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The Netherlandish Image after Iconoclasm
Iconoclash
by Gretchen Buggeln
Reformation iconoclasm “stripped the altars” of northern Europe, the story goes, leaving bare and colorless churches in its wake. Contemporary Dutch paintings of newly Protestant interiors of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries seem to present Gothic spaces reduced to their whitewashed bones. But “we see what we expect to see,” Mia Mochizuki tells us, and it is worth taking another look at those supposedly empty churches. Her study centers on one church, Saint Bavo (or the “Great Church”) in Haarlem, an important artistic center and the second largest traditionally Catholic city in the Netherlands (after Utrecht). Both the theological and sociopolitical changes brought by the Reformation called for a far-reaching transformation of this space. The initial chapter of the book delineates Saint Bavo’s pre-Reformation material and social character, providing an excellent description of an important, late medieval Dutch Catholic church. The chapters that follow search for meaning in what was preserved and what was produced just after iconoclasm. In these objects the author discovers the systematic material expression of a new religious culture.
Mochizuki’s primary material sources are seven tekstborden, or text panels, installed in the church between 1580 and 1585: the Last Supper, which took the place of the former high altarpiece, with the Siege of Haarlem on the reverse; a now-missing Ten Commandments panel; Matthew and John panels; and the Linen Weavers’ and Greengrocers’ paintings (gifts of the guilds). The Last Supper, the centerpiece of the author’s argument, is a monumental “picture filled with large, glowing Dutch script emanating from a black ground, a floating panel of text grounded by a classicizing frame and draped with carved festoons of garlands” (127). Its text is a compendium of scriptural accounts of the Last Supper, while the Siege of Haarlem on the reverse tells the story of eight grueling months in 1572 when the city was locked in a struggle against the Spanish forces. Mochizuki deliberately calls these text panels “pictures” to emphasize that they employ the same techniques of figure painting and are similarly framed and displayed even though they contain no figural representation.
In these text paintings the author locates “the beginning of a lost alternate paradigm for picture making that began in Netherlandish churches after iconoclasm as a way to redeem and purify the fallen image” (127). In Haarlem, she argues, these paintings expressed the primacy of the Word (in the vernacular) and were a means of uniting a diverse community of believers into a new kind of Christian community centered on scriptural revelation and common history and experience. Her argument about the redemption of the image is similar to one made by Joseph Koerner in his study of the art of the German Reformation, particularly his explanation of the Lucas Cranach altarpiece painted for Martin Luther’s church in Wittenberg.1 These Reformation images, Koerner demonstrates, reveal the “iconoclash” that results when the iconic and iconoclastic impulses of a religious culture have to make peace with each other. In the case of the Wittenberg altarpiece, the figural image was rehabilitated as confessional text. The Haarlem example provides a rich Calvinist contrast: images made of words, housed in a magnificent architectural frame that suggested institutional authority.
Although the argument of this book centers on these text paintings, there is also much here for those interested in architecture. More difficult than changing pictures, the author acknowledges, was the problem of how to rehabilitate a whole building. She argues that the imprint of the divine body on the cruciform plan of the church was gradually camouflaged by the addition of new portals, a consistory complex, and many small shops around the perimeter of the building. A reinstituted classical temple vocabulary, believed to harken back to the early church, overlaid the Gothic. This “symbolic imprint on the face of the church” appeared in the form of small temples and obelisks, such as two classical temple capitals on the main pilasters of the former Baptismal Chapel (163). Biblical or early church precedent, as it was understood at the time, became especially important as the new national church used architecture to formulate its identity and reinforce its authority. Ultimately the Dutch forged their own architectural style that combined biblical foundations and mathematical regularity purged of both Catholic and pagan associations. This is best seen in the newly added consistories (the first a 1644 renovation of the former sacristy; the second a Salomon de Bray addition of 1658-59), structures that supported the activities that tied the Dutch Reformed Church to the civic life of the town. Similar consistories were incorporated into nearly all appropriated churches in the Netherlands. Mochizuki argues that the de Bray addition, which harmonized with the old building by reworking Gothic motifs into a regular façade with round gable windows, “drew together a society riven from its immediate past and filled with a fractious populace” (225).
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This is an important book for anyone interested in the art and architecture of the Reformation, with an argument that goes far beyond what a narrowly defined case study might suggest. Mochizuki subjects nearly all of the material aspects of the building and its interior to critical interpretation. It is well worth plowing through the occasionally dense academic prose to discover fresh interpretation, attention to fascinating objects (or, as the author calls them, “the underdogs of art history”), and tremendous insight into the transformed religious culture of the Netherlands after iconoclasm.Gretchen Buggeln holds the Phyllis and Richard Duesenberg Chair of Christianity and the Arts at Valparaiso University. She is the author of Temples of Grace: The Material Transfomation of Connecticut’s Churches, 1790-1840 (New England, 2003).
Harry Clarke in Co. Offaly
From today’s Irish Times
Distinctive, jewel-like stained-glass windows are the stunning legacy of artist Harry Clarke, and while the pieces made by his studio after his death may not be as inspiring, a tour of his work in Co Offaly leaves ROSITA BOLAND spellbound
FOR A MAN who died at the cruelly early age of 43, the stained-glass artist Harry Clarke left a stunning legacy of work behind him. It’s not only the number of windows he designed and made, it’s their distinctive jewel-like appearance, dazzling use of colour, and near-shocking reintrepratations of religious subjects that make his work so distinctive and outstanding. Clarke did not design windows exclusively for churches, but it is in churches that most of his windows can be seen today by the public.
This week is Heritage Week, and last Saturday, Offaly’s heritage officer Amanda Pedlow led an inspired free bus tour of Clarke windows throughout the county. Her aim – a form of cultural tourism – was to highlight sites not widely known outside Offaly and to provide a context to the windows on view.
The first and most confusing fact to be aware of, Pedlow explains as we leave Tullamore, is that Clarke did not personally create most of the windows.
Less than a year before his death in 1931, Clarke established the Harry Clarke Studio, which continued to produce work until 1973. Part of the reason for this tour is to make people aware of the difference between the windows Clarke created, and those made by the studio that bore his name for decades after his death.
First stop of the day is at Mount St Joseph Abbey Roscrea, a Cistercian monastery and boys’ boarding school. (Appropriately, given the latitude for confusion with the Harry Clarke name, the school is usually referred to as Roscrea College and its address is Co Tipperary.)
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Mount St Joseph was founded in 1878, with the school following in 1905. At one time, there were more than 150 monks there; now there are 19. Dom Laurence Walsh, who entered the abbey more than six decades ago when he was 17, is one of them. He is the author of Lumen Christi , a book about the windows at Mount St Joseph, and he shows us around.
The least-seen windows at this location are those in the old infirmary oratory, upstairs in a vast building where only the ground floor is now in use. Today the space is empty, except for an incongruous 1970s carpet and a trio of windows. Whether there is a trio of separate windows, or a pair together, they are known as one “light”.
The oratory was intended for those monks who were too ill to attend services in the large church on the grounds. Monks who were dying could lie in the infirmary and look through another window out at the trio of Clarke windows.
“To understand their real meaning, you have to live in the prayer life,” Walsh says, explaining that for monks such as himself who see stained glass windows in at least one location every day, they became a hugely important part of a meditative consciousness.
These infirmary windows date from 1931, and were made by the Harry Clarke Studio. Since they were made only months after his death, they all have that dazzling, intricate quality, with richly detailed borders, deep colours and startling impact.
