THE PERIOD OF TRANSITION FROM ANTIQUITY TO THE MIDDLE AGES.--THE
ROMAN MIMI CONTINUED TO EXIST.--THE TEUTONIC AFTER-DINNER
ENTERTAINMENTS.--CLERICAL SATIRES; ARCHBISHOP HERIGER AND THE
DREAMER; THE SUPPER OF THE SAINTS.--TRANSITION FROM ANCIENT
TO MEDIÆVAL ART.--TASTE FOR MONSTROUS ANIMALS, DRAGONS, ETC.;
CHURCH OF SAN FEDELE, AT COMO.--SPIRIT OF CARICATURE AND LOVE
OF GROTESQUE AMONG THE ANGLO-SAXONS.--GROTESQUE FIGURES OF
DEMONS.--NATURAL TENDENCY OF THE EARLY MEDIÆVAL ARTISTS TO DRAW IN
CARICATURE.--EXAMPLES FROM EARLY MANUSCRIPTS AND SCULPTURES.
The transition from antiquity to what we usually understand by the name
of the middle ages was long and slow; it was a period during which much
of the texture of the old society was destroyed, while at the same
time a new life was gradually given to that which remained. We know
very little of the comic literature of this period of transition; its
literary remains consist chiefly of a mass of heavy theology and of
lives of saints. The stage in its perfectly dramatic form--theatre and
amphitheatre--had disappeared. The pure drama, indeed, appears never
to have had great vitality among the Romans, whose tastes lay far more
among the vulgar performances of the mimics and jesters, and among
the savage scenes of the amphitheatre. While probably the performance
of comedies, such as those of Plautus and Terence, soon went out of
fashion, and tragedies, like those of Seneca, were only written as
literary compositions, imitations of the similar works which formed
so remarkable a feature in the literature of Greece, the Romans of
all ranks loved to witness the loose attitudes of their _mimi_, or
listen to their equally loose songs and stories. The theatre and the
amphitheatre were state institutions, kept up at the national expense,
and, as just stated, they perished with the overthrow of the western
empire; and the sanguinary performances of the amphitheatre, if the
amphitheatre itself continued to be used (which was perhaps the case
in some parts of western Europe), and they gave place to the more
harmless exhibitions of dancing bears and other tamed animals,[14] for
deliberate cruelty was not a characteristic of the Teutonic race. But
the mimi, the performers who sung songs and told stories, accompanied
with dancing and music, survived the fall of the empire, and continued
to be as popular as ever. St. Augustine, in the fourth century, calls
these things _nefaria_, detestable things, and says that they were
performed at night.[15] We trace in the capitularies the continuous
existence of these performances during the ages which followed the
empire, and, as in the time of St. Augustine, they still formed the
amusement of nocturnal assemblies. The capitulary of Childebert
proscribes those who passed their nights with drunkenness, jesting,
and songs.[16] The council of Narbonne, in the year 589, forbade
people to spend their nights "with dancings and filthy songs."[17] The
council of Mayence, in 813, calls these songs "filthy and licentious"
(_turpia atque luxuriosa_); and that of Paris speaks of them as
"obscene and filthy" (_obscæna et turpia_); while in another they are
called "frivolous and diabolic." From the bitterness with which the
ecclesiastical ordinances are expressed, it is probable that these
performances continued to preserve much of their old paganism; yet it
is curious that they are spoken of in these capitularies and acts of
the councils as being still practised in the religious festivals, and
even in the churches, so tenaciously did the old sentiments of the
race keep their possession of the minds of the populace, long after
they had embraced Christianity. These "songs," as they are called,
continued also to consist not only of general, but of personal satire,
and contained scandalous stories of persons living, and well known to
those who heard them. A capitulary of the Frankish king Childeric III.,
published in the year 744, is directed against those who compose and
sing songs in defamation of others (_in blasphemiam alterius_, to use
the rather energetic language of the original); and it is evident that
this offence was a very common one, for it is not unfrequently repeated
in later records of this character in the same words or in words to the
same purpose. Thus one result of the overthrow of the Roman empire was
to leave comic literature almost in the same condition in which it was
found by Thespis in Greece and by Livius Andronicus in Rome. There was
nothing in it which would be contrary to the feelings of the new races
who had now planted themselves in the Roman provinces.
[14] On this subject, see my "History of Domestic Manners and
Sentiments," p. 65. The dancing bear appears to have been a
favourite performer among the Germans at a very early period.
