we must turn for the origin of
Western Christian art. In the West, as Didron has pointed out, the
Christian painters limited themselves to a small cycle of subjects.
Setting history and chronology aside, they treated their subjects solely
with reference to some hidden moral or devotional truth which they were
known to signify. Thus the events recorded were represented by symbols.
A system of such symbols was developed which illustrated the most
salient points in the Christian faith. A hieratic cycle of subjects came
into use, not necessarily for doctrinal purposes, but as expressive of
religious facts.[145] In the days when few, even among the rich, could
read, outside the monasteries, pictures and statues were the most potent
medium by which the contents of the Bible could be explained to the
general public. Even in our day pictures represent words to the
illiterate Russian peasant; when he goes to the neighbouring town to
purchase an agricultural implement or a new coat, he enters such shops
as have similar articles painted in brilliant colours above their
respective doors. Gregory of Tours, writing towards the close of the
sixth century, tells a pretty story of how Namatea, the aged widow of
Namatius, bishop of Auvergne (A.D. 423), reads to the painter decorating
the walls of the church she has raised over her husband’s tomb the
scenes he is to depict with his brush: “She used to sit with a book upon
her knees reading thereout stories of the deeds of the men of old.”[146]
One of the manuals so used was known as the “Bible of the Poor.” Many
legends drawn from pagan mythology were included in these manuals[147]
as types of events in the life of Christ. As Didron says, the
iconography of the pagans dovetailed into that of the Christians.
The architect of the _Pórtico de Gloria_ drew his inspiration not from
manuals, not from popular legends, but purely and simply from the Bible
alone. “Protestants,” says Ferreiro, “accuse Catholics of not letting
the people have the Bible, but Mateo, in the twelfth century, certainly
knew it as well as any Reformer ever did, and what is more, he wished to
put it before the eyes of the ignorant.” Yes, the _Pórtico de Gloria_
was begun in the twelfth century, twenty years earlier than the façade
of Notre Dame de Paris. The façades of Rheims, Chartres, Amiens had not
yet come into existence, and Italy still gave the preference to mosaic
rather than to statuary, and, as Ferreiro adds, she had not yet grasped
the way to adapt statuary to architecture. Even if Mateo had prepared
himself by studying the two façades which were already in existence,
Repoll and Vézelay, he must have felt dissatisfied with them.
The pervading idea in Christian art as seen in the sculpture of the
primitive sarcophagi was the Fall and the Redemption. Every epoch[148]
had its own ideal: in the early ages of Christianity the martyrdom of
the saints was the favourite subject; then followed a period when
asceticism came into vogue; and after the beginning of the thirteenth
century the struggle against the temptations of the world, and
especially against sensuality, became the principal topic. In the
_Pórtico de Gloria_ all these are represented. My first thought on
seeing it was instinctively, “How did the architect manage to get that
wealth of statuary into so small a space without giving the slightest
impression of overcrowding, or in any way disturbing the grand
architectural outlines of his magnificent design?” He not only succeeded
in getting them in, he did more: he succeeded in producing a piece of
work in which architecture and sculpture were interwoven and
inseparable. M. Roulin, a French Benedictine, who studied this
masterpiece from a printed plan (being unable to go and see the
original), published a critical article on it, in which he stated that
the archivolts of the lateral arches were _overcrowded_ with
statues.[149] When he looks at the real thing he will retract this
statement.
The tympanum of the central arch has three times the diameter of the
side ones: its centre is occupied by a colossal figure of Christ with a
crown and a cruciform nimbus, seated upon a throne with His feet upon
two sculptured fern leaves curled like ostrich feathers. Christ serves
as the centre towards which all the lines converge--“the focus of the
whole world in the splendour of His glory. He attracts and absorbs
everything, as the ocean absorbs the rivers. But Christ was also the
Victim, the Scapegoat: there are marks on His hands, His feet, His side.
He is the victim who has burst asunder the bars of Hell and has opened
the gates of Heaven to all Believers.”[150] Mateo chiefly follows the
words of St. Paul, but in the disposition of the figures on the tympanum
he follows the description given in Rev. iv. and v.:--
“_And there was a rainbow round about the throne, in sight like unto an
emerald._
“_And round about the throne were four-and-twenty seats: and upon the
seats I saw four-and-twenty elders sitting, clothed in white raiment;
and they had on their heads crowns of gold._ ...
