Reimagining Jerusalem’s Architectural Identities in the Later Middle Ages 9789004525894, 9004525890

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Reimagining Jerusalem’s Architectural Identities in the Later Middle Ages

Visualising the Middle Ages General Editors Catherine Harding (University of Victoria) Diane Wolfthal (Rice University) Editorial Board Jelena Bogdanović (Vanderbilt University) Katrin Kogman-​Appel (University of Münster) Sherry Lindquist (Western Illinois University) Jessica N. Richardson (University of York)

volume 14

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/​vma

Reimagining Jerusalem’s Architectural Identities in the Later Middle Ages By

Cathleen A. Fleck

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustration: The Dome of the Rock, Glass Beaker with gold and enamel painting, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.17, c. 1260. © The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Fleck, Cathleen A., author. Title: Reimagining Jerusalem’s architectural identities in the later Middle Ages / by Cathleen A. Fleck. Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, [2023] | Series: Visualising the Middle Ages, 1874-0448 ; volume 14 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022034510 (print) | LCCN 2022034511 (ebook) | ISBN 9789004523081 (hardback) | ISBN 9789004525894 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Jerusalem–In art. | Architecture in art. | Art, Medieval– Themes, motives. | Jerusalem–In Christianity. | Jerusalem–In Islam. Classification: LCC N8214. 5.J4 F59 2023 (print) | LCC N8214. 5.J4 (ebook) | DDC 704.9/44569442–dc23/eng/20220727 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022034510 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022034511

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill.” See and download: brill.com/​brill-​typeface. issn 1874-​0 448 isbn 978-​9 0-​0 4-​5 2308-​1 (hardback) isbn 978-​9 0-​0 4-​5 2589-​4 (e-​book) Copyright 2023 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill nv incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Hotei, Brill Schöningh, Brill Fink, Brill mentis, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau, V&R unipress and Wageningen Academic. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Requests for re-​use and/​or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill nv via brill.com or copyright.com. This book is printed on acid-​free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents  Acknowledgments ix  Notes on Transcriptions and Dates x  List of Figures xi  Introduction 1  Intro.1. Backdrop: A Short History of Jerusalem 5  Intro.2. Chapter Outline 7  Intro.3. Methodologies 9 Jerusalem in Relief 1  A Crusader Pilaster Reexamined 15 1.1  The Pilaster and Its Jerusalem Scenes 17 1.1.1  The Church of the Holy Sepulcher 19 1.1.2  The Dome of the Rock 23 1.1.3  The Tower of David and ‘Curia Regis’ 27 1.2  A Context of Production 29 1.2.1  The Temple Mount Setting in Jerusalem 45 1.2.2  A Royal Display 49 1.3  Conclusions 57 Jerusalem as a Guide for Personal Deliverance 2  The Riccardiana Psalter in the Thirteenth Century 60 2.1  The Issues of the Riccardiana Psalter 61 2.2  The Visual Content, Iconography, and Style 71 2.2.1  The Annunciation and Nativity at Psalm 1 73 2.2.2  The Adoration of the Magi at Psalm 26 82 2.2.3  The Presentation in the Temple at Psalm 38 83 2.2.4  The Entry of Christ into Jerusalem at Psalm 52 86 2.2.5  The Last Supper and Washing of the Apostles’ Feet at Psalm 68 88 2.2.6  The Harrowing of Hell and Three Marys at the Tomb at Psalm 80 92 2.2.7  The Ascension at Psalm 97 99 2.2.8  The Pentecost at Psalm 109 100 2.3  The Place of Production 103 2.4  A Devotional Prayer Book 109 2.5  Conclusions 117

vi Contents 3  Jerusalem on Souvenir Glass Beakers and Cross-​Cultural Exchange 123 3.1  The Architecture on the Beakers 128 3.1.1  The Large Beaker 128 3.1.1.1  The Dome of the Rock 129 3.1.1.2  The Church of the Holy Sepulcher 131 3.1.2  The Small Beaker 135 3.1.2.1  The Golden Gate 135 3.1.2.2  The Church of the Ascension 139 3.2  The Figures on the Beakers 141 3.3  Palm Sunday Liturgy in Jerusalem and the Beakers 151 3.4  The Material, Context, and Inscriptions 158 3.5  Conclusions 167 A Multicultural View of Jerusalem on the Freer Canteen 176 4  4.1  “Islamic” Metalware in the Thirteenth Century: Material, Imagery, and Form 176 4.2  The Imagery on the Canteen’s Obverse Side 187 4.2.1  The Virgin and Child 187 4.2.2  The Christological Scenes 194 4.2.2.1  The Nativity in Bethlehem—​and Jerusalem: The Grotto in the Church of the Nativity and Cradle of Jesus 195 4.2.2.2  The Presentation in the Temple: The Temple as Conflation of the Dome of the Rock and Church of the Holy Sepulcher 206 4.2.2.3  The Entry into Jerusalem: Palm Sunday Liturgy and the Golden Gate 223 4.2.2.4  The Combination of Scenes on the Obverse: A Christological Focus 227 4.3  The Canteen’s Reverse: Sacred and Secular Models 230 4.4  The Canteen’s Inscriptions 233 4.5  Conclusions 235 Jerusalem and King Solomon in the Clement Bible 5  The Promotion of Robert i of Naples as Symbolic King of Jerusalem in the Fourteenth Century 242 5.1  A Description of the Clement Bible 243 5.1.1  The Temple of Jerusalem in the Clement Bible 249 5.2  Naples and the Holy Land: Related Scenes in the Clement Bible 252 5.2.1  The Related Anjou Bible and Jerusalem 265

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5.3  The Clement Bible and the Discourse on Rome and Jerusalem 273 5.4  King Robert i and Crusades 277 5.5  Conclusions 281 Jerusalem as a Symbol of Islamic Identity 6  The Holy City Displayed in Mamluk Cairo 287 6.1  The Jerusalem Theme on the Pilaster in Mamluk Cairo 290 6.1.1  The Dome of the Rock 293 6.1.2  The Tower of David 296 6.1.3  The Church of the Holy Sepulcher 299 6.2  The Jerusalemite Pilaster as Spolia 303 6.3  The Pilaster’s Setting in Mamluk Cairo 309 6.3.1  The Visual Evidence of the Portal in Cairo 315 6.4  Sultan Hasan’s Complex and the Black Death 319 6.5  Hasan’s Motivations for the Complex and the Use of the Jerusalemite Pilaster 328 6.6  Conclusions 336  Conclusions 339  Bibliography 345  Index 394

Acknowledgments My debts of gratitude are great to the myriad scholars who came before me in writing about the fascinating, complicated city of Jerusalem. Although there are too many to mention here, I attempt throughout the book to explain how I understood them and relied on them for my own interpretations to follow. I thank Saint Louis University for its grant support for photographs, travel, and research. I send my appreciation to the staff of the institutions where my research was primarily carried out in Saint Louis, Jerusalem, London, Rome, Naples, Cairo, Baltimore, Washington, D.C., and Florence. I would like to thank all of my colleagues (especially Linda Safran for her wonderful editing skills) and friends who gave me advice, photographs, and encouragement in the process of my research and writing. Finally, I thank my husband and my family for their unconditional support as I traveled for, researched, and wrote this book.

Notes on Transcriptions and Dates For the sake of clarity, I have presented translations of foreign language texts in English in my text, noting the source of the translation as my own or of another scholar plus the original text when available in the footnotes. For Arabic names and common words in particular, I follow the standard of the International Journal of Middle East Studies. I have simplified by presenting Romanized words to reproduce the sound of the words according to the orthography rules of English, typically without diacritical or accent signs (except in publication titles that included them), although I do include the letter hamza (ʾ) and the consonant ayn (ʿ) as a sign of a glottal stop. I have omitted the terminal h (for instance madrasa versus madrasah). I italicize and define less familiar foreign words (such as israʾ) though not words more well-​known in English (Qurʾan) according to Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary. For convenience, false English plurals ending in ‘s’ have been used. Place names are typically written in their common English forms. Also for the sake of consistency and simplicity, the dates of Muslim individuals and related events are indicated in years corresponding to the Gregorian calendar of the Common Era (ce) as opposed to the date of the hijra (A.H.), the prophet Muhammad’s journey from Mecca to Medina in 622. I have provided relevant dates for each event, individual, or dynasty named in the book at the first appearance in the book.

Figures P.1  Map of Jerusalem, indicating select medieval sites discussed in the book. Schematic and not to scale. Courtesy of Dennis L. Barbour xviii Jerusalemite pilaster, c. 1160–​87, to right of main portal in façade of Complex of 1.1  Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 16 1.2  Main portal and façade, Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 18 1.3  Detail of top frame with Holy Sepulcher, Jerusalemite pilaster, c. 1160–​87, in façade of Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 20 1.4  Map of Jerusalem, Cambrai, Médiathèque de Cambrai, ms 466, fol. 1r, c. 1170. © Le Labo (cliché cnrs/​i rht) 22 1.5  Detail of middle frame with Dome of the Rock, Jerusalemite pilaster, c. 1160–​87, in façade of Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 24 1.6  Dome of the Rock, al-​Haram al-​Sharif, Jerusalem, c. 692. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2010 25 1.7  Detail of bottom frame with Tower and Gate of David and curia regis, Jerusalemite pilaster, c. 1160–​87, in façade of Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 26 1.8  Bishop’s Palace, Parma, thirteenth century. Courtesy of Areli Marina 29 1.9  Pilaster, c. 1160–​87, to left of main portal in façade of Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 31 1.10  Dikka, with twelfth-​century side panels, al-​Aqsa Mosque, al-​Haram al-​Sharif, Jerusalem. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2018 33 1.11  Mihrab, lower level of Dome of the Rock, al-​Haram al-​Sharif, Jerusalem, partially from twelfth century. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2018 34 1.12  Mihrab of Zakariyya, al-​Aqsa Mosque, al-​Haram al-​Sharif, Jerusalem, partially from twelfth century. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2018 34 1.13  Main portal, al-​Aqsa Mosque, al-​Haram al-​Sharif, Jerusalem, partially from twelfth century. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2018 35 1.14  Mihrab of Umar with braided columns, al-​Aqsa Mosque, Jerusalem, partially from twelfth century. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2018 36 1.15  Façade, Saint Sophia in Nicosia, Cyprus, thirteenth century. Courtesy of Lisa Mahoney 37 1.16  Façade, Saint-​Gilles-​du-​Gard, France, twelfth century. Courtesy of Dorothy F. Glass 40 1.17  Right Tympanum, Façade, Saint-​Gilles-​du-​Gard, France, twelfth century. Courtesy of Dorothy F. Glass 40

xii Figures 1.18  Capital, Cloister, Cathedral of Monreale, Italy, late twelfth century. Courtesy of John Finch 42 1.19  Left jamb, Main Portal, Detail of scrolling ivy and Old Testament prophets, San Geminiano, Cathedral of Modena, Italy, twelfth century. Courtesy of Allan T. Kohl/​Minneapolis College of Art and Design 42 1.20  Portal, Sant’Andrea, Barletta, Italy, twelfth-​thirteenth century. Courtesy of Dorothy F. Glass 47 1.21  Representation of the Templum Domini, Tower of David, and Anastasis Rotunda, Imprint from Seal of John of Brienne, Munich, Staatliche Münzsammlung, Pos. Nr. 10/​153 i 4, c. 1115. © Staatliche Münzsammlung, Munich 52 1.22  Death of King Baldwin i and Coronation of King Baldwin ii, William of Tyre’s Histoire d’Outremer, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, ms w.142, fol. 102r, fourteenth century. © The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore 55 2.1  The Annunciation, Nativity, Annunciation to the Shepherds, and Washing of the Christ Child with Prophets, Ps. 1, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, f. 15v, c. 1225–​35. © Biblioteca Riccardiana 62 2.2  The Adoration of the Magi, Ps. 26, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, f. 36r, c. 1225–​35. © Biblioteca Riccardiana 63 2.3  The Presentation in the Temple, Ps. 38, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, f. 49v, c. 1225–​35. © Biblioteca Riccardiana 63 2.4  Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, Ps. 52, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, fol. 62r, c. 1225–​35. © Biblioteca Riccardiana 64 2.5  The Last Supper and Washing of the Feet, Ps. 68, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, f. 75r, c. 1225–​35. © Biblioteca Riccardiana 64 2.6  Christ’s Descent into and Rising from Hell and the Women at the Tomb, Ps. 80, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, fol. 90v, c. 1225–​35. © Biblioteca Riccardiana 65 2.7  The Ascension, Ps. 97, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, f. 105v, c. 1225–​35. © Biblioteca Riccardiana 65 2.8  The Pentecost, Ps. 109, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, f. 121v. c. 1225–​35. © Biblioteca Riccardiana 66 2.9  Prayers “Pro abbatissa” and “Pro conservanda virginitate” (right column), Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, fol. 174r, thirteenth century. © Biblioteca Riccardiana 69 2.10  Inscription by “Suor Margharita dasschorno,” Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, fol. 175v, fourteenth-​fifteenth century. © Biblioteca Riccardiana 72

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2.11  Initial with Dragon form, Sacramentary, Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional, ms 52, f. 76r, late twelfth century. © Biblioteca Nacional de España 75 2.12  Virgin and Child, Sacramentary, Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional, ms 52, f. 80r, late twelfth/​early thirteenth century. © Biblioteca Nacional de España 76 Fragment of Nativity of Christ mosaics, lower level, Church of the Nativity, 2.13  Bethlehem, twelfth century. Courtesy of Michele Bacci 78 2.14  Grotto, lower level, Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem, with twelfth-​century mosaics. Courtesy of Michele Bacci 79 2.15  Nativity of Christ, The Melisende Psalter, London, British Library, ms Egerton 1139, fol. 5r, c. 1135. © British Library Board ms Egerton 1139 80 2.16  Initial with Washing of the Christ Child, Gospelbook, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 227, f. 9r, late twelfth/​early thirteenth century. © Biblioteca Riccardiana 81 2.17  Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, The Melisende Psalter, London, British Library, ms Egerton 1139, fol. 5v, c. 1135. © British Library Board ms Egerton 1139 88 2.18  South Portal and Tower, Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Jerusalem, mid-​twelfth century. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2010 88 2.19  Last Supper, Ivory relief panel, The Walters Art Museum, object 71.483, late eleventh century. © The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore 89 2.20  Women at the Empty Tomb mosaics, north wall of transept, Cathedral of Monreale, Italy, twelfth century. © Manuel Cohen 93 2.21  Anastasis and Women at Empty Tomb, The Melisende Psalter, London, British Library, ms Egerton 1139, fol. 9v–​10r, c. 1135. © British Library Board ms Egerton 1139 94 2.22  Pentecost, The Melisende Psalter, London, British Library, ms Egerton 1139, fol. 11v, c. 1135. © British Library Board ms Egerton 1139 102 3.1  Pair of Glass Beakers with gold and enamel painting, showing scenes of Jerusalem, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.18 (left, with Christ on ass) and no. 47.17 (right, with Church of Holy Sepulcher), c. 1260. © The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore 124 3.2  Man with hood and short cape over a tunic, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.17, c. 1260. © The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore 125 3.3  Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.17, c. 1260. © The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore 125 3.4  Man with long grey cloak, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.17, c. 1260. © The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore 125 3.5  Dome of the Rock, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.17, c. 1260. © The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore 125 3.6  Aedicule of the Ascension Church, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.18, c. 1260. © The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore 126

xiv Figures 3.7  Christ on an ass, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.18, c. 1260. © The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore 126 3.8  Golden Gate, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.18, c. 1260. © The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore 126 Standing figure with bordered cape, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 3.9  no. 47.18, c. 1260. © The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore 126 3.10  Holy Sepulcher interior (with Christ appearing to Peter the Hermit), William of Tyre’s Histoire d’Outremer, Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, ms fr. 9084, fol. 1r, from Acre, late thirteenth century. © Bibliothèque nationale, Paris 133 3.11  Christian Sarcophagus of Julia Latronilla with strigillated pattern, now in Jerusalem, Bible Lands Museum, No. 1057, c. 330–​40. © Bible Lands Museum, Jerusalem 134 3.12  Three Marys at Empty Tomb of Christ, St. Albans Psalter, Hildesheim, Dombibliothek, ms St. Godehard 1, page 50, c. 1123–​35. © Basilica of St. Godehard, Hildesheim 134 3.13  Golden Gate from exterior, Jerusalem. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2018 137 3.14  Entry of Christ into Jerusalem, Syriac Jacobite Lectionary, Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms sir. 559, fol. 105r, c. 1219–​20. © [2022] Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana 138 3.15  Aedicule of the Ascension Church, Mount of Olives, Jerusalem, twelfth century with later renovations. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2018 140 3.16  Entry of Christ into Jerusalem, Haghbat Gospelbook, Yerevan, Matenadaran Mashtots Institute of Ancient Manuscripts, ms 6288, page 16b, bef. 1211. © Yerevan, Matenadaran Mashtots Institute of Ancient Manuscripts 143 3.17  Debate between Latin and Eastern Christians, Council of Nicaea, William of Tyre’s Histoire d’Outremer, Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, ms fr. 9084, fol. 31v, from Acre, late thirteenth century. © Bibliothèque nationale, Paris 148 4.1  Front (obverse) side of Freer Canteen, with Virgin and Child surrounded by scenes of life of Christ, Washington, D.C., Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10, c. 1260. © Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.: Purchase Charles Lang Freer Endowment 177 4.2  Back (reverse) side of the Freer Canteen, with standing saints, prophets, and ecclesiastics (exterior band) and mounted soldiers (internal band), Washington, D.C., Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10, c. 1260. © Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.: Purchase Charles Lang Freer Endowment 178 4.3  Detail of Virgin and Child, Front (obverse) side of Freer Canteen, Washington, D.C., Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10, c. 1260. © Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.: Purchase Charles Lang Freer Endowment 179

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4.4  Detail of Nativity of Christ, Washing of Christ Child, and Visitation of the Magi, Freer Canteen (Top right of front (obverse) side), Washington, D.C., Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10, c. 1260. © Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.: Purchase Charles Lang Freer Endowment 180 Detail of Presentation of Christ in the Temple, Freer Canteen (Top left of front 4.5  (obverse) side), Washington, D.C., Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10, c. 1260. © Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.: Purchase Charles Lang Freer Endowment 180 4.6  Detail of Entry of Christ into Jerusalem, Freer Canteen (Bottom center of front (obverse) side), Washington, D.C., Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10, c. 1260. © Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.: Purchase Charles Lang Freer Endowment 181 4.7  Detail of side, Freer Canteen, Washington, D.C., Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10, c. 1260. © Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.: Purchase Charles Lang Freer Endowment 181 4.8  Flabellum for Deir al-​Surian Monastery (Egypt) with Virgin and Child, made in Mosul (Iraq), now in Morlanwelz, Belgium, Musée Royal de Mariemont, thirteenth century. © Musée Royal de Mariemont 190 4.9  Enthroned Virgin and Child, Vatican City, Biblioteca Vaticana, ms sir. 559, fol. 17r, c. 1219–​20. © [2022] Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana 191 4.10  Nativity of Christ, Syriac Lectionary, London, British Library, ms Add. 7170, fol. 21r, c. 1220. © The British Library Board ms Add. 7170 198 4.11  Nativity of Christ, Syriac Lectionary, Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms sir. 559, fol. 16r, c. 1219–​20. © [2022] Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana 199 4.12  Cradle of Jesus/​Mahd Issa, in Marwani Musalla, below al-​Aqsa Mosque, southeast corner of al-​Haram al-​Sharif, Jerusalem/​Al-​Quds. © [2006] Said Nuseibeh Photographer. All rights reserved. 202 4.13  Presentation of Christ in the Temple (detail upper right), Scenes from Luke, Paris, Bibliothèque de Fels, Institut Catholique, ms Copte-​Arabe 1, fol. 109v, c. 1250. © Bibliothèque de Fels 208 4.14  Presentation of Christ in the Temple mosaics, Cappella Palatina, Sicily (Italy), c. 1140–​70. Courtesy of Web Gallery of Art 210 4.15  Presentation of Christ in the Temple, Syriac Lectionary, Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms sir. 559, fol. 48v, c. 1219–​20. © [2022] Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana 211 4.16  Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Hospitaller Seal (obverse) of Grandmaster Garin de Montaigu (1207–​28), London, Museum of the Order of St John. © Museum of the Order of St John, London 214

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xvi Figures 4.17  Grandmaster and double-​armed cross, Hospitaller Seal (reverse) of Grandmaster Garin de Montaigu (1207–​28), London, Museum of the Order of St. John. © Museum of the Order of St John, London 215 4.18  Entry of Christ into Jerusalem mosaics, Church of the Nativity, south transept, Bethlehem, twelfth century. Courtesy Michele Bacci 224 Entry of Christ into Jerusalem, Syriac Lectionary, London, British Library, ms 4.19  Add. 7170, fol. 115r, c. 1220. © The British Library Board ms Add. 7170 225 5.1  Vessels returned to Temple and Hebrew people return to Jerusalem (with coat of arms of Pope Clement vii), i Esdras, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 164r, c. 1330–​34. © The British Library Board ms Add. 47672 244 5.2  Esdras leads Hebrew people from Babylon to Jerusalem and reads from law at Temple, i Esdras, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 173r, c. 1330–​34. © The British Library Board ms Add. 47672 244 5.3  Daniel in the Lion’s Den, Daniel, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 333v, c. 1330–​34. © The British Library Board ms Add. 47672 245 5.4  Nativity of Christ, Luke, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 398r, c. 1330–​34. © The British Library Board ms Add. 47672 245 5.5  John and Peter heal a lame man before Temple of Jerusalem, Acts of Apostles, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 449r, c. 1330–​34. © The British Library Board ms Add. 47672 246 5.6  Scenes with Apocalyptic woman and beast from the sea, Revelation, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 470v, c. 1330–​34. © The British Library Board ms Add. 47672 246 5.7  Celestial Jerusalem, Revelation, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 473r, c. 1330–​34. © The British Library Board ms Add. 47672 247 5.8  Pantheon, Rome, 1st c. bce–​c. 125 ce, in print by Étienne DuPérac, 1575. © Bibliotheca Hertziana—​Max-​Planck-​Institut für Kunstgeschichte, Rome 250 5.9  “Ytalia” fresco of Evangelist Mark, San Francesco at Assisi, upper church, in crossing vault, by Cimabue, c. 1280s. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons 251 5.10  Presentation of Christ in the Temple and Christ among doctors in the Temple, Luke, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 398v, c. 1330–​ 34. © The British Library Board ms Add. 47672 252 5.11  Solomon anointed as king and building new Temple, iii Kings, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 117v, c. 1330–​34. © The British Library Board ms Add. 47672 254

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5.12  Solomon and priests taking holy vessels into new Temple, ii Chronicles, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 150v, c. 1330–​34. © The British Library Board ms Add. 47672 254 5.13  Last Supper, John, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 415v, c. 1330–​34. © The British Library Board ms Add. 47672 257 5.14  Washing of Apostles’ Feet, John, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 416r, c. 1330–​34. © The British Library Board ms Add. 47672 257 5.15  Enthroned Robert i of Naples with Virtues and Vices, Frontispiece, Anjou Bible, fol. 3v, Leuven, ku Leuven Libraries, Maurits Sabbe Library, gbib gsm Cod. 1, c. 1340–​43. © ku Leuven Libraries Maurits Sabbe Library (Belgium) 266 5.16  Angevin Family Tree, Frontispiece, Anjou Bible, fol. 4r, Leuven, ku Leuven Libraries, Maurits Sabbe Library, gbib gsm Cod. 1, c. 1340–​43. © ku Leuven Libraries Maurits Sabbe Library (Belgium) 267 5.17  Initial representing Solomon (as King Robert i), Ecclesiastes, Anjou Bible, fol. 157v, Leuven, ku Leuven Libraries, Maurits Sabbe Library, gbib gsm Cod. 1, c. 1340–​43. © ku Leuven Libraries Maurits Sabbe Library (Belgium) 272 5.18  Defeat of Babylon, Revelation, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 472r, c. 1330–​34. © The British Library Board ms Add. 47672 274 6.1  Jerusalemite pilaster, Main portal, Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 288 6.2  Main portal, Mosque-​madrasa-​mausoleum of Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad, Cairo, 1295–​1303. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 305 6.3  Mosque iwan, Mihrab and qibla wall, Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​ 63. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 308 6.4  Courtyard towards the mosque iwan, Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​ 63. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 308 6.5  View east towards the Citadel from the Jerusalemite pilaster in the portal of the Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 316 6.6  View west from the western side of Citadel towards the Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 317 6.7  Spolia insertions to sides of main portal, Interior, Mosque-​khanqah of Amir Shaykhu, Cairo, 1355–​56. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 324 6.8  Spolia lower lintel in main portal, Khanqah-​mausoleum of Sultan Baybars ii, Cairo, 1307–​10. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 324 6.9  Façade, Manjakiyya, Western edge of al-​Haram al-​Sharif, Jerusalem, c. 1361. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 334 6.10  View east from the Manjakiyya towards the Dome of the Rock, al-​Haram al-​ Sharif, Jerusalem. Cathleen A. Fleck, 2011 334

Figure P.1 Map of Jerusalem, indicating select medieval sites discussed in the book. Schematic and not to scale. Courtesy of Dennis L. Barbour

Introduction The city is redundant: it repeats itself so that something will stick in the mind.1 Between each idea and each point of the itinerary an affinity or a contrast can be established, serving as an immediate aid to memory.2 —​i talo calvino

∵ These two statements about mythical cities that Marco Polo (1254–​1324) visited in Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities allude to interrelated concepts that this book examines about the perception of medieval Jerusalem, a city sacred to the three Abrahamic religions of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. In six case studies to follow of works in a range of media, I show how the repetition of certain images across cultures led the holy city to “stick in the mind” of medieval artists, patrons, and viewers and how affinities and contrasts aided that process. Conjuring memories of Jerusalem involved will and thought, as well as texts and images, and a key part of this practice was reimagining.3 Relevant to “sticking” the city’s meanings was the oppositional, emotional nature of this place sacred to three faiths.4 People claimed some sites, creating “affinity,” and spurned others, establishing “contrast,” based on strong sentiments inspired by their religious perspectives and their faith’s symbolic or actual struggle to possess the city. The art of memory is an inventive function that creates and uses artifacts such as architecture as a framework for its process; building, destroying, 1 Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities, trans. William Weaver, A Harvest Book (Orlando, Austin, New York, San Diego, Toronto, and London: Harcourt, Inc., 1974), 19. 2 Ibid., 15–​16. 3 Mary Carruthers and Jan M. Ziolkowski, “General Introduction,” in The Medieval Craft of Memory: An Anthology of Texts and Pictures, eds. Mary Carruthers and Jan M. Ziolkowski (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002), 1–​3, 11. 4 See Oleg Grabar and Benjamin Z. Kedar, eds., Where Heaven and Earth Meet: Jerusalem’s Sacred Esplanade (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2009), 9–​13. On emotion and memory, see Carruthers and Ziolkowski, “General Introduction,” 8–​9.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | DOI:10.1163/9789004525894_002

2 Introduction or possessing monuments that honored holy people or events were ways to remember and stake a claim to Jerusalem’s landscape and thus to its past, present, and future.5 Representing or alluding to Jerusalem buildings in either narrative or symbolic images conveyed these claims.6 This book examines how and why six medieval artworks reimagined key monuments in Jerusalem: as religious and political instruments to express power over the city; to persuade others to attain the city; to console the devoted for its loss; to provide spiritual guidance; to protect the viewer; or to convey the mythic history of this holy place. Jerusalem’s architectural history spans millenia. The historical and cultural focus of this book is on Christian and Muslim understandings of the city and its buildings in the period from c. 1187 to 1356. I chose this period because the shifting control of this region over those two centuries reified the city’s importance to Christians and Muslims in ways that endure today. Such political volatility created complicated alliances and intensified the meanings of the city’s buildings as medieval Christian and Islamic individuals and communities interacted in the region. This vacillation of the city’s control in this period underpins my approach, which does not present any group or trend as static but rather as a component of a dynamic and multi-​faceted story.7 The book thus aims to complicate the issues of how the European crusaders, local Eastern Christian groups, and diverse Muslim factions fought over and displayed the city, creating affinities and contrasts with Jerusalem to secure its image in their memories.8 The representations of Jerusalem buildings on the works discussed here relate to one another in several ways. First, I focus on buildings that are central in the holy city and meaningful to Christians and Muslims: the Dome of the Rock, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and the Tower of David (see Map of Jerusalem). Architectural details or narrative settings in the artworks made the 5 Carruthers and Ziolkowski, “General Introduction,” 2–​3. See also Robert Ousterhout, “The Memory of Jerusalem: Text, Architecture, and the Craft of Thought,” in Jerusalem as Narrative Space. Erzählraum Jerusalem, eds. Annette Hoffmann and Gerhard Wolf, Visualising the Middle Ages, vol. 6 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2012), 139–​154. 6 On architecture as a cue for memory, see Ousterhout, “Memory of Jerusalem,” 143–​144. 7 For a succinct overview of the dynamic political and religious Levantine environment at the time, see Susanna A. Throop, The Crusades: An Epitome, eds. Tim Barnwell and Kıvılcım Yavuz, Epitomes (Leeds: Kismet Press, 2018), 14–​30. 8 While the manner that the crusader narrative became politicized within imperialist and colonial discourse of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries had a profound influence on modern scholarship, this book will not address that history specifically. See Jonathan Riley-​ Smith, The Crusades, Christianity, and Islam (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008).

Introduction

3

identities of the buildings clear, which was not always the case in idealized or generic images of the city. In addition to a few other buildings in Jerusalem and Bethlehem, these structures marked places that had special religious or political significance in the ancient past and the medieval present to a range of Roman Catholic, Eastern Christian, and Muslim visitors, inhabitants, and rulers from broad geographical origins.9 A second point is that the works under discussion were closely tied to the Levant in terms of their place of production, imagery, liturgical references, or possible owners or patrons.10 They all reflected on and responded to the religious and geo-​political powers and tensions associated with Jerusalem in the tumultuous Middle Ages.11 In this way, they were important mirrors for the larger historical issues in the Levant. Another essential trait of the artworks treated in this book is that they are not Jerusalem illustrations in historical chronicles or pilgrims’ maps.12 I rely on

9 10

11

12

Compare Grabar and Kedar, Where Heaven and Earth Meet, 9–​13 and Robin Griffith-​Jones and Eric Fernie, eds., Tomb and Temple: Re-​imagining the Sacred Buildings of Jerusalem (Woodbridge, NY: The Boydell Press, 2018). I am using the term “Levant” as a geographical term here to refer to the lands of the eastern Mediterranean, including modern Cyprus, Egypt, Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Israel, Jordan, Palestine, and Turkey. I use the term throughout the book to avoid explicit biblical and political associations, being aware of the changing historical conception of the term as proposed by the editors of the Journal of Levantine Studies. The journal is part of a trend that seeks to “reclaim the Levant as a historical and political concept and as a category of identity and classification,” Anat Lapidot-​Firilla, “Editor’s Note,” Journal of Levantine Studies 1, no. 1 (2011): 6 and in “About jls,” The Van Leer Jerusalem Institute, https://​levant​ ine-​jour​nal.org/​about-​jls/​, accessed 2 March 2022. Jewish Hebrew manuscripts and art did also depict the city of Jerusalem across time, though I choose not to include them in this study because Jews were not in political control of the holy city at any time from 1187 to 1356. On Jewish concern for the city in the later Middle Ages, see Barbara Drake Boehm and Melanie Holcomb, “Experiencing Sacred Art in Jerusalem,” in Jerusalem. 1000–​1400. Every People under Heaven, eds. Barbara Drake Boehm and Melanie Holcomb (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2016), 126–​128 and Miryam Rosen-​Ayalon, “Three Perspectives on Jerusalem: Jewish, Christian and Muslim pilgrims in the Twelfth century,” in Jerusalem: its sanctity and centrality to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, ed. Lee I. Levine (New York: Continuum International Publishing Group, 1999), 326–​346. Compare Hanna Vorholt, “Studying with Maps: Jerusalem and the Holy Land in Two Thirteenth-​Century Manuscripts,” in Imagining Jerusalem in the Medieval West, eds. Lucy Donkin and Hanna Vorholt, Proceedings of the British Academy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 163–​199 and Pnina Arad, “Mapping Divinity: Holy Landscape in Maps of the Holy Land,” in Jerusalem as Narrative Space. Erzählraum Jerusalem, eds. Annette Hoffmann and Gerhard Wolf, Visualising the Middle Ages, vol. 6 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2012), 263–​276.

4 Introduction such materials to identify buildings and to draw comparisons, but such specific illustrations have their own varying issues and manner of differentiating between real and ideal.13 For example, a cartographic image in a Muslim pilgrimage certificate (ʿumra) is intriguing, but this legal document that certifies a person’s voyage to Mecca, Medina, and Jerusalem does not fit my aim here.14 Instead, the images discussed here are in narrative scenes or cityscapes that exemplified ideas beyond the geographical data. They display iconographical particulars, physical settings, geographical origins, liturgies, or historical contexts that expose these scenes as symbolic manipulations that are meant to convey a perception of the holy city as a backdrop to a greater story. The objects I discuss often had religious meanings, but the precise Christian or Muslim traditions that they reflect are sometimes ambivalent. Christian artworks that represent sites in Jerusalem are abundant, as discussed in Chapters 1, 2, and 5. The city does not appear as often in an unambiguously Islamic artwork. Jerusalem is a destination in some manuscripts that convey Islamic traditions, as in the case of Muhammad’s night journey (israʾ) to Jerusalem.15 One Book of Ascension, made in Tabriz (Iran) c. 1317–​35 for an Ilkhanid Mongol Muslim patron, depicts Gabriel offering a vision of Jerusalem to Muhammad.16 While such an illustration demonstrates the city’s perceived importance in the prophet’s life, its deliberate proffering does not have the same valence, the sense of symbolic backdrop present in the scenes that I discuss. Nevertheless, the artworks analyzed in Chapters 3, 4, and 6 are tied to Muslim cultures and do explore Muslim conceptions of Jerusalem and Bethlehem sites. A final characteristic that unites these works is that they are all informative about the dynamism of medieval Jerusalem. They convey ideas about the city’s sanctity as it was embodied in the same few sites in different ways over time. In combination with the likely function of each work, I consider the represented 13

See Bianca Kühnel, “The Use and Abuse of Jerusalem,” in Jewish Art (The Real and Ideal Jerusalem in Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Art: Studies in Honor of Bezalel Narkiss on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday), ed. Bianca Kühnel (Jerusalem: Center for Jewish Art, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1997/​1998), xxii. 14 On an ʿumra certificate dated 1433 (Doha, Museum of Islamic Art, ms 267.1998), see Mounia Chekhab-​ Abudaya in Barbara Drake Boehm and Melanie Holcomb, eds., Jerusalem. 1000–​1400. Every People under Heaven (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2016), 53–​54. 15 On Paths of Paradise of al-​Saraʾi, c. 1466, from various collections, see catalog entry of Christiane Gruber, in ibid., 295–​298. 16 Istanbul, Topkapı Sarayı Museum Library, Hazine 2154, fol. 107r, see Boehm and Holcomb, eds., Jerusalem. 1000–​1400, 85 (fig. 40), 296. See also Christiane J. Gruber, The Ilkhanid Book of Ascension: A Persian-​Sunni Devotional Tale (London: Tauris Academic Studies, 2010), 29, 74, pl. 12.

Introduction

5

buildings as a part of a political, religious, and ritualistic network at each site. This book explores how these objects reflected medieval perceptions of Jerusalem not only as a pilgrimage destination, but also as a site of power, ceremony, and liturgy.

Intro.1. Backdrop: A Short History of Jerusalem

Jerusalem and its architecture is clearly present in the holy scriptures of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. In the Hebrew Bible, King David obtained the city from the Jebusites c. 1000 bce with God’s blessing, establishing the key reason for the city’s sacred nature.17 The story of David’s jubilant entry into Jerusalem referred to the city’s initial sacred structural marker: a tent in which he deposited the Ark of the Covenant (2 Samuel 6:14–​17).18 The next architectural sign of Jerusalem’s sanctity was the Jewish Temple on Mount Moriah, first constructed by King David’s son Solomon as an act sanctioned by God to replace the tent (3 Kings 6:11–​13). The Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar invaded and destroyed the Temple in the sixth century bce, also forcing the exile of the Hebrew people to his realm. On their return to Jerusalem decades later, they rebuilt the Temple. Just before Jesus Christ’s time, King Herod i (r. 36–​1 bce) renovated the Temple. This symbol of God’s presence was the touchstone for the Jews’ claim to the city, appearing in art in many media. The Gospels in the Christians’ New Testament refer to the city and Temple repeatedly as the setting for the life of Jesus Christ. The Romans then destroyed it in 70 ce, creating a mournful memory and substantial gap in Jewish culture. Although Jews still insisted on its importance and prayed for it to be rebuilt, the pagan rulers of the Roman Empire and the subsequent Christian leaders of the Byzantine Empire (330–​1453) downplayed the Temple and its site. While the Temple was a symbol of the city’s holiness, the so-​called Tower of David (first–​second century ce) became an ancient testimony to Roman political and military might. 17

18

See Shemaryahu Talmon, “The Signification of Jerusalem in Biblical Thought,” in Jewish Art (The Real and Ideal Jerusalem in Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Art: Studies in Honor of Bezalel Narkiss on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday), ed. Bianca Kühnel (Jerusalem: Center for Jewish Art, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1997/​1998), 1–​12. Throughout the book, biblical references will be to the Christian form of the Bible comprising the Old and New Testaments, and specifically to the Vulgate Douay-​Rheims translation, given its prevalence in medieval culture from which the related objects derive, “Vulgate: The Holy Bible in Latin Language with Douay-​Rheims English Translation,” https://​vulg​ate.org/​.

6 Introduction From the time of the Emperor Constantine i (r. 306–​337) Christians turned their focus to another structure that looms large in this book: the Church of the Holy Sepulcher (begun c. 324). The church and its complex became the main Christian landmark in the city, marking the places of Christ’s death, burial, and resurrection. The holy city and this important building appeared again and again in manuscripts and on pilgrim souvenirs carried all over the expanding Christian world. When the Muslims conquered Jerusalem in 638, the architectural focus turned away from the Holy Sepulcher and back to the Temple Mount, then called the Haram al-​Sharif (or Noble Sanctuary).19 The Umayyad sultan ʿAbd al-​Malik ibn Marwan (or ʿAbd al-​Malik, r. 685–​705) built the third structure emphasized in this book (completed c. 692): the Dome of the Rock (Qubbat al-​Sakhra). Its construction acknowledged the multi-​cultural significance of the mountaintop while staking a claim for Islam.20 The shrine was important as Muhammad’s first qibla (direction of prayer), which soon shifted to Mecca. Sura 17:1 in the Qurʾan notes Muhammad’s miraculous night journey to the “farthest mosque” (called israʾ), identified as being on the Haram al-​Sharif but not specifically indicated in Muslim sacred traditions for several centuries. Muslim leaders supported the maintenance of the Dome of the Rock over the centuries, including the rebuilding of the collapsed dome in 1022–​23. Jerusalem’s shifting political circumstances in the crusader era (1099–​1291) heightened the ambiguities in the meanings of these key buildings. Christian yearnings for the city were rekindled in the minds of European Christians, often called Franks. Late eleventh-​century European Christian leaders had many motivations to conquer Jerusalem; one of them was to gain access to Jerusalem, the city where Christ lived, died, and was resurrected. Some of their first efforts after their conquest of the city in 1099 were to reclaim the Temple Mount as a space associated with Christ’s life. Many mistakenly identified the Dome of the Rock as the Temple of the time of Jesus, calling it the Templum Domini (Temple of the Lord). The Holy Sepulcher and other sites also attracted renewed attention as biblical cult sites and were depicted in art. Despire their enthusiasm, the Franks struggled to keep a foothold in the region, and the

19

20

See Heribert Busse, “The Temple of Jerusalem and its Restitution by ʿAbd al-​Malik b. Marwan,” in Jewish Art (The Real and Ideal Jerusalem in Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Art: Studies in Honor of Bezalel Narkiss on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday), ed. Bianca Kühnel (Jerusalem: Center for Jewish Art, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1997/​ 1998), 23–​25. See Oleg Grabar, The Shape of the Holy: Early Islamic Jerusalem (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), 3–​5.

Introduction

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Muslim Ayyubids (r. 1171–​1260) pushed them out of the holy city in 1187.21 From a new stronghold at Acre on the Mediterranean coast (held until 1291), the Europeans regained partial control of Jerusalem through negotiations with the Ayyubids from 1229 to 1239 and again briefly in 1244. Subsequently, the Ayyubid and then the Mamluk (r. 1250–​1517) dynasties reconstituted Jerusalem as a Sunni Muslim city, and the same buildings continued to be loci for struggles about power and faith. While the Church of the Holy Sepulcher remained Christian, Muslim rulers placed limits on its access and jurisdiction. The Dome of the Rock became an Islamic shrine again and was not ceded to the Christians even when control of other sites relaxed during the ten-​year treaty with Europeans. The Ayyubids nurtured their own ties to the holy city, developing a rhetoric that responded to that of the crusaders and promoting their claim to the region until 1260, when they were succeeded by the Mamluks.22 The Mamluk sultans ruled the region until 1517, but Angevin and Cypriot nobles still asserted the title of King of Jerusalem through the fourteenth century based on familial ties and purchased claims. By the 1350s at the close of this book, the Mamluks saw Jerusalem as a retreat, even a backwater, but nevertheless a holy place deserving protection and meriting a display of cultural dominance through architecture.

Intro.2. Chapter Outline

The chapters that follow address the selected artworks in chronological order, returning continually to the themes, history, and questions noted in this introduction. Each chapter is treated as an independent essay, so similar ideas, historical information, and bibliography may be found in more than one. Although they are joined loosely by their architectural subject matter and connections to Jerusalem, the works in question were executed in several media, belonged to owners of different gender and social status, were manufactured in workshops composed of artists with diverse cultural backgrounds, and were intended for audiences that varied in culture and composition. Because a reader may wish to consult only a single chapter with its focus on a distinct artwork, each chapter can stand separately from the others. The book as a whole 21 See Thomas F. Madden, A Concise History of the Crusades, Third edn. (Lanham, Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 2013). 22 See Reuven Amitai, “The Early Mamluks and the End of the Crusader Presence in Syria (1250–​1291),” in The Crusader World, ed. Adrian J. Boas (London and New York: Routledge, 2016), 324–​345.

8 Introduction reveals important congruences on how the works display affinity and contrast in relation to Jerusalem and enhance our understanding of this city and its repeated representation over time. Chapter 1 deals with a pilaster made for a Christian monument in the Levant in the late twelfth century. Now located in Cairo, it represents three Jerusalem buildings in relief: the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the Dome of the Rock, and the Tower of David complex. The original placement of the pilaster is unknown, but its style suggests its production in Jerusalem. I assess possible crusader settings for the pilaster and what it might have meant to its Christian patrons as a sign of their possession of the city. Chapter 2 concerns the early thirteenth-​century Riccardiana Psalter.23 This Christian prayerbook contains images of major monuments in the holy city that figured in scenes of the life of Christ, including the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and the Dome of the Rock as the Temple of the Lord. Liturgical references and visual allusions to the religious geography of Jerusalem suggest the reader’s connection to and absence from the city through a potential process of virtual pilgrimage. A pair of mid-​thirteenth-​century gilded glass beakers are the focus of Chapter 3.24 They are painted in enamel with scenes of Jerusalem buildings interspersed with figures in diverse ecclesiastical garb. The glass medium suggests their production in the mid-​thirteenth century in Muslim-​controlled Egypt or Syria. This material, in combination with their Arabic inscriptions, has meant that the beakers are generally considered “Islamic” works. However I discuss how signs point to their place in a multicultural Christian society and liturgy—​of Orthodox Chalcedonian (Melkite and Georgian), non-​ Chalcedonian (Armenian, Nestorian, Jacobite Syrian, and Coptic), and Roman Catholic European—​in the Muslim-​dominant Levant.25 A thirteenth-​century brass vessel known as the Freer Canteen is the topic of Chapter 4.26 It is notable for its luxurious silver inlay depicting scenes of Christ’s life, standing and riding figures, ornamental patterns, and Arabic inscriptions. The medium suggests that it was produced in the mid-​thirteenth 23 24 25

26

Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323. Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, object numbers 47.17 and 47.18. For a succinct discussion of the different Christian sects, see Lucy-​Anne Hunt, “Artistic and Cultural Inter-​Relations between the Christian Communities at the Holy Sepulchre in the 12th Century,” in The Christian Heritage in the Holy Land, eds. Anthony O’Mahony, Göran Gunner, and Kevork Hintlian (London: Scorpion Cavendish Ltd., 1995), 59–​60 or Christopher MacEvitt, The Crusades and Christian World of the East: Rough Tolerance (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008), 7–​12. Washington, D.C., Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10.

Introduction

9

century in Muslim-​controlled Mosul (Iraq), at a distance from Jerusalem. Its details nevertheless illuminate aspects of Christian and Muslim interactions and shared culture, including practices related to pilgrimage. Chapter 5 deals with the fourteenth-​century Clement Bible, which features biblical narrative scenes in the style of the Roman artist Pietro Cavallini.27 Painted for a noble patron at the Angevin court in Naples, it seems to visualize pointed political and religious viewpoints about the situation of the popes in Avignon and the Angevins’ claim to kingship of Jerusalem. The chapter addresses how using an ancient Roman building as a stand-​in for the Temple shows the relationship of King Robert i to Jerusalem. Chapter 6 returns to the carved crusader pilaster from Chapter 1, considering its movement to Cairo and its meanings in its current setting at the entrance of the mid-​fourteenth-​century mosque, madrasa, mausoleum, and hospital complex built by the Mamluk Sultan Hasan. This brings the discussion full circle to the consideration of how a “Christian” pilaster and its representation of Jerusalem buildings had a range of diverse meanings in a Mamluk Muslim setting. These chapters augment previous scholarship on these artworks by affirming the visual effect of specific Jerusalem buildings in expressing power networks (Chapter 1), in recommending devotional practice (Chapter 2), in guiding liturgical custom (Chapter 3 and Chapter 4), in protecting the viewer (Chapter 6), and in embodying concepts of the past (Chapter 5 and Chapter 6). As a group, the chapters raise questions about our understanding of the private and public roles of material culture in the medieval Levant. They push the boundaries of what we know about artistic production, display, and audience and, as such, emphasize the complicated reality of visual language and the constructs that underlie modern national and cultural boundaries. Overall, I engage with many multivalent, previously-​unexplored aspects of these works.

Intro.3. Methodologies

The landmark conference in Jerusalem in 1996 about the “Real and Ideal Jerusalem” was the original platform for my research on the holy city.28 As Bianca Kühnel outlined in the introduction to the volume of conference proceedings, the representation of cities in visual culture is a “manipulative affair,” 27 28

London, British Library, ms Add. 47672. I owe a debt to an abundant list of additional authors who informed this book, though I shall discuss most of them as relates to the artworks in the appropriate chapters.

10 Introduction replete with layers of significance.29 Jerusalem’s long history and important place in three world religions render its distinctiveness especially appealing but also particularly malleable, based on key structures and symbols of the city.30 The conference’s brief papers and articles considered many aspects of the real and ideal city, including its architecture.31 Two of this book’s objects appeared in the conference publication, but the articles’ brevity only scratched the surface of what their representations of Jerusalem might have meant to their viewers.32 In this book, I concentrate on a small selection of objects to pursue more extensive lines inquiry for each one. Some previous scholars’ works have been fundamental in helping me address the conceptual nature of architecture in the Middle Ages. Foremost among these is Richard Krautheimer’s seminal article about how a copy of a medieval monument referred to basic concepts and characteristics of the original.33 Robert Ousterhout has shown how medieval pilgrims deployed the existing architectural and topographical framework of Jerusalem to demonstrate an understanding of salvation history that combined narrative, ritual, and locale.34 He emphasized the process of the translation of Jerusalem sites, arguing that the copy could have a sanctity similar to the original in its recreated state, even at a distance.35 In a related approach, Jaś Elsner has spoken of metonymy, in which an object or its name is used to refer to a related thing or 29 Kühnel, “Use and Abuse of Jerusalem,” xix. 30 Ibid., xx–​x xi. 31 See Daniel H. Weiss, “‘Hic est domus domini firmiter edificata’: The Image of the Temple in Crusader Art,” in Jewish Art (The Real and Ideal Jerusalem in Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Art: Studies in Honor of Bezalel Narkiss on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday), ed. Bianca Kühnel (Jerusalem: Center for Jewish Art, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1997/​1998), 210–​217 and Jaroslav Folda, “Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre through the Eyes of Crusader Pilgrims,” in ibid., 158–​164. 32 Hana Taragan, “The Image of the Dome of the Rock in Cairene Mamluk Architecture,” in ibid., 453–​459 and Cathleen A. Fleck, “Linking Jerusalem and Rome in the Fourteenth Century: Images of Jerusalem and the Temple in the Italian ‘Bible of Anti-​pope Clement vii’,” in ibid., 430–​452. 33 Richard Krautheimer, “Introduction to an ‘Iconography of Medieval Architecture’,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institute 5 (1942): (Introduction i) 1–​33. See also Kühnel, “Use and Abuse of Jerusalem,” xxi. 34 Ousterhout, “Memory of Jerusalem,” 139–​144. 35 Robert Ousterhout, “Flexible Geography and Transportable Topography,” in Jewish Art (The Real and Ideal Jerusalem in Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Art: Studies in Honor of Bezalel Narkiss on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday), ed. Bianca Kühnel (Jerusalem: Center for Jewish Art, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1997/​98), 393–​399 and Robert Ousterhout, “Architecture as relic and the construction of sanctity: the stones of the Holy Sepulchre,” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 62, no. 1 (2003): 4–​23.

Introduction

11

concept.36 These approaches encouraged me to consider how a representation of a site on an object can powerfully stimulate remembrance and knowledge. The 2012 volume Jerusalem as Narrative Space contains essays that assess how the holy city was continually redefined in relation to the dynamic nature of the oral, written, and visual narratives that used Jerusalem as their setting.37 While that volume largely concentrated on the concepts of narrative space in texts and images concerned with Jerusalem, the present book attends more to architecture as a physical sign in those narratives and the changing nature of its meanings.38 Nevertheless, several of the chapters in that volume do provide comparative frameworks for my discussions here.39 The publication Visual Constructs of Jerusalem also provided new insights into how to examine the holy city. This 2014 book focuses on the physical nature of the actual city and its translations in contrast to previous scholarship on the Heavenly Jerusalem.40 Contributors looked at Jerusalem through a lens different from mine, considering monumental sites distant from the holy city, representations more idealized than the ones chosen here, and examples across a broader time frame.41 To comprehend the changing visual culture of Jerusalem in the Middle Ages, I relied on works by a number of scholars. The magisterial publications by Jaroslav Folda and Zehava Jacoby provide the basis for any discussion of eleventh-​to thirteenth-​century crusader-​era artworks from the Christian Holy 36 37 38 39

40

41

John Richard (Jaś) Elsner, “Replicating Palestine and Reversing the Reformation: Pilgrimage and collecting at Bobbio, Monza and Walsingham,” Journal of the History of Collections 9, no. 1 (1997): 121. Annette Hoffmann and Gerhard Wolf, eds., Jerusalem as Narrative Space. Erzählraum Jerusalem, Visualizing the Middle Ages, vol. 6 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2012). Hoffmann and Wolf, “Preface,” in ibid., xii. For instance, Gustav Kühnel, “Architectural ‘mise-​ en-​ scène’ and Pictorial Turns in Jerusalem,” in Jerusalem as Narrative Space. Erzählraum Jerusalem, eds. Annette Hoffmann and Gerhard Wolf, Visualizing the Middle Ages, vol. 6 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2012), 21–​32; Robert Ousterhout, “The Memory of Jerusalem: Text, Architecture, and the Craft of Thought,” in ibid., 139–​154; and Robert Schick, “Christian Identifications of Muslim Buildings in Medieval Jerusalem,” in ibid., 367–​389. Bianca Kühnel, Galit Noga-​Banai, and Hanna Vorholt, eds., Visual Constructs of Jerusalem, Cultural Encounters in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (celama) (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), xxxiii. See also Bianca Kühnel, “Jewish Symbolism of the Temple and the Tabernacle and Christian Symbolism of the Holy Sepulchre and the Heavenly Tabernacle; a Study of their Relationship in Late Antique and Early Medieval Art and Thought,” Jewish Art 12/​13 (1986/​1987): 147–​168. See also Bianca Kühnel, “Jerusalem between Narrative and Iconic,” in Jerusalem as Narrative Space. Erzählraum Jerusalem, eds. Annette Hoffmann and Gerhard Wolf, Visualising the Middle Ages, vol. 6 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2012), 105–​123.

12 Introduction Land.42 Robert Hillenbrand, Silvia Auld, and Finnbar Barry Flood aided my understanding of Jerusalem’s Ayyubid context.43 Work by Michael H. Burgoyne has provided essential background on Mamluk Jerusalem.44 Additionally, use of select objects to explain the resonance of the holy city from the Middle Ages up to today in the important exhibition about Jerusalem from 1100 to 1400 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art affirmed my own object-​ based approach.45 I attempt to let the works of art answer some of their own questions rather than assert an answer supported only by a text. My book addresses a handful of objects more fully than entries in the museum catalog can do, but both volumes touch on similar themes of loss, pluralism, the sacred, and the eternal as they relate to Jerusalem.46 While the exhibition included views of Jerusalem by people belonging to several cultures (e.g., Jewish and Armenian), I focus more narrowly on groups in the region whose cultural place was more dominant. Notably, the exhibition covered roughly the same time period as my book for the same reason: because of the great vicissitudes that affected Jerusalem in those centuries.47 Examining the diverse functions and meanings of the Jerusalem buildings at particular moments in the twelfth to fourteenth centuries reveals the complexity of its constantly changing literal and figurative strata. A stratum can reveal signs of its time, such as a faction asserting its control, or the presence of a social culture.48 While a layer may be dominant in its time, it rarely completely 42

E.g., Jaroslav Folda, The Art of the Crusaders in the Holy Land 1098–​1187 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995); Jaroslav Folda, Crusader Art in the Holy Land, From the Third Crusade to the Fall of Acre, 1187–​1291 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005); and Zehava Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area in Jerusalem in the Twelfth Century: Its Origin, Evolution and Impact,” Zeitschrift fur Kunstgeschichte 45, no. 4 (1982): 325–​394. 43 See Robert Hillenbrand and Sylvia Auld, Ayyubid Jerusalem: The Holy City in Context, 1187–​ 1250 (London: Altajir World of Islam Trust, 2009) and Finbarr Barry Flood, “An Ambiguous Aesthetic: Crusader ‘Spolia’ in Ayyubid Jerusalem,” in Ayyubid Jerusalem: The Holy City in Context, 1187–​1250, eds. Robert Hillenbrand and Sylvia Auld (London: Altajir Trust, 2009), 202–​215. 44 Michael Hamilton Burgoyne, Mamluk Jerusalem: An architectural study (London: On behalf of the British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem by World of Islam Festival Trust, 1987). 45 Boehm and Holcomb, Jerusalem. 1000–​1400. Its completion in 2016 took place well after this book was under way. See also Cathleen A. Fleck, “Review of Jerusalem 1000–​1400: Every People under Heaven, eds. Barbara Boehm and Melanie Holcomb, catalogue of the Metropolitan Museum of Art exhibition 2016 (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2016),” Jewish Quarterly Review 108, no. 4 (2018): 562–​568. 46 Compare Chapter 3 to the entry on the glass beakers: Avinoam Shalem, in Boehm and Holcomb, Jerusalem. 1000–​1400, 55–​56. 47 Boehm and Holcomb, “Art and Medieval Jerusalem,” 3–​7. 48 See David Norman Rodowick, Elegy for Theory (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014), 59.

Introduction

13

obscures or erases earlier meanings such that multiple understandings of the same site can be present at one time. From a practical perspective, Adrian Boas and Denys Pringle’s extensive archaeological examination of Jerusalem’s sites have helped me explore the layered history of medieval Jerusalem buildings.49 This approach identifying changes over time offers a way to present myriad understandings of these buildings and of the city’s holiness and to reflect on the implications of the use of the city’s architectural images over centuries.50 In a related anthropological approach borrowed from Arjun Appadurai, I see the life of an object changing over time and in different locations.51 I utilize anthropological analyses of objects, defining “objects” both as urban monuments and as the artworks that represent Jerusalem over three medieval centuries. Each successive moment in an object’s life holds a distinct meaning that reflects and expands comprehension of the objects beyond their moments of production and across their lives. In this way, we can learn how a building or an artwork accrues various meanings as it changes hands and situations in response to the socially-​derived nature of value and sense. A final overarching problem raised in my book is how scholars use certain terms such as “crusader” or “Islamic” and whether it is appropriate to apply them to some of the works that I discuss. The term crusader art usually refers to art produced in the Christian Holy Land, also called the Latin East, by artists or for patrons who had once been in the Holy Land in the period from approximately 1095 to 1291 when European Christian forces were trying to assert control of the region.52 While the objects treated in this book date to the era of the principal crusades, their importance derives not so much from their connection to the military endeavors of the crusades or even to European actors as from their ties to someone who wished to demonstrate an association with Jerusalem. Folda posed some pertinent questions about the relationship 49

See Denys Pringle, The Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem. A Corpus. iii, vol. 3 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007) and Adrian J. Boas, Crusader Archaeology: The Material Culture of the Latin East (London and New York: Routledge, 1999). 50 See Erkki Huhtamo and Jussi Parikka, “Introduction: An Archaeology of Media Archaeology,” in Media Archaeology: Approaches, Applications, and Implications, ed. Erkki Huhtamo (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011), 2. 51 Arjun Appadurai, “Introduction: Commodities and the politics of value,” in The Social Life of Things. Commodities in Cultural Perspective, ed. Arjun Appadurai (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 3–​63. 52 Jaroslav Folda, Crusader Art (Aldershot: Lund Humphries, 2008), 13–​15. For an overview of broad trends in crusader scholarship, see Adrian J. Boas, ed. The Crusader World (London and New York: Routledge, 2016). Compare Bianca Kühnel, Crusader Art of the Twelfth Century: A Geographical, an Historical, or an Art Historical Notion? (Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 1994), 15–​17.

14 Introduction between textual accounts to crusader images of Jerusalem. He analyzed the agency and aims of those who authored the texts, and I also address some of those issues.53 Indeed, the objects I discuss reveal signs of more cultural cross-​ pollination than has been previously acknowledged for this period. My goal is a less Eurocentric and more pluralistic analysis of the crusader era.54 I use this approach in analyzing these objects, which I see not only or mainly as products of animosity and conflict but also and especially of religious and political ideals that were often shared intentionally.55 Additionally, I question whether an artwork should be termed Islamic because its medium, such as glass or inlaid brass, or its inscription language, Arabic, suggests its manufacture in a Muslim-​dominated location. Contrary to the idea of a unity of Islamic art, I question how Muslim and Christian themes, artisans, and audiences might have overlapped more in the Levant of the twelfth to fourteenth centuries.56 Using these rich objects as a point of departure, I propose richer, multivalent understandings of Jerusalem for its audiences—​past and present—​that are less constrained by these defining terms. 53 Folda, “Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre,” 164. 54 Throop, The Crusades, 7. See also Jonathan Riley-​Smith, What Were the Crusades?, Fourth edn. (San Francisco, Basingstoke, and New York: Ignatius Press and Palgrave MacMillan, 2009), 1–​8; Norman Housley, Contesting the Crusades (Oxford: Wiley-​Blackwell, 2006); Paul M. Cobb, The Race for Paradise: An Islamic History of the Crusades (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014); and Jaroslav Folda, “The Crusader Church of the Holy Sepulchre: Design, Depiction and the Pilgrim Church of Compostela,” in Tomb and Temple: Re-​ Imagining the Sacred Buildings of Jerusalem, eds. Robin Griffith-​Jones and Eric Fernie (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2018), 95–​119. 55 On the intentionality of crusader art in expressing contemporary ideas and realities, see Kühnel, Crusader Art of the Twelfth Century, 163–​164. 56 See Avinoam Shalem, “What Do We Mean When We Say ‘Islamic Art’? A Plea for a Critical Rewriting of the History of the Arts of Islam,” Journal of Art Historiography June (2012): 1–​ 18. On negative aspects of the crusades in scholarship and modern thinking, see Peter W. Edbury, “The Crusades and their Critics,” in Archaeology and the Crusades, eds. Peter W. Edbury and Sophia Kalopissi-​Verti, Proceedings of the Round Table, Nicosia, 1 Feb. 2005 (Athens: Pierides Foundation, 2007), 179–​187.

Chapter 1

Jerusalem in Relief

A Crusader Pilaster Reexamined

Jerusalem became the capital of a European kingdom from 1099 to 1187 when thousands of European Christians made their way to this city, long since holy to Jews, Christians, and Muslims. These European Latin-​rite Christians, called “Franks” by those living in the Levant, conquered the region from the Fatimid Muslim caliphs (r. 909–​1171). The sacred nature of Jerusalem’s Christian sites lent the city a distinctive religious importance, which, in turn, rendered it a legitimizing base for the leaders of the new Frankish domain. Throughout their reign, European Christians in Jerusalem utilized art and architecture to reinforce their presence, glorifying their religious sites while simultaneously aggrandizing their political claims. One enigmatic artwork epitomizes this religious and political use of visual culture: the “Jerusalemite pilaster” that is the focus of this chapter (Figure 1.1).1 A single sculptor probably carved this unusual pilaster, which shows three Jerusalem buildings in relief, in the second half of the twelfth century. The patron likely intended the relief for a Christian monument in Jerusalem, where it was probably installed before 1187. In that year, the European Christians lost much of their Levantine kingdom to Salah al-​Din al-​Malik al-​Nasir Abu al-​ Muzaffar Yusuf ibn Ayyub (or Salah al-​Din; 1138–​93), who was the sultan of Egypt and Syria (r. 1174–​93) under the Ayyubid empire (r. 1171–​1260). The Franks moved their capital to the coastal city of Acre, which they held until 1291. An unknown individual took the pilaster from the Levant and sent it to Cairo sometime after 1187, and a later sultan of the Mamluk empire (1250–​1517), al-​Nasir Hasan ibn Muhammad ibn Qalawun (or Hasan, 1335–​61, r. 1347–​51, and 1354–​ 61), reused the pilaster in the portal of his mid-​fourteenth-​century complex housing a mosque, madrasa, mausoleum, and hospital (beg. 1356). The book’s final chapter addresses possible reasons for moving and reusing the Frankish pilaster, but this chapter focuses on its origins, dating, and iconography.2 Such 1 See also Cathleen A. Fleck, “Signs of Leadership: Buildings of Jerusalem in a Crusader Relief,” in Crusading in Art, Thought, and Will, eds. Anne Romine, Ben Halliburton, and Matthew E. Parker, Medieval Mediterranean Series (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 37–​67. 2 See also Cathleen A. Fleck, “Crusader Spolia in Medieval Cairo. The Portal of the Complex of Sultan Ḥasan,” Journal of Transcultural Medieval Studies 1, no. 2 (2014): 249–​300.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | DOI:10.1163/9789004525894_003

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­f igure 1.1  Jerusalemite pilaster, c. 1160–​87, to right of main portal in façade of Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63

Jerusalem in Relief

17

sculptural representations of Jerusalem buildings rarely appeared in sculpture, and integrating the work within the corpus of Levantine and European medieval sculpture is challenging.3 The fact that so little artistic material from the Frankish kingdom remains intact and in situ makes it necessary to search widely for comparisons in order to propose answers to the basic questions of when, where, for what building, and for whom the Jerusalemite pilaster was first made. I rely on multiple approaches modeled by several scholars regarding the multicultural context of the eastern Mediterranean region and especially that of the mobile Jerusalemite pilaster.4 This chapter begins with an initial description of the pilaster, the buildings depicted on it, and a survey of the scholarship and limited evidence for its date and place of production. I propose three possibilities for the original purpose and placement of the pilaster, calling attention to a set of strategic royal and religious connections among the sites depicted and the groups who controlled them (see Map of Jerusalem). This story of the pilaster demonstrates how the Franks used the architectural geography to reinforce their possession of this holy city, just before they lost it to Salah al-​Din. 1.1

The Pilaster and Its Jerusalem Scenes

The current physical setting of the Jerusalemite pilaster is the portal of Sultan Hasan’s Cairene complex. The four-​sided support is placed to the right at the highly visible juncture of the façade wall and the recessed, open vestibule, which is under a muqarnas hood and precedes the door (Figure 1.2).5 The side 3 See John Renard, “Picturing Holy Places: On the Uses of Architectural Themes in Ornament and Icon,” Religion and the Arts 5, no. 4 (2001): 399–​428. 4 On sculpture, see Nurith Kenaan-​Kedar, Marginal Sculpture in Medieval France: Towards the Deciphering of an Enigmatic Pictorial Language (Brookfield, VT: Scolar Press, 1995), 5 and Dorothy F. Glass, Portals, Pilgrimage, and Crusade in Western Tuscany (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 13, 33–​34, 44, 65–​66. On movement of objects, see Appadurai, “Commodities and the politics of value,” 3–​63. On a multicultural approach, see Bas Snelders, Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction. Medieval Art of the Syrian Orthodox from the Mosul Area, Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta (Leuven: Peeters Publishers and Department of Oriental Studies, 2010), 10–​17 esp. and Justine M. Andrews, “Conveyance and Convergence: Visual Culture in Medieval Cyprus,” Medieval Encounters 18 (2012): 419–​421. 5 See Abdallah Kahil, The Sultan Hasan Complex in Cairo 1357–​1364. A Case Study in the Formation of Mamluk Style, Orient-​Institut Beirut, Beiruter Texte und Studien 98 (Beirut: Ergon Verlag Würzburg in Kommission, 2008), 81. See also Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 453–​459 and Zehava Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo: Additional Evidence on the Temple Area Workshop of Jerusalem,” in Crusader Art in the Twelfth Century, ed. Jaroslav Folda, bar International Series 152 (Oxford: British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem, 1982), 123–​125.

18 

­f igure 1.2  Main portal and façade, Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63

Chapter 1

Jerusalem in Relief

19

of the pilaster facing the vestibule displays the main topic of this chapter: three rectangular panels that contain reliefs of Jerusalem buildings, which alternate vertically with three rectangular panels with arches on columns framing empty surfaces (Figure 1.1).6 This pilaster includes a braided interlace pattern on its outward face and on the (barely visible) opposite side, suggesting that at least three sides were originally visible.7 The fourth side cannot be seen now because of its firm attachment to the wall, and whether it too has relief carving is unknown. 1.1.1 The Church of the Holy Sepulcher The most deteriorated of the reliefs is at the top of the pilaster. Its upper left segment is missing, leaving visible the right side of a dome resting on an arcaded lower structure (Figure 1.3). The relief seems to represent the most important Christian monument in Jerusalem: the Anastasis Rotunda of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem.8 This church complex encompassed several sites related to Jesus Christ’s crucifixion. The domed Rotunda was built over his burial location in the fourth century and reconstructed in the eleventh century by the Byzantine emperor.9 The Frankish rulers restored the Rotunda again in the 1140s–​1150s to the form seen in the pilaster relief.10 The interior of the lower two-​story arcade with columns supporting small arches is visible at the base, whereas the top section displays an exterior view of the conical crusader-​era dome. This dome identification is made clear from the oculus opening at the top, angled lines that descend downward, and the larger arched windows or openings at the base.11 A significant comparison for identifying this structure and its details is a similar simultaneous interior/​exterior view of the Anastasis Rotunda in a crusader-​era map in Cambrai.12 This map of c. 1170 offers important evidence

6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo,” 121–​138. Ibid., 123. Ibid., 124–​125 and Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 203–​204, 335, 534 n 223. On the Holy Sepulcher complex and its meaning to crusaders, see ibid., 177–​245 and Folda, Crusader Art, 38–​44. Robert Ousterhout, “Rebuilding the Temple: Constantine Monomachus and the Holy Sepuchre,” Journal of Society of Architectural Historians 48 (1989): 66–​78. See Folda, “The Crusader Church,” 95–​119 and Nurith Kenaan-​Kedar, “Symbolic Meaning in Crusader Architecture: The Twelfth-​Century Dome of the Holy Sepulcher Church in Jerusalem,” Cahiers archéologiques 34 (1986): 109–​117. Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo,” 125. This map of Jerusalem is in a manuscript with a Gradual fragment; Expositio in libros Regum by Angelomus Luxoviensis; and Expositio in Tobiam by Beda Venerabilis, Cambrai,

20 

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­f igure 1.3  Detail of top frame with Holy Sepulcher, Jerusalemite pilaster, c. 1160–​87, in façade of Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63

Jerusalem in Relief

21

to confirm the identification of this and the other buildings on the pilaster (Figure 1.4).13 Scholars consider this map as a reliable and detailed representation of Christian Holy Land sites, in particular the Church of the Holy Sepulcher with a new bell tower built by the Franks.14 It stands apart from a grouping of similar Jerusalem maps because its many details of the cityscape, such as several Orthodox churches and indications of the hills surrounding the city, suggest that its European creator had firsthand experience or knowledge from others’ descriptions of twelfth-​century Jerusalem.15 The map’s placement in a volume immediately after commentaries on Hebrew Bible texts, or the Old Testament in the minds of its European viewers, implies that the holy city and its Frankish Christian additions were central to salvation history. At the same time, the map itself has a notable dearth of references to the biblical and apocryphal traditions of the city compared to a group of eleven circular maps of Jerusalem

13

14 15

Médiathèque municipale, ms 466 (formerly 437), fol. 1r. See Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo,” 124–​125. For a basic description of the map, see Zev Vilnay, The Holy Land in Old Prints and Maps, trans. Esther Vilnay and Max Nurock, Second edn. (Jerusalem: Rubin Mass, 1965), 48–​49. On a similar interior/​exterior view, see Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 335–​337. Compare the coins of Amalric or the view of the interior by B. Amico from 1610 (in a treatise on the holy sites written for Philip iii of Spain), ibid., 335–​336, plates 339.331 and 339.332. See also Roberto Pesant, C.J. Sabine, and D.M. Metcalf, “The ‘Amalricus’ coins of the Kingdom of Jerusalem,” in Coinage in the Latin East, eds. P.W. Edbury and D.M. Metcalf, The Fourth Oxford Symposium on Coinage and Monetary History (Oxford: bar International Series, 1980), 106–​107. The current rounded dome dates to 1808, Dan Bahat and Chaim T. Rubinstein, The Illustrated Atlas of Jerusalem, trans. Shlomo Ketko (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1990), 95. See Ronnie Ellenblum, “Frankish Castles, Muslim Castles, and the Medieval Citadel of Jerusalem,” in In Laudem Hierosolymitani. Studies in Crusades and Medieval Culture in Honour of Benjamin Z. Kedar, eds. Iris Shagrir, Ronnie Ellenblum, and Jonathan Riley-​ Smith (Aldershot, England: Ashgate, 2007), 107–​108; Adrian J. Boas, Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades. Society, landscape and art in the Holy City under Frankish rule (London and New York: Routledge, 2001), 81; and Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 294. Milka Levy-​Rubin, “The Crusader Maps of Jerusalem,” in Knights of the Holy Land: The Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, ed. Silvia Rozenberg (Jerusalem: The Israel Museum, 1999), 231. See Bahat and Rubinstein, Atlas of Jerusalem, 102; Rehav Rubin, Image and Reality. Jerusalem in Maps and Views, eds. Yehoshua Ben-​Arieh and Ruth Kark, Israel Studies in Historical Geography (Jerusalem: The Hebrew University Magnes Press, 1999), 33; Levy-​ Rubin, “The Crusader Maps,” 231, 237; and P.D.A. Harvey, Medieval Maps of the Holy Land (London: The British Library, 2012), 22–​23. Likely the volume was prepared in the region of Cambrai, Hannah Vorholt, “Herrschaft über Jerusalem und die Kartographie der heiligen Stadt,” in Herrschaft verorten: Politische Kartographie im Mittelalter und in der frühn Neuzeit, eds. Ingrid Baumgärtner and Martina Stercken (Zurich: Chronos Verlag, 2012), 212, 222–​224, 227–​228.

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­f igure 1.4  Map of Jerusalem, Cambrai, Médiathèque de Cambrai, ms 466, fol. 1r, c. 1170

Jerusalem in Relief

23

produced between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries.16 The mapmaker evidently focused on the physical nature of the city. Nevertheless, such a map was not meant to guide a visitor through the city’s alleys through accurate mapping, rather, it was meant to glorify the sites of renewed Christian presence for spiritual contemplation.17 The Cambrai map’s selective and specific visualization of the city and its monuments will thus be used to identify known twelfth-​century Christian buildings such as the Anastasis Rotunda of the Holy Sepulcher in the pilaster’s corroded stone surface. 1.1.2 The Dome of the Rock The Jerusalemite pilaster’s middle relief depicts another domed structure (Figure 1.5). On its lowest level, this building shows a gabled central porch flanked by two windows or openings on either side. Another level above the door displays six windows, and a pattern of dentillation or brackets runs along the cornice at its top edge. Above that register, the dome rests on a drum with arched openings and a cornice at the top and bottom edges. Scholars unequivocally identify this structure as the Dome of the Rock, which dates to c. 692 (Figure 1.6).18 For Jews, the Dome of the Rock marked the location of Abraham’s offering of his son Isaac to God, while many Muslims believed in its association with Abraham as well.19 Jews, Christians, and Muslims believed that it stood at the spot of Solomon’s Temple from the Hebrew Bible.20 Muslims also had associations of the Temple Mount (which they called Haram al-​Sharif or Noble Sanctuary) with the prophet Muhammad that grew over time to be specifically assigned to his mystical visit to the “farthest” mosque (israʾ) or the Dome of the 16 17

18 19 20

On ways to study Jerusalem maps, see Vorholt, “Studying with Maps,” 171–​178. Levy-​Rubin, “The Crusader Maps,” 236–​237. Compare Laura J. Whatley, “Experiencing the Holy Land and Crusade in Matthew Paris’s Maps of Palestine,” in Visual Constructs of Jerusalem, eds. Bianca Kühnel, Galit Noga-​Banai, and Hanna Vorholt, Cultural Encounters in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (celama) (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), 299. See also Marcia Kupfer, “The Rhetoric of World Maps in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages,” in The Visualization of Knowledge in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, eds. Marcia A. Kupfer, Adam S. Cohen, and Jeffrey H. Chajes, Studies in the visual cultures of the Middle Ages (Turnhout: Brepols, 2016), 259–​290. See Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo,” 124 and Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 453. See Jacob Lassner, Medieval Jerusalem: Forging an Islamic City in Spaces Sacred to Christians and Jews (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2017), 34, 190–​191. For an overview of the sanctity of Jerusalem in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam from ancient to modern times, see Francis E. Peters, “The Holy Places,” in City of the Great King: Jerusalem from David to the present, ed. Nina Rosovsky (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1996), 37–​54. See also Lassner, Medieval Jerusalem, 34–​35.

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­f igure 1.5  Detail of middle frame with Dome of the Rock, Jerusalemite pilaster, c. 1160–​87, in façade of Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63

Jerusalem in Relief

25

­f igure 1.6  Dome of the Rock, al-​Haram al-​Sharif, Jerusalem, c. 692

Rock by the later Middle Ages.21 Because of a medieval misunderstanding of the Dome of the Rock as either the Temple renovated by King Herod I (r. 36–​1 bce) and associated with Christ’s life or as a later Byzantine structure honoring the Jewish Temple, the Latin Christian Franks called it the Templum Domini (Temple of the Lord).22 The Franks dedicated it as a Christian church in 1141. The Cambrai map depicts a building, labelled “Templum Domini,” that has small attached towers representing the entrance porches and a dome with a lantern containing arched windows (Figure 1.4). These similarities with the map help confirm the identification of the central pilaster relief as the Templum Domini. 21 22

See Lassner, Medieval Jerusalem, 34–​35, 39–​40, 42–​43, 54–​55, 128. See Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 249–​251 and Benjamin Z. Kedar and Denys Pringle, “1099–​1187: The Lord’s Temple (Templum Domini) and Solomon’s Palace (Palatium Salomonis),” in Where Heaven and Earth Meet: Jerusalem’s Sacred Esplanade, eds. Oleg Grabar and Benjamin Z. Kedar (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2009), 133–​ 141. See also Heribert Busse, “Vom Felsendom zum Templum Domini,” in Das Heilige Land im Mittelalter: Begegnungsraum zwischen Orient und Okzident: Referate des 5. interdisziplinären Colloquiums des Zentralinstituts, eds. Wolf-​Dietrich Fischer and Jurgen Schneider (Neustadt: Degender, 1982), 22–​26; Weiss, “The Image of the Temple in Crusader Art,” 211–​212; and Schick, “Christian Identifications,” 367–​371.

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­f igure 1.7  Detail of bottom frame with Tower and Gate of David and curia regis, Jerusalemite pilaster, c. 1160–​87, in façade of Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63

Jerusalem in Relief

27

1.1.3 The Tower of David and ‘Curia Regis’ Finally, the bottom relief on the face of the pilaster (Figure 1.7) represents a group of buildings. I read them as a two-​story rectangular hall in the front, a crenellated four-​level structure in the back center, and two other crenellated towers to the right and left.23 The central four-​story structure seems to be the Tower of David, named after the fortified first-​century bce defensive tower mistakenly associated in the Middle Ages with the ancient biblical King David.24 The Tower of David was actually the whole citadel complex on the city’s west side that included this iconic main tower (with other smaller ones) and the adjacent David Gate.25 The Franks used it as a royal fortress after c. 1118.26 The Cambrai map shows a similar tall, crenellated structure with arched openings on four levels to the left (Figure 1.4). The label “Turris David” identifies it on the map and thus connects this schematization to the pilaster relief; both are medieval perceptions of the Tower of David. The Frankish rulers expanded the Tower of David in the 1160s by adding a new palace on the south side of the citadel.27 Theoderic, a visitor to Jerusalem from c. 1169 to 1174, made the first vague written mention of the palace near the 23 24

25

26 27

Note this differs from the suggestion of Jacoby that the Tower of David was to the right, the Gate was in the center, and the curia regis tower was to the left, Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo,” 124. The main tower, from which the name derived, was the Herodian Tower of Phasael, Thomas S.R. Boase, “Military Architecture in the Crusader States in Palestine and Syria,” in The Art and Architecture of the Crusader States, ed. Harry W. Hazard, A History of the Crusades (Madison, Wisconsin: University of Wisconsin Press, 1977), 161. See also Bahat and Rubinstein, Atlas of Jerusalem, 96 and Cedric Norman Johns, “The Citadel, Jerusalem,” in Pilgrims’ Castle (Atlit), David’s Tower ( Jerusalem), and Qal’at ar-​Rabad (Ajlun): Three Middle Eastern Castles from the Time of the Crusades, ed. Denys Pringle (Aldershot: Ashgate Variorum, 1997), 121–​190. See Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 88 and Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 559 n. 520. David’s Gate, now called the Jaffa Gate, protects the city’s west portal, through which many pilgrims and attackers came. See also the Hague map in Anton Legner, ed. Ornamenta ecclesiae: Kunst und Künstler der Romanik. Katalog zur Ausstellung des Schnütgen-​Museums in der Josef-​Haubrich-​Kunsthalle (Köln: Stadt Köln, 1985), 76. The Latin kings moved there when they gave over their former palace, the Templum Salomonis, to the Templars. See also Boase, “Ecclesiastical Art in the Crusader States,” 87 and Boase, “Military Architecture,” 161. The dates given range from 1120s to 1160s, see Dan Bahat, “Crusader Jerusalem,” in Knights of the Holy Land: The Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, ed. Silvia Rozenberg (Jerusalem: The Israel Museum, 1999), 72; Boas, Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades, 80; Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 88; and Johns, “The Citadel,” 163–​166. See also Ellenblum, “Frankish Castles, Muslim Castles,” 101 and Rosen-​Ayalon, “Three Perspectives on Jerusalem,” 330–​334, 342–​344.

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tower: “[The Tower of David] is next to the newly-​built dwelling and palace, which is heavily defended with ditches and barbicans, and is now the property of the King of Jerusalem.”28 The Cambrai map also contains a rare contemporary illustration of the king’s palace labeled “curia regis.” The map shows the palace as a hall-​type structure with arcaded lower levels and a gabled roof, similar to the front building in the relief.29 Archaeological work in the area by Dan Bahat suggested that it had two large, barrel-​vaulted spaces inside, with some groin-​vaulted rooms as well.30 No remains of Jerusalem’s curia regis are visible today, but the medieval bishop’s palace in Parma (Italy) reveals what such a hall-​type palace might have looked like; it is very close to the type of structure seen on the relief (Figure 1.8).31 The structure is rectangular, with a pitched and gabled roof, several windows around the upper level, and door openings below. The Cambrai map yields one more set of clues about the two towers shown on either side of the palace on the relief. One square and one round tower are represented at the corners of the map’s curia regis (Figure 1.4), seemingly representing that two towers were once a part of this palace.32 In sum, then, the three buildings represented on the pilaster are the Anastasis Rotunda, the

28

Theoderic in John Wilkinson with Joyce Hill and W.F. Ryan, eds. and trans., Jerusalem Pilgrimage 1099–​1185, The Hakluyt Society (London: The Hakluyt Society, 1988), 277. See also Theoderich, Guide to the Holy Land [Libellus de locis sanctis], trans. Aubrey Stewart, Second edn. (with new Introduction, Notes and Bibliography by Ronald Musto) (New York: Italica Press, 1987), 7. 29 See Boas, Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades, 81–​82. Hanna Vorholt has convincingly identified the palace’s presence on two other twelfth-​century maps, Vorholt, “Herrschaft über Jerusalem,” 220–​225. 30 He notes the size as 17 meters. He has not yet published his complete findings from this work and has not made them available, see Dan Bahat and M. Broshi, “Excavations in the Armenian Garden,” in Jerusalem Revealed: Archaeology in the Holy City 1968–​1974, ed. Yigael Yadin (New Haven: Yale University Press and the Israel Exploration Society, 1976), 56. See also Katharina Galor and Hanswulf Bloedhorn, The Archaeology of Jerusalem from the Origins to the Ottomans (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013), Chapter 10, Royal Palaces section and Adrian J. Boas, Domestic Settings: Sources on Domestic Architecture and Day-​to-​Day Activities in the Crusader States, The Medieval Mediterranean, vol. 84 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 72–​74. 31 The curia regis was dismantled at some point, perhaps around 1239 when the city’s walls were destroyed, Boas, Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades, 82. On the Parma building, see Areli Marina, The Italian Piazza Transformed: Parma in the Communal Age (University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, 2012), 44–​49. 32 See Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 88 and Ellenblum, “Frankish Castles, Muslim Castles,” 107–​ 108. Compare Vorholt, “Herrschaft über Jerusalem,” 222–​223.

Jerusalem in Relief

29

­f igure 1.8  Bishop’s Palace, Parma, thirteenth century

Dome of the Rock, and the Frankish royal palace with the Tower of David in Jerusalem. 1.2

A Context of Production

One of the greatest challenges to finding Levantine comparisons for the Jerusalemite pilaster is the fact that the Ayyubid and Mamluk sultans who ruled Jerusalem and the region after the Europeans proceeded to dismantle, remove to other locations, reconfigure in the same city, and/​or destroy many formerly Christian Frankish structures in the late twelfth through fifteenth centuries.33 Such acts of despoliation will be discussed in detail in Chapter 6, but their motivations can be related to the political, religious, practical, and aesthetic interests of the conquerors. Finbarr Barry Flood noted one reason for 33

See Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 325; Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo,” 123–​126; Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 441–​456. More generally, see also Hillenbrand and Auld, Ayyubid Jerusalem and Burgoyne, Mamluk Jerusalem. See also Flood, “Ambiguous Aesthetic,” 202–​215 and Michael Greenhalgh, Marble past, monumental present: building with antiquities in the mediaeval Mediterranean, ed. Hugh Kennedy, The Medieval Mediterranean (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2009), 162–​164.

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the destructive actions of the Ayyubid Muslims was that the crowded architecture around the Haram al-​Sharif, the part of Jerusalem most sacred to them, did not allow for large building projects there.34 Rather, the Ayyubid conquerors on the Haram al-​Sharif enacted their own uses of the area soon after 1187.35 Façades, portals, windows, and liturgical furnishings of Ayyubid buildings on the Haram al-​Sharif were decorated and articulated with assemblages of carved spolia, which was appropriated, dismantled, reused, and recombined from many of the Frankish structures. In and around medieval Jerusalem, the Ayyubids built or converted approximately forty monuments, of which about twenty-​two survive.36 The Ayyubids introduced new Islamic stylistic elements, which they inserted into nearly a century’s worth of existing crusader buildings. These renovated structures were precursors of the prodigious new architecture of the Mamluk period. The end result is that the architecture and sculpture remaining of the city of Jerusalem from the twelfth-​century crusader era is disparate and incomplete; it can only tell an inconsistent and partial tale. I have found no comparable medieval relief sculpture that depicts individual buildings in Jerusalem (or any other city) displayed in the same iconic manner, meaning not as part of a narrative scene.37 Nevertheless, a search for comparisons to other parts of the Jerusalemite pilaster can start directly opposite its current setting by taking the decorative details of a paired pilaster into consideration. This second pilaster at Sultan Hasan’s Cairene complex, placed opposite where the façade and vestibule walls meet on the left, seems to have been purposefully chosen and combined with the Jerusalemite pilaster because of similar aspects of its form and design. This second pilaster has its street-​facing surface decorated with a relief of repeating grape or pinecone clusters and vine and leaf motifs (Figure 1.9); the side that faces inward toward the open vestibule contains individual blooming flowers

34 35 36 37

Flood, “Ambiguous Aesthetic,” 202. See also Mahmoud Hawari, “Ayyubid Monuments,” in Ayyubid Jerusalem: The Holy City in Context, 1187–​1250, eds. Robert Hillenbrand and Sylvia Auld (London: Altajir Trust, 2009), 217–​219. See Flood, “Ambiguous Aesthetic,” 202–​215 and Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 423. Hawari, “Ayyubid Monuments,” 216. The closest architectural representation that I can yet find is a scene of the Benedictine abbey church of Nonantola on the left doorpost of its façade portal. The abbey church takes up almost the entire frame, and a large figure of the founder Anselm is as tall as the building in the scene. The scene is part of a larger narrative of the abbey’s establishment on the doorpost, see Dorothy F. Glass, The Sculpture of Reform in North Italy, ca. 1095–​1130: History and Patronage of Romanesque Façades (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2009), 79, fig. 3.5.

