CHAPTER III

LOMBARDIC, ANGLO-SAXON, CARLOVINGIAN AND GERMAN IVORIES

I. LOMBARD IVORY CARVINGS

We have seen how Constantinople, or the “New Rome,” became the centre of the new Christian World as Alexandria had been of the Hellenistic; and for many centuries the riches and splendour of this most luxurious city shone out on the barbarian nations, as a lodestar for their imagination and a pattern for all civilization and culture. Byzantine, being an intrusive art in these countries, did not entirely crush out native effort, but modified the design and vastly improved the technique. Each imitator introduced more of himself and got further from the Greek original, so there arose a composite style, strongly influenced by the Byzantines, yet bearing in it the seeds of a national art.

Leaving aside the large number of Syro-Byzantine and other Eastern ivories, we must pass on to Italy, where the remains of the old Latin art still lingered, though terribly debased and mingled with that of the barbarian Lungobards. By the seventh century sculpture was reduced to a deplorable state, and as Cattaneo says,[16] it is most unlikely that the Ravenna carved sarcophagi were really made at this period; they more probably belonged to ancient burials, with the new name carved on the lid.

Even in ivory carving, which is always behind the age, we find an almost ludicrous barbarity. An ivory tablet of the eighth century in the Bologna Museum is a fair example of this mixed style; it has three tiers of scenes from the _Nativity_, and shows strong Byzantine influence, yet there is something in the treatment of the drapery, barbaric as it is, which seems to lead on to the later Italian style of the eleventh century, which definitely connects with the earliest Gothic art in France.[17] An example of this may be seen in a plaque in the Bargello, representing Christ in glory surrounded by angels.

By far the most celebrated example of this long period is the diptych of Rambona in the Vatican, which in spite of the miserable relief and the rudeness of the technique, plainly shows the two influences, Lombardic and Byzantine. At the foot of the cross is a large representation of Romulus and Remus with the Roman wolf. At the top the familiar pair of flying angels, much curtailed, bear a medallion containing a bust of Christ raising His hand to bless in the Greek manner. On the second leaf the Virgin is enthroned between two cherubim, the lower portion being ornamented with fragmentary scroll-work of a northern type, surrounding figures of the saints of more or less Byzantine design. An important inscription runs between stating that the diptych was carved for a certain Ageltruda, who was most probably the wife of Guy, Duke of Camerino and Spoleto, King of Italy, and Emperor in 891.

In the Victoria and Albert Museum there are two noteworthy examples of Lombard Art; a strange tall-figured group of _The Presentation of Christ in the Temple_, with architecture of a strongly marked Lombard type, and a plaque with a representation of _Joseph’s Dream_. Both of these are carved in a large style with open surfaces, but show a very rudimentary notion of drapery. The latter is especially interesting as the design is almost exactly the same as in the elaborate series of plaques from the _Paliotto_ or shrine in the Cathedral at Salerno (eleventh to twelfth century). The subjects of these carvings are taken from the life of Christ and from the Old Testament, and show an unusually full series of scenes from Genesis, with most picturesque representations of the creation. The fluency of the design and technique of these plaques is a strange and sudden oasis in a desert of barbarism. If they were made at Salerno, as seems likely, the technique of some school in the old Greek city may have lingered on, receiving new life from the encouragement of the Normans, who certainly showed themselves ardent patrons of the arts in Sicily.

There had been little encouragement of the arts elsewhere in Italy. Several objects of goldsmith’s work and ivory in the Basilica at Monza are said to have belonged to Theodolinda, the Lombard queen, in addition to the famous ivory diptych sent to her by Gregory the Great, which was of an earlier date. Two hundred years later Popes Adrian and Leo III., seconded Charlemagne in his efforts to restore learning and culture; and finally Didier, the great abbot of Monte Cassino in 1018, and afterwards Pope, was also a great admirer and benefactor of the arts.

It is not surprising that poor Italy made so little progress, for all this time she was ravaged, first by the Saracens, who invaded the mainland from Sicily, which they had conquered from the Greeks, and then by the Normans, who in the eleventh century, consolidated their power in South Italy, and afterwards in Sicily, under Robert Guiscard.