“ ... _The four beasts and four-and-twenty elders fell down before the
Lamb, having every one of them harps, and golden vials full of odours,
which are the prayers of the saints._
“_And they sung a new song, saying, Thou art worthy to take the book,
and to open the seals thereof: for Thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us
to God by Thy blood out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and
nation._”
The figure of Christ, as Ferreiro observes, is the only statue of
hieratic form; all the others are human to a remarkable degree.[151] The
seated statue of Christ measures nearly five yards in height; His arms
are outspread, and He is raised six yards from the ground. His features
are serene, with a broad forehead and somewhat protruding eyes and thin
lips. His beard reaches to His shoulders. The throne is a Roman
_curule_, the faldesterium of the Middle Ages. It was a rule among the
Greeks that the larger the statue the more they must sacrifice detail to
important points, and Mateo followed this rule most strictly. Much
detail is left out altogether in this statue of Christ.
Grouped round the throne are the Four Evangelists writing on the
respective animals that accompanied each: John, a youth with an eagle;
Luke with a bull; Mark with a lion, whose front paws rest upon his knee;
Matthew, a beardless young man, writes on his knee. St. Luke writes:
“_Facit in Diebus Herodis_.” Some of the words on the open page of
John’s book are also still readable: “_Initium Sancti evangelii secundum
Joannem_.”[152] These evangelists represent the interpreters of the
Word. In the base of the pediment there are four angels on either side
carrying trophies of the Passion. One, kneeling, presents the column to
which Christ was bound; two others carry the cross; a third bears the
crown of thorns; a fourth, four keys; a fifth, Pilate’s sentence (on a
scroll); a sixth, a pitcher; a seventh, the leathern thongs; an eighth,
the cane and sponge with a scroll which is now illegible. The feet of
these angels rest upon clumps of sculptured foliage.
The four-and-twenty elders are placed like a fringe round the inner side
of the arch; the tympanum describes a perfect semi-circle. Each has a
stringed instrument and a little vessel, and each has a kind of ducal
crown upon his head. The crowns were gilded originally, and their tunics
were white bordered with gold. Some of them have short mantles fastened
on the left shoulder. All are seated on a kind of Oriental divan, and
are conversing together two and two, like people at an entertainment
whose thoughts are engrossed in what they are saying and who are
careless of what others are doing. Their musical instruments are a study
in themselves: some think they are copied from the instruments that were
used by the troubadours and other minstrels of the day, but Dr. Eladio
Oviedo, who has made a special study of the subject, believes they are
intended to represent the musical instruments of the Old Testament. They
all have three strings, though there are five screws; some of them
resemble the violins of our day. “Strange,” says Ferreiro, “that there
is not a viola among them, especially as there is a viola in the hands
of King David on the _Puerta de Los Platerias_. Perhaps it is because, a
bow being needed, it would be difficult to get it in.”
A crowd of little human figures take the space round the figure of
Christ. All are crowned, and most of them are carrying books or scrolls,
but all have their eyes fixed upon Christ. These represent the citizens
of the Holy City, of Isaiah, who have been redeemed by Christ; or the
Ten Thousand times ten thousand, who are singing a new song. Their
crowns are symbols of glory.
On either extreme of the tympanum are two angels, lifting in their arms
and presenting to Christ each a little naked figure representing a human
soul, which holds in its little hands its “title clear to mansions in
the skies.” The faces of the angels are full of tender and passionate
sympathy. Those to the left are bringing in the Jews, those to the right
the Gentiles, an illustration of the words, “And He shall give His
angels charge concerning thee.” The number of figures on the Gentile
side is double that on the side of the Jews, according to Isaiah’s
prophecy that the barren woman should have more children than she who
had a husband. The archivolt or face of this marvellous arch is
decorated with exquisitely sculptured foliage, which forms a graceful
background to the heads of the four-and-twenty elders.
The lateral arch to the right has also a statue of Christ, but a very
small one, on the keystone of its archivolt. In His left hand he holds a
sealed book representing Eternal Truth. Eve is seen to His right and
Adam to His left; then in the next semi-circle come Abraham, Isaac,
Jacob, and Judah on the right, and Moses, Aaron, Samuel, and David on
the left. A thick and exuberant foliage partially conceals these
figures; the upper band of sculpture in this arch also appears, at the
first glance, to represent nothing more than a semi-circle of foliage
behind a tore or large round moulding such as is commonly used in the
bases of columns. Looking more closely, however, and with the aid of an
opera-glass, we clearly distinguish the arms and heads of little naked
human beings at intervals between the foliage peeping over the tore,
with their legs and feet on the lower side of it. Lopez Ferreiro and
Eladio Oviedo believe that the tore represents the old Jewish Divorce
Law, and the figures--the Jews who are still bound by it (they nearly
all hold scrolls in their hands stretched over the tore)--Bills of
Divorce; the thick foliage represents sin. The Jews are being rescued,
two and two, naked (so that no sin may remain on them), by tender
angels. The first angel, with a cloth, bears them in his arms, and the
second hands them still naked into the Christian Church (which is
represented by the tympanum of the central arch already described).