[15] Per totam noctem cantabantur hic nefaria et a cantatoribus
saltabatur. Augustini Serm. 311, part v.
[16] Noctes pervigiles cum ebrietate, scurrilitate, vel canticis. See
the Capitulary in Labbei Concil., vol. v.
[17] Ut populi.....saltationibus et turpibus invigilant canticis.
The Teutonic and Scandinavian nations had no doubt their popular
festivals, in which mirth and frolic bore sway, though we know little
about them; but there were circumstances in their domestic manners
which implied a necessity for amusement. After the comparatively early
meal, the hall of the primitive Teuton was the scene--especially in the
darker months of winter--of long sittings over the festive board, in
which there was much drinking and much talking, and, as we all know,
such talking could not preserve long a very serious tone. From Bede's
account of the poet Cædmon, we learn that it was the practice of the
Anglo-Saxons in the seventh century, at their entertainments, for all
those present to sing in their turns, each accompanying himself with a
musical instrument. From the sequel of the story we are led to suppose
that these songs were extemporary effusions, probably mythic legends,
stories of personal adventure, praise of themselves, or vituperation
of their enemies. In the chieftain's household there appears to have
been usually some individual who acted the part of the satirist, or, as
we should perhaps now say, the comedian. Hunferth appears as holding
some such position in Beowulf; in the later romances, Sir Kay held a
similar position at the court of king Arthur. At a still later period,
the place of these heroes was occupied by the court fool. The Roman
_mimus_ must have been a welcome addition to the entertainments of the
Teutonic hall, and there is every reason to think that he was cordially
received. The performances of the hall were soon delegated from the
guests to such hired actors, and we have representations of them in
the illuminations of Anglo-Saxon manuscripts.[18] Among the earliest
amusements of the Anglo-Saxon table were riddles, which in every form
present some of the features of the comic, and are capable of being
made the source of much laughter. The saintly Aldhelm condescended to
write such riddles in Latin verse, which were, of course, intended for
the tables of the clergy. In primitive society, verse was the ordinary
form of conveying ideas. A large portion of the celebrated collection
of Anglo-Saxon poetry known as the "Exeter Book," consists of riddles,
and this taste for riddles has continued to exist down to our own
times. But other forms of entertainment, if they did not already
exist, were soon introduced. In a curious Latin poem, older than the
twelfth century, of which fragments only are preserved, and have been
published under the title of "Ruodlieb," and which appears to have
been a translation of a much earlier German romance, we have a curious
description of the post-prandial entertainments after the dinner of a
great Teutonic chieftain, or king. In the first place there was a grand
distribution of rich presents, and then were shown strange animals, and
among the rest tame bears. These bears stood upon their hind legs, and
performed some of the offices of a man; and when the minstrels (_mimi_)
came in, and played upon their musical instruments, these animals
danced to the music, and performed all sorts of strange tricks.
_Et pariles ursi....
Qui vas tollebant, ut homo, bipedesque gerebant.
Mimi quando fides digitis tangunt modulantes,
Illi saltabant, neumas pedibus variabant.
Interdum saliunt, seseque super jaciebant.
Alterutrum dorso se portabant residendo,
Amplexando se, luctando deficiunt se._
Then followed dancing-girls, and exhibitions of other kinds.[19]
[18] The reader is referred, for further information on this subject,
to my "History of Domestic Manners and Sentiments," pp. 33-39.
[19] This curious Latin poem was printed by Grimm and Schmeller, in
their Lateinische Gedichte des x. und xi. Jh., p. 129.
Although these performances were proscribed by the ecclesiastical laws,
they were not discountenanced by the ecclesiastics themselves, who, on
the contrary, indulged as much in after-dinner amusements as anybody.