The easiest way of finding out more about the windows is to find out when they were produced. Clarke windows fall into four categories: those he made before he died in 1931; those he had designed that were made by others later; those based on his ideas; and some, such as the much later work, that was done in “the style of” Clarke.
He designed and made about 160 windows before his death. His windows at Bewley’s on Grafton Street in Dublin that are familiar to many, for example, date from 1927.
Then there are the Harry Clarke Studio windows, made and installed after his death, which number about 1,000.
Thus the nearer to 1931 the Studio windows were produced, the more closely they resemble his own work.
In Mount St Joseph’s college chapel, there is a trio of windows from 1941. It’s difficult to define what’s so different about Clarke windows from a decade or so previously, but the best way is to describe them as diluted. They are less dense, less detailed, less powerful and less beautiful.
The final window we see at the abbey dates from 1961, and is in the monks’ large church, which is big enough to service a small town. The window depicts St Patrick with Pascal fires on the Hill of Slane. It’s clearly evident how the imprint and influence of Clarke’s work has been greatly reduced over the years. The window reflects the prudent, traditional methods of another maker. It looks worthy, rather than thrilling, and the style has all but vanished. “The whole style has changed,” says Walsh.
BACK ON THE TOUR , we stop at Pollagh Church near Ferbane, where in addition to Harry Clarke Studio windows, there is a glorious and unusual set of the stations, done in glass mosaic tiles, and edged with gold. The church is right beside the Grand Canal.
Stephen McNeill, of the Offaly Historical and Archaeological Society, explains that “because they’re glass, you can have them in a damp church and they won’t lose their colour”.
It’s only when the bus reaches the small, unusual St Manchan’s church at Boher, Ballycumber, that we see the distinctive pre-1931 Clarke windows, for the first time that day.
“It’s all about context,” Pedlow says. The windows here were commissioned in 1930 for £320, for a very specific reason. The reason is located in the south transept: the magnificent 1130 reliquary shrine of St Manchan, after whom the church is named.
Shaped like a wooden tent and believed to contain some of the saint’s bones, it is decorated with intricate bronze work, gilt and enamel; a style of decoration close to the Cross of Cong, and an artefact the National Museum must surely covet.
Among the windows for three transepts that Clarke designed here is the one that is directly behind the shrine, which depicts St Manchan. It also includes a life-sized image of the shrine, aglow with gold and bronze. When you view the actual object first and then its likeness in jewelled stained glass behind, the genius of Clarke’s commissioned work is profoundly evident. It was made for this place, to complement the shrine, and its south-facing aspect means both the window and the gilt-bronze shrine glow a luminous amber for hours.
The final stop of the day is at the Church of the Assumption in Tullamore. The church was rebuilt after a fire in 1983 and the Harry Clarke Studio windows here were salvaged from Rathfarnham Castle. The Jesuits donated them on their departure.
So the windows had to fit in wherever they could. Rather than being a showcase, the scattered windows appear diminished and lost in the vast space, even though they were originally designed to be church windows, as they are here.
Some of the pairs of lights, such as those of Saints Peter and Paul, and Saints Patrick and Beginus, have been split up, so they no longer have the same impact or symmetry they had originally. And you would have to know the small, unflagged panels in the day chapel were there, and to see them you would most likely have to ask the verger to put on the electric light in the vestibule behind the panels so you could view them in their dim corner.
All of the locations visited on the Heritage Week tour are freely open to the public, with the exception of Mount St Joseph, where the monks will do their best to accommodate those who contact them well in advance of a proposed visit.
A Harry Clarke window always repays a visit, but the church at St Manchan’s in Ballycumber is very special, combining two extraordinary Irish cultural treasures in one location. Anyone interested in Clarke should see it.
For more information, see harryclarke.net
The Cathedral of Saint Mel
Longford, Ireland
by James O’Brien, appearing in Volume 19 Journal of Sacred ArchitectureLongford Cathedral, one of the finest Neoclassical buildings in Ireland, was reduced to ashes on Christmas morning 2009 by a fire, originating in an over-extension of the heating system. The fire could not immediately be brought under control because of water shortages caused by the frozen-over municipal supply during a period of particularly harsh weather. In the aftermath of the blaze, only the external walls of the cathedral survived, together with the campanile and portico. Internally, practically everything perished with the exception of some of the mosaic floors which had been laid on concrete foundations, and a number of the lateral altars.
The Bishop tours the site with members of the design team. (Photo: Irish Bishops Conference)
Securing the remains of the building was slowed by painstaking removal of the debris so as to recover as much as possible of the collection of some 500 historical items—including some important early medieval artifacts—which had been housed in a museum attached to the cathedral. Among the items recovered by a team of specialists from the National Museum of Ireland were the Shrine of St. Caillinn, which is largely intact, and a portion of the Crozier of St. Mel, an early iron hand-bell from Wheery, Co. Offaly and a thirteenth-century crozier made at Limoges in France. Lost, however, was the entire collection of vestments, penal crosses, altar vessels of pewter and silver, and works in paper. Some of Harry Clarke’s Celtic Revival/Art Déco stained glass happily survived the conflagration and has since been successfully restored.
The interior before the fire. (Photo: wikimediacommons.org)Saint Mel’s was begun on May 22, 1840 by Bishop William O’Higgins (1829-1853) according to plans drawn by John Benjamin Keane (d. 1859). The cruciform plan, with nave separated from aisles by an Ionic colonnade and ending in a chancel apse, was inspired by the Basilica of Saint Paul’s Outside the Walls in Rome. Works ceased during the famine and resumed only in 1853 under Bishop John Kilduff (1853-1867). John Bourke added the Italianate campanile in 1863–loosely based on the Tower of the Winds—and continued the works after Keane’s death. The impeccably proportioned hexastyle Ionic portico, postitioned on a raised stepped base with pediment over, was added to the entrance front between 1889 and 1893 to plans drawn by George C. Ashlin (1837 – 1921), better known for his neo-Gothic work, especially as exemplified at Saint Colman’s Cathedral, Cobh (Queenstown), Co. Cork. The final building phase was undertaken by Bishop Bartholomew Woodlock (1879-1894), former rector of the Catholic University of Ireland. The cathedral was solemnly consecrated on May 23, 1893.
The building sits on a complex system of reversed arches that supports the colonnade on which the roof rests. The external walls are buttressed internally by a series of pilasters, also resting on a further system of inversed arches which extends beyond the external walls of the cathedral. Some of this system was exposed with the collapse of the wooden flooring.
The pedimental sculpture, designed by Ashlin, was executed by George Smyth of Dublin. The internal plasterwork was believed to have been carried out by Italian stuccodori who had worked at Carriglass Manor (1837). Much of the interior decoration was carried out under Ashlin. Longford Cathedral suffered the removal of its restrained classical high altar and choir stalls in 1976 and the installation of an unsympathetic solution by Richard Hurley and Wilfred Cantwell with furnishings provided by Ray Carrroll. Its overall effect left the internal colonnade without its liturgical focus. “The new altar, ambo, and bishop’s chair and the semi-circular row of canons’ seats [were] made of limestone … [and] no attempt seems to have been made to secure harmony with the building.” These, too, perished in the flames along with the wall hangings of the Second Coming which vainly attempted to add a surrogate focal point to the apse.Initial estimates of two million euro for the restoration of the cathedral quickly escalated into the ten millions with the eventual bill quite likely to be more in the region of twenty million.