II. ANGLO-SAXON IVORY CARVINGS.

The earliest carvings in the Northern countries still belonged to the type of geometric and interlaced patterns roughly cut in walrus or whalebone. The panels from the sarcophagus of St. Caletricus, Bishop of Chartres in the sixth century, is an example of this rough kind of decoration, which is also found on objects from the Germanic tombs. The Anglo-Saxons were far more advanced, owing to the training of the Keltic schools. In the British Museum there is a whalebone casket, probably made in Northumbria in the eighth century. It is ornamented with scenes from the Sagas, the Holy Scriptures and from Roman legends; this range of subjects gives a clue to the explanation of the style, which is Norse, influenced by Byzantine religious art, but the latter has been so transformed by the unskilful craftsman that it is hardly recognizable. The whole casket is bordered by a Runic inscription relating the capture of the whale which supplied the bone; it has been translated thus:

“The whale’s bones from the fishes’ flood, I lifted on Fergen’s Hill: He was dashed to death in his gambols As a-ground he swam in the shallows.”

The name Fergen occurs on a charter of the eleventh century, and has been identified with Ferry Hill in the county of Durham. The front panel is divided into two, and represents the daughter of Herodias receiving John Baptist’s head, the headless body lying on the ground, and the Wise Men offering gifts, the word “Magi” being written in runes above them. All that remains of the Byzantine model of the Virgin and Child are two nimbed heads, one below the other, a lesser and a greater disk sheltered by a typical Byzantine _ciborium_ or four-pillared canopy. One end has a picture of Romulus and Remus and their wolf, and the rest is decorated with scenes from the Sagas. The background of these reliefs is so crowded by small objects and fragments of scroll-work that the scenes are difficult to make out; but it is extremely interesting as a sample of English art in the time of the Heptarchy.

_The Adoration of the Magi_ in the Victoria and Albert Museum (Fig. 21), has been also attributed to this period, but Westwood’s opinion that it is of the eleventh century is more probably correct, the workmanship being most delicate and finished, and the design closely connected with the pictures in the tenth century Anglo-Saxon manuscripts, which have the same crinkled edges to the drapery, large heads and protruding eyes, with a sharply accentuated pupil. In the relief the modelling of the face, with the hollow between the wide cheekbones and the lips gives the face quite a Hibernian appearance which is visible in several other ivories of this class, notably in a most pathetic _Deposition_ in the same museum.

The richly embroidered dress and tiny feet and hands show Byzantine influence, but the architecture, with the twin arch windows is thoroughly Saxon. The mysterious man on the roof is a curious genre addition, and the owl, most likely typifies the night. The hunting scenes clearly show the two art waves, the lions are unintelligently copied from the conventional Byzantine animal, but very considerable first-hand information is shown in the drawing of the boars and bears, with which the craftsman probably had some personal acquaintance.

_The Deposition_ referred to above is of the eleventh century, and has a curious prototype in the Arundel Psalter (No. 60, British Museum), with the same attenuated anatomy and finely plaited drapery. The design is instinct with the spirit of these Anglo-Saxons and their Keltic teachers, as is seen in the mournful expression of the faces, and the utter deadness of Christ’s body as He falls forward from the cross, hanging His threadlike arms. The whole feeling is of suffering and sadness, very different from the cheerful scenes on the earlier, and the calm, unmoved solemnity of the later Byzantine art. This research for expression was a special feature of the more emotional Germanic nations, and in spite of the almost comic peculiarities, there is a sincere reverence and religious feeling, which is almost unknown in any other school of ivory carving.

The series of chessmen made of walrus ivory that were found in the Island of Lewis should be mentioned here; they have stumpy figures and fine rugged countenances, and the thrones are carved with the elaborate tracery so typical of this artistic movement. The game of chess was early brought from the East, as was the game of draughts, and many pieces are to be found in the various museums of Europe. In addition to the chessmen, the British Museum possesses a fine set of draughts deeply carved in Romanesque style, with men and animals.