The laws against the profane songs are often directed especially at
the clergy; and it is evident that among the Anglo-Saxons, as well as
on the Continent, not only the priests and monks, but the nuns also,
in their love of such amusements, far transgressed the bounds of
decency.[22] These entertainments were the cradle of comic literature,
but, as this literature in the early ages of its history was rarely
committed to writing, it has almost entirely perished. But, at the
tables of the ecclesiastics, these stories were sometimes told in
Latin verse, and as Latin was not so easily carried in the memory as
the vernacular tongue, in this language they were sometimes committed
to writing, and thus a few examples of early comic literature have
fortunately been preserved. These consist chiefly of popular stories,
which were among the favourite amusements of mediæval society--stories
many of which are derived from the earliest period of the history of
our race, and are still cherished among our peasantry. Such are the
stories of the Child of Snow, and of the Mendacious Hunter, preserved
in a manuscript of the eleventh century.[21] The first of these was
a very popular story in the middle ages. According to this early
version, a merchant of Constance, in Switzerland, was detained abroad
for several years, during which time his wife made other acquaintance,
and bore a child. On his return, she excused her fault by telling him
that on a cold wintry day she had swallowed snow, by which she had
conceived; and, in revenge, the husband carried away the child, and
sold it into slavery, and returning, told its mother, that the infant
which had originated in snow, had melted away under a hotter sun. Some
of these stories originated in the different collections of fables,
which were part of the favourite literature of the later Roman period.
Another is rather a ridiculous story of an ass belonging to two sisters
in a nunnery, which was devoured by a wolf.[20] curious how soon the
mediæval clergy began to imitate their pagan predecessors in parodying
religious subjects and forms, of which we have one or two very curious
examples. Visits to purgatory, hell, and paradise, in body or spirit,
were greatly in fashion during the earlier part of the middle ages,
and afforded extremely good material for satire. In a metrical Latin
story, preserved in a manuscript of the eleventh century, we are
told how a "prophet," or visionary, went to Heriger, archbishop of
Mayence from 912 to 926, and told him that he had been carried in a
vision to the regions below, and described them as a place surrounded
by thick woods. It was the Teutonic notion of hell, and indeed of
all settlements of peoples; and Heriger replied with a sneer that he
would send his herdsmen there with his lean swine to fatten them. Each
"mark," or land of a family or clan, in the early Teutonic settlements,
was surrounded by woodland, which was common to all members of the clan
for fattening their swine and hunting. The false dreamer added, that he
was afterwards carried to heaven, where he saw Christ sitting at the
table and eating. John the Baptist was butler, and served excellent
wine round to the saints, who were the Lord's guests. St. Peter was
the chief cook. After some remarks on the appointments to these two
offices, archbishop Heriger asked the informant how he was received in
the heavenly hall, where he sat, and what he eat. He replied that he
sat in a corner, and stole from the cooks a piece of liver, which he
eat, and then departed. Instead of rewarding him for his information,
Heriger took him on his own confession for the theft, and ordered him
to be bound to a stake and flogged, which, for the offence, was rather
a light punishment.
[20] On the character of the nuns among the Anglo-Saxons, and indeed of
the inmates of the monastic houses generally, I would refer my
readers to the excellent and interesting volume by Mr. John
Thrupp, "The Anglo-Saxon Home: a History of the Domestic
Institutions and Customs of England from the fifth to the eleventh
century." London, 1862.
[21] These will be found in M. Edélestand du Méril's Poésies Populaires
Latines antérieures au douzième siècle, pp. 275, 276.
[22] This, and the metrical story next referred to, were printed in
the "Altdeutsche Blätter," edited by Moriz Haupt and Heinrich
Hoffmann, vol. i. pp. 390, 392, to whom I communicated them from
a manuscript in the University Library at Cambridge.
_Heriger illum
jussit ad palum
loris ligari,
scopisque cedi,
sermone duro
hunc arguendo._
These lines will serve as a specimen of the popular Latin verse in
which these monkish after-dinner stories were written; but the most
remarkable of these early parodies on religious subjects, is one which
may be described as the supper of the saints; its title is simply
_Cœna_. It is falsely ascribed to St. Cyprian, who lived in the
third century; but it is as old as the tenth century, as a copy was
printed by professor Endlicher from a manuscript of that period at
Vienna. It was so popular, that it is found and known to have existed
in different forms in verse and in prose. It is a sort of drollery,
founded upon the wedding feast at which the Saviour changed water into
wine, though that miracle is not at all introduced into it. It was a
great king of the East, named Zoel, who held his nuptial feast at Cana
of Galilee. The personages invited are all scriptural, beginning with
Adam. Before the feast, they wash in the river Jordan, and the number
of the guests was so great, that seats could not be provided for them,
and they took their places as they could. Adam took the first place,
and seated himself in the middle of the assembly, and next to him Eve
sat upon leaves (_super folia_),--fig-leaves, we may suppose. Cain sat
on a plough, Abel on a milk-pail, Noah on an ark, Japhet on tiles,
Abraham on a tree, Isaac on an altar, Lot near the door, and so with
a long list of others. Two were obliged to stand--Paul, who bore it
patiently, and Esau, who grumbled--while Job lamented bitterly because
he was obliged to sit on a dunghill. Moses, and others, who came late,
were obliged to find seats out of doors. When the king saw that all
his guests had arrived, he took them into his wardrobe, and there, in
the spirit of mediæval generosity, distributed to them dresses, which
had all some burlesque allusion to their particular characters. Before
they were allowed to sit down to the feast, they were obliged to go
through other ceremonies, which, as well as the eating, are described
in the same style of caricature. The wines, of which there was great
variety, were served to the guests with the same allusions to their
individual characters; but some of them complained that they were badly
mixed, although Jonah was the butler. In the same manner are described
the proceedings which followed the dinner, the washing of hands, and
the dessert, to the latter of which Adam contributed apples, Samson
honey; while David played on the harp and Mary on the tabor; Judith led
the round dance; Jubal played on the psalter; Asael sung songs, and
Herodias acted the part of the dancing-girl:--
_Tunc Adam poma ministrat, Samson favi dulcia.