The sculpture on the side arch to the south is supposed by the
above-quoted authorities to represent the conversion of the Gentile or
pagan world, as that to the north represents that of the Jews. The
keystone of the southern arch is occupied by two busts--the upper, with
a beard, represents “the man Christ Jesus,” and the lower, a beardless
youth, also Christ, but this time “the God-Christ.” To the right of
these busts are sculptured horizontally four angels bearing little human
figures, round which they have wrapped their flowing mantles, towards
Paradise (_i.e._ the central arch). To the left, also placed
horizontally, are four hideous demons--the nearest one to the keystone
of the lower archivolt is crouching down, and has the limbs of two
little human beings hanging from his jaws; the second, with the feet of
an ox, is also maltreating human beings; the third, who has claws
instead of feet, has four little figures suspended from his neck; the
fourth, with human feet, is munching human beings, two at a time. These
demons, in the opinion of Lopez Ferreiro, represent _not devils_ but
violence, cruelty, rapine, and gluttony. Serpents are seen entwining
some of the little figures; they are the passions which tyrannise over
the unconverted.
As I have said, Lopez Ferreiro was the first writer to interpret the
symbolism of the _Pórtico de Gloria_ in this way. The fact that four
angels blowing trumpets are sculptured at the four corners of the
narthex led some critics to believe that the whole was nothing more nor
less than the hackneyed theme of the Last Judgment; they took the
beardless bust of Christ to represent St. Michael, though they were
obliged to admit that his scales were not visible. Some have thought
that the monsters represented purgatory, but this is not likely, as
purgatory was not represented either in painting or sculpture until the
fifteenth century, except metaphorically (which it was from the earliest
times).[153] Roulin strongly opposes the interpretation of Lopez
Ferreiro, and remarks that the theme of the _Pórtico de Gloria_ is well
known to iconography, and that it is the same as that found in many
other cathedrals. He is convinced that the angels carrying the
instruments of the Passion, or of Christ showing His wounds, are never
represented, except when the subject is the Last Judgment. With regard
to the Jews behind the tore he remarks: “Il faut convenir que pareille
representation est insolite,” but adds that there are various ways in
which it might be interpreted, one being Death and the Resurrection; the
tore would then be the emblem of death, and the green foliage that of
the green pastures of Paradise. As for the beardless bust on the other
arch representing Christ--a bust with neither beard nor nimbus is, in
his opinion, a thing unheard of after the middle of the eleventh
century! The extension of the theme of the Last Judgment to three arches
is, he owns, the point which distinguishes the _Pórtico de Gloria_ of
Santiago from analogous works,--he knows of no other such; the whole
subject is usually limited to the tympanum of one arch.[154] He also
points out that Lopez Ferreiro is mistaken in thinking that the Christ
in the cathedral of Autun has wounded hands outstretched in blessing,
and a bare breast showing a wound,--the arms of that statue are not
raised, and the breast is covered, so that no wounds are seen.