Jerusalem in Relief

­f igure 1.9  Pilaster, c. 1160–​87, to left of main portal in façade of Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63

31

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linked by tendrils. The other two surfaces are not visible. The size of the left pilaster is close to that of the facing Jerusalemite pilaster: both are about 162 centimeters high with faces about 16 centimeters wide.38 These dimensions suggest their creation by the same workshop for the same original construction. Importantly, Jacoby asserted that both pilasters are indeed products of the same Frankish workshop based on similarities between their sizes, zigzag capitals, and raised borders.39 The decorative details of these pilasters to the right and left of the Cairo portal can indeed be related to several crusader-​era products of a proposed Jerusalem workshop. Jacoby supposed that this workshop was active right near the Temple Mount from c. 1167 to 1187 because of the preponderance of analogous material found in the area, which was seemingly dismantled and reused after the Ayyubid conquest. The “Temple workshop” also seemed to fabricate pieces for other key sites in the city, such as the Holy Sepulcher.40 Whether the artisans actually composed a formal workshop or were freelancers moving from job to job is not important; in either case, they were using their previous training, influencing one another, and following local trends to create an identifiable set of sculptural characteristics for the time and locale. A comparable situation of stylistic and formal exchange existed among entrepreneurial artists who produced several groups of manuscripts in the areas of Cyprus and the Levant from 1150 to 1250.41 In the manuscripts’ cases, the artists came together for specific projects and combined decorative elements in a flexible manner, but they were sufficiently consistent in repeating certain motifs and styles such that Annemarie Weyl Carr could identify a limited geographical area in which they worked.42 One standard feature of Jacoby’s Temple workshop was a set of plant motifs.43 The “spiky, fleshy acanthus leaf” on the left pilaster compares to the

38 39 40

41 42 43

Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo,” 123. Ibid., 121–​138, esp., 123, pl. 125.128a and Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 441–​451. Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 379–​382. Pringle proposes a late twelfth-​ century date and suggests that the workshop need not have been tied to the Temple area, Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 432. Compare Zehava Jacoby, “The Tomb of Baldwin v, King of Jerusalem (1185–​1186), and the Workshop of the Temple Area,” Gesta 18, no. 2 (1979): 3–​14. Annemarie Weyl Carr, Byzantine Illumination 1150–​1250: The Study of a Provincial Tradition, eds. Oleg Grabar and Herbert L. Kessler, Studies in Medieval Manuscript Illumination (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 143–​144. Ibid., 144, 150–​151. Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 326.

Jerusalem in Relief

33

­f igure 1.10  Dikka, with twelfth-​century side panels, al-​Aqsa Mosque, al-​Haram al-​Sharif, Jerusalem

Frankish-​era side panel reused on the dikka (elevated prayer platform) of al-​ Aqsa Mosque on the Haram al-​Sharif (Figure 1.10).44 The dynamic, curving acanthus leaves with grape or pinecone clusters on the left pilaster in Cairo also correspond to those on a panel of church furniture from the Holy Sepulcher.45 The spandrels of the trefoil arch over the lower-​level Ibrahim mihrab (the niche indicating the direction of prayer) in the Dome of the Rock feature relief flowers. Their spiraling-​petal effect is similar to that on the fourth and sixth flowers (counting from the top) on the inward-​facing side of the left pilaster (Figure 1.11).46 The other flowers on the left pilaster are diverse, but they all share the pattern of convex or concave petals evenly spaced around a central element seen on the frieze above the Zakariyya mihrab in the eastern part of al-​Aqsa Mosque (Figure 1.12).47 44 45 46 47

Ibid., fig. 2. See also Flood, “Ambiguous Aesthetic,” 207–​208. See Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 326, fig. 3. Note that she calls them pinecones on the left pilaster, though their somewhat round surface plus their attachment to a vine does lead me to suggest they are grapes. Ibid., fig. 6. Ibid., fig. 1. See also Flood, “Ambiguous Aesthetic,” 207.

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­f igure 1.11  Mihrab, lower level of Dome of the Rock, al-​Haram al-​Sharif, Jerusalem, partially from twelfth century

­f igure 1.12  Mihrab of Zakariyya, al-​Aqsa Mosque, al-​Haram al-​Sharif, Jerusalem, partially from twelfth century

The zigzag motifs on the capitals of both Cairo pilasters appear in other crusader-​era architectural decoration on the Haram al-​Sharif. The central archway over al-​Aqsa Mosque’s porch,48 probably reconstructed by the Ayyubid amir Sharaf al-​Din al-​Muʿazzam ʿIsa (r. 1218–​27) in 1217–​18, has zigzag archivolts likely taken from a previous crusader-​era porch construction (Figure 1.13).49 Like the archivolts in Jerusalem, the pilaster capitals in Cairo display zigzags in multiple registers of differing relief, depth, and width (Figures 1.1 and 1.9). On the capitals, the lowest zigzag line creates a narrowly projecting relief; the space above, between it and the next line, forms a more concave negative relief; and the uppermost zigzag consists of two layers, with a flat lower edge on the bottom and a rounded layer on top. Thus the surface variability of the zigzag capitals on the pilasters matches with other zigzag carvings on the Haram al-​Sharif. 48 49

Compare a set of re-​used zigzag columns in a small arcade above the central mihrab of the Aqsa Mosque, see Flood, “Ambiguous Aesthetic,” 207, pl. 11.5. Hawari, “Ayyubid Monuments,” 244–​247.

Jerusalem in Relief

35

­f igure 1.13  Main portal, al-​Aqsa Mosque, al-​Haram al-​Sharif, Jerusalem, partially from twelfth century

The intricate interlace motif on the outward face of the Jerusalemite pilaster also finds several parallels in the so-​called Temple workshop pieces. For example, the side columns on the tomb of Baldwin v (r. 1185–​86; tomb c. 1186–​ 87, formerly in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher), the crusader-​era supports to the sides of the mihrab of Umar (in the southeast corner of al-​Aqsa Mosque) (Figure 1.14), and both the Bab al-​Silsila and Bab al-​Nazir (portals onto the Haram al-​Sharif) have this motif.50 They all also display paired vinelike stone columns that have been completely or partly braided, with deep interstices and connections “woven” between them. Even though these samples are more intricate and three-​dimensional than the flatter, braided motif on the pilaster, they reveal a similar fascination with and ability to carve stone in interlacing designs. Other clues to the context of the Jerusalemite pilaster’s proposed production are provided by what is not present: the three flat surfaces topped by arches between each architectural relief are now blank (Figure 1.1). The arches framing each of these blank panels are slightly different from one another. The

50

Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 328, 351, figs. 5, 11, 61. See also Flood, “Ambiguous Aesthetic,” 203–​204.

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­f igure 1.14 Mihrab of Umar with braided columns, al-​Aqsa Mosque, Jerusalem, partially from twelfth century

top one is more rounded, the middle one more pointed, and the lowest slightly pointed with a pattern of worn dentillation around its archivolt. Even the capitals of the blank pilaster panels were detailed, seemingly with foliate designs, although the decayed surface makes them difficult to read. The smoothness of the blank surfaces under these arches suggests that they were not meant to hold reliefs but, rather, were prepared for painting that has either worn away or was purposefully destroyed. A reddish tint is visible on the irregular surface of the top panel below the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, although whether that dates to medieval or more modern times is uncertain. The lower two panels show the lighter, sandy stone color with a few dips, bumps, and darkened spots on their slightly more variegated surfaces. Comparisons with blank panels remaining in contemporary architecture in the eastern Mediterranean region hint at possibilities for these panels’ original state.51 The combination of the arched framing and the smooth surface is found in a piece of crusader-​era church furniture re-​used in al-​Aqsa Mosque. Its arched forms with slender columns and foliate capitals surround a blank stone surface in a slightly larger format.52 Such vertical surfaces framed by an arch may once have displayed figures of standing saints. If this were the case, the figures on the pilaster would have been unacceptable in a Muslim sanctified setting and would have been erased before their placement on the Cairo mosque facade.53 A comparison is the medieval figural Christian painting and 51 52 53

See Gustav Kühnel, “Crusader Monumental Painting and Mosaic,” in Knights of the Holy Land: The Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, ed. Silvia Rozenberg (Jerusalem: The Israel Museum, 1999), 202–​215. Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo,” 123, pl. 125.128a. See also Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 328–​330, figs. 8–​10. See Zehava Jacoby, “Ideological and Pragmatic Aspects of Muslim Iconoclasm after the Crusader Advent in the Holy Land,” in L’art des révolutions, ed. Sergiusz Michalski

Jerusalem in Relief

37

­f igure 1.15  Façade, Saint Sophia in Nicosia, Cyprus, thirteenth century

sculpture effaced by a later Muslim occupant at the church of Santa Sophia in Nicosia, Cyprus (renamed the Selimiye Mosque in 1571) (Figure 1.15).54 The European ruler of Cyprus began this Gothic style cathedral in the thirteenth century as a sign of his Latin Christian rule, including other cultural specific elements to hint at a broader world view.55 On the splays of the western façade portal are shallow, empty niches with smooth, flat surfaces and sculpted borders. As in the Jerusalemite pilaster, no evidence of sculpture being chiseled off or plastered over is visible in these niches, whereas such damage is apparent in the tympanum above.56 Remnants of reliefs at the top of each niche depict hands holding a crown. Below were once possibly displayed painted wooden panels of iconic, Byzantine-​inspired saints—​of which contemporary examples from Cyprus do exist, being crowned by the carved

54 55 56

(Strasbourg, France: Société alsacienne pour le développement de l’histoire de l’art, 1992), 13–​15. Justine M. Andrews, “Santa Sophia in Nicosia: The Sculpture of the Western Portals and its Reception,” Comitatus 30 (1999): 63. Ibid., 65–​66. Ibid., 75–​78.

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heavenly hands.57 This Cypriot example raises the possibility that the empty panels on the Jerusalemite pilaster might once have held figural paintings on wood. Another option for the decoration of these niches would be painting applied directly to the surface of the stone, as was done in a few extant Frankish works from the twelfth century, including a group of saints and donor figures on the stone columns of the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem (c. 1130s–​1160s).58 The vertical orientation of the columns emphasizes the saints’ standing poses, occasionally with a patron kneeling at their feet. A mid-​twelfth-​century chapel in Jerusalem’s Damascus Gate also contains figural wall paintings, perhaps including a narrative scene of the Annunciation juxtaposed with decorative surface patterns.59 Paintings in the Church of the Resurrection at Abu Ghosh (begun c. 1170), believed by the Franks to honor the site where the risen Christ appeared to his disciples at Emmaus, show standing figures of saints in registers around the apse and large saints on pilasters in the nave.60 Abu Ghosh also featured simulated marble patterns painted on the dado, wall shafts, nave piers, and window lunettes.61 The Abu Ghosh décor of painted stone patterns combined with standing figures and narrative scenes reveals how the Franks in the Levant accepted and perhaps even expected diverse materials, textures, themes, and colors in their monuments. These examples incorporated saints important to the region and suggest logical parallels for what might once have been painted in the Jerusalemite pilaster frames. The combination of architectural reliefs and painted figures or patterns on the surfaces of the Jerusalemite pilaster was entirely feasible in a medieval Frankish context. It is more challenging to try to discern the origin of the sculptors in the Temple workshop who could have created such pilasters. Based on aspects

57

Ibid., 78 and Andrews, “Conveyance and Convergence,” 427. See also Annemarie Weyl Carr, “Byzantines and Italians on Cyprus: Images from Art,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 49 (1995): 339–​357. 58 Kühnel, “Crusader Monumental Painting and Mosaic,” 207–​211. See also Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 364–​371 for illustrations. 59 Lucy-​ Anne Hunt, “Damascus Gate, Jerusalem, and Crusader Wallpainting of the Mid-​twelfth Century,” in Crusader Art in the Twelfth Century, ed. Jaroslav Folda, bar International Series 152 (Oxford: British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem, 1982), 192–​197. 60 Annemarie Weyl Carr, “The Mural Paintings of Abu Ghosh and the Patronage of Manuel Comnenus in the Holy Land,” in ibid., 214–​216. See also Kühnel, “Crusader Monumental Painting and Mosaic,” 211–​213 and Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 382–​390, esp. 384–​ 387 for illustrations. 61 See Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 382–​390.

Jerusalem in Relief

39

of form, style, and iconography, Jacoby asserted that the artists’ likely origins were in Provence and/​or southern Italy.62 Contemporary sculpture in southern France offers possible models that help us understand the form and symbolism of the buildings on the Jerusalemite pilaster.63 The use of architectural motifs in narrative imagery had precedents there, as did the leaf and floral patterns. Some inspiration from Provençal sculpture may have entered Jerusalem and the Temple workshop either directly, via traveling sculptors, or indirectly through patrons.64 In the Crucifixion scene in the south (right) tympanum of the Benedictine complex of Saint-​Gilles-​du-​Gard in southern France (c. 1140s–​ 1150s) (Figure 1.16), the Templum Domini appears at the far right as a rounded dome with small windows in the drum over the head of the personified Synagoga, who is being pushed over by an angel (Figure 1.17).65 One interpretation of this association of Synagoga with the dome is symbolic: the structure reinforces Synagoga’s identity through reference to the Jewish Temple, which was commonly identified as the Templum Domini. The toppling of Synagoga in a Crucifixion scene might thus have signified that the death of Christ and the inauguration of the new law that it represented figuratively overcame the old Mosaic Law.66 Another interpretation proposes that the tympanum relief may

62

63 64

65

66

Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 354–​376. See also Zehava Jacoby, “The Provençal Impact on Crusader Sculpture in Jerusalem: More Evidence on the Temple Area Atelier,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 48, no. 4 (1985): 442–​450 and Helmut Buschhausen, Die süditalienische Bauplastik im Königreich Jerusalem von König Wilhelm ii. bis Kaiser Friedrich ii, vol. 108, Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-​ Historische Klasse Denkschriften (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1978), (reviewed by Zehava Jacoby, “Die süditalienische Bauplastik im Königreich Jerusalem von König Wilhelm ii. bis Kaiser Friedrich ii by Helmut Buschhausen (1978),” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 47, no. 3 (1984): 400–​403). See Jacoby, “The Provençal Impact on Crusader Sculpture,” 442–​450. For a succinct overview of the issue of European influence in crusader sculpture, see Bianca Kühnel, “Crusader Art in the Holy Land,” in Knights of the Holy Land: The Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, ed. Silvia Rozenberg (Jerusalem: The Israel Museum, 1999), 167–​171. See also Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 441. See Whitney Stoddard, The Façade of Saint-​Gilles-​du-​Gard. Its Influence on French Sculpture (Middletown, Connecticut: Wesleyan University Press, 1973) and Carra Ferguson O’Meara, The iconography of the facade of Saint-​Gilles-​du-​Gard (New York: Garland Publishing, 1977). Note that other scenes of Jerusalem and its buildings appear on this church façade, Stoddard, The Façade of Saint-​Gilles-​du-​Gard, 3. See O’Meara, Saint-​Gilles, 138–​139 and Gil Fishhof, “Reconsidering the Sculptural Program of Saint-​Gilles-​du-​Gard: The Role and Meaning of its Bases and Socles,” in Pictorial Languages and their Meanings: Liber Amicorum in honor of Nurith Kenaan-​Kedar, eds. Christine Verzar and Gil Fishhof (Tel Aviv: Yolanda and David Katz Faculty of the Arts, Tel Aviv University, 2006), 95–​96.

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­f igure 1.16  Façade, Saint-​Gilles-​du-​Gard, France, twelfth century

­f igure 1.17  Right Tympanum, Façade, Saint-​Gilles-​du-​Gard, France, twelfth century

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41

have had a specific Frankish meaning because Saint-​Gilles-​du-​Gard was an embarkation point for the crusades in general and specifically for Raymond iv (d. 1105), count of Toulouse, lord of Saint-​Gilles and of Tripoli, and one of the leaders in the First Crusade.67 In this context, the dome on the head of the toppling Synagoga could have stood for the Franks’ taking the Temple Mount from their Muslim rivals in 1099 with Raymond’s aid. Moreover, the monastic military orders of the Hospitallers of St. John (founded between 1065 and 1071) and Templars (founded 1118) were involved with Saint-​Gilles-​du-​Gard as a place from which to promote crusade to Jerusalem as a religious pilgrimage and as a way to combat the enemies of Christianity more generally. Even though this representation of a faraway building in a narrative scene differs from the focus on the one on the Jerusalemite pilaster, Saint-​Gilles offers an uncommon precedent for artists from southern France using Jerusalem architecture in a visible and explicitly crusader-​influenced setting.68 In addition to Provence, scholars proposed that the art of southern Italy had a strong impact on the art of twelfth-​century Jerusalem—​and possibly the Jerusalemite pilaster.69 Helmut Buschhausen asserted that a southern Italian workshop arrived in the Levant during the reign of Frederick ii (king of Jerusalem 1225–​28, regent 1228–​35; also king of Sicily 1198–​1250, king of Germany 1212–​50, and king of Italy and Holy Roman Emperor 1220–​50), but Jacoby pointed to evidence of earlier Italian-​influenced activity.70 She thought that some Italian influence was evident in the sculptural styles of twelfth-​ century Jerusalem and that after working there, the artists returned to Italy, perhaps after 1187. The sculpture in the cloister of the cathedral of Monreale in Sicily (c. 1175–​85) (Figure 1.18) and in the pulpits of Campanian churches from the twelfth century shared the combination of naturalistic representation and stylized execution of flat, linear foliate elements with the so-​called Temple workshop, especially as seen on the left pilaster now in Cairo.71 67 68

See Fishhof, “Reconsidering,” 94. See also O’Meara, Saint-​Gilles, 108–​116, 132, 138. Jacoby did not see direct influence between Saint-​Gilles and the Temple workshop, but more of an “organic growth of an art absorbing both classical elements found in the area and currents of influence coming from other regions,” Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 383. 69 See Buschhausen, Die süditalienische Bauplastik im Königreich Jerusalem, 108, Chapter 1 and Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 325–​394. See also Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 455–​456; Kühnel, “Crusader Art in the Holy Land,” 162–​167; and Silvia Rozenberg, “Sculptural Fragments,” in Knights of the Holy Land: The Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, ed. Silvia Rozenberg (Jerusalem: The Israel Museum, 1999), 187–​191. 70 Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 325n321. See Buschhausen, Die süditalienische Bauplastik im Königreich Jerusalem, 108, Chapter 1. 71 Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 362–​367.

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­f igure 1.18  Capital, Cloister, Cathedral of Monreale, Italy, late twelfth century

­f igure 1.19 Left jamb, Main Portal, Detail of scrolling ivy and Old Testament prophets, San Geminiano, Cathedral of Modena, Italy, twelfth century

Works from central Italy also offer comparisons to the pilasters in terms of overall form. The doorposts of Modena Cathedral are especially relevant. The central portal on the west façade (detail, Figure 1.19), the westernmost south portal (Porta dei Principi), and the northern portal (Porta della Pescheria) all display squared doorposts of which two adjacent sides are visible.72 The

72

See Glass, Sculpture of Reform, 121–​133, figs. 4.10–​15, 4.18, 4.24–​29, 4.34–​35.

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43

inward-​facing side of each doorpost is carved with standing figures in relief under round arches supported by decorative columns, aligned vertically on the pilaster. On the west façade, the figures are all from the Hebrew Bible, or the Christian Old Testament; on the south portal, they are Christian New Testament and generic church figures; and on the north side, they are calendar figures carrying out monthly activities. On the three Modena portals, all outward-​facing sides display a foliate interlace pattern inhabited by small figures, animals, and birds. Each scroll is different from the others: the main façade doorpost has an intricate and refined, tightly wound vine motif (Figure 1.19); the south portal contains a thicker vine braided under and over itself; and the north door includes looser, curving rinceaux with spiky acanthus leaves. The doorways date to the first few decades of the twelfth century and are attributed to the famous sculptor Wiligelmus, whose name and the date of 1099 were inscribed on a panel now on the church façade.73 The doorposts in Modena thus show a combination of foliate and geometric design on one side with figural frames on the other, a suggestive model to inform the artist for the Jerusalemite pilaster and its complement now in Cairo. The connection between the sculptors of Modena Cathedral and of the Holy Land pilasters could, in fact, be a direct one.74 Modena’s part in the crusades in the twelfth century can be followed through the actions of the Countess Matilda of Canossa (1046–​1115), who controlled much of the region of Emilia, Lombardy, Romagna, and Tuscany and was involved in the building of the new cathedral.75 Even though she did not go to the Holy Land, she was a supporter of the papacy and of raising an army to travel there. With her vast landholdings, it seems feasible that an artist who knew the early twelfth-​century ­cathedral firsthand traveled to the Levant and shared his visual knowledge and carving skills with the next generation of Levantine sculptors. Such a connection is not a stretch given that other sculptures in Jerusalem, such as the lintels of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, show strong affinities with contemporary twelfth-​century sculpture from Provence, Languedoc, the Abruzzi, and Tuscany as well.76 Clearly, medieval artists moved around and took with them 73 74

75 76

Ibid., 121, fig. 4.4. See Jeanne Fox-​Friedman, “Messianic Visions: Modena Cathedral and the Crusades,” Res Spring (1994): 77–​95. See also Jeanne Fox-​Friedman, “Sacred and Secular: Modena Cathedral and Monumental World Maps,” Arte Medievale 10, no. 2 (1996): 39–​55 and Glass, Sculpture of Reform, 154–​157, 163, 201. Fox-​Friedman, “Messianic Visions,” 84. Nurith Kenaan-​Kedar, “The Two Lintels of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem,” in Knights of the Holy Land: The Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, ed. Silvia Rozenberg

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knowledge of styles, iconographies, and formats to share with others in their new locales. One other suggestion for the Jerusalemite pilaster’s place of production has been Acre (Israel), a Mediterranean coastal city. The Temple workshop might have moved there with the Franks’ establishment of Acre as their new Levantine capital in 1191, thus dating the pilaster slightly later.77 Little sculpted material from Acre is currently extant. Excavations ongoing since the 1990s, especially at the Hospitaller compound and a few other sites around the city, continue to shed light on the material culture of the city during the crusader era.78 As discussed in Chapter 6, the Mamluks did appropriate at least one carved portal from Acre (see Figure 6.2), which is now located on the façade of the mosque-​madrasa-​mausoleum in Cairo (1295–​1303) of Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad ibn Qalawun (or al-​Nasir Muhammad, r. 1293–​4, 1299–​1309, 1310–​ 41).79 Yet its style, with Corinthian capitals and archivolts with leaf designs, does not relate to that of the Jerusalemite pilaster. Other significant Acre sites currently under study, such as the church of St. John in the Hospitaller compound, reveal a notable reuse of ancient architectural remnants combined with such new sculptural components as capitals, corbels, cornices, and archivolts, but no relief sculpture has appeared that is comparable in form and caliber to the Jerusalemite pilaster.80 Acre does not seem to have been a likely place for the pilasters’ production, although thorough comparison remains challenging until archaeologists uncover more of the Acre material.

77 78

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(Jerusalem: The Israel Museum, 1999), 177. Kenaan-​Kedar also argues for the influence of antique art on the art of these European regions, ibid., 180–​181. See Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 381–​382. See Rozenberg, “Sculptural Fragments,” 186–​191. On the excavations and the ongoing publication of those materials, see Edna Stern, Anastasia Shapiro, and S. Y. Waksman, Akko i, the 1991–​1998 Excavations: The Crusader-​period pottery, Israel Antiquities Authorities Report (Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 2012), vii, 1. See Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 456; Doris Behrens-​Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks: A History of the Architecture and its Culture (Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press, 2007), 153–​154; and Doris Behrens-​Abouseif, Islamic Architecture in Cairo: an introduction (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1989), 100. Vardit Shotten-​Hallel, “Ritual and Conflict in the Hospitaller Church of St John in Acre: the Architectural Evidence,” in Culture and Conflict in the Mediterranean World, eds. Jochen Schenk and Michael Carr, The Military Orders (London: Routledge, 2017), 71–​72 and Vardit Shotten-​Hallel, “The Architectural Language of the Hospitaller Church of St. John, Acre and its Historical Context,” in Crusading and Trading between West and East: Studies in Honour of David Jacoby, eds. Sophia Menache, Benjamin Z. Kedar, and Michel Balard, Crusades Subsidia (London and New York: Routledge, 2018), 127–​146.

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These twelfth-​century comparisons from Jerusalem, France, and Italy support the likelihood that artists in Jerusalem carved the Jerusalemite pilaster before the Ayyubids took over the holy city in 1187. Works with the floral, zigzag, braided, and foliate designs of so-​called Temple workshop pieces were prepared for such important patrons as the Frankish royal family and the Hospitaller and Templar military orders to adorn tombs, capitals, panels, and other pieces in Jerusalem.81 Looking at these high-​profile patrons and key parts of the city where other workshop pieces appear is a logical next step. An examination of the city’s late twelfth-​century construction and decoration activities reveals three potential settings for the Jerusalem pilaster. 1.2.1 The Temple Mount Setting in Jerusalem A first possible original context for the Jerusalemite pilaster is on the Temple Mount, where the Franks had an active building campaign in the second half of the twelfth century.82 King Amalric (r. 1163–​74) assigned responsibility for the care of the liturgical needs of the Templum Domini to the Augustinian canons. The naming of their first abbot in 1138 suggests a date by which they established their religious community.83 According to the pilgrim John of Würzburg who wrote in c. 1170, the canons built a cloister to the north of the Templum Domini: “On the north [the Temple] has a portal towards the cloister of the canons … .”84 Other buildings to the north of the Templum Domini included a refectory and chapter house.85 Muhammad al-​Idrisi (1099–​1165/​66), a Muslim geographer from the Norman court of Sicily, reported more details even earlier, in 1154: “opposite to the northern gate [of the Templum Domini] is a beautiful garden, planted with all sorts of trees, and round the garden is set a colonnade of marble, of most wondrous workmanship.”86 This description suggests that a 81

See Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo,” 123 and Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 379–​382. The Temple workshop was distinct from the Holy Sepulcher workshop that carved that monument’s portals, lintels, capitals, and reliefs in the 1140s–​1150s and disbanded by the late 1150s, see Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 177–​229, esp. 229. The Metropolitan Jerusalem 1000–​1400 exhibition catalog mentions a “Templar” workshop associated with the military order, though Jacoby uses the term “Temple” to associate more generally with the part of the city where she assumed the workshop was located (and not the order per se), see Boehm and Holcomb, Jerusalem. 1000–​1400, 163–​165 and compare Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 325. Regarding this catalog, see Fleck, “Review of Jerusalem 1000–​1400,” 562–​568. 82 See Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 380. 83 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 401–​403. 84 Ibid., 405. See also Theoderic in Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 289. 85 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 407. 86 Ibid. See also Boas, Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades, 91.

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typical monastic cloister arrangement, with an open courtyard surrounded by an arcade, was located there. A mid-​century date is roughly concurrent with the reliefs of Saint-​Gilles-​du-​Gard. If the pilaster was made for the colonnade recorded in 1154, it would predate the earliest of the known Temple workshop products, dated by Jacoby c. 1167–​1187. Perhaps the Augustinian cloister was built mostly in the 1150s, and the Jerusalemite pilaster was inserted a decade or two later. A second possible home for the pilaster could have been in another part of the Temple Mount where significant late twelfth-​century building activity took place: one of the structures attached to al-​Aqsa Mosque and built by the Knights Templar.87 The Frankish kings used the mosque as a residence from the time of their takeover of Jerusalem in 1099, calling it the Templum Salomonis (Temple of Solomon). Then King Baldwin ii (r. 1118–​31) offered it to the Templars around 1120, when the king moved to the Tower of David complex. The Templars were a religious military order founded c. 1118 as a defensive force to assert control of the Holy Land and as a charitable group to offer services to pilgrims and crusaders there and in Europe.88 The Templars received their name from their association with the so-​called Templum Salomonis.89 In the 1160s–​70s, they constructed a pair of chapels inside the Templum Salomonis and an adjacent church.90 John of Würzburg wrote that “next to that palace the knights Templar have many large and spacious adjoining buildings, including the construction of a large new church, which, however, is not yet finished.”91 According to Theodoric, the Templars were building the new church just to the west of the former mosque and “… a new cloister there in addition to the old one that they had in another part of the building …”—​suggesting that they had two cloisters in fact by the 1170s.92 The Templars also added a new north porch to the former mosque.93 Jaroslav Folda has argued that the earlier work done for the Augustinian canons on

87 88

See Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 422–​423. Alan Forey, “The Military Orders 1120–​1312,” in The Oxford Illustrated History of the Crusades, ed. Jonathan Riley-​Smith (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), 184–​185. 89 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 420. 90 Boas, Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades, 89–​93; Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 433; and Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 441. 91 In Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 422. 92 In Wilkinson, Hill, and Ryan, Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 294. See also Theoderich, Guide to the Holy Land, 31; Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 422; and Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 441. 93 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 420–​423.

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­f igure 1.20 Portal, Sant’Andrea, Barletta, Italy, twelfth-​thirteenth century

the Templum Domini was produced by a workshop different from the one that worked for the Templars.94 The options for the pilaster’s inclusion in the Templars’ Templum Salomonis constructions might have been insertion into a portal, a cloister, or a new façade. The twelfth-​century doorposts in the Modena Cathedral portals (Figure 1.19) or those in the portal of Sant’Andrea in Barletta in southern Italy (Figure 1.20), which has an interlace pattern like the one on the sides of the Jerusalemite pilaster, suggest how the architectural pilaster might have appeared if it were placed in the Templar church portal. The cathedral of Monreale, which dates to the period when the Templars were erecting cloisters in the Templum Salomonis, reveals how the pilaster might have been placed in a cloister (compare Figure 1.18). The Templar complex on the Temple Mount was thus maybe a second possible location for the Jerusalemite pilaster in the 1170s. If the Jerusalemite pilaster were placed in either the Templum Domini or the Templum Salomonis complexes, its three architectural representations would have been significant for the audience and patrons. The Cambrai map prominently displays the three buildings depicted on the Jerusalemite pilaster because they were special markers of places where Christ and his ancestors lived and died, sites that pilgrims visited in the city (Figure 1.4).95 Maps and

94 95

Folda suggested that the sculptural and architectural work being done in Jerusalem from the 1170s was mainly for the Templars, who called this workshop into existence, Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 441–​442. Compare Hannah Vorholt, “Touching the Tomb of Christ: Notes on a Twelfth-​Century Map of Jerusalem from Winchcombe, Gloucestershire,” Imago Mundi 61, no. 2 (2009): 251 and Ousterhout, “Architecture as relic,” 4–​23.

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texts indicate that medieval Christian residents and pilgrims specifically visited these three important sites regularly.96 The Tower of David, depicted at the bottom of the pilaster, could have been a starting point for visitors because of its location at Jerusalem’s western gate (Figure 1.7). Especially meaningful to a Christian who saw the city as a place connecting biblical history and scriptural narrative to the present, the Tower was named after the biblical king David who was, like the Frankish king residing in the city and in that very complex, an anointed ruler of holy Jerusalem.97 Moving east from the Tower of David, and with its image centered on the pilaster, the Templum Domini was the focal point of the Temple Mount (Figure 1.5). This shrine was erected on the spot that, according to the Bible, was chosen by the Lord as the site of his temple. Initially built by King Solomon, the temple was later honored through Christ’s presence. The crusader kings saw themselves as continuing in that holy trajectory, initially choosing the Temple Mount as their residence in Jerusalem in the first decades of the twelfth century. The culmination of a visit to Jerusalem was the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, represented by the Anastasis Rotunda at the top of the pilaster (Figure 1.3). This building marked the places of Christ’s death and resurrection, sites sacred to any Christian. The crusader rulers attempted to emulate Christ’s holiness and come closer to him by placing their own tombs in that church.98 From a liturgical standpoint, the buildings on the pilaster were linked to one another and to the Temple Mount in particular. Sacred processions, such as that for Palm Sunday, wended their way through the city, starting at the Holy Sepulcher and ending up at the Templum Domini on the Temple Mount for the blessing of the palms.99 Despite being separate communities, the Augustinian canons at the Templum Domini and at the Holy Sepulcher church were closely related. They pooled donations and shared liturgies and resources.100 Chapter 4 96

On the importance of these three structures in crusader-​era maps, for instance, see Vorholt, “Touching the Tomb of Christ,” 248. 97 See Svetlana i. Luchitskaya, “Pictorial Sources, Coronation Ritual and Daily Life in the Kingdom of Jerusalem,” in Ritual, Images, and Daily Life: The Medieval Perspective, ed. Gerhard Jaritz (Münster: Lit Verlag, 2012), 51. 98 See Jacoby, “The Tomb of Baldwin v,” 3–​14. 99 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 403. 100 See Kaspar Elm, “La liturgie de l’Eglise latine de Jérusalem au temps des croisades,” in Les Croisades: L’Orient et l’Occident d’Urbain ii à Saint Louis 1096–​1270, ed. Monique Rey-​ Delqué (Milan: Electa, 1997), 244. An example of the ties among these ecclesiastical groups is that the canons of the Templum Domini, who controlled the majority of the Temple precinct, gave the Templars some land adjacent to the palace in exchange for their security help, Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 420. Between 1130 and 1136, the priors of the Holy Sepulcher, the Templum Domini, Mount

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will discuss how the Templum Domini grew in importance during the twelfth century as it became the site for other feasts, such as the Purification of the Virgin Mary and the Presentation of the Lord, which were formerly celebrated at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.101 The Templum Domini’s central placement on the pilaster emphasized its increasing religious significance to Frankish Christians. From a political standpoint, these buildings could have been specific Jerusalem indicators of particular Frankish royal privileges granted by the rulers (living in the Tower of David complex) to the Augustinian canons and to the Templars (both on the Temple Mount). If it was made for the canons, the pilaster would have been a reminder of their authority in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and Templum Domini, the two religious institutions represented uppermost on the pilaster. If it was created for the Templars, the pilaster may have shown the Templum Domini prominently as a way to highlight their adjacent headquarters on the Temple Mount and their growing importance in the kingdom as protectors of pilgrims to all of these sites.102 Both the Augustinian canons and the Templars on the Temple Mount may have wanted to cultivate royal favor to solidify their hold on the sites on the Temple Mount. The Jerusalemite pilaster on the Temple Mount thus may have served to elevate the ruler while celebrating these three strategic holy sites of the city. 1.2.2 A Royal Display A third possibility for the original location of the Jerusalemite pilaster, perhaps most convincing, was the new royal palace or curia regis. Built by c. 1170 and represented on the Cambrai map (Figure 1.4), this great hall was used for state events, from legal hearings to banquets to diplomatic receptions, as well as for food and water storage.103 Little is known about the structure because of its subsequent dismantling, but, as noted above, this palace might have resembled the bishop’s palace in Parma built from the mid-​eleventh to the early thirteenth century (Figure 1.8). The Parma palace has arched openings supported by large imposts at the bottom level and smaller arches in the upper levels above inset Sion, and the Mount of Olives also formed a confraternity, for which they agreed mutually to pray for their sick and help with funerals and services of their chapters, ibid., 402. 101 See Silvia Schein, Gateway to the heavenly city: crusader Jerusalem and the Catholic west (1099–​1187) (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005). 1 02 On Templar patronage, see Bernard Hamilton, The Latin Church in the Crusader States: The Secular Church (London: Variorum Publications Ltd, 1980), 108. 103 See Boas, Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades, 80–​82 and Joshua Prawer, Histoire du Royaume Latin de Jérusalem, trans. G. Nahon, Second edn., 2 vols., vol. 1: Les Croisades et le premier royaume latin, Le Monde byzantin (Paris: cnrs Editions, 2001), 484.

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lancet windows supported by slender columns.104 If the Jerusalemite pilaster was indeed originally intended for the new curia regis façade or portal, its representations of the Tower of David complex, the Templum Domini, and the Anastasis Rotunda of the Holy Sepulcher would have provided a purposeful display of strategic royal connections among these sites. Archaeologist Dan Bahat has briefly described the discovery of a possible part of the curia regis façade in an area called the Armenian Gardens, 125 meters south of the Tower of David. Bahat has not published this material fully, but it supposedly showed evidence of engaged pillars.105 At the moment it is not possible to analyze whether the Jerusalemite pilaster would have fit the measurements of the façade or a portal, which would have been its likely placement.106 Squared pilasters are attached to the façade at Saint-​Gilles-​du-​ Gard in southern France (Figure 1.16) and flank the portal at Sant’Andrea in Barletta (Figure 1.20). Jacoby published another fragment with architectural details from the Armenian Gardens that appears to date to the second half of the twelfth century.107 Its generic architectural representation, which seems to be a baldachin frame or capital for a figure or column below it, suggests that this part of Jerusalem, and perhaps the curia regis itself, once boasted elaborate carving of which the pilaster would have been a fitting component. These three structures on the pilaster offer a large-​scale parallel to Frankish coins and seals, which throughout the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries displayed the same buildings in various combinations as emblems of the Frankish rulers’ sacred and secular power based in Jerusalem.108 The right to mint a coin in the Kingdom of Jerusalem was a royal prerogative that began forty years after the kingdom was established. The first Frankish royal coin 104 See Marina, The Italian Piazza, 41–​44, figs. 29–​30. Unfortunately, it lacks the detailed ornamentation and sculpture seen in the nearby Parma baptistery (1196–​1216). Marina suggested that the bishop who commissioned the palace’s expanded eastern façade (c. 1232–​34) could have chosen to imitate the baptistery’s decoration but wished to complete the project quickly and so limited the ornamentation, ibid., 49. 105 Bahat, “Crusader Jerusalem,” 72. See also Bahat and Broshi, “Armenian Garden,” 55–​ 56; Boas, Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades, 82; and Hillel Geva, “Jerusalem,” in New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land, ed. Ephraim Stern (Jerusalem and New York: Israel Exploration Society & Carta and Simon & Schuster, 1993), 797. Ellenblum questioned whether the Armenian Garden excavations would have been the curia regis, Ellenblum, “Frankish Castles, Muslim Castles,” 108–​109. 106 Boas, Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades, 82. 107 Zehava Jacoby, “A Newly Discovered Crusader Fragment in Jerusalem,” Israel Exploration Journal 30, no. 3–​4 (1980): 202–​204, pls. 22–​24. 108 Boas, Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades, 200–​201. On the coins and the royal seals with the Holy Sepulcher, see Pesant, Sabine, and Metcalf, “The ‘Amalricus’ coins,” 105–​121.

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was likely that of Baldwin iii (r. 1143–​63), with the legend “baldvinus rex” and the Tower of David shown as a crenellated tower, as on the pilaster.109 The coins of Kings Amalric and John of Brienne (r. 1210–​25) showed the Anastasis Rotunda with its oculus and conical roof above an arcade, structural forms quite similar to the simultaneous interior/​exterior architectural representation on the pilaster’s top relief.110 The oft-​repeated shapes and details of these buildings on the coins, as on the pilaster, must have been readily recognizable to viewers. The inclusion of at least one of these Jerusalem buildings became a minting tradition because these buildings gained importance as symbols of royal power and identity, recognizable by subjects, visitors, and merchants alike. The kings made abundantly clear through their coinage that these holy buildings were a part of the realm under royal control before 1187, and they were among the possessions claimed even after Jerusalem had been lost.111 While the coins separately showed the individual buildings on the pilaster, the royal Frankish seals showed the same three key buildings all together. Seals provided an imprint on wax or lead affixed to documents and letters from the reign of Baldwin i (r. 1100–​1118) through Aimery of Lusignan (r. 1197–​1205) and John of Brienne (Figure 1.21).112 The engraved seal matrix, or the die, was a special object of personal or institutional property. It was often stored in a secure box or kept among one’s treasures.113 From ancient times, sealing or making

1 09 See Pesant, Sabine, and Metcalf, “The ‘Amalricus’ coins,” 109–​111. 110 See ibid., 105–​113. There has been debate on whether the name “Amalricus” on the coin refers to Amalric or to Aimery. Pesant argued for dies to have been issued from Amalric’s time and then reused later, ibid., 109–​112. 111 D.M. Metcalf, Coinage of the Crusades and the Latin East in the Ashmolean Museum Oxford, Second, revised and enlarged edn., Royal Numismatic Society Special Publication (London: Royal Numismatic Society and the Society for the Study of the Crusades and the Latin East, 1995), 41–​42, 52–​53, 57, 77, 86. One exception in an example of 1187 shows the Tower of David and is likely of baronial production, ibid., 87. 112 Ibid., 41. Seals were allowed only for twenty-​two lordships in the crusader kingdom, plus the royalty, and their imprint on official documents represented these nobles’ authority, ibid., 86. On the seal of John of Brienne with all three buildings (c. 1225), see Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo,” 124–​125; Gustave Schlumberger, Ferdinand Chalandon, and Adrien Blanchet, Sigillographie de l’Orient latin, Haut commissariat de l’état francais en syrie et au liban, Bibliothèque archéologique et historique (Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1943), 1–​2, pl. i (1–​3); and Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 289–​290, 334–​337. On the later seals, see Prawer, Histoire, 1: Les Croisades et le premier royaume latin, 243 and Pesant, Sabine, and Metcalf, “The ‘Amalricus’ coins,” 114. 113 See Laura J. Whatley, “Visual Self-​Fashioning and the Seals of the Knights Hospitallers in England,” in Remembering the Crusades: Myth, Image, and Identity, eds. Nicholas Paul and Suzanne Yeager, Rethinking Theory (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University

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­f igure 1.21  Representation of the Templum Domini, Tower of David, and Anastasis Rotunda, Imprint from Seal of John of Brienne, Munich, Staatliche Münzsammlung, Pos. Nr. 10/​153 i 4, c. 1115

an impression on wax or clay established ownership, showed commitment, designated identity, represented authority, and authenticated documents and their source through c­ onnection to a visual image, symbol, and/​or an inscription.114 Seals were significant tools in the Middle Ages for rendering the documents to which they were attached as the official, reliable word of the person represented on the seal, and they conveyed both individual and institutional identity. Using a semiotic approach, Brigitte Bedos-​Rezak has stressed that the technology of repetitive imprints allowed seal users and viewers to reach an awareness of themselves and others in relation to the matrix, which categorized, replicated, and verified the owner through its repeated visual signs.115 Press, 2012), 253. See also Brigitte Miriam Bedos-​Rezak, “Medieval Identity: A Sign and a Concept,” American Historical Review 105, no. 5 (2000): 1489–​1533. 114 Bedos-​Rezak, “Medieval Identity,” 1511. See also Whatley, “Visual Self-​Fashioning,” 253. 1 15 Bedos-​Rezak, “Medieval Identity,” 1490–​1491. On the seal’s function beyond the role of authenticating documents, see ibid., 1513–​1514 and Whatley, “Visual Self-​Fashioning,” 252.

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I propose that the Jerusalemite pilaster may have enacted the identity of its owner in the manner of a seal. The identity of the individual or group represented on a seal referred to the characteristics that distinguished those persons in their time, place, and culture.116 A seal displayed elements of identity in a literal and metaphorical manner. Bedos-​Rezak argued that the eleventh and twelfth centuries marked a particular moment of heightened sensitivity to the semiotics of signs in western Europe. Individuals “came to recognize presence and representation as essential to the structure governing the generation of identity, conceiving identity as dependent on sameness,” and “they objectified identity by using a new material sign: the seal” more widely.117 That such thinking could make its way to the strongly French-​influenced court of crusader-​era Jerusalem seems highly plausible. The seal, as well as the pilaster, affirmed the presence of the individual or a group in the creation of a text and also the text’s authenticity as an instrument of their thoughts and wishes. As Bedos-​Rezak asserted, medieval seals demonstrated “a symbiotic relationship between human presence and representation, one in which representation matche[d]‌real presence.”118 Medieval societies were not fully literate, so thus the visual and iconic symbols of the seal could often be recognized more readily than the script. The choice of a figure, a symbol, or an architectural form meant to symbolize the owner was always deliberate. Thus in both the royal seals and the pilaster, the depiction of each architectural form signified the persons who utilized the represented buildings. In the early Baldwin i seal example, the grouping of these three buildings reinforced the connections that the kings made to Jerusalem’s topography from the start of the Frankish reign (Figure 1.21). The structures together were an essential signal of their control of these most sacred and significant sites in the realm.119 In short, the seal and the pilaster could have been symbols of the royal house and, more widely, of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem in the late twelfth century. 1 16 See Bedos-​Rezak, “Medieval Identity,” 1492. 117 Ibid., 1497. The appearance of seals on charters between 1000–​1200 in the name of French non-​royal elites is not just a continuation of past historical uses. Rather, it was a pointed deviation from the primarily royal privilege previously used. The European use of non-​royal seals became more widespread, while at the same time the use of royal seals became more entrenched in practice, ibid., 1511–​1512. A debate about the identity of divine and human persons occurred among a network of pre-​Scholastic literate elites who were mobile and prolific churchmen and chancery scholars especially in France, ibid., 1493–​1497. 118 Ibid., 1490. 119 On Baldwin i’s seal, see Schlumberger, Chalandon, and Blanchet, Sigillographie de l’Orient latin, 1–​2.

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While the political and religious meanings of the three buildings on the pilaster would have remained important to the Frankish kings throughout the century, they were especially significant between 1174 and 1187—​the years just after the construction of the curia regis. In that period, the royal leadership was often in conflict with the European lords of the Haute Cour, the high court or noble council, on issues such as how, if, and when to engage in battle with their Muslim enemies. Led by Salah al-​Din, the Ayyubids were putting increasing pressure on the kingdom’s borders.120 In addition, the royal family had problems asserting their dominance with an ill king Baldwin iv (r. 1174–​ 85), regal succession concerns, and the military orders’ continuing rise.121 All of these concerns created the need for the kings to emphasize their royal command to the public. Promoting the sites of their influence on their new palace face would have been a visible and assertive way to do so.122 Another way that the three buildings highlighted the rule of the kings of Jerusalem was by reinforcing the network of politics and religion that linked the rituals in which the structures were involved. As Robert Ousterhout discussed, the monuments were mapped onto the Jerusalem streetscape such that medieval visitors and city dwellers could associate sacred and historical narratives and locales with current events.123 One such ritual was the Frankish coronation, known today through three key sources: the Assizes of Jerusalem, which were law books; the various chronicles of the crusades; and pictorial representations.124 These sources suggest that a new ruler began the coronation day at his curia regis palace near the Tower of David—​the buildings ­represented lowest on the Jerusalemite pilaster. The Tower generally was understood as the Franks’ hard-​won seat of power after 1099 and thus a symbol of Frankish strength.125 The curia regis, as an elegant structure built nearby after several decades of Frankish presence in the city, epitomized the stabilization of that power.126 120 For an assessment of the matters of conflict and the extent to which there was a court versus noble faction against one another, see Peter W. Edbury, “Propaganda and Faction in the Kingdom of Jerusalem: The Background of Hattin,” in Crusaders and Muslims in Twelfth-​Century Syria, ed. Maya Shatzmiller, The Medieval Mediterranean: Peoples, Economies and Cultures, 400–​1453 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1993), 173–​189. 121 See Prawer, Histoire, 1: Les Croisades et le premier royaume latin, 577, 584. See also Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 410–​414 and Stephen Lay, “A leper in purple: The coronation of Baldwin iv in Jerusalem,” Journal of Medieval History 23, no. 4 (1997): 322–​326. 122 On the Tower of David as a sign of crusader power, see Johns, “The Citadel,” 163–​164. 123 Ousterhout, “Memory of Jerusalem,” 148–​154. 124 Luchitskaya, “Pictorial Sources, Coronation Ritual,” 50. 125 Compare Vorholt, “Herrschaft über Jerusalem,” 225–​228. 126 See Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 46, 289, 337, and 558–​559n220.

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­f igure 1.22 Death of King Baldwin i and Coronation of King Baldwin ii, William of Tyre’s Histoire d’Outremer, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, ms w.142, fol. 102r, fourteenth century

The next step in the ritual was for the new king to proceed to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the topmost building on the pilaster.127 One illustration from a French translation (the Histoire d’Outremer) of the Latin Historia rerum in partibus transmarinis gestarum (History of Deeds Done Beyond the Sea) by William of Tyre (archbishop of Tyre, c. 1175–​86) makes clear the royal association to the Holy Sepulcher dome, the site of coronations in Jerusalem beginning in 1140 (Figure 1.22).128 The historiated initial depicts the twelfth-​century

1 27 See Luchitskaya, “Pictorial Sources, Coronation Ritual,” 50–​51. 128 Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, ms w.142, fol. 102r, dated to the second quarter of the fourteenth century. It contains the original William of Tyre text—​also called L’Estoire d’Eracles—​to 1229 plus a continuation (“Les Faits des Romains”) and a letter from Prester John. On the coronation at the Holy Sepulcher Church, see Folda, “The Crusader Church,” 97–​98. For the original Latin version, see William of Tyre, Willelmi Tyrensis Archiepiscopi Chronicon, Corpus Christianorum, Vols. 63–​63A (Turnholt: Brepols, 1986). For an English translation, see William Archbishop of Tyre, A History of Deeds Done Beyond the Sea, trans. Emily A. Babcock and August C. Krey, Records of Civilization Sources and Studies. 2 vols.

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coronation occurring inside the Holy Sepulcher. In the top register, a litter processing into Jerusalem carries the deceased Baldwin i, with the dome of the Holy Sepulcher strategically placed at the center.129 In the register below, this same dome shelters the figure of Baldwin ii, seated in an arcade that recalls the lower level interior of the Anastasis Rotunda on the pilaster (compare Figure 1.3). The patriarch of Jerusalem, who represents ecclesiastical authority, crowns Baldwin ii. The patriarch thus confirms the king’s ruling status in a pointed allusion to the Hebrew Bible coronation and anointing process in which the priest anointed the chosen Hebrew king.130 The ancient Israelite kings were of particular interest as exemplars to the rulers of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, as they understood themselves as a part of biblical salvation history.131 After the coronation, the Frankish royal procession would traverse the city to the Templum Domini—​the third and central building on the pilaster. The twelfth-​century chronicler Ernoul describes that in 1185, Baldwin v went to the Templum Domini, understood as the site where the Virgin Mary presented Jesus Christ as a child, to offer up his crown on the altar and then redeem it during his coronation procession.132 The Book of John of Ibelin (1264–​66), the most extensive of the assizes, explains that because Christ himself was offered to God through the Temple priest (Luke 2), each king placed his own crown on the altar to symbolize his act of submission to God in parallel with Christ’s sacrifice: “et là euffre sa corone sur l’autier où fu offert nostre Seignor à saint Symeon” (“and there he offers his crown on the altar where our Lord was offered to Saint Simeon”).133 Thus the Templum Domini, already identified with the life of Christ, was in the twelfth century inexorably tied to the kings of Jerusalem as well. This act in the “Temple” clearly demonstrated the king’s humility while also underscoring his meaningful position in the salvific line of blessed kings. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1943). See also Jaroslav Folda, “Manuscripts of the History of Outremer by William of Tyre: A Handlist,” Scriptorium: Revue internationale des études relatives aux manuscrits, 27 (1973), 90–​95. 129 See Richard A. Leson, “Saladin and the Remembrance of Crusade in a Walters ‘Histoire d’Outremer’,” Journal of the Walters Art Museum 68/​69 (2010/​2011): 87. 130 Luchitskaya, “Pictorial Sources, Coronation Ritual,” 51, 60, fig. 53. 131 Ibid., 64. 132 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 422. See Ernoul, Chronique d’Ernoul et de Bernard le Tresorier, ed. Louis comte de Mas Latrie (Paris: Mme Ve J. Renouard, 1871), 118. See also Luchitskaya, “Pictorial Sources, Coronation Ritual,” 52, 68–​69. 133 In Luchitskaya, “Pictorial Sources, Coronation Ritual,” 50, 52n12.

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Conclusions

A small element of a building façade can reflect a larger meaning for its surrounding community. While the Latin-​rite church of Santa Sophia in Nicosia of Cyprus postdates the Jerusalemite pilaster, its example is illuminating on this issue (Figure 1.15). Its façade may once have held painting of holy figures surrounded by sculptured frames. It demonstrates a comparable incorporation of symbolic meaning in a royal crusader setting. Guy of Lusignan (d. 1194) gained Cyprus from King Richard i the Lionheart (r. 1189–​99) in 1192 and established it as an important European outpost in the Mediterranean. His policies and artistic patronage expressed how his kingdom embraced the island’s multiple cultures.134 A century later, Cyprus became the last place of refuge for the Franks pushed out of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. The façade of Santa Sophia was redecorated in the early fourteenth century as a showpiece of the multifaceted identity of the island’s leaders, with French Gothic styles and materials combined with Orthodox-​influenced icon painting.135 Although explicit analysis of the iconography is no longer possible given its destruction, Justine Andrews asserts that Hugh iv’s (r. 1324–​1358) choice of styles displays a “royal message of confluence” and unity at the site of his coronation as Lusignan king of Cyprus in 1324.136 Thus, crusader kings touted their regal associations in highly visible art and architecture across their kingdoms. A search for comparative material for the Jerusalemite pilaster and its “sibling” in Cairo points to twelfth-​century facades, portals, and cloisters in France, Italy, and Sicily that are similar in style, form, and iconography. A comparison with southern Italian sculpture in particular supports two conclusions: that representations of a medieval building could be located in or near the actual building and that royal patrons visually connected themselves with important buildings that they funded. This supposition contradicts Jacoby, who stated that the Jerusalemite pilaster would not have been made or set in Jerusalem but, rather, produced after 1187 in Acre by the relocated Temple workshop.137 She claimed that it would have been redundant to represent the buildings seen on the pilaster in proximity to the actual structures. In my opinion, redundancy would not have been a drawback for medieval patrons. The sculpture 1 34 Andrews, “Conveyance and Convergence,” 414. 135 Andrews, “Santa Sophia,” 65–​66. 136 Andrews, “Conveyance and Convergence,” 420 and Andrews, “Santa Sophia,” 65–​66. In 1324, his coronation as the titular king of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem took place at Famagusta cathedral on Cyprus. 137 Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo,” 125–​126.

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of the Monreale Cathedral cloister (c. 1175–​85) confirms this.138 It contains a capital representing King William ii of Sicily (r. 1166–​89) offering the cathedral to the Virgin Mary.139 The placement of the capital reinforces a sightline that permitted a viewer to see the actual church at the same time as the capital’s representation of it (Figure 1.18). The basilica’s form thus provided visual confirmation of the building represented on the capital, while the capital served as an enduring sign of the relationship between King William ii and Mary that the basilica embodied. This pact was further emphasized by a second image of William ii offering the church to the Virgin in a more visible and public location—​a mosaic near the basilica’s main altar. These examples at Monreale demonstrate how a contemporary representation of the building next to or inside the actual building was not superfluous in a medieval setting; on the contrary, it reified the multiple reasons for and meanings of the architecture in the minds of the royal patron and the audience.140 This chapter’s examination of Jerusalem in the late twelfth century suggests how three specific construction projects may have been the original sites for the pilaster c. 1160–​87. One or more of the leading groups in the city—​the Augustinian canons, the Templars, or the royal house—​were involved in all three enterprises. All three groups took part in ceremonial activities that literally and figuratively formed a ritualistic network of the sites displayed on the pilaster, unifying space and time in Jerusalem before 1187. The Jerusalemite pilaster thus codified the symbolic, practical, geographic, and ceremonial connections among the Tower of David and curia regis, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and the Templum Domini. The pilaster would have had maximum political and religious significance, in my view, if it were inserted in the 1170s into the façade or a portal of the new curia regis. In that location it would have reflected particular royal concerns at the time: the kings were building their new residence near the Tower of David and grappling for power and authority in the city and beyond. The seals and coins of the kings of Jerusalem displayed the same three buildings 138 See Buschhausen, Die süditalienische Bauplastik im Königreich Jerusalem, 108, Chapter 1 and Jacoby, “The Workshop of the Temple Area,” 325–​394. See also Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 455–​456; Kühnel, “Crusader Art in the Holy Land,” 162–​167; and Rozenberg, “Sculptural Fragments,” 187–​191. 139 See Wolfgang Krönig, The Cathedral of Monreale and Norman Architecture in Sicily (Palermo: S.F. Flaccovio, 1965), 62–​79. Salvini argued for the Provençal origins of this monument’s sculpture, Roberto Salvini, The Cloister of Monreale and Romanesque Sculpture in Sicily (Palermo: S.F. Flaccovio, 1962), 16. 140 On architecture represented in Monreale’s capital scenes, see Salvini, The Cloister of Monreale, 100–​103.

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as the pilaster, and in combination they visualized and thereby manifested the web of urban power that the Frankish royals fostered. These three buildings exemplified the identity of the kings found on the official seals and displayed that royal identity on the public pilaster (Figure 1.21). In particular, the pilaster perpetually pictured the coronation path from the palace at the Tower of David to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and then the Templum Domini. As a result, it reaffirmed the special role of the anointed kings in relation to these three key sites and reinforced their rule in the holy city. This study on the origins of the Jerusalemite pilaster in Cairo has argued that this artwork celebrates crusader control of the city and its holy sites generally from 1099 to 1187. Their reasons for conquering the city were both political and religious. Gaining the sacred urban space of Jerusalem, where the great figures of the scriptures once walked, represented a zenith of spiritual passion, but at the same time, the concrete representations of architecture reinforced how the Europeans’ building campaigns were essential steps in establishing their presence as invaders in a foreign region. Moreover, the pilaster highlighted where rivalries played out and thereby made concrete the competition among different factions for power within the holy city. Overall, the Jerusalemite pilaster seems originally to have represented internal assertions of power and conflicts within the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem c. 1160–​87 with little concern for previous or concurrent Muslim interests in the city. Soon after its creation, however, it emblematized the crusader loss of the city and become inextricably linked with the Muslims’ understanding of the city as formulated through the crusades. Ayyubids and later Mamluks would destroy, convert, or limit the Latin Christians’ access to the buildings represented, and the pilaster itself would be taken from its original site and repositioned in Cairo. Thus the pilaster would become emblematic of the new meanings that Jerusalem absorbed over the next two centuries, as the last chapter will explore.

Chapter 2

Jerusalem as a Guide for Personal Deliverance The Riccardiana Psalter in the Thirteenth Century

This chapter shifts the book’s discussion of Jerusalem images from twelfth-​ century carvings on a building façade to illuminations in a thirteenth-​century prayer book, thereby moving from the more public arena of political posturing to the private sphere of personal devotion. The prayer book is the Riccardiana Psalter, now in the Biblioteca Riccardiana in Florence.1 The manuscript reveals both a distinct knowledge of and poignant yearning for the Holy Land on the part of an individual who may never have had the opportunity to visit there. This chapter attempts to go beyond the previous scholarship on the Riccardiana Psalter to consider its gendered aspects in more depth.2 A close visual analysis of the iconography and narrative choices in the Psalter’s images 1 Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, 175 folios, measuring approximately 22 × 16.5 cm (8.7 × 6.5 in.). Funding for photographs, research, and travel related to preparing this chapter was generously provided by the Summer Research in the Humanities Grant and the Mellon Faculty Development Grant of Saint Louis University. 2 See Franco Cardini and Giovanna Lazzi, Il Libro dei Salmi di Federico ii—​Facsimile, 2 vols., vol. 1 (Florence: Vallecchi, 2006); Franco Cardini and Giovanna Lazzi, Il Libro dei Salmi di Federico ii—​Commentario, 2 vols., vol. 2 (Florence: Vallecchi, 2006); Maria Luisa Scuricini Greco, Miniature Riccardiane, ed. Marino Parenti, Biblioteca Bibliografica Italica (Florence: Sansoni Antiquariato, 1958), 80–​81; Giovanni Muzzioli, ed. Mostra storica nazionale della miniatura (Florence: Sansoni, 1954), no. 156; Angela Daneu Lattanzi, “Ancora sulla scuola miniaturistica dell’Italia meridionale sveva,” La Bibliofilia 66 (1964): 129–​132; Hugo Buchthal, Miniature painting in the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem. With liturgical and palaeographical chapters by Francis Wormald (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957), 39–​46, 143–​144; Jaroslav Folda, “Crusader Painting in the 13th century: The State of the Question,” in Il medio oriente e l’occidente nell’arte del xiii secolo, ed. Hans Belting (Bologna: clueb Editrice Bologna, 1982), 107–​108; Giovanna Lazzi, “L’Oro e la croce,” Alumina 5, no. 19 (2007): 16–​21; Sandra Manetti, “Biblioteche Riccardiana e Moreniana in Palazzo Medici Riccardi,” ed. Palazzo Medici Riccardi (Prato: Nardini Editore, 1998), 59–​60; Gigetta dalli Regoli, “Il Salterio di San Giovanni d’Acri della Riccardiana di Firenze,” in Federico ii. Immagine e potere, eds. Maria Stella Calò Mariani and Raffaella Cassano (Venice: Marsilio Editori, 1995), 441–​445. See also Cathleen A. Fleck, “The Crusader Loss of Jerusalem in the Eyes of a Thirteenth-​Century Virtual Pilgrim,” in The Crusades and Visual Culture, eds. Laura Whatley, et al. (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2015), 131–​155; Cathleen A. Fleck, “The Luxury Riccardiana Psalter in the Thirteenth Century: A Nun’s Prayerbook?,” Viator 46, no. 1 (2015): 135–​160; and Cathleen A. Fleck, “’Vergine madre pia’: Text and Image in a Medieval Psalter at a Renaissance Dominican Convent,” Source: Notes in the History of Art xxxiv, no. 2 (2015): 5–​13.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | DOI:10.1163/9789004525894_004

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of Christ’s life set in Jerusalem (see Map of Jerusalem) and Bethlehem will demonstrate its Byzantine and southern Italian connections as well as its evocation of holy sites in the Levant. The knowledge of its female reader and its many influences will lead to a reading of the images as tools for the reader to visualize the Christological events, make connections to biblical and devotional texts with which she was familiar, and enhance her prayers and meditations. The images can be read as a compelling pictorial guide, leading one woman to focus on the sites where Christ lived and died as she sought solace and redemption through her prayers. The manuscript’s images ultimately replaced the owner’s pilgrimage to the Holy Land with a mental journey of faith and deliverance. 2.1

The Issues of the Riccardiana Psalter

The Riccardiana Psalter contains (in the following order) a calendar, a table calculating solar cycles, several individual prayers, 150 psalms, a set of liturgical canticles, a litany of saints, and a number of brief prayers at the end.3 Eight colorful scenes of the life of Christ punctuate the psalms at regular intervals. A full-​page historiated initial at Psalm 1 (fol. 15v) depicts the Annunciation, Nativity, the Annunciation to the Shepherds, and the Washing of the Christ Child (Figure 2.1). Quarter-​page miniatures mark certain psalms at regular intervals with chronologically ordered scenes of Christ’s life: the Adoration of the Magi (Ps. 26, fol. 36r); the Presentation in the Temple (Ps. 38, fol. 49v); the Entry into Jerusalem (Ps. 52, fol. 62r); the Last Supper and Washing of the Apostles’ Feet (Ps. 68, fol. 75r); the Anastasis and Women at the Sepulcher (Ps. 80, fol. 90v); the Ascension (Ps. 97, fol. 105v); and the Pentecost (Ps. 109, fol. 121v) (Figures 2.2 to 2.8).4 In addition, there are about fifty smaller illustrated initials decorated with faces of Christ, the apostles, prophets and kings, animals, and foliate designs. The word “luxury” needs to be emphasized in relation to the Riccardiana Psalter. The Psalter’s smooth, cream-​colored, well-​prepared vellum is an indication of its production in a scriptorium or workshop with extensive experience; although that precise workshop and its other products remain unknown,

3 See Cristina Dondi, The Liturgy of the Canons Regular of the Holy Sepulchre of Jerusalem, vol. 16, Bibliotheca Victorina (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004), 83–​86 and 212–​215. 4 For these illustrations, see Buchthal, Miniature painting, Plates 52 a–​c, 53 a–​b, and 54 a.

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­f igure 2.1  The Annunciation, Nativity, Annunciation to the Shepherds, and Washing of the Christ Child with Prophets, Ps. 1, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, f. 15v, c. 1225–​35

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­f igure 2.2  The Adoration of the Magi, Ps. 26, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, f. 36r, c. 1225–​35

­f igure 2.3  The Presentation in the Temple, Ps. 38, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, f. 49v, c. 1225–​35

I shall propose a general place of production below. The richly-​colored, exceptional illustrations with exquisite figural and architectural detail are another sign of well-​trained artists working on this manuscript. Its consistent, elegant writing style is a third sign of its great worth and the expertise of its scribes.

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­f igure 2.4  Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, Ps. 52, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, fol. 62r, c. 1225–​35

­f igure 2.5  The Last Supper and Washing of the Feet, Ps. 68, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, f. 75r, c. 1225–​35

The paleography of the manuscript places it in the second quarter of the thirteenth century (Figure 2.1).5 Its script style may be that of a northern French or 5 There are a few later additions, Francis Wormald, “Appendixes: Liturgical and palaeographical chapters,” in Miniature painting in the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem. With liturgical and palaeographical chapters by Francis Wormald, ed. Hugo Buchthal (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957), 137.

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­f igure 2.6  Christ’s Descent into and Rising from Hell and the Women at the Tomb, Ps. 80, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, fol. 90v, c. 1225–​35

­f igure 2.7  The Ascension, Ps. 97, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, f. 105v, c. 1225–​35

English hand, but one that betrays the influence of thirteenth-​century Italian styles in its rounder forms and affirms a general period of production. To understand the lavish Riccardiana Psalter and its questions of patronage, ownership, and dating requires some background on the situation in the Holy Land at the time of its likely creation in the 1220s–​30s. Christian crusaders from Europe had taken Jerusalem in 1099 from its Fatimid rulers but lost it in 1187 to Salah al-​Din, the Ayyubid sultan of Egypt and Syria. In 1191, the crusaders regained Acre, but not Jerusalem, and then Acre became their new capital until 1291. In 1225, the Holy Roman Emperor and king of Jerusalem Frederick ii

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­f igure 2.8  The Pentecost, Ps. 109, The Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, f. 121v. c. 1225–​35

married his second wife, Isabel or Isabella ii (or Yolande) of Brienne (1212–​28), heir to the Latin Christian Kingdom of Jerusalem (r. 1225–​28). The marriage offered hope to Pope Honorius iii (r. 1216–​27) that Frederick ii would lead a charge to regain Jerusalem as the capital of the crusader kingdom.6 Because Frederick ii delayed in making this crusade, the next pope, Gregory ix (r. 1227–​41), excommunicated the emperor and thereby prodded him eastward by 1228.7 Frederick ii did not try to capture Jerusalem, but he negotiated with the Ayyubid sultan al-​Malik al-​Kamil Nasir al-​Din Abu al-​Maʿali Muhammad (or al-​Kamil, r. 1218–​39) to allow the city to return to Christian control from 1229 to 1239.8 During those years, all of Jerusalem—​except the Dome of the Rock and the Haram al-​Sharif—​came under Frederick ii’s control while the surrounding region remained in Ayyubid hands. Scholars have debated whether the Psalter was created either just before or during the time that the Frederick ii retook Jerusalem. Hugo Buchthal

6 See Thomas W. Smith, Curia and the Crusade: Pope Honorius iii and the Recovery of the Holy Land 1216–​1227, ed. Alan v. Murray, Studies in the Crusades and the Latin East (Turnhout: Brepols, 2017), 127–​209, esp. 195–​199. See also David Abulafia, Frederick ii: a medieval emperor (London: Allen Lane, 1988), 157–​159. 7 Smith, Curia and the Crusade, 194–​195, 208–​209. 8 Jonathan Phillips, “The Latin East, 1098–​1291,” in The Oxford Illustrated History of the Crusades, ed. Jonathan Riley-​Smith (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), 134–​136. See also David Jacoby, “The Kingdom of Jerusalem and the Collapse of Hohenstaufen Power in the Levant,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 40 (1986): 83 and Smith, Curia and the Crusade, 204–​205.

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dated the Riccardiana Psalter to the later period, when Frederick ii negotiated Christian access to Jerusalem.9 Buchthal argued that Frederick ii commissioned this luxurious manuscript for Isabel or Isabella of England (1214–​41), his third wife, around the time of their marriage in 1235.10 A 2006 facsimile and commentary on the Psalter, titled the Libro dei Salmi di Federico ii, also focused on him as the probable patron for his wife.11 The litany portion of a medieval prayer book is often the place where patrons include saints’ names of special interest to their family or region, and Buchthal suggested this connection because St. Elizabeth—​a variant of Isabel—​is given prominence among the female saints as the sixth one listed in the litany.12 Contrary to Buchthal, my earlier consideration of the Psalter in an unpublished paper led me to date it to c. 1225, before Frederick ii negotiated access to the city.13 I proposed Queen Isabel ii of Brienne, the second wife of Frederick ii whose title made him king of Jerusalem, as the more likely female royal recipient.14 The north French saints in the litany would also have been appropriate for Isabel ii’s family, which came from the north French region of Champagne.15 The Jerusalem references in the Riccardiana Psalter would have been especially fitting for this royal pair of Frederick ii and his second bride because she was queen of Jerusalem.16 Fourteen-​year old Isabel left the Holy Land and arrived in Brindisi in 1225, then stayed in southern Italy and never 9 Buchthal, Miniature painting, 39–​46, 143. 10 Ibid. See also Weiss, “The Image of the Temple in Crusader Art,” 214. 11 Cardini and Lazzi, Il Libro dei Salmi, 1 and Cardini and Lazzi, Il Libro dei Salmi, 2. 12 See Buchthal, Miniature painting, 130. See also Joan A. Holladay, “Hermann of Thuringia as Patron of the Arts: A Case Study,” Journal of Medieval History 16, no. 3 (1990): 194. 13 See Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 212–​217. See also Jaroslav Folda, “Aspects of Crusader Art at St. Jean d’Acre,” in France and the Holy Land: Frankish Culture at the End of the Crusades, eds. Daniel H. Weiss and Lisa Mahoney, Parallax: Re-​visions of Culture and Society (Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), 142–​144 and Wormald, “Appendixes,” 137. Compare Arno Mentzel-​Reuters, “Zum so genannten ‘Psalter Friedrichs ii.’ (Florenz, Bibl. Riccardiana Ms. 323),” Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters 65 (2009): 119, 121, 133–​134. 14 Regarding Folda on my earlier work, see Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 214, 610n572. 15 Ibid., 214; Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 83; and Mentzel-​Reuters, “Zum so genannten ‘Psalter Friedrichs ii.’,” 117. 16 Isabel was crowned Queen of Jerusalem in the Cathedral of Tyre, which took the place of the Holy Sepulcher for the coronations of the monarchs of the Kingdom of Jerusalem post-​1187. Her father, John of Brienne, served as Isabel’s regent until he passed on the crown of Jerusalem to her new husband right after their wedding. After this she traveled on to Sicily, where she died soon after giving birth to her son Conrad, in 1228 (d. 1254). He would serve as Conrad ii of Jerusalem from 1228, as Conrad iv of Germany and Italy from 1237, and as Conrad i of Sicily from 1250. See also Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 23–​214.

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returned home. Frederick ii ruled as king-​consort until her death in 1228.17 If Frederick did give Isabel the Psalter, the images of Christ’s life in Bethlehem and Jerusalem might have acted as substitutions for the realm that she had left behind. The scenes may have been reminders of her political place as queen of Jerusalem, enhancing her piety by enabling virtual visits to the sites of Christ’s life while keeping her safe from the region’s instabilities.18 This current chapter proposes yet another alternative to the direct connection of the Riccardiana Psalter to Frederick ii and one of his wives.19 Earlier conclusions were based on the supposition that a royal person must have ordered or owned such a luxurious manuscript, without regard for the book’s material and textual nature. In fact, there are many problems with the idea of Frederick ii being involved with the creation of the Psalter.20 One is that we lack evidence for Frederick’s patronage of similar manuscripts.21 Also, while I agree with the general dating period of 1225–​35 suggested by other scholars, the intended reader of the book needed no regular access to the city, so Frederick ii’s reign and treaty need not have been deciding factors in its creation.22 Loosening the ties to the Levant also opens up other possibilities for its place of production. Additionally, specific features of the added prayers, the calendar, and the litany of saints reveal intriguing possibilities of prayer and engagement for a female of a religious order, not a secular queen. The first major clue that the Psalter was owned by a nun are prayers at the end of the codex that were either original to the manuscript or added soon after (fol. 174r) (Figure 2.9). These prayers are in a slightly different hand from the rest of the text, but the script style betrays a thirteenth-​century Italian rounded form that is contemporary with the littera textualis rotunda style in the bulk of the manuscript and thus cannot have been added long after its creation.23 The prayers express concerns specific to a woman in a convent community.24 “Pro abbatissa” asks for wise guidance for a female abbess and “Pro 17

When Isabel died in childbirth, Frederick took over as king-​regnant, though he had only the right to be regent for the child and heir, Conrad. He left soon after for the Levant, Sir Steven Runciman, The Families of Outremer (London: Athlene Press, 1960), 12 n. 12. 18 On why Frederick may not have been the patron, see Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 217. 19 See Fleck, “The Crusader Loss,” 131–​155 and Fleck, “The Luxury Riccardiana Psalter,” 135–​ 160. See also Folda, “Aspects of Crusader Art,” 144–​145. 20 Mentzel–​Reuters, “Zum so genannten ‘Psalter Friedrichs ii.’,” 111–​136. 21 See Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 217. 22 Buchthal, Miniature painting, 45–​46. 23 See Mentzel-​Reuters, “Zum so genannten ‘Psalter Friedrichs ii.’,” 121, 134 and Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 214. 24 See Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 212.

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­f igure 2.9  Prayers “Pro abbatissa” and “Pro conservanda virginitate” (right column), Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, fol. 174r, thirteenth century

conservanda virginitate” requests the Lord’s help to remain faithful to a nun’s vows of chastity.25 Other signs of the conventual nature of the manuscript, albeit not specifically female, are the supplemental prayers in the book. The Psalter begins with a detailed calendar of saints’ days (fols. 1r–​6v) and includes an intricate solar 25

See Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 214. See also Buchthal, Miniature painting, 40.

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computistical table (fol. 7v). The table of the solar cycles marks four twenty-​ eight-​year periods, beginning in 1100 and ending in 1212. Thomas Boase asserted that the manuscript must have been written after those dates, in the fifth cycle between 1212 and 1240, while Dondi argued that the date is indicated by the Easter computation table on fol. 8r, which begins with 1230.26 In addition, the text “Prima ala,” which appears in the book before the psalms, is from “De sex alis cherubim,” a twelfth-​century commentary on the allegorical meanings of the wings of the cherubim. It refers to such characteristics and practices as confession, integrity, endurance, humility, and simplicity, all of which one needs to be properly faithful. Aspects of this text are especially fitting for a monastic reader, as it discusses purifying and mortifying the flesh and laying aside one’s soul for the sake of a brother or sister. Dondi noted the later addition of this and other prayers fitting for a conventual reader: “Prima ala est confession non laudis,” in the thirteenth century; “Summe sacerdos et vere pontifex,” for a priest or others to say before mass each day of the week in the fourteenth century; and Psalm 2:11 “Servite domino in timore et exultate” in the fifteenth century.27 In addition, Francis Wormald made a key point that the Riccardiana Psalter contains original elements seemingly aimed at a nun of the Benedictine order in particular.28 The Benedictine component is evident in the inclusion of saints Benedict (March 21) and Scholastica (Benedict’s sister, February 10) in the original calendar and the litany, suggesting the book’s creation for a Benedictine monastic or from a Benedictine exemplar.29 Dondi and Mentzel-​Reuters

26 Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 83 and Boase, “Ecclesiastical Art in the Crusader States,” 129–​130. 27 She did not offer reasons for these dates, see Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 212–​213. She noted the first was from Alanus ab Insula or Alain of Lille (a theologian who taught in Paris, c. 1116 to c. 1202) on “De sex alix Cherubim” (pl ccx, col. 269–​80) though it is also attributed to Achard of Saint Victor (c. 1090–​1142, canon at Saint Victor Abbey in Paris and bishop of d’Avranches (1161–​71)), Achard of St. Victor, “Achard of St. Victor (1090?–​1142), ‘The Six Wings (and Feathers) of the Seraphim (Cherubim)’,” Dysinger O.S.B., Fr. Luke, http://​www.ldysin​ger.com/​@tex​ts2/​1135​_​ach​ard_​vic/​03_​si​x_​wi​ngs.htm. The second can be found transcribed and translated at Jean de Fecamp, “‘Orationes Sancti Ambrosii Ante Missam singulis hebdomadae diebus distributae’ or ‘Prayers of Saint Ambrose before Mass for each day of the week’,” Michael W. Martin, http://​www.pre​ces -​lati​nae.org/​thesau​rus/​Ant​eMis​sam/​Oratio​nesS​Amb.html. The last is from Ps. 2:11 (on fol. 13v), which appears in the Global Chant Database, Jan Koláček, “Global Chant Database,” Charles University, http://​www.glob​alch​ant.org/​chant.php?id=​6061. All accessed on 1 April 2013. 28 Wormald, “Appendixes,” 129. 29 Mentzel-​Reuters, “Zum so genannten ‘Psalter Friedrichs ii.’,” 122–​124. Dondi did question if it was more so a copying of general circumstance, meaning it represented a Rouen

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reinforced the idea of the Psalter’s Benedictine origination with suggestions of its possible ties to the Benedictine convent of St. Anne in Acre, to a Cistercian convent dedicated to St. Mary Magdalen (founded in 1223), or to a Barletta monastery dedicated to St. Samuel.30 Perhaps the strongest evidence of its conventual use is seen in one of the few certainties about the Riccardiana Psalter: an inscription from about a century after its creation on the last folio (fol. 175v) that confirms its later possession in a Dominican convent (Figure 2.10).31 The inscription “Suor Margharita dasschorno monacha in sancto silvestro” is written in a late fourteenth-​or early fifteenth-​century hand.32 Sister Margharita belonged to the Da Scorno family, an influential Pisan family.33 An intriguing fact that helps to link the Benedictine aspects of the manuscript to its later Dominican status is that the Pisan convent of San Silvestro was once Benedictine but became Dominican by 1331.34 The addition of several Dominican feasts to the calendar of the Psalter in a fourteenth-​century hand affirmed its subsequent Dominican context.35 It seems likely that the manuscript ended up in Pisa and made its shift from one order to the other in that location. 2.2

The Visual Content, Iconography, and Style

With the likelihood in mind of a female nun being the original owner of this prayer book, the discussion will turn now to analyze the content, iconography, and style of its beautiful illustrations. To do so, I weave together two interpretive threads. One associates the Psalter’s combination of European and Byzantine iconography with its southern Italian style and demonstrates how the illustrations cross cultural boundaries in a process of “cultural translation.”36 Stylistic

exemplar that was handily available to the scribe to copy but had no Benedictine importance. See Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 84. 30 Mentzel-​Reuters, “Zum so genannten ‘Psalter Friedrichs ii.’,” 125–​127, 130–​135 and Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 83–​85, 215. 31 Fleck, “‘Vergine madre pia’,” 5–​13. 32 Ibid. See also Regoli, “Salterio di San Giovanni,” 441. 33 Regoli, “Salterio di San Giovanni,” 441. 34 A. Curuni, “Le chiese romaniche in Pisa e dintorni,” Rassegna. Periodico culturale e di informazioni 1–​2 (1970): 36–​38 and Franco Paliaga and Stefano Renzoni, Le chiese di Pisa: Guida alla conoscienza del patrimonio artistico, First edn. (Pisa: ets Editrice, 1991), 56–​59. 35 Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 212. 36 On this study in medieval art, see Sanford Budick, “Crises of Alterity: Cultural Untranslatability and the Experience of Secondary Otherness,” in The Translatability

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­f igure 2.10  Inscription by “Suor Margharita dasschorno,” Riccardiana Psalter, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323, fol. 175v, fourteenth-​fifteenth century

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and iconographic comparisons among the Riccardiana Psalter and southern Italian manuscripts support Buchthal’s hypothesis that a Sicilian artist who was steeped in the Italo-​Byzantine style, also called the “maniera greca,” executed the miniatures. The latter term is narrowly defined to describe Italian painting that demonstrated stylistic and iconographic influences of Byzantine art in the thirteenth century.37 South Italy at the time of the Psalter’s creation was comprised of the Kingdom of Sicily, lands including the island of Sicily (hereafter Sicily) and the southern portion of the Italian peninsula (hereafter southern Italy) under the rule of Frederick ii. The second thread examines the manuscript’s connections to sacred sites in Jerusalem and Bethlehem through image details. Selected medieval architectural details added connotations that could evoke yet transcend the original building’s physical form, such that a copy did not have to be exact to express a spiritual benefit.38 2.2.1 The Annunciation and Nativity at Psalm 1 The B of “Beatus vir” (Blessed is the man) at Psalm 1 (fol. 14v) is the Psalter’s only full-​page illustration (Figure 2.1). The initial has a gold background and is filled with vivid pinks and reds, intense blues and greens, and lush browns and greys. The Annunciation is represented in the upper register of the B, and the Nativity, Annunciation to the Shepherds, and First Bath of Christ are in the lower section. In the Annunciation, Mary wears a blue and lavender-​grey robe and sits on a red-​cushioned, carved wooden bench in the center. A pair of trees flank her seat, and her feet rest on a pillow. Blue and green draperies hang down over the top of the B to frame her torso from above.

37

38

of Cultures. Figurations of the Space Between, eds. Sanford Budick and Wolfgang Iser (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1996), 1–​2, 8 and Ousterhout, “Flexible Geography,” 393–​399. See also William D. Wixom, “Byzantine Art and the Latin West,” in The Glory of Byzantium. Art and Culture of the Middle Byzantine Era A.D. 843–​1261, eds. Helen C. Evans and William D. Wixom (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1997), 435–​449 and Stephen J. Campbell and Stephen J. Milner, “Art, Identity, and Cultural Translation in Renaissance Italy,” in Artistic Exchange and Cultural Translation in the Italian Renaissance City, eds. Stephen J. Campbell and Stephen J. Milner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 1–​6. For history and background of the term “cultural translation,” see Sarah Maitland, What Is Cultural Translation? (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2017), 1–​29. See Buchthal, Miniature painting, 46 and Anastasia Drandaki, “A Maniera Greca: Content, Context and Transformation of a Term,” Studies in Iconography 35 (2014): 39–​41. Folda and I agree that someone may have had this manuscript made by a Sicilian artisan, though he suggests it may have been in the Holy Land. Compare Folda, “Crusader Painting,” 107–​108 and Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 216–​217. See Krautheimer, “Introduction i,” 1–​33 and Ousterhout, “Flexible Geography,” 403.

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Many of the details of this initial’s narrative scenes can be found in Byzantine illustrations. As early as the tenth century, full-​page illuminations with similar scenes from the Byzantine Christological feast cycle appeared in lectionaries, or Gospel texts arranged in the order of the liturgical calendar year, and they were copied into the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.39 One part of the Annunciation that is easily traced to Byzantine sources is the spindle in Mary’s right hand. This object was unusual in European art and was meant to depict her domestic activity at the moment when the angel appeared to her, according to the Protevangelium of James, a non-​canonical second-​century text transmitted in later Byzantine sources.40 I am unaware of any Latin psalters extant from Sicily or southern Italy from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, but other types of manuscripts from Sicily do offer relevant comparisons for the Riccardiana Psalter’s opening illustrations.41 The elaborate vinelike blue ornament that follows the contours of the letter’s curves may be seen in the late twelfth-​century Madrid Sacramentary, attributed to Messina in Sicily, which demonstrates a similar use of a vine motif on gold ground around a set of letters (Figure 2.11).42 In the Riccardiana Psalter, the angel reaches across the pink and green dragon form of the B to bless the Virgin with his right hand. The Messina Sacramentary features a W with a ­similar dragon and the same parallel white dots.43 These dragon letterforms 39 See Kurt Weitzmann, “Aristocratic Psalter and Lectionary,” in Byzantine Liturgical Psalters and Gospels, ed. Kurt Weitzmann (London: Variorum Reprints, 1980), 98–​107 and Elisabeth Yota, “The Lectionary,” in A Companion to Byzantine Illustrated Manuscripts, ed. Vasiliki Tsamakda (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 287–​299. 40 See Maria Evangelatou, “Threads of Power: Clothing Symbolism, Human Salvation, and Female Identity in the Illustrated Homilies by Iakobos of Kokkinobaphos,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 68 (2014): 282–​284; Cornelia B. Horn, “Mary between Bible and Qurʾan: Soundings into the Transmission and Reception History of the Protoevangelium of James on the Basis of Selected Literary Sources in Coptic and Copto-​Arabic and of Art-​ Historical Evidence Pertaining to Egypt,” Islam and Christian-​Muslim Relations 18, no. 4 (2007): 525–​526; and Kurt Weitzmann, “A Tenth Century Lectionary: A Lost Masterpiece of the Macedonian Renaissance,” Chap. x In Byzantine Liturgical Psalters and Gospels, ed. Kurt Weitzmann (London: Variorum Reprints, 1980), 637. 41 See Wolfgang Augustyn, “Zur Illustration von Psalterien und Psalmenkommentarenin Italien von frühen 11. biz zum ausgehenden 13. Jahrhundert,” in The illuminated psalter: studies in the content, purpose and placement of its images, ed. F.O. Büttner (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004), 165–​180, esp. 172. 42 Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional, ms 52, fol. 76r, see Angela Daneu Lattanzi, Lineamenti di storia della miniatura in sicilia, Storia della Miniatura: Studi e documenti (Florence: Leo S. Olschki Editore, 1966), 44–​45. 43 Valentino Pace, “Untersuchungen zur sizilianischen Buchmalerei,” in Die Zeit der Staufer: Geschichte, Kunst, Kultur, ed. Württembergisches Landesmuseum (Stuttgart: Württembergisches Landesmuseum, 1977), 431–​476, Abb. 344.