In the Victoria and Albert Museum there is a specimen of a large and elaborate set of chessmen, having tiers of attendants round the principal figure. A charming story is told in one of the _Chansons de Gestes_, and was repeatedly carved on mirror covers and other small objects in the fourteenth century, showing the popularity of the game. It tells how the crusader Huon de Bordeaux was taken prisoner by the Saracen admiral and condemned to death; one chance was given him, that he should play a game of chess with the admiral’s daughter, the most expert player of her day, the stakes being his life or the lady’s hand; but it seems the lady looked too much in his eyes and too little at the game, and the result was one more convert to the Christian faith.

The tracery which decorates the thrones of the chessmen is a small example of the elaborate interlaced scroll-work, which is a leading feature in Keltic and Anglo-Saxon work. In the manuscripts it is often reduced to a series of calligraphic flourishes, but it also develops into serpents and dragons inextricably woven together, and, later, more varied animal forms are introduced and even human figures are seen crushed in the serpentine rings. Forms from vegetation are rarely seen, and the introduction of the acanthus into these intricacies is due to the Carlovingian scribes of the ninth century and may be seen in the Bible written for Charles the Bald.

Several objects decorated with the earlier forms of this wild tracery are found in the great abbeys of Germany and Eastern France, and are thought to have been made in Great Britain or Ireland and brought over by the throng of missionaries who flocked on to the continent to convert the wild tribes of Frisia, Germany and Switzerland, bearing with them culture and learning.

Little Ireland in early days was a centre of artistic diffusion, almost more important for the Northern nations than that of Constantinople. Owing to freedom from invasion, Christianity and civilization had continued to flourish and the remnant of the old Latin literature was carefully preserved. Not long after the death of St. Patrick, the Irish Church, having increased in strength and learning, sent forth the famous St. Columba to minister to the hordes of barbarians who were over-running Britain. St. Columba met with great success and founded several large monasteries which became powerful centres of religion and learning in Scotland and England. For hundreds of years the schools of Ireland continued in great repute, numerous bands of missionaries were sent across the sea to convert the Germanic tribes on the continent. Most famous among these was St. Columbanus, who laboured in the East of France for many years, and afterwards in Switzerland and Italy, dying in 615 at the monastery he had founded at Bobbio. Everywhere these monks went they took with them the seeds of art and learning, beautiful illuminated manuscripts and other small works of art, which formed an inexhaustible store of _motifs_ for the sculptors and goldsmiths of the following centuries. One of the disciples of Columbanus, St. Gall, who was called the “Apostle of Switzerland,” founded there the great monastery named after him, which became a most flourishing art centre in later years.

The Anglo-Saxons were not idle, and in the eighth century St. Boniface and many others pierced far into the wild forests of Germany, founding the great monastic establishments which exist to this day. This was not a fleeting movement, but a close relation was kept up between England and the continent till well into the eleventh century.

III. THE CARLOVINGIAN RENAISSANCE.

Charlemagne, crowned emperor in 800, if not perhaps the wondrous hero of tradition, was a very powerful factor in the history and civilization of his day, and exerted all his energy to introduce order and learning among the vast hordes of barbarians who more or less willingly acknowledged his rule. He stirred up all latent powers, introduced new ideas and stimulated an admiration for all Roman culture, being dazzled quite as much by the actual pomp and splendour of the Constantinopolitan court as by the memories of ancient Rome. He invited learned men from the East and the West, but the most famous were Alcuin, who was born at York, and his pupil, Eginhardt, who became Secretary and Chronicler to Charlemagne and his successor.

The Carlovingian renaissance was a most composite production. Byzantine Art had long been known to the Northern races, and at this time its influence was spread still further by the presence of artists exiled by the iconoclasts; but the Anglo-Saxon influence was even stronger, encouraged as it was by the bands of missionaries, and by Alcuin and his followers. To these intermingled strains must be added the independent Gallo-Roman reminiscence, the study of the monuments, and also a strange, but undeniable Oriental tendency, arising from communications with the East and the Moors in Spain. This renaissance, though to a certain extent artificial, lasted for nearly three centuries and affected the civilization of the whole of Western Europe.