A clustered pillar composed of six granite columns, with a richly carved
capital, separates the two entrances beneath the tympanum of the central
arch. This pillar rests its base on the back of the figure of a man
lying on his stomach with head and shoulders raised above a scroll, the
writing upon which has been effaced. His arms are extended over the
backs of two lions with huge gaping jaws. Beneath the capital of this
column is a large seated figure of St. James, the “Son of Thunder,” the
patron saint of Santiago di Compostela, and in fact the patron saint of
the Spanish Peninsula. St. James, larger than life, is seated in an
armchair, the feet of which are supported by two little lions. Round the
saint’s head is a nimbus studded with crystals and other stones,--very
Byzantine in appearance, and supposed to be of much more recent date
than the sculpture. St. James holds in his left hand a staff the handle
of which is shaped like the letter T,[155] and in his right he holds a
parchment scroll on which we read “Misit me Dominus.” The lions, and the
chair in which St. James is seated, rest upon the beautifully carved
capital of a slender marble[156] column, the whole fust, or shaft, of
which is covered with delicate bas-reliefs illustrating the Stem of
Jesse. The idea was first suggested by Jerome in the fourth century: in
this representation of it there are seven human figures. Jesse lies at
the foot, while out of the heart there grows a tree which wraps in its
foliage the seated figure of King David, with his crown and musical
instrument, and between his knees the stem passes; above him is King
Solomon, also enfolded in the leaves, and above King Solomon is seated
the Virgin Mary, not concealed or shaded by any leaves, but rising out
of the tree, as though she (who was believed to be born without sin)
were its perfect flower. Above her delicate profile on the capital of
the same marble column is sculptured a representation of the Holy
Trinity. The Holy Spirit in the form of a dove is appearing from a
cloud; below is seated the Almighty with a mantle round His shoulders
and a royal crown upon His head, pointing to His Divine Son, whose arms
are extended on a cross. Four angels, two on either side, are engaged in
adoration of the Holy Trinity. This way of representing the Trinity,
according to Sanchez, is very ancient: it fell into disuse centuries
ago, because the ignorant crowd used to mistake it for the Coronation of
the Virgin.
For centuries poor women from all parts of Spain and Portugal have
implicitly believed that by placing their right hand where the branches
of the Tree of Jesse are thickest, and praying at the same time that God
will grant them children, they will receive the desired end. At the spot
where so many thousands of hands have been placed the marble is
literally worn away, like the toe of St. Peter at Rome. Priests shake
their heads at this superstition, but the women’s faith is not shaken,
and the custom continues to be practised.
The Tree of Jesse has often been used to represent the genealogy of
Christ. Parker tells us that it was by no means an uncommon subject for
sculpture, painting, and embroidery. At Dorchester Church, Oxfordshire,
it is curiously formed in the stone-work of one of the chancel windows.
At Christchurch, near Bournemouth, it is chiselled in stone on the
reredos of the altar; the figure of Jesse is here much larger than life
size, and the whole thing is larger in proportion; in this case the tree
springs from the loins of Jesse, not from his heart, as at Santiago. The
same subject is introduced in a painted window at Chartres; also in one
at Rouen.[157]
In a line with the statue of St. James, and the same height from the
ground, upon other sculptured columns with their backs to the great
piers which support the arches of the narthex, are grouped the
startlingly life-like figures of a number of evangelists and prophets,
each of which deserves the most careful study. The names of most of them
are indicated by the writing on their scrolls, or by some unmistakable
token. St. Peter, for instance, holds the keys, and is the only one
wearing pontifical dress; he represents the Head of the Church. St. Paul
holds a book, in which we can read the opening words of the Epistle to
the Hebrews. St. James the Elder, again represented, holds a scroll on
which we read, “_Deus autem incrementum dedit in hac regione_.” St.
John, the brother of St. James, is known by his sweet juvenile face, and
by the eagle which supports him. He has the Apocalypse open at the page
_Vidi civitatem sanctam_, etc., and appears to be reading it. There is
some doubt as to who the four next to him are meant to represent; after
them, on the eastern side, comes _St. John the Baptist_ holding in his
hands the _Agnus Dei_. Next is the figure of a woman with a crown, whom
some take for Queen Urraca, niece of Pope Calixtus II., and others for
Catherine of Leon. The most modern theory about this figure is that she
is intended to represent Judith; Judith’s appearance among the prophets
and evangelists in the _Pórtico de Gloria_ is taken to be a proof that
in the twelfth century the Book of Judith was included amongst the
canonical books of the Old Testament. Dr. Eladio Oviedo tells me,
moreover, that this belief is supported by many passages in the books of
the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries. There is also a
quotation from the Book of Judith in one of the poems of Prudentius, the
Gallegan poet of the fourth century, of whom we have already spoken. Not
having seen any of these passages, I am not myself competent to give an
opinion on the matter. All the representations of Judith that I remember
noticing in Italy and elsewhere represent Judith striding along with the
head of Holophernes in one hand and a sword in the other, such, for
instance, as the famous picture by Botticelli in Florence. Next in order
comes another female figure wrapped in a mantle, who was long thought to
represent “la sibille annoncaatrice du Jugement dernier,” but is now
believed to be Queen Esther; she carries a parchment scroll, but its
words have been obliterated. The next is a bearded statue with a staff
in _tau_, who has not been identified; then follows another unknown
statue. One of these is probably _Ezekiel_; and then we come to
_Jeremiah_, whose name is on his scroll; this prophet is communicating
something of great interest to _Daniel_, who stands next him, a handsome
young man who smiles as he listens with his eyes on the ground. Daniel’s
amused smile is so real that it is quite infectious, the spectator finds
himself smiling too as he looks at him. According to Lopez Ferreiro,
“Daniel cannot hide his joy at some news which Jeremiah has just
imparted to him.” At any rate, no traveller contemplating the Pórtico
will ever have the least difficulty in finding out Daniel, as his broad
smile is sufficient to mark him out amongst a thousand statues. For many
decades there was a legend among the people of Santiago to the effect
that he is laughing at the disproportionately fat figure of the crowned
lady opposite (Judith), and such a hold did this idea take upon the mind
of the crowd that at length the archbishop had that lady relieved of
some of her corpulence by means of the sculptor’s knife; one can see
that she has been trimmed a bit. Daniel’s name is still visible on the
scroll he carries.