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Interactive Project Managers, a Dublin based enterprise, has been appointed to co-ordinate all groups involved in the restoration of the cathedral. The company is headed by Joan O’Connor, an architect, and directors Niall Meagher and Eileen Dolan. It has previously worked on public building projects such as Cork Court House, the Millennium Wing of the National Gallery of Ireland, and the Assay Office at Dublin Castle.Details of the precise restoration have not yet been made public. A number of architectural firms (as of February 2011) were interviewed on their proposals for the project. Inevitably, approaches to the restoration differ: some proposed a true restoration in the Neoclassical style, others a “restoration” in a modern idiom with the shell of the building acting as an apocalyptic backdrop, while others suggested abandoning the site in favour of a completely new building. From many perspectives, the eventual restoration of Saint Mel’s Cathedral, seen by many as an iconic contest between les anciens et les moderns, will necessarily involve long term ecclesiastical and architectural implications. It will also come as a test to the limited conservation resources and experience available in Ireland, which have not yet had to confront a project with as many international dimensions as those inherent in the Longford Cathedral restoration project. It is, however, to be hoped that the Longford project will have sufficient expertise available to it so as to avoid the now all-too-evident mistakes made during the 1990s restoration of Cobh Cathedral, which clearly illustrates the dangers of insufficient historical research and conservation expertise.
Glenstal Abbey library designed by Richard Hurley & Associates (Photo: Richard Hurley and Associates)
Fitzgerald Kavanagh and Partners architects: Church of the Annunciation in Co. Wexford (Photo: Fitzgerald Kavanagh and Partners)After months of “reflection,” it was announced, in conjunction with the celebrations for St. Mel’s day, that the contract for the restoration of Longford Cathedral had been awarded to Richard Hurley of Richard Hurley and Associates, as the lead designer, in alliance with Colm Redmond of FitzGerald, Kavanagh and Partners. The latter company claims experience that “covers office, retail, hotel, education, residential, urban design, industrial, historic buildings, mixed use, and leisure facilities.” While not explicitly referring to their ecclesiastical work (mainly for the Archdiocese of Dublin), the company has produced at least two churches, one at Huntstown, Co. Dublin, the other, tout en rond, at Clonard, Co. Wexford, both in an unrelieved modernist brutalism.
Richard Hurley, who worked on Longford Cathedral as long ago as 1976, is well known for his ecclesiastical work in Ireland for over forty years. Much of it successfully integrates an advanced reductionist modernism with a highly personalized vision of the liturgy, attributed to the Second Vatican Council; a domestic approach to worship seemingly inspired by early twentieth century archaeological concepts such as R. Krautheimer’s Domus Eccelsiae—since critically refined through a revisionism motivated by the absence of concrete historical examples; and a populist autochthony. Premiated examples of the recurring motifs of the genre may be admired at the Cathedral of Saint Mary and Saint Anne in Cork City, and at Saint Mary’s Oratory in Maynooth College, Co. Kildare, Ireland.
The fire of Christmas 2009 (Photo: wikimediacommons.org)Referring to the often-destroyed Chartres (recte Orléans) Cathedral, Dr. Hurley said, at the announcement of contract signing for Saint Mel’s, that his team was approaching the restoration, “with the same ardour and belief that Saint Mel’s will rise again and live again at the centre of Catholic life in the diocese of Ardagh and Clonmacnoise,”—an aspiration wholly synchronized with his architectural mission to rescue the Second Vatican Council from the ashes. We await developments.
Heaven’s Backdrop
by Daniel P. DeGreve
A brilliant study suffused with vivid historical commentary, this book elucidates the morphological, spatial, and communicative causes of the retable altarpiece in the late medieval and early Renaissance kingdoms of the Iberian Peninsula. The region is rich with in situ works and the home to an indigenous paradigm distinguished by extraordinary scale, structure, and content. Forming a compartmentalized backdrop of sacred imagery behind the high altar, the quintessential Iberian wall retable emerged from earlier traditions during the second half of the fourteenth century in the Catalan region of the Kingdom of Aragon and, with further innovations in Castile, reached its staggering apex in the unified Spanish realm during the Golden-Age reign of los Reyes Catolicos, Ferdinand and Isabella. The sanctuary vaults of cathedrals, collegiate and monastic churches, and even village parish churches came to be graced—quite literally—by immense, glittering screens of sacred figures and salvation narratives hierarchically disposed. Nevertheless, Dr. Justin Kroesen demonstrates that the principal hallmark of the Spanish altarpiece was not its exceptional size, but the wedding of a native structural composition with foreign artistic styles imported initially from France, then Italy, and finally Flanders. Through its use of symbolic and illustrative imagery that frequently spanned the width of the sanctuary, the Spanish wall retable served to reinforce the liturgy and direct private devotion in ways that were particular to deeply-rooted cultural and ritual customs of the Iberian Peninsula, while altarpieces in neighboring Portugal tended to be formal resonations of Spanish ones, albeit on a more modest scale.
The highly methodical and meticulous examination presented in this survey stands apart from preceding research in its treatment of the Iberian retable as a fundamentally liturgical category encompassing nationalistic traditions as well as localized practices; its reference to contemporaneous developments in other parts of Europe; and a catalogue of works that includes both painted and sculpted versions. The book is divided into three sections that deal with different aspects of the Iberian retable: its origin and morphological development is analyzed in Part I; its liturgical environment is discussed in Part II; finally, its iconographical content is expounded in Part III. Each topic is provided with a wealth of background information that brings to the fore the subject and its context according to type, time, and place. An appendix of high-quality black-and-white photographical images, drawn reconstructions, and architectural plans allows for easy comparison of similar situations, as well as linear and lateral transitions.
A strong understanding of and respectful attitude towards the Catholic liturgy underpin the historical sketches and insights provided by this self-identified Dutch Protestant author. He highlights, for instance, the precocious emergence of the Eucharistic tabernacle in the retables of the fourteenth-century Kingdom of Aragon, as well as the expositor windows that followed, which permitted visual access to the Sacrament for the purpose of adoration. One of the most fascinating discussions is offered in Part II where Dr. Kroesen investigates the peculiarly Spanish custom of locating the choir in the nave and the impact this arrangement had on the spatial and sensory experience of the retable by the clergy and laity. Excerpts taken from cathedral chapter records, directives of individual bishops and canons, and observations of contemporaneous foreign visitors animate the various conditions and circumstances in which the retable served to punctuate the liturgical functions of the sanctuary and stimulate private devotion. Other furnishings typical to Iberian churches, such as their richly decorated choir screens, are explored for their postural and iconographical relationship to the retable. The various situations for cathedral, collegiate, monastic, mendicant, and secular parish churches are systematically addressed. Quoting art scholar C. Belda Navarro, Dr. Kroesen refers to the retable as a religious projection screen, and in Part III begins a process of tying a trinitarian knot between the form, location, and function of the Iberian retable. The study presents the quintessential Spanish model retable as a backcloth to the Mass and homily, and focuses on its iconographical content. Correlations with other forms of sacred imagery are explored, including illustrated prayer books and devotionals. Finally, an account of the religious and social climates of late medieval Spain vividly underscores the role of the retable in its multicultural context.
Undoubtedly, with Staging the Liturgy, Dr. Kroesen accomplishes a Herculean feat in panning the height and width of a monumentally sumptuous subject and synthesizing it into a cogent thesis that is as encyclopedic as the Iberian wall retable itself.