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­f igure 2.11  Initial with Dragon form, Sacramentary, Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional, ms 52, f. 76r, late twelfth century

in Sicilian manuscripts were common, often displaying a colorful dragon body with a stippled-​dot pattern along its length and a mouth partially devouring the end of a vine or the creature’s own tail.44

44

See, e.g., Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms s. Pietro F. 18, fol. 66r, in Daneu Lattanzi, Lineamenti di storia, 46–​47 and figs. 36–​38. The later examples do not have a puffed abdomen as in earlier Sicilian illumination, but a uniform shape, curved paws, and smoothed wings gathered into their bodies, Daneu Lattanzi, “Ancora sulla scuola miniaturistica,” 131.

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­f igure 2.12  Virgin and Child, Sacramentary, Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional, ms 52, f. 80r, late twelfth/​early thirteenth century

The Riccardiana Psalter’s B shows other stylistic analogies with Sicilian illumination, particularly in the details of color and form that suggest a comparable artistic model or training.45 The Virgin of the Annunciation in the B and a Virgin and Child miniature in the Messina Sacramentary show striking ­resemblances of facial style, drapery, pose, coloring, and outline (Figure 2.12).46 Both depict Mary, leaning slightly to her right, with a distinctive long, straight nose and deeply-​shadowed eyes. The draperies of her blue gown in both images are evenly modeled and flowing, yet with sharp fold patterns at the edges. 45 Buchthal, Miniature painting, 43. 46 Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional, ms 52, fol. 80r.

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In each scene, one part of her dark lavender mantle extends downwards from her right shoulder, passes over her right forearm, and forms a large loop at the side that seems to hover in the air away from her body. The cloth then wraps over her knee towards the bottom center near her feet, where comparable zigzag patterns of folds from the cloth’s two ends come together. The Nativity in the lower loop of the B displays other features commonly found in Byzantine imagery (Figure 2.1). Mary reclines in the center on a full-​ length red cushion decorated with bands of color and double-​ringed circles, while next to and above her the child is swaddled in a manger. The Nativity in the twelfth-​century Byzantine Skevophylakion Lectionary from Mount Athos has a composition in which animals with comparably curious expressions peer over the manger.47 The Byzantine lectionary represents three angels above the grotto, compared to two in the Riccardiana Psalter, but all have the same gestures with upturned, cupped hands. Above and to the right in the lectionary, angels announce the birth to the shepherds; this scene also appears in the right margin of the Riccardiana Psalter. Other features in the Riccardiana Psalter’s Nativity scene go beyond traditional Byzantine iconography, however, and seem to be inspired by Christ’s actual birth site in Bethlehem as it looked in the Middle Ages. The manger, mentioned in the Gospels as the place where Mary placed the infant Christ, was often shown at an angle and shaped like an unroofed rectangular building with openings.48 This form acts as an indicator of the actual basilica form of the Church of the Nativity, with an arched entryway on the left shorter side and two round clerestory windows on the long side.49 A contemporary example appears in the twelfth-​century mosaic of the Nativity in the grotto at the Church of the Nativity itself (Figure 2.13).50 The arrangement of the Church of the Nativity in the twelfth century was much as it is today: a longitudinal basilica with high windows in the nave.51 The pilgrim Theoderic, writing between

47

Mount Athos, Lavra, Skevophylakion Lectionary, s.n., fol. 114v. See Kurt Weitzmann, “Das Evangelion im Skevophylakion zu Lawra,” Seminarium Kondakovianum 8 (1936): 84–​97. On this Lectionary generally, see Yota, “The Lectionary,” 297. 48 Gertrud Schiller, Iconography of Christian Art. Christ’s Incarnation—​ Childhood—​ Baptism—​Temptation—​Transfiguration—​Works and Miracles, trans. Janet Seligman, vol. 1 (Greenwich, Connecticut: New York Graphic Society, Ltd., 1971), 63, 70, figs. 152–​154. 49 See Jaroslav Folda, “Art in the Latin East 1098–​1291,” in The Oxford Illustrated History of the Crusades, ed. Jonathan Riley-​Smith (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), 142, 147–​148. 50 See Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 371–​376. 51 See Michele Bacci, The Mystic Cave: A History of the Nativity Church in Bethlehem (Brno and Rome: Masaryk University and Viella editrice, 2017), 59–​72, 114–​122.

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­f igure 2.13  Fragment of Nativity of Christ mosaics, lower level, Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem, twelfth century

1169 and 1174, described the manger structure preserved in the grotto below the altar as being encased in white marble, with three round holes through which pilgrims could offer kisses.52 Perhaps the two holes (and maybe a third one hidden by the Virgin’s pillow) on the side of the cradle form in the miniature recall these features of the manger at the time.53 The physical place of Christ’s Nativity in the Psalter is further emphasized by the scene’s setting in a dark cave. An actual grotto was under the altar of the Bethlehem basilica (Figure 2.14). Pilgrims visited it from at least the second century, and apocryphal and pilgrim sources described it.54 The Nativity in a cave was typical in Byzantine iconography, a tradition inspired by the Protevangelium of James.55 The German pilgrim Master Thietmar, who visited 52 53 54 55

See Wilkinson, Hill, and Ryan, Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 306. See also Theoderich, Guide to the Holy Land, 52 and Bacci, The Mystic Cave, 200. See Theoderich, Guide to the Holy Land, 52. They may also evoke the tomb in the Holy Sepulcher, which in the crusader era had three round openings in its side. See also Folda, “Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre,” 161 and Schiller, Iconography (vol. 1), 1, 63. See Paul Foster, “The Protevangelium of St. James,” The Expository Times 118, no. 12 (2007): 574–​575, 578–​579. On the grotto’s early history, see Bacci, The Mystic Cave, 27–​34. See Foster, “The Protevangelium,” 573–​574, 578–​579, 581. See also Bacci, The Mystic Cave, 27–​34.

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­f igure 2.14  Grotto, lower level, Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem, with twelfth-​century mosaics

in 1217–​18, described the Church of the Nativity, which was guarded by so-​ called Saracens who extracted a fee to enter. He stated: “In the same church in its chevet is the cave where the Lord was born. In it I, a sinner, kissed the crib in which the little Lord squalled and worshipped in the place where the Blessed Virgin in labour brought forth the Child God.”56 The Psalter’s depiction reverses the physical state of the basilica and grotto; whereas the actual cave is inside the Church of the Nativity, the Psalter illumination shows the church, in the form of the manger, is inside the cave.57 The Melisende Psalter offers a significant comparison in its Byzantine-​inspired Nativity with a grotto (Figure 2.15).58 Indeed, all of the scenes in the Riccardiana Psalter are included

56 57

58

In Denys Pringle, ed. and trans., Pilgrimage to Jerusalem and the Holy Land, 1187–​1291, Crusade Texts in Translation (Surrey, England: Ashgate, 2012), 114. See Lucy-​Anne Hunt, “Art and Colonialism: The Mosaics of the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem (1169) and the Problem of ‘Crusader’ Art,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 45 (1991): 81. See also Franciscus Quaresmius, Historica theologica et moralis Terrae Sanctae Elucidatio, vol. 2 (Antwerp: Ex Officina Plantiniana Balthasaris Moreti, 1693), 672–​673. London, British Library, ms Egerton 1139, fol. 2r. For most recent listing of scholarship, see Jaroslav Folda in Boehm and Holcomb, Jerusalem. 1000–​1400, 244–​246. Their similarities suggest a parallel borrowing from Byzantine models, but differences in style, iconography,

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­f igure 2.15 Nativity of Christ, The Melisende Psalter, London, British Library, ms Egerton 1139, fol. 5r, c. 1135

in the Melisende Psalter. The longer cycle of the Melisende Psalter was likely created in Jerusalem around 1135, most likely for Queen Melisende of Jerusalem (r. 1131–​43, co-​ruler 1143–​53, regent 1153–​61). The Melisende Psalter has twenty–​four full-​page New Testament scenes grouped at the front of the manuscript. It also contains several scenes that overlap with the mosaics of c. 1169–​87 that once adorned the transept walls of the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem.59 Even though the Nativity scene is no longer in the church, a seventeenth-​century description noted that it included a grotto. Thus in both psalters, the imagery of the Nativity in a cave was not only a case of reliance on Byzantine models but also a topographic reference to the very site and its decoration where the event took place.

59

place of production, and other elements do not reveal dependency of the later manuscript on the earlier one. See Gustav Kühnel, “The Twelfth-​Century Decoration of the Church of the Nativity: Eastern and Western Accord,” in Ancient Churches Revealed, ed. Yoram Tsafrir (Jerusalem: Ancient Exploration Society, 1993), 199. On early images of these at the site, see Bacci, The Mystic Cave, 92. See also Claudio Alessandri, ed. The Restoration of the Nativity Church in Bethlehem (London: crc Press, 2020), 152–​234.

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­f igure 2.16 Initial with Washing of the Christ Child, Gospelbook, Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 227, f. 9r, late twelfth/​early thirteenth century

Other sections of the Riccardiana B, such as the Washing of the Christ Child scene, display telling Sicilian and Byzantine connections. The bust of the Christ child protrudes from a chalice-​like basin as one of the female figures pours water from a tall slender vessel and the other washes the child. This composition is similar to the same scene in the L starting the book of Matthew in a Sicilian Gospelbook in Florence (Figure 2.16).60 All of the figures have the same heavily shaded features. The Washing of the Child does not appear regularly in European manuscript illustration. Its appearances in this Sicilian example and

60

Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 227, fol. 9r.

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in the Riccardiana Psalter reveal Byzantine influence in its combination of an apocryphal Arabic Infancy cycle with that of the Protevangelium of James.61 2.2.2 The Adoration of the Magi at Psalm 26 The grotto recurs as a notable geographical allusion in the Psalter’s next miniature, which depicts the Adoration of the Magi (fol. 36r) (Figure 2.2). The image occupies slightly more than half of the width of the text column with text above and below it. To the right, filling the rest of the column width, are colorful bands of blue and red that contrast with the gold letters of the first words of Psalm 26, “Dominus illuminatio mea” (The Lord is my light). In the framed image, a dark grotto encloses the Virgin and Child. Mary is seated at the right, facing left, in a chair with horizontal slats across the back. She holds the child in her lap as he reaches toward the kneeling wise man at the left. The placement of the birth of Christ in a cave setting and the physical and chronological proximity of that event to the visit of the Magi explains why the artist would depict this subsequent scene in a grotto.62 Pilgrimage accounts confirm the way that visitors to the site in Bethlehem would stop at both the location of the Nativity and of the Magis’ visit and make a connection of one to the other. An anonymous text contemporary with the Psalter called “The Ways and Pilgrimages of the Holy Land” states in both of its versions (1244–​63 and 1261–​65) that Bethlehem was below a hill where the Lord was born and nearby was where he was placed in a crib: “[A]‌nd on another side is the place where the three kings honoured Him.”63 Precedents for the grotto background of the Adoration of the Magi are found in Byzantine imagery from the tenth–​eleventh century, with the lectionary from the Great Lavra on Mount Athos and the so-​called “Menologion” of Basil ii as key examples.64 Moreover, in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, the now-​lost

61 62 63 64

Horn, “Mary between Bible and Qurʾan,” 526. See Schiller, Iconography (vol. 1), 1, 105–​106. In Pringle, Pilgrimage, 222. Mount Athos, Lavra, Skevophylakion, Lectionary, s.n., fol. 114v, in Weitzmann, “Das Evangelion im Skevophylakion,”, plate ii, fig. 2, and Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms Vat. grec. 1613, p. 272, accessible at http://​digi.vat​lib.it/​view/​MSS_​Vat.gr.1613/​ (no. 272). On the “Menologion,” which is in truth a synaxarion, see Nancy P. Ševčenko, “Synaxaria and Menologia,” in A Companion to Byzantine Illustrated Manuscripts, ed. Vasiliki Tsamakda (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 320–​321. See also Francesco D’Aiuto, ed. El “Menologio de Basilio ii.” Città del Vaticano, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. Gr. 1613; libro de estudios con ocasión de la edición facsímil. (Vatican City, Athens, and Madrid: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Diaconía Apostólica de la Iglesia de Grecia and Testimonio Compañia Editorial, 2008).

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crusader-​era mosaics of the Nativity and the Visitation of the Magi appeared together in the southern apse and on the arch above.65 The Psalter artist thus seems to have used complementary strategies, relying on Byzantine models to plan certain scenes and choosing geographically specific details to include. That process emphasized a sense of place for these moments in Christ’s life. The Psalter’s image of the Magi relies on the Gospel of Matthew (2:1–​12) to depict the men coming to honor the new king of the Jews with gifts. The concept of the wise men as kings, suggested here by the golden caplike headdress with a red brim worn by all three, became standard by the tenth century.66 The Magi in the Byzantine manuscripts mentioned above resemble in age and stance those in the Riccardiana Psalter; the eldest king in all three manuscripts bends over in a pose of deference. In the Psalter, he steps forward with his left foot to offer his gift. His posture comes near to proskynesis, bowing before a person of higher rank as practiced at the Byzantine court. The two kings behind him are partially turned toward each other, gesturing and seeming to converse as they look at the child who reaches out to receive the offerings. The lack of a guiding angel between the Magi and Mary in the Riccardiana Psalter seems to be a practical choice to fit the key figures into the small frame. It also helps focus on the Christ child, whose red cruciform halo emphasizes that he is the Word made flesh whose future sacrifice will redeem humanity according to Christian doctrine.67 2.2.3 The Presentation in the Temple at Psalm 38 The next miniature, which also reveals Byzantine influences and specific Jerusalem references, is the Presentation in the Temple (fol. 49v) (Figure 2.3). The colorful text next to the miniature begins Psalm 38: “Dixi custodiam vias meas” (I will take heed to my ways). The image derives from the Gospel of Luke (2:22–​38) in which Joseph and Mary present the infant Jesus to the Lord on the occasion of Mary’s purification, offering a sacrifice in the Temple of Jerusalem as prescribed by Jewish law. While there, the priest Simeon and the prophetess Anna recognize the importance of the child for mankind’s redemption. Beneath a blue-​domed, multi-​sided canopy, the Virgin hands the child over the altar to the priest Simeon. Christ seems to cling to his mother, leaning back and reaching for her as he looks toward Simeon and his covered hands. Anna gestures at the right, while Joseph, at the left, holds the doves or pigeons to be

65 66 67

Kühnel, “The Twelfth-​Century Decoration,” 199. See also Bacci, The Mystic Cave, 184. Compare Schiller, Iconography (vol. 1), 1, 94–​95. Compare ibid., figs. 269–​270.

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offered for sacrifice.68 The book on the altar emphasizes that the child immediately above is the Word whose presence at the altar replaces the old scriptures and whose future sacrificial death will fulfill the revelation of God in the Bible. One typical Byzantine example of such a composition, under a domed structure, is in the “Menologion” of Basil ii.69 Contemporary with its rounded, four-​column form of Byzantine canopy are Italian examples with a square base and pointed canopy such as in the early fourteenth-​century frescoes of the Scrovegni Chapel at Padua. While the Riccardiana Psalter seems to mimic the Byzantine inclusion of a canopy in the Presentation scene, its details connect it to the architecture of a specific holy site in Jerusalem: the Dome of the Rock.70 The Psalter’s canopy is unusual because of its bulbous blue dome, a polygonal base, and the cross on top. The Dome of the Rock was built c. 692 by the Umayyad caliph ʿAbd al-​Malik on or near the site of the second Jewish Temple, destroyed by the Romans in 70 ce (Figure 1.6).71 Jewish tradition associated the site with Adam and Abraham, and by the tenth century Muslim tradition linked it with Muhammad’s miraculous night journey up to heaven.72 After the European Christians took Jerusalem in 1099, they consecrated the building (by 1141) as the church of the Templum Domini (Temple of the Lord).73 They covered the building in mosaics, inscriptions, and marble slabs and capped it with a wooden gilt dome and cross.74 Ernoul’s chronicle of c. 1231, written at a time 68 69

See ibid., 90. Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms Vat. grec. 1613, p. 365, accessible at https://​digi.vat​lib.it/​view/​MSS_​Vat.gr.1613/​ (no. 365). Weitzmann, “A Tenth Century Lectionary,” 635, fig. 616. See also Henry Maguire, “The Iconography of Symeon with the Christ Child in Byzantine Art,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 34/​35 (1980/​1981): 261–​269 and Jelena Bogdanović, The Framing of Sacred Space: the Canopy and the Byzantine Church (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007). 70 Weiss states that the structure “can be none other than an abbreviated representation of the crusaders’ Templum Domini,” Weiss, “The Image of the Temple in Crusader Art,” 214. 71 Generally, see Grabar, The Shape of the Holy, 52–​116. 72 See Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 401. See also Nasser Rabbat, “The Meaning of the Umayyad Dome of the Rock,” Muqarnas 6 (1989): 12, 14; Hadia Dajani-​Shakeel, “Al-​Quds: Jerusalem in the Consciousness of the Counter-​Crusader,” in The Meeting of Two Worlds. Cultural Exchange between East and West during the Period of the Crusades, ed. Vladimir P. Goss, Studies in Medieval Culture (Kalamazoo, Michigan: Medieval Institute Publications, 1986), 209–​210; and Angelika Neuwirth, “The Spiritual Meaning of Jerusalem in Islam,” in City of the Great King: Jerusalem from David to the present, ed. Nitza Rosovsky (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1996), 97, 110–​111. 73 Schick, “Christian Identifications,” 367–​371. 74 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 401–​413. See also Weiss, “The Image of the Temple in Crusader Art,” 212 and John Giebfried, “The Crusader Rebranding

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when the Temple was not easily available to Christians, knew enough to say that, “The church of the Temple is quite round” and that a set of stairs led up to it.75 Daniel the Abbot’s description of the Dome of the Rock, written around 1106, was a rare instance of a Christian acknowledging the building’s Muslim origin as built by a Saracen chieftain.76 Christians more often thought that the Byzantines erected the building to honor the Temple site, or even that it was the actual ancient biblical temple in which Christ appeared on several occasions, emphasizing its new identity as a Christian holy site.77 Theoderic, for example, stated that Helena and Constantine built it.78 Heribert Busse has argued that the crusaders tempered the Muslim association with the building, if they admitted it at all.79 As an anonymous pilgrim’s text (c. 1229–​39) stated when describing the Dome of the Rock, From that place … is the Temple of Lord, in which there is a large rock; and above the rock was the ark of the Lord, in which were Aaron’s rod, the tablets of the law, six golden candlesticks and the urn that contained manna … and there the King of Kings born of the Virgin was offered by the hands of Simeon the Just.80

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of Jerusalem’s Temple Mount,” Comitatus: A Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies 44 (2013): 84–​85. Now you see a modern crescent form on the top of the dome and colorful twentieth-​century tiles. In Pringle, Pilgrimage, 155. See Daniel in Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 132. My review of pilgrimage texts indicates that few Europeans knew of the Muslim background of the building, see Sabino de Sandoli O.F.M., ed. Itinera Hierosolymitana Crucesignatorum (saec. xii–​x iii). ii. Tempore Regum Francorum (1100–​1187), vol. ii, Pubblicazioni dello Studium Biblicum Franciscanum (No. 24) (Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, 1980) and Sabino de Sandoli O.F.M., ed. Itinera Hierosolymitana Crucesignatorum (saec. xii–​x iii). iii. Tempore recuperationis Terrae Sanctae (1187–​1244), vol. iii, Pubblicazioni dello Studium Biblicum Franciscanum (No. 24) (Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, 1983). See also John Wilkinson, “Introduction,” in Jerusalem Pilgrimage 1099–​1185, eds. and trans. John Wilkinson, Joyce Hill and W.F. Ryan (London: The Hakluyt Society, 1988), 12. Weiss, “The Image of the Temple in Crusader Art,” 212. See also Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 401; Silvia Schein, “The Temple between Mount Moriah and the Holy Sepulcher: The Changing Traditions of the Temple in the Later Middle Ages,” Traditio 50 (1984): 181; Schein, Gateway to the heavenly city, 106–​107; and Giebfried, “Crusader Rebranding,” 85–​87. In Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 293. See also Theoderich, Guide to the Holy Land, 8; Busse, “Vom Felsendom zum Templum Domini,” 27; and Schein, Gateway to the heavenly city, 107. Busse, “Vom Felsendom zum Templum Domini,” 22–​27. In Pringle, Pilgrimage, 174–​175.

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The Psalter image conveys the common medieval understanding that the Dome of the Rock was identical with the Temple at the moment of Christ’s Presentation. In the case of the Temple canopy in the Psalter’s Presentation scene, Richard Krautheimer’s conclusions about medieval copies are highly relevant. He argued that exactitude of an architectural copy was less important than its generally legible references to the original form and use—​here the Dome of the Rock’s domed polygonal form and its use as a former Temple and contemporary crusader church.81 The cross shown atop the canopy marked a cultural translation, bringing the building into Christian time by imposing a Christological history onto the Jewish Temple of the time of Jesus.82 At the same time, the cross carried the building into the crusader era by referencing the actual cross installed on the building under twelfth-​century European rule. Yet in the Ayyubid era, when the Riccardiana Psalter was produced, the Dome of the Rock did not display a cross. After Salah al-​Din’s victory over the crusaders in 1187, he made certain to remove the cross and Christian embellishments to reappropriate the building for Muslim use.83 In 1217, Thietmar stated that the “Saracens have converted the Temple of the Lord, which is said to be that of Solomon, into their mosque, so that no Christian ever presumes to enter it,” conflating al-​Aqsa Mosque (called the Templum Salomonis or Temple of Solomon) with the Temple of the Lord or Dome of the Rock used as a shrine in the sacred enclosure.84 Having just been imprisoned by the Muslim authorities just outside of Jerusalem, Thietmar was perhaps wary of going where he was not allowed.85 Even when Emperor Frederick ii negotiated Christian control of the city from 1229 to 1239, the Dome of the Rock building remained in Muslim hands and mostly off limits to Christians.86 2.2.4 The Entry of Christ into Jerusalem at Psalm 52 The fourth of the Psalter’s eight main miniatures (fol. 62r) depicts the Entry of Christ into Jerusalem alongside the beginning words of Psalm 52: “Dixit insipiens in corde suo: Non est Deus” (The fool said in his heart: There is no God) (Figure 2.4). This scene provides more visual connections to the medieval city of Jerusalem, specifically to the architectural form of the Church of the Holy 81 Compare Weiss, “The Image of the Temple in Crusader Art,” 214. 82 See Budick, “Crises of Alterity,” 1–​2, 8. 83 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 408. 84 In Pringle, Pilgrimage, 112. 85 See ibid., 111–​112. 86 Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 148–​156.

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Sepulcher. Recounted in all four Gospels (Matt. 21:1–​11, Mk. 11:1–​11, Lk. 19:28–​44 and Jn. 12:12–​19), the image shows Jesus riding sidesaddle on the ass, obliquely facing the viewer as he approaches Jerusalem. Behind him is a group of apostles, and another apostle holds the animal’s lead. A boy lays a cloak on the ground beneath the ass’s feet while two boys climb a tree above him to get a better view. Comparing the Riccardiana Psalter Entry image to other manuscripts demonstrates how choices were made in the Psalter to represent the holy city in its medieval state. The Riccardiana Entry scene includes two parts of the actual complex of the Holy Sepulcher: in the foreground the Anastasis Rotunda and in the rear, above it, the bell tower of the Holy Sepulcher basilica.87 The Riccardiana miniature dedicates the picture space to these structures, only hinting at the Golden Gate through which Christ enters with a partial darkened outline instead of the tall arched gate complete with door leaves in the Melisende Psalter (Figure 2.17).88 The tall bell tower is an important architectural reference to the Holy Sepulcher in the scene. In the mid-​twelfth century the crusaders built the tower on the south side of their renovated church (Figure 2.18).89 By referring to fourteenth-​and fifteenth-​century representations of the campanile, Folda identified some features of the medieval structure: It was two stories high at its base, comparable in height to the [church] façade, and instead of a single story above the base with paired arched fenestration as it has now, there were three stories. The first two stories were bonded to the wall of the façade of the church, but all upper stories were freestanding. The tower was capped with … an octagonal cupola.90

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Compare also an ivory from Berlin (Berlin, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Bode Museum, no. 1590, accessible at http://​www.smb-​digi​tal.de/​eMus​eumP​lus?serv​ice=​Extern​alIn​terf​ace &mod​ule=​col​lect​ion&objec​tId=​1441​131&viewT​ype=​det​ailV​iew) containing a Byzantine feast cycle composition, Weitzmann, “A Tenth Century Lectionary,” 625, fig. 6. 88 London, British Library, ms Egerton 1139, fol. 5v. See Buchthal, Miniature painting, 5, 45; Jaroslav Folda, “Queen Melisende’s Psalter,” in The Glory of Byzantium. Art and Culture of the Middle Byzantine Era A.D. 843–​1261, eds. Helen C. Evans and William D. Wixom (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1997), 392–​394; and Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 155–​156. In the Melisende codex there is more emphasis on the so-​ called Golden Gate, from which many figures emerge to welcome Christ, ibid., 137–​163. On the Golden Gate name and its understanding by Christians, see Schick, “Christian Identifications,” 373–​377. 89 Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 243–​245. 90 Ibid., 243.

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­f igure 2.17  Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, The Melisende Psalter, London, British Library, ms Egerton 1139, fol. 5v, c. 1135

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­f igure 2.18  South Portal and Tower, Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Jerusalem, mid-​ twelfth century

In other words, the twelfth-​century bell tower had five stories and a polygonal roof, as seen in the Riccardiana Psalter. The mountain is also a prominent presence in this Psalter scene. A mountain looms behind and frames Christ and the ass as they proceeded into the city. Specifically, the synoptic gospels mention that Jesus approached the city from the Mount of Olives, and here this specific geographic referent is included. It frames Christ and makes a clear visual reference to the hilly landscape of Jerusalem. 2.2.5 The Last Supper and Washing of the Apostles’ Feet at Psalm 68 The fifth illumination in the Riccardiana Psalter (fol. 75r) depicts the Last Supper above and the Washing of the Apostles’ Feet below (Figure 2.5). Psalm 68 begins to the right of the image with the words “Salvum me fac Deus” (Save me, O God). Christ appears two times in this frame, seated to the top left of the table and again kneeling to wash the feet of Peter in the lower right corner. Peter, with his typical gray-​white curly hair and close-​cropped beard, is represented only once, but he is simultaneously the twelfth apostle at the table above and the recipient of Christ’s humble deed below, bridging the

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­f igure 2.19  Last Supper, Ivory relief panel, The Walters Art Museum, object 71.483, late eleventh century

two scenes in the frame. Many of the features of this combined Last Supper–​ Washing of the Feet composition are Byzantine, although the two scenes are usually illustrated individually because the Orthodox church celebrates these feasts separately. Once again the artist combined this Byzantine iconography with topographical allusions. The semicircular table and the reclining attitude of Christ in the Last Supper are typical of the scene in later Byzantine art.91 The background cornices of the Byzantine scene and the Riccardiana miniature display cloth draped in a classical fashion.92 The sigma-​shaped table and reclining Christ can be found in Italian art, as on an ivory plaque of c. 1100 at the Walters Art Museum (Figure 2.19).93 This north Italian ivory was originally attached to a 91

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As in a mid-​eleventh-​century manuscript from Mount Athos (Dionysiu, ms 587, fol. 53r) illustrating the Last Supper, Weitzmann, “A Tenth Century Lectionary,” 627–​628. The twelve original feasts did not include the Last Supper and its associated Washing of the Feet in Byzantine art. See ibid., 622. Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, object 71.483, Walters Art Gallery, Medieval Ivories in the Walters Art Gallery (A Walters Art Gallery Picture Book) (Baltimore: Walters Art Gallery, 1969), no. 6 and Richard H. Randall Jr., “Masterpieces of Ivory from the Walters Art Gallery,” ed. Walters Art Gallery (New York: Hudson Hills Press, 1985), 174, cat. 251. See also the mosaic from Monreale, in Otto Pächt, Francis Wormald, and C.R. Dodwell, The St. Albans Psalter (Albani Psalter) (London: The Warburg Institute, 1960), pl. IIIb. On the table in art, see Helen C. Evans and William D. Wixom, eds., The Glory of Byzantium. Art and

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piece of ecclesiastical furniture along with other panels depicting the Washing of the Feet and Christ on the Mount of Olives.94 Like the Psalter, the ivory includes three important details: the symbolic fish and circular loaves resting on a semicircular draped table; Judas reaching out to touch the fish; and Christ reclining to the left. The Psalter’s image of the Washing of the Feet may be compared with a tenth-​century Byzantine ivory now in Berlin that shows the traditional Byzantine composition of the scene.95 The ivory’s apostles are all grouped together behind Peter, whereas in the Riccardiana Psalter the apostles remain at the Last Supper table, perhaps combined because of the small size of the frame. In the Psalter’s Last Supper–​Washing of the Feet illustration, those elements that differ from the pictorial tradition seem to derive from an interest in the actual site in the contemporary Holy Land. By the mid-​fourth century, a basilica existed on Mount Sion that commemorated the Last Supper. Other events in the life of Jesus, such as his appearance to the apostles, his scourging, and the Pentecost, were also connected to the site.96 The Franks likely reconstructed the earlier basilica when they built a vaulted stone church on Mount Sion in the middle of the twelfth century.97 The Cambrai map of c. 1170, discussed in Chapter 1, shows a long basilica with an apse, two towers at the east end, and another tower at the west end (Figure 1.4).98 I want to elaborate on a passing suggestion made by Buchthal that the distinctive fusion of these two scenes in the Psalter may have been an allusion to the two-​level structure in Jerusalem called the Cenaculum, built as a part of the crusader basilica on the site where Christ purportedly celebrated the Last Supper on Mount Sion.99 Of Culture of the Middle Byzantine Era A.D. 843–​1261 (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1997), 67–​68. On the table shape and ancient dining customs, see Katherine M.D. Dunbabin, The Roman Banquet: Images of Conviviality (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 43–​46, 58–​63, 169–​172. 94 The additional panels are in the Museo Civico of Bologna, see Randall, “Masterpieces of Ivory,” 174. 95 Berlin, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Bode Museum, no. 2108 (accessible at http://​www .smb-​digi​tal.de/​eMus​eumP​lus?serv​ice=​Extern​alIn​terf​ace&mod​ule=​col​lect​ion&objec​ tId=​1609​294&viewT​ype=​det​ailV​iew), Weitzmann, “A Tenth Century Lectionary,” 626. 96 Thomas O’Loughlin, “‘Remembering Sion’: Early Medieval Latin Recollections of the Basilica on Mount Sion and the Interplay of Relics, Traditions, and Images,” in Visual Constructs of Jerusalem, eds. Bianca Kühnel, Galit Noga-​Banai, and Hanna Vorholt, Cultural Encounters in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (celama) (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), 1–​2. 97 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 261–​264, 272–​275. 98 Cambrai, Médiathèque municipale, ms 466 (formerly 437), fol. 1r. For a basic description of the map, see Vilnay, The Holy Land, 48–​49. 99 See Buchthal, Miniature painting, 45.

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particular importance is the fact that the Cenaculum’s lower story (now the alleged tomb of King David) commemorated the place where Christ washed the feet of the apostles, just as the Washing occurs below in the Psalter. Most medieval accounts after the mid-​twelfth century stated that the church commemorated the Washing of the Feet in the east end of the south aisle at the lower level and the Last Supper and Pentecost above them.100 Peter Fergusson argued that architectural copies as far away as England in the twelfth century showed an awareness of the Cenaculum’s two stories and consciously copied it to evoke the sacred events and make them more concrete in the present.101 The so-​called Cenaculum upper room with six bays covered with rib vaulting is seemingly a remainder of the rebuilt church.102 The crusader-​era church could have been damaged after Salah al-​Din’s conquest of Jerusalem in 1187 or, alternatively, sometime between 1217 and 1231.103 A renovation in the 1230s likely kept the earlier elements.104 Regardless of the exact state of the building, pilgrims in the thirteenth century continued to visit the site and mention some type of structure with the same organization of upper and lower floors. The bird head extending to the right above the structure and the four arched windows set into a blind arcade might also be intended to evoke the decoration and form of the Cenaculum (Figure 2.5). The bird could allude to the theme of a repeated eagle profile on a crusader-​era capital that is now part of a ciborium over stairs at the southwest corner in the Cenaculum.105 The recessed windows might refer to the now walled-​up arched openings in the north wall, which used to be the upper part of the crusader church nave arcade. 1 00 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 264–​270, 272–​279. 101 Compare Peter Fergusson, “The Refectory at Easby Abbey: Form and Iconography,” Art Bulletin 71, no. 3 (1989): 342, 344, 347. 102 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 262–​266 and Hugh Plommer, “The Cenacle on Mount Sion,” in Crusader Art in the Twelfth Century, ed. Jaroslav Folda, bar International Series 152 (Oxford: British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem, 1982), 139–​166. 103 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 264–​270. 104 Fergusson, “The Refectory at Easby Abbey,” 334–​351: 346–​347, fig. 339. The residence of a community of Syrian Orthodox monks perhaps explains the structure’s preservation into the thirteenth century. The Khwarazmian invasion may have caused the Syrian Orthodox monks to abandon it by 1244, Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 268. 105 On the meaning behind the eagle in this setting, see Bianca and Gustav Kühnel, “An Eagle Physiologus Legend on a Crusader Capital from the Coenaculum,” in Norms and Variations in Art: Essays in Honor of Moshe Barasch (Jerusalem: The Magnes Press, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1983), 36–​48. The stairs may be from the fourteenth century and the ciborium arrangement from the Ottoman period, see Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 276–​282, fig. cliii.

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The Mount Sion location was memorable for pilgrims because so many sacred events happened at this one site. Thietmar visited there and wrote: On its summit is the church where the Lord washed the feet of His disciples. There also on the day of Pentecost the disciples received the Holy Spirit. There the blessed Virgin Mary gave up her spirit to God surrounded by the Apostles. There the Lord was presented to Pilate, the judge. There He dined with His disciples. There John reclined on the Lord’s breast at dinner. There after the Resurrection, the doors being closed, the Lord appeared to the disciples.106 By emphasizing the two-​story arrangement of the actual site in Jerusalem, the Psalter illustrator exemplified the experience of visiting the Cenaculum. 2.2.6 The Harrowing of Hell and Three Marys at the Tomb at Psalm 80 The sixth miniature at Psalm 80 (fol. 90v) reveals additional architectural ties to Jerusalem as well as Sicilian and Byzantine artistic inspiration (Figure 2.6). The text of Psalm 80 begins with “Exultate deo adiutori nostro” (Rejoice to God our helper). This single framed image once again illustrates two scenes. The lower half displays the Three Marys who visited the tomb of Christ and above is the Harrowing of Hell or Anastasis, the Byzantine scene of Christ’s Resurrection. In the lower scene, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and (Mary) Salome are the three women in attendance at the empty tomb of Christ; they are greeted by an angel. They came to the sepulcher after Christ’s death to anoint his body, as explained in the text of the Gospel of Mark 16:1–​8; this version was generally chosen as the basis for European iconography until the thirteenth century.107 In the twelfth-​century Guarneriana Bible, believed to have close stylistic ties with Levantine artists, the figure of Sapienza is much like the 1 06 Pringle, Pilgrimage, 112. 107 On these women’s identity, see Iris Shagrir, “The Visitatio Sepulchri in the Latin Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem,” Al-​Masaq: Islam & the Medieval Mediterranean 22, no. 1 (2010): 62 n. 18. See also Iris Shagrir, “The ‘Holy Women’ in the Liturgy and Art of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Twelfth-​Century Jerusalem,” in The Uses of the Bible in Crusader Sources, eds. Elizabeth Lapina and Nicholas Morton (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 455–​476. The three women contrast with the two mentioned in the Gospel of Matthew who were represented more often in Byzantine-​inspired imagery. See Otto Pächt and Dagmar Thoss, Die Illuminierte Handschriften und Inkunabeln des Österreichischen Nationalbibliothek. Französischen Schule (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1974), 71, 72 regarding these Byzantine and western types. See also Folda, “Queen Melisende’s Psalter,” 392–​394 and George Henderson Crichton, Romanesque Sculpture in Italy (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd, 1954), 100.

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­f igure 2.20  Women at the Empty Tomb mosaics, north wall of transept, Cathedral of Monreale, Italy, twelfth century

angel in the Riccardiana miniature in that the angel’s lower body is directed to his right while he turns and faces to his left, bringing his right arm across his body.108 This dramatic movement is seen also in the late twelfth-​century mosaics at the cathedral of Monreale, in Sicily, in the same scene on the west wall of the north transept (Figure 2.20). In both the mosaics and Psalter, the angel’s wings are shaded in similar bands of color, and the angel sits on the sarcophagus and points toward an arched space while looking in the opposite direction

108 Bible, San Daniele del Friuli, Biblioteca Guarneriana, s.n., fol. 53r, in Daneu Lattanzi, Lineamenti di storia, 43, fig. 35 and Valentino Pace, “Un’ipotesi per la storia della produzione libreria italo-​meridionale: La bibbia ‘bizantina’ di San Daniele del Friuli,” in La miniatura italiana in età romanica e gotica, ed. Grazia Vailati Schoenburg Waldenburg, Storia della Miniatura. Studi e Documenti (Florence: Leo S. Olschki Editore, 1979), 141, fig. 149. Lattanzi stated that it has the decorative exuberance of Messina manuscripts but was probably made in Palermo, Daneu Lattanzi, “Ancora sulla scuola miniaturistica,” 124, 126, 128. Pace suggested an Apulian source for this manuscript because of the strong ties between Apulia and the Holy Land in the twelfth and thirteenth century, Valentino Pace, “Icone di Puglia, della Terra Santa e di Cipro: Appunti preliminari per un’indagine sulla ricezione bizantina nell’Italia meridionale duecentesca,” in Il Medio oriente e l’occidente nell’arte del xii secolo. Atti del xxiv Congresso internazionale di storia dell’arte, ed. Hans Belting (Bologna: clueb, 1979), 183.

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­f igure 2.21  Anastasis and Women at Empty Tomb, The Melisende Psalter, London, British Library, ms Egerton 1139, fol. 9v–​10r, c. 1135

at the women.109 The Riccardiana artist seems to be well aware of this Sicilian manner of gesturing, modeling, and draping. A feature that stands out in the Psalter’s Three Marys scene is the setting for the tomb. In the Melisende Psalter (Figure 2.21), the angel indicates a floating doorway with no architectural structure behind it, whereas the Riccardiana Psalter has a distinctive blue-​domed structure with a doorway framing a piece of twisted cloth. The Monreale mosaic shows a hill setting more in keeping with the scriptures, which describe how Joseph of Arimathea placed the dead body of Christ in a tomb cut out of rock (Mark 15:45) (Figure 2.20). Instead of following this precedent, the painter of the Riccardiana Psalter emphasized the architectural form of the constructed tomb with key similarities to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. With such details as the small doorway, domed top, and colorful doorframe, the structure evoked the aedicule over the

109 Daneu Lattanzi, Lineamenti di storia, 44. See also Ernst Kitzinger, The Mosaics of Monreale (Palermo: S.F. Flaccovio, 1960), 116ff, Fig. 1.

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tomb in the crusader era, renovated in 1119 and again in the 1140s.110 A dome on columns topped the tomb aedicule inside the Anastasis Rotunda, according to twelfth-​century accounts.111 At the same time, the arched clerestory windows and domed shape could allude to the Rotunda surrounding the aedicule, first built in the fourth century, rebuilt by the Byzantines in 1048, and renovated in the twelfth-​century crusader kingdom. Such a simultaneous view of features combined from different eras was not uncommon in imagery related to the Latin Kingdom, as Folda observed about the coinage of King Amaury I of c. 1140.112 As Abbot Daniel wrote in the early twelfth century, The Lord’s tomb is like a little cave cut into the rock, with small doors so that men can enter stooping on their knees for it is low and round … This holy cave is faced with beautiful marble … and there are twelve pillars around it also of beautiful marble. And above the cave is a beautiful chamber on pillars, round at the top and covered with gilded silver plates.113 The allusion to the structure of the contemporary Holy Sepulcher in the Riccardiana Psalter’s Three Marys scene would have been apparent to a medieval Christian from the form and context.114 As Daniel Weiss asserted, the architectural imagery strengthened the devotional experience and made the story more palpable.115 Other details within the Psalter’s Three Marys illumination add allusions not just to the architecture of Jerusalem but also to liturgy. The angel indicates the open tomb and empty funereal shroud, which is folded in a zigzag pattern in the open-​arched doorway. In the scriptures, the angel questioned the women about why they came to the tomb. Emphasizing Christ’s resurrection through the empty shroud, the angel pointed to it as he told the women, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He 110 Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 177–​245. The aedicule was renovated in 1119, ibid., 79–​82, 186, 337. 111 See Buchthal, Miniature painting, 45n42. 112 Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 335–​337 and Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 215. 113 In Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 128. See also Folda, “Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre,” 159. 114 See Richard Krautheimer, “Introduction to an ‘Iconography of Medieval Architecture’,” in Studies in Early Christian, Medieval and Renaissance Art (New York: 1969; reprint, of 1942 publication), (Introduction ii) 115–​150 and Krautheimer, “Introduction i,” 1–​33. See also Weiss, “The Image of the Temple in Crusader Art,” 216. 115 Weiss, “The Image of the Temple in Crusader Art,” 214–​216.

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has been raised; he is not here. Look there is the place they laid him” (Mark 16:6). On the twelfth-​century Salerno ivory plaques, Natalia Teteriatnikov suggested that such an “animated” funeral cloth refers to the “Quem quaeritis” (Whom do you seek?) liturgy.116 Clerics conducted this liturgy at Easter at the Holy Sepulcher church and elsewhere. Iris Shagrir examined an ordinal now in Barletta, a liturgical guide from 1202–​28 reflecting rituals from the Holy Sepulcher from before 1187 and perhaps used there again from 1229 to 1244.117 European clerics brought such liturgies to the Holy Land in the crusader era to express European control over the region by carrying out the rituals at holy sites.118 A clerical or monastic community would act out the scene on Easter morning with the cloths.119 The ordinal suggests a likely liturgical connection for the depiction of the cloth in the Psalter’s tomb door. Liturgically and ­devotionally, then, the Psalter illustration alludes to Christ’s execution, which was not represented in a Crucifixion scene in the Psalter, but also to his bodily resurrection, a key component of the salvation that he offered to pious devotees. In addition to the cloths and details of the architecture, also the grille in the doorway of the tomb refers to the medieval experience of the site. This aspect is a commonality between the Melisende Psalter and Riccardiana Psalter tomb scenes and indicates another allusion to the crusader-​era Holy Sepulcher church. Such a barrier was not mentioned in Mark’s biblical text (Mark 16:5), which says that the women entered the tomb with no indication of any barrier. The depicted grille recalls the type of screen mentioned in the Book of Miracles of Ste. Foi around the medieval reliquary statue of Sainte Foi in Conques, France. A contemporary account described how the statue stood behind locked doors, presumably iron grillwork, that allowed her to be seen by devotees while protecting it from potential thieves.120 A similar setup was

116 Natalia B. Teteriatnikov, “When Art Depicts Ritual: the Salerno Plaque with the Women at the Tomb,” in Salerno Ivories. Objects, Histories, Contexts., eds. Francesca Dell’Acqua, et al. (Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 2016), 167–​178. See also Ousterhout, “Memory of Jerusalem,” 149–​150. For a reproduction of the ivory, see Robert Bigano, “Miracle of Christ and Three Women at the Tomb, New Testament (37 of 42),” http://​www.big​ano.com/​gall​ery/​galler​y _​av​ori/​ssp.swf, accessed 1 September 2012. 117 Barletta, Archivio della Chiesa del Santo Sepolcro, ms s.n. This manuscript is discussed in more depth in Chapter 3. The ordinal has been in Barletta since after 1291. See Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 58 and Shagrir, “Holy Women,” 458–​459. 118 Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 61, 63 and Shagrir, “Holy Women,” 456–​459. 119 Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 66–​73. 120 Pamela Sheingorn, ed. The Book of Sainte Foy (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995), 17–​18 (11.26 and 11.31).

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evidently in place at the medieval tomb of Christ as well. The pilgrim John of Würzburg reported in c. 1170 that, The arrangement of the monument containing the sepulcher of the Lord is that it is almost round in shape, and is decorated inside with mosaic. On the east there is an entry through small doors, and the square place before the tomb is a porch with two gates.121 Daniel the Abbot provides detail about these doors: “There are three doors in the chamber, cunningly fashioned like a grille, and through these doors come the people to the tomb of the Lord.”122 Elaborate grillwork, now at the Islamic Museum on Jerusalem’s Haram al-​Sharif, still survives from the interior of the Dome of the Rock where it protected the rock from pilgrims in the twelfth century.123 The Riccardiana Psalter scene seems to elide the biblical account, with its shroud and open tomb, with the crusader-​era experience of the Rotunda dome, aedicule, and metal grille during the liturgy. The Anastasis depicted above the Three Marys scene is more common in Byzantine than in European art as a feast image for Easter Sunday (Figure 2.6). The scene was the most important image of the resurrection—​even more important than the crucifixion. Alluded to in the scriptures and described in more detail in apocryphal works such as the Gospel of Nicodemus and by later European writers like Vincent of Beauvais, Christ descended into hell to free the souls of righteous individuals who predeceased him.124 In the Psalter, the central figure of Christ looks backward and grasps Adam’s arm. Eve is at the far left, clad in red and now damaged; at the right are kings David and Solomon and a nimbed John the Baptist.125 As in the Melisende Psalter (Figure 2.21) 1 21 In Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 261. 122 Ibid., 128. 123 Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 136–​137. 124 See Kurt Weitzmann, “The Narrative and Liturgical Gospel Illustrations,” in Studies in Classical and Byzantine Manuscript Illumination, ed. Herbert L. Kessler (Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1971), 257. It is the demonstration of the “Chalcedonian dogma of the two natures of Christ, i.e., of the inseparability of the two natures, even after Christ’s death on the cross,” Kurt Weitzmann, Studies in the arts at Sinai: essays (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982), 185. See also Anna D. Kartsonis, Anastasis: The Making of an Image (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986). 125 The Anastasis is less common in the west and usually occurs as part of a large Passion cycle, Weitzmann, Arts at Sinai, 184. Though more typically a Byzantine tradition, the Anastasis can be found in European manuscripts of eastern influence, such as in the German Landgrave’s Psalter of the twelfth century. Nevertheless, the common Saxon representation differs greatly: Christ is to the left, grabbing a bearded Adam by the hand,

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and the later Byzantine fresco at the Church of the Holy Savior in the Chora (or Kariye Camii) in Istanbul, Christ’s feet trample the metal gates and chains of Hades, shown in minuscule pieces at his feet that spill over into the lower register of the image.126 Because the crucifixion scene is not included in the Riccardiana Psalter cycle, it seems likely that the artist used Byzantine models that did not include that scene, or that he chose to omit it in order to create a more Byzantine-​looking cycle with the Anastasis. A topographical allusion to the medieval architecture and setting of Jerusalem may also be perceived in relation to the Anastasis scene. This scene adorned the interior of the Anastasis Rotunda in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher before it was destroyed in the early eleventh century. Indeed, the building was called the Anastasis Rotunda, using the Greek term for resurrection, throughout the Middle Ages, even when referring to the structure rebuilt in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. According to John of Würzburg, the reconstructed twelfth-​century church connected to the Rotunda had an altar dedicated to the Anastasis, with an apse mosaic of the scene above it.127 Folda asserted that the Melisende Psalter (Figure 2.21) imitated the mosaic in the inclusion of the bust-​length angels flanking Christ, which were rare in Byzantine art, to evoke the imagery of the sacred space of the Holy Sepulcher.128 A parallel reading of the Riccardiana Psalter suggests that it represented not only the architecture of the Anastasis Rotunda and its aedicule but also the apse decoration of the adjacent church. By incorporating these specific and uncommon elements, the two-​part Psalter image reflected the medieval state of the most holy Christian site in Jerusalem, in which the moments of Christ’s death and resurrection were commemorated. and these figures are nude and being pulled from the exaggerated mouth of a monster. See Arthur Haseloff, Eine Thuringische-​Sächsische Malerschule des 13. Jahrhunderts (Strassburg: Heitz, 1897), Taf. iii or Taf. xix., no. 42. 126 See Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 142, Pl. 146.148r. Compare Pavle Marjanovic, “Anastasis, Chora Church, Istanbul, Deposit photos, #3030769,” depositphotos.com, http://​deposi​tpho​tos.com/​3030​769/​stock-​photo-​The-​Anasta​sis-​Desc​ent-​into-​Hell.html, accessed 2 August 2012. The mid-​eleventh century Skevophylakion lectionary from the Great Lavra on Mount Athos also depicts the Byzantine Anastasis scene. On the Anastasis image in liturgical Byzantine lectionary illustrations, see Yota, “The Lectionary,” 297. 1 27 In Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 262. A Byzantine mosaic may have been moved from the Rotunda, see Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 230 and Folda, “Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre,” 160. See also Alan Borg, “The Lost Apse Mosaic of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem,” in The Vanishing Past: Studies of Medieval Art, Liturgy and Metrology presented to Christopher Hohler, eds. Alan Borg and Andrew Martindale, bar International Series (Oxford: bar International, 1981), 7–​12. 128 Folda, “Queen Melisende’s Psalter,” 393. See also Buchthal, Miniature painting, 4.

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2.2.7 The Ascension at Psalm 97 The penultimate miniature in the Riccardiana manuscript is the Ascension placed in conjunction with Psalm 97, which begins with “Cantate Domine, canticum novum” (Sing ye to the Lord a new canticle) (fol. 105v) (Figure 2.7). The lower half of the image represents the Virgin Mary in the center, flanked by Paul and Peter plus five more apostles on either side. Mary raises her arms before her chest, palms outward, while the others look up and gesture in wonder. Christ, in a light blue aureole outlined in red, is carried upward by four angels with brilliantly colored wings. He sits with his left hand holding an open book that rests on his lap and blesses with his right hand. This event is described in the Acts of the Apostles (1:9–​11), and this format—​ with Christ in a mandorla held aloft by angels—​is the conventional Byzantine one.129 It differs from the two European compositions for the scene, which show Christ striding up a mountain, used in early medieval art, or disappearing into the clouds, seen in images from the twelfth to fourteenth centuries.130 The Byzantine format appears, for instance, in the sixth-​century Syriac Rabbula Gospels. As in the Riccardiana Psalter, Christ is seated, not standing; his hand is on a book (and not a scroll); a nimbed and orant Mary is at the center; and four angels support Christ’s mandorla.131 The same details of Christ carried by angels with the Virgin below are found in such portable objects as the sixth-​ to seventh-​century pilgrimage ampullae now in Monza and Bobbio and the Vatican reliquary box.132 These analogies have suggested to scholars that, from an early date, imagery available in Jerusalem, perhaps in the Church of the Ascension on the Mount of Olives, inspired such representations of the Ascension. It may have been copied on “blessings” or souvenirs for individuals to take home as reminders of the site.133 129 Weitzmann, “A Tenth Century Lectionary,” 623. See also Elizabeth Leesti, “The Pentecost Illustration in the Drogo Sacramentary,” Gesta 28, no. 2 (1989): 207. 130 For the other two types, see Ernest T. Dewald, “The Iconography of the Ascension,” American Journal of Archaeology 19, no. 3 (1915): 279–​282, 315–​317. 131 See Ally Kateusz, “Ascension of Christ or Ascension of Mary? Reconsidering a Popular Early Iconography,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 23, no. 2 (Summer) (2015): 274–​275. See also Dewald, “Iconography of the Ascension,” 282–​284, 293–​294. 132 Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Museo Sacro, no. 1883a/​b. See Kateusz, “Ascension of Christ or Ascension of Mary?,” 277–​280. 133 Dewald, “Iconography of the Ascension,” 283–​284. See Kateusz, “Ascension of Christ or Ascension of Mary?,” and Leah DiSegni in Hannah M. Cotton et al., Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/​Palaestinae. Jerusalem, Part 2: 705–​1120, vol. 1 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010), Ebook, 560–​561. See also André Grabar, Ampoules de Terre Sainte (Monza–​Bobbio) (Paris: C. Klincksieck, 1958), 38 no. 14 pl. xliv, 31. That said, later medieval accounts of the building commented on its marble, sculpture, columns, and the footprints of Christ that it

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The presence of Mary at the center with Paul, Peter, and the remaining apostles on each side is also representative of the Byzantine composition, as a tenth-​century Byzantine ivory box cover in Stuttgart demonstrates.134 The anachronistic presence of both Mary and Paul at this moment in the narrative has long been considered problematic and has led scholars to surmise a non-​ canonical source of inspiration for the scene.135 Nevertheless, by the twelfth century the Byzantine type of Ascension scene with these two figures was used in Europe, and the artist of the Psalter might have seen it in numerous works, including the twelfth-​century mosaics at Monreale. 2.2.8 The Pentecost at Psalm 109 The Pentecost is the final Christological miniature of the eight in the Riccardiana Psalter (fol. 121v) (Figure 2.8). It accompanies Psalm 109 with the incipit “Dixit Dominus Domino meo: Sede a dextris meis” (The Lord said to my Lord: Sit thou at my right hand). The twelve apostles sit at the edge of a brown semicircle with a dark arched opening at the bottom center. Paul, with characteristic dark hair, a widow’s peak, and a pointed beard, is to the left of center at the top facing Peter. This event from the Acts of the Apostles (Acts 2:1–​13) shows how the Holy Spirit descended on the apostles to inspire them to preach the Gospels and to give them the gift of speaking in multiple languages. A series of red lines, somewhat effaced, emanates from the top center of the frame to curve around their heads, becoming the symbolic flames of the Holy Spirit on their foreheads. The absence at the top of a symbolic form of the Lord, such as a dove or a hand, is notable; it may be due to the small size of the image or the painter’s desire to focus on the apostles.136 Two smaller figures, one in a wrapped turban and the other in a red hat, appear below in the arched doorway of the structure on which the apostles sit. These gesturing men each step up through an open door.137 They represent the different nations and peoples

134 1 35 136 137

housed, but no one described a scene of an Ascension on the ceilings or walls. See Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 72–​88. At the Württembergisches Landesmuseum, Anthony Cutler, “Carving, Recarving, and Forgery: Working Ivory in the Tenth and Twentieth Centuries,” West 86th 18, no. 2 (2011), fig. 22. See Kateusz, “Ascension of Christ or Ascension of Mary?,” 283. See Leesti, “Pentecost Illustration,” 205–​206. See also Gertrud Schiller, Ikonographie der christlichen Kunst. Die Kirche, vol. 4.1 (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Gerd Mohn, 1976), 20–​21. See André Grabar, “La schéma iconographique de la Pentecôte,” in L’art de la fin de l’antiquité au moyen âge, ed. André Grabar (Paris: Collège de France, 1968), 618.

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that gathered together in wonder when they heard the apostles speaking in tongues after the Spirit descended on them. The format of the apostles seated in a semicircle formation at the Pentecost goes back to early medieval art, in which such a communal arrangement of figures was often associated with scenes of teaching, councils, or judgment.138 Byzantine imagery of the Pentecost included the apostles depicted as if they were ecclesiastics on benches around the apse of a church or in a council. The ninth-​century Byzantine Homilies of Gregory of Nazianzus reveals an early schematized version of the apostles’ arrangement, showing them seated in an arc.139 Kurt Weitzmann suggested that the scene was represented in the monumental form in the apse decoration of the church of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople and imitated in a reduced scale in icons.140 The rounded shape on which the apostles sit in the Psalter thus seems to be a simplified version of the banquette on which the apostles were often depicted in Byzantine scenes.141 The Pentecost in the Riccardiana and Melisende Psalters (fol. 12r) (Figure 2.22) includes the particular Byzantine practice of having Peter and Paul share the center spots, an arrangement included also in European art from the Carolingian era.142 The Riccardiana Psalter’s Pentecost representation hints at possible references to the Pentecost site in Jerusalem, which by the early Middle Ages was 138 Leesti, “Pentecost Illustration,” 212–​213 and Grabar, “Pentecôte,” 622–​625. See also Nicolas Ovoline, “La Pentecôte du Paris, Grec. 510: Un témoinage sur l’église du Constantinople au ixe siècle,” Rivista di archeologia cristiana 63, no. 1–​4 (1987): 246. 139 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, ms gr. 510, fol. 301r. See Grabar, “Pentecôte,” 616–​617 and Claudine A. Chavannes-​Mazel, “Paradise and Pentecost,” in Reading Images and Texts: Medieval Images and Texts as Forms of Communication, eds. Mariëlle Hageman and Marco Mostert, Utrecht Studies in Medieval Literacy (Turnhout: Brepols, 2005), 124. See also Leslie Brubaker, Vision and Meaning in Ninth-​century Byzantium: Image as Exegesis in the Homilies of Gregory of Nazianzus, New York (Cambridge University Press, 1999), 239–​243, fig. 30. 140 This configuration became typical in the middle and late Byzantine periods, Weitzmann, “Narrative and Liturgical Gospel Illustrations,” 261. See also Grabar, “Pentecôte,” 617–​618. 141 Such as in a tenth-​century Lectionary in St. Petersburg, also called the Trebizond lectionary or Leningrad Gospel, St. Petersburg, Saltykov-​Shchedrin Public Library, ms gr. 21, fol. 14v, Gospel of Trebizond (commentary edited by Elena M. Schwarz), Vollständige Faksimile-​Ausgabe des Codex Gr. 21, Gr. 21a, Lektionar von St. Petersburg, aus dem Besitz der Russischen Nationalbibliothek in St. Petersburg (Graz and Moscow: Akademische Druck-​ und Verlagsanstalt and Verlag Nasledije der Akademie der Wissenschaften Russlands, 1994), 25. See Grabar, “Pentecôte,” 615–​618. See also Ovoline, “La Pentecôte du Paris,” 245–​ 255 and Weitzmann, “Narrative and Liturgical Gospel Illustrations,” 261. 142 See Leesti, “Pentecost Illustration,” 213 and Schiller, Ikonographie (vol. 4.1), 4.1, 17, Abb. 19. See also Grabar, “Pentecôte,” 616 and Chavannes-​Mazel, “Paradise and Pentecost,” 124–​126.

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­f igure 2.22 Pentecost, The Melisende Psalter, London, British Library, ms Egerton 1139, fol. 11v, c. 1135

thought to have taken place in the Cenaculum, the same building that hosted the Last Supper and the Washing of the Apostles’ Feet.143 Multiple accounts, including the one noted above by an anonymous early thirteenth-​century French pilgrim, described that the room where the Holy Spirit descended on the Apostles was the so-​called chapel of the Holy Spirit on an upper level of the Cenaculum structure. The Psalter image does communicate the sense of the apostles occupying an upper room because of the figures stepping up through the door. In the mid-​fourteenth century, the Franciscan traveler Niccolò of Poggibonsi (writing 1346–​50) reported that there was a vault in the church below and that above the said vault, a church was made for the Christians, all pictured with mosaic work; but now it is destroyed, such that there is no more than an apse, with a window facing south-​east; and in the window there is a large white stone, and there the Apostles came together and remained in prayer. Being all gathered there, God the Father sent the Holy Spirit, in the form of fire, on the day of Pentecost.144 1 43 O’Loughlin, “’Remembering Sion’,” 1–​2. 144 In Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 270.

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Although the form of the Pentecost room in the Cenaculum structure in the early thirteenth century is uncertain, it might have had an apse with a contoured bench, or perhaps it had a mosaic decoration of the scene that supposedly took place there. In sum, this iconographical and stylistic analysis of the Riccardiana Psalter’s illuminations reveals two key aspects of their production. First, the artist combined knowledge of Byzantine iconography with southern Italian artistic style to interpret visual conventions in colorful and energetic figural forms. Second, the artist altered his models to connect the scenes with their Holy Land settings by alluding to contemporary decoration, architectural forms, and local topography. More consideration of that artist’s formation and the question of agency is helpful before turning to the devotional effect of these scenes on the Psalter’s reader. 2.3

The Place of Production

The early thirteenth century was a time of shifting production methods for illustrated manuscripts. Monastic production was still significant, but commercial urban centers were also forming. European workshops often had a pecia system, in which different scribes and artists worked simultaneously on parts of the manuscripts. There was an active book trade with sellers in such university cities as Oxford, London, Paris, and Bologna.145 The next consideration is in what context an artist might have executed the Riccardiana Psalter’s Italo-​Byzantine style. Some scholars have proposed that the Psalter was made in Jerusalem by a Sicilian-​influenced artist. Yet their main comparisons are Italo-​Byzantine-​ style miniatures made in the Holy Land a century earlier: the twelfth-​century sacramentary in Rome and a missal in Paris.146 Folda asserted that an artist familiar with the mosaics of Sicily could have created the Riccardiana Psalter in Jerusalem c. 1225, but, I point out that only two manuscripts are firmly associated with Jerusalem in the 1220s and 1230s: the Egerton Sacramentary and

145 David N. Bell, What Nuns Read: Books and Libraries in Medieval English Nunneries (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1995), 15. 146 Rome, Biblioteca Angelica, ms 477 (D.7.3), c. 1130–​40 and Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, ms lat. 12056, c. 1150–​87, Daneu Lattanzi, Lineamenti di storia, 22–​23. See also Hugo Buchthal, A School of Miniature Painting in Norman Sicily (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1955), 140–​141.

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Pontifical of Apamea.147 Neither these manuscripts, nor any connected with certainty to Jerusalem in the thirteenth century, have illustrative richness comparable to the Psalter. Buchthal had ascribed more liturgical manuscripts to Jerusalem in the thirteenth century, but Cristina Dondi convincingly disagreed about their connections to Jerusalem, arguing that the precarious status of the city would have made active scribal activity difficult.148 Scholars have also proposed the possibility of Acre, the thirteenth-​century crusader capital, as the Psalter’s place of production.149 The main problem with this option is the lack of manuscripts similar to the Riccardiana Psalter in the several Acre exemplars. Folda suggested that the Naples missal was made in Acre c. 1200 in an attempt to revive the kingdom’s manuscript production, and Dondi proposed that one ordinal was likely produced in Acre for immediate use and for a possible return to Jerusalem.150 Yet it seems that the revival effort was not strong because few manuscripts produced in Acre between 1191 and 1229 are extant.151 Another group of six affiliated manuscripts has been associated with Acre between approximately 1229 and 1244. None of those examples are close in style to the Riccardiana Psalter.152 Because of 147 London, British Library, ms Egerton 2902, 1227–​39 and London, British Library, ms Add. 57528, 1229–​44. Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 212–​217 and Folda, “Aspects of Crusader Art,” 142–​144. He changes his opinion from a dating of c. 1235, compare Folda, “Crusader Art in ‘Glory of Byzantium’,” 390. See also David Jacoby, “Society, Culture, and the Arts in Crusader Acre,” in France and the Holy Land: Frankish Culture at the End of the Crusades, eds. Daniel H. Weiss and Lisa Mahoney, Parallax: Re-​visions of Culture and Society (Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), 116. See Buchthal, Miniature painting, 46–​47 and Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 210–​211, 217. 148 Compare Buchthal, Miniature painting, 86–​87 to Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 68, 70. 149 See Jacoby, “Society, Culture,” 115–​118. See also Jaroslav Folda, “Aspects of Crusader Art at St. Jean d’Acre,” in France and the Holy Land: Frankish Culture at the End of the Crusades, eds. Daniel H. Weiss and Lisa Mahoney, Parallax: Re-​visions of Culture and Society (Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), 142–​144. 150 Folda, “Crusader Painting,” 106–​107 and Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 68, 195–​ 201, 243–​248. She noted that a breviary (Chantilly, Musée Condé, ms 1076 (1300–​15)) may copy an earlier manuscript from Acre. 151 Folda, “Crusader Painting,” 106–​107. 152 Only two, also possibly associated with Jerusalem as noted above, contain any decoration: the Sacramentary, for the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem (London, British Library, ms Egerton 2902) and the Pontifical of Apamea (London, British Library, ms Add. 57528) . Additionally there were two Rituals for the Church of the Holy Sepulcher (Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms Barberini lat. 659 and Barletta, Archivio della Chiesa del Santo Sepolcro, ms s.n.) and two Cartulary copies for the Church of the Holy Sepulcher (Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, mss Vat. lat. 4947 and

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the Benedictine associations of the Psalter, Buchthal proposed a connection between the Riccardiana Psalter and the convent of St. Anne, displaced in 1187 from Jerusalem to Acre.153 Dondi stated that the text of the Psalter could indeed have been composed for nuns at St. Anne in Acre c. 1223–​25. She argued that it adopted the calendrical feast days of the Holy Sepulcher as a way to recall the sacred city for a resident of Acre through prayers and liturgy devoted to the saints, feasts, and bishops of its past.154 She suggested that the litany must also have been borrowed from another psalter to account for the inclusion of certain saints.155 Mentzel-​Reuters agreed with the Holy Land associations of the original house of the manuscript’s use because of the liturgical features in its calendar, proposing that it was from another convent, the Cistercian institution founded in Acre in 1223 of St. Mary Magdalen (a saint included in the Psalter’s litany).156 The weaknesses in the arguments of Dondi and Mentzel-​Reuters are that neither considered closely whether either of these Acre institutions would have had the skill and materials available to create a manuscript such as the Riccardiana Psalter.157 Indeed, I assert that none of the religious manuscripts produced in the thirteenth-​century Levant contain anything like the Italo-​Byzantine style or high-​quality production of the Riccardiana Psalter.158 Importantly, scriptoria that produced works with features similar to those in the Riccardiana Psalter are documented across Sicily and southern Italy in the early thirteenth century.159 A more feasible place of production was 7241). See Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 210–​212 and Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 70–​89. 153 Buchthal, Miniature painting, 40; Mentzel-​Reuters, “Zum so genannten ‘Psalter Friedrichs ii.’,” 117, 121–​122, 125–​129; and Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 68. 154 See Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 83–​85, 212–​215. Compare Mentzel-​Reuters, “Zum so genannten ‘Psalter Friedrichs ii.’,” 117–​118. This local liturgical practice was adopted by the Latin western Catholics after they had settled in Jerusalem after 1099, Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 44. 155 She saw the Riccardiana Psalter litany as deriving from Rouen, Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 83–​85. Wormald said that the Psalter litany, which contains Italian, English, and northern French saints, gives little indication of a focus on the Holy Land, see Wormald, “Appendixes,” 129. 156 Derived from a Tripoli main house, Mentzel-​ Reuters, “Zum so genannten ‘Psalter Friedrichs ii.’,” 122–​123, 126–​127. 157 See Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 157, 210, 217. 158 Jacoby agreed that, once the manuscript is disconnected from the royal patronage issue, Italy is a viable possibility for its creation, see Jacoby, “Society, Culture,” 116. 159 On the palaeography and its southern Italian characteristics, see Alessandro Pratesi, “La scrittura latina nell’Italia meridionale nell’età di Federico ii,” Archivio storico pugliese 25 (1972): 306.

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the Badia di Cava de’ Tirreni in the province of Campania in the Kingdom of Sicily. In particular, the facial similarities of some figures in the high quality manuscripts produced at the Badia di Cava are striking and suggest analogous artistic training and production capabilities.160 A historiated initial from a mid-​thirteenth-​century Badia di Cava manuscript of Peter Lombard can be compared with the figures of Christ and Peter in the scene of the Ascension in the Psalter (Figure 2.8).161 In the former, Christ in an initial has a similarly shaped face with dark-​shaded eyes, and David, like Peter in the Psalter, has a square jaw and protruding forehead and beard. The Badia di Cava was an influential monastery with many dependencies, protected by the Normans and the Hohenstaufen into the thirteenth century. A hospice begun by Badia-​ connected Benedictine monks evolved into that of the Hospitallers of St. John in Jerusalem. The monks fostered economic and trading relations between Jerusalem and Sicily and could have promoted artistic connections among Sicily, Jerusalem, and Campania of the sort manifested in the Riccardiana Psalter.162 The rich multicultural manuscript production on the island of Sicily was another context able to have fostered the artist’s creation of the Riccardiana Psalter. In Messina, an important port in east-​west trade, a scriptorium flourished under King William ii of Sicily at the same time that the cathedral of Monreale was erected. The manuscripts attributed to Messina include the Gospel book in Florence whose First Bath scene is analogous to that in the Riccardiana Psalter (Figure 2.16).163 The Riccardiana Psalter’s dragon wings in

160 See Mario Rotili, La Miniatura nella Badia di Cava. Lo Scrittorio. I Corali Miniati per l’Abbazia., vol. 1 (Naples: Di Mauro, 1976). 161 Cava Dei Tirreni, Badia di Cava, Biblioteca, ms 22, fol. 294v, Exposition super Psalmos, Commentarii in Cantica Breviarii et in Symbola by Peter Lombard with De oratione dominica of Pope Innocent iii added to it, in Mario Rotili, “La Miniatura nello ‘Scriptorium’ della Badia di Cava nel duecento,” in Federico ii e l’arte del Duecento italiano, ed. Angiola Romanini (Galatina: Congedo, 1980), fig. 10. See also Rotili, La Miniatura nella Badia di Cava, 1, 37, fig. xxix. 162 Rotili, La Miniatura nella Badia di Cava, 1, 37. See also Helen J. Nicholson, The Knights Hospitaller (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2001), 4–​5 and Dennis Angelo Castillo, The Maltese Cross: A Strategic History of Malta (Santa Barbara, California: Greenwood Publishing Group, 2006), 39–​40. Bologna has shown the links between the art of Campania, Messina, and Sicily, Ferdinando Bologna, I Pittori alla Corte Angioina di Napoli: 1266–​1414 (Rome: Ugo Bozzi Editore, 1969), 22–​23. 163 See Daneu Lattanzi, Lineamenti di storia, 28, 30–​31 and Alessandra Acconci, “Indagine su alcuni affreschi medievali presso la catacomba di S. Sebastiano sull’Appia: ricerche sul cosiddetto oratorio di Onorio iii ad catacumbas,” Arte Medievale 12/​13 (1998–​99): 98–​99. See also Buchthal, Miniature Painting in Norman Sicily, 312ff.

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the initial B (Figure 2.1), the interlace for the initials, and the figural style also resemble those in the Madrid Sacramentary localized to Messina (Figures 2.11 and 2.12).164 A skilled scriptorium could have been present in Messina in the 1220s, and Rebecca Corrie suggested that the libraries of Messina may have offered models for the Conradin Bible produced in the 1260s and connected to the court of Conradin (1252–​68, King of Jerusalem (1254–​68) and Sicily (1254–​58)) .165 Alternatively, Daneu Lattanzi argued that a scriptorium must have existed in thirteenth-​century Palermo, associated with Frederick ii’s court and school of poetry there, that borrowed from the late twelfth-​century mosaics at Monreale (Figure 2.20).166 Because of the Byzantine, Norman, then Germanic control of Sicily up through the thirteenth century, an artist there could have easily learned to mix models and create a European interpretation of Byzantine compositions.167 These examples support the possibility that a Sicilian-​trained workshop could have produced the Riccardiana Psalter in a scriptorium located on Sicily.168 Some of the additions to the Psalter may strengthen its apparent Sicilian and southern Italian stylistic connections. The prayer “pro comite nostro” (for our count) (fol. 174v) seems to offer a connection to a noble patron of the reader’s community, although the identity of this unknown count remains debated.169 The nobles proposed include John of Brienne, king of Jerusalem to 1225; Roger of Sanseverino, bailiff of Jerusalem on behalf of Charles i of Anjou, King of Naples, from 1277 to 1282; or Richard, earl of Cornwall and Isabel ii’s brother, who went on crusade and stayed in Acre from 1240 to

1 64 See Daneu Lattanzi, Lineamenti di storia, 44–​45. 165 Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, ms w.152. Rebecca Corrie, “The Conradin Bible: East Meets West at Messina,” in Meeting of Two Worlds, eds. Vladimir P. Goss and Christine Verzar Bornstein, Studies in Medieval Culture (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 1986), 300. 166 Daneu Lattanzi, “Ancora sulla scuola miniaturistica,” 132 and Daneu Lattanzi, Lineamenti di storia, 44. Pace supports a Palermitan source for the Madrid Sacramentary, for instance, Valentino Pace, “Da Bisanzio alla Sicilia: la ‘Madonna col Bambino’ del Sacramentario di Madrid (ms. 52 della Biblioteca Nazionale),” Zograf 27 (1998–​99): 47–​48. 167 See also Pace, “Un’ipotesi,” 131–​157. 168 See Buchthal, Miniature Painting in Norman Sicily, 318–​ 339 and Daneu Lattanzi, Lineamenti di storia, 15–​61. Folda mentions scholarship regarding Italian connections by scholars such as Valentino Pace and Angela Daneu Lattanzi, Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 216. On other Sicilian and southern Italian manuscripts of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, see Rotili, “La Miniatura nello ‘Scriptorium’,” 121–​122; Daneu Lattanzi, Lineamenti di storia, 43, 46; and Pace, “Untersuchungen zur sizilianischen Buchmalerei,” 431–​476. 169 For a summary of the issue, see Mentzel-​Reuters, “Zum so genannten ‘Psalter Friedrichs ii.’,” 115–​118 and Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 83–​84.

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1241.170 The late fourteenth-​century calendar additions of the Prophet Samuel and “commemoratio Rogerii comitis” (remembrance of Count Roger) suggest yet another noble patron: Count Roger, later Roger i, king of Sicily (r. 1071–​1101), who founded a Premonstratensian institution in Barletta.171 The Premonstratensians were members of a religious order founded at Prémontré in northeastern France in 1120 by St. Norbert (c. 1080–​1134).172 The unusual inclusion in the Psalter litany of the prophet Samuel, not a saint per se, may support this option. Premonstratensians were among few Christian orders that honored him, building a church over his alleged tomb just west of Jerusalem. All of these Sicilian and southern Italian associations are suggestive, though admittedly they remain inconclusive. Even if a locale for the Psalter’s production in the Kingdom of Sicily were identified, that provenance does not preclude connections with the Levant given the number of people, artworks, and religious communities that moved between those regions with the crusades.173 Despite these mysteries, the question of the agency of the artist versus the agency of a patron in determining the scenes’ details should be addressed.174 My supposition is that the elements of color, style, and composition were largely resulting from the artist, his models, and his training. The departures from standard iconography or special emphasis on details of the Holy Land and its sites would more likely have been inspired by the patron, guiding the artist in making choices to evoke those sites in their specifics. Even if the patron had not been to Jerusalem, descriptions of the sacred sites in pilgrims’

1 70 See Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 83–​85. 171 Mentzel-​Reuters, “Zum so genannten ‘Psalter Friedrichs ii.’,” 131–​133. 172 As canons regular (not monks), they followed the Rule of Saint Augustine but with added statutes that made their life simpler and more rigorous, like the Cistercians who influenced them. See Bernard Ardura, Abbayes, prieurés et monastères de l’ordre de Prémontré en France des origines à nos jours: dictionnaire historique et bibliographique (Nancy: Presses universitaires de Nancy, 1993), 22–​24, 431 and Carol Neel, “The Premonstratensian Project,” in A Companion to Medieval Rules and Customaries, ed. Krijn Pansters, Companions to the Christian tradition (Leiden: Brill, 2020), 193–​224. 173 Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 216. For example, the Augustinian canons of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem had an establishment in Messina by the late twelfth century (Corrie, “The Conradin Bible,” 300–​301), though the extant evidence in Sicily of the canons of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher is scant (Lynn Townsend White, Jr., Latin Monasticism in Norman Sicily (Cambridge, MA: Mediaeval Academy of America, 1938), 229). 174 See Jill Caskey, “Whodunnit? Patronage, the Canon, and the Problematics of Agency in Romanesque and Gothic Art,” in A Companion to Medieval Art: Romanesque and Gothic in Northern Europe, ed. Conrad Rudolph (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 2006), 193–​212.

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accounts and representations on maps and souvenirs could have informed the knowledge of the patron and been shared with the artist.175 Whether the patron was the original reader of the Psalter or commissioned it to give to a female recipient remains unclear. Regardless, analysis of the agency of the reader is an important topic to consider. 2.4

A Devotional Prayer Book

Pondering how the images functioned in the Riccardiana Psalter and in the reader’s prayers is relevant to understand the book’s devotional status. In a psalter, typical illustrations are not directly related to the text of the psalms. The psalms vary in nature, from joyful exclamations of God’s power to laments over sorrowful events. They are often narrated in the first person. Their literary flexibility and personal direction encourage a reader to contemplate and apply them to her own life in numerous ways. Because of the psalter’s Christian allegorization, it became a widespread prayer book for Christians by the early Middle Ages, preceding the rise of the popular book of hours in the thirteenth century.176 Any medieval psalter prompted a deep, allegorical reading of God’s actions and the reader’s place in salvation history from the time of King David through that of his descendant Christ and on to the medieval era. The images of Christ’s life in a psalter served a role to place the psalter in a general messianic context.177 In other words, images of the life of Christ in a psalter had the metonymic role of embodying God, who operated in the scriptural text, in the incarnate form of his son. If a woman in a convent following the Benedictine rule once used this prayer book, we can surmise a few characteristics about that institution. Mary Skinner analyzed Benedictine French houses before 1100 and observed that a benefit of the Rule of St. Benedict for female houses was that it insisted on the election of the abbess by the congregation for life, offering stability and 175 See, for example, Weiss, “The Image of the Temple in Crusader Art,” 212. Especially pilgrimage texts from after 1099 incorporate actualia from sites that rendered the texts rich with details and ripe for borrowing from a visual artist, see Folda, “Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre,” 158. 176 Roger S. Wieck, Painted Prayers: The Book of Hours in Medieval and Renaissance Art. The Morgan Library (New York: George Braziller, Inc., 1997), 9–​25. 177 Stella Panayotova, “The Illustrated Psalter: Luxury and Practical Use,” in The Practice of the Bible in the Middle Ages: Production, Reception, and Performance in Western Christianity, eds. Susan Boynton and Diane J. Reilly (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012), 250–​254.

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guidance.178 In the resurgence of female Benedictine women’s houses in central France in the eleventh century, aristocratic women provided gifts of lands, revenues, tithes, rentals, hunting rights, goods, and so on to support the women entering these institutions.179 Women’s monastic houses offered education to the entrants, a second chance at a certain independence for widows and wives, and an acceptable alternative to marriage for young girls and widows.180 If the Psalter was made for a convent setting, we can imagine the life of its original reader. Typically active claustration meant that women who made a vow to an institution were allowed only fleeting glimpses of the outside world and occasional visitors.181 The form of enclosure varied widely from order to order and became more strict for women over the course of the Middle Ages.182 The physical place of female monastics within their community’s church was typically separated from the spaces for either male brethren or the lay public, either in a raised tribune or a closed-​off space in a transept or behind the altar.183 The Benedictines organized their lives around the Order of St. Benedict, which asserted a balance of work and prayer in the name of the

178 Mary Skinner, “Benedictine Life for Women in Central France, 850–​1100: A Feminist Revival,” in Medieval Religious Women. Distant Echoes, eds. John A. Nichols and Lillian T. Shank (Kalamazoo, Michigan: Cistercian Publications, Inc., 1984), 89. Schulenberg sees an eventual decline though in that autonomy for abbesses as enclosure became stricter, Jane Tibbets Schulenberg, “Strict and Active Enclosure and Its Effects on the Female Monastic Experience (ca. 500–​1100),” in ibid., 70, 77. 179 Skinner, “Benedictine Life for Women in Central France, 850–​1100: A Feminist Revival,” in ibid., 91–​100. 180 Ibid., 98, 101. 181 See Schulenberg, “Strict and Active Enclosure,” 51–​86. On the development of female monastics in the thirteenth century, see Elizabeth Makowski, Canon Law and Cloistered Women: Periculoso and its Commentators 1298–​1545, vol. 5, Studies in Medieval and Early Modern Canon Law, (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1997), 1–​2, 12–​14, 31–​42; James Cain, “Cloister and Apostolate of Religious Women,” Review for Religious 27 (1968): 243–​280; and Paul Lee, Nunneries, Learning and Spirituality in Late Medieval English Society: The dominican Priory of Dartford (York: York Medieval Press, 2001), 13–​14. 182 Makowski, Canon Law and Cloistered Women, 5, 9–​11. See also Schulenberg, “Strict and Active Enclosure,” 51–​86. 183 For various convent examples, see Lee, Nunneries, Learning, 98–​102; Caroline Bruzelius, “Nuns in Space: Strict Enclosure and the Architecture of the Clarisses in the Thirteenth Century,” in Clare of Assisi: A Medieval and Modern Woman. Clarefest Selected Papers, ed. Ingrid Peterson O.S.F., Clare Centenary Series (St. Bonaventure, New York: The Franciscan Institute, 1996), 53–​74; and Ernst Coester, Die einschiffigen Cistercienserinnenkirchen West-​und Süddeutschlands von 1200 bis 1350 (Mainz: Selbstverlag der Gesellschaft für Mittelrheinische Kirchengeschichte, 1984), 339–​394.

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Lord.184 In other words, much of a nun’s day was spent in prayer, along with productive or practical activities related to the functioning of the convent. Narrowing the use of the Riccardiana Psalter to a female monastic allows us to conjecture how its early owner used its images of Christ in Jerusalem and Bethlehem in her daily prayers. In the manuscript, the architectural representations rendered God’s presence more vivid by depicting actual sites where his son was once physically present in Jerusalem. The combination of the details in the Riccardiana Psalter’s iconography with the calendar notations and its distinct prayers make clear that she could evoke the city and feasts of Jerusalem virtually through the Psalter’s detailed scenes of Christ’s life and references to special events. As Robert Ousterhout has suggested, visualizing these sites and events from afar rendered more important a variety of senses and the viewer’s mental capacity to conjure the story.185 He discussed the cognitive, meditative process of moving from a memory marker such as architecture to other points in a matrix of narrative, ritual, and locale of holy events.186 Mary Carruthers stressed that for pilgrims, this kind of mental process created a map for remembering.187 In the Riccardiana Psalter, these scenes could have led the reader to recall Christ’s fulfillment of the Hebrew Bible prophecies about a savior and his redemption of mankind during her prayers. The psalms were a mainstay of nuns’ regular prayers throughout the day. Medieval nuns’ diverse levels of literacy and religious education permitted them to connect with prayers learned through aural learning, verbal recitation, and/​or by visual reading.188 Women’s Latin literacy was usually inferior to their knowledge of the vernacular, although the popular and oft-​repeated psalms were among the best-​known Latin texts in the Middle Ages.189 The incessant repetition of the psalms in daily prayers allowed even a semiliterate woman to punctuate the day with prayers of the Divine Office—​the regular set of prayers said by monks and nuns at set points throughout their 1 84 See Lee, Nunneries, Learning, 14. 185 Robert Ousterhout, “Visualizing the Tomb of Christ: Images, Settings, and Ways of Seeing,” in Visual Constructs of Jerusalem, eds. Bianca Kühnel, Galit Noga-​Banai, and Hanna Vorholt, Cultural Encounters in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (celama) (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), 439, 450. 186 Ousterhout, “Memory of Jerusalem,” 143–​147. 187 Mary Carruthers, The Craft of Thought: Meditation, rhetoric, and the making of images, 400–​1200 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 40–​43. 188 See Lee, Nunneries, Learning, 136–​137. 189 Bell, What Nuns Read, 64. Compare Susan Groag Bell, “Medieval Women Book Owners: Arbiters of Lay Piety and Ambassadors of Culture,” in Sisters and Workers in the Middle Ages, ed. Judith Bennett, et al. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989), 135–​161.

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day—​by following along, reciting from memory, and reading the text. This layering of text, image, action, and memory led to an intensified devotional experience.190 Indeed, the Riccardiana Psalter’s eight scenes of Christ’s life served a liturgical role (Figures 2.1 to 2.8).191 They marked the eight canonical sections of the psalms used in the Divine Office.192 They served as visual cues to the eight divisions of the text at the beginning of Matins on Sunday (Pss. 1–​25), Matins of the six Feria (Pss. 26–​37; 38–​51; 52–​67; 68–​79; 80–​96; 97–​108), and Vespers on Sunday and the Feria (Pss. 109–​150).193 Luxury psalters like the Riccardiana Psalter thus gave a monastic woman individualized and enriched access to the Divine Office.194 Nuns’ ownership of personal prayer books was increasing in the thirteenth century.195 While I am unaware of any study of book use in Italian female convents in the thirteenth century, studies of contemporary convents elsewhere in Europe reveal an active and regular use of books in female convents. David Bell’s study of forty-​six English nunneries (out of c. 144 total) from the ninth to sixteenth centuries revealed a few trends.196 Almost two-​thirds of the surviving 1 90 See Ousterhout, “Memory of Jerusalem,” 148–​151. 191 Regarding the singularity of this manuscript’s format in comparison to other types of psalters, see Fleck, “The Luxury Riccardiana Psalter,” 137–​138. This image configuration is uncommon for psalters, as full-​page images of Christ’s Passion or of the psalms’ author, King David, usually precede the text or appear as full-​page images at the eight divisions. See Suzy Dufrenne, Les Illustrations du Psautier d’Utrecht: Sources et apport carolingien (Paris: Editions Orprys, 1978), 27 and Alfred Büchler, “Zu den Psalmillustrationen der Haseloff-​Schule: Die Vita Christi-​Gruppe,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 52 (1989): 216. For general information on diverse illustrated psalters, see F.O. Büttner, ed. The illuminated psalter: studies in the content, purpose and placement of its images (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004) and Brendan Cassidy and Rosemary Muir Wright, eds., Studies in the illustration of the psalter (Stamford, England: Shaun Tyas, 2000). 192 See Panayotova, “The Illustrated Psalter,” 250–​253. 193 See Dufrenne, Les Illustrations du Psautier d’Utrecht, 27. 194 See Panayotova, “The Illustrated Psalter,” 250–​253 and Roger S. Wieck, Time Sanctified: The Book of Hours in Medieval Art and Life, The Morgan Library, Second edn. (New York: George Braziller, Inc., 2001), 27–​28. 195 Analysis of monastic women’s book ownership has focused on specific periods and places. See Jeffrey Hamburger, Nuns as Artists: The Visual Culture of a Medieval Convent (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1997); Jeffrey Hamburger, The Rothschild Canticles: Art and Mysticism in Flanders and the Rhineland circa 1300 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990); Kathryn M. Rudy, Virtual Pilgrimages in the Convent. Imagining Jerusalem in the Late Middle Ages, ed. Susan Boynton and Isabelle Cochelin, Disciplina Monastica (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011); and Judith H. Oliver, “A Primer of Thirteenth-​century German Convent Life: The Psalter as Office and Mass Book (London, BL, ms add. 60629),” in The illuminated psalter: studies in the content, purpose and placement of its images, ed. F.O. Büttner (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004), 259–​270. 196 Bell, What Nuns Read, 33–​35.