_Isaiah_, standing next to Daniel, has a curious turban on his head; he
is the only one not bare-headed; his name is also readable on his
scroll. Moses, standing next to Isaiah (beneath the angel in the corner
of the right entrance under the central arch), is dressed in a blue
tunic with a gold mantle. He has a benign and venerable face, with
parted hair and a long flowing beard. In his hands he holds the two
Tables of Stone on which we can still decipher one word, “Honra.” All
these statues are above praise, not only as works of art, but as
representative of the sculpture of their epoch. Their wonderful anatomy,
the perfectly natural folds of their drapery, are marvellous when we
consider the age in which they were executed. High up above the southern
arch we see two unfinished and unsculptured stones, where the wings of
the angels should be represented to match the one above the northern
arch. This unfinished piece of work was pointed out to me by Dr. Eladio
Oviedo. No other archæologist seems to have noticed it. Did the sculptor
die before his work was finished? we wonder. In former days the four
angels with trumpets placed at the four angles of the rectangular
portico were taken to be the four archangels sounding the trumpets of
the Last Judgment. In the more modern interpretations they are celestial
servants of the Great King, whose duty it is to show Him honour.
The bases of all the pillars supporting the _Pórtico de Gloria_ rest
upon groups of extraordinary animals, about the symbolism of which there
has been much dispute. These creatures, which take the place of
pedestals, have been thought by some to represent the vices which
corrupt humanity, but surely if such were the case they would be more
varied in type! whereas one cluster is composed entirely of eagles and
another of lions. Eagles are not found anywhere else in Galicia, but
lions are quite common. The lion is used as an emblem of Justice, the
eagle represents Faith. Lions at the entrance of a church, one on either
side, are constantly met with in old Gallegan churches. The magistrate
used to sit between them on one of the steps, and judge cases in the
open air. It was quite public, and any one who liked might hear the
whole proceedings. The Moors have a similar custom to this day. Many a
time have I seen the judge with his white turban seated tailor-fashion
between the columns of the white building on the _Kashab_ hill at
Tangier, to try cases in the open air, while a triple ring of Moorish
spectators listened to his words. Those who considered the theme of the
_Pórtico de Gloria_ to be that of the Last Judgment believed that every
one of the monsters on which its piers rest represented a different
vice--Pride, avarice, sloth, envy, etc. By their crushed position,
beneath the whole weight of the whole portico, they were supposed to
represent the vices of man triumphed over by the Church of Christ. The
fact that in Assyrian ruins we meet with strikingly similar monsters
supporting the piers of ancient buildings has led some archæologists to
suppose that the idea of placing such creatures beneath this portico
reached Galicia through Eastern channels.
Behind the central pillar of the portico and facing the altar is the
figure of a man upon his knees with his hands together as if in prayer;
he is so placed as to appear as if supporting the weight of the whole
pillar upon his back. This is Mateo, the architect, who evidently did
not intend to be forgotten by those who came to admire his work. The
face is supposed to be a true portrait. It is virile, with a good
forehead clustered with crisp curls; their granite locks show signs of
wear. Here we see where another superstition has had its hold for
centuries. Mothers have from time immemorial rested their babies’ heads
against that stone head, because “Mateo was a clever man, and baby must
be clever too.” In the language of Galicia, this figure of Mateo is
sometimes called _el santo dos croques_, the saint with the curls (lit.
“of the curls”). Mateo has represented himself as a humble supplicant
whose eyes are directed towards the holy altar, and whose knees are bent
in adoration. He is clad in a tunic with wide sleeves, probably the
every-day garb of a Gallegan citizen of the twelfth century. Over the
tunic he wears a mantle fastened at the neck with a broach. His right
hand is laid upon his breast, as a sign of penitence, and in his left he
holds a scroll, which is said to have originally shown the word
_Architectus_.