Carlovingian art flourished for centuries in Germany, but the invasions of the Normans checked for a while the artistic progress of Northern France. What little art they had was in much the same Norse style, but freshly barbaric and not like that of the British Isles, which had undergone centuries of incubation and had the additional Latin element.

It was to this Anglo-Saxon Art, conventional as it had become, the human form often being reduced to a geometrical figure, that the Carlovingian craftsmen turned for inspiration. Two classes of ivory carving arose, one copied almost directly from the miniatures in the Anglo-Saxon manuscripts, which were themselves derived from late Roman types; and the second following more closely in the steps of the Byzantines.

All through the Carlovingian period there is a close connection between the illuminator and the ivory carver, the latter trying to treat his subjects more in the manner of a painter, enlarged the cycle of Christian representations and began to break with tradition and recover his liberty. The figures still, in many cases, retain the heavy and rather crushed forms of degenerate Roman art; and in the endeavour to impart deeper expression the proportions were often spoiled, delicate parts, as the features being delineated in undue size, and the research for originality often leading to violent and exaggerated attitudes, and to the overloading of detail, yet all the gestures are instinct with life, and full of a naïve directness of action.

A small plaque in the museum at Zurich (Fig. 22) is a good illustration of the immense influence of the miniatures on ivory carving. The Book of Psalms was especially popular, and this plaque is a word for word translation of certain verses of the XXVIIth Psalm (XXVI. in the Vulgate) into plastic form. _v._ 2. “When the wicked, even my enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell.” (The crowd of warriors, some of whom have fallen). _v._ 5. “For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion: in the secret of his tabernacle he shall hide me: he shall set me up upon a rock.” (David is seen being welcomed into the Tabernacle, which stands on a rock). Part of _v._ 6. “Therefore will I offer in his tabernacle sacrifices of joy” (altar and lamb). _V._ 10. “When my father and mother forsake me then the Lord will take me up” (in the right corner a man and woman turn away from a child). The hand above is typical of the protection of God which is asked for throughout the psalm. The slight and thin-ankled figures, and the continuous method of narration are characteristic of the miniatures, which originally derived their technique from late Roman Art, and carried on the old system of an unbroken series of scenes which is to be found in the _bas-reliefs_ of Trajan’s Column. In the Utrecht Psalter (Anglo-Saxon) is an almost identical illustration of this psalm, which proves that this plaque was copied from it or some analogous manuscript, as the Bodley Psalter (No. 603) in the British Museum. These Psalters have furnished a model for another of these scenic psalms, carved on a plaque set in the magnificent binding of the _Psalter of Charles the Bald_, in the Bibliothèque nationale at Paris. The manuscript was written between the years 842-869, and there is no reason to think that the jewelled and ivory cover is not contemporary. One side gives a graphic picture of the LVIth Psalm, and the other represents Nathan telling David the story of the little ewe lamb (2 Sam. xii.). The Louvre possesses a plaque, also of the ninth century, representing the interview of Abner and Joab (2 Sam. ii.), a subject by no means of general interest, and unlikely to have a plastic type, which proves still further the custom of copying the miniatures with more or less servility.

One more scenic plaque in the Louvre is of interest, not so much in connection with the MSS., but from the strong resemblance to the Probianus diptych (Fig. 2), especially in the lower scene, where the figures raise their hands to Solomon on his judgment seat. On the second half David is dictating his psalms to an assembly of clerks.

It is difficult to class the ivories of this long period, but the majority are of German origin. Art and culture were a great deal dependent on the Court, which had the effect of bringing into line the work of craftsmen of very varying nationalities. Here also was a fear lest the people should worship the images themselves, but an iconoclastic spirit never arose, and these numerous carvings, besides adding to the sumptuousness of the cult, were used for the instruction of the unlettered.

Ivory was classed with the precious metals, and much sought after for ecclesiastical purposes, the great abbeys of eastern France and Germany became regular workshops, making a large number of exquisite objects in goldsmith’s work and ivory. We are given a little side-light on the use of ivory in a letter of Eginhardt to his son, in which he mentions that he is sending him a carved ivory model of classical architecture that he should better understand certain passages in Vitruvius.