David cytharum percussit, et Maria tympana.
Judith choreas ducebat, et Jubal psalteria.
Asael metra canebat, saltabat Herodias._
Mambres entertained the company with his magical performances; and
the other incidents of a mediæval festival followed, throughout which
the same tone of burlesque is continued; and so the story continues,
to the end.[23] We shall find these incipient forms of mediæval comic
literature largely developed as we go on.
[23] The text of this singular composition, with a full account of the
various forms in which it was published, will be found in M. du
Méril's "Poésies Populaires Latines antérieures au douzième
siècle," p. 193.
[Illustration: _No. 25. Saturn Devouring his Child._]
The period between antiquity and the middle ages was one of such great
and general destruction, that the gulf between ancient and mediæval art
seems to us greater and more abrupt than it really was. The want of
monuments, no doubt, prevents our seeing the gradual change of one into
the other, but nevertheless enough of facts remain to convince us that
it was not a sudden change. It is now indeed generally understood that
the knowledge and practice of the arts and manufactures of the Romans
were handed onward from master to pupil after the empire had fallen;
and this took place especially in the towns, so that the workmanship
which had been declining in character during the later periods of the
empire, only continued in the course of degradation afterwards. Thus,
in the first Christian edifices, the builders who were employed, or at
least many of them, must have been pagans, and they would follow their
old models of ornamentation, introducing the same grotesque figures,
the same masks and monstrous faces, and even sometimes the same
subjects from the old mythology, to which they had been accustomed. It
is to be observed, too, that this kind of iconographical ornamentation
had been encroaching more and more upon the old architectural purity
during the latter ages of the empire, and that it was employed more
profusely in the later works, from which this taste was transferred
to the ecclesiastical and to the domestic architecture of the middle
ages. After the workmen themselves had become Christians, they still
found pagan emblems and figures in their models, and still went on
imitating them, sometimes merely copying, and at others turning them
to caricature or burlesque. And this tendency continued so long, that,
at a much later date, where there still existed remains of Roman
buildings, the mediæval architects adopted them as models, and did not
hesitate to copy the sculpture, although it might be evidently pagan in
character. The accompanying cut (No. 25) represents a bracket in the
church of Mont Majour, near Nismes, built in the tenth century. The
subject is a monstrous head eating a child, and we can hardly doubt
that it was really intended for a caricature on Saturn devouring one of
his children.
Sometimes the mediæval sculptors mistook the emblematical designs
of the Romans, and misapplied them, and gave an allegorical meaning
to that which was not intended to be emblematical or allegorical,
until the subjects themselves became extremely confused. They readily
employed that class of parody of the ancients in which animals were
represented performing the actions of men, and they had a great taste
for monsters of every description, especially those which were made up
of portions of incongruous animals joined together, in contradiction to
the precept of Horace:--
_Humano capiti cervicem pictor equinam
Jungere si velit, et varias inducere plumas,
Undique collatis membris, ut turpiter atrum
Desinet in piscem mulier formosa superne;
Spectatum admissi risum teneatis, amici?_
[Illustration: _No. 26. Sculpture from San Fedele, at Como._]
The mediæval architects loved such representations, always and in all
parts, and examples are abundant. At Como, in Italy, there is a very
ancient and remarkable church dedicated to San Fedele (Saint Fidelis);
it has been considered to be of so early a date as the fifth century.