One of the small shafts which ornament the pier supporting the right
side of the central arch (the one exactly beneath the statue of Isaiah)
is also of marble, like that on which is represented the stem of Jesse:
it is banded with spiral and exquisitely carved bas-relief. Here we at
once recognise Abraham being stopped by the angel just as, knife in
hand, he is about to offer up his son Isaac. Every atom of space has
been utilised with consummate skill. Abraham is not easily dissuaded by
the angel; there is a hand-to-hand struggle, and a determined look on
the face of the angel, who has actually grasped the blade of Abraham’s
outstretched knife. We note the wonderful play of muscle in this
speaking bit of marble. It is better sculpture of the human form than
anything to be found in French churches of the twelfth century. It
reminds us of the most perfect of Pisan sculpture, but it is of earlier
date than any of the French or Pisan work. The moulding at the base of
the shaft, like that of its fellows, is elliptic (oval), a sign, says
Lopez Ferreiro, of the transition from the Roman-Byzantine style to the
Gothic; the elaborate moulding of the square pedestal or plinth beneath
is also a sure sign of transition, for Greek and Roman pedestals were
plain blocks of stone. We remember that the Early French style had in
many instances plinths ornamented with fluting, or otherwise enriched.
One of the marble columns was evidently replaced, some hundreds of years
ago, by another of inferior marble, which has stood the test of time
very badly; it is much worn, but its sculpture is very interesting. Here
we see a real old tournament of the Middle Ages; two knights clad in
full chain armour, tunic and helmets entirely chain, and the latter
decorated with flowing plumes. The shields are splendid, and the anatomy
of the fighting warriors worthy of Rubens. On this column we also
discern some strange monsters such as we read of in “Geoffery the
Knight” when we were children.
All the capitals of the _Pórtico de Gloria_ are covered with rich
sculpture; that above the seated figure of St. James is decorated with a
representation of the Temptation in the Wilderness, to the north we see
Satan tempting our Saviour to turn stone into bread, to the west we see
Christ on the pinnacle of the temple, to the south is Satan showing
Christ all the glories of the world, and holding in his hands a scroll
with the words _Haec omnia Tibi dabo, si cadens adoraveris me_, and
Christ holds His scroll with the words _bade Satana_; on the fourth and
eastern side, facing the interior of the cathedral, we see angels
ministering unto Christ.
Lopez Ferreiro[158] has devoted a most interesting chapter to the
execution of the work in the _Pórtico de Gloria_. He shows how Mateo,
the architect, subordinated everything else to the one grand principle
of unity; thus following the supreme law in artistic production. We do
not see anywhere in Greek or Roman sculpture, as Viollet le Duc has
pointed out, a tympanum covered with statues the attitudes and size of
which are adapted to its shape. The façade of _Notre Dame de Paris_ has
a tympanum crowded with statues, but there the tympanum is divided into
four distinct parts; that of Santiago is unbroken. But unity alone is
not enough to constitute an aesthetic work of art; variety is also
needed in order to exclude monotony. In the _Pórtico de Gloria_ there
are hardly two figures to be found in the same attitude. Let us look at
the four-and-twenty elders. Each of the old men has his feet in a
different attitude; he has his own way, too, of handling his musical
instrument. Mateo had the art of making his statues look perfectly easy
and natural even when represented in the most difficult postures. There
is a look of spontaneity about the placement of their limbs. Ferreiro
has noted the capricious manner in which the legs of the fifth old man
are covered; we feel instinctively that he has only just this minute
crossed them, and that a moment ago he had them in quite another
position! We see the same variety in the flow or curl of the hair, in
the shape and size of the beard. All bear witness to the zeal with which
Mateo worked to produce a natural and lifelike effect, and to evade the
least suspicion of convention or routine. We have seen how the artist of
the _Puerta de las Platerias_ attempted to do this, but in his day no
one thought of attending to the position of a statue’s _feet_. In the
façade in question all the feet are arranged with the most rigorous
symmetry.
No human being can remain with comfort in any one position for more than
a given time; for the sake of ease our posture is continually changing.
Mateo must have studied every position possible to the human frame. But
his genius shows itself still more distinctly in the heads of his
statues,--each is a portrait taken from life, the features are all in
harmony. As you contemplate them you feel that you can almost read the
character of the person represented. With what diligence must this
artist have sought out his models; how peasants and tradesmen and nobles
must have posed for him in turn. In the _Pórtico de Gloria_ we see the
very people who walked about the streets of Santiago while the work was
being done.
