There are several very important Roman diptychs and leaves of
diptychs, not consular, still extant; some also of greater beauty
than any of the examples in the preceding list. Among them is the
diptych (already mentioned) of Æsculapius and Hygieia in the Mayer
collection at Liverpool; and another, but smaller, of the same subject
in a private collection in Switzerland. This last is described by
professor Westwood, who possesses a cast of it, as “in much deeper
relief than the Fejérváry diptych, and full of energy in the design.
Here Æsculapius holds a palm-branch in his right hand, and supports
his club, round which a serpent is twined, with his left; whilst
Hygieia holds a snake in her right hand and, apparently, a large
melon in her left.” Another is the diptych of cardinal Quirini now at
Brescia, having on one leaf, as interpreted by M. Pulszky, Phædra and
Hyppolytus; and on the other Diana and Virbius. This is probably of the
third century.
Another is the famous diptych, long known as the Tablets of Sens,
but now at Paris in the Imperial library and forming the covers of a
thirteenth century manuscript, containing “The Office of fools,” or,
rather, the Office of the feast of the circumcision. In the thirteenth
and fourteenth centuries some childish and improper jests and plays
were allowed in churches on the first day of the year. This “Office
of fools” seems to have been a complete arrangement for the day;
with mass, matins, and hours. The whole affair was something like
(but without the reverential decorum) the festival of the boy-bishop,
celebrated in more than one of our English cathedrals about the same
period, and was probably a relic of the heathen Saturnalia.
These tablets, which are somewhat similar in style to the sarcophagi
of the third century, are engraved by Labarte in his album. On one
leaf is represented Bacchus in a car drawn by centaurs; on the other
is Diana in a chariot drawn by two bulls. Both subjects are surrounded
by mythological figures. They are engraved also in Lacroix, Arts of
the middle ages, as an illustration of book-binding: and in the second
volume of the Monumens antiques inédits, by Millin.
There is a diptych of perhaps the fifth century in the treasury of
the cathedral of Monza; one leaf representing Calliope sounding the
lyre, and the other some unknown philosopher. Mr. Oldfield, in his
excellent catalogue with very valuable notes of the Arundel series
of fictile ivories, supposes the muse to be some Roman lady in an
ideal character. He objects to Gori’s suggestion that the other leaf
represents a poet, taking the characteristics to be those certainly
of a philosopher. Another is in the public library at Paris, the two
leaves having six muses, each of them accompanied by an author. These
last have been guessed at by M. de Witte, who places the diptych in the
fourth century. Neither M. Pulszky nor professor Westwood is inclined
to agree with these guesses, except that one may perhaps be Euripides
grouped with Melpomene. The workmanship is rude and the figures carved
in high relief. Again, another diptych at Vienna in the cabinet of
antiquities, is attributed to the time of Justinian. One leaf has a
figure representing Rome; the other, Constantinople.
The above are all named in the essay attached to the catalogue of
the Fejérváry collection by M. Pulszky; and professor Westwood very
rightly adds to them one leaf of a diptych in the possession of count
Auguste de Bastard, the diptych of St. Gall, the mythological figure
of Penthea in the museum of the hôtel Cluny, a perfect diptych in the
cathedral of Novara, and another in the basilica of San Gaudenzio at
the same place.
There is no example among all these which surpasses in beauty of
execution or in the interest of the subject, two ivory tablets which
were formerly the doors of a reliquary in the convent of Moutier in
France, in the diocese of Troyes. When M. Pulszky wrote his essay both
tablets were supposed to be lost; they had been described and engraved
in the Thesaurus of Gori, from whose prints alone they were known.