Daniel P. DeGreve is an architect in Columbus, Ohio holding a Master of Architectural Design & Urbanism degree from the University of Notre Dame and a Bachelor of Architecture from the University of Cincinnati. Email: ddegreve@alumni.nd.edu
A Biography of Chartes
by Danielle Joyner
A Gothic cathedral is more than the sum of its individual stones, and Philip Ball’s Universe of Stone, Chartres Cathedral and the Invention of Gothic elucidates with clarity and depth the history of this captivating monument and its place in the evolution of Gothic architecture. Writing with compelling vitality, Ball covers a wide range of subjects associated with Chartres, from the relics of the Virgin enshrined at the site, to the personalities of its various bishops and teachers, to the known and postulated construction methods of medieval masons. In addition to these historical topics, Ball addresses the methods and interpretations of scholars who have worked on Chartres and on broader questions regarding Gothic architecture and the medieval world. These interpretive questions incorporate multiple disciplines, and Ball’s readable analysis of these debates offers a fairly even-handed discussion that yet includes his own thoughts on these matters.
Chartres Cathedral coalesced a number of Gothic architectural elements into a cohesive and beautiful template, the influence of which is discernable in many later Gothic buildings. From the ratio of window height to elevation, the external support of flying buttresses, and the linear patterns of ribbed vaults and applied columns, this building is the quintessence of the developing French Gothic style. As Ball amply demonstrates, though, Gothic cathedrals’ embodiment of theological, philosophical, and mathematical tenets contributes to our fascination with them, as much as do their awe-inspiring forms. Ball does an excellent job of introducing a number of these topics and demonstrating their relevance to a stone and mortar building. Beginning with an outline of the history of Chartres and its bishops in relationship with the surrounding nobility, Ball then traces the dialogue between faith and reason from Augustine through twelfth-century Neoplatonic “Chartrian” thinkers like William of Conches, who strove to reconcile more scientific explanations of Creation and the workings of the universe with the biblical story in Genesis. After examining Pythagorean conceptions of number and geometric harmonies in conjunction with the measurements of Chartres and other buildings, Ball then delves into the complexities of medieval methods of masonry, construction, and engineering. As he works his way through these topics, Ball refers to influential scholars such as Erwin Panofsky and Peter Kidson, but unfortunately without incorporating footnotes or endnotes, which leaves the concluding bibliography rather disconnected from the chapters.
With the wealth of historical, descriptive, and interpretive material in this book, there is more than enough to keep captivated both new-comers to the Middle Ages and well-informed readers. There are two subjects, though, that merit more of his—and our—attention. Although Ball does mention sculpture and the iconography of several stained glass windows, their pivotal role is muted in light of the increasing importance of these elements in the evolution of Gothic architecture. Part of what makes Chartres extraordinary is the style and iconography visible in the re-used portal sculptures of the west facade in comparison with the more elaborate north and south facades. The identification and meaning of the three scenes carved in the west facade tympana have sparked as much debate as the labyrinth pavement set into the cathedral nave. A second subject that would contribute to this study is the relationship between the form of the building and the liturgical rituals which enlivened its spaces. From a daily chanting of the Psalms to annual Easter vigils and processions, this building was constructed first and foremost as a liturgical space. Chartres’ liturgical nature deserves better exploration in its “biography.”
This book is ostensibly about Chartres Cathedral. Its helpful glossary, diagrams, and a selection of color and black and white photographs contribute to Ball’s powerful word-imagery. Even more, though, this book is a wonderful foray through the diverse thoughts, beliefs, and creations of medieval Europe. By the final chapter of Ball’s impressive work, whether recalling Pseudo-Dionysian light imagery or the bread bakers portrayed in the windows, you muse for a moment then be compelled to comb through his bibliography to find additional readings on this fascinating building and era.
Danielle Joyner Ph.D is a medievalist and art historian whose interests range from mythological and religious imagery to medieval art, architecture and manuscript studies. She is an Assistant Professor at the University of Notre Dame.
@Praxiteles wrote:
The Chapel Royal at Versailles
As the focal point of Louis XIV’s fourth (and last) building campaign (1699–1710), the fifth and final chapel of the château of Versailles is an unreserved masterpiece. Begun in 1689, construction was halted due to the War of the League of Augsburg; Jules Hardouin-Mansart resumed construction in 1699. Hardouin-Mansart continued working on the project until his death in 1708, at which time his brother-in-law, Robert de Cotte, finished the project (Blondel, 1752–1756; Marie, 1972, 1976; Nolhac, 1912–1913; Verlet, 1985; Walton, 1993). It was to become the largest of the royal chapels at Versailles, and in fact the height of its vaulting alone was allowed to disturb the rather severe horizontality everywhere else apparent in the palace’s roof-line, leading to the design being badly treated by some contemporaries at the time, most notably perhaps by the duc de Saint-Simon, who characterized it as an “enormous catafalque”.[2] Nevertheless, the magnificent interior has been widely admired to the present day and served as inspiration for Luigi Vanvitelli when he designed the chapel for the Palace of Caserta (Defilippis, 1968).
Dedicated to Saint Louis, patron saint of the Bourbons, the chapel was consecrated in 1710. The palatine model is of course traditional; however, the Corinthian colonnade of the tribune level is of a classic style that anticipates the neo-classicism that evolved during the 18th century, although its use here bespeaks a remarkable virtuosity. The tribune level is accessed by a vestibule, known as the salon de la chapelle, that was constructed at the same time as the chapel. The salon de la chapelle is decorated with white stone and the bas-relief sculpture, Louis XIV Crossing the Rhine by Nicolas and Guillaume Coustou forms the focal point of the rooms décor[3] (Nolhac, 1912–1913; Verlet, 1985; Walton, 1993).
The floor of the chapel itself is inlaid with polychromatic marbles, and at the foot of the steps leading to the altar is the crowned monogram of an interlaced double “L” alluding to Saint Louis and Louis XIV (Nolhac, 1912–1913; Verlet, 1985; Walton, 1993). The sculptural and painted decoration uses both Old Testament and New Testament themes (Lighthart, 1997; Nolhac, 1912–1913; Sabatier, 1999; Verlet, 1985; Walton, 1993). The ceiling of the nave represent God the Father in His Glory Bringing to the World the Promise of Redemption and was painted by Antoine Coypel; the half-dome of the apse is decorated with Charles de la Fosse’s The Resurrection of Christ; and, above the royal tribune is Jean Jouvenet’s The Descent of the Holy Ghost upon the Virgin and the Apostles (Nolhac, 1912–1913; Walton, 1993).
During the 18th century, the chapel witnessed many court events. Te Deums were sung to celebrate military victories and the births of children (Fils de France and fille de France) born to the king and queen; marriages were also celebrated in this chapel, such as the wedding of Louis XV’s son the dauphin Louis with the Infanta Marie-Thérèse d’Espagne of Spain on 23 February 1745 and the wedding on 16 May 1770 of the dauphin – later Louis XVI of France – with Marie-Antoinette. However, of all the ceremonies held in the chapel, those associated the Order of the Holy Spirit were among the most elaborate.[4] (Blondel, 1752–1756; Bluche, 2000; Boughton, 1986; Campan, 1823; Croÿ-Solre, 1906–1921; Hézuques, 1873; Luynes, 1860–1865; Nolhac, 1912–1913).