The sculptures that adorn the doorway, which is triangular-headed, are
especially interesting. On one of these, represented in our cut No. 26,
in a compartment to the left, appears a figure of an angel, holding in
one hand a dwarf figure, probably intended for a child, by a lock of
his hair, and with the other hand directing his attention to a seated
figure in the compartment below. This latter figure has apparently the
head of a sheep, and as the head is surrounded with a large nimbus,
and the right hand is held out in the attitude of benediction, it
may be intended to represent the Lamb. This personage is seated on
something which is difficult to make out, but which looks somewhat
like a crab-fish. The boy in the compartment above carries a large
basin in his arms. The adjoining compartment to the right contains the
representation of a conflict between a dragon, a winged serpent, and a
winged fox. On the opposite side of the door, two winged monsters are
represented devouring a lamb's head. I owe the drawing from which this
and the preceding engraving were made to my friend Mr. John Robinson,
the architect, who made the sketches while travelling with the medal
of the Royal Academy. Figures of dragons, as ornaments, were great
favourites with the peoples of the Teutonic race; they were creatures
intimately wrapped up in their national mythology and romance, and they
are found on all their artistic monuments mingled together in grotesque
forms and groups. When the Anglo-Saxons began to ornament their books,
the dragon was continually introduced for ornamental borders and
in forming initial letters. One of the latter, from an Anglo-Saxon
manuscript of the tenth century (the well-known manuscript of Cædmon,
where it is given as an initial V), is represented in our cut on the
next page, No. 27.
[Illustration: _No. 27. Anglo-Saxon Dragons._]
Caricature and burlesque are naturally intended to be heard and seen
publicly, and would therefore be figured on such monuments as were most
exposed to popular gaze. Such was the case, in the earlier periods of
the middle ages, chiefly with ecclesiastical buildings, which explains
how they became the grand receptacles of this class of Art. We have few
traces of what may be termed comic literature among our Anglo-Saxon
forefathers, but this is fully explained by the circumstance that very
little of the popular Anglo-Saxon literature has been preserved. In
their festive hours the Anglo-Saxons seem to have especially amused
themselves in boasting of what they had done, and what they could do;
and these boasts were perhaps often of a burlesque character, like the
_gabs_ of the French and Anglo-Norman romancers of a later date, or
so extravagant as to produce laughter. The chieftains appear also to
have encouraged men who could make jokes, and satirise and caricature
others; for the company of such men seems to have been cherished, and
they are not unfrequently introduced in the stories. Such a personage,
as I have remarked before, is Hunferth in Beowulf; such was the Sir
Kay of the later Arthurian romances; and such too was the Norman
minstrel in the history of Hereward, who amused the Norman soldiers at
their feasts by mimicry of the manners of their Anglo-Saxon opponents.
The too personal satire of these wits often led to quarrels, which
ended in sanguinary brawls. The Anglo-Saxon love of caricature is
shown largely in their proper names, which were mostly significant of
personal qualities their parents hoped they would possess; and in these
we remark the proneness of the Teutonic race, as well as the peoples
of antiquity, to represent these qualities by the animals supposed to
possess them, the animals most popular being the wolf and the bear.
But it is not to be expected that the hopes of the parents in giving
the name would always be fulfilled, and it is not an uncommon thing
to find individuals losing their original names to receive in their
place nicknames, or names which probably expressed qualities they did
possess, and which were given to them by their acquaintances. These
names, though often not very complimentary, and even sometimes very
much the contrary, completely superseded the original name, and were
even accepted by the individuals to whom they applied. The second names
were indeed so generally acknowledged, that they were used in signing
legal documents. An Anglo-Saxon abbess of rank, whose real name was
Hrodwaru, but who was known universally by the name Bugga, the Bug,
wrote this latter name in signing charters. We can hardly doubt that
such a name was intended to ascribe to her qualities of a not agreeable
character, and very different to those implied by the original name,
which perhaps meant, a dweller in heaven. Another lady gained the name
of the Crow. It is well known that surnames did not come into use
till long after the Anglo-Saxon period, but appellatives, like these
nicknames, were often added to the name for the purpose of distinction,
or at pleasure, and these, too, being given by other people, were
frequently satirical. Thus, one Harold, for his swiftness, was called
Hare-foot; a well-known Edith, for the elegant form of her neck,
was called Swan-neck; and a Thurcyl, for a form of his head, which
can hardly have been called beautiful, was named Mare's-head. Among
many other names, quite as satirical as the last-mentioned, we find
Flat-nose, the Ugly Squint-eye, Hawk-nose, &c.