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manuscripts dated after c. 1400,197 and slightly more than half of the volumes were liturgical, including bibles, breviaries, books of hours, processionals, and psalters.198 Bell did advise caution in construing the extant material as an accurate reflection of the convent libraries’ possessions, as such liturgical books were often better illustrated and thus preserved at a higher rate. Roughly one-​ third had inscriptions revealing private use or ownership, with some including a note that a nun had use of the book during her lifetime and after her death the volume passed to the convent. As Bell surmised, “They seem to represent a compromise between a natural, if sinful, desire for private ownership and the specific prohibition of such ownership by all the monastic rules.”199 While these numbers in England may not have been the same in other parts of Europe, they give a sense of the larger context of female book use in convents. Over time, psalters expanded in their content and included a compilation of diverse texts for either communal or private use.200 Even though the psalter examples given by Bell date to the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries for the latter, the Riccardiana Psalter with its various prayers, was clearly an early part of that trend. The bestowal of a prayer book as a gift for a nun was a key way that a woman obtained one. About 18 percent of the 144 volumes surveyed by Bell contained a note indicating that it was a gift or bequest to the convent.201 Although the gift of a book to a female joining a convent may have contradicted the Benedictine rule that forbade private property for its adherents, it is likely that a high-​ranking woman would have been allowed to keep a single prayer book.202 Women could have received a book as a gift on their day of confession to the order, for instance.203 Several extant luxury illustrated psalters and psalter-​hour prayer books demonstrate their regular use by women in the thirteenth century around Europe. Panayatova noted a few made for lay women, such as the Psalter-​Hours of Isabelle of France (1260–​70), a psalter from Liège (1280s), and a manuscript for a lady at the ducal court in Breslau (1255–​69).204 The Arundel Psalter is an 1 97 198 199 200 201 202

Ibid., 48. Ibid., 34–​35. Ibid., 38–​39. Ibid., 35. Ibid., 39. See Skinner, “Benedictine Life,” 98; Bell, What Nuns Read, 18; and Lee, Nunneries, Learning, 138–​139. 203 Mary C. Erler, Women, Reading, and Piety in Late Medieval England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 100, 137. 2 04 Cambridge, Fitzwilliam Museum, mss 300, 288, and 36–​1950, respectively, Panayotova, “The Illustrated Psalter,” 257–​259.

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example of an English psalter made for a woman, perhaps a wealthy patron of a priory.205 Two books that seem to have been used at a Benedictine convent can be usefully compared to the Riccardiana Psalter: the Imola Psalter, which shows its possession by a member of the community through its litany and a prioress’s obit, and a smaller psalter, which was dependent on the former psalter’s style and iconography.206 The latter manuscript holds an image in an initial evoking the Hodegetria, the most highly-​honored Byzantine icon. Panayatova’s assertion about this image relates to the Riccardiana Psalter’s use of images. She explains that the image links the psalm text to its commentary [about the salvific role of Christ], offer[s]‌a hieratic visual expression of the dogma of the Incarnation and Redemption, and [meets] the patron’s need for a powerful devotional stimulus, while hinting at her interest in contemporary events and perhaps at her family background.207 Another illustrated early thirteenth-​ century German psalter used by a Benedictine nun is also revealing of the complexity of these books and their uses in a Benedictine female reader’s devotions.208 The deluxe manuscript has features similar to those in the Riccardiana Psalter, including some female-​ gendered prayers and an emphasis on St. Benedict in the calendar and litany.209 The cloistered religious woman who used the book benefitted from the illustrations that marked the Divine Office divisions in the text and such other liturgical uses as intercessions and special masses.210 Some of the illustrations are Christological, and the specific theme of the Risen Christ connects to the Easter liturgy and is highlighted by the images.211 The insertion of canticles, which were sung regularly as a part of mass and Divine Office, appear after the psalm text in this German psalter as they do in the Riccardiana Psalter (fol. 165r). Their inclusion shows the significance of music to the owners of these

2 05 London, British Library, ms Arundel 157, ibid., 259–​260. 206 Imola, Biblioteca comunale, ms 100 and Oxford, Bodleian Library, ms Liturg. 407, ibid., 260–​262, fig. 212.265. 207 Ibid., 262. 208 London, British Library, ms Add. 60629, Oliver, “A Primer of Thirteenth-​century German Convent Life,” 259–​270. 209 Ibid., 259. 210 Ibid., 262–​267. 211 Ibid., 262–​263.

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psalters.212 The German psalter affirms how such an illustrated prayerbook could be useful to a nun for the read, spoken, and sung aspects of her prayers. The usual religious motivation for possessing a deluxe illustrated psalter was a desire to use the book’s images to aid one’s prayers in daily life. The performative process of liturgy, defined in a broad sense as a formal set of acts prescribed by ritual, allowed the reader of the Riccardiana Psalter to bring to mind—​as well as to act out using body, mouth, and ears—​the living and contemporary presence of sacred scriptures.213 This sort of visual, liturgical, and textual engagement with holy sites offered a sensory piety that mirrored medieval Christian pilgrimage, of which a key element was the enactment of specific rituals and readings at holy sites or at monuments commemorating special places, people, or events.214 The Riccardiana Psalter images reveal that a female reader could read the psalms at set times during the day and week as a part of liturgical practice while mapping her devotions onto sites of Christ’s life around the cities of Jerusalem and Bethlehem. Egeria, a fourth-​century pilgrim, was an early example of someone seeing the sites related to biblical personages and reading and hearing prayers while there. After visiting the site of the burning bush, she wrote about reading a passage from scriptures about Moses while there.215 Egeria’s goal was to see the spot and participate in rituals and scriptural readings at the location of the biblical event.216 The Riccardiana Psalter provided an opportunity to reenact pilgrimage virtually. Egeria’s example shows that books of the Bible have long been used in pilgrimage as prayer books and guides at the locations where the biblical events took place. The visual richness, devotional guidance, and geographical allusions in the Riccardiana Psalter images suggest that its owner could have prayed with this manuscript and its images before her, far from the Holy Land, visiting the sites in her mind’s eye when they were not accessible to her. As Heather Hunter-​Crawley discusses in relation to the Monza-​Bobbio ampullae of the sixth-​century, these miniature vessels represented “material mimesis [of 212 Buchthal, Miniature painting, 45 and Mentzel-​Reuters, “Zum so genannten ‘Psalter Friedrichs ii.’,” 121. 213 See Simon Coleman and John Elsner, Pilgrimage: past and present in the world religions (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995), 87. 214 Robert L. Wilken, “Christian Pilgrimage to the Holy Land,” in City of the great king: Jerusalem from David to the present, ed. Nitza Rosovsky (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996), 132. 215 See Egeria, Egeria’s Travels, John Wilkinson, ed. and trans., Third edn. (London: Aris & Phillips, 1999). 216 Wilken, “Christian Pilgrimage,” 128, 132.

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the Holy Land] experienced sensorially” through images seen with the eyes and words prayed through the mouth.217 Like the ampullae that literally transported the holy sites to the pilgrim’s homeland, the Riccardiana Psalter and its images transported the Holy Land symbolically to its owner to allow its personal viewing. Recognizing the manuscript’s ownership by a nun yields new insights into this Psalter as an aid in a woman’s personal spiritual pilgrimage and as a vehicle to pray for pilgrims actually making the long voyage to the Holy Land. The details of the images in the Riccardiana Psalter would help her in imagining not only these moments recorded in the scriptures but also the sites where they all took place.218 The cross on the Temple canopy allowed the Christian reader thus to imagine an ideal, Christianized Jerusalem that she could visit in her prayer book if not in real life. The Psalter’s reader may have known the liturgy of the cloths alluded to in the Marys at the Tomb scene by seeing it at her own institution in Europe, where it was enacted before, during, and after the crusader period. The Psalter’s reader, perhaps familiar with pilgrim guidebooks describing the city, the Rotunda, the tomb aedicule, and the grillwork doors at the Holy Sepulcher, would have used the manuscript’s details to conjure the locale of Christ’s burial and resurrection in her imagination. The type of specific architectural detail seen in the Riccardiana Psalter helped summon the site for the faraway reader, reminding her of what she may have read in pilgrimage texts or heard in sermons in order to make her virtual visit more compelling. Prayers in the intercessions in the Riccardiana Psalter reinforced the Holy Land connection. The prayer “Pro custodia loci” (for care of the places) (fol. 173r), names Jerusalem purposefully, which suggests that the reader was praying for institutions in the Holy Land. The Psalter’s images thus would have helped magnify the reader’s mental engagement as she recited the psalter and pictured the events of Christ’s Passion in the monuments that commemorated them. A prayer (fols. 172r–​172v) on behalf of the heathens, enemies, captives, 217 Heather Hunter-​Crawley, “Pilgrimage Made Portable: A Sensory Archaeology of the Monza-​Bobbio Ampullae,” herom: Journal on Hellenistic and Roman Material Culture 1 (2012): 150. 218 Compare Gary Vikan, Byzantine Pilgrimage Art (Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks Center for Byzantine Studies, 1982), 20. On later medieval associations of the Last Supper and Washing of the Feet through imagery placed there by the Franciscans, see Michele Bacci, “Locative Memory and Pilgrim’s Experience of Jerusalem in the Late Middle Ages,” in Visual Constructs of Jerusalem, eds. Bianca Kühnel, Galit Noga-​Banai, and Hanna Vorholt, Cultural Encounters in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (celama) (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), 75.

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ship travelers, and pilgrims also indicates a concerned focus on distant travel by a European.219 This prayer would have spurred a thoughtful response, supplemented by liturgical reenactments, as she meditated on the traveling challenges of crusaders and pilgrims. 2.5

Conclusions

Texts and images in the early thirteenth-​century Riccardiana Psalter suggest that its female monastic reader used it as part of a multimedia approach to her devotions.220 Eight well-​placed miniatures of Christ’s life visually highlighted the readings to accompany the Divine Office, which she might have heard and said as she read and sang the text, perhaps in unison with other sisters. The reader could have used the images to trigger a mental expansion of her prayer experience through visual clues offered by the scenes.221 The scriptural and devotional manuscripts, pilgrimage accounts, and popular saints’ lives in circulation c. 1225–​35, when I date the Psalter, accorded with the images, augmenting the reader’s knowledge about Christ’s life, the relevant sites, and the rituals that a pilgrim could experience as if she were actually in the Holy Land. Weiss emphasized that many objects that portrayed Holy Land monuments were important for what they revealed about the sacred topography available to the pilgrim.222 Yet it is worth underscoring that clues about the medieval status of the holy sites were not only for the pilgrims who made it to the Holy Land, but also for the devotees who could not reach it and instead experienced it through books and liturgy. Together, the devotional texts and these images together would create a mental picture, appeal to her feelings, become embedded in her mind, and aid her recall, encouraging deeper meditation.223

219 See Mentzel-​Reuters, “Zum so genannten ‘Psalter Friedrichs ii.’,” 124 and Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 213–​214. 220 See Sarah McNamer, Affective Meditation and the Invention of Medieval Compassion, ed. Ruth Mazo Karras, The Middle Ages (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010), 60–​61. 221 See de Sandoli, Itinera Hierosolymitana Crucesignatorum, iii, 297 and Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 108–​109. 222 Weiss, “The Image of the Temple in Crusader Art,” 217. 223 For more on this process in a convent setting, see Cathleen A. Fleck, “‘To exercise yourself in these things by continued contemplation’: Visual and Textual Literacy in the Frescoes at Santa Maria Donna Regina in Angevin Naples,” in The Church of Santa Maria Donna Regina: Art, Iconography and Patronage in Fourteenth-​Century Naples, eds. Janis Elliott and Cordelia Warr (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), 109–​128.

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To make an argument for an early thirteenth-​century reader who visited the Holy Land in her imagination, inspired by art, is to propose the idea of affective piety at an earlier date than scholars usually identify in the history of art.224 For example, Kathryn Rudy examined fifteenth-​century northern European convent sources regarding the issue of female devotees’ contrived pilgrimage to evoke a distant Jerusalem. They specifically sought out the spiritual experience of visiting the places of Jesus’s pain and triumph in the mind’s eye as a way to appreciate his sacrifice. Importantly, they gained redemption for this virtual pilgrimage to the Holy Land.225 The Riccardiana Psalter’s earlier example of a similar stimulation of its reader’s piety is not alone. Matthew Paris’s thirteenth-​century maps similarly guided monastic readers on a virtual trip from England to the Holy Land, emphasizing the voyage and also the challenges facing crusaders who were encouraged to travel on behalf of the holy city.226 As Daniel Connolly noted, these maps were meant to direct monastic readers on an imaginative pilgrimage to the city, enhanced by small details of cities along the way and by the depiction of the key monuments in Jerusalem.227 In addition to the use of art in devotions, emotive connections were encouraged in late medieval prayer to develop the devotee’s feeling of compassion for Christ and his pain. Sarah McNamer suggested a reading of medieval “Christian compassion as a historically contingent, ideologically charged, and performatively constituted emotion—​and one that was, in the broad period considered (c. 1050–​1530), insistently gendered as feminine.”228 As Rudy pointed out, one reason especially for women in particular to desire to ponder pilgrimage sites was to feel an empathetic closeness with Christ by understanding his story of suffering and imagining his sorrowful experiences.229 Significantly, lay or 224 Compare Jeffrey Hamburger, “The Visual and the Visionary: The Image in Late Medieval Monastic Devotions,” in The Visual and the Visionary: Art and Female Spirituality in Late Medieval Germany (New York: Zone Books, 1998), 111–​148 and Fleck, “‘To exercise yourself in these things’,” 109–​128 for this trend in art. On affective meditative literature on the Passion, see McNamer, Affective Meditation, 1. See also Rachel Fulton, From judgment to passion: devotion to Christ and the Virgin Mary, 800–​1200 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002), on devotion from 800–​1200. 225 Rudy, Virtual Pilgrimages, 19–​37. Though Rudy’s focus is later, she brings up key issues pertinent also in the thirteenth century. 226 Whatley, “Experiencing the Holy Land,” 302–​303. 227 Daniel K. Connolly, The Maps of Matthew Paris: Medieval Journeys through Space, Time and Liturgy (Rochester, NY The Boydell Press, 2009), 5–​6, 14. See also Whatley, “Experiencing the Holy Land,” 295, 302–​303. 228 McNamer, Affective Meditation, 1–​3. 229 Rudy, Virtual Pilgrimages, 35–​36.

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monastic women in the medieval period had less access to travel options than men. Soon after 1187, such a trip was even more risky for European women, given the instability of Latin control over a few coastal cities, such as Acre, and the skirmishes and tensions that resulted from the Ayyubid and Latin presence in the region.230 Instead, pious women used written, visual, and aural materials to enhance their knowledge and understanding of these sites in the Holy Land, to enrich their imagined experiences, and to add legitimacy to their devotional practices when they could not make a pilgrimage themselves.231 The details included in the twelfth-​century pilgrimage accounts would have been more useful than those of the thirteenth century in providing engaging complimentary details for the Riccardiana Psalter’s reader. Writing when Christians had limited access to Jerusalem, the two main early thirteenth-​ century European sources on Jerusalem and its appearance—​Bishop Wilbrand of Oldenburg (1175–​1283) and Thietmar—​described hurried visits and gave abbreviated descriptions of the Holy Sepulcher church and the Anastasis Rotunda. They could visit and describe in more detail other sites outside the city walls, such as those on Mount Sion and on the Mount of Olives.232 Regarding Thietmar’s text Iter ad terram sanctam (The Way to the Holy Land, c. 1217), Rudy noted how its subsequent popularity was nonetheless apparent from the use of thirteen copies translated into German and Dutch, by later canonesses.233 Folda emphasized that relative inaccessibility to Christian monuments was a problem for all Christian pilgrims to the Holy Land after 1187, when Latin clergy had no control over the administration of the Holy Sepulcher.234 Hence, little firsthand knowledge of the early thirteenth-​century state of the holy city was available to anyone in Europe, which led them to rely instead on more descriptive pre-​1187 accounts such as Theoderic and John of Würzburg in the late twelfth century.235 Jacques de Vitry, the French bishop of Acre (r. 1216–​26), had a similar lack of detail in his discussion of holy sites. Perhaps he never visited Jerusalem, although his sermons circulated widely to rouse European crusaders to retake the city.236 Decreased Christian access to Jerusalem post-​1187

230 Folda, “Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre,” 105–​108. See Rudy, Virtual Pilgrimages, 27–​29. See also Natasha R. Hodgson, Women Crusading and the Holy Land in Historical Narrative, ed. Matthew Bennett, Warfare in History (Rochester, NY: The Boydell Press, 2007), 41–​46. 231 Rudy, Virtual Pilgrimages, 23, 44. 232 Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 120–​122. 233 Rudy, Virtual Pilgrimages, 49–​64. 234 Folda, “Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre,” 161–​162. 235 See Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 118–​124. 236 Ibid., 123–​124.

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may have engendered a need for European Christians to access the city’s holy sites in other ways, such as the rich images in the Riccardiana Psalter. The empathy and redemption engendered by the Psalter was in keeping with the aims of twelfth-​century writers. They recounted their travels to the Holy Land and what they hoped would result from the reading of their texts with their many details. As the pilgrim monk Theodoric wrote in c. 1174, he hoped that his words would serve as a guide for someone not traveling to the Holy Land: This is in order to satisfy by stating as much as we can the wishes of those who cannot personally follow us there, and cannot reach the Places with their eyes or hear them with their ears. Every reader will realise how much trouble this work has been to me, in order that in reading it or having it read he may learn to have Christ always in mind. Having him in mind he must be eager to love. Loving him, who suffered for him, he must suffer with him. Suffering with him he must be filled with desires. Being filled with desires he must be absolved from his sins. Absolved from his sins he must follow his grace. And following his grace he must reach the Kingdom of Heaven …237 Subsequent readers, writers, and illustrators attempted to glean anything that they could from these diverse sources to envision those sites of the Holy Land, as the illustrator of the Riccardiana Psalter attempted. One reason for devotees to travel in their prayers to the Holy Land specifically in the thirteenth century may have been that, after the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215, individuals who acted out certain pilgrimage experiences were able to gain plenary indulgences that previously only crusaders could obtain.238 Not only did the size of the indulgences and the number of places where they might be obtained grow over time, but also the number of substitute activities that one could undertake increased. In the Riccardiana Psalter, the eight miniatures of Christ’s life enhanced the devotion of its female reader in conjunction with texts, with knowledge of the holy sites, with references to relevant liturgy, and with the feelings that a pilgrim could experience as if she were actually in the Holy Land. Texts such as the slightly later Legenda aurea (Golden Legend, 1230–​98) of Jacobus de Voragine or the Meditationes vitae Christi (Meditations on the Life of Christ, late thirteenth 237 In Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 274. See also Theoderich, Guide to the Holy Land, 1 and Folda, “Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre,” 160. 238 Rudy, Virtual Pilgrimages, 36.

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or early fourteenth century) are examples of such texts circulating from the thirteenth century onwards of a descriptive, narrative, meditative character.239 I have pointed out the textual signs that were a clue to the Riccardiana Psalter’s Jerusalem and female associations. The visual richness and geographic allusions offered by the prayerbook’s images affirm that a female reader was seeking to direct herself both physically and spiritually toward the Holy Land with the intense prayers typical of a nun. The mix of details that refer to Jerusalem seems to allude to the reader’s desire to contemplate the holy city, maybe because she was in an institution that had ties to it but was no longer located there. Perhaps the increase in pictorial details from the early twelfth-​century example such as the Melisende Psalter (whose reader was present in the holy city) to the early thirteenth-​century Riccardiana Psalter (whose reader was likely far away) reflected the different aims of viewers near and far. One senses a longing in the later psalter’s hopeful allusions to the city, not only in terms of how it represents Christ in his time but also in the details that hearken to the 239 On the Golden Legend, see Jacobus de Voragine, The Golden Legend: Readings on the Saints, trans. William Granger Ryan, 2 vols., vol. 1 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), xiii–​x viii. The Meditations text has been attributed to two individuals. One proposed author is Giovanni di Caulibus, a Tuscan Franciscan, see the Introduction to Iohannis de (olim S. Bonaventuro attributae) Caulibus, Meditaciones Vite Christi, ed. Mary Stallings–​Taney (Turnholt: Typographi Brepols Editores Pontificii, 1997), ix–​xii and John of Caulibus, Meditations on the Life of Christ, trans. and eds. Francis x. Taney Sr., Anne Miller O.S.F. and C. Mary Stallings-​Taney (Asheville, North Carolina: Pegasus Press, 2000), xiii–​x xx. Isa Ragusa and Rosalie Green (in Saint Bonaventure, Meditations on the Life of Christ: An Illustrated Manuscript of the Fourteenth Century. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, ms. Ital. 115, ed. Isa Ragusa and Rosalie B. Green, trans. Isa Ragusa (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961), xxii–​x xiii) dated the text to the late thirteenth century. On dating after 1336, see D. Lesnick, Preaching in Medieval Florence: The Social World of Franciscan and Dominican Spirituality (Athens, Georgia: University of Georgia Press, 1989), 143–​171; Emma Simi Varanelli, “Le ‘Meditationes Vitae Nostri Domini Jesu Christi’ nell’arte del duecento italiano,” Arte Medievale 6, no. 2 (1992): 137–​148; and Sarah McNamer, “Further Evidence for the Date of the Pseudo-​Bonaventuran Meditationes vita Christi,” Franciscan Studies 50 (1990): 258. A second proposed author is Jacobus of San Gimignano around 1300. See Peter Tóth, “The Earliest Reference to the Meditationes Vitae Christi: New Evidence for its Date, Authorship, and Language,” in The Meditationes Vitae Christi reconsidered. New perspectives on text and image, eds. Holly Flora and Peter Tóth, Trecento Forum, vol. 3 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), 43–​74; Holly Flora and Peter Tóth, “Introduction,” in The Meditationes Vitae Christi reconsidered. New perspectives on text and image, eds. Holly Flora and Peter Tóth, Trecento Forum, vol. 3 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), 7–​11; and Holly Flora, The devout belief of the imagination: the Paris ‘Meditationes vitae Christi’ and female Franciscan spirituality in Trecento Italy, Disciplina Monastica (Turnhout: Brepols, 2009).

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recent Christian-​controlled city and its monuments—​whose possession was lost but practice was kept in its liturgies. A prayer book with such evocative illuminations could act as a replacement for the unattainable holy city, a visual sojourn that allowed the reader a virtual visit enhanced by ritual to the locales of Christ’s life and death, giving her joy in her personal devotions and providing her a path to redemption.

Chapter 3

Jerusalem on Souvenir Glass Beakers and Cross-​ Cultural Exchange With its evocative images of the cities of Jerusalem and Bethlehem, the Riccardiana Psalter offered one type of virtual visit to the Holy Land, as discussed in Chapter 2. A pair of mid-​thirteenth-​century enameled and gilded glass beakers painted with scenes that include buildings in Jerusalem provided a different experience of the holy city, one that combined the religious impact of the Psalter’s narrative miniatures (Figures 2.1 to 2.8) with the emblematic associations of the Jerusalemite pilaster (Figure 1.1).1 This chapter will show how this pair of beakers, now in the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore and dated to the thirteenth century, offered a multicultural view of the city tempered by a Christian understanding of liturgy and of lost access to the sites (Figures 3.1 to 3.9). Ultimately, the images on the beakers recalled the sites metonymically while functioning as tactile reminders of Jerusalem for their owner.2 The museum’s former online label for the smaller beaker stated (Figures 3.6 to 3.9): This work, perhaps made as part of a set, dates from the Crusader period, when Islamic imagery, including inscriptions in Arabic, as seen here, was often combined with Christian themes. The composition includes a figure riding on a grey ass modeled on the image of Christ entering Jerusalem.3

1 Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, object numbers 47.17 (hereafter large beaker) and 47.18 (hereafter small beaker). See also Walters Art Museum, Beaker 47.17, https://​art.the​walt​ers .org/​det​ail/​30576/​bea​ker/​ and Beaker 47.18, https://​art.the​walt​ers.org/​det​ail/​30828/​bea​ ker-​2/​, accessed 23 July 2018. For a recent publication on the beakers, see the catalog entry, Boehm and Holcomb, Jerusalem. 1000–​1400, 55–​56. 2 See Elsner, “Replicating Palestine,” 121. For comparable crusader-​era iconography as indicative of ritual and topography, see also Molly Linder, “Topography and Iconography in Twelfth-​century Jerusalem,” in The Horns of Hattīn, ed. Benjamin Z. Kedar (Jerusalem: Yad Izha Ben-​Zvi and Israel Exploration Society, 1992), 81–​98. 3 Walters Art Museum, Beaker 47.18, https://​art.the​walt​ers.org/​det​ail/​30828/​bea​ker-​2/​, acces­ sed 23 July 2018.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | DOI:10.1163/9789004525894_005

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­f igure 3.1  Pair of Glass Beakers with gold and enamel painting, showing scenes of Jerusalem, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.18 (left, with Christ on ass) and no. 47.17 (right, with Church of Holy Sepulcher), c. 1260

This label highlighted that the beakers, with their architectural and figural forms, have attracted attention for two main reasons. First, they are important examples of a tradition of painting medieval glass with Islamic and Christian themes in the Levantine region during the crusader period. In this chapter, I explore the question of the so-​called Islamic nature of such enameled, transparent glass objects in light of the Christian themes and Jerusalem buildings depicted thereon (see Map of Jerusalem).4 I rely on fundamental studies of Islamic glass in the Ayyubid into the Mamluk periods to date it to the middle of the thirteenth century and examine the cross-​cultural nature of Christian and Islamic culture in the Levant at that time.5 The beakers’ second main feature 4 See Maria Georgopoulou, “Orientalism and Crusader Art,” Medieval Encounters 5, no. 3 (1999): 289–​321 and Maria Georgopoulou, “The material culture of the crusades,” in Palgrave advances in the crusades, ed. Helen J. Nicholson (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 84–​85 for a discussion of recent approaches in cross-​cultural crusader-​era studies. 5 See Stefano Carboni, “Painted Glass,” in Glass of the Sultans, eds. Stefano Carboni and David Whitehouse (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001), 199–​273; Rachel Ward, “Brass, Gold and Silver from Mamluk Egypt: Metal Vessels Made for Sultan al-​Nāṣir Muḥammad,” Journal

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­f igure 3.2 Man with hood and short cape over a tunic, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.17, c. 1260

­f igure 3.3 Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.17, c. 1260

­f igure 3.4 Man with long grey cloak, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.17, c. 1260

­f igure 3.5 Dome of the Rock, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.17, c. 1260

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­f igure 3.6 Aedicule of the Ascension Church, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.18, c. 1260

­f igure 3.7 Christ on an ass, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.18, c. 1260

­f igure 3.8 Golden Gate, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.18, c. 1260

­f igure 3.9 Standing figure with bordered cape, Beaker, Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, no. 47.18, c. 1260

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is their allusion to Jerusalem, which I shall explore in relation to the city’s ties to Islamic and Christian traditions.6 As Maria Georgopoulou points out, such objects “defy the strict dichotomies between East and West,” perhaps signs of “entente between crusaders and Muslims … [They are] problematic pieces within the wider Islamic artistic production.”7 I agree that a puzzling disjuncture of origin and iconography is what renders these objects intriguing. My assessment that these two beakers are related deserves explanation at the outset of the chapter. Their gilding and painting in brilliant colors define both as luxury objects, and their similar compositions, styles, colors, decoration, and production techniques indicate that they were originally made at the same time and place (Figures 3.1 to 3.9).8 Both beakers feature a large central register with an alternating pattern of buildings and figures. The architecture depicted on each beaker includes outlines of bricks, projecting cornices at the top and mid-​levels, and alternating bands of color of similar blue, gray, and brown tones that accentuate the curve of the domes. Gilding was added to the buildings and the figures’ garments on both, but it has been partially worn away.9 The inscriptions in both upper registers were applied in the same way, with a dark blue band on the interior of the glass surface and now faded gold inscriptions on the exterior. The bottom zone of each beaker is painted with a band of deep red on the interior and gold decorative arabesques on the exterior, the latter now mostly lost. On both beakers, plants with oblong green leaves on either side of brown stalks vertically alternate with and fill the spaces between the figures and architecture.

6 7 8 9

of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland 14 (2004): 59–​73; Julian Henderson and James Allan, “Enamels on Ayyubid and Mamluk Glass Fragments,” Archeomaterials 4 (1990): 167–​173; Esin Atil, Renaissance of Islam: Art of the Mamluks (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1981), 125–​127; Summer S. Kenesson, “Islamic enamelled beakers: a new chronology,” in Gilded and Enamelled Glass from the Middle East, ed. Rachel Ward (London: British Museum Press, 1998), 45–​49; and John Carswell, “The Baltimore beakers,” in ibid., 61–​63. See also Lucy-​Anne Hunt, “The Christian-​Muslim relations in painting in Egypt of the Twelfth and mid-​Thirteenth centuries: Sources of wall-​painting at Deir es-​Suriani and the Illustration of the New Testament ms Paris Copte-​Arabe 1/​Cairo Bibl. 94,” Cahiers archéologique 33 (1985): 115–​116 and Erika Cruikshank Dodd, The Frescoes of Mar Musa al-​Habashi. A Study in Medieval Paintings in Syria, Studies and Texts (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2001), 17–​19, 30–​31. See also Georgopoulou, “Orientalism and Crusader Art,” 289–​321 and Georgopoulou, “The material culture,” 98–​99 for a discussion of the Christian and Islamic natures of these beakers. Georgopoulou, “The material culture,” 99. See Boehm and Holcomb, Jerusalem. 1000–​1400, 55–​56. The objects were repaired by the Walters Art Museum. The majority of the design remains from the original pieces, according to notes from conservation files. The museum conservation department fully disassembled and repaired them, prepared new glass inserts, reassembled them, and completed some infill painting in 1980. This repair process is documented in museum files.

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In addition to the similar artistry creating a tie between the beakers, their linked themes suggest that they were a set, as stated in the label.10 As Carboni has suggested, sets of medieval glass beakers would likely have had a matching bottle and a unifying decoration theme across the pieces. The beakers in graduated sizes from the Khalili Collection in London offer a parallel in their decoration, color, and surface texture to a bottle now in the Royal Ontario Museum in Toronto that may also be part of that set.11 While the possibility of another glass or a bottle with Jerusalem scenes tied to the Walters’ pair is enticing, no such piece has yet come to light. The measurements and tapered forms of the Walters beakers hint in particular that they were part of a stacked or nesting set. The fragile state of the objects precludes their stacking now, but a visual assessment and the measurements are suggestive. The smaller beaker measures 5.3 cm across the base on the exterior (Figures 3.6 to 3.9) and the larger one 7 cm (Figures 3.2 to 3.5). The thickness of the glass walls is approximately 0.9 to 2 mm for both objects. The larger one has a diameter c. 7.1 cm at the base of the upper inscription. This suggests that the smaller beaker would fit about two-​thirds down into the larger one with the tapering and the thickness of the sides taken into account. Moreover, the gilding on the smaller beaker is more worn on the lower part of the vessel, which may indicate that it was abraded because of insertion into the larger beaker for storage. These features indicate that the same w ­ orkshop produced the beakers as a set, and I assume this throughout the chapter. 3.1

The Architecture on the Beakers

3.1.1 The Large Beaker An analysis of the beakers’ architectural decorations is essential to understand them, with a discussion of the figures interspersed among them in the following section. My identifications of the two buildings on the large beaker are

10

See Stefano Carboni, Glass from Islamic Lands (New York: Thames & Hudson with The al-​Sabah Collection, Dar al-​Athar al-​Islamiyyah, Kuwait National Museum, 2001), 331, Cat. 386a and 334, Cat. 387. On nesting sets of glasses, see Carboni, “Islamic Glassworking,” 258. See also Qamar Adamjee in Metropolitan Museum of Art, ed., Venice and the Islamic World 828–​1797 (New York and New Haven: The Metropolitan Museum of Art and Yale University Press, 2007), 340. 11 Carboni, Glass from Islamic Lands, 334, Cat. 387. For details on the bottles, see ibid., 368n336. The bottle is in Toronto, Royal Ontario Museum, inv. no. 924.26.1, ibid., 368n337.

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not new, but I do offer a fresh perspective and confirm a clear connection to Jerusalem (Figures 3.2 to 3.5).12 3.1.1.1 The Dome of the Rock The polygonal domed building (Figure 3.5) is easily recognizable as the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem (compare Figure 1.6). The painted form has three features that make this representation clear: the structure’s octagonal base with door and window openings on alternate faces plus the distinctive dome and the drum that supports it. An image of the Dome of the Rock on the carved late twelfth-​century pilaster discussed in Chapter 1 shows the same characteristics chosen to depict this building (Figure 1.5).13 A review of the significance of the Dome of the Rock to Christians and Muslims helps to elucidate the architectural theme on the beaker in the context of twelfth-​and thirteenth-​century Jerusalem.14 The Dome of the Rock was holy to medieval Jews and Christians as the locus of Abraham’s offering of his son Isaac to God and the place of the Temple in the Hebrew Bible, visited by Christ and destroyed by the Romans in 70 ce.15 With the Muslim takeover of the city in the seventh century, the Umayyad caliph ʿAbd al-​Malik built this Muslim shrine in c. 692 to reinforce his rule in the city and recognize the tie to Abrahamic traditions.16 By the tenth century, Islamic literature had enhanced the city’s stature by developing traditions about how the prophet Muhammad traveled to and from the former Temple Mount or Haram al-​Sharif as a stop on his miraculous night journey (israʾ) and ascension (miʿraj) to the heavens.17

12 13 14

15

16 17

For general discussion of these beakers, see Atil, Renaissance of Islam, 125–​127. See also Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 363–​365. See Fleck, “Crusader Spolia in Medieval Cairo,” 249–​300; Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 453–​459; and Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo,” 124. See Grabar, The Shape of the Holy, 49–​51 and S.D. Goitein, “The Sanctity of Jerusalem and Palestine in Early Islam,” in Studies in Islamic History and Institutions (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1966). Though his study stops at about 1099 in its study of the Haram, for the history see also Andreas Kaplony, The Ḥaram of Jerusalem, 324–​1099: Temple, Friday Mosque, Area of Spiritual Power, eds. Hans Robert Roemer and Werner Ende, Freiburger Islamstudien (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2002), 4–​13, 103, 115, 118. See Kaplony, The Ḥaram, 38, 45, 47, 725–​726, 750–​775. Byzantine Christians had largely ignored the eastern part of the city, viewing it as part of Jewish history. See Y. Tsafrir, “Byzantine Jerusalem,” in Jerusalem: its sanctity and centrality to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, ed. Lee I. Levine (New York: Continuum International Publishing Group, 1999), 143–​144. See Rabbat, “The Meaning,” 12–​21 and Grabar, The Shape of the Holy, 114–​116. Traditions located his Night Journey all over the area, not just at the Dome, Kaplony, The Ḥaram, 89, 91, 94 and Amikam Elad, Medieval Jerusalem and Islamic worship: holy places,

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Moreover, all three Abrahamic traditions believed that the area around the Dome of the Rock was a special conduit to the heavens that would be important at the end of time for God’s final reckoning of mankind.18 In the crusader era of the Kingdom of Jerusalem from 1099 to 1187, European Frankish leaders in the holy city named the Dome of the Rock as the Templum Domini (Temple of the Lord). Many Franks shared a common misunderstanding that the building was either the exact temple associated with Christ’s life or a Byzantine structure that commemorated it, meaning few understood the Islamic nature of its origin.19 The crusaders consecrated it as a Christian church in 1141 and handed its liturgical care to Augustinian canons.20 When the Ayyubid leader Salah al-​Din took Jerusalem from the Franks in 1187, he removed the cross and Christian decorations to reappropriate the building as a Muslim shrine.21 For most of the first half of the thirteenth century, the Ayyubids were in power in Jerusalem. A treaty negotiated by Holy Roman Emperor and King of Jerusalem Frederick ii with the Ayyubid sultan al-​Kamil did place the city in Latin Christian hands from 1229 to 1239, but the Dome of the Rock was not a part of that agreement.22 After the death of the sultan in 1239, the area around Jerusalem was disputed between the Franks and the Ayyubid princes. The Franks and then the Khwarazmian Turks regained brief control of the holy city in 1244.23 From 1245 to 1253, the city was in the hands of various Ayyubid leaders until the Mamluks conquered the region.24 Throughout that tumultuous

18 19 20 21 22 23

24

ceremonies, pilgrimage (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 63, 73–​74. See also Lawrence Nees, Perspectives on Early Islamic Art in Jerusalem, ed. Marcus Milwright, Mariam Rosser-​Owen, and Lorenz Korn, Arts and Archaeology of the Islamic World (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2016), 16–​20, 26–​28, 31, 115. See Lassner, Medieval Jerusalem, 19, 161, 189 and Kaplony, The Ḥaram, 59, 61, 91, 95. For more on this topic, see Chapter 4. See Schein, “The Temple,” 181 and Schein, Gateway to the heavenly city, 106–​107. See also Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 249–​251 and Giebfried, “Crusader Rebranding,” 81–​87. See Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 401. The lack of any cross on the roof in the beaker scene seems to indicate a reference to its state in the thirteenth century under the Ayyubids. See ibid., 407–​408. See U. Lyons and M.C. Lyons, Ayyubids, Mamlukes and Crusaders. Selections from the ‘Tārīkh al-​duwal wal-​Mulūk’. The Translation., 2 vols., vol. 2 (Cambridge: W. Heffer and Sons Ltd., 1971), 170n176. For a short time in 1244, the Haram al-​Sharif was returned to the Franks by a treaty between the Templars and the Ayyubid rulers and was reoccupied by Latin clergy. They were likely Templars, not canons, as Frederick made a reference to them there, Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 409. Peter Jackson, “The Crusades of 1239–​41 and Their Aftermath,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 50 (1987): 49, 55–​56. On the Khwarazmian attack of Jerusalem, see Lyons and Lyons, Ayyubids, Mamlukes and Crusaders (2), 2, 2–​3, 60.

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thirteenth-​century period, the Dome of the Rock remained in Muslim hands, with access largely prohibited to Christians.25 Thus, at the time of the beaker’s creation in the middle of the century, the Dome of the Rock was certainly in Muslim and quite probably in Mamluk hands. 3.1.1.2 The Church of the Holy Sepulcher Despite the consistent Muslim control of the Dome of the Rock in the thirteenth century, the large beaker and its imagery should be understood as the display of a Christian context because of the beaker’s other depicted building: the Anastasis Rotunda of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher (Figure 3.3). This originally fourth-​century monument was placed over the reputed site of Christ’s burial and resurrection and is still the most important Christian monument in Jerusalem. Like the representation on the Cambrai map of c. 1170 (see Figure 1.4), considered one of the most historically accurate versions of medieval Jerusalem, the beaker shows a combined interior/​exterior view of the Rotunda.26 On the beaker, the building’s lower level displays three arches of the interior tomb aedicule, with lamps hanging beneath them over the tomb of Christ. The middle level has two registers, with two windows in each. The upper level displays a dome. Various medieval accounts and representations highlighted the same features of the Holy Sepulcher depicted here. Regarding the tomb aedicule with its pilasters, arches, and the dome, Daniel the Abbot (c. 1106) reported that the Lord’s tomb is like a little cave cut into the rock, with small doors so that men can enter stooping on their knees for it is low and round … This holy cave is faced with beautiful marble … and there are twelve pillars around it also of beautiful marble. And above the cave is a beautiful chamber on pillars, round at the top and covered with gilded silver plates.27

25 Folda, Crusader Art, 148–​156 and Lyons and Lyons, Ayyubids, Mamlukes and Crusaders (2), 2, 1, 171n179. See also Jackson, “The Crusades of 1239–​41,” 55. 26 Cambrai, Médiathèque municipale, ms 466 (formerly 437), fol. 1r. For a basic description of the map, see Vilnay, The Holy Land, 48–​49 and Harvey, Maps of the Holy Land, 22–​23. On the Holy Sepulcher complex and its meaning to crusaders, see Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 177–​245 and Folda, Crusader Art, 38–​44. 27 In Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 128. See also Folda, “Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre,” 159. A dome on pillars topped the tomb aedicule within the Byzantine Anastasis Rotunda, according to twelfth–​century accounts. The aedicule was renovated in 1119, Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 79–​82, 186, 337 and Buchthal, Miniature painting, 45n42.

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He added that “There are three doors in the chamber, … and through these doors come the people to the tomb of the Lord.”28 According to pilgrim John of Würzburg (c. 1170), The arrangement of the monument containing the sepulcher of the Lord is that it is almost round in shape, and is decorated inside with mosaic. On the east there is an entry through small doors.29 With its three small doorways and decorative pilasters, the lower level of the building on the beaker clearly evoked the aedicule around the tomb as it was known to these visitors from the crusader era.30 An image in an illustrated Old French volume of William of Tyre’s Histoire d’Outremer, made in Acre in the late thirteenth century, depicts the early crusader Peter the Hermit visiting the church.31 The three arches and overhanging lamps are also included as essential clues to Peter’s location at the tomb (Figure 3.10). The most crucial detail on the beaker in the Anastasis Rotunda scene is the tomb of Christ, prominently featured under the central arch (Figure 3.3). Christ’s rectangular tomb was often shown with three holes, as in the Paris William of Tyre manuscript (Figure 3.10). Writers described that actual holes were in the medieval marble encasing through which pilgrims could touch and kiss the tombstone underneath.32 On the beaker, by contrast, there are 28 29 30

31

32

In Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 128. Ibid., 261. Compare a sixth-​century pyx depicting the three women coming with censers to bless the tomb of Christ, which is shown in the guise of an altar with a three-​arched canopy and lamp hanging over it, see New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, object no. 17.190.57a, b, “Pyx with the Women at Christ’s Tomb,” http://​www.metmus​eum.org/​toah/​works-​of-​art/​ 17.190.57, accessed 22 June 2021. William of Tyre, Histoire d’Outremer, Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, ms fr. 9084, fol. 1r, from Acre, 1290. This manuscript contains an anonymous translation from the Latin Historia rerum in partibus transmarinis gestarum (History of Deeds Done Beyond the Sea), often called L’Estoire d’Eracles. See Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, xlvi, fig. 370 on compact disc; Jaroslav Folda, Crusader manuscript illumination at Saint-​Jean d’Acre, 1275–​1291 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1976), 182–​183; and Buchthal, Miniature painting, pl. 136b. For the original Latin version of the text, see William of Tyre, Chronicon. On the Old French translations, see Philip Handyside, The Old French of William of Tyre, The Medieval Mediterranean, vol. 103 (Leiden: Brill, 2015). For an English translation, see William of Tyre, A History of Deeds. Note that the Khwarazmians purportedly removed the columns from the porch in front of Christ’s tomb, Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 32, 34. See, for example, Theoderic in Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 279 and in Theoderich, Guide to the Holy Land, 9.

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­f igure 3.10  Holy Sepulcher interior (with Christ appearing to Peter the Hermit), William of Tyre’s Histoire d’Outremer, Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, ms fr. 9084, fol. 1r, from Acre, late thirteenth century

four angled lines on the tomb surface with only one small circle at the bottom. The line patterns on the tomb’s surface suggests that this represents an ancient Roman strigilated sarcophagus, so named for the similarity of these lines to the strigil, a curved tool used by ancient Romans to scrape oil off the body. The strigilated sarcophagus, common in Rome from the second to fifth centuries, was generally understood by the later Middle Ages as “ancient.”33 Strigilated sarcophagi were found in Roman Palestine, as evidenced by examples now in the Bible Lands Museum in Jerusalem (Figure 3.11).34 These ancient sarcophagi were reused as medieval tombs and reliquaries. In particular, the English St. Albans Psalter of c. 1119–​23 shows the angel perched on the empty strigilated tomb of Christ. This example represents how that 33

34

Janet Huskinson, Roman Strigillated Sarcophagi: Art and Social History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 278. See a third-​century example, New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, object no. 2005.258, “Marble strigilated sarcophagus,” https://​www.met mus​eum.org/​art/​col​lect​ion/​sea​rch/​257​781, accessed 22 June 2021. See the marble sarcophagus of Julia Latronilla, probably Roman, dated 330–​40 (no. 1057) ; the fragment of a marble tub sarcophagus, dated late third century; and the marble sarcophagus of Octavia Bebiana, probably Rome, fourth century, in Jerusalem, The Bible Lands Museum, Oscar White Muscarella, ed., Ladders to Heaven: Art Treasures from Lands of the Bible (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1981), 296–​302.

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­f igure 3.11  Christian Sarcophagus of Julia Latronilla with strigillated pattern, now in Jerusalem, Bible Lands Museum, No. 1057, c. 330–​40

­f igure 3.12 Three Marys at Empty Tomb of Christ, St. Albans Psalter, Hildesheim, Dombibliothek, ms St. Godehard 1, page 50, c. 1123–​35

form on the beaker could be the place of Jesus’s burial (Figure 3.12).35 The beaker image thus combines the generic concept of an ancient strigilated Roman design with Christ’s tomb to signal its antiquity and authenticity. In conjunction with the crusader-​era small hole on its side to afford access, the ancient tomb and aedicule on the beaker situated its viewer in the Christian pilgrimage site in Jerusalem. While the structure on the beaker refers to the aedicule inside the Anastasis Rotunda in its lower level, the upper two levels refer to the exterior of the 35

St. Albans Psalter, Hildesheim, Dombibliothek, ms St. Godehard 1, p. 50, see Jane Geddes, “The Illustrations,” in The Albani Psalter, ed. Dombliothek Hildesheim (Simbach am Inn, Germany: Verlag Müller & Schindler, 2008), 172. See also Kristen Collins, Peter Kidd, and Nancy K. Turner, The St. Albans Psalter: Painting and Prayer in Medieval England (Los Angeles: The J. Paul Getty Museum, 2013).

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Rotunda itself in a simultaneous interior and exterior view of the building.36 I discussed such simultaneous views in Chapter 1 as a method that facilitates recognition of the most salient parts of a structure. As Richard Krautheimer’s seminal article about architectural copies argued, more important than the exactitude of a copy’s architectural shape was its general, legible allusion to the original.37 Such a simultaneous view of combined elements was not uncommon in imagery related to the Latin Kingdom.38 The selected references to features of the Holy Sepulcher church were sufficient to conjure a mental image of the structure. The dome of the Anastasis Rotunda marked the building as existing in the topographical landscape of Jerusalem, while the tomb of Christ hinted at how it appeared to crusader-​era visitors who entered within. 3.1.2 The Small Beaker The architectural imagery on the second, slightly smaller beaker has puzzled scholars to a greater degree (Figures 3.6 to 3.9). One of the two buildings depicted is a lopsided two-​level structure, with a small dome resting atop a rectangular tower (Figure 3.8). The other structure is a two-​level, domed, circular structure with a two-​leaf door on the lower level (Figure 3.6). These two have not been previously identified, but I shall argue that they most likely represent two other important buildings in Jerusalem: the Golden Gate and the aedicule of the Church of the Ascension, respectively.39 3.1.2.1 The Golden Gate The tower structure on the beaker shares four key traits with other medieval depictions of the Golden Gate—​a grand portal into the Temple precinct in Jerusalem: the double doors, dome, lopsided appearance, and mid-​level

36 37

38

39

On a similar interior/​exterior view, see Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 335–​337 and Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo,” 124–​125. As noted in Chapter 2, he argued that an architectural form or its representation is a copy of a particular building in the Middle Ages if it 1) recalled the original form, 2) had a symbolic association with its original meaning, and 3) was purposefully linked. See Krautheimer, “Introduction ii”, 115–​150 and Krautheimer, “Introduction i”, 1–​33. See examples in Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 335–​337 and Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 215. See also Neta Bar-​Yoseph Bodner, “The Baptistery of Pisa and the Rotunda of the Holy Sepulchre: A Reconsideration,” in Visual Constructs of Jerusalem, eds. Bianca Kühnel, Galit Noga-​Banai, and Hanna Vorholt, Cultural Encounters in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (celama) (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), 95–​105. Compare Georgopoulou, “Orientalism and Crusader Art,” 306, 313, who mentions the possibility of the Tower of David and uncertainty about the domed structure.

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protruding cornice (Figure 3.8).40 Christian visitors to Jerusalem in the twelfth century wrote about such Golden Gate details as the double doors. Opened regularly under crusader rule, they were closed, as they are in the beaker’s depiction (Figure 3.8), after Salah al-​Din recaptured the city in 1187. By at least the fourteenth century, the doors had iron plates bolted on to their surfaces. The doors on the beaker are painted in brown and gray segments, as if intended to emulate brown wood or metal panels. Niccolò of Poggibonsi in 1346–​50 described the structure: The gate is very large and there are two gates, one beside the other; between the two gates there is a wall two feet wide and arch-​vaulted above. Above the arches there is a little house with a window above the gate; the gate faces towards the east, and all [the gates] are of iron and embossed with large nails; but many of the nails have now been extracted by the Christians, who pull them out when they can because they have powerful properties.41 This later description of how medieval Christian pilgrims to the site wanted to remove parts of the door suggests that already in the thirteenth century some of those plates were missing, affecting how the beaker shows the doors as variegated in color. The fact that Niccolò reported “a little house” on top of the Golden Gate may also relate to the beaker image.42 Currently, drums support domes of the gate’s two eastern bays, raising the domes higher than the roof as they appear on the beaker (Figure 3.13). Because these drums’ and domes’ constructions differ from that of the lower structure, Denys Pringle surmised that the Franks added them in the twelfth century.43 It is difficult to be sure of the thirteenth-​ century appearance of the actual Golden Gate because it changed its form and purposes as the city’s rulers changed (Figure 3.13).44 In the Middle Ages the structure contained an interior vaulted space with six bays supported on two central columns; double doors allowed access on both sides. The interior space

40 41 42 43 44

See Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 103–​109. The original construction date of the current gate is uncertain, though general agreement points to the early Islamic period, Grabar, The Shape of the Holy, 124–​126. Ibid., 106. Felix Faber in 1480–​83 mentions that the tower above the gate was by then in ruins, ibid. Ibid., 108. On the Christian identification of the Golden Gate, see Schick, “Christian Identifications,” 373–​377.

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­f igure 3.13  Golden Gate from exterior, Jerusalem

was used as a mosque before the Franks arrived in the eleventh century, then as a chapel by the Franks in the twelfth century, and again as a mosque after Salah al-​Din’s 1187 reconquest. Although an Ottoman renovation in the sixteenth century permanently blocked the gate openings with stone and hid the two small domes behind crenellation, they may have been visible from below in the Middle Ages, as the beaker image suggests.45 Comparing the beaker’s image of the Golden Gate with a contemporary Entry into Jerusalem scene reveals similar features of the arched opening and the dome, plus an irregular form and pronounced cornice. The illustration of the scene in a Jacobite or Syrian Orthodox lectionary shows a gate structure with a domed rectangular tower on one side and a protruding cornice (Figure 3.14).46 Produced in c. 1220 in the Syrian monastery of Mar Mattai, this 45 46

On the building history, see Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 107–​108 and Schick, “Christian Identifications,” 373–​377. Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms sir. 559, fol. 105r. See Jules Leroy, Les Manuscrits syriaques à peintures conserves dans les bibliothèques d’Europe et d’Orient, Institut français d’archéologie de Beyrouth, Bibliothèque archéologique et historique (Paris: Librairie orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1964), 280–​302 and Lucy-​Anne Hunt, “Leaves from an Illustrated Syriac Lectionary of the Seventh/​Thirteenth Century,” in Syrian Christians under Islam. The First Thousand Years., ed. D. Thomas (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2001), 186, 202.

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­f igure 3.14  Entry of Christ into Jerusalem, Syriac Jacobite Lectionary, Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms sir. 559, fol. 105r, c. 1219–​20

manuscript borrowed its arrangement and basic iconography from Byzantium and its decorative details, figures, and clothing from Islamic culture.47 The lectionary differs from the European-​influenced depictions of the scene, which more c­ ommonly show a flat wall above the gate and the Holy Sepulcher dome and/​or Dome of the Rock behind it in a bird’s-​eye view, as in the thirteenth-​ century Riccardiana Psalter or twelfth-​century Melisende Psalter (Figures 2.4 and 2.17).48 The lectionary artist showed a familiarity with Jerusalem that could have been informed by his own or the patron’s firsthand knowledge.

47 48

See Leroy, Les Manuscrits syriaques, 300 and Hunt, “Leaves,” 202. London, British Library, ms Egerton 1139, c. 1135, see Jaroslav Folda in Boehm and Holcomb, Jerusalem. 1000–​1400, 244–​246. For the Riccardiana Psalter, see Chapter 2. To compare an ivory from Berlin with a Byzantine feast cycle composition, see Weitzmann, “A Tenth Century Lectionary,” 625, fig. 626.

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Even though the Golden Gate’s medieval-​era appearance is uncertain because of its later reuse and reconstruction, its Christian importance was indisputable because of its understood involvement at two points in Christian narratives. In an extra-​biblical tale, Anna and Joachim, who were the parents of the Virgin Mary, met at the city wall to reconcile after a period of estrangement.49 This story became widely known by the later Middle Ages through such texts as the Legenda Aurea (Golden Legend) written in the mid-​or late thirteenth century.50 The second appearance of the Golden Gate was in the New Testament. On the eve of Passover, before Christ’s impending crucifixion, he descended from the Mount of Olives on an ass as honorees placed branches on the road before him (Matt. 21:1–​11, Mark: 11: 1–​11, Luke 19:28–​44, and John 12:12–​19). The event cemented the gate’s importance in the story of Christ and in Christian liturgical tradition as a part of Palm Sunday, as will be explained below. 3.1.2.2 The Church of the Ascension The second building on the small beaker has important analogies to the Church of the Ascension on the Mount of Olives (Figures 3.6 and 3.15).51 The simple centralized structure on the small beaker strongly suggests its identification as the Ascension aedicule, as it was known in the thirteenth century, because of the arched opening, decorative cornice, and dome resting on a second-​story drum level with a small window.52 Medieval Christians believed that Christ ascended bodily into heaven at this site, east of the Golden Gate on the Mount of Olives, in the presence of his mother and the apostles. It thus evoked the final glorification of Christ after his sacrifice—​the completion of Christ’s spiritual journey to effect salvation for mankind. An aedicule structure was present there from early Christian/​Byzantine times, and several pilgrims reported that crusaders built a new church with a domed aedicule over the Ascension site in the middle of the twelfth century.53 Theoderic (writing 1169–​74) said that there was a “rounded” construction in the middle of the church, and an

49

50 51 52 53

This story was spread especially through the Infancy Gospel (or Protevangelium) of James (in Chapter 4), see Peter Kirby, ed., Infancy Gospel of James, Early Christian Writings (Peter Kirby, 2001–​2008), http://​www.ear​lych​rist​ianw​riti​ngs.com/​text/​infan​cyja​mes-​hock.html, accessed on 7 March 2018. It appears in the Golden Legend story of the Nativity of the Virgin in the later Middle Ages, see de Voragine, The Golden Legend (Ryan), ii, 152. See Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 72–​88. See ibid., 73–​78. Walls, likely from the former east end of the church, surround an open courtyard today in which the current aedicule stands. Ibid., 73–​74.

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­f igure 3.15 Aedicule of the Ascension Church, Mount of Olives, Jerusalem, twelfth century with later renovations

anonymous Greek description written after 1187 stated: “In the middle of the church is a very beautiful stone chamber with 15 marble columns … .”54 On a pilgrim’s map now in Brussels from the second half of the twelfth century, the Ascension church is indicated by a similar round structure on a hilltop, seemingly also using an image of the aedicule as a shorthand method to reference this church.55 The history of this building is uncertain after 1187 when the Franks abandoned the city and eventually resettled in Acre (by 1191).56 Although Wilbrand of Oldenburg in 1211–​12 asserted that the Church of the Ascension was destroyed, accounts by pilgrims through the fifteenth century stated that the 54 55

56

Ibid., 74, 75. Brussels, Bibliothèque royal de Belgique, ms 9823/​9824, fol. 157r. See Harvey, Maps of the Holy Land, 23–​24. To compare, the Cambrai map (Figure 1.4) shows it as the complete church, in other words a stylized basilica with a bell tower. On the hill indicating the Mount of Olives in another scene of the Entry on the lintel of the Holy Sepulcher, see Linder, “Topography,” 86. The absent Jerusalem Patriarch Gerold (d. c. 1239) appointed the abbot of the Mount of Olives (assumedly in residence in Acre) as his Jerusalem representative. See Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 31–​32.

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church was still standing, with a smaller chapel inside it.57 On the aedicule, Niccolò of Poggibonsi wrote, at the centre of the said church, directly below the large window above, there is a beautiful round chapel, columned with eight corners, each angle has two columns … and it has two doors.58 According to the account of Jerusalem historian Mujir al-​Din al-​ʿUlaymi (1456–​ 1522), Salah al-​Din gave the Ascension property to two sheikhs to establish a waqf (charitable foundation). The building seen today was rebuilt in the seventeenth and nineteenth centuries on the site of the former aedicule in the midst of remnants of what was, by then, the former church (Figure 3.15). This current building at the site parallels the aedicule structure described in Niccolò’s account. It is domed, polygonal, and has such decorative elements as the two slender columns with foliate capitals at each angle that were likely reused from the crusader-​era construction.59 3.2

The Figures on the Beakers

The identification of the beakers’ structures as the Church of the Ascension on the Mount of Olives, the Golden Gate, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and the Dome of the Rock accord with the architectural details depicted. Before exploring the Christological and liturgical meanings of these structures, however, it is important to consider the human figures that appear with the buildings to explain how they relate to the Christian architectural themes (Figures 3.2, 3.4, 3.7 to 3.9). The figure on the smaller beaker who is riding an ass sidesaddle in front of the Golden Gate is clearly referring to Christ in the Entry into Jerusalem as narrated in all four Gospels (Figures 3.7 to 3.8). The event marks the beginning of the Passion events that led to the crucifixion. The association of Christ with the Golden Gate was made regularly by Christian writers by the seventh century, if not earlier, and was firmly established by the thirteenth century.60 The presence of this figure helps to confirm the identification of the Golden Gate itself.

57 58 59 60

Ibid., 75–​78. Ibid., 75. Ibid., 81–​82, 86–​87. Ibid., 103–​104.

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Additional details in the Entry into Jerusalem scene allude to the biblical narrative (Figures 3.7 to 3.8). In most Entry scenes, a young figure is shown in the tree next to the gate, as in the Melisende Psalter (Figure 2.17). This inclusion stems from the biblical narrative of Matthew 21:8, which mentions individuals in the trees cutting branches to spread before Christ. A youth on the gate, rather than in a tree, often appears over the doorway in Eastern Orthodox and Armenian versions of the scene, where he looks down on the scene below. For example, a youth appears on the shoulders of a woman atop the gate in the more crowded Syrian lectionary illustration (Figure 3.14). The Haghpat Monastery Gospel Book from Armenia offers another contemporary illustration of this biblical scene, with figures above the gate with lively arm gestures (Figure 3.16).61 While the man on the ass marks the biblical moment of Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, it also relates to the annual liturgical reenactment of that event by Levantine Christians in the twelfth and (perhaps also) the thirteenth century. Both the Orthodox Anastasis Typikon, a hymnal for Holy Week and Easter at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher (dated 1122), and the Latin Barletta ordinal, typically called the Barletta Breviary (1202–​28), describe a Palm Sunday procession.62 The Jerusalem patriarch or a prior (of the abbeys of Mount Zion,

61

62

Yerevan, Matenadaran Mashtots Institute of Ancient Manuscripts, ms 6288, page 16b, bef. 1211. On this collection, see Thomas F. Mathews and Avedis Krikor Sanjian, Armenian Gospel Iconography: The Tradition of the Glajor Gospel (Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 1991) and Armenian Monuments Awareness Project, “Haghpat 2: A Medieval Center of Learning. J’grashen Church (St. Astvatsatsin) (1),” Armenian Monuments Awareness Project, http://​www.armen​ianh​erit​age.org/​en/​monum​ent/​Hagh​pat/​97, accessed 28 July 2016. On this procession, see Linder, “Topography,” 90–​91. The Anastasis Typikon is Jerusalem, Library of the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate, Hagios Stauros, ms 43. See Daniel Galadza, “Greek liturgy in crusader Jerusalem: witnesses of liturgical life at the Holy Sepulchre and St Sabas Lavra,” Journal of Medieval History 43, no. 4 (2017): 426–​431 and Alexander Lingas, “From Earth to Heaven: The Changing Musical Soundscape of Byzantine Liturgy,” in Experiencing Byzantium. Papers from the 44th Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, Newcastle and Durham, April 2011, eds. Claire Nesbitt and Mark Jackson (Farnham, Surrey: Ashgate, 2013), n66 and the Conclusion. Papadopoulos-​ Kerameus edited the Typikon of the Anastasis in 1894, see John F. Baldovin S.J., The Urban Character of Christian Worship. The Origins, Development, and Meaning of Stational Liturgy, ed. Robert F. Taft S.J., Orientalia Christiana Analecta (Rome: Pont. Institutum Studiorum Orientalium, 1987), 80–​82 and Hermann J. Gräf SVD, Palmenweihe und Palmenprozession in der lateinische Liturgie, Veröffentlichungen des Missionspriesterseminars, St. Augustin, Siegburg (Rheinland: Steyler Verlagsbuchhandlung Kaldenkirchen, 1959), 3–​4. The so-​called breviary, or more precisely ordinal, is Barletta, Archivio della Chiesa del Santo Sepolcro, ms s.n., maybe made for the archbishop of Caesarea, Peter of Limoges.

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­f igure 3.16  Entry of Christ into Jerusalem, Haghbat Gospelbook, Yerevan, Matenadaran Mashtots Institute of Ancient Manuscripts, ms 6288, page 16b, bef. 1211

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Mount Olivet, or Saint Mary in the Valley of Jehoshaphat) mounted on an animal and led groups comprising multiple Christian denominations. The Anastasis Typikon reflected both Greek Byzantine Constantinopolitan and local Jerusalem Melkite Orthodox rituals from before the crusades, hence it is considered generally Orthodox in designation.63 Dondi suggested that the Barletta ordinal likely showed the evolution of those ceremonies in the twelfth century and replaced a book that ecclesiastics had to leave behind in Jerusalem in 1187, made perhaps to prepare for a possible return to Jerusalem in 1229.64 The ordinal states that the Palm Sunday procession stopped at the Church of the Ascension on the Mount of Olives and then descended to the Golden Gate, reinforcing the importance of those spots for all Christians—​and illuminating the significance of the images combined on the beaker. At the same time that this scene literally displays Christ, the figure on the ass could have been read as the patriarch or prior leading the group as a Type of Christ. An additional detail—​the youth on the gate—​may be relevant on the beaker for its links to the biblical story of Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem and for how he mirrors medieval Palm Sunday liturgical practice (Figure 3.8).65 The Barletta ordinal mentions that young boys, substituting for the apostles at the original entry, were up on the Golden Gate taking part in sung glorification at the moment that the patriarch reenacted the entrance of Christ into the city.66 Pringle observed that the requirement that the choirboys and choirmaster sing from the roof of the gate necessitated an aperture onto the roof.67 On

See Charles Kohler, “Un ritual et un bréviaire du Saint-​Sépulcre de Jérusalem (xiie–​x iiie siècle),” Revue de l’orient latin 8 (1900–​01): 383–​500; Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 77–​79; and Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 58–​59. For a description of the Barletta manuscript, see Kohler, “Un ritual et un bréviaire du Saint-​Sépulcre,” 389, 391–​469 and Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 195–​201. 63 On the combination of Constantinople and Jerusalem influences, see Galadza, “Greek liturgy in crusader Jerusalem,” 426–​431. 64 Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 69–​70, 78, 195–​201. On the dating, see also Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 59. Dondi noted that it was similar to a twelfth-​century ordinal from Rome (Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms Barb. lat. 659, from 1153–​ 57), Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 166–​175. 65 On such references to the details of daily life and monuments of the time, see Georgopoulou, “The material culture,” 97–​98. 66 In the western Palm Sunday processions, substitutions for Christ would be a part of the holy day procession, such as a Gospel book, cross, or Eucharistic host, see Karl Young, The Drama of the Medieval Church, 2 vols., vol. 1 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1933), 92. On the pilgrim processions around Palm Sunday, see also Linder, “Topography,” 86–​89. On the apostles, see also Gräf, Palmenweihe, 4, 126–​128. 67 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 108.

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the current Golden Gate, such an opening exists on the sides of the drums that support the two domes, and on the beaker a rectangular opening is shown on the small domed tower on the gate. The specificity and diversity of the figures’ garments on both beakers leads to questions of their motivation on the vessels, although the exact nature of contemporary liturgical garb is difficult to judge because of the limited evidence of visual, material, and textual evidence from the Latin and Orthodox churches in the Levant.68 One textual source for liturgical garments is the Barletta ordinal, which mentions vague colors of copes and types of garments for clerics to wear during the Holy Sepulcher rituals.69 In the Syriac and Coptic churches, ordination texts or pontificals are useful sources for vestments.70 Wall paintings also yield additional information about ecclesiastical dress. On the small beaker, a figure standing to face the Golden Gate reveals aspects of contemporary clothing (Figure 3.9). He wears a cloak that covers his entire body. The uneven nature of the cloak’s border around the neck and down the front suggests a border of fur, while the rounded spots suggest jewels. This may be a cope, which was established in the eleventh and twelfth centuries as the standard vestment for all ranks of clergy, including monks and cantors.71 Medieval church inventories mention copes with fur lining and with borders of gold cloth, gems, bells, and tassels.72 The garment might also be a cappa clausa or closed cape, which also became regular clerical garb. It was an all-​around cape that reached to the ground and could have a slit in the front for the hands.73 Honorius of Augustodunensis, writing before 1125, said that “The cope is the proper vestment of Cantors … it reaches down to the heels, it is 68

See ibid., 32. See also Karel C. Innemée, Ecclesiastical Dress in the Medieval Near East, ed. Gillian Vogelsang-​Eastwood, Studies in Textile and Costume History (Leiden and New York: E.J. Brill, 1992). 69 For instance, it mentions that the Latin deacons and subdeacons should wear a red dalmatic or tunic for Palm Sunday. Fol. 21v, “… cum vestimentis diaconus et subdiaconus casulas, excepto dominico die in Ramis palmarum ad Evangelium et prophetias ubi habent dalmaticam casula rubea tantum, et ad Crucem representandam cappas rubeas,” Kohler, “Un ritual et un bréviaire du Saint-​Sépulcre,” 395. On the manuscript, see also Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 58–​59. 70 See Innemée, Ecclesiastical Dress, 17, 26, 61, 70–​71, 80–​81, 96–​98. There are no contemporary Byzantine illustrated ordinals left, though there are Armenian, Syriac, and Jacobite ones extant, see Vrej Nersessian, Treasures from the Ark: 1700 Years of Armenian Christian Art, Getty Trust Publications (Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2001), 186. 71 See Janet Mayo, A History of Ecclesiastical Dress (New York: Holmes & Meier Publishers, Inc., 1984), 38–​39. 72 Ibid., 39–​40. 73 Ibid.

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open in front and fringed at the bottom.”74 Like a few of the figures on the large beaker, the figure’s hair seems to circle the top and sides of his head, perhaps suggesting the tonsure worn by monks and clerics.75 These details, along with the traces of gilding on the surface of his cloak, emphasize its richness and the importance of the individual, who may be a high-​ranking cleric or a cantor attending the Palm Sunday procession. Also the large beaker reveals liturgical and contemporary references in its depiction of figures. Two nimbed men stand on opposite sides of the beaker between the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and the Dome of the Rock (Figures 3.2 and 3.4). One faces the Dome of the Rock, seeming to interact with it through his directed gaze and subtle pointing gesture (Figure 3.2). His long robe with a hooded, gray cape fastened around his shoulders suggests at least two possibilities for his identity. In Europe, such a short cape with hood was called an aumuse or almuce and considered a canon’s vestment in particular.76 It might be lined with fur to keep him warm during his devotions. Identifying this figure as a canon makes sense in reference to the context of twelfth-​century Latin Christian control of the Dome of the Rock as a Christian church, when Augustinian canons were in charge.77 Yet one component of the figure’s garment is not particular to canons, leading me to another possible identification for such a hooded figure at the Templum Domini.78 The apron worn hanging from one shoulder to the opposite hip as seems to be shown in this representation was found in vestments of Pachomian Coptic monks, which included a short shoulder-​mantle, a hood, and the apron. It is not clear until what date this apron was worn, although it appeared in images of saints through the thirteenth century, as on a painting of a monk in the church of Deir al-​Fakhoury at Esna in Egypt.79 Copts did not 74 Ibid., 39. 75 Ibid., 22. 76 Ibid., 46. See James Robinson Planche, “Amess, Ammis, Aumuses,” in A General Chronological History of the Costumes of the Principal Countries of Europe, from the Commencement of the Christian Era to the Accession of George the Third (London: Chatto and Windus, 1876). See also Innemée, Ecclesiastical Dress, 112. An amice similarly developed from being a neckcloth into a hood to protect vestments from longer hair, Mayo, Ecclesiastical Dress, 31, 131–​133. 77 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 408. Canons left Jerusalem in 1187, maybe going to Cyprus at St. Mary of Nicosia, but by 1220 they and their abbot, Maurus, were in Acre. 78 Innemée, Ecclesiastical Dress, 96–​98, 102, 106. 79 Ibid., 95. Innemée suggests that up to 1000 ce, one can be sure that these were used. Examples exist up to 1400 although they “must have been copied from earlier examples” he said, with no evidence of why. For the examples, see ibid., 96–​98. An attached hood was often a sign of bishops in the Coptic church, ibid., 48–​49.

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have any specific role at the Templum Domini when it was a church, and certainly not when it was off-​limits to all Christians in the thirteenth century.80 Between 1187 and 1260, however, the Jacobites, Copts, and Armenians attained positions under Muslim rule in several of the major shrines, displacing Greek Orthodox, Melkite Orthodox, and Latin Christians.81 From 1236 to 1260, there was a Coptic patriarch of Jerusalem, Anba Basilius i, and they had a few churches, chapels, and a residence in the holy city.82 They may have acquired their still extant chapel in the Anastasis Rotunda, right behind the sepulcher of Christ, by this point, after Salah al-​Din permitted more access to the tomb to certain Christian communities, including the Copts.83 The possibility that a Coptic cleric is represented on the beaker cannot be ruled out. Another figure on the large beaker also suggests Jerusalem’s diverse Christian population. He stands facing the Holy Sepulcher, wearing a long robe, with a dark gray mantle covering three-​quarters of his body (Figure 3.4). The mantle is slightly longer in the back and fastened in front at his chest. It may be a cope, an outer vestment usually secured at the chest, worn by a choir member or someone assisting at a liturgical service or ceremony.84 Yet the figure does not wear Latin liturgical accouterments such as a stole or pallium or an Orthodox omophorion hanging over the cope, so it seems more likely to be a cope used as outerwear.85 An image in the Paris Histoire d’Outremer from Acre (c. 1290) that 80 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 408. About Muslim reaction to the handover to Christians in 1229, see also Carole Hillenbrand, The Crusades: Islamic perspectives (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1999), 215–​221. While Franks were in charge of Jerusalem, Copts were not allowed much of a role in the city overall. On Coptic attitudes towards Franks, see Peter Jackson, The Mongols and the West: 1221–​1410 (Harlow, England and New York Pearson Longman, 2005), 15. The church and monastery dedicated to Mary Magdalen in Jerusalem was an example of a church that crusaders likely appropriated in 1099, then gave to the Jacobites, who shared it with Coptic communities, Otto Meinardus, “The Copts in Jerusalem and the Question of the Holy Places,” in The Christian Heritage in the Holy Land, eds. Anthony O’Mahony, Göran Gunner, and Kevork Hintlian (London: Scorpion Cavendish Ltd., 1995), 115. 81 Hunt, “Artistic and Cultural Inter-​Relations between the Christian Communities at the Holy Sepulchre in the 12th Century,” in ibid., 62–​63. 82 See Meinardus, “The Copts in Jerusalem and the Question of the Holy Places,” in ibid., 115–​116. 83 The only certain mention of the chapel was in the 1500s (ibid., 116–​118), although Hunt remarked that the non-​Chalcedonians were able to move in from their external locations after 1187, see Hunt, “Artistic and Cultural Inter-​Relations,” 63, 71–​72. The chapel exists still today and is manned by a Coptic cleric. 84 See Mayo, Ecclesiastical Dress, 39, 146. 85 The clerics at the left in the twelfth-​century Last Judgment scene painting at the Syrian monastery church of Mar Musa al-​Habashi wore the omophorion, see Dodd, Frescoes of Mar Musa, 91–​94 and pl. ii. The Latin liturgical pallium was a narrow strip of white material encircling the neck and hanging down the chest, Mayo, Ecclesiastical Dress, 23. On

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­f igure 3.17 Debate between Latin and Eastern Christians, Council of Nicaea, William of Tyre’s Histoire d’Outremer, Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, ms fr. 9084, fol. 31v, from Acre, late thirteenth century

depicts a dispute between Latin and different eastern Orthodox clerics reveals how difference between Christian confessions was made clear through clothing.86 The garment on the beaker seems closest to that of the Latin clerics on the left (Figure 3.17). The figure is therefore most likely a cleric wearing a cope of the Latin Christian rite, presumably someone who had a presence at the Holy Sepulcher (which he faces) in the mid-​thirteenth century. The two figures who appear in the arched windows of the second story of the Holy Sepulcher on the large beaker may also allude to local clerics with a presence at that church (Figure 3.3). The bust-​length figure at the right is hooded with a yellow cape around his shoulders, much like the Coptic monk or canon on the same beaker (Figure 3.2). The figure at the left seems to wear a dark brown garment with a simple rounded neckline. Because his hair suggests a tonsure, he might be a contemporary Franciscan in their distinctive brown robe. St. Francis visited the Levant, and by 1229 his followers had a presence at significant Christian sites, including in the Holy Sepulcher.87

the stole, see ibid., 27–​30. The phelonion was a cape worn over the sticharion (tunic) and epitrachelion/​orarion (stole). Originally it has the shape of a circular piece of cloth with an opening for the head in the middle. This was replaced by the cape-​like model, but probably not before the fourteenth century. It was not always required for priests to wear the phelonion (a type of hood) during liturgy. In Latin, a casula was a cape with a hood. A burnus can be a name for the phelonion, with or without hood, or for the hood only, Innemée, Ecclesiastical Dress, 49. See also Mayo, Ecclesiastical Dress, 141, 146. 86 Council of Nicaea in William of Tyre, Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, ms fr. 9084, fol. 31v, from Acre, 1290, see Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, xlvi, fig. 372 on compact disc. 87 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 33. Franciscans established the Province of the Holy Land in 1221, see Michele Piccirillo, “Franciscan Custody of the Holy Land,” in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East, ed. Eric M. Meyers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007) and Jon Paul Heyne, “The Franciscans of the

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The presence of a halo on all the standing figures on both beakers requires further consideration. Could particular saints be represented? In the case of the figure on the ass, whom I identify as Christ himself, the halo is an essential sign of his sanctity in narrative scenes from early Christian times.88 To interpret the nimbus as a sign of sanctity in the other figures is less certain, however. In the painting of this region, the nimbus was a distinguishing feature of being blessed by God or simply being important, but not necessarily being a saint in several sects. For instance, a tradition of applying a halo to Latin patriarchs exists, with such examples as the seal of Aimery of Limoges (r. 1140–​96).89 The Last Judgment wall-​painting at Mar Musa al-​Habashi, a Syrian Orthodox monastery, provides an example in the lowest register, where a group of generic nuns and monks to the left among the Elect are nimbed, but the monks among the Damned are not.90 Nimbi appear on other unnamed monks who populate a monastic setting in a mid-​thirteenth-​century painted glass vase made in Syria now in Liechtenstein.91 Perhaps the Islamic tradition of more generally indicating important individuals with a nimbus was influential in this case.92 Important figures in a composition were often singled out in Islamic art with a round circle surrounding the head, in contrast with the flaming nimbus that signified sanctity.93

88

89

90 91 92 93

Holy Land: Religion and Politics of the Mediterranean in the Age of Queen Sancia” (Ph.D. Dissertation, Catholic University of America, 2020), 25. See, for comparison, the Assisi fresco of Saint Francis having an audience with Sultan al-​Kamil in 1219 from the upper church nave walls of San Francesco in Assisi. A cruciform shape in the halo would make it more certain, as this is only a round circle. See Marthe Collinet-​Guérin, Histoire du Nimbe des origines aux temps modernes (Paris: Nouvelles Editions Latines, 1961), 430. See also E. H. Ramsden, “The Halo: A Further Enquiry into Its Origin,” The Burlington Magazine for Connoisseurs 78, no. 457 (1941): 123–​131. On Aimery, see Bernard Hamilton, “Aimery of Limoges, Latin Patriarch of Antioch (c. 1142–​ c. 1196) and the Unity of the Churches,” in East and West in the Crusader States: Context, Contacts, Confrontations, eds. Krijna Nelly Ciggaar and Herman G. B. Teule, Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta (Leuven: Peeters Publishers, 1999), 1–​12. See Dodd, Frescoes of Mar Musa, 140–​144 and pl. ii. In Vaduz at the Furusiyya Foundation, object R-​3012, see Stefano Carboni and David Whitehouse, eds., Glass of the Sultans (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001), 242–​244 and Boehm and Holcomb, Jerusalem. 1000–​1400, 55–​56. See Robert Hillenbrand, “The Symbolism of the Rayed Nimbus in Early Islamic Art,” Cosmos 2 (1986): 1–​52. Compare a Mamluk brass bowl made in Syria or Egypt by Muhammad ibn al-​Zayn in the late thirteenth century, now in Paris, Musée du Louvre, object no. mao 331, in Atil, Renaissance of Islam, 74–​75.

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One last figure on the large beaker that may convey meaning, according to both Christian and Islamic traditions, is the large bird on top of the Dome of the Rock (Figure 3.5). This bird seems to be a peacock, with gilding (somewhat effaced), an extended tail on display, and a fancy comb atop its head that highlights its decorative nature and deliberate placement. From ancient times, peacocks in the Mediterranean were royal and sacred birds because of their beauty and rarity.94 They were represented on early Christian and Byzantine ritual fans or flabella, and their feathers were signs of both prestige and a heavenly connection.95 The feathers were used in medieval fans and flywhisks at shrines of Muslim saints and courts of kings, reflecting purity and spiritual authority to combat evil.96 Legends about the incorruptibility of peacock flesh in Roman culture made their images popular in funerary arts and their feathers talismans to prevent decay.97 A peacock therefore represented resurrection, renewal, and immortality symbolically in both Christian and Muslim cultures. These associations entered their traditions by way of such Greek and Arabic natural histories as the Physiologus and later bestiaries.98 According to popular Islamic traditions, the peacock conquered and swallowed Satan in the form of a snake. The peacock was thus an enemy of the snake and of the evil it represented, which translated into apotropaic and medicinal uses of its flesh, bones, and feathers.99 It was thought that the bird accidentally carried Satan in its belly into the Garden of Eden, whose presence there led to the downfall of Adam and Eve.100 Perhaps most important is that the peacock was linked to Buraq, the flying

94

Nile Green, “Ostrich Eggs and Peacock Feathers: Sacred Objects as Cultural Exchange between Christianity and Islam,” Al-​Masāq 18, no. 1 (2006): 32–​33. 95 Ibid., 43–​45. 96 Ibid., 62–​63. 97 In another ancient legend, the feathers are associated with Hera’s alteration of the hundred-​eyed giant Argus, ibid., 33, 42. 98 See ibid., 33, 42, 49. Augustine stated in his text City of God that peacock flesh did not decay, seeing this as a sign of the vast power of the Creator. See Augustine of Hippo, City of God, ed. Kevin Knight, trans. Marcus Dods, vol. 2, Nicene and Post-​Nicene Fathers, First Series (Buffalo, New York: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1887), Chapters 4 and 7. 99 Green, “Ostrich Eggs and Peacock Feathers,” 57. 100 Ibid., 56–​57. On the bird’s swallowing of a snake in Beatus manuscripts, see Girona, Cathedral, ms Núm. Inv. 7 (11), fol. 18v, in Carlos Miranda García-​Tejedor, “Allegorical conclusion of the Christological cycle (fol. 18v): The bird and the snake,” in Commentary Volume. Girona Beatus. Gerona Cathedral, ed. Manuel Moleiro (Barcelona: Moleiro, 2004), http://​www.mole​iro.com/​en/​bea​tus-​of-​lieb​ana/​gir​ona-​bea​tus/​miniat​ura/​119, accessed 20 July 2016.

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steed with the tail of a peacock that Muhammad rode on his mystical ascent through the heavens allegedly from the Haram al-​Sharif.101 These associations of the peacock with purity, paradise, and eternal life in popular contemporary religious beliefs could explain its inclusion on the Dome of the Rock on the beaker.102 According to both Islam and Christianity, the final divine judgment of the Lord and man’s ultimate access to eternity will take place at the site of the Dome of the Rock.103 The Umayyad mosaics inside the Dome of the Rock reminded viewers of the paradisiacal associations of its site.104 The figures on the beakers allude in their biblical, liturgical, and contemporary references to the diversity of Christian cultures in twelfth-​and thirteenth-​ century Jerusalem. The several Eastern Christian groups interacted with the Latin European Christians during these centuries in ways that emphasized their differences.105 At the same time, the beakers demonstrate how the Christian groups’ multicultural visual arts had shared aspects, not least their connections to Jerusalem and to the Islamic culture of the Levant. 3.3

Palm Sunday Liturgy in Jerusalem and the Beakers

To explain the combination of buildings and figures on the Walters beakers requires a deeper examination of the medieval liturgy of Jerusalem. All four buildings displayed on the beakers are part of Eastern Christian and Latin Christian Palm Sunday processional celebrations during which devotees would wend their way through the city to the specific monuments depicted.106 These groups’ interests in the same holy sites and shared features of their liturgies 101 Green, “Ostrich Eggs and Peacock Feathers,” 60–​61. See also Abbas Daneshvari, “A Preliminary Study of the Iconography of the Peacock in Islamic Art,” in The Art of the Saljūqs in Iran and Anatolia: proceedings of a symposium held in Edinburgh in 1982, ed. Robert Hillenbrand, Bibliotheca Iranica: Islamic Art & Architecture Series (Costa Mesa, California: Mazda Publishers, 1994), 193–​195. 102 In regard to understanding the use of the bird in religious practice versus in theology proper, Green, “Ostrich Eggs and Peacock Feathers,” 65. 103 See Myriam Rosen-​Ayalon, The Early Islamic Monuments of al-​Ḥaram al-​Sharīf. An Iconographic Study, vol. 28, Monographs of the Institute of Archaeology (Jerusalem: The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1989), 53, 60–​61, 69 and Neuwirth, “Spiritual,” 111–​112. See also Kaplony, The Ḥaram, 726. 104 See Rosen-​Ayalon, Early Islamic Monuments, 28, 62, color plates iv–​x vi. 105 See Hunt, “Artistic and Cultural Inter-​Relations,” 57–​96. 106 See Linder, “Topography,” 81–​98.

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contain certain commonalities that can be hard to sort out today but reflect joint history, use of the sites, and concern about Jerusalem in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Already in the early Christian era the stational, communal, and mobile nature of Jerusalem’s Palm Sunday liturgies included three of the four buildings on the beakers. Egeria, a nun and pilgrim who visited in the late fourth century, described the daily, weekly, and annual liturgical services in Jerusalem.107 She recorded Palm Sunday and other Holy Week events, including details about readings, processions, and locations.108 For Egeria, Palm Sunday began with the Eucharist at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. It continued with a procession to and the blessing of the palms at the Church of the Ascension (which she called Eleona), then a descent from the Mount of Olives.109 Christians of diverse backgrounds distributed branches onto the streets in front of the Golden Gate as the procession reenacted Christ’s entry there.110 Participants then moved onto the empty Temple Mount (in Egeria’s time, there was no Temple nor Dome of the Rock) and then conducted an ending prayer service at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher where the day had begun.111 Christian rituals of Palm Sunday became established in the Orthodox Chalcedonian (Greek, Melkite, and Georgian), non-​Chalcedonian (Armenian, Nestorian, Jacobite Syrian, and Coptic), and Roman Catholic European traditions well before the arrival of the Franks in the Holy Land; these traditions continued into the thirteenth century.112 The main Christian presence in Jerusalem under Muslim rule up to the crusades were the so-​called Melkite Orthodox, the local branch of the Greek Orthodox based in Constantinople and with a patriarch in Jerusalem.113 Yet the Melkites were in a period of 107 Palm Sunday rituals became diffuse in Europe by the tenth century, Clyde W. Brockett, “Osanna! New light on the Palm Sunday processional antiphon series,” Plainsong and Medieval Music 9, no. 2 (2000): 95–​97. On the origins of other elements of the Holy Week rituals, see Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 65–​66. 108 Baldovin, Urban Character of Christian Worship, 55–​58, 61. On other sources, see ibid., 64–​82, 95, 99. 109 See Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 65–​66. See also Linder, “Topography,” 88–​93. 110 Brockett, “Palm Sunday processional antiphon,” 95. 111 Baldovin, Urban Character of Christian Worship, 61. 112 The Council of Chalcedon (451 ce) created a doctrine that separated Christ’s human and divine qualities. On the different sects, see Hunt, “Artistic and Cultural Inter-​Relations,” 59–​60 or MacEvitt, The Crusades, 7–​12. See also Hunt, “The Christian-​Muslim relations in painting,” 111–​155 and Kenneth Scott Parker, “The Indigenous Christians of the Arabic Middle East in an Age of Crusaders, Mongols, and Mamlūks (1244–​1366)” (Ph.D. Dissertation, Royal Holloway College, University of London, 2012). 113 Hunt, “The Christian-​Muslim relations in painting,” 59–​60.