The mention of the work done in the monasteries brings us to the Abbey of St. Gall and the monk Tuotilo, who has long been the hero of the craft; but, alas, the charming picture that the chronicler Ekkehardt gives, a hundred years later, of this Leonardo among craftsmen is utterly without foundation; that there was a monk Tuotilo at the end of the ninth and the beginning of the tenth centuries the records of the monastery tell us, and a note added by a later hand says that he was learned and a sculptor.

Ekkehardt spoils his argument in favour of Tuotilo by attributing to him too many perfections, and by finally quoting the opinion of Charlemagne, who had been dead and buried nearly a hundred years. It is very sad to have to give up the one real individual who greets us on the rather weary path of anonymity. The fine book cover, one leaf of which Ekkehardt attributes to Tuotilo (Fig. 23), is still safely preserved in the Abbey of St. Gall, but the two leaves appear to be by the same hand, though there is every reason to attribute the workmanship to the ninth century. On the upper leaf Christ is represented in glory, youthful and beardless in type, as is often the case in Carlovingian ivories which come from the Germanic part of the empire. There was a flourishing school of German craftsmen who closely imitated the ivories of the Italo-Byzantine school of the sixth century, the great abbeys having many specimens of ancient ivory carving in their treasuries. The two cherubim and Four Evangelists with their symbolic beasts are also strongly Byzantine; above are busts of the sun and moon and beneath the figures of Ocean and Earth. In fact, the arrangement is borrowed wholesale from a very frequent Carlovingian type of the crucifixion (Fig. 24), even to the little tombs which have no connection with the subject. The workmanship is delicate, but very conventional, and the concentric folds on this and on the second leaf, point to the influence of the manuscripts. The second leaf represents the Assumption of the Virgin, the attitude is stiff and the drapery is terribly unreal, having almost the appearance of corrugated iron, but the movements of the angels are freer, especially the forward movement of the one on the Virgin’s right.

The lower scene represents St. Gall taming the bears, which bring him bread whilst his companion sleeps. In this carving we see what the craftsman can do when left to himself; it is not a very artistic production, but it has a freshness entirely lacking in the other panels. The ornamental panels are splendidly carved, and recall the beautiful openwork panels on the book cover at Monza, which most probably belonged to Berenger, King of Italy in 888, and Emperor 916, and also the marble screens and balustrades which decorate so many Byzantine buildings. There are two more plaques at Cluny[18] which should be classed with these, and which are decorated with scroll-work containing figures of men fighting with satyrs and lions. The figures have a great likeness to those on the sixth century diptychs, especially the diptych in the Hermitage at St. Petersburg; and as that diptych formed part of the treasure of Metz Cathedral, it could easily have served as a model to the Carlovingian ivory workers. The rich border is of scroll-work with alternating rosettes and animals. The second plaque is still more like the Byzantine original, and this similarity has caused many writers to differ with Molinier and class it among pure Byzantine work.

One of the most important ivories of the tenth century is the Frankfort book cover; the second leaf is still in the Library, but the other was in the late Spitzer Collection. It represents the large figure of _An Archbishop chanting the Psalms_ in company with some smaller canons, the whole group being surrounded by a battlemented wall, probably that of the convent. The work is dry, but very exact and particularly interesting for the study of early ecclesiastical vestments, which are given with great detail. In the Frankfort leaf, the Archbishop celebrates the mass, surrounded by attendant priests and acolytes.

The numerous representations of the crucifixion of the ninth and tenth centuries can be roughly divided into two classes: those decidedly original and others copied from Byzantine models. The Carlovingian type is filled with symbolism, not altogether of Christian origin. These plaques are very numerous and all vary slightly. Fig. 24 is typical of a large number. The whole scene is emotional, all creation is moved, the sun and moon are represented with mournful faces, while the attendant angels weep bitterly; and below, the old pagan personifications of Earth and Sea bow their heads in sorrow. Stephaton with reed and sponge, and Longinus with his spear, stand on each side of the Cross, and the Virgin and St. John are always near. The two women carrying banners are allegorical figures of the Church and the Synagogue[19] or the Old and New Dispensations; the banner of the latter is sometimes reversed and broken, while the Church in some renderings of the scene catches the blood of the Redeemer in a chalice. These figures seem to be the successors of the little cities of Jerusalem and Bethlehem in the Early Christian mosaics, which likewise typified the Old and New Dispensations.