Happily both since have been recovered. The left tablet, discovered
a few years ago at the bottom of a well, is in the hôtel Cluny, much
injured, and the other is in the collection of the South Kensington
museum. The South Kensington leaf is probably the most beautiful
antique ivory in the world. (See etching.) Each leaf represents a
Bacchante; on both they are standing, and the Bacchante on the leaf in
the English collection is accompanied by an attendant. Clothed from
the shoulders to the feet in a long tunic, she stands near an oak-tree
before an altar, on which a fire is lighted, and she is in the act of
dropping a grain of incense from a small box held in her left hand.
The whole figure is extremely graceful and dignified, the expression
of the face earnest and devotional, and the form of the figure rightly
expressed beneath the drapery; the hands and feet also well and
carefully carved. On the corresponding leaf, preserved at Paris, the
Bacchante has no attendant. Her drapery falls negligently suspended
from her left shoulder, leaving the right arm and breast exposed.
Professor Becker in his “Gallus,” describing the Lycoris of Virgil’s
tenth eclogue, says: “Her light _tunica_, without sleeves, had become
displaced by her movements and slidden down over her arm, disclosing
something more than the dazzling shoulder.” He adds in a note that “the
wide opening for the neck, and the broad holes for the arms, caused
the _tunica_ on every occasion of the person’s stooping to slip down
over the arm. Artists appear to have been particularly fond of this
drapery.” Such an arrangement, or rather disarrangement, of drapery
would equally happen when the tunic was fastened over the shoulder by
a small fibula, as it is represented upon the right arm of the young
attendant in the South Kensington leaf. The Paris Bacchante stands
before an altar on which a fire burns, and holds in each hand a torch
with the flaming end downwards, as if to extinguish them. Her hair is
gracefully bound with a riband decorated with ivy leaves, and falls
down her back. A pine tree, stiff in design, stands close behind the
altar; not to be compared with the oak-tree on the other leaf.
[Illustration: IVORY CARVING. ONE LEAF OF THE DIPTYCHON MELERETENSE H.
11¾ in. W. 4¾ in.
S. K. M. (N^o 212’6.5) W. WISE FECIT]
This admirable diptych was, perhaps, a gift on the occasion of some
marriage between members of the two patrician families whose names
are on the labels: NICOMACHORVM. SYMMACHORVM; or it may possibly
have formed the cover of the marriage contract itself, the _tabulæ
nuptiales_ of which Juvenal speaks; or perhaps it was a joint offering
to the temple of Bacchus or Cybele. The last supposition would be
confirmed if the omitted word was “religio,” as suggested by Passeri,
who believes that the two families took the opportunity of recording
upon this diptych, on some occasion of importance common to both of
them, their determination to uphold the old heathen worship against the
doctrines and influence of Christianity, at that time widely extending.
Before we pass to the large series of ivory carvings executed between
the eighth or ninth and the fifteenth centuries, there is one very
celebrated piece about which a few words may be said: a superb leaf of
a diptych, preserved in the British museum. The other leaf is lost and
has probably been destroyed; nor is there any record (it is believed)
from whence that museum obtained the ivory. It has been in the
collection for many years.
[Illustration]
The plaque itself is one of the largest known: more than sixteen inches
in length by nearly six in width. The subject is an angel, standing
on the highest of six steps under an arch supported on two Corinthian
columns; he holds a globe with a cross above it in his right hand;
in his left a long staff, to the top of which, as if half resting on
it like a warrior on his lance, the hand is raised above his head.
He is clothed in a tunic and an ample cloak or mantle falling round
him and over the shoulders in graceful folds. His head is bound round
with a fillet, and the feet have sandals. There is no antique ivory
carving which surpasses this in grandeur of design, in power and force
of expression, or in the excellence of its workmanship. Although
some foreign writers are disposed to place the date of it so late
as the time of Justinian, we shall be more correct in attributing
it, with Mr. Oldfield, to the fifth or even to the end of the fourth
century. Nor, looking at it, can we hesitate to claim for the earliest
Christian art, after Christianity was recognised by Constantine, a
place by the side of the best works of pagan times. If we select this,
and the book-covers in the treasury of the cathedral at Milan, and
the well-known book-cover in the public library at Paris, we shall
find no western work in ivory to equal them in quality and beauty of
workmanship from the fifth to the thirteenth century.