Of Anglo-Saxon sculpture we have little left, but we have a few
illuminated manuscripts which present here and there an attempt at
caricature, though they are rare. It would seem, however, that the two
favourite subjects of caricature among the Anglo-Saxons were the clergy
and the evil one. We have abundant evidence that, from the eighth
century downwards, neither the Anglo-Saxon clergy nor the Anglo-Saxon
nuns were generally objects of much respect among the people; and their
character and the manner of their lives sufficiently account for it.
Perhaps, also, it was increased by the hostility between the old clergy
and the new reformers of Dunstan's party, who would no doubt caricature
each other. A manuscript psalter, in the University Library, Cambridge
(Ff. 1, 23), of the Anglo-Saxon period, and apparently of the tenth
century, illustrated with rather grotesque initial letters, furnishes
us with the figure of a jolly Anglo-Saxon monk, given in our cut No.
28, and which it is hardly necessary to state represents the letter Q.
As we proceed, we shall see the clergy continuing to furnish a butt for
the shafts of satire through all the middle ages.
[Illustration: _No. 28. A Jolly Monk._]
[Illustration: _No. 29. Satan in Bonds._]
The inclination to give to the demons (the middle ages always looked
upon them as innumerable) monstrous forms, which easily ran into the
grotesque, was natural, and the painter, indeed, prided himself on
drawing them ugly; but he was no doubt influenced in so generally
caricaturing them, by mixing up this idea with those furnished by the
popular superstitions of the Teutonic race, who believed in multitudes
of spirits, representatives of the ancient satyrs, who were of a
playfully malicious description, and went about plaguing mankind in
a very droll manner, and sometimes appeared to them in equally droll
forms. They were the Pucks and Robin Goodfellows of later times;
but the Christian missionaries to the west taught their converts to
believe, and probably believed themselves, that all these imaginary
beings were real demons, who wandered over the earth for people's ruin
and destruction. Thus the grotesque imagination of the converted people
was introduced into the Christian system of demonology. It is a part of
the subject to which we shall return in our next chapter; but I will
here introduce two examples of the Anglo-Saxon demons. To explain the
first of these, it will be necessary to state that, according to the
mediæval notions, Satan, the arch demon, who had fallen from heaven
for his rebellion against the Almighty, was not a free agent who went
about tempting mankind, but he was himself plunged in the abyss,
where he was held in bonds, and tormented by the demons who peopled
the infernal regions, and also issued thence to seek their prey upon
God's newest creation, the earth. The history of Satan's fall, and the
description of his position (No. 29), form the subject of the earlier
part of the Anglo-Saxon poetry ascribed to Cædmon, and it is one of
the illuminations to the manuscript of Cædmon (which is now preserved
at Oxford), which has furnished us with our cut, representing Satan
in his bonds. The fiend is here pictured bound to stakes, over what
appears to be a gridiron, while one of the demons, rising out of a
fiery furnace, and holding in his hand an instrument of punishment,
seems to be exulting over him, and at the same time urging on the troop
of grotesque imps who are swarming round and tormenting their victim.
The next cut, No. 30, is also taken from an Anglo-Saxon manuscript,
preserved in the British Museum (MS. Cotton., Tiberius, C. vi.), which
belongs to the earlier half of the eleventh century, and contains a
copy of the psalter. It gives us the Anglo-Saxon notion of the demon
under another form, equally characteristic, wearing only a girdle
of flames, but in this case the especial singularity of the design
consists in the eyes in the fiend's wings.
[Illustration: _No. 30. Satan._]
[Illustration: _No. 31. The Temptation._]
[Illustration: _No. 32. David and the Lion._]
Another circumstance had no doubt an influence on the mediæval taste
for grotesque and caricature--the natural rudeness of early mediæval
art. The writers of antiquity tell us of a remote period of Grecian
art when it was necessary to write under each figure of a picture the
name of what it was intended to represent, in order to make the whole
intelligible--"this is a horse," "this is a man," "this is a tree."