At the foot of the Cross is often rolled a serpent, emblem of Christ’s triumph over Evil and Death; and on each side the dead are rising and stretching out their hands towards their Redeemer.

On the Metz book cover in the Bibliothèque nationale, Adam and Eve crouch beneath the feet of the Saviour. On the Brunswick casket, Sol and Luna are each depicted driving in a _biga_ and bearing torches. On this Brunswick casket, and on one in the Berlin Museum, Christ is represented beardless, and the technique is close to the St. Gall book cover.

In the Carlovingian period the plaques are nearly always framed by a deeply cut acanthus border. Many of these carvings show traces of colour and others have been studded with gold nails, and portions incrusted with gold foil (Fig. 24). Two plaques in the Bargello have a charming additional border of tiny dots and beads inlaid with gold.

In the ivory plaque on the cover of the gospels which were presented by the Emperor Henry II. to the Abbey at Bamberg (now in the Munich Library), the stronger Byzantine influence is visible, the relief, also, is exceptionally deep, the figures of the two soldiers being almost detached, as in the purely Byzantine ivory of _The Death of the Virgin_ in the same library. This Byzantine influence is also to be seen in _The Crucifixion_ in the Musée de Cluny; the arrangement of this carving is more like a Reliquary of the True Cross, the four compartments being crowded with figures. The figure of Christ is robed in a flowing garment, as in many Byzantine renderings of the subject, and there is a greater delicacy of technique, showing the more intimate knowledge of Byzantine models.

The drapery on the Essen and Tongres plaques is particularly good, and they probably were carved in the same atelier.

IV. GERMAN IVORY CARVING IN THE TIME OF THE OTTOS.

Otto the Great having consolidated his power in Germany, undertook, in 962, the classic expedition to Rome to be crowned Emperor of the West. An ivory tablet, now in the Trivulzio Collection at Milan, appears to commemorate that event. It represents Otto, his wife Adelheid, and their little son, kneeling at the feet of Christ, while their patron saints, Maurice and Mary, intercede for them, the name OTTO IMPERATOR being inscribed beneath. The apparent age of the young Otto, about seven years, would coincide with the date of the coronation, making this carving valuable for comparison with other German ivories, many being of far earlier date and closely connected with the Carlovingian, from which this characteristically German art slowly developed.

The style of the Trivulzio plaque is rude, the figures heavy and inclined to be coarse, but there is a largeness of design, the drapery being arranged in wide planes, and the energetic heads, with the typical long pointed beards and round cut hair, are of marked Germanic type.

With this certain knowledge of the German style in the second half of the tenth century, it is easier to turn back and examine the transitional period, which is represented by a series of caskets in the Louvre, Brunswick Museum, and the Bamberg Reliquary, half of which is at Munich, and half in the Berlin Museum.

The Louvre casket has many Carlovingian features, the long tiled roofs with slender columns are exactly like those in the Bible of Charles le Chauve (ninth century). That of Brunswick shows strong Byzantine influence, and the Bamberg casket is typical of the German imitations of Byzantine type; the forms have a greater fulness and a certain swing is introduced into the placid folds of the Byzantine drapery, a swing which develops into the gusty flutterings which are a curious characteristic of some of the German schools.[20] A gorgeous ivory casket is still preserved in the cathedral at Quedlinburg adorned with exquisite jewelled filigree work, and _repoussée_ plaques. The plaques are in conventional Byzantine design, while the ivory sides of the casket are ornamented with seated figures and scenes from the gospels, of Byzantine inspiration it is true, but translated into the most colloquial German. Martin Luther might have sat as a model for the heavily built angel in the Easter Morning scene, and if this casket really dates back to the time of Henry the Fowler, whose gift it is said to have been, it proves that this German national art had existed as early as the second decade of the tenth century.

A most interesting series of square plaques belong to the second half of the century, and are much the same type as the Trivulzio tablet; the figures are positively grotesque, with their peculiar cap-like hair, staring eyes, heavy features, and large unmodelled forms, yet there is such a sincere reverence and solemn earnestness about them, that the attention is forcibly arrested.