The Chapel Royal at Versailles
The Origins of the Iconostasis [continued]
JULIAN WALTER, AA
(Eastern Churches Review, Vol. Ill, No. 3. 1971)The Physical Relationship of Icons to the Iconostasis
Icons were certainly associated with the screen enclosing the sanctuary many centuries earlier than the invention of the classical iconostasis. However, not every kind of representation can be properly considered an icon. We have already noted that even the reticulated panels in the 4th-century basilica of Tyre were lavishly carved. Foliage and vine leaves were a common decoration; so were monograms. ‘Zodia’—various kinds of living creatures—also figure upon the panels. Fashions changed; for example there seems to have been an increased liking for lions, harts, winged gryphons and birds from the 9th century onwards. The panels at Torcello, situated in the lagoons to the north of Venice, are certainly Constantinopolitan work of the highest quality dating from the 11th or 12th century. The subjects had a symbolical meaning at the beginning; the peacocks, whose flesh was believed to be incorruptible, are drinking from the Fountain of Life; the lions are guarding the Paradise Tree. However; at this late epoch they are probably there mainly in a decorative capacity (Plate 8).
None of these decorations can properly be considered to be icons. The same is no doubt true of figurative representations—portraits of Christ, the Virgin, angels and saints—which might be carved upon the architrave. These reliefs, the grooves sometimes filled with coloured paste like cloisonne work in enamel, existed from the 6th century onwards. According to Paul the Silentiary there were either round or elliptical portraits on the screen of Hagia Sophia. It is not certain exactly how or where they were placed, but, if the analogy of a consular diptych is relevant, they would have been mounted on top of the architrave. This practice of decorating the architrave with carved portraits of saints certainly continued after the Triumph of Orthodoxy. It would have disappeared when the architrave became a support for a row of paintings on panel.
Are these bas-reliefs to be considered as icons? It depends how one uses the word. Pictorial representations of the saints or of the subject of the great feasts of the Church could be part of the official decoration of churches. They were not then necessarily the object of devotion nor of any special veneration. In some cases they were ex votos in mosaic or fresco. They could be fixed or moveable, and often they included the portrait of the donor or at least an inscription with his name. The practice of placing ex voto pictures in churches was certainly current at an early date. The church of Saint Demetrius in Thessalonika still contains such ex votos in mosaic which are fixed permanently in place. It is significant that towards the beginning of the 8th century they were being placed progressively lower and nearer to the sanctuary.
In one case, perhaps exceptional, they had already invaded the sanctuary in the 6th century. In the church of San Vitale in Ravenna Justinian and Theodora are represented making their offerings in a programme the theme of which is the types of the Eucharistic oblation. It is highly probable that Iconoclasm was in part a reaction against this cluttering of the church with private devotional images. But it was not successful. The practice was revived after the Triumph of Orthodoxy, and much evidence of it still exists in Cappadocia. For instance in the very apse of the rock church of Qaranlep the donors are represented in a Deesis prostrate at the feet of Christ.
But besides these ex votos executed in mosaic or fresco there were also moveable icons on wood. Many of these were ex votos too. They figure regularly in monastic inventories. In the monastery of the Eleousa at Veljusa in Macedonia there were in the sanctuary alone some ninety icons, according to an inventory probably made in 1449. The explanation of their presence seems simple. The sanctuary was the holiest part of the church since there the Eucharist was offered. The donor therefore wished that the icon of the saint to whom he had a devotion should be by his image as close as possible to Christ who was really present in the consecrated species. The donor’s religious psychology was similar to that of the Western pilgrim who wishes to enter the grotto at Lourdes in order to be as close as possible to the place where the apparitions of the Virgin occurred.
There was, however, a special kind of icon, the object also of devotion but this time of public devotion. Such icons were venerated not only because the prayers addressed to them passed immediately to the prototype but also because they had a reputation for working wonders. Such an icon was the Hodegetria. It had its special shrine in Constantinople but it did not always remain there. Mounted on three struts which were joined to a pole, it could be taken from its shrine and carried in procession to the monastery of the Pantocrator. Icons of this kind were numerous; they can be recognized by the fact that usually they have a cross painted on the obverse side. The problem arises where these icons were kept when not being carried in procession. Not all of them can have had a special shrine.
The iconodule Patriarch Nicephorus tells us in his Antirrheticus that in his time, the early 9th century, icons were being displayed before the choir screen, on its gates and columns, even before the sacred altar. These icons were not so displayed simply to decorate the building but for devotion, the sanctuary being par excellence the place of prayer. It is evident that some order had to be imposed. For icons which were the object of public devotion it was necessary that there should be a place where they could be easily visible but at the same time protected from the excesses to which devotion sometimes leads. Two ways of doing this would seem to have been current. One was to fix them to the sides of the baldaquin. Such a disposition may be observed in a miniature illustrating the chapter on Prayer in The Heavenly Ladder of John Climacus (Plate 5). These icons may, of course, have been permanently fixed in place. The other was to place the stands for the icons either side of the entry to the sanctuary but just inside the screen in such a way that they were visible above the panels. This was probably the case with the two icons in the Hermitage of Saint Neophytus. They are now fixed, but originally they were certainly processional icons, for they have a cross painted on the obverse side, and traces of the struts may be seen (Plates 3, 4 and 6).
There was yet another possibility. Icons could be set along the top of the baldaquin or the architrave. A number of icons which were so placed are now known. Some are at Saint Catherine’s, Mount Sinai; others are at Vatopedi on Mount Athos; yet others from Mount Athos and are now in the Hermitage Museum. They were painted upon a continuous strip of panel. This suggests that already a certain systematization had taken place. The usual subjects of ex voto icons had been united in a continuous programme, which it will be our next task to consider. The best example of a sanctuary screen such as it would have appeared in a Byzantine church in the late 11th or 12th century is perhaps that at Torcello (Plates 9 and 10). All the elements are there: the low panels, the columns, the architrave and the row of icons running along the top.
[To be continued in part 3]
The Origins of the Iconostasis
JULIAN WALTER, AA
(Eastern Churches Review, Vol. Ill, No. 3. 1971)THE LAST DECADES of the disintegrating Byzantine Empire were, culturally and spiritually speaking, far from being its least glorious. Among the great names of that epoch Bishop Symeon of Thessalonika has a place by reason of his liturgical commentaries. Appointed bishop sometime between 1410 and 1420, he died in September 1429, six months before the Turkish army led by Murad II conquered the city. We are concerned here with his mystagogical commentary on the Sacred Temple and particularly with what he had to say about the screen which separated the sanctuary from the nave:
The chancel signifies the distinction between the sensible and the intelligible; it is, as it were, a firm barrier between material and spiritual things. Being in sight of the altar, that is of Christ, its columns are those of the Church itself, signifying those who strengthen us by their witness to Christ. Above the chancel the columns are joined by an unbroken decorated architrave signifying the bond of charity, which is the communion in Christ between earthly saints and heavenly beings. This is why a picture of the Saviour is placed here in the middle of the sacred images. His Mother and the Baptist are on either side of him with angels and archangels, the apostles and the rest of the saints. This signifies Christ in heaven with his saints, Christ as he is with us now and Christ who will come again.