We owe the preservation of many of these consular and mythological
diptychs to the circumstance that when the practice of sending them as
presents had (it may be) for some time been discontinued, another use
was found by adapting them to Christian purposes. In some cases the
subjects or titles of the diptychs were altered; as, for example, in
one of the diptychs preserved at Monza. This was originally a consular
diptych, of late work, coarse in style and manner of execution. The
consul is represented on each wing, raising the _mappa circensis_ in
the usual way: on one, however, he is standing; on the other he is
sitting upon a kind of throne. On one leaf the top of the consul’s
head has been shaved, to show the clerical tonsure; and in the blank
space of two small panels, immediately beneath the arch under which he
stands, the title S[an]C[tu]S GREG^oR[ius] is cut in high relief. On
the other leaf above the sitting consul, on the corresponding panels,
DAVID REX is inscribed in similar letters. Both the wings are engraved
by Gori. It must not be omitted that some late writers have argued that
this diptych is not a palimpsest; that it is merely an imitation of
the preceding consular diptychs, and not earlier than the seventh or
eighth century. But the whole character is unlike mere imitation; and
the shaving of the head, the alteration of the ornamented top of the
sceptre or staff, and the cutting of the inscription on the tablets,
might without difficulty have been made for the required and more
modern purpose.
It is easy to understand how later possessors of consular diptychs were
induced to make presents of them to their bishops and churches; and
in some instances, probably, in the sixth century, those originally
sent to high ecclesiastical persons were at once transferred to pious
uses. Instead of containing the lists of the consuls, the diptychs
then inclosed the names of martyrs, saints, or bishops who were to be
commemorated in the public service of the Church. These lists were read
at mass: of the saints at that part of the canon which is now known
as the _Communicantes_; and of the dead at the _Memento_, after the
consecration of the Eucharist. Frequent reference to the custom is to
be found in the old ritualists, and full information and a cloud of
authorities on the subject in the learned work of Salig, on diptychs.
The leaves of several such diptychs still exist, and sometimes with the
names not written on wax, but carved or incised upon the ivory itself.
One very remarkable example is the diptych, now at Liverpool, of
Flavius Clementinus, consul A.D. 513. Upon the back of each leaf a long
Greek inscription has been incised, done, beyond doubt, in the first
year of pope Hadrian, A.D. 772, when the diptych was given to some
church for sacred use. The list of names inscribed, to be prayed for,
includes that of the donor.
The two inscriptions are to be read across both divisions, and were
engraved probably upon the ivory by some one not well skilled in
the language. There are several faults, both in spelling and in the
letters: for example, we have στομεν sΘεωτωκος; ελεωςd; and ι often
instead of η.
The inscription is to this effect: “☩Let us stand well. ☩Let us stand
with reverence. ☩Let us stand with fear. Let us attend upon the holy
oblation, that in peace we may make the offering to God. The mercy,
the peace, the sacrifice of praise, the love of God and of the Father
and of our Saviour Jesus Christ be upon us, Amen. In the first year of
Adrian, patriarch of the city. Remember, Lord, thy servant John, the
least priest of the church of St. Agatha. Amen. ☩Remember, Lord, thy
servant Andrew Machera. Holy Mother of God; holy Agatha. ☩Remember,
Lord, thy servant and our pastor Adrian the patriarch. ☩Remember, Lord,
thy servant, the sinner, John the priest.”