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transition in the thirteenth century, having revised their liturgies based on Constantinopolitan examples in the eleventh and twelfth centuries while, seemingly in contradiction, also differentiating themselves in their language use from Greek Orthodox, often using Syriac and Arabic as their liturgical and vernacular languages, respectively.114 The differentiation of dates for Easter and thus for Palm Sunday in the Orthodox and Roman Catholic churches only occurred in the sixteenth century; in the period that concerns us, Easter was celebrated on the same day in all of the Christian traditions. The Anastasis Typikon is a valuable source for the combined Greek and Melkite Orthodox liturgy for Easter in twelfth-​century Jerusalem at a time when their influence in Jerusalem was waning as a result of the political and religious control of the city by Latin Christians.115 The Greek text reveals how three of the sites on the beaker continued to be important stations in the local Orthodox liturgical calendar.116 Like the account of Egeria, the Anastasis Typikon describes a Holy Week procession that stopped at three of the four structures shown on the beakers: they started at the Holy Sepulcher church, wound their way to the Church of the Ascension on the Mount of Olives, reentered the city via the Golden Gate, and finally arrived back at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher for the blessing of palms and Eucharist, with final prayers held in the Anastasis Rotunda itself.117 A stop at the fourth site, the Dome of the Rock, is missing from the Anastasis Typikon description because the text reflected Orthodox practice in Jerusalem from before 1099, when the Dome of the Rock was under Muslim control and therefore not available to the Christian procession. The Walters beakers go beyond the liturgical practice recorded in the Anastasis Typikon to reflect the development of Christian liturgy in Jerusalem after the Frankish clerics arrived in the twelfth century, as documented in the Barletta ordinal.118 The process of this liturgical development began with the 114 MacEvitt, The Crusades, 8 and Galadza, “Greek liturgy in crusader Jerusalem,” 424, 426–​431. 115 On the changing situation of the Orthodox, see Hunt, “The Christian-​Muslim relations in painting,” 60–​61. 116 See Galadza, “Greek liturgy in crusader Jerusalem,” 423–​424. Also relevant is Mount Sinai, ms gr. 1096 (twelfth century), a liturgical monastic Typikon regarding services at the Lavra of Mar Sabas (near Jerusalem), ibid., 421–​437. 117 See Baldovin, Urban Character of Christian Worship, 80. See also Gräf, Palmenweihe, 3–​8. 118 From the tenth century at the latest, western communities develop a number of their own variations of the Palm Sunday processions, carried out in their own communities, see Young, Drama of the Medieval Church 1, 1, 90–​91. See also Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 60–​61. On the importance of this ordinal and its special character, see ibid., 58–​59.

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European clerics coming to the Holy Land with their existing liturgical books.119 They initially looked west rather than to the local liturgy practiced by the Orthodox already in Jerusalem, likely because of language barriers and because they perceived their status as conquerors as superior to that of their fellow local Christians. The pilgrimage account of Daniel the Abbot (c. 1106) suggests that parallel and even simultaneous Latin and Orthodox rituals were occurring in his time.120 The Latins soon incorporated some of the Orthodox rituals into their own practice.121 For instance, the Latins accepted the ritual of the Holy Fire that the Orthodox performed on the night of Holy Saturday in the Anastasis Rotunda and eventually included it in the Barletta ordinal.122 The ordinal was likely made in Acre for Peter of Limoges when he was archbishop of Caesarea (r. 1199–​1237). Thus it was prepared after the Latin Kingdom lost access to Jerusalem with Salah al-​Din’s conquest in 1187 and before the Latin Christians regained access to the city from 1229 to 1239 through Frederick ii’s treaty. It documented Jerusalem’s Palm Sunday procession from before 1099 and added new traditions devised in the twelfth-​century Kingdom of Jerusalem when Latin clerics and other Christians reformulated the Jerusalem liturgy to include the Templum Domini.123 The Barletta ordinal of the Holy Sepulcher and the Baltimore beakers thus reveal aspects of the Latin rite in Jerusalem as Christians gained increased mobility and access in and around the urban setting. The beaker provides an additional tie to the twelfth-​and perhaps thirteenth-​ century Palm Sunday procession through the figures in front of and on the Golden Gate (Figures 3.7 to 3.8). As the Barletta ordinal described, the patriarch processed with the relic of the cross obtained from the Church of the Holy Sepulcher to the Ascension church and then re-​entered the city via the Golden Gate. The medieval sources reveal that the building interior of the Golden Gate was only open for the feasts of Palm Sunday and the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, thus heightening the significance of access to this site.124 Outside the 1 19 Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 44–​47. See also Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 60–​62. 120 See Galadza, “Greek liturgy in crusader Jerusalem,” 430–​431 and MacEvitt, The Crusades, 120–​122. 121 See Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 46–​47. 122 Pope Gregory ix placed an interdiction on the practice in 1238, suggesting that it was still occurring into the thirteenth century. See fol. 87r in the ordinal, in Kohler, “Un ritual et un bréviaire du Saint-​Sépulcre,” 421. See also Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 74–​75 and Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 23, n. 22. 123 Fols. 79v–​81r in the Barletta manuscript. For a transcription of the text, see Kohler, “Un ritual et un bréviaire du Saint-​Sépulcre,” 412–​414. 124 On those sources, see Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 104, 106. See also Schick, “Christian Identifications,” 373–​377.

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gate, the attendees intoned festival antiphons. The cantor, who climbed to the top of the gate with the boys, sang out “Gloria, laus et honor” first. The chorus below responded “Rex Christe.” The text says that only the boys on the gate sang the next verse (“Et soli pueri cantant versum”) with a response from the boys or the patriarch. Could the figure on the small beaker who stands in a fancy, fur-​lined cloak between the Church of the Ascension and the Golden Gate be a part of the liturgical procession, perhaps the cantor heading to the gate or the patriarch responding appropriately to the verses sung by the boy above (Figure 3.9)? The boy on the roof and the cantor or patriarch on the beaker could be present as witnesses to the liturgy that took place there (Figure 3.8). An additional feature on the beaker of the liturgy’s development is the inclusion of the Dome of the Rock, which represents the liturgical stop added by Franks to the pre-​1099 Palm Sunday procession of the Anastasis Typikon (Figure 3.5). As described in the Barletta ordinal, while the main procession ascended and then descended the Mount of Olives, the canons of the Holy Sepulcher and of the Hospital of St. John, St. Mary Latin, and St. Mary of Mount Sion gathered concurrently at the Templum Domini.125 There the bishop (or the prior of the Holy Sepulcher if the bishop was not present) blessed palm and olive branches before leading a second procession into the Valley of Jehoshaphat on the eastern edge of the city. They met the main procession from the Ascension site on the Mount of Olives. After both groups sang together at the Golden Gate, they jointly re-​entered the city through the gate and ascended the steps of the Templum Domini, where they completed the station with a liturgical service.126 The long-​standing tradition of the final station being the Eucharist in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher is found in both the Anastasis Typikon and the Barletta ordinal (Figure 3.5). The Latin procession returned to the Holy Sepulcher to replace the relic of the cross that had been removed from there for the procession.127 In both the Latin and Orthodox rites, the completion of the Holy Week liturgy culminated when clerics carried out the various liturgies

125 Gräf, Palmenweihe, 8–​9. See also Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 77–​79 and Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 103. For a transcription of the ritual’s directions, see fols. 79v–​81v in Kohler, “Un ritual et un bréviaire du Saint-​ Sépulcre,” 412–​414. The Templum Domini, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and the Church of the Ascension were tied together in the twelfth century by the Augustinian canon communities that served all three, plus St. Mary of Mount Sion, see Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 5, 74. 126 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 104. 127 Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 44–​46.

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of Easter week honoring Christ’s Passion in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher that sheltered the sites of his crucifixion and resurrection.128 As the descriptions of the Palm Sunday processions in the Anastasis Typikon and Barletta ordinal reveal about the liturgy’s development in the twelfth century, both the eastern and western liturgies in Jerusalem stopped at three of the four buildings depicted on the Baltimore beakers, with the Barletta ordinal adding the Templum Domini. Yet the question remains about the nature of these practices in the thirteenth century when these beakers were probably made. I have not yet been able to determine whether, where, or which of the Christian groups were able to conduct their rites under Muslim rule. Brian Catlos argued that even in times of conflict, religious sites honored by Christians, Jews, and Muslims had flexible regulations that allowed access by appropriately pious individuals of another sect.129 Molly Linder pointed to truncated Latin Palm Sunday rituals under the post-​1187 Muslim powers.130 Niccolò of Poggibonsi observed that all the later Latin processions occurred inside the city walls, yet, at least until the mid-​fourteenth century, Armenian Christians could carry out the full procession, including entering at the Golden Gate, so perhaps other Christians could join them.131 The liturgical text of the Barletta ordinal suggests that the Palm Sunday processions, though intended originally for Jerusalem, were not conducted only there. The Barletta ordinal represents the preservation of liturgies from Jerusalem away from the holy city and means by which they could be returned there in a process of translation to which the beakers may relate. These Palm Sunday liturgies became known by a wider Christian audience as they were copied and altered for new locations.132 Certainly some monastic institutions after the Ayyubids’ takeover around the Levant received Eastern Christian clerics as refugees, and they may have brought knowledge of and interest in the Jerusalem liturgies with them. For instance, soon after 1187, a small group of Melkite Orthodox monks heading to seek shelter at Mar Saba were attacked as they traveled in the desert.133 Mar Musa al-​Habashi monastery in 1 28 Fols. 81v–​89r in Kohler, “Un ritual et un bréviaire du Saint-​Sépulcre,” 414–​424. 129 Brian A. Catlos, Muslims of Medieval Latin Christendom, c. 1050–​1614 (Cambridge, United Kingdom: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 154–​156. 130 Linder, “Topography,” 93. 131 Ibid. 132 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 31. 133 Andrew Jotischky, “Greek Orthodox and Latin Monasticism around Mar Saba under Crusader Rule,” in The Sabaite Heritage in the Orthodox Church from the Fifth Century to the Present, ed. Joseph Patrich, Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta (Leuven: Uitgeverij Peeters en Departement Oosterse Studies, 2001), 85.

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Syria received monastic refugees from Jerusalem in 1187, influencing not only their liturgies but their manner of looking to Jerusalem.134 Dondi asserted that later and more distant manuscripts, even some composed in fifteenth-​century Europe, also preserved the liturgical rituals of the Holy Sepulcher, manifesting a desire to maintain the past traditions and glory of the holy city.135 One final feature on the beakers supports a Palm Sunday liturgical connection for their original owner. I initially considered the painted plants as filler, either because of the painter’s horror vacui or simply to separate the architecture from the figures, but they lack repetition and regular patterning (Figures 3.2 to 3.9). I suggest instead that they are an essential identifying feature of the Palm Sunday event meant to allude to the blessing of the palm fronds and olive branches (“Benedictio ramos palmorum et oliuarum” as stated in the Barletta ordinal).136 The thirteenth-​century Armenian Haghpat Gospel book has trees remarkably similar to the beakers’ plants with leaves applied in a regular, painterly fashion from top to bottom (Figure 3.16).137 The evenly-​ spaced green oblong leaves emerge from a smooth central brown branch in this book and the beaker and, I argue, seem to represent olive trees. Many types of olive tree have existed for centuries. Some are more bushlike, with leaves that start on branches lower to the ground, as on the beakers. For example, Arbequina olive trees grow low to the ground and, although now named for a locale in Catalonia, they were introduced there from the Levant in the seventeenth century.138 Further enhancing the idea that the beakers’ plants signal a springtime procession is the fact that they seem to have olive fruit clusters at the ends. Given that olive trees blossom and produce fruits in spring, their depiction here likely alludes to spring and to the general annual timing of Palm Sunday. We see yellow and brown flecks of color on the ends of the beakers’ plants as well (see Figures 3.2 and 3.9). Some olives do have a yellow-​green and red-​brown cast on the same plant, as in the Arbequina type, which starts out yellow-​green and turns browner with ripening. The meaningful presence of the proposed olive trees thus provides an additional support for the argument that these beakers refer to Palm Sunday in Jerusalem. 1 34 Dodd, Frescoes of Mar Musa, 100. 135 Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 68. 136 In Kohler, “Un ritual et un bréviaire du Saint-​Sépulcre,” 395. See Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 196, 199. 137 For comparison, the Entry scene of the Melisende Psalter (Figure 2.17) shows a representation of a traditional palm tree with dark bark, topped by a set of long, spiky leaves that bend downward to either side, see Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 137–​163. 138 See Wikipedia contributors, “Arbequina,” https://​en.wikipe​dia.org/​wiki/​Arbequ​ina, accessed 22 June 2021.

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The Material, Context, and Inscriptions

The designation of the Walters’ beakers as “Islamic” in the museum label derives from the fact that this type of glassware was found mainly in the lands of Syria or Egypt in which Islam had been the predominant religious and cultural force since the Arab conquests of the seventh century.139 This complicated Christian imagery on the beakers contradicts scholars’ assumptions that this type of enameled and gilded glass was an art form only created by Islamic artists or for an Islamic audience. A deeper review of the political situation explains the multicultural environment in which such glassware with Christian imagery and Arabic inscriptions could have been created.140 Scholars assume that expertise in handling the necessary resources of this painted glassware type would have taken time to develop in any location because the production was complex.141 First the artist heated the glass and shaped the vessel. After it cooled, he applied gilt or enamel—​powdered gold or opaque colored glass mixed with an oily substance—​using a reed pen or brush.142 In theory, the colors and gilding were applied one at a time and then the object was heated repeatedly at different temperatures to affix them to the surface of the glass. Stefano Carboni noted that, to save time and fuel, glassmakers may have applied the colors all at once using a procedure that did not allow them to run into one another, such as using a particular temperature or adding a border material.143 On the beakers, the two bands of color behind the inscriptions were applied to the inner surface of the glass, perhaps to ensure separation of the colors from the inscription applied on the outside surface (Figure 3.1). The designs were painted on the outside, often with fine detail and typically with some thickness of the raised paint or gilding still tangible even today. The gilding on the exterior seems to have been applied last, sometimes on the coloring and sometimes directly on the glass surface (see Figure 3.3). The fair state of the beakers’ gilding suggests that they were carefully guarded as luxury items.144

1 39 See Atil, Renaissance of Islam, 118, 126–​127. 140 About the production of crafts by artisans and for clientele not divided on confessional lines in this era, see Georgopoulou, “The material culture,” 95. 141 Compare Ruth E. Jackson-​Tal and Oren Tal, “Crusader Glass in Context: The Destruction of Arsur (Apollonia-​Arsuf, Israel), April 1265,” Journal of Glass Studies 55 (2013): 90–​91. 142 Henderson and Allan, “Enamels,” 168–​169. 143 Carboni, “Islamic Glassworking,” 203. Glass was heated at about 850 degrees Celsius, and the enamels from about 650 to 750 degrees, Henderson and Allan, “Enamels,” 169. 144 See Carboni, “Islamic Glassworking,” 203.

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What has not been explored thoroughly until now is whether the beakers could have been made at a Frankish Christian site in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. Excavations continue to discover glassware at different areas of the thirteenth-​century Latin Kingdom.145 At the castles of Montfort and Atlit, an abundance of glass finds consist only of simpler types with occasional gilded and enameled pieces to suggest that the latter glass was uncommon. Excavations at Apollonia (also known as Arsuf and Arsur) revealed a cache of diverse types of plain and luxury glass in a cesspit used for refuse by the Hospitaller knights and defenders of the city’s castle.146 These remains are important because they are the largest single collection of glass at a crusader castle in the Levant and because we have a precise terminus ante quem of late April 1265 when the castle was besieged by the Mamluks under the command of Sultan Al-​Malik al-​Zahir Rukn al-​Din al-​Salihi Baybars al-​Bunduqdari (or Baybars, r. 1260–​77).147 Only one of these has an inscription band near the top with a blue ground and cursive Arabic writing with red outlines that hearkens in style and content to that of the Walters beakers, affirming again the relative rarity of this type of glass and likelihood that it was not made there.148 The great variety of vessels for dining found in the cesspit at Apollonia suggests that the crusaders imported glass instead of making it themselves.149 These remains overall showed that glass consumption was high in the region although did not reveal where the glass was produced.150 Because there is insufficient evidence to suggest that the beakers were produced in a Frankish Christian setting in the Latin Kingdom, we assume that they were made some distance from the city to which their imagery refers.151 145 See Na’ama Brosh, “Between East and West: Glass and Minor Arts in the Crusader Kingdom,” in Knights of the Holy Land: The Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, ed. Silvia Rozenberg (Jerusalem: The Israel Museum, 1999), 266–​271. 146 Jackson-​Tal and Tal, “Crusader Glass in Context,” 85–​87. 147 Ibid., 88. 148 The translation from its Arabic inscription is “the sultan, the king, the learned, the just,” held by the Israel Antiquities Authority, iaa inv. no. 2009–​1679, from ibid., 91–​92, fig. 97. The remains total more than 350 glass objects; half are pouring and drinking vessels. Most are colorless, with a few examples in light blue or purple. Four of the vessels are gilded and enameled, of which three are beakers with flared rims. These three are iaa inv. nos. 2009–​1675, –​1679, and –​1676, described and reproduced ibid., 91–​94, figs. 96–​98. Two of these have a painting style that is distinctly different from the Walters beakers: iaa inv. nos. 2009–​1675 and –​1676 have a dark blue background with bold floral and foliate motifs, stylized fleurs-​de-​lis, and fishes in gilding and red paint, ibid., 91–​94, figs. 96, 98. 149 Ibid., 94, 99–​100. 150 Ibid., 96–​99. 151 See ibid., 94–​95. Evidence of glass production of simpler sorts has appeared in excavations at a site in Somelaria, north of Acre, as well as in the area of the crusader market in

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The many more pieces of enameled and gilded glass found in Egypt and Syria indicate that these were the general locales of such production from the twelfth to fourteenth centuries. Localizations remain vague because scholars have not found convincing material or textual evidence to associate a style or workshop with a specific location or a precise religious background or affiliation.152 Carboni asserted that the Syrian region was the center of glassmaking before 1250. The first securely-​dated enameled and gilded glassware piece is a beaker made for Muslim Muʾizz al-​Din Sanjar Shah (r. 1180–​1209), a Jaziran atabeg under the Seljuks in the Mosul region (Iraq).153 The Christian imagery on the Walters beakers might suggest Aleppo as a place of origin. In the thirteenth century, that city had a glass marketplace and many Christian monasteries nearby in northern Syria.154 A number of glass fragments that feature architectural details came from Hama in western Syria.155 At the same time, artisans moved around, and craftsmen who were refugees from the Mongol invasions into Syria in 1259 could have moved to another city to continue their production.156 Eventually, the establishment of Cairo as the Muslim Mamluk capital in 1250 led to increasing glass production in Fustat, a zone just south of that city, where its many finds suggest it was another major place of production

1 52 153

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Jerusalem, suggesting that many sites around the Mediterranean region could have produced the simpler glass. Additionally, the Apollonia site uncovered undecorated, simple daily wares with occasional glass trails or patterning, ibid., 95. See also Gladys Davidson Weinberg, “A Glass Factory of Crusader Times in Northern Israel,” Annales de l’Association Internationale pour l’Histoire du Verre 10 (1985): 305–​316 and Na’ama Brosh, “Glass Objects from the Cardo and the Nea Church,” in Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem, Conducted by Nahman Avigad, 1969–​1982: The Cardo (Area x) and the Nea Church, (Areas D and T): Final Report, ed. Oren Gutfeld (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2012), 404–​416. Carboni, “Islamic Glassworking,” 203–​204. He noted Raqqa was a possible early site and Damascus appeared in some written sources as active into the fourteenth century, Carboni and Whitehouse, Glass of the Sultans, 204–​ 205. See also Henderson and Allan, “Enamels,” 168–​169. The sultan’s beaker was on loan to the Freer Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., object lts1985.1.170.8, see Carboni, “Islamic Glassworking,” 258 and Carboni and Whitehouse, Glass of the Sultans, 204–​205. See also The Freer Gallery of Art, “Beaker engraved with name and emblem of Sultan Sanjar Shah of Mosul (r. 1180–​1209),” https://​www.freer​sack​ler.si.edu/​obj​ect/​LTS1​985.1.170.8/​, accessed 23 July 2018. Georgopoulou, “Orientalism and Crusader Art,” 295–​297, 299–​301; Henderson and Allan, “Enamels,” 174; and Atil, Renaissance of Islam, 126. See Atil, Renaissance of Islam, 127 and Poul Jørgen Riis and Vagn Pouslon, Hama. Fouilles et Recherches de la Fondation Carlsberg, 1931–​1938. Les verreries et poteries medievales., vol. 4/​2 (Copenhagen: Kommission Hos Nationalmuseet, 1957), figs. 286–​287. Jacoby, “Society, Culture,” 110.

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by the mid-​thirteenth century.157 Medieval Fustat also was a multicultural center of Jewish, Christian, and Muslim inhabitants.158 One glass fragment purportedly found there displays a vine-​like tree with tapered green leaves that is analogous to those on the Walters beakers.159 Changes in style and subject matter of glassware do help scholars ascertain general dating and relative connections among thirteenth-​century glass objects. More lively scenes with varied polychromy and active figures were the norm in the thirteenth century.160 On the basis of comparison with dated pieces that also have dynamic decoration and include architecture and figures, Carboni and Ward convincingly dated the two Walters beakers to the mid-​ thirteenth century though did not determine a place of production given that it was a time of transition in both glass production and geopolitics in Syria and Egypt.161 The more recent history of the beakers does point to Egypt: Baltimore’s Henry Walters bought them for his collection from a dealer in Egypt. Yet with no earlier provenance known, the origins of the beakers remain unsettled.162 157 Carboni, Glass from Islamic Lands, 323 and Carboni, “Islamic Glassworking,” 203–​205. See also Tanya Treptow, “A History of Excavations at Fustat,” in A Cosmopolitan City: Muslims, Christians, and Jews in Old Cairo, edited by Tasha Vorderstrasse and Tanya Treptow. Oriental Institute Museum Publications, 38 (Chicago: The University of Chicago, 2015), 99–​107. 158 See Tanya Treptow and Tasha Vorderstrasse, eds. A Cosmopolitan City: Muslims, Christians, and Jews in Old Cairo, Oriental Institute Museum Publications, vol. 38 (Chicago: The University of Chicago, 2015). 159 Oxford, Ashmolean Museum, Fragment G. 66, see Henderson and Allan, “Enamels,” 170, 172 and fig. 172. 160 The trend was to use less polychromy, more stylized painting styles, less figures, and more vegetal and decorative patterns as the fourteenth century progressed. See Carboni, Glass from Islamic Lands, 323–​324 and Atil, Renaissance of Islam, 118–​123. 161 Rachel Ward, “Introduction,” in Gilded and Enamelled Glass from the Middle East, ed. Rachel Ward (London: British Museum Press, 1998), ix–​xii and Carboni, Glass from Islamic Lands, 323–​325. See also Henderson and Allan, “Enamels,” 172. In 1941, Carl Johann Lamm attributed different glass products to workshops in Raqqa, Aleppo, and Damascus, Syria based on style. See Carl Johan Lamm, Oriental Glass of Mediaeval Date Found in Sweden and the Early History of Lustre-​Painting, Kungl. Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademiens Handlingar (Stockholm: Wahlstrom & Widstrand, 1941). Carboni, Georgopoulou, and others have more recently discounted his methods as speculative, see Carboni, “Islamic Glassworking,” 204; Georgopoulou, “Orientalism and Crusader Art,” 299–​301; and George T. Scanlon, “Lamm’s classification and archaeology,” in Gilded and Enamelled Glass from the Middle East, ed. Rachel Ward (London: British Museum Press, 1998), 27–​29. See also Georgopoulou, “The material culture,” 98–​99 and Henderson and Allan, “Enamels,” 170. 162 See Georgopoulou, “The material culture,” 98. Atil did present the beakers as being a part of Mamluk culture, Atil, Renaissance of Islam, 125–​127.

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If indeed the beakers did derive from a predominantly Islamic context, examining the political situation is relevant to understand how such Christian imagery would have been created in that environment. The mid-​thirteenth-​ century timing of the beakers’ creation occurred when there was a transition from the Ayyubid to the Mamluk realm in the Levant. The diverse principalities of the Ayyubid realm were loosely united under Salah al-​Din, based in Cairo from 1174 until 1193. The Mamluks, who were former Turkic slaves and converts to Sunni Islam, took control from Ayyubid successors, first in Egypt in 1250 and then in Syria, Palestine, and the Hejaz (the western region of the Arabian peninsula containing the holy cities of Mecca and Medina) by 1260. In the period between the Khwarazmian (1244) and Mongol raids (1247–​60) in the region, seven different Ayyubid rulers and one Mamluk sultan controlled Jerusalem, jostling for power and largely supervising the city from Cairo.163 Within that context of Mamluk expansion from the west, the Mongols, who were primarily shamanist and Buddhist, attacked Syria from the east in 1244, making the Syrian region a vassal state by 1251. In 1258, the Mongols overthrew the Islamic caliph in Baghdad, the presumptive center of Islam since 750. By that point the invading Mongols had displaced many Muslims and Christians, who fled to areas under Muslim rule in Palestine and Egypt.164 Islam nevertheless remained prevalent in the region under the intermittently tolerant Mongols. Given that the Walters beakers seem to have been created when the Mongols were actively invading the Levantine region c. 1260, the inscriptions may have had a particular meaning.165 The partially abraded Arabic inscription at the top of the large beaker reads: “Glory to our lord the sultan, the royal, the diligent, the wise, the defender, the protector of frontiers, the fortified by God, the triumphant” (Figures 3.2 to 3.5).166 The inscription on the small beaker is more fragmentary, with only the words “Glory to … our lord, the sultan, the royal …” legible today (Figures 3.6 to 3.9).167 These inscriptions do not indicate a specific 163 Lyons and Lyons, Ayyubids, Mamlukes and Crusaders (2), 2, 60. See also Hillenbrand, The Crusades, 222 and Jackson, “The Crusades of 1239–​41,” 32–​60. 164 Some Christians did help the Mongols in the hopes of support in the region, although they found that the Mongols persecuted their conquered peoples or forced them into military service. When the Mongols were overcome, the native population turned on Christians, seeing them as having colluded with the enemy. Parker stated that especially Assyrian Christians, and some Syrian Orthodox and Melkites, were in the Mongol camp. See Parker, “The Indigenous Christians,” 62–​69. One Christian group fled Damascus for Frankish Tyre in advance of Mongols, returning several months later, ibid., 63, 73. 165 See Georgopoulou, “Orientalism and Crusader Art,” 291–​292. 166 This translation from Carswell, “Baltimore beakers,” 61. 167 This translation from ibid.

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time or patron for these beakers; rather, using typically generic verbiage and characteristic nashkh script, they laud the sultan as a wise protector but give us no help in placing the pieces.168 It is important to note that the Arabic language of the beakers’ inscriptions does not exclude an explicit Christian connection. Indeed the expanding use of Arabic in the thirteenth century requires us to widen the search for possible makers and users. Three key issues show the complexity of cultural interactions in the region in the mid-​thirteenth century. The first is that the words on the larger beaker laud the unnamed sultan as a wise protector blessed by God. “Sultan” was a specific Arabic term for a sovereign in the Ayyubid and Mamluk realms, which suggests that the work was made in a region not under the control of the Mongols Möngke Khan (r. 1251–​59) or Kublai Khan (r. 1260–​94), who held the title “Great Khan.”169 In other words, the beaker inscription hints that it was produced in a region in which the political leader was a Muslim sultan, not a khan, as southern Syria and Egypt remained and as northern Syria was after 1260. The various Christian communities were living under or working closely with Muslim leaders in the Levant through the middle of the thirteenth century. Like the Muslim population, the sizeable Eastern Christian minority understood the sultans as their overlords and protectors. An example appears in the Coptic Christian History of the Patriarchs of Egypt. When the text recounts their Coptic history (originally in Arabic), it regularly mentions the name of the sultan himself or just that title and follows it with the phrase “May God empower his victory!”170 Muslim leaders’ tolerance for their Christian subjects (with only occasional periods of persecution of Christians up to the mid-​thirteenth century) was based on the dhimmi status of Christians, who paid tribute and accepted the authority of the Muslim rulers in order to be protected as fellow People of the Book.171 Many 168 I have not discovered any systematic study of inscriptions on glass apart from glass lamps, which had a particular type of inscription, to help discern a trend of place or time among them, see Carboni, “Islamic Glassworking,” 203. 169 Their vast realm was divided into smaller regions: Mongolia, the Golden Horde, and the Ilkhanate in the southwest. Northern Syria was under the control of Genghis Khan’s grandson Hulagu (r. 1256–​65), who took the title Ilkhan and whose region largely functioned independently from 1256 to 1335. The Mongols embraced Islam as their main faith, and hence the Arabic language, by the end of the thirteenth century. 170 See Sawirus ibn al-​Muḳaffaʾ, History of the Patriarchs of the Egyptian Church, known as the History of the Holy Church, trans. Antoine Khater and O. H. E. Khs-​Burmester, vol. 4/​ 2, Publications de la Société d’Archéologie Copte, Textes et Documents (Cairo: L’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 1974), 233. 171 Bat Ye’or, The Decline of Eastern Christianity under Islam. From Jihad to Dhimmitude. Seventh-​Twentieth Century, trans. Miriam Kochan and David Littman (Madison and

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Christians lived a comfortable, if at times restricted, existence that was in fact dependent on the Muslim rule.172 In Egypt and Syria, a literate and numerate educated class of Christians populated the ranks of the Ayyubid and then Mamluk administrations as scribes and financial counselors.173 In addition, many Eastern Christian churches and monasteries had existed in the Levant for centuries, practicing their faith and gathering in urban and rural settings. The History of the Patriarchs of Egypt expressed the good will between the Muslim majority and the Christians in thirteenth-​century Egypt. It states: And the Christians …, during all this period, were (living) with the Muslims … in great equity and considerable respect and common good-​ feeling, and may God—​praised be He!—​preserve their days and make victorious their Sultan.174 Second, as the museum label for the beaker shows, some scholars seem to assume that because the inscription lauds a Muslim sultan in Arabic, a Muslim Arab must have been involved in its production. Yet by the thirteenth century, Arabic was the everyday language of most indigenous Levantine individuals, including members of diverse Christian confessions. The Copts in Egypt and the Melkites in Syria, whose liturgical languages were Coptic and Syriac respectively, produced numerous translations into Arabic and new compositions as well.175 Among many examples are a mid-​thirteenth-​century Coptic-​ Arabic New Testament from Cairo and twelfth-​century paintings from Mar Musa monastery in Syria with multilingual inscriptions.176 Indeed the period of the twelfth–​thirteenth centuries has been called the Coptic and Syriac

London: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press and Associated University Presses, 1996), 40–​41, 69, 136. On dhimmitude, or a long-​term system of this relationship, see ibid., 220–​265. 172 All Christians in Islamic lands were required to pay a special tax and to follow certain living and clothing guidelines, see Hunt, “The Christian-​Muslim relations in painting,” 112–​113. 173 Ibid. 174 See al-​Mukaffaʾ, History of the Patriarchs (2), 4/​2, 149–​151. 175 Either to entice more local people into their faith or to compete more directly with the Islamic faith and theology, see Parker, “The Indigenous Christians,” 88–​90 and Hunt, “The Christian-​Muslim relations in painting,” 115. 176 On Paris, Institut Catholique, ms copte-​arabe 1/​Cairo, Coptic Museum Bibl. 94, made in Cairo c. 1249–​50, in Bohairic Coptic with a parallel Arabic text, see Hunt, “The Christian-​ Muslim relations in painting,” 125–​126. On Mar Musa, see Dodd, Frescoes of Mar Musa, 156–​179.

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Golden Ages for their burst of Arabic literary and artistic activity.177 Moreover, in the thirteenth-​century communities of the Latin Kingdom such as Acre, the Franks predominantly used their own European languages but also had a working knowledge of Arabic.178 A third point about cultural interaction is that the inclusion on the beakers of the inscription about defending and protecting frontiers can imply Islamic or Christian owners.179 In this turbulent political context, all of the population had a tenuous existence in the region and needed protection.180 In the Mongols’ assault on Aleppo, much of the population, which was Muslim and Christian, was massacred or imprisoned, leading to the city’s fall by 24 January 1260.181 George Elmacin (also known as Ibn al-​ʿAmid, d. 1273), a Coptic Christian historian, told how he and other scribes fled Damascus and went to Tyre ahead of the Mongols, who took Damascus in March 1260.182 In addition to Eastern Christians, Latin Franks in the Levant also cooperated with Mamluks to a point to combat the Mongols.183 As Peter Jackson argued, the Franks had reason to ally themselves more with the collaborative Mamluks than with the uncompromising Mongols.184 The thirteenth-​century extension

177 Hunt, “The Christian-​Muslim relations in painting,” 112, 115 and Parker, “The Indigenous Christians,” 19–​20. 178 Jacoby, “Society, Culture,” 107–​108. 179 Generally scholars are in agreement that the rule of Imad ad-​Din Zengi of Mosul (r. 1127–​ 46) marked when Muslim writers regularly presented war against crusaders as battle over land as much as over religion, although scholars do not agree when Jerusalem became a focus, see Helen J. Nicholson, “Muslim reactions to the crusades,” in Palgrave advances in the crusades, ed. Helen J. Nicholson (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 274. On titulature developing in the twelfth century as a part of anti-​crusader warfare, see ibid., who cited Yasser Tabbaa, “Monuments with a Message: Propagation of Jihād under Nūr A-​Dīn,” in The Meeting of Two Worlds. Cultural Exchange between East and West during the Period of the Crusades, ed. Vladimir P. Goss, Studies in Medieval Culture (Kalamazoo, Michigan: Medieval Institute Publications, 1986), 223–​240. Carole Hillenbrand discussed how ruler titles from the early thirteenth century refer to jihad in particular, Hillenbrand, The Crusades, 207, 211. See also Cobb, The Race for Paradise, 276. 180 Frankish sources expressed their perception of the hostile power of the Mongol leader Hulagu, who, although he had among his retinue Christians such as Doquz Khatun (his chief wife) and then-​General Kitbugha, treated all enemies harshly, Peter Jackson, “The Crisis in the Holy Land in 1260,” The English Historical Review 95, no. 376 (1980): 487. On the Christian Nestorian traditions in Mongol lands and how westerners perceived them, see Jackson, The Mongols and the West, 97–​105, 119–​120, 138–​142, 173–​177. 181 See Jackson, The Mongols and the West, 116. 182 Jackson, “The Crisis in the Holy Land,” 490–​491. 183 Ibid., 502–​503. 184 Ibid., 481–​483.

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of William of Tyre’s chronicle of the Holy Land, known as the Rothelin Continuation (dating to approximately 1229–​ 61), made clear how some Franks feared the Mongols and saw them not as Christian liberators but as a threat to Christians and Muslims alike.185 Because the Franks recognized the Mongol threat, their noble council allowed the Mamluks to pass through the Latin Kingdom to fight the enemy from the east, even though concerns about their own weakness made them avoid direct involvement.186 Jackson noted that the Franks missed an opportunity to insert themselves into the vacuum of power once the Mongols retreated in 1260.187 After that year, the Franks and Mamluks were in regular contact to address issues regarding prisoners, fortifications, food supplies, and trade routes.188 The Mongols conducted raids into Jerusalem in 1260;189 they likely remained the only authority in the region until the Mamluks stopped their westward movement in a battle at ʿAyn Jalut (Israel) in September 1260.190 Additional evidence of the Mamluk concern for Jerusalem was the fact that Baybars, as a new sultan, had work done on the Dome of the Rock, which was in a decrepit state.191 With the Mamluks entering the Levant in part to combat the Mongols, the Christian and Muslim population may have seen the monotheistic Mamluks in particular as protectors from the Mongols.192

185 Peter Thorau, The Lion of Egypt. Sultan Baybars I and the Near East in the Thirteenth Century, trans. P. M. Holt, English translation of German 1987 edition (London and New York: Longman, 1992), 70, 74n65. The concern about the Tartars or Mongols led to their threat in Europe being discussed at the First Council of Lyons and for Pope Innocent iv (1243–​54) to send three sets of envoys to the Mongol court, see Jackson, The Mongols and the West, 87–​97, 165. See also Peter W. Edbury, “New Perspectives on the Old French Continuations of William of Tyre,” Crusades, 9 (2016), 119–​126. 186 Jackson, “The Crisis in the Holy Land,” 502–​506 and Thorau, The Lion of Egypt, 76. On the split between the barons and military orders, see Jackson, The Mongols and the West, 117–​118. On the choices that they had to make in 1260, see ibid., 119–​122. 187 Jackson, “The Crisis in the Holy Land,” 510–​511 and Jackson, The Mongols and the West, 118–​122, 177. 188 Thorau, The Lion of Egypt, 142–​150. See also Hillenbrand, The Crusades, 27–​29. 189 Jackson, “The Crisis in the Holy Land,” 491. 190 Reuven Amitai, “Mongol Raids into Palestine (ad 1260 and 1300),” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society (1987): 236–​ 242. Baybars led the Mamluks against the Mongols in September of 1260 at ʿAyn Jalut, after which he seized power in Egypt and solidified his position in Syria, see Hillenbrand, The Crusades, 227. On the Mongols and the Franks, see also Jackson, The Mongols and the West, 174. 191 Thorau, The Lion of Egypt, 100. 192 Amitai, “Mongol Raids ” 236–​242. On Het’um or Hayton of Gorigos, a Christian Armenian writing “La Flor des Estoires de la Terre d’Orient” in France in 1307, see Jackson, “The Crisis

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The changing situation in the Levant by the fourth quarter of the thirteenth century leads me to suggest that the mention on the beakers of the sultan as a protector of borders was a grateful Christian reference to Mamluk defense—​ of Jerusalem in particular against the Mongols right around 1260—​before the situation became increasingly difficult for the region’s Eastern and Latin Christians. Beginning in the mid-​1260s, Sultan Baybars’s interactions with the Franks became more belligerent as he made efforts to expand into the Latin Kingdom.193 The Franks’ noncompliance with prisoner exchanges and raids on villages outside Acre in 1264 provided justification for Baybars’ campaigns and helped garner support from the local population against the Franks.194 For the Eastern Christians, the later thirteenth century marked the end of the Coptic and Syriac “Golden Ages.”195 This timing would put the beakers’ production just before the relative security, success, and cultural flowering of the Eastern Christians under Muslim rule began to decline. It was within this setting of the complex Levant that the Walters beakers represent a blurring of the borders of Islam, represented in the material and inscriptions, and of Christianity, seen in the imagery. 3.5

Conclusions

This chapter has argued that the architecture, figures, and plants on the two Baltimore beakers can be explained as liturgical and topographical referents, suggesting that the multidenominational Palm Sunday liturgy of the twelfth century was known by the beakers’ artist or patron and was perhaps still in use in thirteenth-​century Jerusalem or beyond (Figures 3.1 to 3.9).196 The care given to the beakers’ depiction of four inaccessible Christian holy sites seems to mark them as particularly prized and poignant evocations of the liturgical rituals for in the Holy Land,” 484–​485. Despite an Armenian-​Mongol alliance, many Christians in Damascus fled in advance of the Mongols’ approach. After Damascus was ceded to the Mongols, the Christian Mongol General Kitbugha issued a letter of protection for those of all faiths in the city, see Thorau, The Lion of Egypt, 67–​68. 193 Lyons and Lyons, Ayyubids, Mamlukes and Crusaders (2), 2, xi. 194 Thorau, The Lion of Egypt, 149–​150. Out of thirty-​eight Mamluk campaigns into Syria, twenty-​one were against the Franks, Hillenbrand, The Crusades, 227. Additionally, the outreach from the Mongol court to western leaders in Europe and the Levant was also a threat to the Mamluks, Jackson, The Mongols and the West, 165–​168. 195 Parker, “The Indigenous Christians,” 72–​73. See also Hillenbrand, The Crusades, 243–​246. 196 Shagrir suggested that the Barletta ordinal reflected actual practice, see Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 71–​72.

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Palm Sunday that commemorated biblical events. In light of the complex geopolitical climate at that time, considering who was the beakers’ original owner and what the beakers and their imagery of an ideal Christianized holy city signified for him in Islamic lands is the last piece of the puzzle. The beakers reflected a level of courtly refinement that medieval elite of all types might have been wishing to reach. David Jacoby asserted that modern scholars create rigid mental molds and artificial barriers, which obscure the dynamics of artistic creation and their connection with the economics of artistic production … .There can be no doubt that both in Frankish territories and in neighboring Muslim countries the use of ‘Islamic’ techniques, visual vocabulary, iconographic formulas, and styles was not restricted to Muslims and was shared by indigenous Christian counterparts.197 As luxury items, these glass beakers were predisposed to cross the cultural boundaries of the medieval Levant.198 Along with so-​called Islamic metalware with Christian themes (discussed in the next chapter), the material and aesthetic qualities of enameled glass pieces seemed to attract wealthy patrons, regardless of background, to collect them. Georgopoulou noted that the marketplace was an equalizer and that aesthetic attraction spawned trade across those cultures.199 The two glass beakers from the Walters seem to be a case in point, reflecting the artistic, cultural, and economic interaction of that heterogeneous society and its varied religious and cultural communities. The beakers’ scenes reflect a knowledge of both Eastern Orthodox and Latin Christian traditions, which melded into the Jerusalem Palm Sunday liturgy of the twelfth century. Regarding the drama and music used in the reenactment of Holy Week rituals, Shagrir observed that liturgical spectacles used sensory elements both to evoke the past and to bring the redemption to which they alluded into the present and future.200 In adopting some of the preexisting Christian rituals of Jerusalem, which were codified in the Orthodox Anastasis Typikon and reformulated in the Latin Barletta ordinal, the twelfth-​century Latin Franks were (perhaps unwittingly) approaching their stewardship of the holy city in an inclusive fashion. The importance of the shared Palm Sunday feast day meant that an audience of diverse Christian groups would 1 97 198 199 200

Jacoby, “Society, Culture,” 109. Georgopoulou, “Orientalism and Crusader Art,” 292–​293. Ibid., 293–​295. Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 62.

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have attended the processions.201 For the distribution of the Holy Fire, Shagrir underscored the ordinal’s mention of the varied public—​“multitudo autem plebis ibi ex diversis nationibus coadunate.”202 She saw this particular ritual as evidence of the widespread audience for Holy Week events and of “a considerable religious and cultural reciprocity between Latins and non-​Catholic Christians … in the twelfth century.”203 Even though the Latin Christians did assume custody of most Christian sites in Jerusalem in the twelfth century, they largely left the Orthodox groups alone in their own communities and supported their parochial and regional leadership.204 Shagrir also noted the evidence for shared processions accommodating Latin and Greek and Syrian Orthodox Christians in twelfth-​century Jerusalem: “enterprises of shared ecclesiastical and civic liturgy … unique in the contemporary Christian world.”205 Georgopoulou suggested that the example of the beakers in particular helps us probe the assumption of a dichotomy of cultures in conflict.206 Christopher MacEvitt argued for processes of social interaction, a multiplicity of liturgies, and a diversity of languages under the crusading Franks in twelfth-​century Syria and Palestine. Their system created some conflict, but for the most part allowed for religious communities to cohabit the region.207 Little is known about the Christian liturgies conducted in thirteenth-​ century Jerusalem, although the evidence of liturgical books produced in that century—​and these beakers—​suggests that the shared liturgies continued to exist notionally into the thirteenth century even if they were not practiced in reality or, at least, in their entirety. The short-​lived but brutal invasion of the Khwarazmian Turks in July 1244 had a devastating impact on all Christians in the Levant. The invaders entered the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, slaughtered Armenian, Latin, Syrian, and Greek priests (including the Orthodox patriarch Athanasius ii), and ransacked the church.208 This attack spurred an exodus of 2 01 See ibid., 60. 202 See ibid., 74. See also fol. 87r in the ordinal, in Kohler, “Un ritual et un bréviaire du Saint-​ Sépulcre,” 421. 203 Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 76. 204 Jotischky, “Greek Orthodox and Latin Monasticism,” 91–​92. 205 Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 62. Shagrir’s work on naming practices in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem also suggested that one Christian society was not closed to the other and that life in the Levant was more mixed than once assumed. See ibid., 76–​77 and Iris Shagrir, Naming Patterns in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem (Oxford: Unit for Prosopographical Research, Linacre College, 2003), 92–​96. 206 See Georgopoulou, “Orientalism and Crusader Art,” 289–​321. 207 See MacEvitt, The Crusades, 2–​3, 120. 208 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 32. See also Hillenbrand, The Crusades, 222.

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many Christians and the abandonment of churches and monasteries of diverse Christian confessions, leaving Jerusalem a predominantly Muslim city.209 In the context of the tumultuous mid-​thirteenth-​century Levant, one function of the beakers may have been to conjure an ideal remembrance and even a hoped-​for return of the sites of Jerusalem to Christian control under the auspices of the unnamed sultan cited in the inscription on the large beaker. The Mamluks were welcomed because they hindered the advance of the Mongols, but Eastern Christians and Latin Franks did not yet know that their situation would eventually worsen under their new overlords.210 After the mid-​ thirteenth century, the Christians would be increasingly attacked, disenfranchised, and marginalized. They became a minority in the Mamluk empire by the end of the fourteenth century, but in the mid-​thirteenth century the situation was still in flux.211 In this complicated mid-​thirteenth-​century environment, one possible patron of the beakers could have been an Eastern Christian cleric who knew the Arabic language and had once experienced or heard second-​hand of the Palm Sunday liturgy at the depicted Jerusalem sites.212 This patron may have wanted to emphasize the diversity of Christian groups in Jerusalem through the images of clerics in a variety of vestments. This case is similar to an icon from the Coptic/​Syrian Orthodox monastery called Deir al-​Surian in Egypt that had comparable evocations of Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulcher.213 Hunt showed that even though this monastery was in Egypt’s western desert, it invoked its close ties to Jerusalem through this icon.214 It is tempting to imagine the pair

209 Parker, “The Indigenous Christians,” 44–​47. The city then had lost much of its Muslim population in 1219 when the fortifications were torn down, Hillenbrand, The Crusades, 26, 215–​216. 210 See Donald P. Little, “Coptic Conversion to Islam under the Bahrī Mamluks, 692–​755/​ 1293–​1354,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London 39, no. 3 (1976): 552–​569. 211 See Ibid., 553–​569 and Parker, “The Indigenous Christians,” 72. 212 Although Georgopoulou suggests (Georgopoulou, “The material culture,” 99) that a lack of a specific name in the inscription might mean that it was made for a general market, I argue that the specificity of the imagery makes it much more likely that it was a special commission. 213 Hunt argued that there was a common Christian-​Muslim illustrative vocabulary in the eastern Mediterranean found in related wall paintings, manuscript illustration, and other media, Hunt, “The Christian-​Muslim relations in painting,” 131. 214 Lucy-​Anne Hunt, “Eternal Light and Life: A Thirteenth-​Century Icon from the Monastery of the Syrians, Egypt, and the Jerusalem Paschal Liturgy,” in Byzantium, Eastern Christendom and Islam: Art at the Crossroads of the Medieval Mediterranean, ed. Lucy-​ Anne Hunt (London: The Pindar Press, 1998), 152.

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of beakers, perhaps alongside a glass bottle decorated with other buildings related to Jerusalem feasts, on a table for display to special guests in a monastery that was geographically distant from Jerusalem but close to it in spirit, liturgy, and community. The possibility of a nonmonastic Frankish patron for the beakers who lived in the region for a time cannot be ruled out.215 Although Franks were only in charge in Jerusalem for a brief period in the thirteenth century, they continued to live in and around the Levant, including in their capital at Acre.216 Luxury objects were attractive to wealthy individuals across cultures, and the beakers’ inscriptions in Arabic might have added to its foreign allure.217 Latin outreach, perhaps carried on from Acre, occurred regularly and raises the possibility that the beakers could have been part of a diplomatic exchange.218 King Louis ix of France (r. 1226–​70) was resident in Acre from 1250 to 1254 with his court and a contingent of one hundred knights, all with their own retinues.219 There must have been an exchange of gifts, especially because King Louis was engaged in efforts to regain land and Christian prisoners. Another possible owner for the beakers was a pilgrim visiting Jerusalem—​ or wishing that he had. A related precedent to the beakers could have been the twelfth-​century historiated lintel of the Holy Sepulcher main (south) entrance, which also combined scenes of Christ’s life in Jerusalem with pilgrimage allusions to the contemporary city. Molly Linder argued that it showed 2 15 See MacEvitt, The Crusades, 121–​122. 216 See Jonathan Riley-​Smith, “The Crown of France and Acre, 1254–​1291,” in France and the Holy Land: Frankish Culture at the End of the Crusades, eds. Daniel H. Weiss and Lisa Mahoney, Parallax: Re-​visions of Culture and Society (Baltimore & London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), 45–​62. 217 Georgopoulou, “Orientalism and Crusader Art,” 317–​321. See, e.g., Boehm and Holcomb, Jerusalem. 1000–​1400, 217, regarding the Goblet of Charlemagne, Chartres, Musée des Beaux-​Arts, with Syrian glass of the twelfth century in a French thirteenth-​to fourteenth-​ century mount. 218 Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 247–​248. On gifts in the Levant across European, Byzantine, and Islamic cultures, see Anthony Cutler, “Everywhere and Nowhere: The Invisible Muslim and Christian Self-​Fashioning in the Culture of Outremer,” in France and the Holy Land: Frankish Culture at the End of the Crusades, eds. Daniel H. Weiss and Lisa Mahoney, Parallax: Re-​visions of Culture and Society (Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), 254–​259. On gifts in Mamluk culture, see Doris Behrens-​Abouseif, Practising Diplomacy in the Mamluk Sultanate: Gifts and Material Culture in the Medieval Islamic World (London: i.b. Tauris, 2014), 5–​6. 219 Riley–​Smith, “The Crown of France and Acre,” 46. See also David Jacoby, “Christian Pilgrimage to Sinai until the Late Fifteenth Century,” in Holy Image Hallowed Ground: Icons from Sinai, eds. Robert S. Nelson and Kristen M. Collins (Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2006), 82–​84.

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a topographical connection to places and visual details drawn from extraliturgical stories that figured in pilgrims’ practice.220 The patron might have bought the beakers as a reminder of holy sites that they had visited and of past (or possibly current) Christian rituals.221 Latin pilgrimage remained an active, albeit restricted, endeavor through the thirteenth century, so some pilgrims might have had an opportunity to purchase luxury glassware in the Holy Land.222 Acre took on an expanded function in acts of Frankish pilgrimage between 1191 and 1291, reproducing rituals of the holy city with alternative church stops and relics.223 In the Riccardiana Psalter, discussed in Chapter 2, specific details also referred to the actual Holy Land sites in ways that helped the thirteenth-​ century viewer conjure them when she could not be there to augment her imaginative devotions.224 Alternatively, Melkite Orthodox clergy regained some of their position in Jerusalem after the Muslim reconquest in 1187, making it easier for diverse Orthodox pilgrims, both ecclesiastical and secular, to gain access to the holy city, often with Acre as a transit point.225 For instance, Sava, youngest son of the king of Serbia and formerly a Mount Athos monk, went on pilgrimage to the Holy Land in 1229 and again in 1234–​35; afterwards he established a monastery in Acre, probably to give aid to pilgrims.226 The multidenominational and widespread nature of the Christian Palm Sunday rituals meant that the beakers’ references to Jerusalem would have been valid regardless of whether the owner was a pilgrim, an ecclesiastical leader, and/​or a monk, was of Roman Catholic or Melkite or Coptic Orthodox persuasion, or had actually visited the sites or knew of them only through liturgical or descriptive texts or rituals. By way of taste, touch, and action, the beakers may have reminded the owner of, and even been used for, the liturgical 2 20 Linder, “Topography,” 86–​89. 221 Georgopoulou emphasized the sites, although I suggest that the rituals were perhaps more important, compare Georgopoulou, “Orientalism and Crusader Art,” 315. On pilgrimage in the thirteenth century, see Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 118–​124, 174–​178, 273, 386–​393. 222 Folda, “Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre,” 161–​162. Folda emphasized that relative inaccessibility to Christian monuments was a problem for Latin Christian pilgrims to the Holy Land after 1187. Hence, little knowledge of the thirteenth-​century state of the holy city would have been available to anyone in Europe, leading them, as well as other readers, instead to rely on more descriptive pre-​1187 writings about the city, see Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 119–​124. 223 Jacoby, “Society, Culture,” 100–​101. 224 Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms 323. See also Fleck, “The Luxury Riccardiana Psalter,” 135–​160. 225 Jacoby, “Society, Culture,” 104–​105. 226 Ibid., 105.

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reenactment of Christ’s sacrifice at the mass. I assert that they functioned as specialized souvenirs to symbolize the liturgy, movement, and people involved in the depicted sites.227 A key feature of medieval liturgy was its reenactment of rituals and readings that commemorated special people, events, or places. The patron or artist may not even have visited the Dome of the Rock or Holy Sepulcher himself but, rather, learned about them from a liturgical text, pilgrim’s account, devotional guide, or a traveler passing through his community. Even if they were not used in a religious service, the beakers could have been a secular mirror to their liturgical counterpart of a chalice in the mass. The owner would have had a visual and tactile engagement with the holy sites shown on the beakers as he lifted them, rotated them to view the scenes, and drank from them.228 The repetitive nature of the act of drinking wine or water from the beakers would have enhanced the images’ role as reminders of biblical stories and places.229 The representations could thus have been an “ecumenical feature serving a political purpose,” that of supporting the Christians’ aspirations to control the sites of Christ’s life in the Holy Land once more.230 If they were not drinking vessels, another possibility is that the beakers served as reliquaries to contain some sacred substance transported from the Holy Land. From early Christian times, small vessels were used to convey “blessings”—​soil, oil, or some other material either emitted from or existing at a holy site—​that conveyed the sanctity of the site and reminded owners of their visits.231 An example contemporary with the beakers is the set of enameled-​glass pilgrim flasks now in Vienna dated c. 1275.232 Legends reported that they held

2 27 Compare Georgopoulou, “Orientalism and Crusader Art,” 315–​317. 228 See Wilken, “Christian Pilgrimage,” 132. 229 On such beakers laid out on a table as vessels from which to drink, see Carboni, Glass from Islamic Lands, 334. 230 Gustav Kühnel, “Palestinian Monasticism and Political Iconography,” in The Sabaite Heritage in the Orthodox Church from the Fifth Century to the Present, ed. Joseph Patrich, Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta (Leuven: Uitgeverij Peeters en Departement Oosterse Studies, 2001), 361. 231 See Cynthia Hahn, “Loca Sancta Souvenirs: Sealing the Pilgrim’s Experience,” in The Blessings of Pilgrimage, ed. Robert Ousterhout (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois, 1990), 85–​96. 232 For Vienna, Cathedral and Diocesan Museum, St. Stephen’s Collection, object L-​ 6: see Carboni and Whitehouse, Glass of the Sultans, 252–​253 and Düsseldorf Museum Kunstpalast, “Kunstwerk des Monats,” https://​www.smkp.de/​ausste​llun​gen/​arc​hiv/​ kunstw​erk-​des-​mon​ats/​2017/​febr​uar-​2017/​ (dated February 2017), accessed 24 July 2018. For Vienna, Cathedral and Diocesan Museum, St. Stephen’s Collection, object L-​5: see Dom Museum, Wien, https://​dommus​eum.at/​col​lect​ion/​syr​isch​e_​pi​lger​flas​che, accessed 24 March 2022; Boehm and Holcomb, Jerusalem. 1000–​1400, 56, fig. 23; and Carboni and

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earth from Bethlehem stained with blood of the Holy Innocents massacred by Herod as he sought out the Christ child. The richness of the glassware elevated the enclosed soil to the status of a prized devotional item and made them objects to observe and touch, protecting the base substance inside while delighting the eyes of viewers. Cynthia Hahn has discussed how reliquaries both hid and guarded the substance within, covering it with precious material and often with elaborate imagery.233 The beauty and artistry honored the saint or holy site, mediated the baseness of the relic itself, and constructed a spiritual meaning for the viewer. On the beakers, the scenes of the Holy Land and the liturgies to which they referred may have related explicitly to the substance within or may have acted as general reminders of the Holy Land and the lived experience of medieval Christians there. Moreover, as Hahn noted, a reliquary was not meant to be seen in isolation, rather, it was created to be a dynamic part of the chorus of saints, in company with other relics and reliquaries, representing the Church and its saints and their powers. [The reliquary] has been used, throughout its history, as an object to be carried and manipulated, displayed and presented.234 Georgopoulou called the beakers a relic of the Holy Land because of their Jerusalem imagery, although perhaps their contents also conferred a holy status upon them.235 Whether vessels to proffer liquid or to preserve relic material, the enameled Walters beakers and their representation of the four Jerusalem buildings are compelling reminders of rituals that a Christian might have known about from liturgical texts but never actually experienced. In a broader sense, the beakers commemorate the changing nature of Jerusalem’s stational worship through references to the architecture, the services, the community involvement, the Whitehouse, Glass of the Sultans, 249–​252. (Notes provided by the museum suggest that the object numbers were switched in Carboni and Whitehouse, Glass of the Sultans, 249–​253 and Boehm and Holcomb, Jerusalem. 1000–​1400, 56). On the related collection of treasures given by Duke Rudolf iv to the Cathedral in 1365, see Patrick Fiska, “Das älteste Reliquienverzeichnis von St. Stephan in Wien,” Mitteilungen des Instituts fuer Österreichische Geschichtsforschung miöeg 221, no. 2 (2013): 325–​351, esp. 350 (Items 228–​229). See also Arthur Saliger, Dom-​und Diözesanmuseum Wien, Sammlungskatalog Schriftenreihe des erzbischöflichen Dom-​und Diözesanmuseums Wien (Vienna: Dom-​ und Diözesanmuseums, 1987), 22–​24. 233 Cynthia Hahn, “What Do Reliquaries Do for Relics?,” Numen 57 (2010): 306, 310–​311. 2 34 Ibid., 290. 235 Georgopoulou, “Orientalism and Crusader Art,” 315–​317.

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leadership of clerics, and the city’s topography.236 As discussed in relation to the Riccardiana Psalter in Chapter 2, these associations lead to the question of how such recognizable references to Jerusalem’s holy sites affected their function on the objects and also served as reminders of a spiritual or an actual journey. The beaker scenes allowed the real or virtual pilgrim to conjure the lived presence of scripture and engage with the holy city through its buildings and liturgy, even when distant from Jerusalem.237 2 36 See Baldovin, Urban Character of Christian Worship, 85, 100. 237 See Coleman and Elsner, Pilgrimage: past and present, 87.

Chapter 4

A Multicultural View of Jerusalem on the Freer Canteen Another sumptuous object that offers a thought-​provoking set of images of Jerusalem is the mid-​thirteenth-​century canteen now at the Freer Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. (Figures 4.1 and 4.2).1 The Freer Canteen has long been seen as enigmatic, engendering many interpretations of its imagery, artist, patron, audience, function, meanings, and multicultural context in the thirteenth-​century Levant. Unlike the cases of the other artworks discussed in this book, abundant scholarship about the Freer Canteen exists already and will be differentiated from my own methodology throughout the chapter. As was the case for the artworks discussed in Chapters 2 and 3, the canteen’s manufacture and owner were likely distant from Jerusalem, with its sacred sites no longer available. My tactic of concentrating on the canteen’s specific geographical and architectural references to the Holy Land will add another dimension to its story. This chapter interrogates the object’s complex material, imagery, and form and assesses how the representation of Jerusalem and other sacred sites constitutes a spiritual connection for a Christian patron while showing inspiration from the dominant Islamic culture surrounding it. 4.1

“Islamic” Metalware in the Thirteenth Century: Material, Imagery, and Form

An initial understanding of the special nature of the Freer Canteen requires an overall description of its material, imagery, and form. The canteen is composed of seven pieces of brass inlaid with silver. The largest two pieces are molded to form the main convex obverse and flat reverse sides, with separate strips for the sides, spout, and handles soldered together (Figures 4.1 and 4.2).2 Two 1 Smithsonian Institution, Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10, H × W (overall): 45.2 × 36.7 cm (17 13/​16 × 14 7/​16 in.). For a general description of the object and presentation of its issues, see Esin Atil, W.T. Chase, and Paul Jett, Islamic Metalwork in the Freer Gallery of Art (Washington, D.C.: Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution, 1985), 124–​136. 2 Nuha N.N. Khoury, “Narratives of the Holy Land. Memory, Identity and Inverted Imagery in the Freer Basin and Canteen,” Orientations 29, no. 5 (1998): 63. See also Atil, Chase, and Jett, Islamic Metalwork, 125, 134. For a discussion of its structure, see Heather Ecker and Teresa

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | DOI:10.1163/9789004525894_006

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­f igure 4.1  Front (obverse) side of Freer Canteen, with Virgin and Child surrounded by scenes of life of Christ, Washington, D.C., Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10, c. 1260

curved handles flank the pouring spout, which is at a 45-​degree angle to the right when the central image on the obverse is upright in the viewer’s line of sight. The strainer inserted into the neck suggests that a liquid that might have contained impurities was to be poured from the vessel.3 The canteen measures approximately 17 13/​16 inches (45.2 cm) high and 14 7/​16 inches (36.7 cm) wide. Several scenes decorate the main obverse side.4 The visual focal point is the slightly concave roundel in the center, which displays the seated Virgin Mary with the Christ child in her lap (Figure 4.3). Around this image, three Fitzherbert, “The Freer canteen, reconsidered,” Ars Orientalis 42 (2012): 178–​180 and Atil, Chase, and Jett, Islamic Metalwork, 125. 3 See Atil, Chase, and Jett, Islamic Metalwork, 134. 4 Though the iconography of similar scenes may have been discussed in previous chapters, this chapter will discuss them fully in the event that a reader only consults one chapter at a time and to point out the details special to this object.

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­f igure 4.2  Back (reverse) side of the Freer Canteen, with standing saints, prophets, and ecclesiastics (exterior band) and mounted soldiers (internal band), Washington, D.C., Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10, c. 1260

scenes of the life of Christ are evenly spaced in counterclockwise order: the Nativity of Christ with the First Bath (directly under the spout) (Figure 4.4), the Presentation of Christ in the Temple (Figure 4.5), and Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem (Figure 4.6). Between the narrative scenes are medallions filled with floral and arabesque motifs. Several inscriptions are present in the designs; as I shall discuss below, their generic nature does not reveal specifics but will, along with the iconographic analysis, give a sense of the original context of the canteen. The canteen’s intricate front surface also contains a variety of smaller motifs. A band of foliage with intertwining human, plant, and animal forms in a fanciful animated script decorates the slightly rounded shoulder between the front and side of the vessel (Figure 4.1).5 This inscription is interspersed with three 5 See Atil, Chase, and Jett, Islamic Metalwork, 128.

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­f igure 4.3 Detail of Virgin and Child, Front (obverse) side of Freer Canteen, Washington, D.C., Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10, c. 1260

small roundels enclosing seated figures who hold a half-​moon shape in their hands. On the flat sides of the vessel, a band features thirty small roundels, connected by intertwined vines and containing individual figures who are mostly entertainers, musicians, and drinkers along with occasional animals (Figure 4.7).6 The pouring spout is attached in the middle of this band.7 The fine details and elaborate scrollwork in the background of every scene on the obverse mark this as an exceptional sample of craftsmanship.8 6 See Ibid., 129. 7 Ecker and Fitzherbert, “Freer canteen,” 178–​180. Note that Ecker and Fitzherbert question whether this strip is original to the piece because of the secular courtly themes different from the much of the vessel’s religious imagery and because of the cursive style of the inscription on the spout’s neck. It may well be that the band resulted from repairs to the vessel, although the common combination of religious and secular imagery is not a convincing reason for these to be of different production moments, as explained below. 8 For a technical analysis, see Laura T. Schneider, “The Freer Canteen,” Ars Orientalis. Freer Gallery of Art Fiftieth Anniversary Volume 9 (1973): 155 and Atil, Chase, and Jett, Islamic Metalwork, 134–​135. For a thorough description, see Eva Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork with Christian Images, Studies in Islamic Art and Architecture (Supplements to Muqarnas) (Leiden and New York: E.J. Brill, 1989), 19–​21.

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­f igure 4.4  Detail of Nativity of Christ, Washing of Christ Child, and Visitation of the Magi, Freer Canteen (Top right of front (obverse) side), Washington, D.C., Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10, c. 1260

­f igure 4.5  Detail of Presentation of Christ in the Temple, Freer Canteen (Top left of front (obverse) side), Washington, D.C., Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10, c. 1260

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­f igure 4.6  Detail of Entry of Christ into Jerusalem, Freer Canteen (Bottom center of front (obverse) side), Washington, D.C., Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10, c. 1260

­f igure 4.7  Detail of side, Freer Canteen, Washington, D.C., Freer Gallery of Art, no. F1941.10, c. 1260

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The flatter reverse side of the vessel is encircled on the outer edge by twenty-​ five figures standing in an arcade of trilobed arches supported by columns (Figure 4.2).9 An inner register displays nine horsemen with military gear moving counterclockwise around a central, empty indentation. The hollow is a truncated cone extending into the vessel; it reaches to the opposite side and is adhered in the interior of the canteen.10 This central indentation creates an annular cavity around the inside of the vessel. The canteen is one of eighteen puzzling inlaid-​metal objects with Christian themes thought to have been produced in a region with a predominantly Muslim population under Islamic rule during the Ayyubid through Mamluk eras.11 Eva Baer identified these objects as four incense burners, three trays, three caskets or pyxides, three ewers, two candlesticks, a basin, a goblet, and the Freer Canteen.12 These items are made of brass or bronze and carved and inlaid with another metal such as silver or gold to enhance the richness of the object, the clarity of the imagery, and the overall decorative effects.13 The process of inlay was not practiced before the twelfth century, developing by the thirteenth century from Persian to western Islamic lands. The objects do not all have the same style, but scholars have identified their three types of Christian imagery, of which the canteen contains all three: individual figures standing under arches who hold censers, crosiers, and other objects used in Christian liturgy; iconic scenes such as the Virgin and Child; and narrative scenes of the life of Christ. Despite these Christian themes, this group of metalware has been termed Islamic for three main reasons.14 First, some patrons or recipients of these and related pieces were known Muslim individuals in positions of power. For 9 10 11 12

13

14

See Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 21. Ecker and Fitzherbert, “Freer canteen,” 178. See Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 6–​7 and Khoury, “Narratives of the Holy Land,” 65. For descriptions of all of the items, see Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 6–​23. Other media have also been related to the Freer Canteen, including a group of enameled glass pieces, such as the beakers discussed in Chapter 3, see Eva Hoffman, “Christian-​Islamic Encounters on Thirteenth-​Century Ayyubid Metalwork: Local Culture, Authenticity, and Memory,” Gesta 43 (2004): 129. Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 148. Perhaps artisans suffering from a dearth of silver began to use silver inlay in order to highlight a design in a more accessible metal. For more on the development of inlay, see Julian Raby, “The Principle of Parsimony and the Problem of the ‘Mosul School of Metalwork’,” in Metalwork and Material Culture in the Islamic World. Art, Craft and Text. Essays Presented to James W. Allan, eds. Venetia Porter and Mariam Rosser-​ Owen (London and New York: i.b. Tauris & Co., ltd, 2012), 52–​53. For a proposal for the Freer Canteen having a Muslim patron, see Khoury, “Narratives of the Holy Land,” 63–​69.

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instance, one tray in Paris displays the name of the Ayyubid leader al-​Malik al-​Salih Nadjm al-​Din Ayyub ibn al-​Kamil Muhammad, a ruler in Diyarbakr (southeast Turkey, r. 1232–​39) and then sultan in Cairo (r. 1240–​49).15 Second, certain repeated imagery on these objects—​horsemen, seated drinkers and musicians, zoomorphic patterns—​is commonly found in secular, courtly Islamic arts.16 Finally, the third reason that the inlaid metalwares with Christian themes are categorized as Islamic is the fact that they were made in predominantly Muslim regions in the thirteenth century.17 In particular, the inlay technique of the Freer Canteen connects it especially to Mosul, where the process seems to have been established by the turn of the thirteenth century.18 More specifically, Julian Raby asserted that the evidence points to a concentrated production of inlaid metalwork in Mosul in the first half of the thirteenth century.19 In the second half of the thirteenth century and into the first part of the fourteenth century, some of the Mosul population may have been pushed by the advancing Mongols or attracted by Mamluk patrons elsewhere, although metalworking traditions continued in that city.20 Raby identified thirty-​five objects signed by twenty-​seven different craftsmen calling themselves “al-​Mawsili,” the nisba (locational name) for Mosul, and at least eight bear inscriptions that indicate their manufacture in Mosul or name its ruler as the recipient.21 The “al-​Mawsili” grouping includes three ewers (1220–​1322) and a candlestick

15

Paris, Musée du Louvre, object no. nao 360. See Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 7, 10 and Ranee A. Katzenstein and Glenn D. Lowry, “Christian Themes in Thirteenth-​Century Islamic Metalwork,” Muqarnas 1 (1983): 62–​64. 16 See Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 148–​149. 17 Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 44. 18 Regarding dated and signed metalware in the 1220s, see Raby, “Principle of Parsimony,” 53. This supposition of a Mosul connection first was proposed by Dimand and then examined by Baer, in Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 15, 17. On the literary evidence for the production of metalwork in Mosul in the mid-​thirteenth century when Zengid atabegs were in power from 1127 to 1250, see D.S. Rice, “Inlaid Brasses from the Workshop of Aḥmad al-​Dhakī al-​Mawṣilī,” Ars Orientalis 2 (1957): 284–​285. See also Ruba Kanaʾan, “The Biography of a Thirteenth-​century Brass Ewer from Mosul,” in God Is Beautiful and Loves Beauty: The Object in Islamic Art and Culture, eds. Sheila S. Blair and Jonathan M. Bloom (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013), 177–​193. 19 As opposed to being in several sites spread around the Jazira, Syria, and Egypt, Raby, “Principle of Parsimony,” 22, 53. 20 Artists who signed their works “al-​Mawsili” appeared in Damascus by at least 1257 and Cairo by 1269, bridging the Ayyubid and Mamluk periods, ibid., 22, 27, 37–​39, 52–​55. See also Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 22. 21 Raby, “Principle of Parsimony,” 12, 22.

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(1248) with Christian scenes. Raby and other scholars looked at Christian, and specifically Jacobite Syriac, miniature painting in monastic manuscripts made nearby to affirm that the Christian imagery on the Freer Canteen and other works in that group was from the Mosul region.22 Given this evidence, I will be discussing and analyzing how the Mosul region, although predominantly Muslim, is a valid place for the creation of the canteen’s hybrid art deriving from the permeable boundaries of the region’s Christian and Islamic cultures.23 Eva Baer emphasized that the coastal towns and probably the interior villages had populations with mixed religious and ethnic heritages.24 The indigenous Syrian Christian population, mostly Jacobites or Syrian Orthodox and native Arabic speakers, seem to have been on friendly terms with their Muslim neighbors in the mid-​thirteenth century.25 The canteen’s luxury nature also relates to the cross-​cultural, shared aspects of the inlaid metalware group. As Katzenstein and Lowry emphasized, refined patrons of any religious background in the setting of the Levant appreciated the secular themes that appeared on many of these inlaid objects. While mounted horsemen on the reverse might represent bravery, strength, and skill, the musicians, feasting, and dancing on the sides of the vessel symbolized leisure and the good life.26 The poetry of Abu Mansur Ali ibn Ahmad Asadi Tusi (d. late 1080s) reflects this mindset and perhaps explains the moon-​shaped goblets in the hands of the seated figures around the canteen: Then they retired to a garden for pleasure and feasting … then they set to feasting and music … Goblets like moons in the hands of drinkers 22

Ibid., 46–​52. See also Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 151–​152. On Mosul metalwork and the complicated historiography of the subject, see Raby, “Principle of Parsimony,” 11–​86. Some scholarly resistance does exist to indicating Mosul as the place of manufacture. As Schneider and Rice stated, only about six pieces can be securely identified as “Mosul work” by inscription, and these are not identical in style. See D.S. Rice, “The Brasses of Badr al-​Din Lu’lu’,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 13, no. 3 (1950): 627; Rice, “Inlaid Brasses,” 286, 325; and Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 151. 23 On the term “hybrid,” see William Tronzo, “Restoring Agency to the Discourse on Hybridity,” in Die Cappella Palatina in Palermo: Geschichte, Kunst, Funktionen: Forschungsergebnisse der Restaurierung, ed. Thomas Dittelbach (Künzelsau: Swiridoff Verlag, 2010), 579–​585. 24 Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 1–​2. 25 Their patriarch had formal relations with the Muslim authorities, often exchanging gifts directly or through his deputy, ibid., 3. 26 For themes of pleasures and pastimes on metalwork, see Eva Baer, Metalwork in Medieval Islamic Art (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1983), 219–​238. Baer suggests that the Christian images are an emblem of a princely pastime, just as the secular scenes show the owner’s interests, Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 41–​42.

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were sprinkling the jewels of the Pleiades. The nobles were reclining on the meadow among the grasses, hyacinths, and jasmine, cups in their hands ….27 In other words, religious convictions did not preclude the patron valuing the leisurely pursuits of his class. I agree that luxury wares showed the predilection of the upper class for certain materials and techniques, regardless of faith, in the case of the canteen.28 One aspect of the Freer Canteen that is not shared by any related luxury metalware or associated with a specific religious culture is its uncommon form. Round vessels that held a liquid were produced in pottery and glass in Syrian and Mesopotamian workshops between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries.29 Excavations at Hama (Syria) revealed three types of similar ceramic vessels with one flat and one convex side, like the Freer Canteen, although generally of a smaller size (approximately 15–​18 cm maximum diameter).30 Such pilgrims’ flasks, as called by the archaeologists, were also found at Baalbek, Damascus, and Raqqa.31 Scholars assigned these flasks to the final phase of Syrian ceramic relief production before the Mongol invasions of 1401 in that region.32 Their designation as pilgrims’ flasks seems to come from the assumption that they were used for travel to carry water and keep it cool.33 Bottles in metal or leather would have been much more practical for travelers, however, such as a medieval flask found in a bog in Ireland, made of tooled leather and similar in form shape to the Freer Canteen, with a convex obverse, flat sides, and a spout.34 The ceramic versions all have geometric and vegetal designs interspersed with such animal forms as lions, birds, and griffins, either in medallions or on arabesque backgrounds. Some have Mamluk coats of arms, or, occasionally, figures of hunters or riders.35 These comparisons confirm that

27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

In Katzenstein and Lowry, “Christian Themes,” 64. Compare Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 5. See ibid., 45. Compare Anna Contadini, “Ayyubid Illustrated Manuscripts and their North Jaziran and Abbasid Neighbors,” in Ayyubid Jerusalem: The Holy City in Context, 1187–​1250, eds. Robert Hillenbrand and Sylvia Auld (London: Altajir Trust, 2009), 179–​194. Riis and Pouslon, Hama, 4/​2, 248–​258. Ibid., 248. Ibid., 250. Ibid. Regarding the possibility of it being carried to Europe by a crusader, see Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 153 and Khoury, “Narratives of the Holy Land,” 64. Medieval decorated leather bottle, found in a bog in Cloonclose, County Leitrim before 1927, Dublin, National Museum of Ireland, Item No. ria 1928:12. See Riis and Pouslon, Hama, 4/​2, 249–​256, figs. 879–​905.

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the form of the Freer Canteen was derived from other vessels used for holding liquids. What is missing in those objects is the elaborate decoration and metal inlay plus an indentation like that on the back of the Freer example. These details suggest that the Freer flask was not meant for travel but was employed in interior use or display instead. Raby noted that the Freer Canteen, which weighs 5 kilograms on its own, would weigh 18.6 kilograms if filled with water, making it rather heavy to use for pouring easily without some support.36 It was perhaps steadied on a wooden pivot inserted into the indentation on the reverse to use for pouring.37 One place on the canteen where visible wear has occurred is on the reverse, opposite the spout, where several of the standing saints in the outer register are missing their silver inlay. These lacunae allow that a hand or tool might have regularly grasped the canteen at that point to help tip and pour out its liquid, making the silver inlay wear (or fall) out more rapidly than on the other parts of the vessel. Evidence for the development of the canteen form does exist in another culture and material: in a set of eight later Chinese porcelain canteens.38 These items date to the fifteenth century and display standard Ming floral and wave decoration in blue and white.39 Ecker and Fitzherbert suggested that their form and inclusion in imperial collections may mean that they copied an object similar to the Freer Canteen that made its way east. Unfortunately, none of these flasks and canteens from the Levant and China help explain the Freer Canteen’s striking Christian imagery or suggest its explicit function. An examination of the obverse scenes’ complex iconography will help to reveal proposals about the canteen’s intended meanings and context in Mosul.

36 37

38 39

Raby, “Principle of Parsimony,” 81n139. Compare the image of the display of the Hodegetria icon in the Hamilton Psalter (c. 1300), which shows a wooden support with a squared base that narrows as it rises to a two-​ armed bracket for a holy image, Berlin, Staatliche Museen, Kupferstichkabinett, ms 78 A 9 (Hamilton 119), pictured in Maria Vassilaki, ed., Mother of God. Representations of the Virgin in Byzantine Art, Exhibition Catalogue (Milan and Athens: Benaki Museum, 2000), 389. Ecker and Fitzherbert discard the pole theory, instead suggesting that perhaps the concavity once had a cover, concealing a drinking vessel kept inside the space, Ecker and Fitzherbert, “Freer canteen,” 181–​184. See Ecker and Fitzherbert, “Freer canteen,” 182–​183. See Atil, Chase, and Jett, Islamic Metalwork, 133.

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187

The Imagery on the Canteen’s Obverse Side

4.2.1 The Virgin and Child On the front of the canteen, the central roundel displays the Virgin Mary seated on a cushion on a large, straight-​backed throne (Figures 4.1 and 4.3). Such decorative elements as a side colonette with finial and the scroll lines on the back hint at its grandeur.40 Mary holds the Christ child, who is almost standing in her lap, with her left arm. He faces forward and reaches with his right arm across her chest, while she raises her right hand, palm outward. This particular Virgin and Child is the Hodegetria type with the Virgin indicating Christ as the source of humanity’s salvation.41 In the thirteenth century, the perceived original of this icon was in Constantinople, capital of the Byzantine Empire.42 The original Hodegetria icon was only in a bust form, although it was widely imitated with multiple variations by the later Middle Ages around the Mediterranean.43 In addition to the material, another connection for the canteen to Mosul appears in several works produced for its Syrian Orthodox community in the

40

On thrones in Virgin Mary images, see Rebecca Corrie, “The Kahn and Mellon Madonnas and their place in the history of the Virgin and Child Enthroned in Italy and the East,” in Images of the Mother of God: Perceptions of the Theotokos in Byzantium, ed. Maria Vassilaki (Burlington, Vermont: Ashgate Publishing, 2005), 296–​299. 41 See Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 143. See also Michele Bacci, “The legacy of the Hodegetria: holy icons and legends between east and west,” in Images of the Mother of God: Perceptions of the Theotokos in Byzantium, ed. Maria Vassilaki (Burlington, Vermont: Ashgate Publishing, 2005), 321–​337; Chr. Angelidi and T. Papamastorakis, “The Veneration of the Virgin Hodegetria and the Hodegon Monastery,” in Mother of God. Representations of the Virgin in Byzantine Art, ed. Maria Vassilaki (Milan and Athens: Benaki Museum, 2000), 373–​385; and Chryssanthi Baltoyanni, “The Mother of God in Portable Icons,” in ibid., 144–​147. 42 On the move of the icon by Venetians to the Pantokrator monastery, see Chr. Angelidi and T. Papamastorakis, “The Veneration of the Virgin Hodegetria and the Hodegon Monastery,” in ibid., 382. 43 The full-​body representation may have stemmed from a combination of the Hodegetria bust form with the enthroned Virgin and Child in narrative images of the Adoration of the Magi, see Maria Vassilaki, ed., Images of the Mother of God: Perceptions of the Theotokos in Byzantium (Burlington, Vermont: Ashgate Publishing, 2005), 196 and Bacci, “The legacy of the Hodegetria,” 321–​337. See also Nano Chatzidakis, “A Byzantine icon of the dexiokratousa Hodegetria from Crete at the Benaki Museum,” in Images of the Mother of God: Perceptions of the Theotokos in Byzantium, ed. Maria Vassilaki (Burlington, Vermont: Ashgate Publishing, 2005), 336–​ 337 and Corrie, “The Kahn and Mellon Madonnas,” 293–​304.

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thirteenth century that depict the enthroned Hodegetria.44 Bas Snelders studied a metal flabellum (liturgical fan) with this image and argued convincingly that it was made in Mosul for a distant Coptic/​Syrian Orthodox monastery, Deir al-​Surian, in Egypt’s Wadi Natrun (Figure 4.8).45 The flabellum’s Virgin and Child shows striking parallels of details with the canteen composition: the large throne with pointed molding extensions from the top corners, the oblong cushion with pattern differentiation at the ends, the two angels flanking Mary with hands reaching toward her and her halo, and even the use of a single line to represent the Virgin’s nose and eyebrows.46 Analogous dated and localized representations of the enthroned Hodegetria type include a stone sculpture from the Church of the Virgin in Mosul and images in lectionaries in London of c. 1220 (from either Deir Mar Hananiya near Mardin or from a monastery near Mosul) and in the Vatican of c. 1220 (likely made at the monastery of Mar Mattai near Mosul) (Figure 4.9).47 Rima Smine discusses how the two lectionaries place the image of the seated Virgin one to three folios after the full Nativity scene and in proximity to the text for Luke 1:15–​21, which relates the visit of the angels to tell the shepherds of Christ’s birth and their subsequent journey to honor the Virgin and Child.48 The image on the canteen, thus, in one sense, falls in a narrative sequence after the Nativity scene above it. Yet at the same time, Smine points out that the hieratic nature of the Enthroned Virgin and Child in the lectionaries suggests that the readers may honor her 44

45

46 47

48

The enthroned type was uncommon in the Byzantine tradition, Bas Snelders and Mat Immerzeel, “The Thirteenth-​Century Flabellum from Deir al-​Surian in the Musée Royal de Mariemont (Morlanwelz, Belgium),” Eastern Christian Art in its Late Antique and Islamic Contexts 1, no. 1 (2004): 119–​122. The full-​body Hodegetria was more popular in Armenia and Georgia, with several thirteenth-​century Syrian and Egyptian examples as well, ibid., 121. See also Snelders, Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction, 111. Morlanwelz, Belgium, Musée Royal de Mariemont, see Snelders and Immerzeel, “The Thirteenth-​Century Flabellum,” 113–​139; Bas Snelders, “Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction: medieval art of the Syrian Orthodox from the Mosul Area” (Doctoral dissertation, Leiden University, 2010), Chapter 3; and Snelders, Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction, 35–​37, 105–​129. Illustrated in Raby, “Principle of Parsimony,” 50, Fig. 1.24, a and c. For the Louvre (object no. oa 7947) and Mariemont fans, see ibid., 82n143. London, British Library, ms Add. 7170, fol. 21r, and Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms sir. 559, fol. 17r, see ibid., 47–​49, 81n141; Snelders and Immerzeel, “The Thirteenth-​Century Flabellum,” 112–​115; and Rima E. Smine, “A Syriac Glorification of the Virgin: Preliminary Remarks on The Mother and Child Enthroned in London Add. 7170 and Vatican Syr. 559,” Eastern Christian Art 6 (2009): 127–​139. See also Hugo Buchthal, “The Painting of the Syrian Jacobites in Its Relation to Byzantine and Islamic Art,” Syria 20, no. 2 (1939): 137. Smine, “A Syriac Glorification,” 132.

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in connection with the feast of the Glorification of Mary, which occurs on the day after Christmas in the Syrian Orthodox calendar. Smine indicates the significance of this shared image type in Mosul’s Church of the Virgin, the two lectionaries, and the flabellum, linking them securely to the milieu of Mosul and the Syrian Orthodox Church.49 These images from around Mosul and written sermons from the time demonstrate that the Church in Mosul gave particular honor to the Virgin as an instrument for the incarnation of Christ Immanuel, to which liturgical celebration this image in the lectionaries also refers. Given the seemingly pointed repetition of this Virgin and Child type in the Mosul region, I suggest that a specific source for the imagery, perhaps a local icon, served as a common model.50 Christian churches in the Levant often had their own special icons that attracted devotion and replication.51 The miraculous icon of Our Lady of Saidnaya monastery, one of the most famous and oft-​visited icons of the Virgin and Child in medieval Syria, was believed to have been made in Jerusalem and transferred to this monastery dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Thietmar, a German crusader and pilgrim who traveled in the Levant, described the story of the miraculous icon in his account (1217–​18). He related that a monk purchased the icon in Jerusalem but was reluctant to hand it over to the nun who initially requested it.52 Eventually the icon made clear that it belonged with the nun: The monk, understanding the justice of divine will, placed the icon in the chapel, went back to the nun and told her truthfully and in order everything that had been done by divine disposition. He also said that it was God’s will that the icon should remain there and be venerated with all due honour by the faithful. The nun therefore accepted the icon and

49 50 51

52

Smine, “A Syriac Glorification,” 132–​138. This suggestion similarly reinforces the Mosul reference made by Smine, though differs by looking more to Byzantine manuscripts for inspiration, compare Smine, “A Syriac Glorification,” 132–​138. On other icon copies, see Bacci, “The legacy of the Hodegetria,” 321–​331. On an icon at the Egyptian monastery of Deir al-​Surian with connections to Jerusalem, see Hunt, “Artistic and Cultural Inter-​Relations,” 82–​83 and Hunt, “Eternal Light and Life,” 127–​152. On a case of an icon from a region (Cyprus) being copied onto another object (a textile, the Grandson Antependium of the late thirteenth century), see David Jacoby, “Cypriot Gold Thread in Late Medieval Silk Weaving and Embroidery,” in Deeds Done Beyond the Sea: Essays on William of Tyre, Cyprus and the Military Orders Presented to Peter Edbury, eds. Susan B. Edgington and Helen J. Nicholson (Farnham: Routledge, 2014), 107. In Pringle, Pilgrimage, 95–​133. On Thietmar, see Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 121–​123.