Though the sculpture of the Middle Ages is in many respects inferior to
that of the best period of ancient Greece (in actual form it is
generally less perfect), it has in it a new element, it portrays, as
Greek statuary never attempted to do, the intellectual element in the
human being.[159] The artists of the Middle Ages did not consider only
of the exterior; they tried to represent the thinking mind. Every one of
Mateo’s statues has “a mind of its own.” As Lopez Ferreiro has put it,
the statuary of the Greeks was the sister of poetry, that of the Middle
Ages was the sister of psychology and philosophy.
The whole masterpiece of Mateo may be described as an attempt at the
interpretation of one great thought, or rather of a series of thoughts
“toute une ordre d’idées,” which “is engaging the attention of all
humanity.” Lopez Ferreiro notes how daringly Mateo made his attempt to
push his art into the road along which two centuries later it was
carried by Italy’s most celebrated artists.
The statues of the _Pórtico de Gloria_ are most of them engaged in
animated conversation; each face wears an expression in accordance with
the particular turn his conversation is taking, “yet each at the same
time wears a look of repose, such as could only arise from a pure mind
and a tranquil conscience.” The whole, the combined effect of this
astonishing piece of work, is powerfully dramatic; a series of deeply
interesting events is depicted; each statue is a human being whose
entire mind is concentrated upon these events; on one face there is a
look of wonder, on another a look of joy, on another a look of
contentment. “The dramatic element,” says the above-mentioned writer,
“is introduced in exactly the right proportion. In Christian artists of
greater note than Mateo--even in Nicolas of Pisa, there is something
earthly, frivolous, profane; but in Mateo all is serious, spiritual,
without any loss of the human element. As we contemplate the _Pórtico_
the figures almost seem to move, to sit, to talk. You seem to hear the
murmur of their lips. The same discreet realism manifested in the heads
is shown also in the limbs. The arms, the hands, and even the fingers
seem to move with flexibility and delicacy.” This writer goes on to
point out that the heads of the apostles are rather large, and in
accordance with the rule of the Greek monk Dionisius,[160] who laid it
down as a law that the head must be as large as a tenth part of the
whole statue. The heads of Mateo’s apostles are equal to one-seventh
part of the entire height, but the position of these statues must be
remembered; they are raised more than three yards from the ground,
consequently the heads diminish in size and reach exactly the right
proportions.
Didron has written much about the influence of the drama on iconography.
He thinks that in the early Middle Ages as well as in the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries the art of statuary may have gained much from
Mystery and other plays of the time which had been pressed into the
cause of religion. The “Mirror of Human Salvation” was the framework of
the Divine Comedy, and of all the Mystery plays. “When examining as to
what were the influences at work that aroused Italian art ... from the
death-sleep of Byzantine formalism, may we not,” he asks, “attribute
much of the inspiration of the thirteenth and following centuries to the
drama?” Mute and motionless stood the Christian drama, and its long
lines of angels and saints and martyrs had for centuries looked out with
their fixed gaze from the walls and domes of solemn basilicas, till at
last a vivifying and invigorating influence was brought to bear upon
them.[161] Some large churches in France, such as Chartres, Rheims,
Paris, Amiens, are adorned with no fewer than three or four thousand
stone statues. In the Greek Church statues of every kind are strictly
forbidden. The interior of the Greek churches of Russia are often
covered with fresco paintings, but never do we find a single statue. St.
John Damascenus in the eighth century spoke in defence of images:
“Images speak, they are neither mute nor lifeless blocks, like the idols
of the pagans. Images open the heart and awake the intellect, and in a
marvellous and indescribable manner engage us to imitate the person they
represent.”[162] And Bishop Paulinus of Nola said: “A sculptured arch in
the porch of a church, or an historical glass painting in the nave,
presented the ignorant with a lesson, the believer with a sermon.” We
are tempted to hope that the Catholic Church in Spain may one day clear
away from its sacred altars all the miserable, tawdry, and draggled
objects that are called images, and confine itself to the glorious work
of its inspired artists in glass and stone.
But to return to our _Pórtico_. The hang of the drapery, the pose of the
limbs, have all been the subject of the minutest care and of the
profoundest study. We do not here see garments flying, as though blown
by a rough wind, as if “in a frenzy,” as Taine remarked when he looked
at some of the statues in St. Peter’s at Rome. Every bit of drapery here
falls naturally into place.