The Darmstadt plaque represents _Christ healing the Demoniac_, who is held, whilst the evil spirit struggles forth from his lips. The British Museum possesses an equally well-carved plaque with the _Raising of the Widow’s Son at Nain_, the vertical folds are finely fluted, and the features, though peculiar, are in no way coarse. The background of this plaque like one in the Berlin Museum, and another at Liverpool, is covered with a diaper of cruciform perforations, like those on St. Patrick’s Bell and other early Irish antiquities. Christ is youthful and beardless on the Berlin plaque, which represents _Mary and Joseph finding Him in the Temple_. The technique in this and the remaining plaques at Liverpool is slightly coarser, but the style in all is identical. Christ alone is nimbed, and in each the figures have heavy masses of hair drawn back half over the ears, and strange solid robes, with the folded edge of the transverse drapery passing just below the knee.

Another very exceptional series, which must be the work of some Rhenish master at the end of the century, is intensely forcible in style; but the artist is already preoccupied with the technical effects of which he shows himself such a master. The cover of the Echternach codex, which is said to have belonged to the Empress Theophano, bears in the centre an ivory plaque representing Christ on the Cross, with Longinus and Stephaton. These bizarre figures seem to presage the whole future of German art, the love of descriptive figures, that evil should appear evil, and earthly things should have no heavenly aspect. Perhaps they carried their love of naturalism to extremes, and as heavenly things were few and far between, they also gained a strong earthly taint.

The Crucifixion on a binding in the John Rylands Library at Manchester (Fig. 25) is evidently by the same artist. The grouping is purely Byzantine, but the severance of feeling is as far as the East is from the West. The gesture of the beloved disciple as he clasps his hands to control his passionate emotion, is worth all the stereotyped poses of Byzantine art, and one forgets the crudity of the whole thing in wonder at the emotion pent up in those rugged forms.

The clumsy features and moustache divided into two solid pieces, with the forceful attitudes and the peculiar drapery edged with an embroidered hem, are found again on several other carvings,[21] notably an aged figure of St. Paul in the Musée de Cluny. The bald head, wrinkled forehead, and the fulness of the drooping lids, are portrayed with wonderful realism in a wide and rough technique, the very reverse of the caressing finish of the contemporary Byzantine artist.

This contrast of German and Byzantine art on a book belonging to the Empress, raises the question of how much of the Byzantine influence was attributable to Theophano, grandchild of the artistic Constantine Porphrygenitus, and sister of the Emperors Basil and Constantine.

After long hesitation on the part of the proud Byzantine Court, the German offer was accepted and Theophano, the delicately nurtured Porphrygenite, was married to that little boy we see kneeling by his mother’s side on the Trivulzio tablet, and set forth on a journey to the savage wilds of Germany. Otto II. grew up to be an heroic dreamer, and on his early death, during one of his campaigns in Italy, the youthful Theophano claimed to be regent, and had a hard struggle for the rights of her young son, Otto III.

Theophano, whose grand figure stands out against a background of incredible rudeness and turbulence, must, undoubtedly, have had considerable influence in introducing the softer Byzantine manners. Her husband, Otto II., is said to have adopted much of the Byzantine court ceremonial, and the wedding presents she brought with her, on her arrival in 972, must have formed a fund of novel design for the German craftsmen. Yet it is very easy to exaggerate her personal influence. Byzantium had always been a remarkable civilizing agent, and in the tenth to eleventh centuries was exercising the strongest influence on the West. Relations with Germany had been established long before the time of Theophano, and were continued long after. In reality Otto III. was the more special admirer and imitator of Byzantine arts and customs, this influence coming, no doubt, indirectly from his mother’s care in choosing for his masters, men of high culture. One of these men, the most trusted councillor of Theophano, was the refined and learned Greek, John of Calabria; and the other, the German, Bernward, was a most enthusiastic amateur of the arts, and on his appointment to the See of Hildesheim, helped to create the new German school which flourished all through the eleventh and twelfth centuries.