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­f igure 4.8  Flabellum for Deir al-​Surian Monastery (Egypt) with Virgin and Child, made in Mosul (Iraq), now in Morlanwelz, Belgium, Musée Royal de Mariemont, thirteenth century

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­f igure 4.9  Enthroned Virgin and Child, Vatican City, Biblioteca Vaticana, ms sir. 559, fol. 17r, c. 1219–​20

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began to praise and bless God and the glorious Virgin Mary concerning all that had been done.53 Pilgrimage accounts mentioned that diverse Christians and Muslims alike would have come to gain access to that icon’s sanctity.54 Although the scene of the Hodegetria on the Freer Canteen clearly had a Christian iconographic source, the pairs of angels honoring the Virgin and Child at the top and the bottom of the composition reflect both Christian and Muslim traditions in their flying stances and laudatory poses (Figure 4.3).55 The two angels at the top touch Mary’s halo as if they were placing it on her head or crowning her. The tradition of Mary’s actual crowning—​by the adult form of Christ in the scene of the Coronation of the Virgin—​demonstrated her mediatory role next to her Son.56 This image emerged by the late twelfth century and was commonplace by the thirteenth century.57 As Snelders emphasized, Islamic art also displayed images of rulers being crowned by winged angelic figures, as on a copper coin of 1180–​81 for Artuqid ruler Nur al-​Din Muhammad ibn Qara Arslan of Hisn Kayfa and Amid (r. 1167–​85), in which a pair of winged creatures hovers above the enthroned ruler.58 In short, both Christian and Muslim audiences in the area of Mosul would be familiar with the angelic crowning motif. Two other noticeable figures in the canteen’s central medallion, standing nimbed persons who flank the Virgin and Child, may also indicate a Mosul 53 54

In Pringle, Pilgrimage, 104. Ecker and Fitzherbert, “Freer canteen,” 188. See also Atil, Chase, and Jett, Islamic Metalwork, 124. 55 From ancient Roman times, such flying figures placing a wreath on the head represented a special honor being conferred, as in the crowning of Titus by the winged Victory on the Arch of Titus (Rome, c. 80) in Rome or in a sardonyx cameo depicting the apotheosis of Claudius (from Rome, c. 54, Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, Département des Monnaies, médailles et antiques, Cabinet des médailles). See also Snelders, Identity and Christian-​ Muslim Interaction, 117. 56 See Ernst Kitzinger, “A Virgin’s Face: Antiquarianism in Twelfth-​Century Art,” Art Bulletin 62 (1980): 6–​19. 57 See George Zarnecki, “The Coronation of the Virgin on a Capital from Reading Abbey,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 13, no. 1/​2 (1950): 7–​9. This differs from her solo status while angels crown her as Queen of Heaven in her own stead, seen on the main façade of Nôtre-​Dame of Paris (from about 1220, modern restoration). 58 Snelders, Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction, 117–​118. For an example, see New York, American Numismatic Society (1925.13.1), at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, “Dirham of Nur al-​Din Muhammad (r. 1167–​1185): Winged Figures Above an Enthroned Figure A.H. 576 /​A.D. 1180–​1181,” https://​www.metmus​eum.org/​art/​col​lect​ion/​sea​rch/​651​177, accessed 7 January 2022.

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connection (Figure 4.3). The figure standing to the left, whom I suggest is female because of the rounded face shape so similar to the Virgin, wears a turban-​like headdress and has her hands raised in front of her chest in a gesture of prayer. The bearded male figure standing to the right seems to hold a small object with a rounded top in his awkward, upturned right hand. No other attributes seem to identify these figures. Although the identity of these two figures is uncertain, I would like to point out that a monastery south of Mosul, Deir Mar Benham, had a special devotion to a saintly pair: the fourth-​ century martyr Mar Benham and his sister, Mart Sarah.59 According to traditions that first appeared in text around 1200, Mar Benham met a local ascetic, Mar Mattai, on a mountain and was converted to Christianity. Benham then brought Mattai down to heal and convert his sister Sarah.60 Soon after, the followers of Benham and Sarah’s pagan father murdered the siblings as they attempted to escape on the mountain.61 Although I have found no standard iconography for the saints, I suggest that the object held by the bearded saint could be a miniature mountain—​the site of their demise and tombs. The monastery of Mar Benham sheltered the tombs of the saints already in the fourth century according to Syrian Orthodox legends, although physical evidence points to an eleventh-​century date.62 Its formerly Syrian Orthodox monastery church was renovated in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.63 Although few medieval representations of the two saints Benham and Sarah are extant for comparison, a seventeenth-​century icon now in the Coptic Museum in Cairo displays the two converted martyrs.64 Plus two stucco reliefs in the church of Mar Benham (destroyed by the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (isil) in 2014) showed the riding warrior Benham and his standing sister. Unfortunately 59

On the monastery, see J.M. Fiey O.P., Mossoul chrétienne: Essai sur l’histoire, l’archéologie et l’état actuel des monuments chrétiens de la ville de Mossoul, Recherches publiées sous la direction de l’Institut de lettres orientales (Beirut: L’Institut de lettres orientales de Beyrouth, 1959), 22, 50 and Ethel Sara Wolper, “Khidr and the Politics of Translation in Mosul: Mar Behnam, St George and Khidr Ilyas,” in Sacred Precincts: The Religious Architecture of Non-​Muslim Communities across the Islamic World, ed. Mohammad Gharipour (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 381–​384. 60 See Snelders, “Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction,” ­chapter 6, section 6.2.1 and Wolper, “Khidr and the Politics of Translation,” 385. 61 Snelders, “Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction,” Chapter 6, section 6.2.1. 62 Ibid., Chapter 6, section 6.1. See also Wolper, “Khidr and the Politics of Translation,” 381. 63 Snelders, Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction, 265–​275. See also Snelders, “Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction,” appendix A and Chapter 6, sections 6.2.2 and 6.3.1. 64 Mat Immerzeel, The Narrow Way to Heaven: Identity and Identities in the Art of Middle Eastern Christianity, Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta (Leuven, Paris, and Bristol, CT: Peeters, 2017), 173, 298, pl. 67.

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the degraded state of the reliefs visible in photographs does not permit the discernment of precise details apart from the horse beneath Benham and the angels crowning him.65 The dating of the reliefs is uncertain—​proposals range from the thirteenth to the sixteenth centuries—​but the siblings must often have been paired in imagery as they were in devotion.66 If my identification of the two saints is correct, their pairing with the Virgin and Child reveals local interest for the canteen in the context of Syrian Orthodoxy in the Mosul region. Snelders noted that in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the saints’ shared legend appeared in multiple texts around the time the church at the monastery of Mar Benham was redecorated.67 Tensions then developed in the Mar Benham and Mart Sarah community about the monastery’s place in relation to the Islamic authorities and to the ecclesiastical hierarchy of Syrian Orthodox groups—​especially in relation to those in Tikrit and to the Persian, or Nestorian, Christians in the area.68 The fact that the monastery erected a domed chapel to the Virgin Mary by the thirteenth century augments the possibility of a connection between the two saints of the Mosul region and the central honorific image of the Virgin and Child on the canteen.69 4.2.2 The Christological Scenes While the central roundel on the obverse of the canteen reveals possible iconographical connections to the Mosul area, the three narrative scenes around it promote associations for the canteen that allude to Jerusalem (see Map of Jerusalem) and Bethlehem. They expose connections to holy sites and traditions of reverence to the Virgin and Christ in both Christian and Muslim 65 Snelders, Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction, plates 43–​44. On the 2014 destruction of cultural heritage by isil in Mosul, see Wolper, “Khidr and the Politics of Translation,” 392 and Wikipedia contributors, “Destruction of Cultural Heritage by ISIL,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://​en.wikipe​dia.org/​wiki/​Destruction_​o​f_​cu​ltur​al_​h​erit​ age_​by_​I​SIL, accessed 1 January 2020. 66 See Snelders, Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction, 279. See also Christopher Jones, “Another Treasure Lost in Iraq: The Story of Mar Behnam Monastery,” Hyperallergic (2015), https://​hypera​ller​gic.com/​216​393/​anot​her-​treas​ure-​lost-​in-​iraq-​the-​story-​of-​mar-​beh​ nam-​monast​ery/​ and Snelders, “Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction,” Chapter 6, section 6.4.2.A. 67 Snelders, Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction, 150. See also Snelders, “Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction,” Chapter 6, section 6.2.1. 68 See Snelders, Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction, 59–​61 and Wolper, “Khidr and the Politics of Translation,” 385. 69 Snelders, “Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction,” 280, 285–​286, pl. 52 and Snelders, Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction, 280, 285–​286, pl. 7–​section i.

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cultures of the Levant while supporting the idea that its original owner was a Christian with an interest in the Holy Land. 4.2.2.1

The Nativity in Bethlehem—​and Jerusalem: The Grotto in the Church of the Nativity and Cradle of Jesus At the top center, the Virgin lies on her left side in a grotto (Figure 4.4). A wavy contour line distinguishes the cave, extending from below Mary’s knees, up and around her and over the animals and manger to her left. The scene honors a major feast in the religious cycle of the Christian liturgical year related to the life of Jesus and Mary and shows details suggesting knowledge of related Muslim traditions as well. The Nativity represented on the canteen displays an understanding of both the site in Bethlehem and early textual sources that described the event. While the Gospel of Luke (Luke 2:2–​20) mentions only generally that Mary placed her child in a manger because no guest room was available, the second-​ century apocryphal text of the Protevangelium of James explicitly noted that Joseph led Mary to a cave in Bethlehem to give birth.70 The Protevangelium, from which standard Byzantine iconography derived, was widely read in both Greek and Latin.71 From at least the second century, pilgrims visited a cave in Bethlehem that they believed to be the site of Christ’s birth.72 In the fourth-​ century, Emperor Constantine i (r. 306–​37) and his mother, Helena (c. 246–​c. 330), built the first church on the site over the cave in which Mary gave birth (see Figure 2.14).73 In the sixth century, the Byzantine emperor Justinian i (r. 527–​65) rebuilt the church with the basilica plan that still exists today, with a raised altar platform over the grotto area to which one could descend steps on either side.74 As the medieval pilgrim Thietmar described, in “its chevet is the cave where the Lord was born. In it I, a sinner, kissed the crib in which the little Lord squalled and worshipped in the place where the Blessed Virgin in labour brought forth the Child God.”75 A low marble form in the grotto identified 70 Kirby, Protevangelium of James, 18:1. On the canteen and the Protevangelium of James, see Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 140 and Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 25. See also Ioannis Karavidopoulos, “On the Information Concerning the Virgin Mary Contained in the Apocryphal Gospels,” in Mother of God. Representations of the Virgin in Byzantine Art, ed. Maria Vassilaki (Milan and Athens: Benaki Museum, 2000), 70. 71 Karavidopoulos, “Mary in the Apocryphal Gospels,” 69. 72 See Foster, “The Protevangelium,” 573–​575, 578–​579, 581 and Bacci, The Mystic Cave, 29, 34. 73 Bacci, The Mystic Cave, 40, 46. 74 Ibid., 82–​85. 75 In Pringle, Pilgrimage, 114. On the grotto at this time, see also Bacci, The Mystic Cave, 122, 199–​203.

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the crib’s original location, with three openings that allowed pilgrims to kiss and touch the underlying structure.76 Other Nativity church decorations added during the Latin Kingdom under King Amalric were nave mosaics and column paintings (c. 1167–​69), derived from Byzantine sources.77 A twelfth-​ century crusader-​era Nativity scene was also installed in the cave below, displaying a similar grotto setting in the scene (see Figure 2.13).78 Scholars agree that there are general analogies between the canteen’s Nativity scene and a twelfth-​century mosaic (now gone) once in the basilica’s south transept, and they point to parallels with thirteenth-​century illustrated manuscripts used in Eastern Christian churches.79 For instance, the Syrian Orthodox illustrated lectionaries in the British Library and the Vatican Library contain elements also on the canteen of the cave setting and the Virgin and Child, plus the shepherds, the Washing of the Child, and the Magi (Figures 4.10 and 4.11).80 One disparity on the canteen from the standard Byzantine and Syrian Orthodox iconography appears in the three animals peering over the side of the manger rather than the usual two—​the ox and ass.81 These two animals 76 77 78 79 80

81

By this point in history, the actual manger was believed by many to have been in Rome for centuries, Bacci, The Mystic Cave, 122. See Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 91–​97, 163–​166, and 347–​378 and Bianca and Gustav Kühnel, The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem: The Crusader Lining of an Early Christian Basilica (Regensburg: Verlag Schnell & Steiner, 2019), 34–​114. See Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 371–​378, pls. 9.29a–​n. See ibid., 357–​358. London, British Library, ms Add. 7170, fol. 21r and Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms sir. 559, fol. 16r. For the London manuscript illustration, see Boehm and Holcomb, Jerusalem. 1000–​1400, 86. Mary’s positioning next to the manger on the canteen is closer to the twelfth-​century Byzantine-​influenced mosaics in the Cappella Palatina and the Church of the Martorana in Palermo than to the Syriac lectionaries in that the Virgin lies below the Christ child, perhaps suggesting a source with this Byzantine-​inspired variation in this detail, see Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 25. Hoffman also made links to the illustrations of the Copto-​Arabic Gospel book narrative scenes (Paris, Institut catholique de Paris, Bibliothèque de Fels, ms copte-​arabe 1) in the format of the narrative scenes, though they are not as full as the canteen scenes, see Hoffman, “Christian-​Islamic Encounters,” 129. See also Lucy-​Anne Hunt, “Illustrating the Gospels in Arabic: Byzantine and Arab Christian Miniatures in Two Manuscripts of the Early Mamluk Period in Cambridge,” in The Bible in Arab Christianity, ed. David Thomas (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2007), 327. For the Copto-​Arabic Gospel book illustrations, see Institut Catholique de Paris, Bibliothèque de Fels, “L’évangéliaire copte-​arabe de la Bibliothèque de Fels: Les enluminures,” https://​ ipac.icp.fr/​uPor​tal/​page/​decouv​rir/​expo/​eva​ngel​iair​e_​co​pte/​evangi​les.htm, accessed 9 March 2018. The Nativity is on fol. 2r and the Entry into Jerusalem is on fol. 6r in Matthew; the Presentation in the Temple is in Luke on fol. 109v. Schneider mentioned the Gospel of Pseudo-​Matthew, which is an offshoot of the Protevangelium of James, as an inspiration, Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 138–​140. Schneider

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were understood to fulfill one of many prophecies in the book of Isaiah: “The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib” (Isaiah 1:3). On the canteen, the three animals seem to be all cattle, with pointed horns. They may stem from a slightly later moment in the Protevangelium. It explains that, when Mary heard that Herod was planning to kill all babies to seek out the newborn “king,” she swaddled her son and laid him specifically in a manger of cattle.82 If this is indeed the source for the three bovines, it implies that a well-​informed Christian patron or artisan added this detail from a slightly later moment in the Nativity narrative. One indication of a patron or artist knowledgeable about both Byzantine and Islamic traditions is the sole budding shoot that sprouts next to the shepherd at the lower left, rising to touch the foot of the Virgin.83 In the text of Pseudo-​Matthew (composed in Latin in the seventh–​ninth centuries) and the Qurʾan (19:23–​25), a statement appears that God provided a palm tree to shelter and give dates and water to the Virgin Mary.84 By the eleventh century, Cordoba-​based historian and geographer Abu ʿUbayd ibn ʿAmr al-​Bakri (1014–​94) reported that the tree was on the Haram al-​Sharif in Jerusalem, an idea copied in other Islamic texts into the thirteenth century.85 This arboreal ­reference in the image and the texts suggests that the canteen’s patron or artist was aware of Christian and Muslim traditions related to Mary and that individuals could have a flexible and shifting understanding of the details of Jesus’s birth. The bird’s-​eye view of the Child and manger are unconventional and may display another cross-​ cultural and geographically-​ shifting feature in the found one other example with a third animal in Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms S. Pietro F. 13, a Sacramentary in which a sheep appears behind the ox and ass. See also Hurd Baruch, “The Feast of the Presentation in the Temple,” New Oxford Review November (2016): 29 and Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 26. 82 Kirby, Protevangelium of James, 22:3. See also Heba Mahmoud Saad AbdelNaby and Heba Magdy, “The Representation of Virgin Mary in Islamic Art during the Ayyubid Dynasty (12th–​13th Century),” International Journal of History and Cultural Studies 4, no. 4 (2018): 20–​41, esp. 31. 83 This shoot does not look like a full-​fledged Jesse Tree with a display of generations of ancestors (Isaiah 11:1–​2), see Iconreader, “The Nativity Icon,” https://​ico​nrea​der.wordpr​ ess.com/​2010/​12/​24/​the-​nativ​ity-​icon/​, accessed 30 June 2021. 84 See Suleiman A. Mourad, “Mary in the Qurʾān. A reexamination of her presentation,” in The Qurʾān in its Historical Context, ed. Gabriel Said Reynolds (London and New York: Routledge, 2008), 166–​169 and Nabil Matar, “The Cradle of Jesus and the Oratory of Mary in Jerusalem’s al-​Haram al-​Sharif,” Jerusalem Quarterly 70 (2017): 112. 85 Matar, “The Cradle of Jesus and the Oratory of Mary,” 119 and Karavidopoulos, “Mary in the Apocryphal Gospels,” 71.

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­f igure 4.10  Nativity of Christ, Syriac Lectionary, London, British Library, ms Add. 7170, fol. 21r, c. 1220

canteen’s Nativity scene. The crib is a flattened form delineated by two flanking rectangles incised with curvilinear and geometric designs. Since the fourth century, Christian images of the manger (noted but not described in Luke 2:7) had an architectural or constructed form, shown in perspective with windows or arched openings.86 Contemporary examples appear in the Syriac lectionary from London (Figure 4.10) and the twelfth-​century mosaic in the grotto of the 86 Schiller, Iconography (vol. 1), 1, 63, 70, figs. 152–​154.

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­f igure 4.11  Nativity of Christ, Syriac Lectionary, Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms sir. 559, fol. 16r, c. 1219–​20

Church of the Nativity (Figure 2.13).87 This architectural iconography of the manger referred, on the one hand, to the medieval-​era altar above the Nativity grotto and, on the other hand, to altars where liturgy was generally celebrated, connecting Christ’s incarnation and his sacrificial death.88

87

See Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 371–​376 and Kühnel, The Church of the Nativity, 34–​35. 88 Schiller, Iconography (vol. 1), 1, 63. See also Theresa M. Kenney, “The Manger as Calvary and Altar in the Middle English Nativity Lyric,” in The Christ Child in Medieval Culture: Alpha es et O!, eds. Mary Dzon and Theresa M. Kenney (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, Scholarly Publishing Division, 2012), 30–​37.

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While clearly Christian in inspiration, the best analogues for Christ’s unusual crib in the canteen’s Nativity scene may be found in medieval Muslim traditions. Indeed, Khoury argued that all of the canteen scenes might present the understanding of a Muslim audience, who respected and honored Mary and the prophet Jesus (also called Isa or Issa) and visited certain sites connected with him.89 A clause in the treaty between Sultan al-​Kamil and Emperor Frederick ii in 1229 included access for Muslims to the Nativity church in Bethlehem, where they went to pray.90 Wilbrand of Oldenburg, a pilgrim from Hildesheim traveling in 1211–​12, provided a European perspective on why Muslims honored Mary in the Levant. In describing a Latin Christian church in Tortosa (Lebanon) dedicated to her, he said that at that church, the Virgin Mary “grants many favours even to the faithless Saracens themselves.”91 The canteen image seems to conflate how both Christian and Muslim writings discussed the bed of Jesus, mixing the Bethlehem locale with a site on the Haram al-​Sharif in Jerusalem.92 Nabil Matar analyzed the so-​called cradle of Jesus (Mahd Issa) in the Oratory of Mary on the Haram al-​Sharif in Jerusalem in medieval traditions, especially in Arabic.93 In the eighth century, Caliph al-​Walid ibn ʿAbd al-​Malik (r. 705–​15) built the prayer space known as the Marwani Musalla in the southeast corner of the Haram al-​Sharif below the mount’s surface, at the level of the so-​called Solomon’s stables.94 The first known mention associating that area of the Haram al-​Sharif as a place where Mary laid Jesus in a cradle appeared in the writings of Muqatil ibn Sulayman (d. 767).95 Though it was not clear that Muqatil had in mind the oratory and cradle structure that are there now, by the time of the Cordoban poet Ibn ʿAbid 89

90 91 92 93

94 95

Khoury, “Narratives of the Holy Land,” 67–​68. Since early Islamic times, Muslims visited the Nativity site, Bacci, The Mystic Cave, 98. On shared traditions, see also Dionigi Albera, “‘Why Are You Mixing What Cannot be Mixed?’ Shared Devotions in the Monotheisms,” History & Anthropology 19, no. 1 (2008): 37–​59 and Alexandra Cuffel, “’Henceforward all generations will call me Blessed’: Medieval Christian tales of non-​Christian Marian veneration,” Mediterranean Studies 12 (2003): 37–​60. See Pringle, Pilgrimage, 5 and Matar, “The Cradle of Jesus and the Oratory of Mary,” 115. In Pringle, Pilgrimage, 69. See Bacci, The Mystic Cave, 108–​109. Matar, “The Cradle of Jesus and the Oratory of Mary,” 111–​125. See also Nabil Matar, “The Cradle of Jesus and the Oratory of Mary on Jerusalem’s Haram al-​Sharif,” in Jerusalem. 1000–​1400. Every People under Heaven, eds. Barbara Drake Boehm and Melanie Holcomb (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2016), 138–​139 and Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 310–​314. Matar, “The Cradle of Jesus and the Oratory of Mary,” 111. See also Beatrice St. Laurent and Isam Awwad, “The Marwani Musalla in Jerusalem: New Findings,” Jerusalem Quarterly, 54 (2013): 7–​30. Matar, “The Cradle of Jesus and the Oratory of Mary,” 112.

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Rabbih (860–​940), the tradition connecting the structure in Jerusalem with Mary and Jesus had definitely taken shape and begun to be a part of Islamic pilgrimage and history. The tenth-​century author of an encyclopedic geography, Muhammad ibn Ahmad al-​Muqaddasi (c. 945–​91), expanded this connection of the young Jesus and Jerusalem through the cradle. He explained the city as a place where Jesus miraculously spoke from his cradle, as mentioned in the Qurʾan (19:12). The author tied this to the role Jesus would have in judgment in a second coming, a “role that was sustained in all subsequent writings about his cradle,” according to Matar.96 In 1047, the Persian traveler Nasir-​i Khusrau (also Khosrow, 1004–​c. 1078) described the actual place on the Haram al-​Sharif and conflated it with the location where Christ was born: The cradle is made of stone, big enough that people can pray at it … and is immovably fixed in the floor … to the east side is the oratory of Mary, peace be upon her … .It is also said that Jesus was born in this mosque … this mosque is known as the Cradle of Jesus, peace be upon him.97 The Jerusalem author Abu al-​Maʿali al-​Musharraf ibn al-​Murajja ibn Ibrahim al-​Maqdisi (known as Ibn al-​Murajja or al-​Maqdisi, d. 1099) also described the cradle of Jesus in the oratory of Mary, giving a slightly different version: Mary delivered Jesus in Bethlehem but then she returned to Jerusalem, where her relative Zachariah built her an oratory to protect her; also Jesus spoke in the cradle, performed miracles, preached, and eventually appeared again to fight the Antichrist at final judgment.98 Ibn al-​Murajja was the most important composer of Fadaʾil Bayt al-​Maqdis (The Merits of Jerusalem), a textual genre (also known as Fadaʾil al-​Quds) which included sites and explanation for their holiness, circulating to enhance the expansion of Muslim piety in relation to Jerusalem in the eleventh century.99 The stone basin described by those authors as the cradle of Jesus in the Marwani Musalla is still extant in the lower level below al-​Aqsa Mosque in the southeast corner on the Haram al-​Sharif (Figure 4.12). The basin form consists of a sandy-​colored stone. It measures 1.75 m long, 1.2 m wide, and .67 m deep. 96 Ibid. 97 Ibid. 98 Ibid., 112–​113. 99 See ibid., 113 and Bacci, The Mystic Cave, 109. For bibliography on this author, see Ofer Livne-​Kafri, “‘Fadaʾil Bayt al-​Maqdis’ (‘The Merits of Jerusalem’) Two Additional Notes,” Quaderni di Studi Arabi 19 (2001): 61–​70.

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­f igure 4.12 Cradle of Jesus/​Mahd Issa, in Marwani Musalla, below al-​Aqsa Mosque, southeast corner of al-​Haram al-​Sharif, Jerusalem/​Al-​Quds

The so-​called cradle has a scalloped hemispherical design carved out on the inside at one end. Two borders of finished stone are inserted at the head and foot. The edges around the niche seem to be a few inches wide and carved to be flat. The piece’s carving may be Roman in date, but it seems to have been installed in the early Muslim period, by the seventh century.100 Following the reconquest by Salah al-​Din, the site continued to be venerated by Muslims through the eighteenth century.101 The stone is now in place horizontally, parallel to the surface of a platform against the Marwani Musalla’s south wall. An undated shallow mihrab is in the wall behind it, with an eighteenth-​century small canopy above. The crusader-​era history of the stone cradle on the Haram al-​Sharif reveals that the association of this place with Christ’s childhood was not only a Muslim tradition.102 The Frankish invasion in 1099 led to only a slight change in function for the Marwani Musalla: it was still dedicated to honor Mary, although turned into the Christian chapel of St. Mary.103 Christians developed their own pilgrimage processes there. Such twelfth-​century pilgrims as John of Würzburg and Theoderic mentioned the church of the Bath or of the Manger of the Lord, where Mary brought the child Jesus forty days after his birth; they thought the carved stone was a bath.104 Theoderic stated: 100 See Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 314. See also Matar, “The Cradle of Jesus and the Oratory of Mary,” 111. 101 Matar, “The Cradle of Jesus and the Oratory of Mary,” 120. 102 On shared Muslim and Cristian rituals in the later Middle Ages, see Cuffel, “‘Henceforward’,” 51–​52. 103 Matar, “The Cradle of Jesus and the Oratory of Mary,” 113. See also Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 310–​314. 104 See Bacci, The Mystic Cave, 109.

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one comes to the venerable Church which is called either 'At the Bath' or 'At the Cradle of the Lord and Saviour'. There the cradle of the Lord Christ is shown towards the east, on a high wall, reverently displayed in front of a window. To the south there is a large stone shell to be seen on the ground in which the infant bathed. At the north is part of the bed of our Lady, where it is shown how she lay down when she suckled the child.105 In the twelfth century, it seems that the Marian oratory was under the control of the Augustinian canons of the Templum Domini.106 In the twelfth century, various guidebooks led Christians to this site, and Muslim pilgrims also made their way to venerate this cradle or bath of Jesus.107 The Christian mention of the Marian oratory continued into the thirteenth century even when the city was not under Frankish control. When Franks were again in charge of Jerusalem from 1229 to 1239, they did not have regular access to the Haram al-​Sharif. The chronicle of Ernoul (c. 1231) described how “To the left [of the Temple of Solomon (al-​Aqsa Mosque)], just as one is descending from the high pavement to the lower one, there is a church, which is called the Crib. There was the crib where God was cradled in his infancy.”108 He added “so people say” to the end of this mention because, as a Christian, he was probably not able to visit and affirm himself.109 An anonymous pilgrim text called The Ways and Pilgrimages in the Holy Land, of which two extant versions are dated 1244–​63 and 1261–​65, also remarked on the site. The earlier version says: To the south-​west is the Temple of Solomon [or al-​Aqsa Mosque]. And near that temple is a place, which is in the form of a bath and is called the Bath of Our Lady and of Our Lord. And there they sometimes took their rest.110

105 In Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 295. See also Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 311–​313. 106 Ibid., 311. 107 See Schein, Gateway to the heavenly city, 88. 108 Jonathan Riley-​Smith, ed., Ayyubids, Mamlukes and Crusaders. Selections from the ‘Tarikh al-​Duwal wa’l-​Muluk’ of Ibn al-​Furat, 2 vols., vol. 2 (The Translation) (Cambridge: W. Heffer and Sons Ltd, 1971), 156. 109 Bacci states that the 1229 agreement said that a Christian who showed that he believed the sites on the Haram to be holy could visit, though with what proof is not clear, see Bacci, The Mystic Cave, 210. 110 In Pringle, Pilgrimage, 218. See also Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 310–​314.

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Given the peculiar mode of representing the resting place of the Christ child in the Nativity scene, I suggest that the form that frames the canteen’s Christ child hearkens to the stone basin in the Marwani Musalla with its decorative surface relief. In other words, the canteen’s artist combined the knowledge and traditions available to him from a firsthand visit to or account of Bethlehem, from manuscript and mosaic exemplars, and from Christian and Muslim writings about the cradle in Jerusalem.111 Whereas most canteen details relate to the iconography of the Bethlehem story, the cradle’s features conflate his resting spots in the two holy cities. The connection of the canteen’s Nativity scene to both those cities is reinforced by the second part of its image: the bath scene (Figure 4.4). Below the birth scene, a footed basin holds the Christ child, dressed in a tunic with a cross on the front and a cross-​inscribed halo around his head. This scene does not repeat the format of the cradle/​manger from above, but instead features a chalice-​like basin, as seen typically in Byzantine and Syriac manuscripts of the thirteenth century (Figures 4.10 and 4.11).112 The Washing of the Child appears in the Protevangelium of James, which gave details about the midwife and a local woman, Salome, brought by Joseph to help at the birth; the Protevangelium itself derived the bath story from the apocryphal Arabic Infancy Gospel’s mention of the healing power of Jesus’s bath. That bath text, combined with the Protevangelium account of the two women, was the basis for Byzantine illustration by the sixth century.113 On the canteen, the midwife pours water from a pitcher to the right while Salome, seated on a stool to the

111 Beatrice St. Laurent and Awwad remarked that Finbarr Barry Flood pointed to decorated stones as markers commemorating prayer places of Muhammad in the early Umayyad period. They thus proposed that Byzantine decorative stone markers in the fifth-​century nave’s qibla wall of the Marwani Musalla purposefully indicated a related connection with the Prophet and direction of prayer, St. Laurent and Awwad, “The Marwani Musalla,” 12–​13. See also Finbarr Barry Flood, “Light in Stone. The Commemoration of the Prophet in Umayyad Architecture,” in Bayt al-​Maqdis: Jerusalem and Early Islam, Oxford Studies in Islamic Art (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 311–​359. 112 See Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 140–​141. 113 Horn, “Mary between Bible and Qurʾan,” 526. See also Schiller, Iconography (vol. 1), 1, 63 and Vincent Juhel, “Le Bain de l’Enfant Jésus: Des origines à la fin du douzième siècle,” Cahiers archéoligiques 39 (1991): 113–​114. On the Arabic Infancy Gospel, see Tony Burke, “Arabic Infancy Gospel,” e-​Clavis: Christian Apocrypha, http://​www.nass​cal.com/​e-​cla​ vis-​christ​ian-​apocry​pha/​ara​bic-​infa​ncy-​gos​pel/​, accessed 30 June 2021. On the relation of the Qurʾan, the Arabic Infancy Gospel, and the Protevangelium of James, see Cornelia B. Horn, “Syriac and Arabic Perspectives on the Structural and Motif Parallels Regarding Jesus’ Childhood in Christian Apocrypha and Early Islamic Literature: The ‘Book of Mary,’ the Arabic Apocryphal Gospel of John, and the Qurʾan,” Apocrypha 19 (2008): 267.

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left, reaches for the Child. In the Protevangelium, Salome reached for the Child in his bath, and his sanctity restored her hand after it had been withered by her doubt about Mary’s virginity.114 Because the Muslim and Christian sources placed the site of the first bath on the Haram al-​Sharif, the bath scene on the canteen seems to reinforce the connection to the iconographic tradition in Bethlehem and to the marble basin in the Marwani Musalla in Jerusalem. The third component of the Nativity scene encompasses Joseph, Jesus’s earthly father, and the shepherds, and connects especially to Orthodox textual traditions. The figure of Joseph, who sits to the right and broods with his head in his hand, was described in the Protevangelium. He represented those who struggled to understand how a baby born as human could have divine characteristics. Among the bystanders is a pair of shepherds at the lower right. These two, and the shepherd with his flock to the left, seem to be based on the Protevangelium. One shepherd clasps his partner around the neck and with a pointing hand draws their attention upward to the scene of Christ’s birth. This specific imagery also appears in the London and Vatican Syriac lectionaries (Figures 4.10 and 4.11).115 The Protevangelium text states that, after Joseph led Mary to the cave and went looking for a midwife, he had a vision. In it, he saw figures who acted as if they were about to eat, but Rather, all their faces were looking up. And I saw sheep being driven, but the sheep were standing still. And the shepherd lifted up his hand to strike them, but his hand remained above them. And I saw the rushing current of the river and I saw goats and their mouths resting in the water, but they were not drinking.116 This type of suspended scene seems to be represented on the canteen. The shepherd at the left has his hand extended above the head of one animal, as if poised to strike it. The other creature above and next to Salome looks up as well, left front paw raised and frozen in mid-​stance, while the animal in the lower left corner has its head down, seemingly drinking from a river. Such derivations from the Protevangelium connect the scene closely to the Orthodox traditions, either through the textual source directly or a visual source that followed it. 114 See Kirby, Protevangelium of James, 20:1–​10. Note that I disagree with Baer who says that the woman pouring is Salome, Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 20. See also Schiller, Iconography (vol. 1), 1, 63–​64. 115 London, British Library, ms Add. 7170, fol. 21r, Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 141. 116 Kirby, Protevangelium of James, 18:7–​11.

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The fourth component of the Nativity scene that suggests cross-​cultural inspiration is the grouping of the three wise men or kings riding from the left on horseback to visit the Virgin and Child. The angel in front of them points to the scene and warns them not to return to King Herod, who had asked for news of this special child’s birth.117 The similarities of this vignette to the Vatican’s Mar Mattai Monastery lectionary may be especially meaningful according to Ecker and Fitzherbert because both the lectionary and the canteen deviate from the traditional iconography in a notable manner: a mounted soldier with the traditional Seljuk tall, furry headgear of authority, the sharbush, appears as one of the three kings (Figure 4.11).118 Schneider asserted that such a representation would more likely have appeared in the Mosul area under the rule of a Jaziran atabeg, such as Badr al-​Din LuʾLuʾ (an Armenian convert to Islam who succeeded the Zengid amirs in Mosul (r. 1234–​59)), than in a Syrian Ayyubid or a Latin crusader context.119 Thus consideration of this hybrid Nativity scene not only indicates a rich context of Muslim and Christian interaction but also returns the discussion to the area of Mosul.120 4.2.2.2

The Presentation in the Temple: The Temple as Conflation of the Dome of the Rock and Church of the Holy Sepulcher Moving counter-​clockwise around the obverse of the canteen, the next scene is the Presentation of the Christ child in the Temple (Figure 4.5).121 This scene derives from the Gospel of Luke (2:22–​38) and, like the Nativity, is one of the twelve main annual feasts in Orthodox churches. The religious purpose of the Holy Family’s visit to the Temple was to redeem the first-​born male and purify the mother forty days after his birth.122 The episode was understood to have taken place in the Temple in Jerusalem (Luke 2:27). Many elements of the Presentation scene relate to standard Byzantine iconography with occasional 1 17 See ibid., 21:1–​12, accessed 7 March 2018. 118 Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms sir. 559, fol. 16r. See Ecker and Fitzherbert, “Freer canteen,” 185–​186. 119 Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 139. On Badr al-​Din LuʾLuʾ, see Jonathan M. Bloom and Sheila S. Blair, “Badr al-​Din LuʾLuʾ,” in The Grove Encyclopedia of Islamic Art and Architecture, eds. Jonathan M. Bloom and Sheila S. Blair (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 249. 120 I am using the term “hybrid” in its sense as a purposeful process of accumulation that creates a departure from the norm, see Tronzo, “Restoring Agency,” 579. 121 Note that Dimand erroneously called this an image of the Circumcision of Christ, M.S. Dimand, “A Silver Inlaid Bronze Canteen with Christian Subjects in the Eumorfopoulos Collection,” Ars Islamica 1, no. 1 (1934): 17. 122 On symbolism of this moment, see Andrés García Serrano, The Presentation in the Temple. The Narrative Function of Lk 2:22–​39 in Luke-​Acts, ed. Pontifical Biblical Institute, Analecta Biblica (Rome: Gregorian & Biblical Press, 2012), 148–​149.

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variances, although unusual characteristics such as the three-​domed structure that frames the figures and the crosses on each dome demand a closer look. In a common composition, the Virgin holds the Christ child over the altar in the center and Simeon the priest stands to the left. Here, unusually, the Child is shown standing on the central altar, awkwardly reaching out to Simeon, who likewise extends his arms with hands covered in cloth—​a typical feature that emphasizes the sacred and liturgical nature of his actions.123 Simeon appears to hold two small objects, awkward representations of the two birds usually held by Joseph as offerings, here accepted by Simeon as Temple priest.124 To the left of the priest is Joseph, who holds a boxlike object. Two small holes on the side of the box could be air holes for the birds, suggesting that this box transported the birds already passed to Simeon. The pairing of the female figures is another common Byzantine element. Mary stands to the right of the altar, reaching with her right hand to touch the shoulder of the child. Behind her an exuberant prophetess Anna (Luke 2:36–​ 37) raises her chin in excitement and her right hand in speech to announce the child’s importance as a sign from God of the redemption of Jerusalem.125 Her words are symbolized by the item in her left hand. Traditionally an unfurled scroll of her prophecy (Luke 2:38), it seems to have been misunderstood by the artist as a cloth-​type extension hanging from her hand to her feet.126 The three-​domed building form on the canteen is the scene’s most puzzling feature in comparison to traditional Presentation iconography and also the most revealing in regard to cross-​cultural contemporary ideas about the Temple site. As discussed in Chapter 2, the Temple is often represented as a centralized, single-​domed structure borrowing from the basic form of the Dome of the Rock (Figures 1.6 and 2.3). The Presentation under a single canopy is the typical Byzantine version of the scene, such as in a Copto-​Arabic Gospel book in Paris of c. 1250 (Figure 4.13).127 123 See Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 20. Note that Katzenstein and Lowry (Katzenstein and Lowry, “Christian Themes,” 61) identified the figure to the far left as an add-​on figure, and the figure under the arch reaching out to Christ as Joseph, because of the two objects in his hands, which they asserted are misunderstood birds. I do think that there was some visual misunderstanding, but only in the props, not in the figures themselves. On the characters, see García Serrano, The Presentation in the Temple, 150. On the holding of Christ by Simeon, see Buchthal, “The Painting of the Syrian Jacobites,” 138. 124 See Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 141. 125 See García Serrano, The Presentation in the Temple, 196. 126 See also Katzenstein and Lowry, “Christian Themes,” 61. 127 Paris, Institut Catholique, Bibliothèque de Fels, ms copte-​arabe 1, fol. 109v, see reproduction in Hunt, “The Christian-​Muslim relations in painting,” 126, fig. 112. See also the

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­f igure 4.13 Presentation of Christ in the Temple (detail upper right), Scenes from Luke, Paris, Bibliothèque de Fels, Institut Catholique, ms Copte-​Arabe 1, fol. 109v, c. 1250

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A review of why Christians conceived of the Dome of the Rock as the Temple of Jerusalem is important. Hoffmann thought that the crusaders probably knew that the Dome of the Rock was an Islamic structure.128 The majority of evidence does not bear this out. Even Archbishop William of Tyre, who explained that a former temple built by Solomon had been destroyed by Romans and replaced by the polygonal structure—​built by a Muslim ruler, still called the building the “Temple.”129 By the time of the crusaders’ dedication of the Dome of the Rock as the Templum Domini in 1141, many authors revealed their basic understanding that the structure was associated with the place, if not the actual building, of the Temple from the time of Christ. Many writers saw it as a Byzantine—​that is, Christian—​structure, built to honor the site of the Temple visited by Christ and Mary.130 For example, the German pilgrim Theoderic stated that the Emperor Constantine and his mother Helena had built it.131 One reason for the Frankish insistence on a Chrisian having built the Dome of the Rock may have been that the first prior of the institution conducting Christian services in the building reinforced this idea, explained by a poem written by Acard of Arrouaise in 1114 for King Baldwin.132 In this way, as Heribert Busse stressed, crusaders downplayed a Muslim association with the building, if they admitted it at all.133 Instead they emphasized the biblical, Solomonic derivation of the Dome of the Rock. Indeed, Sylvia Schein asserted that the crusaders took over the Hebrew Bible traditions of the site as a way to express their identification with the biblical Levant.134

website Institut Catholique de Paris, Bibliothèque de Fels, “L’évangéliaire copte-​arabe de la Bibliothèque de Fels,” https://​ipac.icp.fr/​uPor​tal/​page/​decouv​rir/​expo/​eva​ngel​iair​e_​co​ pte/​cont​act.htm, accessed 30 June 2021. 128 See Hoffman, “Christian-​Islamic Encounters,” 138. 129 William of Tyre did grow up in the region, which may account for why he was more knowledgeable about the building history. See William Archbishop of Tyre, A History of Deeds (vol. 1), Introduction: 6–​9; Book 1, Chapter 2: 62–​63; and Book 8, Chapter 3: 344–​345. 130 Schein, “The Temple,” 181 and Schein, Gateway to the heavenly city, 106–​107. 131 See Theoderic in Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 292, 293 and Theoderic, Guide to the Holy Land, 829. See also Busse, “Vom Felsendom zum Templum Domini,” 27 and Schein, Gateway to the heavenly city, 107. 132 Wilkinson, “Introduction,” 12. 133 Busse, “Vom Felsendom zum Templum Domini,” 22–​27. The traditions that Christians associated with the building are quite similar to those found in pre-​crusader-​era Muslim texts, and Busse suggests that local Christians were the intermediaries for the local legends such as the Temple’s location as the place of Abraham’s sacrifice or of the visit of the Virgin to the Temple as a young girl, ibid., 26–​28. On the growth of these traditions in relation to the Temple Mount under the crusaders, see also Schein, “The Temple,” 186–​187. 134 Schein, Gateway to the heavenly city, 96–​97.

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­f igure 4.14 Presentation of Christ in the Temple mosaics, Cappella Palatina, Sicily (Italy), c. 1140–​70

Given that the Freer Canteen image of the Temple does not match the typical single-​domed conception of the Dome of the Rock, scholars have sought artistic models for its form.135 André Grabar found specific analogies for the canteen structure in the Byzantine-​inspired mosaics of the Cappella Palatina in Sicily with its Presentation scene prominent on the western spandrels below the central cupola (c. 1140–​70) (Figure 4.14).136 This mosaic displays a

135 One approach to identifying a source for the form of the canteen’s unusual Temple has been to consider that these three domes are an architectural type familiar in Islamic illustration, such as that found in the thirteenth-​century Arabic manuscript of the Maqamat (‘Assemblies,’ Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, ms arabe 5847, fol. 33r) by al-​Hariri (poet from Basra, d. 1122) of 1237. Yet I assert that the canteen’s Temple particulars do not suggest an artist’s misconstruing or generic rendering. See Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 142 and André Grabar, “L’image d’une église chrétienne parmi les peintres musulmanes de la Chapelle Palatine à Palermo,” in Aus der Welt der islamischen Kunst: Festschrift für Ernst Kühnel zum 75. Geburtstag am 26. 10. 1957, ed. Richard Ettinghausen (Berlin: Gebr. Mann, 1959), 227–​228, fig. 1. See also Buchthal, “The Painting of the Syrian Jacobites,”, pl. 22, fig. 2 and Contadini, “Ayyubid Illustrated Manuscripts,” 191–​193. 136 Grabar, “L’image d’une église chrétienne parmi les peintres musulmanes de la Chapelle Palatine à Palermo,” 227–​228. See also David Knipp, “Image, Presence, and

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­f igure 4.15 Presentation of Christ in the Temple, Syriac Lectionary, Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms sir. 559, fol. 48v, c. 1219–​20

central domed flanked by two rectangular towers. Schneider and Baer compared the canteen to Syriac lectionaries (Figure 4.15).137 In the Vatican lectionary, a central cupola over the altar has attached lobed side arches with triangular roof extensions over the figures of Mary and Simeon. Raby, who also emphasized the canteen’s resemblance to these Syriac lectionaries, made a broad comparison to a third Syriac lectionary (early eleventh century, from near Mardin).138 He suggested that even though the lectionary had no immediate connection with Mosul or the canteen, perhaps the craftsman of the Ambivalence: The Byzantine Tradition of the Painted Ceiling in the Cappella Palatina, Palermo,” Visualisierungen von Herrschaft: byzas 5 (2006): 306–​309. 137 In Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms sir. 559, fol. 48v and British Library, ms Add. 7170, fol. 57r. See Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 27 and Leroy, Les Manuscrits syriaques, 413–​414. In the London exemplar, three separate structures do appear over the scene’s participants. Yet the London lectionary has two side structures with pointed roofs with pediments more so than domes. 1 38 London, British Library, ms Or. 3372, Raby, “Principle of Parsimony,” 49, Fig. 41.23 and 81–​82n142.

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canteen relied on a later version of the lectionary for the image.139 In other words, scholars have tried to explain the lack of resemblance to traditional Temple scenes by looking at Eastern Christian-​inspired mosaics and liturgical manuscripts, although none of the comparisons closely resemble the three domes on the canteen. Another approach not yet considered is to see the three domes as topping three separate structures to mimic the three domed structures on the Temple Mount.140 Two smaller domed forms flanked the Dome of the Rock in the thirteenth century (as today). A viewer sees the Dome of the Ascension (or Qubbat al-​Miʿraj, dated from seventh to twelfth century, to the west) and the Dome of the Chain (or Qubbat al-​Silsilah, dated from the seventh-​century, to the east), on either side of the Dome of the Rock (to the right and left respectively) when standing in the northern zone of the platform (and looking south).141 The crusaders probably used the former as their baptistery for the Templum Domini, and the Ayyubids repurposed it as a prayer space after 1187. The latter was used by crusaders as a chapel dedicated to St. James the Less when they controlled the city in the twelfth century. It is difficult to confirm if the domed structures on the canteen should be read as separate because their cornices do not appear continuously connected. Rather, bird tails (of the birds perched on the domes) or cloth-​like forms seem to extend from near the feet of the angels hovering above the central dome, obscuring the cornices on either side of the central structure. Although in reality the three domes on Haram al-​Sharif are of differing sizes and heights, this option supposes that the artist was making a general reference to their forms and proximity to one another. Seeing these structures in the Presentation scene as the three domes on the Haram al-​Sharif platform does suggest a patron or artist with specific understanding of Jerusalem who made Christian connections to their functions and meanings. Yet one more option for the inspiration for the canteen’s three-​domed Temple is perhaps not obvious: the Church of the Holy Sepulcher as it appears on the obverse of twelfth-​and thirteenth-​century seals of the grandmaster of the Hospitallers of St. John.142 Because this option is less evident, it is 1 39 140 141 142

He is referring especially to the Entry in Jerusalem in that comparison, ibid., 81–​82n142. I credit the publisher’s anonymous reader of the book manuscript with this suggestion. See Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 182–​183, 413–​414. The representations of churches that frame conciliar texts in the mosaics of the Church of the Nativity of Bethlehem (third quarter of the twelfth century) evoked a basilica, and specifically the Holy Sepulcher, according to Bianca and Gustav Kühnel, Kühnel, The Church of the Nativity, 59–​63, 74–​75, 90–​99, esp. 92. General church representations can be found, especially in Byzantine-​inspired decoration, of three domed churches. See

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important first to describe the seals’ image. On the obverse of the Hospitaller seal, a large central dome and two smaller domes resting atop a cornice fill the upper third of the composition (Figure 4.16).143 In the lower part of the composition, a wrapped body rests supine on a platform or box, while a lamp hangs from the middle of the central dome and a censer swings to the left at the body’s feet. Scholars have explained that the wrapped body related to the duties of the Hospitallers, a religious order initiated between 1065 and 1071 to care for the sick, the poor, pilgrim travelers, and the deceased in Jerusalem.144 To clarify how the Temple on the canteen could relate to a Hospitaller theme and to the Holy Sepulcher church, deliberate analysis of the connection of that church to the Hospitallers and their combined relation to the Templum Domini is necessary. I emphasize that the Hospitaller imagery of the three-​domed structure does not appear just once—​it was repeated again and again by successive Hospitaller grandmasters on their seals with the inscription “hospitalis hiervsalem.”145 The earliest known seal, first created for Raimond du Puy (grandmaster 1118–​59), was attached to a document in 1134 although that seal is now lost.146 The oldest extant seal attached to a document is that of grandmaster Geoffroy de Donion from 1193.147 Each grandmaster of the order

143 144

145

146 147

also Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 142 and Brigitte Pitarkis, “New Evidence on Lead Flasks and Devotional Patterns: From Crusader Jerusalem to Byzantium,” in Byzantine Religious Culture: Studies in Honor of Alice-​Mary Talbot, eds. Dennis Sullivan, Elizabeth Fisher, and Stratis Papaioannou (Boston: Brill, 2012), 241–​243. See the example of Grand Master Garin de Montaigu (1207–​28), in Barbara Packard, “Seals of the Grand Masters,” Museum of the Order of St. John, http://​museu​mstj​ohn.org .uk/​seals-​of-​the-​grand-​mast​ers/​, accessed 30 June 2021. The Order always buried its own deceased patients, and in 1143, the patriarch of Jerusalem, William of Malines, granted to them the cemetery of Akeldama outside of Jerusalem. With that bestowal, the Hospitallers then became accountable for tending to the burials of all pilgrims in the city, typically depositing the bodies in a charnel pit at that cemetery after the vigil, Jonathan Riley-​Smith, The Knights Hospitaller in the Levant, c. 1070–​ 1309 (Hampshire, England: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 22, 76–​77. See also Pitarkis, “New Evidence,” 245–​246. Schlumberger, Chalandon, and Blanchet, Sigillographie de l’Orient latin, 232–​234. The Hospitaller seals, from the earliest extant versions and continuing through the entire history of the order, exhibited the three-​domed structure and a patriarchal cross as in the canteen scene. See Whatley, “Visual Self-​Fashioning,” 253, 256 and Jonathan Riley-​ Smith, Hospitallers. The History of the Order of St John (London: The Hambledon Press, 1999), 1, 54. Paul Bigelow Schaeffer, “Some Aspects of the Government of Baldwin ii, Second Latin King of Jerusalem” (Master’s Thesis, University of Wisconsin, 1915), 180. See Schlumberger, Chalandon, and Blanchet, Sigillographie de l’Orient latin, 232–​234, pl. xi–​238.

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­f igure 4.16 Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Hospitaller Seal (obverse) of Grandmaster Garin de Montaigu (1207–​28), London, Museum of the Order of St John

had his own seal made with his own name, though the imagery stayed largely the same.148 The Hospitaller connection with the Church of the Holy Sepulcher was strong. The Hospitallers’ had their own separate church structures focused around the Hospital of St. John, begun in Fatimid Jerusalem at the end of the eleventh century.149 The Hospitallers eventually had a large complex, just to the south of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, that could care for about 2,000 ill individuals, with a complicated system of charity and food delivery.150 When control of the city shifted to the rulers of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem after 1099, all of the Latin institutions in the region answered to the Latin patriarch based at the Holy Sepulcher and eventually also to the authority of the Latin canons of the Holy Sepulcher.151 As Helen Nicholson pointed out, the evidence “indicating that the [Hospital of St. John and Holy Sepulcher] were linked, or even that they were one and the same” in the first part of the twelfth century came from the many charters for the early Hospital.152 The administration of the hospital slowly emerged from the jurisdiction of the patriarch when the papacy placed the Hospitaller order under its direct authority beginning in

1 48 149 150 151

On the grandmaster, elected for life, and his role, see Riley-​Smith, Hospitallers, 66–​67. See Nicholson, The Knights Hospitaller, 2–​3. See Riley–​Smith, The Knights Hospitaller, 69–​72. Just prior to the crusades, the patriarch of Jerusalem, the priests in charge of the Holy Sepulcher, and the ecclesiastical hierarchy belonged to the Syrian Orthodox Church, Nicholson, The Knights Hospitaller, 5. 152 Initial charters arranged donations to the Holy Sepulcher and the Hospital of St. John, and the beginning rule of the Hospitaller order (ascribed to Grandmaster Raymond du Puy) was related to the Rule of St. Augustine as followed by the Holy Sepulcher canons from 1114, ibid.

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­f igure 4.17 Grandmaster and double-​armed cross, Hospitaller Seal (reverse) of Grandmaster Garin de Montaigu (1207–​28), London, Museum of the Order of St. John

1113.153 By 1139–​43, the Hospitallers appropriated a military role, taking up arms as an extension of their goal to protect Christians.154 They remained linked with the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, which the crusaders were rebuilding as a symbol of their Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem by the 1130s.155 Laura Whatley pointed out this close connection of the Hospitallers to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher when she asserted that the domed structure on the Hospitaller seal must have evoked the interior aedicule of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and that the shrouded body referred to the tomb of Christ within.156 An example of a similar aedicule over the tomb of Christ appears in 153

See Riley-​Smith, The Knights Hospitaller, 21. Nicholson refers to a document of 1154 as an important confirmation of this shift, Nicholson, The Knights Hospitaller, 6–​7. 154 Nicholson, The Knights Hospitaller, 2, 10 and Riley-​Smith, Hospitallers, 33, 36–​37. Riley-​ Smith analyzed the tensions between the order’s two types of activities: providing care for the sick and poor versus military and protective duties, ibid., 19, 33–​37 and Jonathan Riley-​Smith, “Aspects of Hospitaller and Templar Memory,” in Remembering the Crusades: Myth, Image, and Identity, eds. Nicholas Paul and Suzanne Yeager, Rethinking Theory (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2012), 235. 155 See Nicholson, The Knights Hospitaller, 6. The extent to which the order continued to be associated with the Holy Sepulcher is exemplified by their churches in Europe, which were often built with a circular plan in imitation of the Anastasis Rotunda, see ibid., 6, 96 and Riley-​Smith, The Knights Hospitaller, 23. 156 Whatley, “Visual Self-​Fashioning,” 256. She stated that the body below could either represent 1) a sick individual over whom prayers are being said; 2) a non-​specific deceased individual; or 3) a representation of Christ on his tomb, ibid., 254. As Riley-​Smith explains, in Hospitaller thinking, patients represented the person of Christ. Thus, the Hospitallers cared for the patients in body and spirit, when alive or dead, as if they were him, Riley-​ Smith, Hospitallers, 21, 25. Compare Whatley, “Visual Self-​Fashioning,” 256–​257 and Pitarkis, “ New Evidence,” 242, 244–​245. See also J. Delaville Le Roulx, “Notes sur les sceaux de l’ordre de Saint Jean de Jérusalem,” Mémoires de la Société nationale des antiquaires de France 5th ser., no. 1 (1880): 67.

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the twelfth-​century St. Albans Psalter: when the three Marys come to visit the empty tomb of Christ, it is represented as a three-​arched canopy (Figure 3.12).157 Daniel the Abbot, visiting Jerusalem c. 1106, tells us something about the aedicule’s appearance before its renovation in c. 1119: “And the Lord’s Tomb is like a little cave cut into the rock … and above the cave is a beautiful chamber on pillars, round at the top and covered with gilded silver plates.”158 The aedicule was renovated soon after, but we do not know its extent.159 It may have had the cupola and surrounding structure seen in a fifteenth-​century woodcut by Bernard von Breydenbach.160 Representations of the aedicule in the thirteenth century commonly showed lamps hanging under three arches, though with a single large dome over the central part of the structure, as in the Walters glass beakers and a William of Tyre Histoire d’Outremer manuscript discussed in the previous chapter (Figures 3.3, 3.10). One possibility is that the three-​domed structure on the Hospitaller seal—​ and on the canteen—​may relate not only to the interior aedicule but also to the exterior form of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher complex. The Latin leaders of Jerusalem dedicated the reconstructed Church of the Holy Sepulcher on 15 July 1149.161 It had, as described by an anonymous Greek author of c. 1253–​54, “over it three domes: one over the Tomb of Christ [the Anastasis Rotunda], one over the bema of the katholikon, and one in the centre of the church.”162 Denys Pringle suggested that the dome mentioned to be over the bema or chancel of the main church likely referred to the semi-​dome of the main apse, with the Anastasis Rotunda and the church’s nave domes being the other two. This description underscores that contemporaries saw the church as having three domes. The three arches with three domes above an arcade were regularly associated with the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, whether the interior aedicule or the exterior form. The unusual crosses on all three domes of the canteen’s Presentation scene may be the key elements to confirm a connection between this Temple and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and to relate formally and historically to the Hospitaller seals (Figures 4.5 and 4.16). The central dome on the canteen 157 Hildesheim, Dombibliothek, ms St. Godehard 1, page 50, c. 1119–​1123, from St. Albans Abbey. See King’s College, “The St Albans Psalter,” University of Aberdeen, https://​www .abdn.ac.uk/​stal​bans​psal​ter/​engl​ish/​index.shtml, accessed 30 June 2021. 158 In Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 128. See also Folda, “Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre,” 159. 159 Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 61, 79, 186. 160 Ibid., 79–​80, fig. 75.71a. 161 See ibid., 177–​204, esp. 203. 162 In Pringle, Pilgrimage, 193 (section 118).

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supports a two-​armed patriarchal cross.163 On the seals, a two-​armed cross appears on the reverse, where the grandmaster of the order kneels in prayer before it (Figure 4.17).164 On the one hand, the seals’ cross may be a schematic version of the Crucifixion, with Jesus theoretically attached to the lower crossbeam and the title plaque (“inri,” or Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaeorum) symbolized by the upper one.165 Through its association with the Crucifixion, the two-​ armed cross implied a tie of the Hospitaller leader with the Holy Sepulcher because that church encompassed the site of Christ’s death.166 On the other hand, the two-​armed cross was also thought to symbolize the authority of the Church, represented by the patriarch in Jerusalem who claimed this double cross as his sign.167 After 1099, the Latin patriarch maintained ecclesiastical lordship over the Patriarchate’s quarter in the northwest quadrant of the city, which included his palace, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and the Hospitaller complex.168 On the seal, the Hospitaller grandmaster gives honor to this sign. The double-​armed cross seen on the top of the canteen’s Temple thus had a formal and historical association with the Latin patriarch, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher as the site of Christ’s Crucifixion, and with the Hospitaller grandmasters.169 In the twelfth century, the Latin patriarch took part in certain ceremonies, such as the Palm Sunday procession, that began by marshaling the relic of the True Cross at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and then proceeding across the city to the Mount of Olives and eventually to the Dome of the Rock, 163 Albeit with a slightly awkward upper arm carved under the main support. Note that one scholar wondered if this was an upside-​down cross, though I do not agree, see Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 139. 164 See the example of Grand Master Garin de Montaigu, in Packard, “Seals.” 165 Whatley, “Visual Self-​Fashioning,” 253. 166 See ibid., 253–​254 and Pitarkis, “New Evidence,” 245, 254. 167 See Joshua Prawer, “The Patriarch’s Lordship in Jerusalem,” in Crusader Institutions, ed. Joshua Prawer (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), 297–​303. 168 Ibid., 300–​303, 309–​312. The establishment of a Latin patriarchate of Jerusalem with the crusader conquest of Jerusalem in 1099 forced into exile the existing Eastern Orthodox patriarch and sublimated the importance of the Eastern Orthodox churches in the Holy Land during the twelfth century, see Joshua Prawer, The Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem: European Colonialism in the Middle Ages (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1972), 163–​166. On the Latin patriarchs, see Klaus-​Peter Kirstein, Die lateinische Patriarchen von Jerusalem von der Eroberung der Heiligen Stadt durch die Kreuzfahrer 1099 bis zum Ende der Kreuzfahrerstaaten 1291, Friedrich-​Meinecke-​Institut der Freien Universität Berlin and Institut für Geschichtswissenschaften der Humboldt-​Universität zu Berlin, Berliner historische Studien (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2002), 71. 169 On the power of the patriarch in Jerusalem and his Holy Sepulcher associations, see Prawer, “The Patriarch’s Lordship,” 296–​301.

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as discussed in the previous chapter.170 Many extant double-​armed reliquaries of the True Cross, such as the one possibly from the abbey of Grandmont, France (c. 1180) or the Byzantine Limburg Staurotheke from Constantinople (tenth century), reinforced the associations of the double-​armed cross with Jerusalem and the site of the Crucifixion.171 The appearance of the double-​armed cross on the surface of a three-​domed Temple in the Presentation scene may signal a thirteenth-​century visual and liturgical conflation of the Holy Sepulcher Church with the Templum Domini.172 The dome of the Anastasis Rotunda at the Holy Sepulcher was not typically shown with a cross on top of it because of the open oculus at its summit, but the crusaders did install a gilded cross (of unknown form) on the top of the Dome of the Rock when they consecrated it as a church in 1141.173 Salah al-​Din removed the cross when he took over the city in 1187. The canteen artisan or patron may have been merging buildings of biblical and more recent past by rendering a combination of the Dome of the Rock and its former cross with the Holy Sepulcher and its patriarchal and Hospitaller associations and three domes. As noted in the argument of Richard Krautheimer, depiction of crucial elements of a building could create a copy of the original, provided that they alluded to the meanings of those forms.174 Three historical reasons for blending the Church of the Holy Sepulcher with the Dome of the Rock as the Temple in the canteen’s Presentation scene may have been at play. Frankish governance and political customs that affected 170 See Prawer, The Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, 178. On the chapel of the True Cross and its reliquary, see Hunt, “Artistic and Cultural Inter-​Relations,” 70–​71. In the thirteenth century, the Latin patriarch resided in Acre until 1291, whereas the Greek Orthodox patriarch moved back to Jerusalem and regained stature there. I have not determined whether the Orthodox leader took up the patriarchal cross as his own sign. 171 That the cross on the canteen dome might also have referred to a special reliquary of the True Cross held at the Holy Sepulcher and used in processions in the thirteenth century is possible, but centuries of plundering and dispersal of the treasury make this impossible to confirm. See Boehm in Boehm and Holcomb, Jerusalem. 1000–​1400, 57. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, object no. 2002.18 and Limburg an der Lahn, Diözesanmuseum or Dom-​Museum, Treasury. See the catalog entries by Barbara Drake Boehm, in Boehm and Holcomb, Jerusalem. 1000–​1400, 57–​61. On the Limburg reliquary, see also Nancy P. Ševčenko, “The Limburg Staurothek and its relics,” in The celebration of the saints in Byzantine art and liturgy, ed. Nancy P. Ševčenko (Farnham, Surrey; Burlington, Vermont: Ashgate Variaroum, 2013). 172 Ecker and Fitzherbert noted that the presence of crosses on the canteen Temple, inappropriate for a Jewish Temple, suggest that “some confusion with the Church of the Holy Sepulchre may have occurred,” Ecker and Fitzherbert, “Freer canteen,” 186. 173 Schein, Gateway to the heavenly city, 104. 174 See Krautheimer, “Introduction ii,” 115–​150 and Krautheimer, “Introduction i” 1–​33.

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these two churches and all Christians in Jerusalem define the first reason. The Temple Mount was the center of Frankish authority for the first two decades of the Latin Kingdom, after which the rulers moved to the Tower of David at the western edge of the city. That initial association of the Templum Domini with the ruling Latin Christians bolstered the building’s significance while making it accessible generally to Christians.175 The Franks development of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher also played a role in asserting Roman Catholic Christianity in Jerusalem over other Christian groups. The Church of the Holy Sepulcher would become the burial place of Frankish rulers.176 Most important was how the coronation ceremony of later twelfth-​century Frankish kings involved both the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and the Templum Domini.177 The coronation ritual began at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.178 The new ruler then processed to the Templum Domini, placed his crown on the altar there, then retrieved it, receiving holy consecration as a king much as Jesus was blessed as an infant at what was supposedly the same Temple altar.179 In other words, the Templum Domini and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher were both connected politically and ritually by Christians to the Presentation of Christ in the Temple, which helps explain why they might be presented in an ambiguously overlapping manner on the canteen. A second historical reason why the patron of the canteen might have conflated the Templum Domini and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in the Temple image may be sought in the combination of the liturgies of several Christian confessions associated with these structures in the crusader era. Prior to the crusades, the Christians in Jerusalem carried out their principal liturgies in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher; the Orthodox community had primacy in part because of consistent Byzantine imperial patronage.180 For the European Frankish crusaders, the conquest of Jerusalem in 1099 made it possible to gain more access to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and grow the Latin liturgy there over the course of the twelfth century.181 Crusader victory also gave the 1 75 Schein, “The Temple,” 178–​179. 176 See Jacoby, “The Tomb of Baldwin v,” 3–​14 and Hunt, “Artistic and Cultural Inter-​ Relations,” 57–​66. 177 Luchitskaya, “Pictorial Sources, Coronation Ritual,” 52. 178 See ibid., 50–​51, 55–​56, 60. 179 See ibid., 52. See also Busse, “Vom Felsendom zum Templum Domini,” 31 and Schein, “The Temple,” 184. 180 For a review of the situation of Greek Orthodox and Melkite Orthodox of Byzantine support and of the other major groups of the Armenians, Jacobites, Copts, and Abyssinians before 1099, see Hunt, “Artistic and Cultural Inter-​Relations,” 59, 63–​70. 181 See Schein, Gateway to the heavenly city, 65–​66 and Hunt, “Artistic and Cultural Inter-​ Relations,” 64–​70.

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Franks and other Christians access to the Dome of the Rock, which Muslims had been using for its original purpose as a shrine. After changing the Dome of the Rock to a church, the Franks shifted certain Christian liturgies to it from the Holy Sepulcher.182 For example, they moved the Palm Sunday procession and the Marian feast of the Presentation of the Virgin from the Holy Sepulcher to the Templum Domini.183 Also a procession for all Christians from the Holy Sepulcher to the Templum Domini began to honor the feast of the Purification of the Virgin, which incorporated the feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple.184 In other words, all Christians in the twelfth century began to understand the expanded importance of the Dome of the Rock and to know its liturgies combined with those of the Holy Sepulcher—​including a liturgy related to the Presentation scene on the canteen. After the Frankish defeat in 1187, the liturgies of the Latin and Eastern Christians involving the Haram al-​Sharif and Church of the Holy Sepulcher had to change again. With Salah al-​Din’s rule, the Templum Domini’s role as a Christian sanctuary came to an end. Perhaps the canteen artist depicted this three-​domed structure, which resembles the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in form and the Templum Domini in meaning, because of what happened to the latter.185 The Ayyubids officially banned Christians and Jews from entering the Haram al-​Sharif, although occasional pilgrims did manage to visit.186 Even in the decade when Latin Christians regained control of the city, between 1229 and 1239, they did not gain regular access to the Templum Domini. The Church of the Holy Sepulcher took over again as the location of much Templum Domini liturgy, and the Orthodox priests acquired control of more significant parts of the Holy Sepulcher church, asserting their favored position in the eyes of their Muslim overlords vis-​à-​vis the Latin-​rite Europeans.187 Though Schein has discussed the meanings definitively shifting from the Templum Domini back to the Holy Sepulcher by the fourteenth century, some of the Christians’ attitudes toward and understanding of the Templum Domini must have changed by the time of the canteen’s production in the mid-​thirteenth century because they could not visit the Temple Mount or include it in their liturgies at that 182 See Busse, “Vom Felsendom zum Templum Domini,” 31 and Schein, “The Temple,” 184–​185. See also Schein, Gateway to the heavenly city, 98–​101. 183 Schein, “The Temple,” 184–​185 and Schein, Gateway to the heavenly city, 101–​105. 184 Schein, “The Temple,” 185. See also Prawer, The Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, 177–​178. See also Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 402, 404. 185 Busse, “Vom Felsendom zum Templum Domini,” 32. 186 Schein, “The Temple,” 192. 187 Ibid., 192–​193.

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point.188  The situation reflects contentious Latin and Orthodox rivalries for influence at these holy sites though also signs of coexistence.189 I propose that the domed structure on the canteen may record these shifts in control and in liturgy by conflating the architecture of the Templum Domini and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Another detail of the canteen’s Presentation in the Temple scene—​the altar on which the Christ child stands—​may indicate the canteen’s thirteenth-​century liturgical conflation of the Templum Domini with the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. The canteen’s depiction of this altar stands out for its surface decoration, divided into geometric segments and incised with diverse floral and geometric patterning. Archaeologist Amit Re’em recently brought to light an inlaid stone panel that he proposed was once used as the frontal for the main altar of the crusader Church of the Holy Sepulcher.190 The panel reveals the remains of Cosmati-​style stone inlay and indentations for now-​lost stones, much like the liturgical furniture found in eleventh-​and twelfth-​century churches in Rome, such as San Clemente. Little detail is known about the Franks’ altar once in the Templum Domini, which was dismantled by Salah al-​Din, but references to marble covering the rock within and an altar being placed on top appears in some writings.191 That the artist or patron of the canteen might have known the decorative appearance of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and (former) Templum Domini altars and included such a design to make a specific reference to important Jerusalem altars seems possible in a luxurious metalwork piece that displayed such careful planning. 188 Schein, “The Temple,” 192–​193. See Kenneth Scott Parker, “The indigenous Christians of the Ayyūbid Sultanate at the time of the Fifth Crusade,” in Proceedings of the Conference Contextualising the Fifth Crusade (University of Kent, Canterbury, April 2012), https://​royalh​ ollo​way.acade​mia.edu/​Scot​tPar​ker, accessed 30 June 2021. More generally, see also Parker, “The Indigenous Christians.” 189 Much as John of Würzburg in c. 1170 does not wish to add information on other groups’ activities, Ernoul’s Chronicle tells us in c. 1231 that he will not discuss the sites or activities of the “Jacobites, Bohemians, Nestorians, Armenians or other sorts of people who were not in obedience to Rome,” Pringle, Pilgrimage, 163n203. 190 Amit Re’em, “Broken, Hidden. Revealed and discovered —​The Story of the Crusader High Altar of the Holy Sepulchre,” Conference Presentation, The Latin East in the 13th Century: Institutions, Settlements and Material Culture (University of Haifa, Mount Carmel, Israel, 2018). He credits Ilya Berkovich (Munich, Ludwig Maxilimian University) with some of the research. See also Andrew Lawler, “A Crusader-​Era High Altar Resurfaces in Jerusalem’s Holy Sepulcher,” Smithsonian.com (2018), https://​www.smi​thso​nian​mag .com/​hist​ory/​crusa​der-​era-​high-​altar-​res​urfa​ces-​jer​usal​ems-​holy-​sepulc​her-​180968​192/,​ accessed 8 June 2018. 191 See Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 401.

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Another uncommon decorative feature in this scene that may relate to blending the Templum Domini with the Church of the Holy Sepulcher liturgically is the bird and four fishes incised on the upper lintel of the large dome.192 The creatures may be general symbols for water and sky or specific Christian symbols for Christ (the fish) and peace (the dove).193 Additionally, they may add to the prophetic nature of the scene, referring to Psalm 148:4 and its notion of the waters above the heavens and the ocean above the earth calling for praise of God.194 The idea that symbolic imagery was embedded in the canteen’s Presentation of Christ in the Temple derives from the narrative moment’s religious meaning, which was always seen to have multiple layers. On the one hand, it was a reference to prophetic statements made in the past: Simeon said that Jesus was the fulfillment of his expectations to see the Messiah, the consolation of Israel, and the salvation of God. On the other hand, the Presentation was about the prophecy of what was going to happen: that Christ would have a role in the redemption of humankind through his sacrifice.195 Simeon and Anna are characters who gained their meaning from seeing Christ and prophesying about his role in the past and future.196 The Templum Domini and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher were the places where those events occurred. The third historical explanation for why the three-​domed Temple image on the canteen may have reflected the Holy Sepulcher church and patriarchal cross in general and the Hospitaller seals in particular relates to the close connection of the Hospitallers with the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries and beyond. As noted already, the connection of the Hospitaller order with the Church of the Holy Sepulcher continued in their seal format—​with a figure lying under a three-​domed structure—​ into the next centuries.197 As Whatley affirmed, seals were a public means of allowing medieval individuals a “process for establishing ownership, signing ­commitment, designating identity, representing authority, and of course authenticating documents.”198 After the conquest of Jerusalem by Salah al-​Din, the Hospitallers’ church and hospital were turned into a college for Shafiʿites, 192 Analysis of the descriptions by individuals such as Theoderic and John of Würzburg of lintel decorations and inscriptions do not seem to relate to these themes, see Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 404–​406. 193 Atil, Chase, and Jett, Islamic Metalwork, 126. 194 See Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 142. 195 See García Serrano, The Presentation in the Temple, 150. 196 See ibid., 175. 197 See Whatley, “Visual Self-​Fashioning,” 253, 256. 198 Ibid., 253.

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and the Hospitaller order moved its base to Acre.199 Nevertheless, the order persisted for several centuries after the crusades, moving eventually to Rhodes and then Malta, and their seal with its three-​domed form continued to reflect their symbolic connection with the Holy Sepulcher church. The deviations from traditional Presentation iconography on the canteen suggest that its patron or artist had a complex relationship with the holy sites in Jerusalem. 4.2.2.3

The Entry into Jerusalem: Palm Sunday Liturgy and the Golden Gate The third scene on the obverse of the canteen is Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, which is described in all four of the canonical Gospels (Luke 19, John 12, Matt. 21, Mark 11) (Figure 4.6). These texts narrate how he returned to the city near the end of his life to celebrate the Passover meal with his apostles. The Christian liturgy commemorating this event occurs on Palm Sunday one week before Easter and the feasts of Christ’s Passion and resurrection. Christ on the canteen is shown riding a donkey sidesaddle, as on the small beaker discussed in Chapter 3, and three small figures spread their tunics beneath the animal’s feet (Figure 3.7). Two other figures are up in the trees looking down on Christ. A man enters the scene from the upper left while several figures stand in front of a domed gate to greet Christ as he approaches the city gate. At first glance, this scene seems to be a traditional scene of the Entry into Jerusalem with similarities to specific Eastern Christian exemplars. Yet several unusual iconographical choices suggest the need for more consideration.200 Scholars have compared Eastern Christian and Islamic imagery to the canteen’s Entry scene to suggest the artist’s general models and artistic sensibilities. Some have associated the now lost scene of the Entry into Jerusalem in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and the mosaic in the transept of the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem (Figure 4.18).201 The latter scene, despite damage, is comparable to the canteen in its domed gate at the far right, small figures laying down their tunics, and an accompanying apostle. Raby compared the image on the canteen with a Jacobite lectionary from near Mardin and the Vatican lectionary (Figure 3.14).202 The canteen has two adult figures in front

199

Riley-​Smith, The Knights Hospitaller, 43, 47–​48. The hospital site was excavated partially over a hundred years ago, and much is still unknown, see ibid., 71. 200 See Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 139. 2 01 Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 142. 202 London, British Library, ms Or. 3372 and Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms sir. 559, fol. 105r, in Raby, “Principle of Parsimony,” 81–​82n142 and fig. 1.23.

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­f igure 4.18  Entry of Christ into Jerusalem mosaics, Church of the Nativity, south transept, Bethlehem, twelfth century

of the city gate, one holding a child on her shoulders.203 Such a woman also appears in the Bethlehem mosaic and is displaced to the top of the gate in the Syriac lectionaries from the Vatican and London (Figures 3.14 and 4.19). Similar details appear in numerous Eastern Christian works.204 At the same time, Dimand observed that the canteen’s general architectural character recalls thirteenth-​century miniatures of the Abbasid school such as the 1237 copy of the Maqamat of al-​Hariri, likely made in Baghdad.205 In the canteen’s depiction of the city gate with a dome, more explicit scriptural and liturgical references to the architecture of Jerusalem are apparent. Specifically, the Gospels describe Christ entering Jerusalem via the city’s eastern gate. By the crusader era, Christians had firmly identified the Golden Gate as this eastern entrance, and twelfth-​and thirteenth-​century liturgical texts explained the Palm Sunday celebrations that occurred there (Figure 3.13).206 2 03 See Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 20. 204 See Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 142, fig. 12, and Boehm and Holcomb, Jerusalem. 1000–​ 1400, 86. 205 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, ms arabe 5847. He does not give a detailed explanation of his assertion, Dimand, “Silver Inlaid Bronze Canteen,” 18. 206 See Schick, “Christian Identifications,” 373–​377.

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­f igure 4.19  Entry of Christ into Jerusalem, Syriac Lectionary, London, British Library, ms Add. 7170, fol. 115r, c. 1220

The canteen shows the Golden Gate with a small cupola, and indeed the Golden Gate had two small domes on drums, added in the crusader era if not before.207 Palm Sunday liturgies recorded in the rare extant liturgical manuscripts of the Byzantine Orthodox Anastasis Typikon (1122) and the Latin Barletta ordinal (1202–​28), as discussed at length in Chapter 3, confirm the use of a dome for youths to climb through the window on its side to access the roof of the gate and sing antiphons for the community gathered below to answer.208 The Palm Sunday liturgy may also help explain the anomalous figure on the upper left in the canteen Entry scene. This figure has a cross incised on his 2 07 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 107–​108. 208 Ibid., 104. The Anastasis Typikon is Jerusalem, Library of the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate, Hagios Stauros, ms 43. It is a combination of Greek Orthodox and local Melkite Orthodox liturgies, Galadza, “Greek liturgy in crusader Jerusalem,” 426–​431. See also Lingas, “Musical

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front, either held in his fist or attached to the chest of his tunic. Schneider suggested that the man is an apostle, and while it is common to see a group of apostles following Christ (as in Figure 4.19), it is not common for them to have a cross.209 At the same time, this cross might identify him as representing the patriarch of Jerusalem, who took the relic of the cross from the Church of the Holy Sepulcher at the start of the Palm Sunday procession and then processed to the Mount of Olives and ended up at the Golden Gate with the relic of the cross.210 This figure is seemingly above Christ and walking down a hill, presumably from the Mount of Olives, thus reinforcing a topographical connection with the environs of Jerusalem. While this figure may evoke the patriarch’s procession with the cross relic, it does not explain the cross visible on the middle of the three tunics being laid on the ground beneath the rear feet of the ass on which Christ rides. Again, a reference to the Hospitallers may provide a clue. In the Order’s rule, clause 19 stated that members had to wear a cross.211 On the aforementioned seals, the grandmasters display a (barely visible) cross on their left shoulder as they kneel before a two-​armed cross (Figure 4.17).212 The presence of a cross on their clothing symbolized that the members of the order acted in remembrance of Christ, who died on the cross for all sinners.213 Whether the cross on the tunic

209

2 10 211

212

213

Soundscape of Byzantine Liturgy,” n66 and the Conclusion. Papadopoulos-​Kerameus edited the Typikon of the Anastasis in 1894, see Baldovin, Urban Character of Christian Worship, 80–​82 and Gräf, Palmenweihe, 3–​4. The so-​called breviary, or more precisely ordinal, is Barletta, Archivio della Chiesa del Santo Sepolcro, ms s.n. This liturgy is on fols. 79v–​81r. For a transcription of the text, see Kohler, “Un ritual et un bréviaire du Saint-​Sépulcre,” 412–​414. On the importance of this ordinal, its dating, and its special character, see Shagrir, “Visitatio Sepulchri,” 58–​59. See also Dondi, Liturgy of the Canons Regular, 16, 195–​201. British Library, ms Add. 7170, fol. 115r. See Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 142. While Schneider mentions that bishop’s garments can be found to have crosses, more commonly it is on a strip of cloth called the omophorion, that drapes around the shoulders and hangs down in front. See Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 28. The Rule of Blessed Raymond du Puy (1120–​60) states that “That the brethren bear on their breasts the sign of the cross,” Colonel E.J. King C.M.G. & A.D.C., The Rule, Statutes, and Customs of the Hospitallers 1099–​1310 (London: Methuen & Co. Ltd., 1980), 27–​28. See also Riley-​Smith, Hospitallers, 36 and Riley-​Smith, The Knights Hospitaller, 24–​28. On the seal of Raymond du Puy published by Schlumberger, Gustave Schlumberger, “Neuf sceaux de l’Orient latin,” Revue de l’orient latin 2 (1894): 180, Pl. ii-​185, or more visibly in seals published in Schlumberger, Chalandon, and Blanchet, Sigillographie de l’Orient latin, 235, pl. xi–​239 (for Guarinus or Guerin de Montaigu, grandmaster 1208–​30), and 1240, pl. xii–​1203 (for Jean Fernandez de Heredia, grandmaster 1377–​96). At their reception into the order, they made a statement to that effect, Riley-​Smith, The Knights Hospitaller, 99.

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in the canteen scene was a general allusion to Jesus’s followers being present or a specific connection to a Hospitaller seeing himself as similar to Christ’s apostles laying down their tunics, the reason for a possible reference to the Latin Hospitaller culture on this seemingly Eastern Christian object still requires explanation and will be addressed below. Like the other scenes on the canteen, the Entry of Christ into Jerusalem scene demanded multiple layers of knowledge. It displayed the biblical gate through which Christ entered as the Jerusalem populace lauded him and also showed the contemporary gate, used only twice a year by Christians (for Palm Sunday and the Exaltation of the Holy Cross) when in control of the city. The Ayyubid rulers closed the Golden Gate structure and probably turned it into a mosque in the late twelfth or early thirteenth century, and the liturgies at the time of the canteen’s production were probably not performed in the same way as they had been in the twelfth century.214 Nevertheless, some may have remembered the former liturgies or had access to the texts that described them. Together with the other two Christological scenes on the canteen, the Entry into Jerusalem reveals a multifaceted understanding of Christian and Muslim traditions. 4.2.2.4 The Combination of Scenes on the Obverse: A Christological Focus The combination of the three narrative scenes with the central medallion of the Virgin and Child suggests a reading that is richly Christological on the obverse of this intricate object (Figure 4.1). The scenes are connected by a continuous meander border and framed by inscriptions that link them visually and thematically. This side of the canteen is laid out in units of three, with the three narrative scenes punctuated by three medallions filled with foliate and bird designs.215 The central medallion and all three of the scenes place Christ in the center of the composition. For instance, the figure of the Christ child in his crib and in his bath in the Nativity scene balance the child on the altar in the Presentation. Thus a Trinitarian composition is reinforced by the Christocentric focus. Related themes of rebirth, sacrifice, and renewal are common across all of these scenes. The Hodegetria theme of the middle medallion highlights that the Christ child will eventually show the way to salvation for humankind. In the Nativity scene, the footed, circular bath basin evokes a baptismal font.216 The regenerative powers of water relate to the bath of Christ, whose birth 2 14 See Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 104. 215 See Atil, Chase, and Jett, Islamic Metalwork, 126. 216 See Juhel, “Le Bain de l’Enfant Jésus,” 117, 130.

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brought redemption and ultimately human salvation of man, as prophesied by the Hodegetria and the Presentation in the Temple. Baptism allows Christians access to that redemption. Eucharistic references are also suggested by these Christological themes. The shape of the bath vessel is as much a chalice as a font. The placement of the child therein symbolizes how his blood will eventually spill for the sake of humankind and also how the wine is blessed during the mass to turn the wine into Christ’s blood. Showing the child in the bath grasping a cross is an unusual detail highlighting this sacrificial path and foreshadowing his crucifixion. In the Presentation scene, Christ is simultaneously a child and the lamb on the altar, surrendered to be sacrificed for humankind. He is the Eucharistic bread blessed on the altar during the mass. The Entry into Jerusalem scene offers a subtle reference to the impending sacrifice. The adult Christ enters the city knowing his fate and heading to a Passover meal where he will conduct the first Eucharist, blessing wine and bread for his apostles. He will become the sacrifice, and liturgy reenacts his offering. The cruciform shape on his halo in three of these scenes all emphasize that the cross will be the instrument of his demise. The appearance of these three narrative scenes on the canteen could easily relate to the canteen’s use in a pilgrimage church or other liturgical setting to recall the Holy Land alluded to in its details.217 The pilgrim Burchard of Mount Sion (1283) explained how late medieval Christians saw their liturgical actions as tied to the life of Christ in the Holy Land: We may sigh over the dull-​wittedness of the Christian people of our time, who having so many and such great examples delay in delivering from the hands of our enemies the land that Jesus Christ consecrated with His blood, the name of which resounds in all churches every day. For what hour is there of the day or night throughout the whole cycle of the year in which every devout Christian does not recall by singing, reading, psalmody, preaching and meditating those things that were done or written in this land and in its cities and localities.218 217 See Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 146. Whether there is a particular textual reference for this arrangement has not yet come to light, though perhaps further research will reveal it. The sixth-​century metal pilgrimage ampullae from Monza and Bobbio are visual examples whose representations emphasize the biblical narratives, the actions of pilgrims at the sites, and the blessings that they brought home from their visit to the holy sites, see Gary Vikan, “Pilgrims in Magi’s Clothing: The Impact of Mimesis on Early Byzantine Pilgrimage Art,” in The Blessings of Pilgrimage, ed. Robert Ousterhout (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1990), 97–​107. 218 In Pringle, Pilgrimage, 242.

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The three scenes represent corresponding feasts of the Christian year and are therefore common in liturgical books, in which they were combined to signal the whole religious calendar. Although the three narrative scenes on the obverse of the canteen convey sophisticated Christological symbolism, the style and content of the vine-​and animal-​filled medallions, the Arabic inscriptions, and the bands around the sides are at the same time unmistakable visual allusions to the predominant Islamic culture in the thirteenth-​century Levant. The intertwining of Muslim and Christian cultures had a long history. Cornelia Horn suggested that the earliest Syriac manuscripts (fifth century) of the life of Mary and the young Christ likely influenced the Qurʾan, which itself informed the preparation of such early Christian apocryphal texts as the Protevangelium of James and Gospel of Thomas.219 The Protevangelium and other apocryphal texts then influenced the imagery of Byzantine and other Eastern Christian cultures as seen on the canteen. Lucy-​Anne Hunt analyzed how Christians in Syria and Egypt in the thirteenth-​century showed their links to local Muslim traditions by translating their religious texts into Arabic but also asserting their own faith with translations into their liturgical languages of Coptic and Syriac.220 The lectionaries in London and the Vatican exemplify this trend, as does the canteen, by offering deluxe displays of intertwined Christian and Muslim visual cultures in the region of Mosul in the thirteenth century (Figures 3.14, 4.9, 4.10, 4.11, 4.15, and 4.19). Whether the images on the canteen relied on a set of iconographic models rather than a verbal tradition is a question whose answer might lead to a patron or artist.221 Katzenstein and Lowry recognized the errors and oddities here and in similar metalwork as signs of visual confusion by artists familiar with but not fully versed in the Christian religion.222 I suggest, however, that the artist or patron was not necessarily making mistakes so much as expressing a conflation of knowledge of Jerusalem and the Holy Land, likely gained through a combination of liturgical and pilgrimage texts, images, travel accounts, and perhaps personal experience. The iconography of the canteen implies a patron from Mosul who was well-​versed in an Eastern Christian religion but, at the

2 19 Horn, “Syriac and Arabic Perspectives,” 267–​291. 220 Lucy-​Anne Hunt, “Cultural Transmission: Illustrated Biblical Manuscripts from the Medieval Eastern Christian and Arab Worlds,” in The Bible as Book: The Manuscript Tradition, eds. John L. Sharpe and Kimberly van Kampen (London and New Castle, DE: British Library and Oak Knoll Press, 1998), 123–​136. 221 See Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 147. 222 Katzenstein and Lowry, “Christian Themes,” 62.