In the West we are accustomed to call this screen which is such a distinctive feature of churches of the Byzantine rite an iconostasis. Bishop Symeon would hardly have understood the word in this sense. Its significance for him can be realized by reading a passage in an imperial Book of Ceremonies composed in the 14th century. According to this the emperor remained in his apartments on 24 December, the Vigil of the Nativity, instead of going out as was his usual custom. Towards the end of the morning an [eikonostasion] was set up there, upon which were displayed icons of the Nativity with one or two others. There followed a ceremony of veneration. An [eikonostasion] was therefore quite literally an icon-stand upon which an icon to be venerated was displayed. We may see the equivalent today in any church of the Byzantine rite.Strictly, therefore, it is wrong to call the screen separating the sanctuary from the nave in a Byzantine church by the name of iconostasis. The term is rejected in the most recent Greek encyclopedia, which prefers the word [templon]. The confusion in words, like several others in Eastern religious terminology, is probably to be attributed to the Russians. They, in fact, accept responsibility not only for the word but also for the object. The erudite Russian icon-painter, L. Uspensky, says that the iconostasis acquired its classical form in the 16th century, when it became one of the most important parts of the Orthodox church. From Russia it passed to Mount Athos, and from there during the Turkish invasion it spread to Greece and the Balkans.
The iconostasis in its classical form is a high screen completely obscuring the sanctuary from the congregation in the nave. It is decorated with icons permanently fixed in place. These, set out in five rows, reveal the divine dispensation. In the topmost row are the patriarchs with the prophets below them. Underneath the prophets are the festival icons and below these is the great Deesis, where the Virgin, the Baptist and other saints turn towards Christ the Judge to intercede for mankind. On the doors are represented the Annunciation, and either side are two icons usually of the Pantocrator and of the Virgin and Child. A number of variants are possible according to the elaborateness of the iconostasis and local custom.
I do not propose to go into the question whether the iconostasis in its classical form originated in Russia. This theory, difficult of proof or disproof, is glibly handed on from one generation of scholars to the next. The iconostasis certainly took on a particularly elaborate form in Russia, but, as L. Uspensky says, it was the result of a gradual development. The history of this development has been studied in detail by specialists, but their articles are sometimes difficult of access to other specialists, let alone to the ordinary reader. What I propose to do here, therefore, is to give a brief general account of the origins and development of the iconostasis, indicating as I go along where a more detailed study of each aspect may be found. I start by a consideration of the iconostasis as part of the architectural structure of the church of the Byzantine rite. Then I pass to the physical relationship of icons to the iconostasis, finishing up with a consideration of the iconography of the iconostasis.
The Iconostasis as Part of the Architectural Structure of the Church
In any large public building some kind of barrier is necessary in order to separate the crowd of ordinary people from official dignitaries. The most efficient barrier is about waist-high. It is used successfully today in Saint Peter’s for papal ceremonies, keeping all but the most intrepid in their place without obscuring their view. Such barriers were used in antiquity to protect the emperor from the crowd on public occasions. They may be seen on the bas-relief of the base of the column of Theodosius, which still stands in the middle of the Hippodrome at Constantinople. The emperor is seated with his two sons and his nephew in the imperial box; to either side of him are courtiers. In the foreground are kneeling captives presenting the emperor with gifts. Between them and the imperial box is a low reticulated barrier (Plate 1).
An equivalent disposition in a church may be found in Eusebius’s description of the basilica of Tyre, built in the 4th century. In this church, he tells us, were placed very high thrones to honour those who presided. Benches were also placed there in rows for the inferior clergy and in the middle was the holy altar. In order that this should remain inaccessible to the multitude it was surrounded with barriers in reticulated wood. They were delicately carved all the way up, offering to the spectator an admirable sight.
Eusebius’s description is confirmed by the findings of archaeology. The low panels separating the clergy from the laity are a regular feature of the early Christian church whatever the shape of the sanctuary. The panels might be placed between the last columns of the nave, so separating it from the body of the church. Alternatively the sanctuary might be an independent structure projecting into the body of the church. This disposition was invariable when the church had transepts and customary in any large basilica. Each panel would be separated from its neighbour by a low pillar. On the western side of the sanctuary facing the congregation there might be a triumphal arch crowning the entry. There could be a series of higher columns carrying an architrave running along the front and possibly along the sides of the sanctuary.
For the simple kind of sanctuary without columns two examples may be cited from Roman churches. That which probably more closely resembles the primitive disposition is in Santa Sabina on the Aventine. But the one in San Clemente, for all its elaborateness, recalls faithfully enough both the disposition and the purpose of the primitive jutting sanctuary closed in by panels. It seems more than likely that the sanctuary at Saint Peter’s was surrounded by the kind of barrier which was surmounted by an architrave. A good case has been made out for supposing this to be represented on an ivory reliquary from Pola in Istria. The coffer is somewhat damaged (Plate 2). However, the low barrier can just be distinguished below the twisted columns carrying an architrave. Even if this is not a representation of the sanctuary in Saint Peter’s, it does give us a faithful idea of how such a sanctuary would have appeared. Arched architraves above the entrance to the sanctuary are also known in the West, for example in the chapel of San Prosdocimo at Padua and in the chapel of Santa Maria Mater Domini at Vicenza.
Evidence for Constantinople is less abundant. We have, however, an example of a jutting sanctuary represented in a miniature illustrating the 9th-century manuscript of Saint Gregory Nazianzen’s Homilies in the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris. Here the panels are supported by low square pillars; there are no columns nor architrave. The miniature is quite possibly a copy of a pre-Iconoclast original, for it seems that this kind of sanctuary went out of fashion after the Triumph of Orthodoxy.
There was also a jutting sanctuary in the Great Church of Hagia Sophia. Many attempts have been to reconstruct its imposing screen. The principal evidence is a highly rhetorical descriptive poem by Paul the Silentiary. Unfortunately in composing it he did not have future archaeologists in mind, any more than the pilgrims did who have left us an account of their visit to Constantinople. Pilgrims were more intent to venerate icons or relics and to be present at the liturgy than to examine minutely the structure of the choir screen. All that Anthony of Novgorod tells us, for example, is that the doors of the sanctuary were left open when Mattins were sung.
However, it is clear from Paul the Silentiary’s poem that there was an architrave at least across the front of the sanctuary. It was wide enough to admit of a lamplighter passing along it in order to have access to the candelabra which stood upon it. Twice six silver columns supported the architrave. Why twice six? My guess would be because the columns were doubled, probably in depth. This is not, in fact, a mere guess. Columns supporting a low panel are doubled in depth in the tribunes of Hagia Sophia. Further, by being doubled, they would allow for what was evidently a wide architrave. These columns survived, it seems, until the arrival of the Latins in 1204. Then early one morning, so the Chronicler of Novgorod tells us, they broke down the doors, entered the sanctuary and destroyed the twelve silver columns.
It might be as well to dispose at once of a quite gratuitous hypothesis to the effect that this 6th-century choir screen in Hagia Sophia resembled the classical iconostasis. A German scholar, K. Holl, at the beginning of the century advanced this hypothesis, comparing the choir screen with the antique proscenium. Although a number of scholars have called Holl’s hypothesis in question by pointing out that there is no archaeological evidence that any sanctuary in the 6th century was completely obscured from the nave, it is still sometimes repeated as if it were acceptable.
In fact a positive piece of evidence shows that the choir screen in Hagia Sophia conformed in the 9th century to the pattern which was normal at the time when it was built. This is to be found in another Book of Ceremonies which was drawn up by Emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus. In the first chapter he describes the protocol to be observed when the emperor took part in a ceremony in the Great Church. When the emperor and the patriarch exchanged the kiss of peace, the patriarch took up position on the right hand side of the sanctuary inside the screen. The emperor then came forward to meet the patriarch but gave him the kiss of peace from outside the screen. This would obviously have been impossible if there had been a high screen between the sanctuary and the nave. Later the panels of the screen came to be known as [stēthia], from [stēthos] meaning chest. The obvious inference is that the low panels inherited from antiquity remained in use as the most practical means of separating the sanctuary from the nave.