Another example is the diptych of Anastasius, A.D. 517, of which one
leaf, n^{o.} 368, is in the South Kensington collection. Upon this leaf
the portion of a single word “GISI” is now alone to be deciphered;
when Wiltheim saw it, more than a hundred years ago at Liege, he read
“IGISI,” and supposed it to be part of the name of Ebregisus, the
twenty-fourth bishop of Tongres, in the seventh century. But upon
the other leaf, which is now preserved at Berlin, Gori was able to
make out a considerable portion. “Offerentes ... O ... eorum p. pi ...
ecclesia catholica quam eis dominus adsignare dignetur ... facientes
commemorationem beatissimorum apostolorum et martyrum omniumque
sanctorum. Sanctæ Mariæ Virginis, Petri, Pauli, _etc._” But he owns
that some even of these words are conjectural.
The diptych of Justinianus, in the public library at Paris, is one
more example of the same kind. Inside are written litanies of the
ninth century, with the names of saints inserted who were particularly
revered at Autun.
Another half of a consular diptych may be mentioned, a single leaf,
in which instance the original carving has not only been removed but
the ivory has been sawn into two pieces. As it happens, both fragments
are in this country—one in the British museum, the other in the
South Kensington collection, n^{o.} 266. The two together have still
sufficient traces left to enable us to recognise the old design: a
consul seated in the usual way, under a round arch. Below, there seem
to have been the two boys or servants emptying their sacks of money and
presents.
This mutilation occurred about the eighth or ninth century; and the
other side of the leaf was then carved with subjects taken from the
gospels. It was an unnecessary injury to destroy and plane away the
first design. As the new purpose was probably to decorate the panels of
some shrine or book-cover, the old carvings might have been concealed
when the plaques were inlaid, in the same manner as the very curious
pieces were treated, now at South Kensington, n^{os.} 253, 254, and 257.
It would be a subject far too extensive to attempt to give a history of
the use and purpose of diptychs in the public service of the Christian
Church. Their origin is to be traced to the very earliest times;
perhaps to the apostolic age. Mention is made of them in the liturgy
of St. Mark. Gori (or his author) quotes also the ecclesiastical
hierarchy of Dionysius the Areopagite. This is certainly not the
writing of the true Dionysius, the contemporary of St. Paul. Yet,
putting the pseudo-Dionysius as late as the fifth century, his evidence
is valuable, and he speaks of the use of diptychs as of things long
known.
Numerous treaties and dissertations, even long books, have been written
on the subject; and it would be idle work to repeat the names of the
authors who are referred to, over and over again, by most writers on
ivory carvings. In fact, the learning which some of these exhibit might
much better have been shown if their subject had been the primitive
history and practices of the Church. Except to state the mere fact of
their use, the connection of ceremonial ecclesiastical diptychs with
sculpture in ivory requires only a few remarks.
The common use of such diptychs is well and shortly summed up in a
dissertation printed by Gori in his Thesaurus. The summary may be given
in few words, and, moreover, the dissertation itself is written in
explanation of the diptych of the consul Clementinus just mentioned,
which we are now fortunate enough to possess in England, in the Mayer
collection at Liverpool. Inside the leaves, as has been already
observed, is an inscription in Greek of the eighth century, to be read
during mass, desiring the people to be devout and reverent and to pray
for the persons whose names were to be recited.
The Christian diptychs were intended for four purposes. First come
those in which the names of all the baptised were entered, a kind of
_Fasti ecclesiæ_, and answering to the registers kept now in every
parish. Second, those in which were recorded the names of bishops and
of all who had made offerings to the church or other benefactions. This
list included the names of many persons still living. Third, those in
which were recorded the names of saints and martyrs; and, naturally, in
various places the names would be particularly of saints who in their
lives had been connected with the locality. Such additions are of the
utmost importance in tracing the history of ancient lists which have
come down to our own time. Diptychs of this class were read aloud at
mass, as a sign of the communion between the Church triumphant and
the Church militant on earth. Fourth, those in which were written the
names of dead members of the particular church or district, who having
died in the true faith and with the rites of the church were to be
remembered at mass.