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same time, familiar with other Muslim and Latin aspects of contemporary Levantine culture. 4.3

The Canteen’s Reverse: Sacred and Secular Models

An exploration of the reverse of the canteen reinforces our understanding of the artistic process of borrowing from Christian and Muslim cultures (Figure 4.2). In the outer register, a series of twenty-​five standing figures hold such liturgical accoutrements as censers, crosiers, and liturgical fans. Most seem to be Christians engaged in ceremonial acts; they may be bishops, saints, and deacons, although no precise attributes are visible.223 Some wear a chasuble or cape or cloth wrapped across the chest and shoulders, similar to garments that Christian ecclesiastics would wear. One pointed cap might be a monastic hood.224 At the same time, the standing figures’ clothing includes elements that are multicultural, meaning that they could be worn by individuals of diverse faiths in the thirteenth-​century Levant. An example is a generic turbanlike cloth wrapped around the head. An element of Mongol inspiration is a type of hat with an upturned brim (below the spout). Some figures appear to have a tiraz-​type band on the upper sleeve. Members of the ruling class as well as Muslim and Christian functionaries and even farmers and merchants could wear cloth with this inscribed band, indicating that it was bestowed by a Muslim ruler as a sign of favor.225 Only two among the twenty-​five under the arcade on the reverse are certainly identifiable: the pair of the Virgin Mary and angel Gabriel from the Annunciation. Located to the right of the spout, Mary’s head is inclined toward the gesturing angel Gabriel. While Katzenstein and Lowry saw their separation under arches as an error betraying a misunderstanding of the Christian importance of the scene, I suggest that these figures’ purposeful inclusion is, rather, a sign that their significance was well understood. The two figures are near the top when the canteen is placed with the central medallion on the opposite side upright. If the figural choices were truly haphazard, the artist could have selected other generic standing figures.226 Instead, Mary and Gabriel are immediately recognizable in their stances and in their connection to the Christological narrative on the obverse. 2 23 See ibid., 61 and Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 21, 32–​33. 224 Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 36–​38. 225 Ibid., 37–​38. 226 Katzenstein and Lowry, “Christian Themes,” 59.

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In the inner register with the nine horsemen, a slight break in the riders—​ just left of the spout, marked by a leafy plant—​may indicate the start and end of the group. While riders depicted on metalware can sometimes be hunters, in this case no animals or birds are immediately present to suggest that theme.227 Instead, they appear to be led by an archer to the right of the plant, his crossbow cocked and ready to fire at an unseen rival.228 The riders all have weapons, including a second crossbow; the rest have spears with gonfalons attached. The lancers have horses with decorated caparisons, theoretically to protect them in close combat and from flying arrows, while the archers have only lighter saddle cloths to allow them to move about more rapidly.229 Some scholars have read the cavalrymen’s actions, clothing, and accessories as indications that this is a battle scene.230 David Nicolle pointed out that one battle tactic at the time was to deploy single-​shot crossbowmen with well-​armed cavalrymen who protected the archers after they had discharged an arrow and needed to pause to reload.231 Raby argued that the presence of crossbows in particular increases the likelihood that the register depicts a battle.232 Raby pointed out remarkable similarities—​in the figural stances and the equine types—​to a candlestick now in the Museum of Islamic Art in Doha, Qatar (late 1220s or 1230s). The candlestick is associated with Mosul because it has an octagon motif found on several other Mosul artworks.233 Raby suggested that, because the candlestick and canteen seem to have had a common model inspired by local pictorial traditions, the canteen must, by association, have come from Mosul.234 Another more convincing suggestion in the Freer Gallery catalog is that this register evokes not a battle but a militaristic tournament, the furusiyya exercises that were popular under the Ayyubids and Mamluks.235 In this scene, no arrows or lances are in action, while the Doha candlestick, by comparison, has

2 27 See Baer, Metalwork in Medieval Islamic Art, 229–​235, 242. 228 See Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 21. 229 See David Nicolle, Arms and Armour of the Crusading Era, 1050–​1350: Islam, Eastern Europe and Asia (London: Greenhill Books, 1999), 191–​192, figs. 465a–​g. 230 Ibid., 191–​192. 231 Ibid., 192. 232 Raby, “Principle of Parsimony,” 80–​81n139. 233 Ibid., 50–​52, Fig. 51.25, d–​f. The candlestick was formerly in the Homayzi Collection, Mosul. See also Baer, Metalwork in Medieval Islamic Art, 242. Doha, Qatar, Museum of Islamic Art, Object mw. 483.2007, http://​www.mia.org.qa/​en/​texti​les/​237-​metalw​ork/​ 458-​obj​ect3​292, accessed 20 June 2021. 234 Raby, “Principle of Parsimony,” 52. 235 Atil, Chase, and Jett, Islamic Metalwork, 132.

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clearer military imagery that shows arrows flying.236 Moreover, the canteen figures and their horses do not wear armor or helmets, which were standard for soldiers and their mounts in European, Levantine, and Mongol military scenes in the thirteenth century.237 Young warriors used such tournament events to practice their military and horsemanship skills in the presence of spectators; whether they were Christian or Muslim, European or indigenous was unimportant.238 In other words, sorting out east from west in military scenes and in tournament depictions can be difficult.239 The non-​specific riding figures act in their own register, separate and symbolic as an ideal of power and force that could have had meaning in Levantine culture of the Latin Europeans, Eastern Christians, or Muslims. While a military tournament juxtaposed to the standing ecclesiastics and holy figures might at first seem incongruous, it makes sense in the broader Levantine culture. Religious faith was itself a kind of spiritual warfare, with the faithful standing up to evil as a soldier of God.240 Together with the galloping riders below, the outer register’s figures represented individuals ready to fight for good over evil, a concept familiar to both Christian and Muslim audiences of the Levant. In particular for this Christian-​focused canteen, its artist and patron in Mosul could have found many examples of warriors in several Mosul churches that displayed warrior saints, as at Deir Mar Behnam, Tahira of the Syrians, and Mar Hudeni.241 Mounted warriors sent a message of good struggling with evil. 236 In fact, Mesopotamian metalwork depicts few battles, see Baer, Metalwork in Medieval Islamic Art, 242. 237 Compare typical eastern (Nicolle, Arms and Armour of the Crusading Era: Eastern, 344–​ 345) and western soldiers (David Nicolle, Arms and Armour of the Crusading Era, 1050–​ 1350: Western Europe and the Crusader States (London: Greenhill Books, 1999), 360) at the time. 238 Nicolle, Arms and Armour of the Crusading Era: Western, 274. A notable example of a common military practice was the use of mounted infantry with light spears for high-​speed raiding along with infantry archers. The emergence of these so-​called turcopoles across Byzantine to Mamluk to European cultures was a special military development in this era that displayed the shared ideas that this register conveys. 239 Hoffman asserted that these figures look more like crusaders, Hoffman, “Christian-​ Islamic Encounters,” 138. See also Dimand, “Silver Inlaid Bronze Canteen,” 17 and Ecker and Fitzherbert, “Freer canteen,” 187. 240 See Snelders, “Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction,” Chapter 6, section 6.5.B and Elizabeth S. Bolman, “Theodore, ‘The Writer of Life,’ and the Program of 1232/​33,” in Monastic Visions: Wall Paintings in the Monastery of St. Antony at the Red Sea, ed. Elizabeth S. Bolman (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2002), 48. 241 Ecker and Fitzherbert, “Freer canteen,” 187–​188. Snelders saw the combination of monks and equestrian martyrs at Deir Mar Behnam as similar to that at the Coptic monastery

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The scenes on the reverse of the Freer Canteen reminded the patron that Christ’s sacrifice and redemption, implied in the scenes on the other side, had opened the gates of heaven, but preparation for a spiritual battle had to be carried out to enter. One of the most important examples of warfare for a holy cause in the eleventh to thirteenth centuries was the combat for Jerusalem, which transcended battle for an earthly city to become a struggle for access to a heavenly one.242 Fighting for God and the holy city supposedly assured salvation and opened gates to heaven. 4.4

The Canteen’s Inscriptions

The Arabic inscriptions on the Freer Canteen do not reveal names of patrons, artists, or dates, but their overall tenor does yield some insight into the context of such a luxurious object with complicated themes (Figures 4.1 to 4.7). The Levantine region had a long history of including Arabic inscriptions on works of art, with the earliest known examples on metalwork dating to the eighth century.243 Artists added bands or registers to hold the inscriptions by the late tenth and early eleventh centuries, compartmentalizing and highlighting them with distinctive borders, cartouches, medallions, roundels, and geometric patterns.244 The majority of the inscriptions on the canteen are in the cursive naskh form, a script used on Islamic metalwork from the twelfth century onward.245 The following provides published versions of the translations of the inscriptions, prepared by a) George C. Miles of the American Numismatic Society and Michael L. Bates, as published by Schneider, and b) from the Freer museum catalog. Around the central obverse roundel containing the Virgin and Child is an inscription band with a traditional formula of blessing.246 Beginning at

of St. Antony at the Red Sea (Egypt), exemplifying a tradition from the beginning of Christianity, see Snelders, “Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction,” Chapter 6, section 6.4.2.A. St. Antony displayed holy martyr-​warriors on its church walls, with several at the west end near the nave entrance. As Elizabeth Bolman suggested, the martyred soldiers offered multiple paths to salvation for the devotees using the church, see Bolman, “Theodore,” 40–​48. On Mar Hudeni, see Fiey O.P., Mossoul chrétienne, 140, 144–​145, figs. 8, 10–​11. 242 Schein, Gateway to the heavenly city, 122–​123. 243 See Baer, Metalwork in Medieval Islamic Art, 187–​190. 244 See ibid., 190–​194. 245 Ibid., 197–​198. 246 On either side of the inscription is a narrow divider band with a Greek key or rectangular meander pattern.

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the left, above Mary’s head, is the inscription a) “[Roundel] Continuing glory and peaceful life and [roundel] ascending earnestness and lasting (?) power [roundel] and abundant (?) welfare, and …”247 or b) “Eternal glory and secure life and increasing good luck and enduring power and overwhelming safety and perpetuity to the owner.”248 The outer inscription band states the following: a) (beginning at the roundel to the right of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple): “Power (misspelled), health, peace, victory (?), perpetual favour, and consummate munificence, (?) [roundel] continuing glory and peaceful life and … universal, and ascending earnestness, and good fortune [roundel]; … and perpetual [or continuing?] favour (?), and life …; health and (?) of the world (?) and [roundel]”249 or b) (starts at slightly different point): “Eternal glory and secure life and complete prosperity and increasing good luck and good fortune and pledges and everlasting favor and affluent living and abundant good fortune and lofty victory and enduring power, overwhelming safety, everlasting favor and perfect honor to the owner.”250 The positive nature of these inscriptions, blessing the object’s owner and perhaps those who were utilizing the contents of the canteen, conveys a sense of power and victory over life’s difficulties resulting in peace, health, and good fortune.251 A more pointed reference to a leader appears in the inscription on the shoulder of the canteen with its anthropomorphic and zoomorphic, intertwined forms: “Eternal glory and perfect prosperity, increasing good luck, the chief, the commander, the most illustrious, the honest, the sublime, the pious, the leader, the soldier, the warrior of the frontiers.”252 These inscriptions mention an unnamed leader-​soldier-​warrior as part of a generic laudatory statement for the owner or for the owner’s ruler. Their tenor differs from the more insistent nature of inscriptions on works made for rulers such as Mosul’s leader Badr al-​Din LuʾLuʾ, whose many names and titles were listed on some objects made for him.253 The lack of a mention of the patron or dedicatee or ruler does 2 47 248 249 250 251

Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 156, Appendix A. Atil, Chase, and Jett, Islamic Metalwork, 124. Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 156, Appendix A. Atil, Chase, and Jett, Islamic Metalwork, 124. On inscriptions’ meaning and changes over time, see Baer, Metalwork in Medieval Islamic Art, 208–​212. 252 Though Miles stated that the register on the side shoulder of the canteen with its anthropomorphic and zoomorphic, intertwined forms did not contain an inscription, the Freer catalog authors did discern an additional inscription and offered a transcription and translation, Atil, Chase, and Jett, Islamic Metalwork, 124. On the history of animated script styles in metalwork, see Baer, Metalwork in Medieval Islamic Art, 194, 200–​209. 2 53 See Baer, Metalwork in Medieval Islamic Art, 211.

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beg the question of whether an artist might have created such a canteen in a workshop of his own accord and then eventually offered it for purchase on the open market. Yet this object’s luxurious nature and larger size—​meaning its great cost for materials and the extended time to produce it—​make it seem unlikely to have been created without some kind of individualized funding and planning behind it.254 Even if the inscriptions do not point to any specific individual, they do still suggest aspects of context that will be considered in the conclusion. The use of Arabic inscriptions on the Freer Canteen is a key reason why the vessel is often labeled “Islamic.” Arabic was the main spoken language of people of all faiths living in Greater Syria and Egypt by the thirteenth century, with each Christian confession also having its own liturgical language. The absence of any of those liturgical languages on the canteen has been suggested as a reason why it is less likely that it was used in a liturgical ceremony.255 The thirteenth-​century metal flabellum made, likely in Mosul, for the al-​Surian monastery offers a contrast: its Syriac inscription underscores its liturgical use (Figure 4.8). Alternatively, the use of Arabic in the canteen inscriptions may reflect that its audience was meant to be multicultural, meaning that Arabic was a bridge that allowed the visitors who might have come to see it, whether Christian or Muslim, to appreciate its inscriptions. The canteen’s spout with a strainer and an inscription around it: “… the noblest … health [well-​being],” could allude to a liquid being poured from it that was meant to convey the vessel’s blessing to all.256 The sense of good fortune in the inscriptions provides an appealing consideration for my concluding remarks on the possible meanings and ritual function of this object. 4.5

Conclusions

The diverse threads in this chapter weave a story of a precious metal object with Christian themes from the thirteenth-​century Islamic-​dominated Levant. Its narrative scenes purposefully refer to landscape and architectural forms from Jerusalem and Bethlehem that would be familiar to Latin and Eastern Christians and to Muslims. At the same time, the similarities between the 2 54 See Atil, Chase, and Jett, Islamic Metalwork, 133. 255 See Snelders, Identity and Christian–​Muslim Interaction, 32–​35. 256 This type of inscription, sending positive wishes to those eating and drinking from them, is common for dishes and vessels. One example is an Il-​Khanid bronze cup that mentioned its “Sweet drink of success,” see Ecker and Fitzherbert, “Freer canteen,” 188.

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canteen’s scenes and those in manuscripts produced for the region’s Eastern Christian traditions—​Melkites, Greek Orthodox, Syrian or Jacobite Orthodox, Armenians, and Copts—​reinforce the probability of an Eastern Christian patron for the object.257 Its material and iconography connect it more specifically to Christian communities in Mosul, where evidence suggests such ­metalware was likely made. The hybridity of the object overall demonstrates a fascinating synthesis of inspirations that reflect the multicultural environment of the Levant during the crusader era.258 The most compelling reason to conclude that the Freer Canteen had an Eastern Christian patron is its set of strong and consistent similarities to Eastern Christian art made in the Mosul region. Snelders and Hunt demonstrated the extensive, high-​quality production of art in northern Mesopotamia and Syria in the thirteenth century and the frequent intermingling of Eastern Christian and Muslim visual traditions, as seen in the canteen.259 The many sects of Christianity present in the region around Mosul showed heterogeneity, but they did have similar practices and occasionally worked together.260 The evidence suggests that the patron was likely Syrian Orthodox, Melkite, or Greek Orthodox, although it is difficult to be more precise about a specific Christian affiliation.261 Snelders did not find clear sectarian differences in the art of diverse Mosul churches, but the canteen’s closeness to the Deir al-​Surian liturgical fan and the Vatican and London lectionaries suggests a strong tie to the Syrian Orthodox Christians.262 Ecker and Fitzherbert also made the case that the canteen patron was Eastern Christian but not an ecclesiastic given the combination of secular and religious imagery and the Arabic inscriptions.263 The question remains of how an Eastern Christian patron in Mosul could also be associated with the Hospitallers, who were based in Acre in the thirteenth century. Though my proposal of Hospitaller-​inspired imagery on the canteen might be seen as a connection for a European patron, the canteen’s likely production in Mosul distances the object from that possibility because 2 57 See Hoffman, “Christian-​Islamic Encounters,” 129, 131. 258 On the issue of agency of an artist in the process of creating hybrid art, see Tronzo, “Restoring Agency,” 583–​584. 259 See Snelders, Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction, 10–​ 11 and Hunt, “Cultural Transmission,” 123–​136. 260 On religious differentiation in the thirteenth century, see Jean Richard, “La Confrérie des Mosserins d’Acre et les marchands de Mossoul au xiiie siècle,” L’Orient Syrien 11 (1966): 457–​458. 261 See Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 49. 262 Snelders, Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction, 5, 377. 263 Ecker and Fitzherbert, “Freer canteen,” 188.

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Europeans tended to reside in Acre and other coastal locations.264 Evidence does suggest a thirteenth-​century Levantine context of exchange, knowledge, and relations (not always positive) between Hospitallers and Eastern Christian natives from Mosul.265 The fact is that men of the Frankish military orders worked together in the thirteenth century with indigenous groups from different areas of the Levant.266 Evidence of such interaction appears in L’Estoire d’Eracles, an Old French translation (1205–​34) and continuation (up to 1277) of William of Tyre’s Histoire d’Outremer, which generally provides a viewpoint of the Frankish nobility of the Latin Kingdom. L’Estoire d’Eracles stated that “During the dispute between King Hugh and the Templars in 1276, men from Bethlehem who were allies of the Hospital fought in the streets of Acre with men from Mosul who were ‘homes dou Temple’” or Templars.267 Snelders emphasized that regional groups in Acre, such as the so-​called “mosserins” or men from Mosul, often created social and religious groups as a way to navigate the various communities in the coastal city.268 Joshua Prawer explained how fraternities in the Levant offered a form of social cohesion in urban centers.269 Their members were often grouped by professional activity as well as by national origin and shared a common devotion.270 Jean Richard analyzed the texts that mentioned the Christians of Mosul in Acre and concluded that merchants from Mosul, either living in Acre permanently or passing through it on business, were an important segment of the city’s society. Their commercial ties ranged from the markets of East Asia to Acre and the Mediterranean.271 If the canteen did have an Eastern Christian patron from Mosul who passed through or lived in Acre, what might he have known of Jerusalem’s situation 264 See Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 3. Hoffman stated that the canteen’s representation of scenes in Jerusalem and the use of the Islamic silver-​inlaid metalwork with Christian scenes in general was a part of a “discourse of restoration” by crusaders wishing to reclaim the holy sites of Jerusalem taken from them in 1244, Hoffman, “Christian-​Islamic Encounters,” 134–​135. 265 See Richard, “La Confrérie des Mosserins,” 451–​455. 266 Riley-​Smith discussed men of local Christian confraternities associated with the military orders of the Franks, Riley-​Smith, Ayyubids, Mamlukes and Crusaders, 258n250. 267 Ibid. There are forty-​nine surviving manuscripts of L’Estoire d’Heracles, see Handyside, “The Old French William of Tyre,” 7–​15 and Helen J. Nicholson, “Eracles,” in Crusades: An Encyclopedia, ed. Alan v. Murray (Santa Barbara, California: abc-​c lio, 2006), 407. See also Richard, “La Confrérie des Mosserins,” 451–​452. 268 Snelders, Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction, 17. 269 The confraternities were important especially in the absence of trade guilds, see Prawer, “Estates, communities,” 53. 270 See Richard, “La Confrérie des Mosserins,” 459. 271 Ibid., 456.

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in the mid-​thirteenth century? The Ayyubid overlords generally gave Eastern Christians more latitude than Europeans in Jerusalem after 1187, except between 1229 and 1239 and in 1244 when Franks were temporarily in control.272 Jerusalem was temporarily lost to all Christians after the Khwarazmian Turks’ invasion in 1244 when they sacked Jerusalem, attacked Christians regardless of type, and chased out the few who were left. Between 1244 and the Mamluks’ eventual possession in 1260, the city’s control swung back and forth among Ayyubid princes. This turmoil reduced but did not halt Christians’ presence in the holy city and their access to holy sites. Some thirteenth-​century accounts mentioned how Muslim overlords allowed a limited number of individuals in the church or charged high entrance fees.273 An anonymous Greek source (c. 1250–​1350) reported that the Greek Orthodox held the core of the Holy Sepulcher church, with the “heretic Armenians, Jacobites, Indians and Nestorians” active in side chapels (where the Latins eventually joined them).274 In sum, Christians may still have longed for the Templum Domini in their hearts, and certain rituals could no longer take place as they had in the twelfth century because of a lack Christian access to the Haram al-​Sharif. A necessary shift from the Templum Domini to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher appeared in their liturgy—​and in the canteen’s imagery of a Temple inspired by images of the Holy Sepulcher as well as the Dome of the Rock. To answer for what purpose this patron—​perhaps a Syrian Orthodox merchant from Mosul who was a member of a confraternity in Acre linked to the Hospitallers—​would have had the canteen made, I propose that he made a pilgrimage trip to Jerusalem and Bethlehem and commissioned the Freer Canteen upon on his return. The canteen would have reminded the patron and his community of the rich liturgical and cultural heritage of Jerusalem and Bethlehem, capturing the details of sanctuaries and liturgies there even when they were no longer easily accessible.275 A Christian patron might have been responding to a particular visual program, such as the Church of the Nativity at Bethlehem with its twelfth-​century mosaic cycle representing the Presentation in the Temple (now lost) on the south wall of the bema and the Nativity (lost) and Entry into Jerusalem in the south transept (Figure 4.18).276 A luxury object decorated with images of these sites might have been a way for the patron to reclaim the 2 72 Riley-​Smith, The Knights Hospitaller, 113. 273 Pringle, Pilgrimage, 88, 112. 274 Ibid., 382. 275 See Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 147. 276 Hoffman, “Christian-​Islamic Encounters,” 135. See Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 357–​358.

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holy sites conceptually, even if the rule of the Ayyubids or Mamluks hindered Christian control.277 To go a few steps further, I propose the possibility that, while evoking the sacred sites of Jerusalem and Bethlehem, this vessel was donated to allude to holy features of a Mosul monastery and to dispense a special liquid from there.278 Christian pilgrims regularly used flask-​shaped vessels to carry away secondary relics, “blessings” such as oils or dirt from the Holy Land, but they were typically smaller than the Freer Canteen.279 These pilgrim vessels sealed the pilgrims’ experiences and their connections with the holy site often through their imagery. Given the compelling stylistic and iconographic connections between the canteen’s medallion of the Virgin and Child and nearby manuscripts (Figures 4.8 and 4.9), might there have been a local icon that inspired these consistent depictions? Sometimes such special images alone rendered a place more holy, attracting visitors to see them. The Virgin and Child icon of Saidnaya is a relevant comparison to the Freer Canteen because it had a connection to Jerusalem. It also had a location in a Syrian monastery and was visited by Christian and Muslim pilgrims. Importantly, the Saidnaya icon had an ability to emit a portable relic. As Thietmar relayed, “while the icon was being greatly revered, it began to sweat and emit a certain liquid … .It is distinguished for having this miraculous power to this day.”280 Indeed, a nun placed a vase beneath the icon to collect the trickling liquid, which the faithful gathered in small vials to take away.281 The suffering and sick would come from afar to be healed by touching the liquid. A Mosul patron might have wanted to offer a distinctive object like the canteen to a monastery as a way of participating in a special devotion to an icon, perhaps one originally from Jerusalem or perhaps one that was a sign of the sanctity at the site conferred on the visitor by sacred oil or water.282 Regardless of whether a holy icon existed to which the images

2 77 Hoffman, “Christian-​Islamic Encounters,” 135. 278 See Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 153. On the concept of these metalware pieces as gifts, see also Hoffman, “Christian-​ Islamic Encounters,” 137–​ 138 and Raby, “Principle of Parsimony,” 28–​29. 279 See Vikan, “Pilgrims,” 97–​107; Cynthia Hahn, “Loca Sancta Souvenirs: Sealing the Pilgrim’s Experience,” in The Blessings of Pilgrimage, ed. Robert Ousterhout (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1990), 85–​96; and Pitarkis, “New Evidence,” 251–​256. 280 In Pringle, Pilgrimage, 104. 281 Ibid., 104–​106. See also Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 45–​46. 282 Compare Annemarie Weyl Carr, “The Mother of God in Public,” in Mother of God. Representations of the Virgin in Byzantine Art, ed. Maria Vassilaki (Milan and Athens: Benaki Museum, 2000), 327. For comparison, there was a holy spring at the Hodegon monastery, where the original Hodegetria was kept and cared for by confraternities, see Chr. Angelidi

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refer, the words of blessing around the canteen’s spout could relate to the dispensing of a blessing-​rich liquid at the site to pilgrims. One example of a possible destination for the canteen was the monastery of Mar Benham south of Mosul. It was a monastic church as well as a pilgrimage site, with a sacred spring that attracted many visitors, including Muslims.283 Ethel Wolper suggests that mid-​thirteenth-​century local tensions between minority Christian communities and the growing Muslim population may have led the former to reinforce their pre-​Islamic ties to the region through the promotion of legends to local saints respected by both faiths as a way to ward off confiscation of their property.284 Perhaps the canteen was displayed in its domed chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary when it was renovated in the thirteenth century—​cooperating in a moment of special attention to the chapel.285 The water of the healing spring at the site may have been the liquid held within and dispensed from the canteen.286 While there may not be enough evidence to claim that the canteen was destined for Deir Mar Benham, the object resonates with this site because of its use of imagery from both Christian and Muslim artistic traditions, its ability to be understood by diverse Christian and Muslim audiences, the presence of holy water, and its possible representations of the brother and sister saints from the site on either side of the seated Virgin and Child. Although the canteen’s patron was more likely an Eastern Christian, it was also a product of the crusades of Europeans to the Levant.287 As Schneider reinforced, the canteen symbolized the mixing of political, social, and artistic forces that the crusades represented around the Mediterranean.288 From a Levantine perspective, Katzenstein and Lowry interpreted its constellation of imagery as a product of expanding cultural tastes in general.289 They stated that there was a “remarkably harmonious political and economic modus vivendi between Christians and Muslims,” marked by a series of alliances between

and T. Papamastorakis, “The Veneration of the Virgin Hodegetria and the Hodegon Monastery,” in ibid., 379–​380. 283 Snelders, “Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction,” Chapter 6, section 6.6. See Wolper, “Khidr and the Politics of Translation,” 379–​392. 284 Wolper, “Khidr and the Politics of Translation,” 385, 387. 285 Snelders, Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction, 285. 286 See Ecker and Fitzherbert, “Freer canteen,” 188 and Wolper, “Khidr and the Politics of Translation,” 390. 287 See Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 154 and Hoffman, “Christian-​Islamic Encounters,” 136. 288 Schneider, “Freer Canteen,” 154. 289 See Katzenstein and Lowry, “Christian Themes,” 65–​66.

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various Muslim and Latin factions in the 1240s.290 Hoffman also observed that Ayyubid visual culture integrated Eastern Christian and Islamic elements, reflecting a less polarized view of the world than modern scholarship has tended to assume.291 As Baer highlighted, perhaps the flourishing of trade and the development of similar artistic tastes aided that harmony despite occasional political or military conflicts.292 For a Christian owner, these diverse elements in the decoration offered an exotic touch, displaying a taste for an amalgam of themes, materials, and decoration that expressed a refined and worldly nature. The canteen reflects how medieval Christians in Mosul were integrated into their Muslim-​dominated environment in a process of extensive cultural interaction and overlap.293 This does not mean that the society was homogeneous but that a shared visual vocabulary was in use, just as the canteen’s inscriptions in Arabic displayed their primary spoken language.294 This complex analysis reveals that we should not have a single exclusionary interpretation of the Freer Canteen and other such hybrid art objects in order to be receptive to the different associations that the original culture allowed for them.295 When it comes to questions of audience, an image could certainly have one meaning to one group and another meaning to a different group at the same time. While I have tried to take this open approach in my analysis of the diverse cultures that influenced and viewed this canteen in the thirteenth century, I do assert that the object had an overall Christian tenor that likely one patron did lend to it. The canteen represented a multicultural exchange and shared visual culture that still leaves avenues open for investigation and discussion, while asserting that the loss of Jerusalem in the religious life of this patron led him to this effort to show his possession of the city’s holy narrative through art if not in reality. 290 Ibid., 62. See also Khoury, “Narratives of the Holy Land,” 65 and Hoffman, “Christian-​ Islamic Encounters,” 131–​132. 291 Hoffman, “Christian-​Islamic Encounters,” 131–​132. 292 Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 1–​5. 293 Snelders, “Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction,” Preface. See also Bas Snelders, “The Relationship between Christian and Islamic Art: West Syrian Christians in the Mosul Area (twelfth-​thirteenth century). A Preliminary Note,” in The Syriac Renaissance, eds. Herman Teule, et al., Eastern Christian Studies (Leuven: Peeters, 2010), 239–​264; Snelders, Identity and Christian-​Muslim Interaction, 8–​10; and Wolper, “Khidr and the Politics of Translation,” 388–​389. 294 See Hoffman, “Christian-​Islamic Encounters,” 133 and Baer, Ayyubid Metalwork, 46–​47. 295 See Khoury, “Narratives of the Holy Land,” 69.

Chapter 5

Jerusalem and King Solomon in the Clement Bible The Promotion of Robert i of Naples as Symbolic King of Jerusalem in the Fourteenth Century

This chapter addresses how a group perceived Jerusalem even though they only knew it from afar. Unlike the works discussed in the previous chapter, the manuscripts treated here display Jerusalem more as a religious concept than a physical place. The Bible of Pope Clement vii (hereafter the Clement Bible) was produced in Angevin Naples (c. 1330–​34) at the court of King Robert i of Naples (r. 1309–​43), who also claimed kingship over Jerusalem and its region but never journeyed there.1 My previous work on this manuscript demonstrates that its representation of the Temple was unique, and this chapter will expand that observation.2 Analysis of the Bible’s images of Jerusalem (Figure 5.1) and scenes of King Robert in the related Anjou Bible (c. 1340–​43) (see below Figures 5.15 to 5.17) reveal the king’s attitude toward the holy city and related fourteenth-​century Christian ideals of leadership.3 These two 1 On the Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, see British Library, Catalogue of Additions to the Manuscripts 1951–​1955, vol. 1 (London: The British Library, 1982), 41–​42. 2 Cathleen A. Fleck, The Clement Bible at the Medieval Courts of Naples and Avignon: A Story of Papal Power, Royal Prestige, and Patronage (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2010), 94. 3 On the Anjou Bible, Leuven, ku Leuven Libraries, Maurits Sabbe Library, gbib gsm Cod. 1, see Lieve Watteeuw and Jan Van der Stock, eds., The Anjou Bible. A Royal Manuscript Revealed. Naples 1340, Corpus of Illuminated Manuscripts (Leuven: Peeters Publishers, 2010). For foundational work on Neapolitan art, see Bologna, i Pittori; Pierluigi Leone de Castris, “Pittura del duecento e del trecento a Napoli e nel meridione,” in La pittura in Italia: Il Duecento e il Trecento, ed. Enrico Castelnuovo (Milano: Electa, 1986), 461–​512; and Alessandra Perriccioli Saggese, “L’enluminure à Naples au temps des Anjou (1266–​1350),” in L’Europe des Anjou: Aventure des Princes Angevins du xiiie au xve siecle (Paris: Somogy editions d’art, 2001), 122–​133. For additional related studies on Neapolitan art, see Janis Elliott and Cordelia Warr, eds., The Church of Santa Maria Donna Regina: Art, Iconography and Patronage in Fourteenth-​Century Naples (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004); Watteeuw and Van der Stock, The Anjou Bible; Caroline Bruzelius, The Stones of Naples: Church Building in Angevin Italy, 1266–​1343 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004); Adrian Hoch, “Sovereignty and Closure in Trecento Naples: Images of Queen Sancia, alias ‘Sister Clare’,” Arte Medievale 2nd Ser., Anno 10, no. 1 (1996): 121–​139; Tanja Michalsky, Memoria und Repräsentation: Die Grabmäler des Königshauses Anjou in Italien (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000); and Andreas Bräm, Neapolitanische Bilderbibeln des Trecento. Anjou-​Buchmalerei von Robert dem Weisen bis zu Johanna i., 2 vols. (Wiesbaden: Reichert Verlag, 2007). On the importance of Neapolitan Angevins in their

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | DOI:10.1163/9789004525894_007

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bibles at King’s Robert’s court expressed his desire to promote his broad symbolic role as rex Ierusalem while simultaneously reinforcing his local rule on the Italian peninsula. 5.1

A Description of the Clement Bible

The Clement Bible contains the complete Vulgate version of the Christian Old and New Testaments.4 The illustration mode of the Bible, produced in Naples between 1330 and 1334, stems from the manner of Pietro Cavallini (c. 1250–​ 1330), a Roman painter living in Naples in 1308 who left an imprint on the local Neapolitan style (Figure 5.1).5 The Clement Bible has a rich decorative scheme, time, see Jane Gilbert, Catherine Keen, and Ella Williams, “The Italian Angevins: Naples and Beyond, 1266–​1343,” Italian Studies 72, no. 2 (2017): 121–​127. 4 The exterior dimensions measure 360 mm by 245 mm (14.17 in. × 9.65 in.). It contains 507 folios of smooth and high-​quality animal skin (approximately 152 mm (or 6 inches) thick). It also contains the letter to Paulinus of Nola from Jerome at the beginning of the volume, the Interpretation of Hebrew Names at the end, and prologues before each book, see Andreas Bräm, Neapolitanische Bilderbibeln des Trecento. Anjou-​Buchmalerei von Robert dem Weisen bis zu Johanna i. Band i: Bilderbibeln, Buchmaler and Auftraggeber, 2 vols., vol. 1 (Wiesbaden: Reichert Verlag, 2007), 341–​383. 5 On its production in Naples, see also Cathleen A. Fleck, “When a Bible is not a Bible: The Meaning and Movement of the Bible of Anti-​pope Clement vii (British Library, ms. Add. 47672),” Word and Image 22, no. 3 (2006): 219–​227; Cathleen A. Fleck, “The Cultural Politics of the Papal Library at Avignon: The Meaning and Movement of the Bible of Anti-​pope Clement vii,” in La Vie culturelle, intellectuelle et scientifique à la cour des papes d’Avignon, ed. Jacqueline Hamesse, Textes et études du moyen âge (Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), 65–​85, 380–​382; Cathleen A. Fleck, “Biblical Politics and the Neapolitan Bible of Anti-​pope Clement vii,” Arte Medievale N.S. Anno 1, no. 1 (2002): 71–​90; and Fleck, “Linking Jerusalem and Rome,” 430–​452. On the style related to Cavallini, see Fleck, Clement Bible, 10, 113–​132; Cathleen A. Fleck, “The rise of the court artist: Cavallini and Giotto in fourteenth-​century Naples,” in Art and Architecture in Naples, 1266–​1713. New Approaches, eds. Janis Elliott and Cordelia Warr (West Sussex: Wiley-​Blackwell, 2010), 51–​55, which is a revision of Cathleen A. Fleck, “The rise of the court artist: Cavallini and Giotto in fourteenth-​century Naples,” Art History (special journal issue Import/​Export: Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture in the Kingdom of Naples, 1266–​1713), eds. Janis Elliott and Cordelia Warr, 31, no. 4 (2008): 460–​483; Cathleen A. Fleck, “Papal Politics of a Trecento Bible: the Bible of Anti-​pope Clement vii (London, British Library, Ms. Add. 47672)” (Ph.D. Dissertation, The Johns Hopkins University, 1998), 41–​45; and Alessandro Tomei, “La Pittura Romana intorno al 1300,” in Roma 1300–​1875: L’arte degli anni santi, eds. Marcello Fagiolo and Maria Luisa Madonna (Milan: A. Mondadori Editore, 1984), 315. See also Paul Hetherington, Pietro Cavallini (London: Sagittarius Press, 1979); Alessandro Tomei, Pietro Cavallini (Milan: Silvana Editoriale, 2000); and Pierluigi Leone de Castris, Pietro Cavallini. Napoli prima di Giotto (Naples: Arte’m, 2013). Some replacement folios were added in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, Fleck, Clement Bible, 269, 279–​280.

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­f igure 5.1  Vessels returned to Temple and Hebrew people return to Jerusalem (with coat of arms of Pope Clement vii), i Esdras, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 164r, c. 1330–​34

­f igure 5.2  Esdras leads Hebrew people from Babylon to Jerusalem and reads from law at Temple, i Esdras, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 173r, c. 1330–​34

with ornate foliate decoration on all of the pages and a total of approximately 250 narrative illustrations.6 At the beginning of each book, the illuminations include a large historiated initial enclosing an abbreviated biblical story (Figure 5.1) and between two and four detailed narrative bas–​de–​page scenes (Figure 5.2). The Books of Daniel (Figure 5.3), the Gospels (Figure 5.4), the Acts of the Apostles (Figure 5.5), and Revelation (Figure 5.6) include longer bas–​de–​page cycles throughout the folios of those books. Its traditional iconography suggests that the Clement Bible’s model was an earlier bible with extended cycles.7 Yet at the same time, some of its iconographic details reflect specific alterations, made for its patron, intended to emphasize the particular art, politics, and religion in southern Italy in the first half of the fourteenth century.

6 For a general description of its images, see Fleck, Clement Bible, 7–​9. 7 Ibid., 33–​68 and Fleck, “Papal Politics of a Trecento Bible,” 310. See Bräm, Neapolitanische Bilderbibeln des Trecento. Band i, 1, 84–​89, 103–​104.

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­f igure 5.3  Daniel in the Lion’s Den, Daniel, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 333v, c. 1330–​34

­f igure 5.4  Nativity of Christ, Luke, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 398r, c. 1330–​34

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­f igure 5.5  John and Peter heal a lame man before Temple of Jerusalem, Acts of Apostles, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 449r, c. 1330–​34

­f igure 5.6  Scenes with Apocalyptic woman and beast from the sea, Revelation, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 470v, c. 1330–​34

The most prevalent and unusual illustration theme in the Clement Bible highlights the holy city of Jerusalem and its contrast with biblical Babylon.8 The longest image cycles in the Clement Bible appear in the books of Daniel and Revelation (Figures 5.3 and 5.6), stories that highlight this Jerusalem/​ Babylon conflict.9 The significance of these cities to the patron becomes apparent in the Bible through the uncommonly extended representation of the 8 See Fleck, Clement Bible, 46–​67. See also Fleck, “Linking Jerusalem and Rome,” 430–​452. 9 Revelation is the longest cycle comprising twenty-​one scenes, Fleck, Clement Bible, 46–​67.

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­f igure 5.7  Celestial Jerusalem, Revelation, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 473r, c. 1330–​34

Israelites’ sixth-​century bce exile by King Nebuchadnezzar from Jerusalem to Babylon and the extensive cycle including the Whore of Babylon and vision of Heavenly Jerusalem in the Book of Revelation (fol. 473r) (Figure 5.7). The contrast of Jerusalem and Babylon had particular resonance in the contemporary context because of a fourteenth-​century debate over the location of the papal residence in Avignon; in this allegory, Babylon was Avignon and Jerusalem was Rome, the traditional abode of the popes.10 Practical reasons why the Jerusalem/​Babylon theme came from the court derived from the close ties of Naples to the papacy.11 Avignon, where the popes were living from 1309, was in the Angevin realm of Provence. King Robert ruled that region as well as southern Italy. He had a close relationship with Pope John xxii (r. 1317–​34), who was at his father’s court before becoming Robert’s own counselor.12 Robert’s extended stay from 1319 to 1324 with his entourage at Avignon strengthened their association. 10 11 12

Ibid., 90–​101 and Fleck, “Linking Jerusalem and Rome,” 430–​452. See Fleck, Clement Bible, 3–​7. Samantha Kelly, The New Solomon: Robert of Naples (1309–​1343) and Fourteenth-​Century Kingship, vol. 48, The Medieval Mediterranean (Boston: Brill Academic Publishers, 2003), 77–​78.

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The identity of the Clement Bible’s original patron remains uncertain, but it can be narrowed to the context of the Neapolitan court. One certitude about the Bible’s early years is that, within a decade of its creation, it appeared in the posthumous inventory of the bishop-​abbot of Monte Cassino, Raymond de Gramat (r. 1326–​40).13 The fact that the Bible found its way to this influential Benedictine abbey in southern Italy supports the likelihood that it was made for a high-​level official or ecclesiastic with ties to the Neapolitan courts who gave it to the bishop-​abbot.14 Archival evidence proves that Pope Benedict xii (r. 1334–​42) appropriated the library of the bishop-​abbot in 1340 through the papal “right of spoil” over deceased ecclesiastics’ possessions. He then brought the collection—​including the Bible—​into the papal palace library at Avignon.15 The Bible acquired its name from its ownership by Clement vii (r. 1378–​94), a so-​called “anti-​pope” who claimed the papacy in Avignon—​and the palace library containing the Bible—​while his rival, Pope Urban vi (r. 1378–​ 89), was in Rome.16 Clement vii inserted his coats of arms into the Bible at multiple points, covering the original arms (Figures 5.1 and 5.2). Special lighting has revealed an Angevin fleur-​de-​lys on the original coats of arms, painted

13 Fleck, Clement Bible, 81, 85–​87. 14 Ibid., 82–​90. 15 Fleck, “The Cultural Politics of the Papal Library,” 65–​85 and Fleck, Clement Bible, 85–​ 89. See also Daniel Williman, The Right of Spoil of the Popes of Avignon 1316–​1415, vol. 78, pt. 6, Transactions of the American Philosophical Society (Philadelphia: The American Philosophical Society, 1988). On the popes at Avignon, see Guillaume Mollat, The Popes at Avignon, 1305–​1378, Tenth edn. (New York: Harper & Row, 1965); Bernard Guillemain, Les papes d’Avignon (1309–​1376) (Paris: Les Editions du Cerf, 1998); and Paula Hutton, “The Palais des Papes d’Avignon and the Crisis in Papal Ideology” (Ph.D. Dissertation, Northwestern University, 1995). On the art and architecture of Avignon, see Cathleen A. Fleck, “Seeking Legitimacy: Art and Manuscripts for the Popes in Avignon from 1378–​ 1417,” in A Companion to the Great Western Schism (1378–​1417), eds. Joëlle Rollo-​Koster and Thomas Izbicki, Brill’s Companions to the Christian Tradition (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2009), 239–​302; Francesca Manzari, La miniatura ad Avignone al tempo dei papi (1340–​1410) (Modena: F.C. Panini, 2006); Dominique Vingtain and Claude Sauvageot (photography), Avignon: Le Palais des papes, vol. 2, Le ciel et la pierre (Saint-​Léger-​Vauban: Zodiaque, 1998); Michel Laclotte, L’école d’Avignon. La peinture en Provence aux xive et xve siècles (Paris: Éditions d’art Gonthier-​Seghers, 1983); Marie-​Claude Léonelli, Avignon 1360–​ 1410: Art et Histoire (Avignon: Centre international de documentation et de recherche du Petit Palais d’Avignon, 1978); Sylvain Gagnière, Le Palais des papes d’Avignon (Paris: Caisse nationale des monuments historiques, 1965); and Léon Honoré Labande, Le Palais des papes et les monuments d’Avignon au xive siècle, 2 vols. (Marseille: F. Detaille, 1925). 16 See Joëlle Rollo-​Koster, “Civil Violence and The Initiation of the Schism,” in A Companion to the Great Western Schism (1378–​1417), eds. Joëlle Rollo-​Koster and Thomas Izbicki, Brill’s Companions to the Christian Tradition (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2009), 9–​65.

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over by the arms of Pope Clement vii. Along with the book’s style and format, the arms confirm its connection to the Neapolitan court.17 The use of the Angevin fleur-​de-​lys on the arms was perhaps a result of a royal family connection or permission granted to a favored courtier.18 The Bible moved into exile in Valencia in 1409 with the next pope, Benedict xiii (r. 1394–​1422), who gave it by 1424 to King Alfonso v of Aragon (r. 1416–​58) (eventually Alfonso i of Naples (r. 1442–​58)), then on the Spanish peninsula.19 The complicated path of the Clement Bible illustrates how its beauty and quality motivated its transferal from one influential owner to the next, suggesting that it reflected important court ideals both in Naples and Avignon. 5.1.1 The Temple of Jerusalem in the Clement Bible Before delving further into the Clement Bible’s context, is it pertinent to examine one of the most striking features of its illustrations: the consistent details used to depict the Temple of Jerusalem. Previous chapters have made clear that the Jerusalem Temple was a special building in biblical history and the focal point of the Jewish religion. After the Romans destroyed the Temple in 70 ce, confusion endured into the later medieval period about its former appearance.20 In the fourteenth century (as now), the Temple Mount (or Haram al-​Sharif) had at its center the Muslim Dome of the Rock (also called the Qubbat al-​Sakhra, c. 692), a building often mistakenly understood by medieval Christians as the biblical Temple marking events in the life of Christ and called the Templum Domini (Figure 1.6) (see Map of Jerusalem).21 The Dome of the Rock had already become the common model for representations of the Temple by the eleventh century.22 For example, the thirteenth-​century Riccardiana Psalter shows the more common image of the Temple based on the Dome of the Rock (Figure 2.3). The form of the Temple as depicted in fourteenth-​ century Italy borrowed typically from texts that described the Dome of the Rock.23 Thus in the case of the Temple in the Clement Bible, it is remarkable 17 Fleck, Clement Bible, 82–​85, 103. 18 Ibid., 68, 81–​85. 19 Ibid., 201–​203, 262–​270. 20 See i Chronicles 6: 31–​32, 49 and ii Chronicles 5–​6:1. 21 See Schein, Gateway to the heavenly city, 26, 102–​103, 106; Carol Krinsky, “Representations of the Temple of Jerusalem before 1500,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld institutes 33 (1970): 3–​6; and Pamela Berger, The Crescent on the Temple: The Dome of the Rock as Image of the Ancient Jewish Sanctuary, Studies in Religion and the Arts (Leiden: Brill, 2012). 22 Krinsky, “Representations of the Temple of Jerusalem,” 3–​4, 7–​8. 23 Kathryn Blair Moore, “Textual Transmission and Pictorial Transformations: The Post-​ Crusade Image of the Dome of the Rock in Italy,” Muqarnas 27 (2010): 51–​78.

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­f igure 5.8  Pantheon, Rome, 1st c. bce–​c. 125 ce, in print by Étienne DuPérac, 1575

that that the Temple was not modeled after the Dome of the Rock; instead, it imitated in form and color the ancient Roman Pantheon (see fols. 164r, 173r, and 449r) (Figures 5.1, 5.2, 5.5).24 The Pantheon, supposedly a temple to all the gods, was built in the first century bce and rebuilt c. 125 ce.25 The loss of its original marble facing revealed the rosy coloring of the Pantheon’s bricks with relieving arches over the windows, as visible to the medieval viewer in Rome as they are today (Figure 5.8). Its most impressive features are its entrance porch, with a pediment upheld by sixteen columns, and the cylinder base supporting a hemispherical dome over an expansive interior space.26 The building was converted into the church of Santa Maria ad Martyres in the seventh century; it was also known in the Middle Ages as Santa Maria Rotonda.27 This ancient

24 25 26 27

The description of an ancient Hebrew Temple as being a traditional Greco-​Roman oblong building with surrounding storage rooms and a courtyard is also ignored, Krinsky, “Representations of the Temple of Jerusalem,” 1. On questions of the completion under Trajan or Hadrian, see Tod A. Marder and Mark Wilson Jones, “Introduction,” in The Pantheon from Antiquity to the Present, eds. Tod A. Marder and Mark Wilson Jones (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 4–​8. See ibid., 8, 16. See ibid., 24–​25 and Erik Thunø, “The Pantheon in the Middle Ages,” in The Pantheon from Antiquity to the Present, eds. Tod A. Marder and Mark Wilson Jones (Cambridge: Cambridge

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­f igure 5.9 “Ytalia” fresco of Evangelist Mark, San Francesco at Assisi, upper church, in crossing vault, by Cimabue, c. 1280s

building was well-​known in the fourteenth century and regularly depicted as a pink-​colored, round, domed building.28 Painted representations of Rome in the trecento consistently showed the domed rotunda of the Pantheon. The “Quo Vadis” fresco of Rome in the Cappella Capece Minutolo in the Naples Cathedral (c. 1295) or Cimabue’s “Ytalia” vault fresco of the Evangelist Mark in the upper church of San Francesco at Assisi (1280s) (Figure 5.9) are two readily visible examples.29 These frescoes showed the Pantheon as a central building in the landscape of Rome, signaling its essential association with that city in the Middle Ages. The choice of this ancient Roman building to portray the biblical Temple of Jerusalem was evident in the pink coloring, cylindrical and domed form, horizontal coursing, and/​or relieving arches or windows around the top in all of the Clement Bible Temple scenes (Figures 5.1, 5.2, and 5.5).30 Consider the Bible’s scene of the Presentation in the Temple (Luke, fol. 398v) (at the left in Figure 5.10). In accordance with traditional iconography, Mary offers the

University Press, 2015), 233–​236. See also Fleck, Clement Bible, 94–​96; Fleck, “Linking Jerusalem and Rome,” 432–​442; and Fleck, “Papal Politics of a Trecento Bible,” 152–​166. 28 Fleck, Clement Bible, 94–​99 and Fleck, “Linking Jerusalem and Rome,” 432–​442. 29 On the image in the Naples Cathedral, see Fleck, Clement Bible, 95, Fig. 36. On the medieval image of the Pantheon, see Fleck, “Linking Jerusalem and Rome,” 436–​441, figs. 435–​439. 30 Fleck, “Linking Jerusalem and Rome,” 430–​452.

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­f igure 5.10  Presentation of Christ in the Temple and Christ among doctors in the Temple, Luke, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 398v, c. 1330–​34

Christ child to the priest Simeon, who receives the child with covered hands. The prophetess Anna, behind Simeon, holds an unfurled scroll, and Joseph presents an offering of doves at the far left. A special canopy covers the altar, topped by a pink-​walled dome with rounded windows around the top, akin to the Pantheon (Figure 5.8)—​and to the Bible’s other images of the Temple (Figures 5.1, 5.2, and 5.5). The Bible also displays other types of Pantheon details. In the adjacent scene in the Clement Bible, a young Christ sits among the doctors in the Temple (Figure 5.10). The cutaway view suggests not only a centrally-​planned structure with pink walls, but also a patterned floor that evokes the geometric opus sectile or stone inlay typical for Roman flooring that would have been visible in the medieval Pantheon.31 This consistent borrowing suggests that this patron’s view of Jerusalem and its Temple, either original or rebuilt, differed from one inspired by the Dome of the Rock, as were the previous examples in this book. The Clement Bible’s notable, repeated depiction of the Jerusalem Temple as the Roman Pantheon confirms the Temple’s importance in this manuscript. 5.2

Naples and the Holy Land: Related Scenes in the Clement Bible

To understand how the Clement Bible patron viewed the Jerusalem Temple as special, it is necessary to probe what King Robert i and his Neapolitan court knew about Jerusalem and the Holy Land. The combination of the history of Angevin efforts to gain a Levantine base with the Clement Bible’s images reveals a telling manifestation of Naples’ ties to Jerusalem. Together they suggest that the king and his court understood that he had a limited but

31

See Marder and Jones, “Introduction,” 17–​19 and Thunø, “The Pantheon in the Middle Ages,” 247.

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meaningful role to play in Jerusalem through a metaphorical tie to Hebrew Bible kings like Solomon. The Angevin history associated with Jerusalem precedes Robert by several decades. Soon after gaining the Neapolitan throne, Robert i’s grandfather, the ambitious Angevin King Charles i of Sicily (r. 1266–​85) made a move towards the Holy Land in 1270 to increase the Angevin presence around the Mediterranean.32 With his brother, King (later Saint) Louis ix of France, Charles i attempted to claim the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem—​and especially the holy city—​through a military crusade. At the time, the Kingdom of Jerusalem, based in Acre on the Mediterranean coast, did not include Jerusalem, which had been lost in 1244. The kings’ joint effort was unsuccessful, but in 1277, with Pope Gregory x’s (r. 1272–​76) endorsement, Charles i purchased the claims to what remained of the Kingdom of Jerusalem from Maria of Antioch (1145–​82); she was Byzantine empress (r. 1161–​80) and regent to her son, Alexios ii Komnenos (r. 1180–​82) .33 Charles i sent a deputy and troops to assert his claim on the kingdom. They took Acre—​but not Jerusalem—​and held it for less than a decade from 1277 to 1286 through two different bailiffs, Roger of Sanseverino (from 1277–​81) and Odo Poilechien (from 1281–​86). Then King Henry i of Cyprus (r. 1218–​53) overtook Acre in 1286, holding it until the Mamluks’ conquest in 1291. Even though no European power had a place in the Levant because the region was mainly in the hands of Muslim Mamluk rulers based in Cairo after 1291, Robert i persisted in his claim to the Jerusalem throne.34 This history provides an important background for consideration not only of the Clement Bible’s Temple structure, but also of the manner that it depicts past biblical rulers dealing with the Temple. Biblical leaders are repeatedly

32 Charles i also labored in other areas such as Corfu and Achaea to gain a foothold, see Deno Geanakoplos, “Byzantium and the Crusades, 1261–​1354,” in A History of the Crusades, The Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries, ed. Harry W. Hazard, A History of the Crusades (Madison, Wisconsin: University of Wisconsin Press, 1975), 35–​42 and Peter Topping, “The Morea, 1311–​1364,” in ibid., 104–​107. 33 Maria was daughter of Prince Bohemond iv of Antioch (1175–​1233) and his second wife Melisende de Lusignan (1200–​49). She was the pretender to the throne of Jerusalem from 1269 to 1277 after her relative Conradin was executed by Charles i. By her mother, she was the granddaughter of Queen Isabella i of Jerusalem (1172–​1205) and her fourth husband, King Amalric ii of Jerusalem (bef. 1155–​1205). The exchange between Maria of Antioch and Charles i occurred even after the Haut Cour of Jerusalem decided in favor of Hugh iii of Cyprus (1235–​84) as Jerusalem king. On the role of the Hospitallers and Templars in this process, see Riley-​Smith, Ayyubids, Mamlukes and Crusaders, 209. 34 Ibid., 209–​210. On the Mamluks’ rise, see Amitai, “The Early Mamluks,” 324–​345.

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­f igure 5.11  Solomon anointed as king and building new Temple, iii Kings, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 117v, c. 1330–​34

­f igure 5.12  Solomon and priests taking holy vessels into new Temple, ii Chronicles, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 150v, c. 1330–​34

shown in the Clement Bible as being present at the round, domed Temple and involved in its initial building and later reconstruction. In iii Kings, Solomon is shown being anointed as king in the center image on the folio’s lower margin (fol. 150v) (Figure 5.11); in the adjacent (right) scene, Solomon directs Hiram to construct the first Temple, and the workers begin building. Also in the case of the newly reconstructed second Temple after the Babylonian Captivity, the priests take the holy vessels into the Temple shown as a pink-​walled, domed structure (ii Chronicles) (Figure 5.12). Significantly, certain details suggest parallels in these rulers and their actions to the king’s situation. The clothing of the seated Solomon is much like that of Robert i in contemporary images, as in the frontispiece of the Anjou Bible (see Figure 5.15 below). He wears a luxurious robe bordered in gold bands with hints of jewels and with a decorative panel on the front. In both images the king holds a gold orb. Contemporary writers connected Robert i to the biblical rulers in Jerusalem such as Solomonv both implicitly and explicitly and help to show how these images may have been especially potent for those at the king’s court. Remigio de’ Girolami (1235–​1319), glossing Psalm 2:6 (“I am appointed king by him [God] over Sion”), stated that: historically and morally, this king is literally on Mount Zion, which belongs to the city of Jerusalem. On this mount is constructed the citadel

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which is called the tower of David. Indeed [Robert] is king of Jerusalem by right, but it is also morally true that he is on Zion, since Zion is interpreted as 'watchtower' by reason of illuminating wisdom.35 The actual Mount Sion (Zion) was just south of the medieval Jerusalem walls and considered to be within the ancient city of David (lower left on the Cambrai map, Figure 1.4).36 Remigio was speaking allegorically about Robert’s wisdom and practically about his title as king of Jerusalem. Both ideas suggest that Robert’s court knew these associations and likely made those connections when commissioning and seeing the Clement Bible. Remigio’s comments unknowingly relate to another future concrete connection between Robert and Mount Sion: within two decades of Remigio’s writing, Robert and his wife, Queen Sancia of Majorca (1285–​1345), helped to arrange a treaty with the Mamluk Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad (during his third reign from 1310–​41) to purchase rights to the area around the Cenaculum on Mount Sion. Purportedly this effort was a part of a larger campaign on the part of Franciscans and other Christian communities and leaders to increase their presence in the Holy Land.37 As discussed in Chapter 2 and 3, the Cenaculum was the perceived site of the Last Supper and of the descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost on the apostles. Nearby, the Angevins were to help establish a residence for Franciscans as well.38 Around 1336, Queen Sancia gave money for the 35 36 37

38

In Kelly, The New Solomon, 48, 210. Found in Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale, ms G 4 936, fol. 351v, ibid., 211n256. See Bahat and Rubinstein, Atlas of Jerusalem, 41, 91. Heyne, “The Franciscans of the Holy Land,” 25–​31 and Michele Campopiano, Writing the Holy Land: The Franciscans of Mount Zion and the Construction of a Cultural Memory, ed. Bonnie Wheeler, The New Middle Ages (Cham, Switzerland: Palgrave Macmillan, 2020), 42–​45. On the Franciscan province of the Holy Land begun in the early thirteenth century, see ibid., 36–​37; John R.H. Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order from its Origins to the year 1517, First edn. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968), 227; and Nunzio Lozito, “La missione dei Latini in Terra Santa secondo il Golubovich dalla costituzione della Custodia Francescana al xvii sec.,” Studia orientalia Christiana. Collectanea. 40 (2007): 103–​104. For comprehensive studies of the Franciscans in the Holy Land, see Heyne, “The Franciscans of the Holy Land” and Campopiano, Writing the Holy Land. On their purchase of rights, but not actually of the land and buildings, see P. Girolamo Golubovich O.F.M., Biblioteca bio-​bibliografica della Terra Santa e dell’Oriente francescano (dal 1333 al 1345), vol. 4 (Florence: Quaracchi, 1923), 1–​2. See also Lozito, “La missione dei Latini,” 108–​111; Sabino De Sandoli O.F.M., The Peaceful Liberation of the Holy Places in the xiv Century: The Third Return of the Frankish or Latin Clergy to the Custody and Service of the Holy Places through Official Negotiations in 1333, Studia Orientalia Christiana Monographiae (Cairo: Franciscan Center of Christian Oriental Studies, 1990), 46–​49; Bernardin Collin O.F.M., “Les Frères-​mineurs au cénacle,” Études franciscaines 9

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building, according to a papal bull discussed below.39 A Mamluk notice in 1337 stated that three “brothers of the cord” (i.e., Franciscans) bought rights to the remains of a structure with vaults and an upper chamber near to the former church of Sion (by then destroyed), presumably the remains of the two-​level Cenaculum structure.40 The sultan specifically named the Franciscans as the Latin Christians given permission to be present and to care for the site. The sultan allowed the Franciscan minister general to send twelve friars each year to live in the monastery at the Cenaculum, and King Robert was given leeway to send three laymen to live there and aid the friars with annual provisions.41 The full extent and timing of these negotiations should be analyzed cautiously, as Jon Paul Heyne advises, but evidence of some Franciscan and Angevin activity in Jerusalem seems assured in the 1330s.42 Therefore, the role that Robert played in Jerusalem could have been likened to a builder like Solomon and other biblical rulers, to which the scenes in the Bible might indeed have alluded (Figure 5.11). Examination of the Clement Bible scenes related to the Cenaculum and Mount Sion suggests that their selection might have been motivated by special interest in those places, though their details do not demonstrate a strong knowledge of the sites themselves. The Last Supper in the Clement Bible is the most obvious scene related to the Cenaculum. It shows Christ seated and facing outward in the middle of the long side of a rectangular table (John, fol. 415v) (Figure 5.13). His apostles, seated on a tan-​colored, pillowlike seat,

39

40 41 42

(1959): 1–​15; Saul P. Colbi, A History of the Christian Presence in the Holy Land (Lanham, Maryland: University Press of America, 1988), 75–​76; and Kaspar Elm, “La Custodia di Terra Santa. Franziskanisches Ordensleben in der Tradition der lateinischen Kirche Palästinas,” in I Francescani nel Trecento. Atti del xiv Convegno Internazionale (Assisi, 16–​ 17–​18 ottobre 1986), ed. Società internazionale di studi francescani (Perugia: Centro di studi francescani. Università degli studi di Perugia, 1988), 132–​136. See Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order, 436–​437. The Franciscans were an order that Robert and his wife supported in their own realm and in disputes at the papal court, see Samantha Kelly, “Robert of Naples (1309–​43) and the Spiritual Franciscans,” Cristianesimo nella storia 20 (1999): 41–​80. Robert’s tomb would eventually be placed in Santa Chiara, a Franciscan establishment in Naples, see Caroline Bruzelius, “Queen Sancia of Mallorca and the Convent Church of Sta. Chiara in Naples,” Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome 40 (1995): 69–​100 and Tanja Michalsky, “‘Quis non admireretur eius sapientiam …?’: Strategien dynastischer Memoria am Grab König Roberts von Anjou,” in Grabmäler. Tendenzen der Forschung an Beispeilen aus Mittelalter un früher Neuzeit, eds. Wilhelm Maier, Wolfgand Schmid, and Michael Viktor Schwarz (Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 2000), 51–​73. See Collin, “Les Frères-​mineurs au cénacle,” 7n17. See also Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 64. Elm, “La Custodia di Terra Santa,” 137. Heyne, “The Franciscans of the Holy Land,” 8–​19, 24–​25.

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­f igure 5.13  Last Supper, John, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 415v, c. 1330–​34

­f igure 5.14  Washing of Apostles’ Feet, John, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 416r, c. 1330–​34

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surround the table on which food and drink rest. Vague compositional details such as a tan-​colored line, similar to a cornice, with four treetops protruding above it may indicate that the artist knew little about the Cenaculum at the time, either through individual visits or through writings, but still wanted to reference it.43 Perhaps as early as the 1180s, the Cenaculum was partly in ruins; the remainder was attached to the south aisle near the apse of the crusader-​era basilica (c. 1160) that was demolished at an uncertain date. The Cenaculum’s remaining structure had two levels and vaulting visible, as remarked upon by such fourteenth-​century visitors to the site as Marino Sanudo Torsello (1270–​ 1343).44 He wrote, Near … is a great paved building in which Christ feasted with His disciples [and] washed their feet. He gave them his body and blood and appeared there several times after the resurrection, where [since] a chapel has been built beneath it.45 In other words, the Cenaculum remained a key pilgrimage site and had a two-​ level structure for pilgrims to visit. Even though Marino’s 1320 text was known in Naples, as discussed below, apparently the Clement Bible patron and artist were not interested in using its detail to inform the architecture in this illustration. The next image in the Clement Bible sequence related to the Cenaculum shows the Washing of the Apostles’ Feet (fol. 416r) (Figure 5.14), but the scene contains even less architectural reference. The Washing reportedly occurred in the Cenaculum on Mount Sion, but the setting here is a natural landscape of tan rocky ground with blue background. The figure of Christ at the center stoops to wash Peter’s foot in a low basin as the other disciples await their turn in two seated groups to the left and right. A comparison of the Riccardiana Psalter (Figure 2.5), which combines the Last Supper and Feet Washing scenes, emphasizes the lack of detail in the Bible’s two Cenaculum-​related images (Figures 5.13 and 5.14). The Clement Bible illustrations likely predated the

43 44 45

For a listing of diverse sources on the Cenaculum, see Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 261–​287, esp. 265, 268. See also Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 6–​7. See Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 6–​7. In Marino Sanudo Torsello, The Book of the Secrets of the Faithful of the Cross (Liber Secretorum Fidelium Crucis), trans. Peter Lock, Crusade Texts in Translation (Farnham, England: Ashgate, 2011), 406 (Book 403, Chapter 408).

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Franciscans’ purported rebuilding with pointed rib vaults and arches in the upper room of the two-​level Cenaculum after 1337, perhaps explaining the lack of architectural detail.46 Nevertheless, the fact that both Cenaculum scenes were included marked an interest in this holy zone, which might have been stimulated by the Neapolitan negotiations for the actual site in the 1330s. In addition, the Franciscans had an attentiveness to Mount Sion and the Cenaculum linked to their ideology of preaching and Eucharist-​centered spirituality.47 The inclusion of Christ’s Resurrection in the Clement Bible on fol. 419r could point to a Neapolitan interest in the Holy Sepulcher, the purported location of Christ’s burial and resurrection. In addition to allowing Franciscan custody of the Cenaculum, the agreement between the sultan and the Angevins purportedly set the ground for the Franciscans to have a legal and perpetual place in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. These two sites were connected in pilgrims’ minds. As Marino Sanudo Torsello said in his text, a pilgrim should go to Mount Sion after his visit to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.48 During his pilgrimage in c. 1345–​50, Fra Niccolò of Poggibonsi confirmed that Franciscans in particular could be found at the Holy Sepulcher.49 The agreement would have given Franciscans an altar, permission to conduct services, and a place of residence there.50 A problem arises in this discussion though in the fact that a visible overlap seam in the bottom third of the Clement Bible folio and a different overall painting style and coloration indicates that the Resurrection scene was a substitute illustration.51 The rising of Christ from a simple sepulcher 46

See Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 285. See also Heyne, “The Franciscans of the Holy Land,” 31–​33 and Leonhard Lemmens, Die Franziskaner im heilegen Lande (Münster in Westf.: Aschendorff, 1925.), 44–​46. 47 See Andrew Jotischky, “The Franciscan return to the Holy Land (1333) and Mt Sion: pilgrimage and the apostolic mission,” in The Crusader World, ed. Adrian J. Boas (London and New York: Routledge, 2016), 244–​247. 48 Sanudo Torsello, The Book of the Secrets, 405 (Book 403, Chapter 408). 49 Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 32–​34. The Franciscans shared the church with other Christians up to the early sixteenth century, when Ottoman Turks gave prominence again to the Greek Orthodox. See Martiniano Roncaglia O.F.M., “The Sons of St. Francis in the Holy Land,” Franciscan Studies 10, no. 3 (1950): 281–​283 and Lozito, “La missione dei Latini,” 91–​92, 188–​189. 50 Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 2, 11–​12. See also Collin, “Les Frères-​mineurs au cénacle,” 1–​15 and Lozito, “La missione dei Latini,” 111–​112. Although St. Francis did visit the Holy Land in 1219–​20, he did not arrange the rights that they gained later in the fourteenth century, Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 75–​76. 51 It is different in its looser brushstroke and line and has a sketchy application of a rosy and purple jewel-​toned palette with gold highlights. The refined nature suggests that it might

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in the replacement illustration, and perhaps in the original, does not convey direct knowledge of Christ’s Resurrection site. Nevertheless, the manner that the later artist maintained the format of the Bible’s illustrations—​a bas-​de-​ page miniature framed with foliate designs—​suggests that he copied an original scene that showed the patron’s interest in this biblical moment. Supposedly thanks to the Neapolitan king and queen, the Franciscan custodial presence in the Holy Land also came to include the Church of the Nativity at Bethlehem and the Tomb of the Virgin in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, outside of Jerusalem, where they could conduct services regularly.52 According to the mid-​fourteenth-​century accounts of Niccolò of Poggibonsi and Ludolph of Sudheim (a German priest active 1336–​41), the Holy Sepulcher, Tomb of the Virgin, and basilica of the Nativity were properties shared by various Christian confessions, with each group having its own altar at the sites.53 The Franciscans were also allowed to build a residence in the vicinity of the Nativity church.54 In the Clement Bible, the related scene of the Nativity of Christ is informative (fol. 398r) (Figure 5.4). The Virgin lies across the center of the composition with the child behind her in a manger, which is shaped like a wooden box, with a cow and donkey watching over him. At the left is the seated figure of Joseph, and to the right are two maids preparing water in a basin. These features of the Clement Bible are similar to the birth of Christ in the Riccardiana Psalter (Figure 2.1). These elements reveal how the Bible differs from another option that began to appear in Italian painting by the trecento: of Mary and

52

53

54

be a Franco-​Flemish artist with Italian influence or vice versa. Instead of rising from a rectilinear tomb seen from the side, as discussed in Chapters 2 and 3, here the open coffin-​ like sepulcher from which Christ rises is turned to extend back into the picture space and is largely obscured by the cloudy mass surrounding Him. In other words, little notice is given to the physical remnants of Christ’s tomb, especially as they might have been seen at the Holy Sepulcher church, see Fleck, Clement Bible, 280–​281. The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem is not explicitly listed in the bull, but the Franciscans did gain more of a role there by 1337, Roncaglia, “The Sons of St. Francis in the Holy Land,” 280. On the Franciscans in Bethlehem generally, see ibid., 257–​285; Lozito, “La missione dei Latini,” 112–​113; and Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 34–​37. See Roncaglia, “The Sons of St. Francis in the Holy Land,” 276–​280; Lozito, “La missione dei Latini,” 137–​142; De Sandoli, The Peaceful Liberation, 46–​49; and Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 24–​31. On Ludolph, a German priest also known as Ludolph of Suchem, see Ludolph von Suchem, “Ludolph von Suchem’s Description of the Holy Land and of the Way Thither,” in The Library of the Palestine Pilgrim’s Text Society, ed. Aubrey Stewart (New York: ams Press, 1971), 1–​142 and Christine Gadrat, “Ludolph von Sudheim,” Archives de littérature du Moyen Âge, https://​www.arl​ima.net/​no/​162. 2011, (2011), accessed 4 January 2021. See Bacci, The Mystic Cave, 215, 223–​224 and De Sandoli, The Peaceful Liberation, 48.

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the Christ child in a partly wooden stable rather than a cave.55 The choice to depict a simple cave may have recognized the importance of the Nativity grotto as known in Eastern Orthodox traditions and pilgrim experience. As discussed in Chapter 2, the Riccardiana Psalter’s Byzantinizing iconography emphasized the layout at Bethlehem, with the grotto below the church’s altar believed to be the location of Christ’s birth—​and the objective of pilgrims. As Chapter 4 also explained, the Byzantine iconography was influenced by the Protevangelium of James for many details.56 The Bible’s patron may have made these site-​specific iconographic choices about the Nativity scene because of the agreement between the Mamluk sultan and Neapolitan king that gave the Franciscans care of the Church of the Nativity —​and specifically of the Grotto of the Nativity—​as representatives of the Latin Church.57 The Neapolitan court’s interest in the Nativity site appeared in other artworks as well. At Aix-​en-​Provence, Queen Sancia sponsored a polyptych with an Adoration of the Magi (now between Aix and New York) and a church and convent dedicated to the Nativity for Clarissans, the female branch of Franciscans.58 Also the Barrese chapel in San Lorenzo Maggiore (Naples) and a diptych perhaps from Aix contain Nativity imagery.59 In the latter diptych, the Virgin wears a belt with three knots in accord with Clarissan nuns’ practice. The fact that the Nativity scene appeared in the Clement Bible and in other Angevin artworks, including some with a Franciscan association, might reflect the special interest of the royal family in the site of Christ’s birth and the Franciscan presence there. Further explanation for the meaning of the Holy Land sites found in the Clement Bible for the Angevins and their court surfaces in two important pontifical bulls: Gratias agimus and Nuper carissimae issued by Pope Clement vi 55

56 57 58

59

A version of the cave with a wooden extension exists in Italian painting with Giotto’s Nativity in the Scrovegni chapel in Padua (c. 1306), on a Neapolitan Trecento diptych [see Sarah K. Kozlowski, “Toward a History of the Trecento Diptych: Format, Materiality, and Mobility in a Corpus of Diptychs from Angevin Naples,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 81, no. 1 (2018): 11–​13, fig. 12], and in a more pronounced version in the Lorenzo Monaco panel [now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Object no. 1975.166, “The Nativity c. 1406–​10,” https://​www.metmus​eum.org/​art/​col​lect​ion/​sea​rch/​459​007, accessed 20 January 2020]. See Kirby, Protevangelium of James, 18:1. See De Sandoli, The Peaceful Liberation, 47. Kozlowski, “Toward a History,” 11–​13, 15. About the Nativity in the Musée Granet in Aix and the Adoration of the Magi at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, object no. 1975.19, see Metropolitan Museum of Art, “Adoration of the Magi c. 1340–​43,” https://​www.metmus​ eum.org/​art/​col​lect​ion/​sea​rch/​459​133, accessed 20 January 2020. The latter panel painting, once a part of a diptych, is now in the Richard Feigen collection in New York, c. 1340–​45, ibid., 11–​13, fig. 12.

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(r. 1342–​52) in 1342. These bulls made public the conventions for the holy sites that the sovereigns of Naples and the Mamluk sultan had negotiated almost a decade before.60 For the Angevin royals, gaining access to key sites such as the birthplace and resurrection site of Christ would have been a spiritual as well as a political gain worthy of public acclaim. The Mamluk sultan had supreme authority in the land but conceded the use of certain sites to the Franciscans, thanks to the negotiations of the Angevins.61 That Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad agreed to such a deal with the Angevin rulers made sense from a monetary standpoint. Contemporary Mamluk chronicles record that the last ten years of al-​Nasir Muhammad’s rule were a time of economic crisis resulting from a number of factors, including heavy construction expenditures, imbalance of trade with Europe, movement of population from rural to urban centers, and reduced agricultural production and income.62 When al-​Nasir Muhammad would have been negotiating the treaty in the early 1330s, he was also tearing down and rebuilding his magnificent palace and grand mosque in the Citadel in Cairo at great cost.63 Giving access to relatively unimportant Christian parts of Jerusalem would hardly have affected the Muslim sultan, whereas the influx of funds from Naples would have been a welcome addition to his treasury.64 60

61

62 63

64

Published in Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 52–​56. See Heyne, “The Franciscans of the Holy Land,” 37–​38; Elm, “La Custodia di Terra Santa,” 134; Lozito, “La missione dei Latini,” 113–​114; and Collin, “Les Frères-​mineurs au cénacle,” 10. Note that the bulls do not mention the Tomb of David, cited by at least the twelfth century as being also in the Cenaculum building, ibid., 11, 14. Lozito, “La missione dei Latini,” 113–​115 and Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 2. For the text of the bulls, see ibid., 52–​54. The end result was a pious foundation, or a waqf in Muslim terms, a respected type of protected religious institution supported by an endowment. See Collin, “Les Frères-​mineurs au cénacle,” 10. See Amalia Levanoni, A Turning Point in Mamluk History: The Third Reign of al-​Nāsir Muhammad Ibn Qalāwūn (1310–​1341), ed. Ulrich Haarmann, Islamic History and Civilization: Studies and Texts (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1995), 142, 149–​151. Ibid., 157–​158. See also De Sandoli, The Peaceful Liberation, 53–​55. From 1332–​39, al-​Nasir Muhammad appointed a new treasurer whom he intended to manipulate to gain what he needed. The extravagant spending of the sultan led to constant demands on the treasurer to increase the coffers, which he did through exorbitant taxes, confiscation of property, and physical violence for non-​compliance across all sectors of Mamluk society, Levanoni, Turning Point in Mamluk History, 142, 149–​155. On diplomatic interactions between Europe and Mamluk sultans in general, see Pierre Moukarzel, “The European Embassies to the Court of the Mamluk Sultans in Cairo,” in Mamluk Cairo, a Crossroads for Embassies: Studies on Diplomacy and Diplomatics, eds. Frédéric Bauden and Malika Dekkiche, Islamic History and Civilization (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2019), 685–​710 and Behrens-​Abouseif, Practising Diplomacy, 5–​6. During the sultan’s reign, about twenty-​three Muslim-​use buildings were constructed in Jerusalem. According to historian Mujir al-​Din al-​ʿUlaymi (1456–​1522), he did a great deal

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Exploration of more details about the process by which the Angevins acquired use rights for the Franciscans shows a concerted effort on their part to connect to the Holy Land and situates the Clement Bible in the broader context of Angevin interest there. I am unaware of any record of the preliminary exchange between the two courts in the archives of the Angevins or among the firmani (Muslim archives) of Jerusalem.65 Yet Mamluk deeds of purchase do attest that two individuals arranged the purchase of land rights on Mount Sion for 1400 dramme of silver in two stages, in May and September of 1335, facilitating the arrangement between the Neapolitan king and the sultan.66 According to the Chronica xxiv Generalium Ordinis Fratrum Minorum, a history of the Franciscan order written in Latin around 1370, two agents helped with the process.67 The agents were Roger Guérin, a Franciscan friar from Aquitaine, and Margherita di Sicilia, a resident of Jerusalem and the director of the hospital of St. John of the Hospitallers for sick Latin pilgrims and residents near the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.68 Another land purchase in 1337 by Friar Roger obtained the actual Cenaculum building for the friars.69 The deeds noted that Friar Roger and Margherita bought access to the land from the Mamluk treasury in Jerusalem, seemingly acting on behalf of the Angevin

for the Dome of the Rock and the Haram al-​Sharif, building porticos and aqueducts in that zone, see Huda Lutfi, Al-​Quds Al-​Mamlûkiyya. A History of Mamlûk Jerusalem Based on the Haram Documents, Islamkundliche Untersuchungen (Berlin: Klaus Schwarz Verlag, 1985), 117–​118. 65 See Heyne, “The Franciscans of the Holy Land,” 175–​176; Collin, “Les Frères-​mineurs au cénacle,” 1–​15; Lozito, “La missione dei Latini,” 115–​116; and Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 41. On firmani, see Lozito, “La missione dei Latini,” 142–​144. 66 Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 13, 59, 59–​63 for a transcription of the text. On the deeds, see also Heyne, “The Franciscans of the Holy Land,” 34–​35 and Campopiano, Writing the Holy Land, 43–​44. 67 On assuming that there was a treaty, based on the wording of the later announcement by the popes, see Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 56–​58. Note that Golubovich argued for the date as 1333 based on other evidence, such as the Franciscans arriving in Jerusalem with Friar Roger in 1333, ibid., 8–​9. Heyne does question some assumptions of Golubovich, Heyne, “The Franciscans of the Holy Land,” 8–​19. See also Collin, “Les Frères-​mineurs au cénacle,” 1–​15. On the Chronica, see Ralf Lützelschwab, “Chronica xxiv generalium Ordinis Fratrum Minorum,” in Encyclopedia of the Medieval Chronicle, ed. Graeme Dunphy (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 451. 68 See Collin, “Les Frères-​mineurs au cénacle,” 3–​5 and Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 9, 13–​14. The process of Roger and Margherita’s selection as Angevin agents is a mystery. The Franciscan minister general Gerardo Odone (r. 1329–​44) invited Guérin to join a group of missionaries to the east but no explicit mention can be found of his selection as a mediator for the king, ibid., 9. 69 See Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 64–​66 and Collin, “Les Frères-​mineurs au cénacle,” 7.

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king and queen.70 The bulls stated explicitly that the exchange took place “not without great expense and effort of the King and Queen.”71 A later source reported that the royals paid 20,000 gold ducats in total for the Latin Christian use of the four sites.72 The Angevins’ ability to facilitate Christian access to these religious sites reflects the broader context of the Mediterranean setting. The status of Christians in the Holy Land had stabilized in the early fourteenth century when the Clement Bible was produced compared to the period around 1291 when the Mamluks took over the last of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem and many Christians in the region were massacred or escaped.73 Some restrictive rules were in place in the fourteenth century: Christians were obligated to wear certain colors of turbans, and they were not allowed to ride horses in the holy city.74 Access to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher was purportedly through a Mamluk official who held the key.75 Yet Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad was generally seen as being friendly towards Christians, who held positions in his court administration. King James ii of Aragon (r. 1291–​1327) helped win a footing for Christians in the Holy Land with his appeals to the Mamluk sultan, beginning in 1300, for tolerance towards Christians.76 By 1327, James ii had successfully made an argument for twelve Dominicans to go to Jerusalem and care for the Church of the Holy Sepulcher; they were soon joined by the Franciscans, supported by the Neapolitan king.77 Heyne suggests that the Angevin interest in conducting business with the Mamluks for Franciscan access to the Holy Land 70 Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 13. Her hospice is on the location of the Hospitallers’ former Hospital of St. John. Ludolf’s and Niccolò’s accounts of the Holy Land both mention her, ibid., 13–​14, 16. 71 “Non sine magnis sumptibus et laboribus gravibus Regi et Reginae concessit eisdem,” ibid., 13. 72 Though the bulls do not mention the prices, a manuscript in the Vatican (Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms Vat. lat. 558), written by a German minor friar of 1427, mentions the sum, Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 33. Friar Felix Fabri, in 1447, mentioned 32,000 ducats paid, Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 41–​42. 73 For instance, a group of Franciscan men and women in Acre were killed, and the rest went to live and work in Cyprus, Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order, 227–​228. 74 Lemmens, Die Franziskaner, 35–​36. 75 Jotischky, “The Franciscan return,” 242 and De Sandoli, The Peaceful Liberation, 49. On fees for the Holy Sepulcher and other sites, see Colbi, Christian Presence in the Holy Land, 70. Even when Christians had control in 1229–​39, they did not have access to the Dome of the Rock and al-​Aqsa Mosque, for instance, ibid., 57. 76 Campopiano, Writing the Holy Land, 40–​42 and Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order, 435–​436. On the involvement of multiple European powers in establishing Christian presence, see Heyne, “The Franciscans of the Holy Land,” 15–​16, 163–​170. 77 See Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 8–​9.

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was partially fed by their rivalry with the Aragonese, in addition to their support of the Franciscans.78 Though this context helps to explain what the royal court in Naples knew about Jerusalem during Robert’s reign, two questions still remain about the Clement Bible: why does it depict the Temple as the Roman Pantheon rather than the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem, and why does it contain a general lack of specificity about these holy sites? 5.2.1 The Related Anjou Bible and Jerusalem Another illustrated manuscript helps to provide some answers by clarifying the Neapolitan court’s view of Jerusalem as presented in the Clement Bible and enhancing our understanding of the complex relationship of King Robert i’s court with Jerusalem and the Holy Land. The Anjou Bible, created in Naples near the end of Robert’s reign, shows how the king and his court attempted to construct and project an image of his impressive sacred authority through patronage of the arts (fols. 3v and 4r) (Figures 5.15 and 5.16).79 Scholars have argued that its production was a court statement, by either Robert himself or a close courtier, to support the king’s right to choose his successor to the Neapolitan throne: Robert’s granddaughter Joanna i (r. 1343–​ 82).80 The Anjou Bible’s images elucidated Robert’s succession to the throne of Naples and Jerusalem and presented the emblematic nature of his claims to Jerusalem,  not only as a builder but also as a wise and blessed king like Solomon.81 One of the clearest manifestations of King Robert i’s understanding of his place between Naples and Jerusalem appeared in the right half of the double 78 79 80

81

See Heyne, “The Franciscans of the Holy Land,” 175–​177, 181–​187. See Fleck, Clement Bible, 126–​130 and Fleck, “The rise of the court artist” (2010), 51–​55. There are clear connections among the court of Naples, the style of Cristoforo Orimina, and the iconography of the Anjou Bible, Cathleen A. Fleck, “Patronage, Art, and the Anjou Bible in Angevin Naples (1266–​1352),” in The Anjou Bible. A Royal Manuscript Revealed. Naples 1340, eds. Lieve Watteeuw and Jan Van der Stock, Corpus of Illuminated Manuscripts (Leuven: Peeters Publishers, 2010), 37–​52. See also Lieve Watteeuw and Marina Van Bos, “Illuminating with Pen and Brush. The Techniques of a Fourteenth-​ Century Neapolitan Illuminator Explored,” in ibid., 147–​ 169; Alessandra Perriccioli Saggese, “Cristophoro Orimina. An Illuminator at the Angevin Court of Naples,” in ibid., 114–​125; Michelle M. Duran, “The Politics of Art: Imaging Sovereignty in the Anjou Bible,” in ibid., 74; and Katharina Weiger, “The portraits of Robert of Anjou: self-​representation as political instrument?,” Journal of Art Historiography 17, no. Dec. (2017): 3–​5, 9–​11. Cathleen A. Fleck, “Art of an Emblematic King: Robert i of Naples as King of Jerusalem in the Fourteenth Century,” in New Horizons in Trecento Italian Art, eds. Bryan C. Keene and Karl Whittington, Trecento Forum (Turnhout: Brepols, 2020). See also Kelly, The New Solomon, 48, 278–​283.