They continued to be used in this way in the middle period of Byzantine architecture (864-1204). The sanctuary no longer jutted into the nave. It was contained in the central apse at the eastern end of the church and connected with the side apses to north and south which came to be known as the prothesis and the diakonikon. An example of this kind of low screen with doors in the centre may be seen in the illuminated chronicle of Skyllitzes now in the Biblioteca Nacional in Madrid. The event illustrated is the attempted assassination of the Emperor Leo VI (886-912) in the church of Saint Mokios. To the left stands a group of courtiers behind a crude representation of an ambo; to the right the patriarch with other bishops is celebrating the liturgy. The emperor stands behind him within the sanctuary. In front of them runs a low barrier with two higher doors in the middle. This miniature is probably a copy made in Sicily of an 11th-century original. A similar screen may be seen represented in the mosaic of Christ giving communion to the Apostles in the church of Saint Michael in Kiev. This church was founded in 1108, and the mosaics date from 1111-1112. Perhaps, however, the best pictorial example occurs in the Menologion of Basil II, in the miniature which illustrates the Commemoration of Saint Peter in Chains. This dates from about the year 1000. We see here all the elements of the sanctuary: the benches for the clergy, the low panels separated by pillars, the gates and also the baldaquin (Plate 7). Although the baldaquin is not part of the screen, it has a certain relevance to the subject which I am treating, as I shall show shortly.
The monumental examples of the screen which have survived usually include an architrave mounted on columns running directly across the front of the apse. Sometimes this stone construction still remains in place although hidden by a classical iconostasis added later. Such is the case in the catholicon of many Athonite monasteries. In 1930 the two French Byzantinists Louis Brehier and Gabriel Millet were able during the course of a visit to the Holy Mountain to penetrate behind the iconostasis and to observe the remains of the earlier choir screen. Brehier notes particularly those at Iviron and at Xenophon. Remains of others survive in the parecclesion of Saint Nicolas at Vatopedi and in the Protaton at Karyes. Brehier concludes that at the time of their foundation the older Athonite monasteries all had this same kind of screen in the catholicon.
Examples may be multiplied from other churches. The most imposing is perhaps that in the church of Hosios Loukas in Greece. The ikons now fixed in place do not belong to the original construction. Other good examples are those of Staro Nagoricino and Nerezi in Macedonia. I note also the choir screen in the Hermitage of Saint Neophytos in Cyprus. Again the aspect has been falsified by fixing two icons into the apertures above the panels to left and right of the doors. However in this humble sanctuary there remain the original elements dating back to its construction in the 12th century (Plate 6). This sanctuary has a special interest by reason of its two icons, as I shall also show shortly.
We have, then, a fairly exact idea of the structure of a sanctuary screen in Byzantine churches in the 11th century: low panels running across the apse, surmounted by columns carrying an architrave. It was not normal for a permanent screen to obscure the sanctuary entirely from the view of the congregation. Only one case of such a construction is known to me. It occurs in a church in Cappadocia. Even here the masonry screen is pierced by apertures; moreover this may have been a later addition. However, curtains certainly hung from the architrave running above the panels. These could be drawn when the members of the clergy wished to be hidden from the eyes of the laity.
[To be continued in a second post]
St Paul’s, Mount Argus
Burglar at Mount Argus caught on internet television cameras
Wednesday, August 17th, 2011 A burglar at one of Ireland’s most famous churches has quickly ended up in the arms of the Gardaí as a result of being caught in full view on the internet television cameras installed some years ago.Mount Argus church in Dublin, mother house of the Passionists of St Patrick’s Province that includes Ireland, Scotland, Paris, Botswana and South Africa, was the target of a burglary in recent days. Famous and known throughout Ireland, Mount Argus was where Saint Charles of Mount Argus lived out his days, ministering to the poor and sick of Dublin in the latter half of the 1880s. Today, his tomb, which is fast becoming a place of pilgrimage as his holiness becomes known more widely, is located within the church.
In 2006, and to mark 150 years of the Passionist presence at Mount Argus, a permanent exhibition was established in the church and which chronicles the history of the Passionists from their first arrival into Ireland and throughout their 150 years. Many items from the archive, including written records, notes, letters, and some precious items such as the stolen chalice, were professionally displayed and freely open to visitors. In the six years since the exhibition first opened, there have never been any difficulties so the unwelcome visitor last weekend was a first.
The permanent exhibition is housed alongside a museum dedicated to the memory of St Charles of Mount Argus, who was canonised by Pope Benedict XVI in June 2007. Thankfully, none of the artefacts or memorabilia associated with St Charles and which includes such items as the coffin in which he was buried, were disturbed.
Among the items stolen was a chalice and paten, presented to a Passionist by the people in the 1880s to mark his jubilee.
Speaking to CiNews, Fr Bernard Lowe, c.p., Superior at Mount Argus said that the chalice was behind toughened Perspex and initially, there was no indication of how this had been broken. However, a subsequent search revealed a crucifix and which is now believed to have been the implemented used to break into the display.
When a complete review was made of the exhibition, it was also discovered that a Waterford Crystal bowl, the Millennium Bowl, owned by the late Taoiseach, Jack Lynch who attended Mass regularly at Mount Argus and presented by his wife, Mairín, is also missing, along with a skull cap that had belonged to Bishop Urban Murphy c.p., the first Passionist bishop of Gaborone in Botswana and where the Passionists first established a mission in the 1950s.
According to Fr Bernard, the Gardaí were quick to detain their suspect once they had viewed the image from the internet television cameras and the detained man brought them to a hiding place where the missing chalice and its paten were located. Unfortunately, both had suffered damage. Some diamonds that decorated the chalice had been prised off and the paten too had a piece missing from it, apparently in an attempt to get a value for the gold from a dealer.
However, when questioned, the suspect denied any knowledge of the Waterford Crystal bowl and of the missing skullcap. Fr Bernard says that the Passionists are now looking into whether it is possible that these items may have been taken on a previous occasion but not discovered until now. The Passionists value both items and Fr Bernard says they are greatly saddened to lose them.
While the majority of the items in both the permanent exhibition and the Saint Charles exhibition have no monetary value, they nonetheless are hugely important to a congregation that has made a significant contribution to Irish life. As a result, the Passionists are reviewing the security precautions and, at least for the time being, they have removed a number of precious items including a chalice used by Saint Charles and, until now, available to be seen. Fr Bernard went on to say that continuing the keep the exhibition open to the public full-time is important to the Passionists and it is not expected that this unfortunate occurrence will result in the closure of either of the two exhibitions.
Asked by CiNews to comment on the role that the internet tv cameras had in apprehending the suspect so quickly, Tony Bolger, CEO at churchservices.tv, said, “We’re very pleased that our technology proved to be so instrumental in this outcome. Mount Argus is one of the earliest churches in Ireland to use the churchservices.tv system and while the primary purpose is to bring the church into the living room of the visitor, it is clear that with these systems, there is a pair of eyes in the church all the time and this has to be a good thing in these days.”