Without being quite so rude as this, the early mediæval artists,
through ignorance of perspective, want of knowledge of proportion, and
of skill in drawing, found great difficulty in representing a scene in
which there was more than one figure, and in which it was necessary
to distinguish them from each other; and they were continually trying
to help themselves by adopting conventional forms or conventional
positions, and by sometimes adding symbols that did not exactly
represent what they meant. The exaggeration in form consisted chiefly
in giving an undue prominence to some characteristic feature, which
answered the same purpose as the Anglo-Saxon nickname and distinctive
name, and which is, in fact, one of the first principles of all
caricature. Conventional positions partook much of the character of
conventional forms, but gave still greater room for grotesque. Thus
the very first characteristics of mediæval art implied the existence
of caricature, and no doubt led to the taste for the grotesque. The
effect of this influence is apparent everywhere, and in innumerable
cases serious pictures of the gravest and most important subjects are
simply and absolutely caricatures. Anglo-Saxon art ran much into this
style, and is often very grotesque in character. The first example we
give (cut No. 31) is taken from one of the illustrations to Alfric's
Anglo-Saxon version of the Pentateuch, in the profusely illuminated
manuscript in the British Museum (MS. Cotton., Claudius B iv.), which
was written at the end of the tenth, or beginning of the eleventh,
century. It represents the temptation and fall of man; and the subject
is treated, as will be seen, in a rather grotesque manner. Eve is
evidently dictating to her husband, who, in obeying her, shows a
mixture of eagerness and trepidation. Adam is no less evidently going
to swallow the apple whole, which is, perhaps, in accordance with the
mediæval legend, according to which the fruit stuck in his throat. It
is hardly necessary to remark that the tree is entirely a conventional
one; and it would be difficult to imagine how it came to bear apples at
all. The mediæval artists were extremely unskilful in drawing trees;
to these they usually gave the forms of cabbages, or some such plants,
of which the form was simple, or often of a mere bunch of leaves. Our
next example (cut No. 32) is also Anglo-Saxon, and is furnished by
the manuscript in the British Museum already mentioned (MS. Cotton.,
Tiberius C vi.) It probably represents young David killing the lion,
and is remarkable not only for the strange posture and bad proportions
of the man, but for the tranquillity of the animal and the exaggerated
and violent action of its slayer. This is very commonly the case in the
mediæval drawings and sculptures, the artists apparently possessing
far less skill in representing action in an animal than in man, and
therefore more rarely attempting it. These illustrations are both taken
from illuminated manuscripts. The two which follow are furnished by
sculptures, and are of a rather later date than the preceding. The
abbey of St. George of Boscherville, in the diocese of Auxerre (in
Normandy), was founded by Ralph de Tancarville, one of the ministers of
William the Conqueror, and therefore in the latter half of the eleventh
century. A history of this religious house was published by a clever
local antiquary--M. Achille Deville--from whose work we take our cut
No. 33, one of a few rude sculptures on the abbey church, which no
doubt belonged to the original fabric. It is not difficult to recognise
the subject as Joseph taking the Virgin Mary with her Child into
Egypt; but there is something exceedingly droll in the unintentional
caricature of the faces, as well as in the whole design. The Virgin
Mary appears without a nimbus, while the nimbus of the Infant Jesus
is made to look very like a bonnet. It may be remarked that this
subject of the flight into Egypt is by no means an uncommon one in
mediæval art; and a drawing of the same subject, copied in my "History
of Domestic Manners and Sentiments" (p. 115), presents a remarkable
illustration of the contrast of the skill of a Norman sculptor and of
an almost contemporary Anglo-Norman illuminator. Our cut also furnishes
us with evidence of the error of the old opinion that ladies rode
astride in the middle ages. Even one, who by his style of art must have
been an obscure local carver on stone, when he represented a female on
horseback, placed her in the position which has always been considered
suitable to the sex.
[Illustration: _No. 33. The flight into Egypt._]
[Illustration: _No. 34. David and Goliah._]
For the drawing of the other sculpture to which I allude, I am indebted
to Mr. Robinson. It is one of the subjects carved on the façade of
the church of St. Gilles, near Nismes, and is a work of the twelfth
century. It appears to represent the young David slaying the giant
Goliah, the latter fully armed in scale armour, and with shield and
spear, like a Norman knight; while to David the artist has given a
figure which is feminine in its forms. What we might take at first
sight for a basket of apples, appears to be meant for a supply of
stones for the sling which the young hero carries suspended from his
neck. He has slain the giant with one of these, and is cutting off his
head with his own sword.