In every museum there are examples of the Byzantino-German school, one branch of which was situated in the Rhine Provinces. The relief of the Rhenish carvings is usually bold, and the figures large and long, but they often lack both the spontaneity of the Germans and the elegance of the Byzantines. A charming representation of the _Nativity_ encircled by an embattled wall, and another plaque with the _Visitation of the Magi_, in the Victoria and Albert Museum, show these features, the figures having almost the appearance of children’s toys set out at random without the slightest relation to the background. A peculiar feature in some of these carvings, is the row of dots drilled down the centre of each fold. There was also a school of direct copiers of Byzantine carvings, which varies from the most miserable caricatures to such splendidly finished work, that critics experience great difficulty in deciding for or against the Byzantine origin. A case in point is the magnificent book cover in the Vatican, which came from the Abbey of Lorsch in Germany, and the similar panel in the Victoria and Albert Museum.

The central figure of Christ on the Vatican panel has a wide smooth face (without a beard), as in the sixth century sculptures. The Virgin’s face is much narrower and more of the Byzantine type, and the robes are treated with a wonderful complexity of folds. Both these panels are divided like the five-piece diptych (Fig. 10, with a single figure on each side), and have a similar pair of flying angels above, and long narrow scene beneath. Westwood has attributed them to Italy in the sixth to eighth centuries, but that is impossible, as the actual technique is far more delicate than anything that could have been accomplished even in the sixth century. Molinier thinks it probable that the Vatican panel is an original from the finest period of Byzantine Art, and the English panel is an imitation by an almost contemporary German craftsman. The extraordinary similarity of technique, even down to such small details as the folds of drapery on the thighs of the standing figures, seems to point that the two panels came from the same atelier, even if they were not made for the same book cover, the latter seeming to be disproved owing to the slight variation in size and shape of some of the panels. The book cover in the Bodleian Library at Oxford is a variant of the panel in the Vatican.

Most of the small objects connected with ecclesiastical ceremonial are of this period, for instance the liturgic combs used by the bishop or officiating priest before celebrating high mass; the comb was a special feature in Anglo-Saxon ritual, and several have been found in Great Britain. The strange large comb in the British Museum is said to have been found in Wales, and is probably about the eleventh century (Fig. 26). It shows the later forms of the Anglo-Saxon scroll-work and has much in connection with Romanesque decoration. The comb of St. Gauzelin, Bishop of Toul is still preserved in the cathedral at Nancy, and the comb of St. Loup in the cathedral at Sens; both betray strong Byzantine and oriental influence, and both date from the tenth century. These combs all have the more general arrangement of a double row of teeth, in two sizes; but that attributed to St. Heribert (in Cologne Museum), has only one row, and is probably more ancient, as the grouping of the Crucifixion is like that on the Carlovingian plaques of the ninth century (Fig. 24). The _urcei_, or holy water stoups are usually of German origin. A magnificent example in Milan Cathedral bears the inscription of Gotfredus, Archbishop of Milan, 973-978. It is very handsome in design, being surrounded by an arcade, above which rise the towers of the new Jerusalem. Underneath are seated the Virgin and Child and the Four Evangelists, modelled in the rather heavy German style of the tenth century.

Another _urceus_ in the Hermitage Museum at St. Petersburg is of the same bucket shape, but ornamented with two tiers of arcades containing complicated scenes from the Passion. The Cathedral Treasury at Aix-la-Chapelle contains two of these _urcei_ one of an octagon shape, each panel having two figures. The style of carving is like that of the school of ivory carvers founded by Bernward at Hildesheim in the eleventh century.

FOOTNOTES:

[16] _L’Archittetura in Italia, VI.-XI. cent._ Venice, 1890.

[17] See Marcel Reymond, _La Sculpture Toscane_. Florence, 1897.

[18] Nos. 1041-2, Cat. 1881.

[19] Dr. Paul Weber, _Geistliche Schauspiel und Kirchliche Kunst_.

[20] See a plaque in the British Museum with the Nativity, and notably the Salutation.

[21] See article by Dr. W. Vöge in the _Jahrbuch der kgl. preuss. Kunst-samml._, 1899.