Mount Argus is located on the south side of Dublin city, in the Harold’s Cross area of the city. Founded in 1856, the Passionists have a long history in the city and since their foundation in Dublin, established communities in Belfast (Holy Cross, Ardoyne), Enniskillen (St Gabriel’s, the Graan), Crossgar (Tobar Mhuire) in Co Down as well as other houses now closed including Colooney, in Co Sligo. The foundation stone for the church was laid on September 19 and the Church was officially opened on the December 18 of the same year.
Mount Argus, or to give it its proper title, the church of St Paul of the Cross, became a parish of the Archdiocese of Dublin in 1974. In December 2009, and following over 150 years in the original monastery, the Passionists moved into their new monastery opposite the original.
by Gerard Bennett
@brianq wrote:
I imagine they were destroyed when the floor of the nave collapsed into the crypt. It looked pretty bad when I saw it.
How lucky !
Saint Mel’s restoration gets underwayRestoration work on Longford Cathedral, which was gutted by fire on Christmas Day in 2009, has commenced this week.
Speaking this week, the chairperson of the Restoration Committee, Seamus Butler, confirmed that investigative works have commenced at Saint Mel’s Cathedral this week. He revealed that among the exploratory works been carried out, “trial holes been made in the crypt area to ascertain whether or not there is a geothermal source for heating.”
He also confirmed that, “The interior of the building will be pretty much the same as it is a listed building. We don’t have any choice in the matter because it is a classical basilica. There is consultation going on with the Diocesan Liturgical Committee and Architectural Committee regarding some layout changes but that would be subject to planning.”
Meanwhile in an innovative move it has also been revealed that a feasibility study carried out to examine the criteria of a new course, which aims to help local residents gain the necessary skills to restore the Cathedral, is also nearly completed.
According to Mr Butler, “The next stage would be to apply for funding from Longford Community Resources for the course which, it’s hoped, would be run by the local EDI Centre. This course may involve two levels one for people with existing skills as well as a base course for apprentices.”
He added, “The skills required for the restoration include stonework and plastering specific to the fabric of the cathedral.”
He also revealed that the Heritage Council would be visiting the site on August 23.It is hoped that the exploratory works will be completed by the end of September and that the main contractor will be appointed sometime early in the New Year.
by Sean Ryan
On the recent discovery of the tomb of St. Philip the Apostle at Hieropolis:
The head of excavation describes the discovery of the tomb at Hierapolis
The earthly repose
of the Apostle Philip“Even in Asia, great stars repose, who will rise again on the last day of the parousia of the Lord…(among these) Philip, one of the twelve apostles, who fell to his sleep in Hierapolis…and Giovanni…who fell to his sleep in Ephesus.” So wrote the Bishop of Ephesus, Polycratus, around the year 190, in a letter sent to the Bishop of Rome, Vittore. A few years later, there is the Dialogue, a text in which Roman presbyter, Gaius, discusses the theses of Proclus, representative of a Montanist heresy rooted in Frigia. While Gaius indicates the “trophies” of Peter and Paul, founders of the church of Rome, Proclus refers to the graves of Philip and his prophet daughters, in Hierapolis. Numerous other sources connect the city of Frigia to the apostle of Bethsaida in Galilee and anthropological research has discovered a monumental complex built in Philip’s memory.
In 1957, at the moment of the founding of the Italian Archeological Mission in Hierapolis, Paolo Verzone, professor of engineering at the Polytechnic in Turin, brought to light an extraordinary church of octagonal shape, on the eastern hill, outside of the city walls. It was a masterpiece of Byzantine architecture of the 5th century, fruit of the local building traditions in its use of travertine and the refined knowledge of architects from the imperial court of Constantinople. The complex also makes reference to the symbolism of numbers: the eight sides of the central body, the square which surrounds the octagon, triangular courtyards, the chapels of seven sides, make a subtle theological reference. Verzone had identified the octagon as the Martyrion of St. Philip, but he was never able to find the tomb.
In 2001, work began again on the building, and new investigations were also undertaken, with the help of geo-physics. The tomb was searched for under the area of the altar, but without success. At the same time, Giuseppe Scardozzi, a researcher of the National Council of Research (CNR) of the Institute for Archeological and Monument Heritage (IBAM) in Lecce, identified, using satellite images and topographical information, a large processional street which brought pilgrims through the city and to the hill of the Saint.
This year, the Italian Archeological Mission in Hierapolis, with the concession of the Turkish Ministry of Culture, began digging on a plateau, a few meters from the Octagon building. Here, out of an immense mound of rocks and marble, emerged the upper part of a frontespiece in travertine of an enshrined tomb from the Roman age. It was a normal discovery given that the area is a vast necropolis of that period, but around this tomb there were also numerous traces of walls and fragments of Byzantine marble. So the excavations, vigorously coordinated by Piera Caggia (IBAM-CNR), brought to light a large basilica with three naves: there are remains of marble columns with refined decorations from the 5th century, crosses, vegetable branches, decorations with stylized palms inside the niches. The pavement of the central nave is made with marble inlays of geometric shapes and a variety of colors. On the frame of a lintel in marble, the monogram of Theodosius is legible, probably a reference to the Byzantine Emperor.
Archeological research now allows us to combine years of investigation into a coherent mosaic. The tomb of St. Philip is the fulcrum around which the buildings of this extraordinary sanctuary were built, in the 5th and 6th centuries, in the river valley of Lykos in Turkey, in front of Colossus, celebrated for St. Paul letter and Laodicea, one of the seven churches of the Apocalypse.
Francesco D’Andria, University of Salento
August 3, 2011St. Patrick’s Church, Fermoy, Co. Cork
Readers will be glad to hear that St. Patrick’s, Fermoy, celebrates its bicentenary this year and, somewhat unexpectedly, will be interested to know that it has gained a national significance status in the published architectural inventory of Cork.
Praxiteles has been most fortunate to have been sent some photographs of the interior of this church allowing us to see why the atomization of Seamus Murphy’s pulpit must be condemned as the single most appalling act of iconoclastic vandalism practiced in Cork by the Janisseries of a misconstrued Vatican II.
The first photograph shows a ceremony of confirmation which took place at the latest in 1955 or certainly before 1956. The photograph shows the sanctuary with its High Altar intact and the Murphy pulpit fixed to the praedella of the sanctuary:
http://i1187.photobucket.com/albums/z399/Argentum3/Varia/StPatricksFermoyc1955.jpg
The second photograph shows the same ceremony taken from the South gallery, again showing the pulpit at closer range:
http://i1187.photobucket.com/albums/z399/Argentum3/Varia/StPatricksfermoySeamusMurphyspulpit3.jpg
The third photograph shows a close up of the pulpit:
http://i1187.photobucket.com/albums/z399/Argentum3/Varia/StPatricksFermoySeamusMurphyspulpit.jpg
The fourth photograph shows the sanctuary on the very eve of its destruction in the early 1970s with a Volksaltar already installed:
http://i1187.photobucket.com/albums/z399/Argentum3/Varia/StPatricksFermoySeamusMurphyspulpit4.jpg
@Praxiteles wrote:
No replies these and a few other questions.
Poor Brian may have a untimely bout of lockjaw.
Glad to see that he has not got lockjaw!
@brianq wrote:
The alternative is to commission me to bring them all into line with the mandates of Vatican 2
Just which “mandates of Vatican 2” are we talking about?
From the Journal of Sacred Architecture:
On aesthetics
http://www.sacredarchitecture.org/articles/melodious_beauty_in_art/