As regards the living, the continuance of their names in the diptychs
was of the highest consequence; to be erased was equal to the
denunciation of them as heretics and unworthy of communion.
In the diptychs also were probably sometimes added the names of people
who were sick or in trouble.
But besides these four objects for which Christian diptychs were made,
there was another which must certainly have caused the production
of many large sculptured works in ivory from the seventh to the
tenth century: namely, for the purpose of exciting devotion and as
a means also of teaching the ignorant. Ivory tablets or diptychs of
this description are ordered to be exposed to the people in the old
Ambrosian rite for the church of Milan.
One of the most celebrated relics in ivory was executed about the
middle of the sixth century; the throne or chair made for Maximian,
archbishop of Ravenna from the year 546 to 556. This is now preserved
among the treasures of the cathedral at Ravenna, and is engraved in
the great book of Du Sommerard, and by Labarte in his handbook. The
chair has a high back, round in shape, and is entirely covered with
plaques of ivory, arranged in panels richly carved in high relief
with scenes from the gospels and with figures of saints. The plaques
have borders with foliated ornaments; birds and animals, flowers and
fruits, filling the intermediate spaces. Du Sommerard names amongst
the most remarkable subjects, the annunciation, the adoration of the
wise men, the flight into Egypt, and the baptism of our Lord. Sir
Digby Wyatt (in his lecture before the Arundel society) says that
this chair, having “always been carefully preserved as a holy relic,
has fortunately escaped destruction and desecration; and, but for
the beautiful tint with which time has invested it, would wear an
aspect little different from that which it originally presented in the
lifetime of the illustrious prelate for whom it was made. This valuable
object could hardly have been all wrought at one time, as Dr. Kugler
distinctly traces in it the handling of three different artists, who
could scarcely have all lived at the same period. Some of the plates
resemble diptychs. Thus, the series pourtraying the history of Joseph
in Egypt is quite classical; another, and less able artist in the same
style, provided the plates for the back, and in one set of five single
figures the Greek artificer stands apparent. The simplest explanation
appears to be that the throne was made up by the last-mentioned artist
out of materials provided for him, and that what was wanting to make it
entire was supplied by him.” Probably the different plaques were carved
by several sculptors; but Dr. Kugler’s supposition that the whole
chair was not made by contemporary artists (in short, at one time) is
scarcely probable.
Speaking of and praising the Ravenna chair, Passeri offers some very
useful remarks by way of caution against the hasty conclusions which
some make, who set down all ancient large plaques of ivory as having
been the leaves of diptychs: “Vidi etiam Ravennæ in chartophilacio
principis ecclesiæ sedem eburneam sancti Maximiani episcopi quinto
seculo operosissime efformatam, cujus ambitum undequaque adornant
tabulæ eburneæ amplitudinis fere sesquipedalis, quam plerumque
ebur patitur anaglypho opere, et scitissima manu elaboratæ, quæ si
disjectæ et singulares occurrent imprudentibus facile imponerent, ut
inter diptycha censerentur. Nec ista nominis quæstio est, nam longe
alia mente explicandæ sunt missiles consulum tabellæ, atque in illis
expressa emblemata, quæ omnia ad consulatum ejusque pompas pertinent,
alia vero sculpturæ omnes, quæ in alium usum parabantur. Hæc observatio
facile prodit errorem illorum, qui diptychis adcensuerunt laterculos,
nullo consule designatos, cum musarum, poetarum, Bacchantum ac deorum
imaginibus, quæ mihi nullam aliam ingerunt speciem, quam quod aliquando
libros contexerint, quibus parerga adluderent. Sunt præterea quædam
imperatorum inferioris ævi simulacra tabellis eburneis incisa, in
quibus nulla cardinum vestigia apparent, ut potius videatur sedes
honorarias decorasse, quam quod diptychorum loco essent, quum præsertim
exterior illorum ornatus superne in acutum desinat; quod a diptychorum
instituto quam maxime abhorret.”