With the exception of the slender marble columns already described, the
entire _Pórtico de Gloria_ and its sculpture is of solid granite; but
the granite of the sculptures was not intended to show. The whole was
most delicately coloured, capitals and fusts as well as statues. Time
has carried away most of the colouring, but there is still enough left
to give us some idea of what it was once like. The effect must have
defied description. Christ’s mantle was saffron, bordered with green and
gold, the tunic beneath being also saffron coloured, and bordered with
purple and gold. The four evangelists were also in yellow; the dresses
of the angels varied, some were pink, some blue, some white. Spanish
painters have admired the soft blending of the colours both in the faces
and in the garments of these statues. When our English architect, the
above-quoted Street, had succeeded in getting a special commission sent
out from England to take a plaster cast of the _Pórtico de Gloria_ for
South Kensington[163] he certainly deserved the gratitude of the English
public, but the people of Santiago complained that a little of its
beautiful colouring was taken off in the process. This colouring was not
Moorish, as some have suggested, but Byzantine. There is a great
similarity between the colouring of ancient Byzantine frescoes and icons
and that of this _Pórtico_; the flesh tints were brown almost to a
chocolate shade. The face of Judith is flushed with quite a rosy tint,
but that of one of the four-and-twenty elders, the one to the left of
the keystone of the arch, is still almost a chocolate colour, and
several of the others indicate a similar colouring. The capitals of the
marble pillars still show traces of a warm, rich red. The art of
colouring stone in such a manner that the colours will remain intact for
centuries is quite lost. It is one of the many lost arts. Possibly the
architects of the seventeenth century feared that continued exposure
might lead to deterioration of the sculpture, and for that reason closed
it in.
On the inner side of the lintel of the central arch of the _Pórtico_ is
an inscription, which is believed to have been placed there by _Maestro
Mateo_, the architect and sculptor to whom we owe this beautiful
creation. It reads thus--
“Anno ab Incarnatione Domini, MCLXXXVIII, Era MCCXXVI, die
kalendarum Apriles, super liminaria principalium
portalium--Ecclesiae Beati Jacobi sunt collocata per Magistrum
Mathaeum, qui a fundamentis ipsorum portalium gessit magisterium.”
(In the year of the Incarnation of our Lord 1188, era 1226, on the
calends of April, the lintels of the principal portico of the
Cathedral of the Blessed St. James were put up by Master Matthew,
who superintended the said work from its foundations.)
Perhaps this date, of which none have doubted the correctness, is the
most astonishing part of the whole thing.
A masterpiece like the _Pórtico de Gloria_, dating a century, or even
half a century, later would cause less surprise, but how it comes about
that such a finished and perfect _chef d’œuvre_ could have been
accomplished at so early a date and in such an out-of-the-way part of
the civilised world--is a puzzle.[164] Frenchmen ply their pens with
vigour to prove that Master Matthew was a native of _la belle France_.
Spaniards are equally energetic in their assertions that he was a native
of Spain, and some even go so far as to say that he must have been a
native of Galicia. “There is as yet nothing to prove that Mateo was not
a Gallegan,” writes Lopez Ferreiro. “He lived at Santiago, or at least
in Galicia, from 1161 to 1217, to say the very least; and it is thought
that he was born and educated in Galicia. He was a layman, with a wife
and children.”--And as this writer is one of Spain’s greatest living
historians as well as a famous archæologist, his opinion has weight. He
tells us that from the end of the eleventh century there flourished in
Santiago a school of artists for all branches of art--an institution
which was the means of producing marvellous results. To begin with, it
produced the cathedral itself, and at the same time it produced the most
exquisite specimens of silver and copper workmanship. This school was
enriched, in 1135, by Alfonso VII., with many privileges, which were
also enjoyed by later generations of artists. There still exists a
diploma given to Mateo by Ferdinand, King of Leon, on 23rd February
1168. This king, on the occasion of a royal pilgrimage to the sepulchre
of St. James, granted Mateo a pension of 4200 pesetas (or francs) a
year. It seems that Mateo started the work at once, and took twenty
years to accomplish it; during those twenty years the Gothic style of
architecture had been slowly gaining ground. We see it in the elegant
vaulting of the _Pórtico_ and in its graceful groining.
_The Historia Compostelana_ contains not a single allusion to the
Pórtico de Gloria, which does not seem to have been even planned at the
time that manuscript was written.