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­f igure 5.15  Enthroned Robert i of Naples with Virtues and Vices, Frontispiece, Anjou Bible, fol. 3v, Leuven, ku Leuven Libraries, Maurits Sabbe Library, gbib gsm Cod. 1, c. 1340–​43

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­f igure 5.16  Angevin Family Tree, Frontispiece, Anjou Bible, fol. 4r, Leuven, ku Leuven Libraries, Maurits Sabbe Library, gbib gsm Cod. 1, c. 1340–​43

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frontispiece to the Anjou Bible (Figure 5.16).82 It displays the path of his birthright, making a visual argument for the Angevin sovereign’s rule in southern Italy and the Levant.83 King Robert i’s title of King of Jerusalem stemmed from his concurrent claim to the Angevin kingship of southern Italy. As the third son of Charles ii (r. 1285–​1309), Robert acquired the Angevin throne of Naples in 1309 through a series of events rather than outright succession.84 His eldest brother, Charles Martel (1271–​95), heir apparent to the throne of Naples and of Jerusalem, died at a young age with a son of his own (Carobert or Charles Robert (king of Hungary and Croatia, r. 1308–​41)). Charles ii, enthroned in the second row, then selected his second son, Louis (1274–​97), to replace Charles Martel as his heir. Louis declined the role and instead became an ordained man of the church and a Franciscan friar—​and eventually Saint Louis of Toulouse (canonized 1317).85 This choice led Charles ii to choose his third son, Robert, to inherit his throne. On the far right in the middle register, Robert’s older brothers Charles Martel (who died) and Louis (who renounced the throne) stand behind and support the selection of their brother as king (in front in blue), highlighting the justification for him to rule instead of them. In the bottom register immediately below his grandfather Charles i and father Charles ii, Robert i appears, taking his rightful throne. This pictorial family tree (Figure 5.16) decidedly proclaims Robert’s right to the throne of Naples and Jerusalem—​and to name his heir. While Robert was a willing ruler, he did have opponents to his claim among the proponents of his nephew Carobert; this opposition also led to suggestions of Robert’s successor coming from that branch.86 In the second row, Robert instead endorses his deceased son’s daughter, Joanna, as his successor by reaching out to the girl, who kneels before him in a gold gown. In the lowest register, his wife, Queen Sancia, blesses the kneeling girl who appears again to the left. Robert’s ability to hold his Neapolitan throne relied on public acceptance of his Angevin inheritance and with it, his title to Jerusalem.87 To the right in the double frontispiece, a display of the Angevin blue ground and gold fleur-​ de-​lys coats of arms repeats in each register, combined with additional heraldic devices, to reinforce these associations. Importantly, the gold crosses of

82 Anjou Bible, fols. 3v–​4r, see Watteeuw and Van der Stock, The Anjou Bible, 211–​212. 83 See Duran, “The Politics of Art,” 73–​75. 84 Ibid., 73–​74 and Kelly, The New Solomon, 48, xvi, 7–​8. 85 Kelly, The New Solomon, 48, 7–​8. 86 Ibid., 8, 276–​278. 87 See ibid., 278–​283.

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Jerusalem alternate in the top row with the Angevin insignia behind Charles i, who first bought the claim to the Holy Land throne and thus established it for Robert. To the left of the double frontispiece, the artist paints a striking armorial statement about the identity of King Robert as ruler of both Naples and Jerusalem (Figure 5.15).88 The Angevin arms surround him as the backdrop behind the throne and on his gown, while his Jerusalem coats of arms, one large and four small gold crosses on a plain ground of parchment, appear in a more marginal position at the four corners of the frame. The composition thus shows how his Jerusalem identity was important, albeit subordinate to his central Angevin character. To reinforce King Robert’s sacral authority, the Anjou Bible sought to make visual connections to Jerusalem and to biblical kings such as Solomon as noted already in the Clement Bible.89 The crowned figure of Robert in the left frontispiece combines Roman and biblical overtones. He sits on a throne with ­leonine protomes, like the finials of a sella curulis, the folding seat that was a “symbol of the most important posts in ancient Rome.”90 An affiliation with ancient Rome is not surprising because Robert was senator in Rome in 1313 and vicar general of all imperial northern and central Italy from 1317 until his death.91 As discussed below, he saw himself as having a key role on the Italian peninsula as a protector of Rome in the absence of the popes. At the same time, the image reveals a connection to Solomon’s throne described with lions flanking his seat in 1 Kings 10:18–​20 and 2 Chronicles 9:17–​19 and seen in the Clement Bible (Figure 5.11).92 Representations of kings in the Middle Ages sometimes referenced such throne details as a way of likening the earthly rulers to the great biblical king.93 The lion-​headed arms in the Anjou Bible frontispiece thus imply a Solomonic association for the Neapolitan king. Other aspects of the left frontispiece with the seated King Robert affirmed that he was seen as a sacral king in line with Christ and his forebears, the

88 89

For all illustrations, see Watteeuw and Van der Stock, The Anjou Bible, 211–​299. See Kelly, The New Solomon, 48, 70–​72. Though other kings across Europe do make such parallels, King Robert’s method is special to his concerns. 90 Alessandro Tomei and Stefania Paone, “Paintings and Miniatures in Naples: Cavallini, Giotto and the Portraits of King Robert,” in The Anjou Bible. A Royal Manuscript Revealed. Naples 1340, ed. Lieve Watteeuw and Jan Van der Stock, Corpus of Illuminated Manuscripts (Leuven: Peeters Publishers, 2010), 67. 91 Kelly, The New Solomon, 48, 6. 92 See Daniel H. Weiss, “Architectural Symbolism and the Decoration of the Ste-​Chapelle,” Art Bulletin lxxvii (1995): 310. 93 See ibid., 311.

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biblical kings of Jerusalem David and Solomon (Figure 5.15). At the upper right of this image, Christ extends his right hand to bless the king, while Mary benevolently prays over him at the upper left. The Angevin kings underscored their perceived connection to this divine blessing in their coronation ceremony, which included priestly unction of their head and hands, as was done for the biblical kings.94 Robert’s contemporaries understood that, through the coronation consecration, God anointed him similarly to David and Solomon (1 Samuel 16:13 and 1 Kings 1:39)—​as seen also in the Clement Bible (Figure 5.11).95 Robert, known as the “king of sermons,” reinforced this biblical association in his homilies delivered in churches in Naples and as far away as Avignon.96 About 300 sermons, exceptional for their breadth of subject matter, are attributed to him.97 A description of his delivery of a sermon to a community of men in Marseilles in 1309 notes that Robert was enthroned as he spoke, demonstrating how he linked his royal status with his homiletic skills from the start of his reign.98 In another sermon, “Here is Your King,” he placed himself within the hierarchy of Hebrew Bible rulers and presented a clear justification for his reign by drawing parallels with Christ the King himself.99 This Palm Sunday sermon on Matthew 21:5 stated that the entrance of the royal procession into the church at the moment of the blessing of the palms mimicked that of Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem on an ass. Robert carefully curated this blessed image of himself, as seen in the Anjou Bible and his sermons, and other courtiers magnified that concept throughout the kingdom’s tightknit social and political network.100 King Robert’s symbolic connection to the biblical kings, especially Solomonv, included the promotion of his wisdom. Samantha Kelly argued

94

See James R. Johnson, “The Tree of Jesse Window of Chartres: Laudes regiae,” Speculum 36, no. 1 (1961): 6–​7. 95 Ibid., 6. 96 See Darleen Pryds, “The Politics of Preaching in Fourteenth–​century Naples: Robert d’Anjou (1309–​1343) and his Sermons” (Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Wisconsin—​Madison, 1994). See also Kelly, The New Solomon, 48, 73 and Duran, “The Politics of Art,” 79. 97 Darleen Pryds, The king embodies the Word: Robert d’Anjou and the politics of preaching (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 2. 98 Jean-​Paul Boyer, “Ecce Rex Tuus: Le roi et le royaume dans les sermons de Robert de Naples,” Revue Mabillon 6 (1995): 113. 99 For an annotated transcription of the sermon from Rome, Biblioteca Angelica, ms 150, fols. 86r–​88v, see ibid., 131–​136. The sermon displays his erudition, containing twenty-​ four references to sources ranging from scriptures to Gregory the Great to Aristotle, ibid., 104, 109. 100 Duran, “The Politics of Art,” 73, 78. See also Boyer, “Ecce Rex Tuus,” 117–​118.

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that “royal wisdom emerges as an apt virtue to sum up Robert’s rule, one that reflected the balance of tradition and innovation in his ruling style as a whole.”101 He was known in his own time as an intelligent, educated man, such that Francis Petrarch (or Francesco Petrarca, 1304–​74) chose to come to Naples for Robert to examine him as poet laureate in 1341.102 Robert nurtured this identity of being a wise man also through his sermons, truly seen as theological allocutions and not just royal drivel.103 Preaching was for him an expression of his erudition and his royal office, thus eliding his intellectual and political identities.104 Two main features in the Anjou Bible’s left half of the frontispiece reinforce Robert’s persona as a sage king (Figure 5.15). The figures of eight personifications of virtues flanking him are a visual manifestation of medieval theory about rulership, which stated that the good and wise king was one who possessed certain courtly virtues such as chivalry, purity, discretion, and loyalty, along with such cardinal virtues as justice, fortitude, prudence, and temperance.105 Michelle Duran stressed that exhibiting these embodiments of Robert’s virtues as they (and the king’s throne) crush the vices below showed how all in his kingdom would benefit from Robert’s just and prudent rule.106 In addition, the page was meant to stress his intellectual attributes through the inscription “rex robertus rex expertus omni scientia” (King Robert 101 Samantha Kelly, “A Second Solomon: The Theory and Practice of Kingship at the Court of Robert of Naples (1309–​1343)” (Ph.D. Dissertation, Northwestern University, 1998), 19. 102 See Zacour in Francis Petrarch, Petrarch’s “Book without a Name”: A Translation of the “Liber sine nomine”, trans. and ed. Norman Zacour (Toronto: The Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1973), 16 and Kelly, The New Solomon, 48, 2, 42, 290. See also Robert Coogan, Babylon on the Rhone: A Translation of Letters by Dante, Petrarch and Catherine of Siena on the Avignon Papacy (Potomac, Maryland: Studia Humanitatis, 1983), 6. 103 Duran, “The Politics of Art,” 77 and Boyer, “Ecce Rex Tuus,” 102, 105. See also Pryds, The king embodies the Word, 2. 104 Robert’s Palm Sunday sermon made a parallel between a preacher, who must have great knowledge, and a king, who shows his power with words, Boyer, “Ecce Rex Tuus,” 113, 115. See also ibid., 102–​103, 120–​121 and Darleen Pryds, “Rex praedicans: Robert d’Anjou and the Politics of Preaching,” in De l’homélie au sermon: histoire de la prédication médiévale, eds. Jacqueline Hamesse and Xavier Hermand, Publications de l’Institut d’études médiévales: Textes, études, congrès (Louvain-​la-​Neuve: Université catholique de Louvain, 1993), 239–​262. 105 See Duran, “The Politics of Art,” 78–​79. 106 Ibid., 78–​85. On the well-​circulated mirror of princes text of Giles of Rome (De regimine principum or “On the rule of princes”) reinforcing the virtues of a king, see Charles F. Briggs, Giles of Rome’s De regimine principum: Reading and Writing Politics at Court and University, c. 1275–​c.1525, Cambridge studies in palaeography and codicology (New York and Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 11–​15, 53–​54.

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­f igure 5.17 Initial representing Solomon (as King Robert i), Ecclesiastes, Anjou Bible, fol. 157v, Leuven, ku Leuven Libraries, Maurits Sabbe Library, gbib gsm Cod. 1, c. 1340–​43

experienced in all knowledge) at the top.107 This title explicitly highlighted a significant part of what the king wanted to convey about himself—​his wisdom.108 This left frontispiece in the Anjou Bible thus exemplified Robert i’s royal authority, sacred blessing, and theological learning. The historiated initial to the book of Ecclesiastes in the Anjou Bible further accentuated Robert’s persona as a wise king by representing the biblical King Solomon in a narrative image as Robert himself (fol. 157v) (Figure 5.17). In this image, the sage figure of Solomon is seated in profile on a lion-​headed sella curulis; gesturing to a crowd before him, he displays the unmistakable dominant profile and strong chin of Robert.109 Federico Franconi, a Dominican in Naples during the time of Robert, offers a useful way to understand this kind of imagery. In his oration on Psalm 28:10, “The lord shall sit king forever,” he identified Robert as the wisest of the three kings of Naples to date, saying “To sit belongs to a wise man or teacher. Luke 5(3): ‘sitting, he taught’ them. And in this way, King Robert sits.”110 Federico delivered this sermon at both the coronation and the funeral of Robert, expressing how definitive this concept must have been for the king and for his court.

1 07 See Duran, “The Politics of Art,” 79. 108 Kelly, The New Solomon, 48, 269–​270. 109 See Duran, “The Politics of Art,” 76 and Watteeuw and Van der Stock, The Anjou Bible, 241. 110 Duran, “The Politics of Art,” 86.

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The Clement Bible and the Discourse on Rome and Jerusalem

Having explored how the Anjou Bible illustrations show court perceptions about King Robert as a wise ruler following in the footsteps of Christ and of biblical kings such as Solomon, we can return to the Clement Bible. Its images of Jerusalem also reinforce similar themes of the biblical kings, Christ, and apostles, although they take place specifically at the Temple in Jerusalem. Its Roman-​style Temple is the key to seeing how the Bible responded to another contemporary issue: the allegorical discourse about Rome and Avignon, equated with the biblical cities of Jerusalem and Babylon, respectively. The Bible’s Roman-​style Temple was a symbolic manifestation of the Neapolitan court’s understanding of Rome as a New Jerusalem, an ideology beneficial to King Robert despite the Angevin links with the Holy Land. At the court in Naples—​an important fulcrum in European politics and culture, people would have been aware of the contemporary allegorical polemic about Rome as Jerusalem. Indeed the connection of the two cities appeared in ecclesiological and literary writings all over Europe in the early fourteenth century.111 The Hebrew people’s captivity in Babylon and their eventual return to Jerusalem, narrated in the Hebrew Bible, spurred writers to ponder whether Babylon was comparable to Avignon, the pope, or the Church—​because of the papacy’s “exile” in Avignon—​and to conclude that Jerusalem was thus the equivalent of Rome, the traditional sacred home of the Church and the papacy.112 The biblical narrative about these cities appears in the Clement Bible in such scenes as the defeat of the Whore of Babylon (fol. 472r; Figure 5.18) and the victory of Heavenly Jerusalem (fol. 473r; Figure 5.7), both in the book of Revelation.113 Pictorial models for this celestial city, with gold walls embedded with jewels, could be found in medieval Roman mosaics.114 This ideological connection 111 See Fleck, “Biblical Politics and the Neapolitan Bible,” 80–​82 and Fleck, “Linking Jerusalem and Rome,” 448–​452. 112 See Fleck, “Papal Politics of a Trecento Bible,” 274–​287. On varying parallels between Babylon, Jerusalem, and Rome, see Silvia Maddalo, “Babilonia,” in Enciclopedia dell’arte medievale, ed. Angiola Maria Romanini (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia italiana, 1991), 820–​821 and Ernst H. Kantorowicz, The king’s two bodies; a study in mediaeval political theology (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1957), 205n235. 113 See Eugenio Duprè Theseider, “L’Attesa escatologica durante il periodo avignonese,” in L’Attesa dell’Età nuova nella spiritualità della fine del medioevo, Atti del Convegno de Centro di stui sulla spiritualità della fine del medioevo (Todi: Presso l’Accademia tudertina, 1962), 96. See also Coogan, Babylon on the Rhone, 1–​12. See also Fleck, Clement Bible, 65. 114 Compare the ninth-​century mosaic of the triumphal arch at Santa Prassede, Fleck, Clement Bible, 64–​65. The fact that this final image followed an iconographic tradition well-​established in Italy may be due to the Clement Bible’s Roman-​influenced workshop.

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­f igure 5.18  Defeat of Babylon, Revelation, Clement Bible, London, British Library, ms Add. 47672, fol. 472r, c. 1330–​34

between Jerusalem and Rome as sacred cities elevated the latter. The exceptional Pantheon-​style domed structure repeatedly representing the Temple in the Clement Bible highlighted the Jerusalem-​as-​Rome analogy and underscored Rome and its allegorical importance to the patron. By deliberately not referencing the actual architecture of Jerusalem, the patron distanced himself from it and suggested that Naples was more concerned with the Italian holy city than with the distant one in the Levant. This representation of Jerusalem as Rome can be explained partly through the connections between the papacy and the court of King Robert i. The depictions of the Temple in the Bible allude to linked objectives for members of Robert’s court related to papal Rome as a New Jerusalem: acknowledging the negative aspects of Babylon/​Avignon, reforming the Church and the papacy, and returning the papacy to sacred Jerusalem/​Rome.115 The moral lesson about Babylon in the Clement Bible’s images seems to have been a message about the corrupt bureaucracy of the papal court and the need for the Church to amend its customs and renew its spiritual and theological focus.116 The papacy moved from Rome to Avignon for several reasons, including the influence of the French kings, the selection of French popes, and the lack of security in Rome.117 At the time of the Clement Bible’s production, the popes were well-​established in Avignon and had constructed a new papal

1 15 Ibid., 90–​103. 116 Ibid., 97. See Guillaume Mollat, Les Papes d’Avignon, 1305–​1378, Ninth edn. (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1949), 310ff. 117 See Fleck, Clement Bible, 4–​7. See also generally Guillemain, Les papes d’Avignon; Bernard Guillemain, La Cour pontificale d’Avignon (1309–​1376): Étude d’une société, vol. 201, Bibliothèque des Écoles francaises d’Athènes et de Rome (Paris: Éditions E. de Boccard, 1962); and Mollat, The Popes at Avignon.

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palace there.118 Many individuals wanted the popes to move back to Rome to reduce French influence and to reconnect to the papal traditions of the Italian city. Trecento papal theory claimed that the pope had an irrefutable connection with Rome, and Rome with the Holy Land. The repeated appearance in the Clement Bible of Christ’s favored apostle Peter, who had moved from Jerusalem to preach and eventually be martyred in Rome, could be read as a sign of the Rome/​Jerusalem discussion. For example, Peter heals a lame man before the doors of the Temple in the Acts of the Apostles in an active example of proselytizing the early Christian faith associated with the holy city (fol. 449r; Figure 5.5). In the Bible’s final image, Peter stands at the entrance to Celestial Jerusalem to welcome the blessed (fol. 473r; Figure 5.7). Contemporary discussions about leaving Babylon/​Avignon and inhabiting Jerusalem/​Rome related to broader Italian concerns, which certainly involved Naples. Romans and other loyalists from the Italian peninsula asserted that the pope should return to Rome to restore its glory as New Jerusalem for the Italian city’s sake.119 Petrarch was an advocate of the idea that his beloved “Italy” and Rome was undergoing decline, including Roman historical metaphors in his work.120 He had ties to Avignon throughout his life, living there and working for the Roman cardinal Giovanni Colonna from 1326 to the 1350s. Composing a sonnet, “De l’empia Babilionia,” on a visit to Naples in 1343, the poet hinted at his dissatisfaction with Avignon by speaking of running away from evil Avignon as Babylon.121 Eventually he did depart Avignon for the 118 On his palace, see Fleck, Clement Bible, 6 and Vingtain and Sauvageot (photography), Avignon, 2, 99–​101, 119–​120. See also Gottfried Kerscher, “‘Ubi Papa ibi Roma’: The Bishop of Rome’s Residence in the Fourteenth century: Avignon,” in Princes of the Church: Bishops and their Palaces, ed. David Rollason (London: Routledge, 2017), Ch. 18 and Dominique Vingtain, ed. Monument de l’histoire: construire, reconstruire le Palais des Papes, xive–​x xe siècle (Avignon: Editions rmg—​Palais des Papes, 2002). 119 Fleck, Clement Bible, 99–​101. 120 Based on a burgeoning sense of regional consciousness and in the geographic division among cardinals on the issue of the papacy in Avignon, the words “Italian” and “Italy” are used here generally to refer to the area of the Italian peninsula and the city-​states and principalities on it. Compare Patrick Gilli, “L’Intégration manquée des Angevins en Italie: le témoignage des historiens,” in L’État Angevin: Pouvoir, culture et société entre xiiie et xive siècle, ed. École française de Rome, Nuovi studi storici (Rome: École française de Rome, 1998), 11–​33 and Petrarch, Petrarch’s ‘Book without a Name’, 11. See also Fleck, Clement Bible, 100–​101; Giuseppe Mazzotta, The Worlds of Petrarch (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1993), 24; Coogan, Babylon on the Rhone, 6; and John Wrigley, “Pétrarque, Avignon et Rome: Une Interprétation,” in Genèse et débuts du Grand Schisme d’Occident, ed. Jean Favier, Colloques Internationaux du Centre National de la recherche scientifique (Paris: Editions du Centre national de la récherche scientifique, 1980), 233. 121 On Sonnet cxiv, see John Wrigley, “A Papal Secret Known to Petrarch,” Speculum 39 (1964): 633. See also Francis Petrarch, Sonnets and Songs, trans. Anna Maria Armi (New

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Italian peninsula.122 His pro-​Roman allegorical literature would likely have circulated in Naples and been familiar to the royal court and the Clement Bible’s patron.123 Whereas Petrarch was worried about the abandonment of the Italian peninsula by the pope and the subsequent decline of the great city of Rome, another group of writers concentrated on general theological reform needed by the Church in Avignon, which, they asserted, could only be accomplished by moving the papacy back to its traditional home in Rome.124 A fourteenth–​century canon lawyer, Baldus de Ubaldus, quoted Pope Innocent iv (r. 1243–​54): “Quod ubi est Papa, ibi est Roma, Hierusalem et mons Sion” (Because where the pope is, so is Rome, Jerusalem and Mount Sion).125 Scenes in the Clement Bible showed the round pink Temple as the backdrop for the Israelites’ return and reform and for the apostles’ actions, parallels to and models for the desired actions of contemporary Christian popes. In i and iii Esdras (fols. 164r and 173r; Figures 5.1 and 5.2), for instance, the idea of return and reform appears in the image of King Cyrus of Persia reconstructing the Temple in Jerusalem after the Hebrews’ exile in Babylon in a historiated initial. His subsequent restoration of the sacred vessels to the rebuilt second Temple in the lower margin of the page (fol. 164r; Figure 5.1) repeats the Roman-​influenced building and thereby reinforces the Temple’s central place in reform.

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1 23 124

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York: Pantheon, 1946) and Emilio Pasquini, “Il Mito polemico di Avignone nei poeti italiani del Trecento,” in Aspetti Culturali della Società italiana nel periodo del papato avignonese, Convegni di Studi sulla spiritualità italiana (Todi: L’Accademia Tudertina, 1981), 271. See Duprè Theseider, “L’Attesa escatologica,” 96 and Wrigley, “A Papal Secret,” 633. Petrarch wrote his most heated collection of letters, the Liber sine nomine, against the papacy in Avignon around 1350. See Zacour’s introduction in Petrarch, Petrarch’s ‘Book without a Name’, 11. For the authoritative Latin edition, see Paul Piur, Petrarcas “Buch ohne Namen” und die Papstlichen Kurie: Ein Beitrag zur Geistesgeschichte der Frührenaissance (Halle: M. Niemeyer, 1925). See Fleck, “Papal Politics of a Trecento Bible,” 274–​280 and Fleck, Clement Bible, 99–​101. See Raoul Manselli, “Papato Avignonese ed ecclesiologia trecentesca,” in Aspetti Culturali della Società italiana nel periodo del papato avignonese, Convegni di Studi sulla spiritualità italiana (Todi: L’Accademia Tudertina, 1981), 174–​195. See also Charles Till Davis, “Rome and Babylon in Dante,” in Rome in the Renaissance: The City and the Myth, ed. P.A. Ramsey (Binghamton, NY: Center for Medieval & Early Renaissance Studies, 1982), 19–​40. Compare Bernard McGinn, Visions of the End: Apocalyptic Traditions in the Middle Ages, vol. 96, Records of civilization, sources and studies (New York: Columbia University Press, 1979), 219. In Kantorowicz, The king’s two bodies, 205n235. At the same time, the popes wanted to be clear that their power rested not in the physical see of Rome, but in the universal authority of the papal office, see Diana Wood, Clement vi: The Pontificate and Ideas of an Avignon Pope (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 44–​47, 50–​51, 71–​73.

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The illustration of the Temple in the Clement Bible as the Roman Pantheon demonstrates that the manuscript’s patron translated Rome as Jerusalem, expressing a Neapolitan mindset that linked Italy to the Holy Land. Even though writings that compared Rome to Jerusalem began by the 1330s—​when the Clement Bible was produced and the Angevins were in discussion with the Mamluks concerning sites in the Holy Land—​visual commentaries on the issue such as those in the Clement Bible were not common. Nevertheless, one patron at the Angevin court expressed his opinions in regards to Rome/​ Jerusalem and Avignon/​Babylon through this Bible’s images.126 5.4

King Robert i and Crusades

The repeated image of the Temple as the Pantheon in the Clement Bible exemplified Naples’ and Robert’s roles in promoting Rome as a New Jerusalem while also demonstrating that the Europeans were in the process of distancing themselves from the holy city to the east. Robert’s claim to Jerusalem was not that of a conqueror in the Levant: he never gathered together any forces or made an expedition to the Holy Land. Some scholars assert that he was too financially invested in Italy to look eastward.127 Kelly saw it as a question of motivation, however, stating that Robert “utterly lacked that taste for great military ventures, for conquest, crusade, and empire-​building” that his grandfather and great-​uncle had in the mid-​thirteenth century.128 Given the stakes involved, this non-​aggressive approach was frustrating to his contemporaries and has baffled modern scholars. I would argue that Robert was so involved both in Italian affairs and in shoring up his existing lands that he could not have taken up an eastern military crusade. The Clement Bible exemplifies three main reasons why Robert was satisfied to be king of Naples pragmatically and of Jerusalem symbolically. First and foremost, Robert’s presence on the Italian peninsula was required for his immediate European realm.129 Rome was an essential locale of that

1 26 Fleck, Clement Bible, 101–​102. 127 See Norman Housley, “Angevin Naples and the defence of the Latin east: Robert the Wise and the naval league of 1334,” in Crusading and Warfare in Medieval and Renaissance Europe, ed. Norman Housley (Burlington: Ashgate Variorum, 2001), 554–​555. 128 Kelly, The New Solomon, 48, 212. 129 See Housley, “Angevin Naples and the defence of the Latin east,” 548–​556; Norman Housley, The Avignon Papacy and the Crusades, 1305–​1378 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986), 26, 163–​163; and Kelly, The New Solomon, 48, 212.

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role for him. The Clement Bible’s elevation of Rome through the Temple’s form as the Pantheon was appropriate for a courtier who saw Robert as king of Jerusalem but also, and perhaps more importantly, as vicar of Rome. These images merged into this building form the two facets of the king’s powers as a protector of the Christian world. The popes of Robert’s time were John xxii, then Benedict xii, and finally Clement vi—​all absent from their traditional home in Rome and resident instead in Avignon located in Angevin Provence.130 Partly because of the absence of the popes in Rome and partly because Naples had to spread itself thin at times to help its northern and papal partners, imperial rivals rose to power and threatened southern Italy.131 In other words, Robert’s watchdog role grew in response to the papal absence. The papal alliances of the Guelf powers in the Italian peninsula faced opposition from the imperial forces of Henry vii (king of the Romans 1308–​13, Holy Roman Emperor 1312–​13) in the 1310s and later Ludwig iv (king of the Romans 1314–​47, Holy Roman Emperor 1328–​47) in the late 1320s.132 The closest that Robert approached a crusade physically was through Rome. Henry vii came south as far as Rome to be crowned emperor in 1312, but Robert’s soldiers hindered his coronation by the papal representative in St. Peter’s and forced his coronation to take place at St. John Lateran instead.133 By March 1313, Robert accepted the role as captain of the Guelph League, by then in outright conflict with Henry vii who charged Robert with treason as a rebellious vassal. Henry vii’s death in 1313 alleviated what could have been a larger confrontation and set up Robert’s position as a leader on the Italian peninsula. In other words, Robert was embroiled in crusade-​related conflicts, but they tended to be on the Italian peninsula. In Rome itself, the political situation worsened as time went on. Pope Benedict xii rescinded Robert’s senatorial position in 1336, alleging that Rome had fallen into civil chaos due to Robert’s deficient leadership there.134 Images in the Clement and Anjou Bibles showed how Robert’s court intended to exploit Jerusalem: as a part of the biblical past of his predecessors Solomon and Christ and as a metonym for another sacred city, Rome, that loomed larger 1 30 Kelly, The New Solomon, 48, 6. 131 See ibid., 6, 10, 104–​105. 132 Ibid., 194–​209. Robert’s role was to keep the anti-​imperial, pro-​papal Guelf forces together and thus to control the pro-​imperial Ghibelline powers. 133 Ibid., 194–​195. 134 See Peter Partner, The Lands of St. Peter: The Papal State in the Middle Ages and the Early Renaissance (London: University of California Press, 1972), 309, 327 and Émile Léonard, Les Angevins de Naples (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1954), 223, 230.

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in his experience. Representing the Temple as the Pantheon fit within the framework of King Robert’s crusading focus in Italy. A second part of King Robert’s approach was that, without the papacy fully behind a diversion of resources from its other European crusades, he would never put himself in the position to move forward on his own. The idea of crusades as it was developing in the fourteenth century complicated the significance of Jerusalem to King Robert i.135 A crusade was a Church endeavor. The papacy had to support a crusade by making the initial call, permitting preaching to recruit soldiers, and financing it through taxation.136 It required obligations of and granted privileges to its participants, whose role was to protect the Christian faith and the Church wherever these were threatened.137 While the fourteenth-​century papacy believed in principal that Christians should once again claim the Holy Land, the reality was that their resources and forces were stretched too thinly in other crusades in Europe.138 King Robert i and his court were well aware that individuals such as the Venetian merchant Marino Sanudo Torsello and states such as Venice were calling for a crusade to fight the increasingly threatening Mamluk and Turkish forces in the east.139 Sanudo Torsello began his text Liber Secretorum Fidelium Crucis about “protection of the faithful, the conversion and destruction of the infidel and the acquisition and retention of the Holy Land in peace and security” in 1306.140 The text has multiple parts, including a history of the Holy Land with a description of the region and its holy sites and details of the elements and 135 See Norman Housley, The Later Crusades, 1274–​1580: From Lyons to Alcazar (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 3–​5. See also Aziz S. Atiya, “The Crusade in the Fourteenth Century,” in A History of the Crusades, The Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries, ed. Harry W. Hazard, A History of the Crusades (Madison, Wisconsin: University of Wisconsin Press, 1975), 3–​26. 136 See Housley, The Later Crusades, 1274–​1580, 5 and Housley, The Avignon Papacy and the Crusades, 1–​3. 137 Housley, The Avignon Papacy and the Crusades, 1–​6. 138 On the concept of needing to combine resources for a fourteenth-​century crusade, see Housley, “Angevin Naples and the defence of the Latin east,” 548–​553. 139 See Sanudo Torsello, The Book of the Secrets, 1–​20 and Marino Sanudo, “Marino Sanuto’s ‘Secrets for True Crusaders to help them to Recover the Holy Land’ (Part xiv of Book iii),” in The Library of the Palestine Pilgrim’s Text Society, eds. Aubrey Stewart and Lieut.-​Col. C.R. Conder (London: ams Press, 1971), v–​viii. See also Housley, The Later Crusades, 1274–​ 1580, 36–​39 and Kelly, The New Solomon, 48, 212. 140 C.J. Tyerman, “Marino Sanudo Torsello and the Lost Crusade: Lobbying in the Fourteenth Century: The Alexander Prize Essay,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 32 (1982): 57. On the nineteen extant copies of the text, see Sanudo Torsello, The Book of the Secrets, 13–​15. See also Atiya, “Crusade in the Fourteenth Century,” 10–​11.

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costs necessary to formulate a multi-​phase, multi-​leader crusading venture.141 For Sanudo Torsello, the first step of a crusade would be to combat the Turkish pirates affecting trade in the Mediterranean. To share his ideas, he presented a lavish copy of his book to Pope John xxii in 1321, when Robert was likely in Avignon.142 He also had a presentation copy made for the Neapolitan court around 1322 and made a diplomatic visit to Naples in 1331–​32, both attempts to convince the Angevin king to join the crusading movement.143 In 1333, powers such as Venice, France, and the papacy formed a naval league, and the pope urged Robert to send several ships, but in the end he sent only two in 1334.144 Even the French, among the most stalwart supporters of the idea of crusade, were becoming increasingly distracted by conflicts with the English and then the Flemish in the fourteenth century.145 Helping the Franciscans in Jerusalem at that time seems to have been all that Robert could spare to support his Levantine claims. He chose not to expend diplomatic energies to support a futile effort to regain Jerusalem, which everyone knew would be unsuccessful without the improbable endeavor of a full-​scale, multi-​power offensive. The Clement Bible’s use of the Roman-​style Temple suggests that the Neapolitans recognized that its most important sacred crusade should be directed not to Jerusalem but, rather, to Rome as the New Jerusalem. A third component of Robert’s outlook was that the Angevins had already spent their political capital on a crusade in Sicily, a debacle that continued into the early fourteenth century.146 Beginning in 1282, his grandfather and father battled to suppress a conflict with the Aragonese over Sicily, speaking of their efforts against the Aragonese as a crusade against heretics. A youthful Robert had personally suffered as a result of this conflict when he and his brother were taken as political hostages in Catalonia for several years in exchange for their father, seized in battle in 1284.147 This Sicilian crusade cost the realm greatly in terms of funds, men, and the princes’ captivities. It ended in 1302 with the

1 41 Tyerman, “Marino Sanudo Torsello,” 61. 142 Ibid., 57. 143 Ibid., 61, 64. 144 Kelly, The New Solomon, 48, 212 and Housley, The Avignon Papacy and the Crusades, 24–​26. 145 On the interests of the French king Philip iv (1285–​1314) in crusading, see Atiya, “Crusade in the Fourteenth Century,” 8–​10. See also Housley, The Avignon Papacy and the Crusades, 29–​30 and Housley, “Franco-​Papal Crusade Negotiations,” 166–​185. 146 For instance, between September 1334 and February 1335, nearly 8,000 gold ounces or 40,000 florins were spent on preparing for an invasion of Sicily, Housley, “Angevin Naples and the defence of the Latin east,” 555. 147 Kelly, The New Solomon, 48.

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treaty of Caltabellotta and the devastating result, for the Angevins, of the loss of Sicily.148 Robert’s disinclination to risk a crusade to the Holy Land is hardly surprising. All the more reason that members of his court such as the patrons of the Clement and Anjou Bibles recognized that staking a claim to Rome was critical, as that was a part of the papal sphere of influence that Robert was still holding firm after losing Sicily. 5.5

Conclusions

The Clement Bible, made in Naples for an unknown member of the court of King Robert i, contains scenes that reveal that Jerusalem mattered to this ruler who also claimed the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Yet he considered it an honorific association—​not one for which he would go to war—​reflecting his Solomonic wisdom and his Christian diplomacy in the Holy Land. Some of the sites in his negotiations for Franciscan access to Jerusalem appeared in the Bible’s biblical stories, and, although those scenes are often vague in their architectural details or standard in their iconography, they stand out in their consistent depiction of the Temple of Jerusalem as the ancient Roman Pantheon (Figures 5.1, 5.2, 5.5, 5.10, and 5.12; compare Figure 5.8). The Clement Bible and its many scenes of the pink, domed Temple in Jerusalem confirm that Rome as the New Jerusalem was the greater concern of Robert and his court. The consistent repetition of the Temple in the Clement Bible may have appeared because of King Robert’s claim to Jerusalem, but its atypical form reflected his practical ambivalence toward the Holy Land kingdom. Robert demonstrated no inclination to become a leader in European efforts to fight the infidel in the eastern Mediterranean. His treaty with the Mamluk sultan in the 1330s exhibited his willingness to accept the status quo of Mamluk rule; it sufficed that he helped Franciscans take control of certain Christian sites. The king recognized that he did not need explicit possession of the land in order to protect and support a Christian presence at the holy sites. He distanced himself from the sacred city by not becoming involved in the aforementioned naval alliance meant as a first step in preparing for a general crusade to Jerusalem.149 The frontispiece image of the Anjou Bible embodies Robert’s resignation to the fact that he would not be regaining Jerusalem. It places the

148 See Housley, The Avignon Papacy and the Crusades, 74–​75 and Kelly, The New Solomon, 48, 213. 149 Housley, “Angevin Naples and the defence of the Latin east,” 549–​555.

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king’s Jerusalem coats of arms on the margins of his enthroned image, separated from the Angevin arms on his clothing that were central to his identity (Figure 5.15). The Clement Bible reveals that King Robert and his court saw Jerusalem through the prism of Rome. On the one hand, they were concerned with how kingship of Jerusalem could reinforce his blessed status and thereby also his rule of southern Italy and his crusade on the Italian peninsula against the enemies of the pope. On the other hand, Jerusalem as Rome served as the backdrop for the popes’ return and the setting for the Romans’ resolution of their civic problems. The Clement Bible offered biblical examples of the past—​of the Hebrews, Christ, and apostles inhabiting Jerusalem—​as allegorical models for the popes’ return to reform Rome in the immediate future.150 Rather than censuring the papacy and its current situation, the images presented a positive model offered by the patron about Jerusalem as Rome. My previous research proposed the patron of the Clement Bible came from the royal family or a Neapolitan noble family because of its original coats of arms.151 The patron may have offered the Bible as a gift to Bishop-​Abbot Raymond de Gramat, making these ideas about Jerusalem and Rome portable and able to influence important individuals in high ecclesiastical ranks. The factions for and against the residence of the papacy in Avignon were generally divided along French and Italian lines, respectively; thus a Neapolitan might have tried to convince the new French abbot of the common point of view in the southern Italian kingdom. A patron’s motivations for offering a gift often stemmed from a wish to receive one in return.152 Because political, religious, or social obligations often required a reciprocal gift, the giver may have wanted Gramat’s help in encouraging a papal homecoming for the sake of New Jerusalem—​that is, Rome.153 On a larger scale, the example of the Clement Bible’s Roman-​style representation of the Temple in Jerusalem reveals three significant concepts about the 150 Compare Gabrielle Spiegel, “Political Utility in Medieval Historiography: A Sketch,” History and Theory 14 (1975): 316. On medieval models for rulers, see Briggs, Giles of Rome’s De regimine principum and Robert J. Schneider and Richard H. Rouse, “The Medieval Circulation of the De morali principis institutione of Vincent of Beauvais,” Viator 22 (1991): 189–​228. 151 Fleck, Clement Bible, 82–​85. 152 Marcel Mauss, The Gift. Forms and Functions of Exchange in Archaic Societies, trans. Ian Cunnison (New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1967), 10–​11. See also Appadurai, “Commodities and the politics of value,” 11. 153 See Maurice Godelier, The Enigma of the Gift, trans. Nora Scott (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999), 45. See also Sharon Kettering, “Gift-​Giving and Patronage in Early Modern France,” French History 2, no. 2 (1988): 142.

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changing importance of Jerusalem in the eyes of European Christians in the later Middle Ages.154 First, the rulership of the holy city and the Holy Land by King Robert was more theoretical than real, more theological than political. Robert’s titular kingship of Jerusalem was emphasized in the contemporary Anjou Bible, which showed him as the wise King Solomon (Figures 5.15, 5.16, and 5.17). Robert’s failure to lead an expedition to capture the holy city was a practical choice made because his allegiances closer to home demanded his resources, while a formidable set of obstacles precluded gaining any foothold in the Holy Land. Although he did show an interest in the religious presence of Latin Christians there by aiding the Franciscans to gain a base at several sites, the Anjou Bible images demonstrate King Robert’s allegorical emphasis on Solomon as a wise king rather than as physical possessor of Jerusalem. Another facet of the perception of Jerusalem evident in the Clement Bible emerges from the “Description des Saints-​Lieux,” written a century earlier (1240s) by Philippe Mousket, a Flemish chronicler. Folda noted a shift showing interest in depicting the realia of the Holy Land in the 1240s to 1260s, perhaps reflecting an increasing multicultural interest and influence from realism in contemporary European and crusader art.155 In comparison, the Clement Bible’s fourteenth-​century Italian artist and patron chose realia not specific to Jerusalem but to another city. Instead of using earlier descriptive texts or images for guidance, the artist turned to an ancient model for the Temple and traditional iconography generally for the biblical scenes.156 This loose architectural approach of the Clement Bible was seemingly at odds with a trend found in texts in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Promoted especially in Mendicant circles, the use of highly descriptive ­language brought out the details of Christ’s life so that devotees could understand his experiences spiritually, emotionally, and physically.157 These affective descriptions included information about such narrative elements as the wounds on the body of Christ, but also details of the setting for his actions. For example, the Meditationes vitae Christi (Meditations on the Life of Christ) was a thirteenth-​to fourteenth-​century devotional text that led the reader through the minutiae of the life and Passion of Christ.158 The popular text survives

154 On comparable Aragonese efforts (though less successful) to work with the sultan to gain rights for Christians to holy sites, see Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 9. 155 Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 366–​367. 156 On the various Dominican and Franciscan visitors, see Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 8. 157 Bacci, “Locative Memory,” 70. 158 On history of the text and scholarship, see Flora, The devout belief of the imagination, 27–​33 and Flora and Tóth, “Introduction,” 7–​11.

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in over two hundred remaining exempla.159 Despite its focus on particulars, the four mid-​fourteenth-​century Italian illustrated versions tended to focus more on individuals and their actions and less so on details of the urban setting of Jerusalem.160 In the exemplar in Paris, three successive images of the Presentation in the Temple each show a different form of the altar canopy.161 Overall, the illuminations of the Clement Bible along with those of the Meditationes demonstrate a mounting vagueness about Jerusalem’s architecture as European rulers became increasingly distant in time and space from the holy city as the decades passed. Whereas representations of Jerusalem in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries (discussed in Chapters 1 to 4) included details that conflated the Temple with the Dome of the Rock seen by contemporary visitors and transmitted via pilgrim texts, in the fourteenth-​century Clement Bible the importance of the holy city lay in what it represented: Christian sanctity and ecclesiastical reform.162 In the eyes of the manuscript’s patron, the past was best symbolized by the domed, rose-​colored Pantheon, a quintessential antique pagan temple that Christians had converted. The Clement Bible illuminates a third aspect of Europeans’ connection to Jerusalem in the fourteenth century: the activities of Christian religious orders and pilgrims in Jerusalem. The Neapolitan king enabled the relatively new Franciscan Order (est. 1219) to have a growing presence in Jerusalem by building and inhabiting Christian monuments in conjunction with other Christian

1 59 For a list, see Flora, The devout belief of the imagination, 49–​51. 160 See Dávid Falvay, “The Italian Text of the Paris Manuscript of the Meditationes: Historiographic Remarks and Further Perspectives,” In The Meditationes Vitae Christi reconsidered. New perspectives on text and image, eds. Holly Flora and Peter Tóth, Trecento Forum, 3 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), 99–​110; Renana Bartal, “Ducitur et Reducitur: Passion Devotion and Mental Motion in an Illuminated Meditationes Vitae Christi Manuscript (Oxford, Corpus Christi College, ms 410),” in Visual Constructs of Jerusalem, eds. Bianca Kühnel, Galit Noga-​Banai, and Hanna Vorholt, Cultural Encounters in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (celama) (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), 369–​379; and Flora, The devout belief of the imagination, 49–​60. For example, in the Paris manuscript (Bibliothèque nationale, ms ital. 115), the image instructions focused on the individuals within the scenes, ibid., 68–​81. The varying architecture may have emphasized the enclosure of Mary as a model for the Clarissan nuns who were its audience, ibid., 65. To compare other fourteenth-​century European images of the key Jerusalem buildings that I am studying would be relevant here though is beyond the scope of this chapter. 161 Compare fols. 33v, 34v, and 35r in ibid., Figures 11–​13. 162 See Aryeh Grabois, “Christian Pilgrims in the Thirteenth Century and the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem: Burchard of Mt. Sion,” in Outremer. Studies in the history of the Crusading Kingdom of Jerusalem Presented to Joshua Prawer, eds. B.Z. Kedar, H.E. Mayer, and R.C. Smail (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-​Zvi Institute, 1982), 283–​296.

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monastic orders. Indeed Sabino De Sandoli posited that the Angevin-​sponsored diplomats presented their request as a peaceful return of the holy places to Christians so that they might worship there, conceding to the Mamluks that they would therefore have no need for a Christian crusade in the future.163 The example of two fourteenth-​century writers is informative about the European presence there at this time. Jacobus of Verona, an Augustinian canon who traveled to Jerusalem in 1335, not only led mass at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the Tomb of the Virgin Mary, and on Mount Sion, but Girolamo Golubovich suggested that his mass in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem on 12 August 1333 with two Franciscans present might well have included Friar Roger Guérin, there to negotiate the Neapolitans’ agreement as described above.164 According to Jacobus, other sects were present in Jerusalem—​Armenians, Copts, Abyssinians, Ethiopians, Maronites, Jacobites, Georgians, and Greek Orthodox—​demonstrating that they were all active and sharing the holy spaces.165 The account of another Franciscan, Ludolph of Sudheim, also reveals the activities of the Franciscans in the Holy Land.166 He visited there from 1336 to 1341, writing up his journey in two Latin versions. He discussed how the Friars Minor at Mount Sion were already living there and regularly saying mass and Divine Office, and he mentioned that some regular canons of the order of St. Augustine were in a convent on Mount Sion. Moreover, he confirmed that revised public festivities like the Palm Sunday procession were still occurring, with Christians meeting only outside the Golden Gate, the Armenian archbishop leading the procession while riding an ass, and the young boys above the gate singing laudatory refrains (this ceremony was discussed in Chapter 3). Despite these seemingly harmonious public displays of Christian life in the area of Jerusalem, the city was probably challenging for a Christian pilgrim to visit in the early fourteenth century. The entire region was in Mamluk hands. Jerusalem was a minor city in their urban network, with Gaza and then Damascus serving as regional capitals.167 Christian pilgrims did have a place to stay in the hospice near the Holy Sepulcher, but they had to pay fees to visit Christian sites and were unlikely to have a chance to visit the Muslim buildings on the Haram al-​Sharif, including the Templum Domini. By the early 1 63 De Sandoli, The Peaceful Liberation, 41. 164 Golubovich, Biblioteca, vol. 4, 4, 21–​23, 33–​37. 165 Ibid., 21, 33. 166 Ibid., 27–​31. 167 On the provincial nature of Jerusalem to Mamluks, see Lutfi, Al-​Quds Al-​Mamlûkiyya, 1, 154–​155.

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fourteenth century, access to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher was tightly controlled by the Muslim authorities and limited to the western door of the south entrance.168 What did help the fourteenth-​century pilgrim, whether actual or virtual, was the circulation of many pilgrimage texts. The newer orders of Dominicans and Franciscans were writing about their trips, and texts from earlier centuries that described sites that Ayyubids and Mamluks changed or destroyed were often relied on as well.169 Even though King Robert’s treaty with the sultan showed his and the queen’s interest in supporting the sites of the Holy Land, the Clement Bible demonstrates that, in the end, all roads led from Naples to Rome, not to Jerusalem. Despite the king’s military inaction as king of Jerusalem, his effect on Jerusalem was long-​lasting: the Franciscan Custody of the Holy Land persists still today.170 At the same time, the growing power of the Mamluk empire produced a changing Muslim perception of Jerusalem that is discussed in the next chapter. 1 68 See Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 33. 169 See Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 173. 170 See Colbi, Christian Presence in the Holy Land, 77.

Chapter 6

Jerusalem as a Symbol of Islamic Identity The Holy City Displayed in Mamluk Cairo

Complementing the examination of Jerusalem representations on a carved pilaster from twelfth-​century Jerusalem (Chapter 1) and in the Clement Bible from fourteenth-​century Naples (Chapter 5), this chapter assesses how the same Jerusalemite pilaster was understood differently in another fourteenth-​century Mediterranean city, Cairo, to which it was moved.1 The first chapter examined the genesis of this architectural component, which represents three Jerusalem buildings in relief, and the pilaster with which it was paired in Cairo, proposing their original production in Christian Jerusalem c. 1160–​87 (Figures 1.1 and 1.9). An unknown Muslim leader took these small pilasters at some point from their original location and moved them to Egypt. In this chapter, I assess how a Mamluk sultan—​al-​Nasir Hasan ibn Muhammad ibn Qalawun (or Hasan, 1335–​61; r. 1347–​51 and 1354–​61)—​then reused the Jerusalemite pilaster and its mate in the portal of his new massive Cairene complex that housed a mosque, madrasa, mausoleum, and hospital, begun in 1356.2 The pilasters’ prominent eye-​level setting, visible as one ascends the steps to the right at the principal entry of Hasan’s massive complex, demands an examination of the Jerusalem imagery in this new location (Figure 6.1).3 I propose that the purposeful reuse of the carved pilasters, like the complex as a whole, symbolizes the patron’s emerging political sovereignty and religious identity as a struggling Mamluk ruler.4

1 On the pilaster, see also Fleck, “Signs of Leadership,” 37–​67. On the Clement Bible, see also Fleck, Clement Bible. 2 My approach of examining the pilasters in both the twelfth and fourteenth centuries extends from anthropological studies of cultural objects, which allow for the examination of an object to go beyond its moment of production to a view of its extended life and interactions. See, e.g., Appadurai, “Commodities and the politics of value,” 3–​63 and Igor Kopytoff, “The cultural biography of things: commoditization as process,” in The Social Life of Things. Commodities in Cultural Perspective, ed. Arjun Appadurai (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 64–​91. Compare Finbarr Barry Flood, “Image against Nature: Spolia as Apotropaia in Byzantium and the Dar al-​Islam,” The Medieval History Journal 9, no. 1 (2006): 146–​147. 3 Fleck, “Crusader Spolia in Medieval Cairo,” 249–​300. 4 See Howyda Al-​Harithy, “The Complex of Sultan Hasan in Cairo: Reading between the Lines,” Muqarnas 13 (1996): 70–​72.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | DOI:10.1163/9789004525894_008

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­f igure 6.1 Jerusalemite pilaster, Main portal, Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63

The pilasters’ connection to Jerusalem, a city contested by Christians and Muslims in the Middle Ages, and their reuse in Cairo, the center of the late medieval Islamic world and a Mediterranean crossroads, should be approached from diverse perspectives.5 Hasan’s architectural complex is itself an essential “text” to be mined for evidence of its patron and its context.6 Several modern scholars have analyzed his whole impressive construction in Cairo but have dealt with the Jerusalemite pilaster inserted into the façade only in passing or in part.7 Although these pilasters were only small parts of a larger construction, both originally and in their reused setting, they tell us something about broader developments. The basis of this chapter is that reuse of the Jerusalemite 5 Compare Hoffman, “Christian-​Islamic Encounters,” 129–​142. 6 See Nasser Rabbat, “Representing the Mamluks in Mamluk Historical Writing,” in The Historiography of Islamic Egypt (c. 950–​1800), ed. Hugh Kennedy (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 66–​67; Heghnar Zeitlian Watenpaugh, “Review of Cairo of the Mamluks: A History of the Architecture and Its Culture/​Mamluk History through Architecture: Building, Culture, and Politics in Mamluk Egypt and Syria/​The Sultan Hasan Complex in Cairo, 1357–​1364: A Case Study in the Formation of Mamluk Style,” Art Bulletin 93, no. 3 (2011): 377; and Karen Rose Mathews, “Mamluks and Crusaders: Architectural Appropriation and Cultural Encounter in Mamluk Monuments,” in Languages of Love and Hate: Conflict, Communication, and Identity in the Medieval Mediterranean, eds. Sarah Lambert and Helen Nicholson (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012), 199–​200. 7 Abdallah Kahil, “The Architect/​s of the Sultan Hasan Complex in Cairo,” Artibus Asiae lxvi, no. 2 (2006): 155–​174; Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 81–​84; Lobna Abdel Azim Sherif, “Layers of Meaning: An interpretive analysis of three early Mamluk buildings” (Arch.D. Dissertation, The University of Michigan, 1988), 122–​172, esp. 138–​139; and Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 68–​79. See also Behrens-​Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks, 201–​213.

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crusader pilaster and its mate made a specific declaration about Jerusalem within the religious, cultural, and architectural context of Mamluk Cairo. A few terms and sources need explanation to situate the reader in this historic moment in fourteenth-​century Cairo. The lower-​case word mamluk is used for the immigrant slaves who were converted to Islam and trained in the military arts to become dedicated soldiers to their masters. Mamluk, capitalized, refers to the empire and dynasties led by these former soldier-​slaves from 1250 to 1517, based in Cairo.8 Mamluk reigns, including that of Sultan Hasan, were marked by volatility and driven by loyalties that developed between the mamluks and their masters and between the amirs (the highest-​ranking members of the military elite) and the ruling sultans. Although it is not possible to provide a complete analysis of the factual reliability, literary construction, and origins of medieval sources ranging from the waqfiyya (foundation document) of the complex to chronicles about the sultans, they are invaluable to offer insights into the structures built by Sultan Hasan.9 I assume herein that a patron’s attitude toward the past likely conveyed a message about his present and future.10 In addition to Sultan Hasan’s perspective, I assess the changing meanings of the Jerusalemite pilaster and its mate by considering other contemporary perceptions.11 Because of the pilasters’ visible placement on the façade of the Sultan Hasan complex, it is critical to consider them from the perspectives of different viewing members of the local community. The sculpted pilasters 8

9

10 11

See Jo van Steenbergen, Order Out of Chaos: Patronage, Conflict and Mamluk Socio-​ Political Culture, 1341–​ 1382, The Medieval Mediterranean: Peoples, Economies and Cultures, 400–​1500 (Boston and Leiden: Brill, 2006), 23–​25, 123–​127 and Robert Irwin, The Middle East in the Middle Ages. The Early Mamluk Sultanate 1250–​1382 (Carbondale and Edwardsville: Southern Illinois University Press, 1986), 9, 152–​157. For a description of the Mamluk sultanate overall, see Steenbergen, Order, 22–​33. The Bahri Mamluks were the branch in control from 1250–​1382, of mostly Kipchak Turkic origin. They are named for the island in the Nile on which this well-​trained group of slaves had their barracks before their uprising and conquest over their Ayyubid masters. They were followed by the Circassian (or Burji, 1382–​1517) Mamluks, a group of North Causasian peoples who also came to Egypt first as slaves and later rose to power. Their base was in the citadel, and their title Burji or “of the tower” refers to that origin. See Michael Meinecke, Die Mamlukische Architektur in Ägypten und Syrien (648/​1250 bis 923/​1517), 2 vols., vol. 2 (Glückstadt: Augustin, 1992), 224–​225. For a general overview with bibliography on many Mamluk historians, see Sami G. Massoud, The Chronicles and Annalistic Sources of the Early Mamluk Circassian Period, ed. Wadad Kadi and Rotraud Wielandt, Islamic History and Civilization (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2007). See Finbarr Barry Flood, “Umayyad survivals and Mamluk revivals: Qalawunid architecture and the Great Mosque of Damascus,” Muqarnas 14 (1997): 74. Compare Hoffman, “Christian-​Islamic Encounters,” 129–​142.

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had several interlocking functions: a communitarian function related to what individuals and groups did in this architectural space, a didactic function tied to what the viewers were supposed to learn there, and an experiential function connected to how the pilasters were supposed to function in the Cairene built environment.12 In what follows, I attempt to unravel how the holy city displayed on the pilaster expressed Muslim understandings of Jerusalem; how the pilasters referenced the contemporary religious, social, cultural, economic, and political setting of Mamluk Cairo; and how the pilasters’ status as remnants from another time and place related to the need for protective talismans and future paradise in the wake of the devastating Black Death that decimated the population (1347–​49). 6.1

The Jerusalem Theme on the Pilaster in Mamluk Cairo

The theoretical assumptions that frame my interpretation derive first from the Jerusalemite pilaster’s art historical singularity and from the special status of Jerusalem in Islam. An examination of the pilaster’s distinctive Jerusalem iconography from a Muslim perspective reveals facets of its possible meanings to Sultan Hasan and his public in the Mamluk context. Focusing on the pilaster’s Dome of the Rock depiction, Hana Taragan examined the “hidden … intentions of the Mamluk dynasty, newly converted to Islam; namely, their use of the ‘Jerusalem’ issue to glorify their name as pious Muslims and defenders of the faith.”13 I extend the analysis to the other two Jerusalem buildings depicted and to issues beyond religion. The unusual nature of the reused pilaster’s Jerusalem imagery leads to consideration of this pilaster and its mate as emblematic of the complex meanings that Jerusalem had in Mamluk-​era society. The squared Jerusalemite pilaster and its mate (approximately 162 × 16 cm) are engaged at the joining of the plinths and buttresses at the edges of the entry vestibule on the façade of Sultan Hasan’s complex (Figures 1.1, 1.9, and 6.1). As Chapter 1 discusses, a sculptor likely created them in Jerusalem in the decades before 1187. The Jerusalemite pilaster is to the right of the grand portal for a

12

13

See John Renard, “A Method for Comparative Studies in Religious Visual Arts: Approaching Architecture,” Religion and the Arts 1, no. 1 (1996): 120. For example, Lucy-​Anne Hunt addressed the pilasters’ inclusion in the mosque as a visual example for the population of Muslim domination over local Christians in Mamluk Cairo, Lucy-​Anne Hunt, “Churches of Old Cairo and Mosques of Al-​Qahira: A Case of Christian-​Muslim Interchange,” Medieval Encounters 2, no. 1 (1996): 61–​66. Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 453.

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viewer facing toward the façade (Figures 1.1 and 1.2). Two of its sides have interlace patterns, but only one of these faces outward and is easily visible. On the side facing the center of the doorway, arched frames outline three Jerusalem buildings in relief and alternate with empty arched frames (Figure 6.1). The other pilaster, to the left of the door, has floral and vine motifs on its two visible faces (Figure 1.9). In Chapter 1, I identified the three buildings on the Jerusalemite pilaster as, from the top, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher (Figure 1.3), the Dome of the Rock (Figure 1.5), and the royal palace and citadel complex of the Tower of David in Jerusalem (Figure 1.7) (see Map of Jerusalem). These alternate with flat, blank panels framed by arches. The twelfth-​century Cambrai map of Jerusalem is a useful comparison in its display and details of these three prominent buildings (Figure 1.4).14 Yet medieval representations of Jerusalem architecture in the medium of relief sculpture were rare in Europe and possibly unique in Cairo.15 To understand Jerusalem’s fourteenth-​century geo-​political standing in Islam, we need to review how the city’s preceding possession often shifted from one power to another. Christian European crusaders, or Franks, took Jerusalem in 1099 from Muslim Fatimids and established their capital in Jerusalem. Christian sculptors likely carved the pilaster and its mate in Jerusalem just before the Franks lost control of most of the region in 1187 to Salah al-​Din, the Ayyubid sultan of Egypt and Syria, based in Cairo. After losing Jerusalem in 1187, the Franks moved to the port city of Acre and established a capital there by 1191. In 1250, the Mamluks began an uprising, first in Cairo, then establishing dominance steadily across Egypt, the Hejaz, and the Levant before overpowering the Ayyubids completely a decade later.16 Jerusalem was in their hands by 1260 after an unstable two decades in which the city had passed among crusaders, Kwarazmian Turks, and Ayyubid princes, with constant threats from Mongol invaders.17 The Franks maintained a diminished kingdom with Acre as 14

15 16 17

Map of Jerusalem, in a manuscript with a Gradual fragment; Expositio in libros Regum by Angelomus Luxoviensis; and Expositio in Tobiam by Beda Venerabilis, Cambrai, Médiathèque municipale, ms 466 (formerly 437), fol. 1r, c. 1170, see “Catalogue des manuscrits notés du Moyen Age conservés dans les bibliothèques publiques de France,” ed. Université de Lorraine Nancy (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013) and Denis Muzerelle, “Manuscrits datés des bibliothèques de France,” in Institut de Recherche et d’histoire des textes (Paris: cnrs Éditions, 2000), 69. Ottoman-​era scenes of Mecca offer comparisons, see Doris Behrens-​Abouseif, “The Façade of the Aqmar Mosque in the Context of Fatimid Ceremonial,” Muqarnas 9 (1992): 33. See also Renard, “Picturing Holy Places,” 399–​428. See Amitai, “The Early Mamluks,” 324–​345. On the Mongols and Mamluks, see ibid., 328–​331, 334–​336.

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a capital until 1291, at which point the ruling Mamluk sultans vanquished this last outpost and Franks’ chance to regain Jerusalem. The Mamluk Sultan Hasan and his architects made the choice in the mid-​fourteenth century to include the Jerusalemite pilaster and its mate in the façade of the Cairene monument with, I argue, a recognition of the buildings represented thereon and perhaps an awareness of their original source in the Frankish realm. Recalling the pilasters’ likely meanings in their original crusader context as discussed in Chapter 1 sets the stage for understanding their reuse in a Mamluk setting.18 I argued that the Holy Sepulcher and the Dome of the Rock, called the Templum Domini by Franks, were connected by shared liturgies and finances, while the curia regis palace and Tower of David may have been linked to the other two through royal processions. The same three building representations on the pilaster appeared on the royal seals of the Frankish kings as symbols of their sacred and secular power based in Jerusalem (Figure 1.21);19 they also appeared regularly on maps as the most important Christian crusader sites regularly visited by Christian residents and pilgrims (Figure 1.4).20 These buildings had the status of relics because of their roles in the life of Christ.21 The combination of all three buildings on the Jerusalemite pilaster indicated that the original crusader-​era viewers considered these strategic sites as linked in meaning. I proposed three possible original settings for the pilasters, one of which was on the façade of the royal palace built in the 1170s. The Mamluk patron who reused the pilasters may not have known completely about these crusader meanings, but he may have had some conception of the pilasters’ source and symbolic connections in Jerusalem. How then did the meanings of the buildings on the Jerusalemite pilaster change in their new setting in Islamic Cairo? Early adherents of Islam accepted Jerusalem’s holy status based on its meanings for the two other Abrahamic faiths of Judaism and Christianity.22 Starting in the early eleventh century before the era of the Latin Kingdom, a type of literature known as Fadaʾil al-​ Quds (or Fadaʾil Bayt al-​Maqdis (The Merits of Jerusalem)) extolled the virtues of the holy city. This genre developed as a local Levantine tradition among the Muslim intellectual and religious elite.23 In a modern examination of these

18 19 20 21 22 23

See Fleck, “Signs of Leadership,” 37–​67. Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo,” 124–​125. See Vorholt, “Touching the Tomb of Christ,” 248. See ibid., 251 and Ousterhout, “Architecture as relic,” 4–​23. Neuwirth, “Spiritual,” 93. See Yehoshua Frenkel, “Muslim Pilgrimage to Jerusalem in the Mamluk Period,” in Pilgrims and Travelers to the Holy Land, eds. Bryan F. Le Beau and Menachem Mor, Studies

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texts, Emmanuel Sivan identified their four main topics: Jerusalem’s central place in the history of the three major monotheistic religions; the Muslims’ perception of the city’s key connection to God (Allah in the Qurʾan) and its role at the Last Judgment; the value of its holy sites for their ties to prophets of the Abrahamic religions; and the traditions and rituals attached to its sacred sites.24 Jerusalem, which was politically unimportant in the Mamluks’ time, nevertheless had a sacred status that was well established in fourteenth-​ century Islam.25 By that era, many writers had expounded on the religious and Islamic value of the city in ways similar to the Merits texts. 6.1.1 The Dome of the Rock I shall start the examination of the buildings on the Jerusalemite pilaster with that most important to Muslims: the Dome of the Rock (also called Qubbat al-​ Sakhra) in the middle (Figure 1.5). Abu Bakr Muhammad ibn Musa al-​Wasiti, an eleventh-​century mystic and khatib (person who delivers the sermon) at Jerusalem’s al-​Aqsa Mosque, focused on this shrine in his earliest example of the Merits genre, dated 1019–​20.26 He highlighted that Jerusalem was the origin of the earth and described the Haram al-​Sharif as the first place to which Allah descended on earth (also called the navel of the world).27 As in Christianity and Judaism, Islamic scholars understood the area around the Dome of the Rock as the site of Allah’s final judgment because of this special connection to Allah’s descent, a place linking earth with the heavens.28 Post-​Umayyad inscriptions in the Dome of the Rock and travelogues from the medieval period codified this eschatological scenario. They noted the sites in Jerusalem where the day of judgment would be announced (the Dome of the Rock), where the scales of judgment would be hung (Dome of the Chain next to it), and where the people would be summoned for judgment before Allah’s final assessment of a resurrected humanity (the Mount of Olives to the east).29 In the Mamluk era,

24 25 26 27 28 29

in Jewish Civilization (Omaha, NE: Creighton University Press, 1996), 64–​66 and Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 457. See also Emmanuel Sivan, “The Beginnings of the ‘Fadaʾil al-​ Quds’ Literature,” Der Islam 48 (1971–​72): 100–​110 and Emmanuel Sivan, L’Islam et la croisade: Idéologie et propagande dans les réactions musulmans aux croisades (Paris: Librairie d’Amerique et d’Orient, 1968). Sivan, “The Beginnings 2,” 103–​104. See Lutfi, Al-​Quds Al-​Mamlûkiyya, 139 and Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 453–​456. See Rabbat, “The Meaning,” 13 and Dajani-​Shakeel, “Al-​Quds,” 206. See Grabar, The Shape of the Holy, 113–​114; Rabbat, “The Meaning,” 14; and Dajani-​Shakeel, “Al-​Quds,” 212–​213. See Dajani-​Shakeel, “Al-​Quds,” 212. Neuwirth, “Spiritual,” 114–​ 115. Compare Amikam Elad, “Pilgrims and pilgrimage to Jerusalem during the Early Muslim Period,” in Jerusalem: its sanctity and centrality to

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this eschatological awareness reached a climax with the insertion of numerous mausolea and religious institutions in the vicinity of the Haram al-​Sharif.v They were built to hold the bodies and maintain the memory of their founders, giving them ready access to stand before Allah in judgment at the end of time.30 The special association between Jerusalem and the Last Judgment implicit in the pilaster’s Dome of the Rock image may have been particularly compelling for the patron and the public in the mid-​fourteenth century. Construction of Hasan’s complex began in 1356, seven years after the bubonic plague epidemic, or Black Death, devastated Egypt from autumn 1347 to early 1349.31 The effect of the plague in Cairo was long lasting. In a city of some four million people, the epidemic killed approximately one-​third of the population; numerous public institutions closed, commerce declined, and the streets were deserted.32 The Haram al-​Sharif was the doorway to the heavens, and so the pilaster’s image of the Dome of the Rock representation may have been thought to allude especially to Allah’s power to admit Hasan’s subjects when so many among them had died. The Dome of the Rock on the pilaster was also important because of the Muslim tradition that it marked the prophet Muhammad’s first qibla (direction of prayer) mentioned in the Qurʾan.33 The city’s status as the first qibla developed from a belief, explained by al-​Wasiti, that for about seventeen months after Muhammad’s migration to Medina, the prophet prayed toward Jerusalem. The Qurʾan (2:142–​144) notes that the direction of prayer shifted toward the Kaʿba in Mecca to honor that shrine’s Abrahamic origins and association with Muhammad.34

30 31 32

33 34

Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, ed. Lee I. Levine (New York: Continuum International Publishing Group, 1999), 303, 307–​308 and Miryam Rosen-​Ayalon, “Three Perspectives on Jerusalem: Jewish, Christian and Muslim pilgrims in the Twelfth century,” in ibid., 335–​ 338. See also Elad, Medieval Jerusalem, 47–​48, 63, 70–​71, 141–​142. Neuwirth, “Spiritual,” 114–​115. See also Burgoyne, Mamluk Jerusalem, 78; Dajani-​Shakeel, “Al-​Quds,” 212–​213; and Lutfi, Al-​Quds Al-​Mamlûkiyya, 117. On the plague’s connections to Mamluk architecture, see Jane Jakeman, “Abstract art and communication in ‘Mamluk’ architecture” (D. Phil. Dissertation, University of Oxford 1993), 99–​111 (vol. 1). Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 70, 77 and Michael W. Dols, The Black Death in the Middle East (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977), 149, 277. See also Joseph P. Byrne, The Black Death, Greenwood Guides to Historic Events of the Medieval World (Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 2004), 103–​109. See Neuwirth, “Spiritual,” 94–​95. See also Dajani-​Shakeel, “Al-​Quds,” 206–​213. Neuwirth, “Spiritual,” 102–​107. All quotations from or references to the Qurʾan are from the translation by ʿAbdullah Yusuf ʿAli, The Meaning of the Holy Qurʾan, trans. ʿAbdullah Yusuf ʿAli, Tenth edn. (Beltsville, Maryland: Amana Publications, 2003).

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Another Qurʾanic connection between the Haram al-​Sharif and Muhammad was its identification as the prophet Muhammad’s point of ascension in a miraculous night journey (israʾ) from Mecca’s sacred mosque enclosing the Kaʿba, to Jerusalem and the “farthest mosque” (al-​masjid al-​aqsa), and finally to the heavens (miʿraj) (17:1). By the early eighth century, the night journey appeared frequently in Islamic literature. It developed into Muhammad’s visionary trip through seven spheres, during which he met with Allah, who gave him the institution of daily prayers.35 Although the locale in Jerusalem initially was not precise, Muslim writers by the later Middle Ages linked the night journey to the Haram al-​Sharif and even to the rock under the Dome.36 In other words, Muslims perceptions of the Dome of the Rock’s holiness increased over time, with texts like that of al-​Wasiti solidifying its connections to Muhammad’s night journey by the eleventh century.37 Because of these holy associations of the Haram al-​Sharif, Ayyubid and Mamluk pilgrimage was concentrated there.38 The increasing number of Muslim pilgrims who visited the city after the Ayyubid and Mamluk conquests in the Levant contributed to its mystique by bringing back tales of its mysteries back to their homes.39 The oldest extant Muslim pilgrim’s guide, written by Ibn al-​Murajja and dated to the eleventh century, focused on the Dome of the Rock and others sites around the Haram al-​Sharif.40 This guide proved influential; the Merits of Jerusalem literature was largely derived from it, often copying the text in whole or in part.41 At least thirty treatises composed from 1250 to 1517 by other authors continued this Jerusalem-​focused literary trend.42

35 Rabbat, “The Meaning,” 12, 14; Dajani-​ Shakeel, “Al-​ Quds,” 209–​ 210; and Neuwirth, “Spiritual,” 97, 110–​111. 36 See Rosen-​Ayalon, “Three Perspectives on Jerusalem,” 335 and Lassner, Medieval Jerusalem, 34–​35. See also Abuʿl-​Hasan ʿAli ibn Abi Bakr al-​Harawi, Guides des Lieux de Pèlerinage (Kitāb al-​Ziyārāt), ed. Janine Sourel-​Thomine (Damascus: Institut français de Damas, 1953), 24–​25 and Abuʿl-​Hasan ʿAli ibn Abi Bakr al-​Harawi, Guides des Lieux de Pèlerinage, ed. and trans. Janine Sourel-​Thomine (Damascus: Institut français de Damas, 1957), 62. 37 See Rabbat, “The Meaning,” 12–​14. 38 Elad, “Pilgrims,” 300–​314. 39 Emmanuel Sivan, “Le caractère sacré de Jérusalem dans l’Islam aux xiie–​x iiie siècles,” Studia Islamica 27 (1967): 168–​169. 40 Elad, “Pilgrims,” 308–​310. See also Elad, Medieval Jerusalem, 68–​77 and Abu al-​Maʿali al-​ Musharraf ibn al-​Murajja ibn Ibrahim al-​Maqdisi, Faḍāʾil Bayt al-​Maqdis wa-​l-​Khalīl wa-​l-​ Sham (Shefaram, Israel: al-​Mashriq Press, 1995). 41 Elad, Medieval Jerusalem, 68–​69. See also Emmanuel Sivan, “The Beginnings of the ‘Fadaʾil al-​Quds’ Literature,” Israel Oriental Studies 1 (1971): 271. 42 Sivan, “Le caractère sacré de Jérusalem,” 181 and Frenkel, “Muslim Pilgrimage to Jerusalem,” 65.

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Later texts also discussed Jerusalem’s importance from a historical standpoint, emphasizing how Muslim leaders had conquered Christian ones in the seventh century and including the more recent victories in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.43 The form of the Dome of the Rock on the pilaster reused in Sultan Hasan’s monument would have been recognizable to anyone who had visited Jerusalem or heard or read a pilgrimage or Merits account of the famous domed structure. The religious significance of Jerusalem and the Dome of the Rock was also well established in the Mamluk period and would have been known to some who saw the crusader pilaster on Sultan Hasan’s façade.44 Not only members of the public but also Sultan Hasan and his designers would have recognized the importance of the Dome of the Rock because of the artistic attention that his predecessors accorded that building. Sultan al-​ Mansur Sayf al-​Din Qalawun (or Qalawun, r. 1279–​90), Hasan’s grandfather, made formal design associations to the Dome of the Rock in his own Cairene complex through its mausoleum’s domed plan. He also referenced another Umayyad structure, the Great Mosque of Damascus, in the vine motifs and the arcades of the mihrab in the mausoleum interior.45 Qalawun wanted to express how these two important early Islamic monuments were under his control by incorporating them symbolically into his complex; he also contributed to the renovation of the actual buildings in Jerusalem and Damascus.46 Hasan’s architect Ibn Bilik al-​Muhsini traveled to Damascus and would have seen the fantastic architectural motifs in the mosaics of the Great Mosque courtyard. He too may have borrowed from these past elements in his monument in Cairo by reemploying the architectural pilaster.47 6.1.2 The Tower of David While the centrality of the Dome of the Rock in the Muslim religion was clear, the meaning of the relief at the bottom of the pilaster requires more religious examination in its Mamluk context (Figure 1.7).48 The relief centers on the Tower of David, or the Jerusalem Citadel with the massive first-​century ce tower at its nucleus, a crenellated structure of four levels in the center back. In addition, a rectangular palace in the center front and two more crenellated 43 Frenkel, “Muslim Pilgrimage to Jerusalem,” 65. 44 Sivan, “Le caractère sacré de Jérusalem,” 180. 45 See Flood, “Umayyad survivals,” 62–​65. 46 Ibid., 65. 47 Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 169–​182 and Kahil, “Architect/​s,” 155–​174. 48 See Johns, “The Citadel,” 121–​190.

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towers are to the right and left.49 If a visitor to the Cairene monument had read a late twelfth-​century Jerusalem itinerary in a pilgrim’s guidebook, he might have recognized its description of the central tower and its arched opening as the Tower of David. The David Gate, adjacent to the tower, was the main western entrance for anyone entering the holy city from the Mediterranean and the port of Jaffa; it still marks the terminus of the main east–​west street of the Old City.50 The tower’s perceived connection to the eponymous King David, a prophet and king in Jewish tradition, was also important in Islam. King David was revered in the Qurʾan for his righteousness as a leader and for his devotion to Allah (Qurʾan 38:17–​20). In addition, the pilgrimage guide written by Ibn al-​ Murajja called for Muslims to visit the west gate of the city to see the Mihrab Dawud, the prayer niche where David purportedly said special prayers to the Lord mentioned in the Qurʾan (38:24–​26).51 Ibn al-​Murajja made clear that the Mihrab Dawud was in the Tower of David next to Jerusalem’s western or David Gate.52 Some tenth-​and twelfth-​century Muslim geographers said that the prayer niche of David was in a space at the top of a tall structure, which could have been the actual Tower of David.53 Ibn al-​ʿArabi, a commentator on the Qurʾan who was in Jerusalem from 1093–​95 a few years before the crusader conquest, explained his understanding of the Tower of David: I saw with my own eyes the Mihrab Dawud in Jerusalem. This is a huge building of hard stone, which cannot be destroyed by undermining. The length of the stones is 50 cubits and the width 13 cubits and the higher 49

On the twelfth-​century form of the Citadel and David’s Tower, see Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 88 and Folda, Art of the Crusaders 1098–​1187, 559n520. 50 Burgoyne, Mamluk Jerusalem, 84. 51 Elad, “Pilgrims,” 308, 310 and Elad, Medieval Jerusalem, 68, 69, 71, 132–​134. See also Abu al-​Maʿsli al-​Musharraf ibn al-​Murajja ibn Ibrahim al-​Maqdisi, Faḍāʾil Bayt al-​Maqdis wa-​ l-​Khalīl wa-​l-​Sham (ms. Tübingen vi 2,7 fol. 32a inf.–​32b), ed. Ofer Livne-​Kafri (Shefaram, Israel: Al-​Mashriq, Ltd., 1995); Ofer Livne-​Kafri, “The Sanctity of Jerusalem in Islam according to the Arabic genre of ‘The Merits of Jerusalem’” (Ph.D. Dissertation, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1985), 302–​303; and Johns, “The Citadel,” 162. On the pilgrimage text of ʿAli al-​Harawi of 1173 regarding the Tower of David with a mihrab, see Rosen-​Ayalon, “Three Perspectives on Jerusalem,” 328, 347. See also al-​Harawi, Guides, 27–​ 28 and al-​Harawi, Guides (trans.), 66–​67. 52 Elad, Medieval Jerusalem, 131–​134. 53 Ellenblum, “Frankish Castles, Muslim Castles,” 97–​100, 103. Ellenblum argued that, until the 1160s, no other building was next to the Tower of David, which sources do call a citadel or fortress.

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the building the smaller the stones become … .[During the winter] the building is in the clouds and is not visible because of the height of the site on which it is situated and of its own height. It has a small gate and wide steps and in it there are apartments and dwellings, and on the very top there is a mosque. In the minaret there is a window facing … towards Masjid al-​Aqsa.54 His architectural specificity about the prayer niche at the Tower of David contradicts other traditions placing it inside al-​Aqsa mosque.55 Even those guides that did not place the Mihrab Dawud at the Tower of David still visited this tower, such as Abuʿl-​Hasan ʿAli ibn Abi Bakr ʿAli al-​Harawi (d. 1215) in 1173.56 If some Cairenes did identify the lower relief on the pilaster as the Tower of David and its surrounding buildings, they may have honored its ties to the prophet David. A triumphant leader blessed by Allah, David established Jerusalem as the city where Allah would reside on earth.57 To Sultan Hasan, a link to King David—​the leader of a religious nation to which he brought peace and prosperity—​would have been very positive. The political importance of the Tower of David and David Gate was evident from how the Ayyubid rulers chose to retain them when they partially dismantled the nearby city wall to hinder a crusader reoccupation.58 Also, by the mid-​fourteenth century, a visitor could not have seen the former curia regis, or the crusaders’ hall-​type palace (built c. 1170), which is visible in the foreground of the lower pilaster relief. The Ayyubids dismantled the palace and its flanking towers in the first decades of the thirteenth century. The Franks (between 1229 and 1239, when the city was under the control of Frederick ii) and then Mamluks built a fortress next to the Tower of David likely on the site of the former palace.59 In other words, the buildings near the Tower of David differed from their appearance when the relief was carved, but the main tower would still have been recognizable. If a resident of Cairo visited Jerusalem, he may have had an official reason to go to the Tower of David because Hasan’s 54

Ibid., 98 from Ibn al-​ʿArabi, Ahkam al Qurʾan, his commentary on sura Sad (38), verses 21–​22. 55 Elad, Medieval Jerusalem, 131–​137. 56 Rosen-​Ayalon, “Three Perspectives on Jerusalem,” 326–​328. 57 See Neuwirth, “Spiritual,” 110. 58 Burgoyne, Mamluk Jerusalem, 40 and Johns, “The Citadel,” 166. Though Boase said the Tower of David was dismantled in 1239, Boase, “Military Architecture,” 161, Ellenblum asserted that it was not, Ellenblum, “Frankish Castles, Muslim Castles,” 103. 59 Ellenblum, “Frankish Castles, Muslim Castles,” 105–​109. See also Pringle, Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, iii, 3, 88, 386 and Johns, “The Citadel,” 167, 170.

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father, Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad, rebuilt the structure to hold administrative offices.60 The citadel’s Islamic character was bolstered by the addition of a mosque in 1310–​11 so that the garrison did not have to leave it unguarded to attend Friday prayers.61 By including the pilaster that depicts this prominent Jerusalem building in the façade of his Cairo complex, Hasan might have been emphasizing the connection to his respected father and to Mamluk Jerusalem. If a viewer or the patron did recognize the structures as the Tower of David complex, he may have understood the political implications of the buildings: they retained their essential connection with power, formerly as the crusaders’ center of command and defense and now in the hands of the Mamluks.62 6.1.3 The Church of the Holy Sepulcher In the context of Mamluk Cairo, the meanings of the Anastasis Rotunda dome at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher on the Jerusalemite pilaster are harder to grasp (Figure 1.3). Muslims were ambivalent about the Holy Sepulcher. Jesus was accepted as a prophet in Islam (Qurʾan 4:171). Sites related to Mary, his mother, were included in some early Muslim guidebooks, along with sites associated with other prophets’ lives.63 Yet the Holy Sepulcher was not typically on the list of sites that Muslims should visit. The guidebook of al-​Harawi of 1173, which did mention visiting the site, mockingly called it Qumama, dungheap, instead of Qiyama, resurrection.64 This wordplay called attention to the writer’s derisive view of this site, which for Christians honored Christ’s resurrection as well as his death—​a theological point of contention for Muslims. Muslims denied Christ’s divine nature and the significance of his death. The Qurʾan is interpreted as stating that Allah raised Christ alive into heaven (4:157–​159), so his purported death and resurrection commemorated by Christians at the Holy Sepulcher had no religious meaning for Muslims. The Ayyubid debate about how to treat the Holy Sepulcher church at the time of Salah al-​Din’s conquest showed that the city’s new Muslim overlords understood its significance to the Christians.65 While more radical opponents suggested razing the building, the moderates around Salah al-​Din won out. They asserted that even if the

60 Johns, “The Citadel,” 169–​171. 61 Burgoyne, Mamluk Jerusalem, 40, 85. 62 See Johns, “The Citadel,” 163, 170–​171. 63 Elad, “Pilgrims,” 309. 64 Rosen-​Ayalon, “Three Perspectives on Jerusalem,” 327–​328, 338. See also al-​Harawi, Guides, 28–​29 and al-​Harawi, Guides (trans.), 68–​69. Nees discussed the “filth” trope in relation to the Haram al-​Sharif, Nees, Perspectives, 26, 49, 50–​51. 65 Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 26.

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building were gone, Christians would still consider the site holy and fight in its name. From a political standpoint, the Holy Sepulcher was where Muslims historically expressed their control over their Christian rivals in Jerusalem. For instance, in 1009 the Fatimid caliph al-​Hakim (r. 996–​1021) partly destroyed the Church of the Holy Sepulcher as a part of his persecution of Christians.66 Salah al-​Din closed the church for a few days when he conquered Jerusalem purportedly to protect it, although he supposedly destroyed its bell and walled up a door or two to regulate access; he also charged Christians a fee to visit the structure.67 Even though Christians were allowed inside the church, limitations made clear that their Muslim rulers controlled access. Perhaps the greatest influence on how the image of the Holy Sepulcher was perceived on this pilaster in fourteenth-​century Cairo was the fact that tensions between the Muslim elite and the local Coptic Christians were high. Under the Ayyubids and early Mamluks, Coptic Christian-​Muslim interactions in Cairo had allowed the former to assert their culture in the framework of pan-​Arabic cultural acceptance. A revival of Coptic language and cultural awareness took place in Egypt between about 1240 and 1270.68 Despite or perhaps because of this Coptic Christian consciousness, the Mamluks had an increasingly harsh approach toward the Christians in their realm over the course of the fourteenth century. The Christian population in Egypt continually shrank and/​or was forced to absorb aspects of the increasingly dominant Muslim culture.69 The Muslim populace believed that well-​placed Christians in the government ranks flaunted their wealth and influence. Violent riots broke out across Egypt in 1321, leading to the destruction of sixty churches and monasteries and several measures against the Christians.70 An incident in 1354—​right before the construction of the Sultan Hasan complex—​initiated a mass conversion of Christians and led to their becoming a definitive minority in Egypt.71 On that occasion, new riots began against the scribes and other high-​ranking Christian officials working for the Mamluks under Sultan al-​Malik al-​Salih Salah al-​Din

66

Christian Cannuyer, Coptic Egypt: The Christians of the Nile (New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc., 2001), 67. 67 Folda, Crusader Art 1187–​1291, 26. See also Flood, “Ambiguous Aesthetic,” 208n249. 68 Hunt, “Churches,” 46, 55–​56 and Cannuyer, Coptic Egypt, 68, 76–​77. 69 Cannuyer, Coptic Egypt, 67–​68. For Muslim treatment of Copts during the crusades, see ibid., 70–​72 and Christian Cannuyer, Les Coptes (Turnhout: Brepols, 1990), 42. 70 Little, “Coptic Conversion,” 562–​565. On four major events in 1293, 1301, 1321, and 1354, see ibid., 553. See also Cannuyer, Coptic Egypt, 76, 83. 71 Little, “Coptic Conversion,” 552, 567–​568. See also Hunt, “Churches,” 64.

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Salih ibn Muhammad ibn Qalawun (or al-​Salih Salih, r. 1351–​54), Hasan’s brother who ruled between Hasan’s two reigns.72 The Muslim populace, fired up by the rhetoric of the clerical elite, attacked churches and Christians and Jews; the sultan responded by decreeing stricter regulation over Christians.73 As Donald Little pointed out, two important differences appeared in these latter decrees.74 For the first time, even converted Christians were unable to hold government posts.75 In addition, the Mamluks conducted a survey of lands held by monasteries and churches, appropriated those holdings, and redistributed them as income sources to Mamluk leaders, thus effectively ending the Christian communities’ major revenue source. These measures led to numerous Christian conversions to Islam, as many Christians decided that their personal and professional well-​being rested with the Mamluks. The few remaining Christians thereafter held minority status in Egypt.76 This contentious Christian-​Muslim situation in mid-​fourteenth century Cairo was probably meaningful to Sultan Hasan and the public using his complex.77 It is significant that the local Muslim populace—​not the ruling Mamluks—​instigated the persecutions of Christians. The Mamluks were converts themselves and did not exhibit the same animosity towards Christians; indeed they relied on high-​ranking Christian officials.78 Nevertheless, these conflicts showed Hasan that maintaining order in his lands required keeping the Muslim leaders and the people content by humiliating and subjugating the Christian population.79 The prominent Christian building on the pilaster may have underscored Sultan Hasan’s Muslim orthodoxy and reinforced his role as controlling the fate of Christians locally and in Jerusalem. As Chapter 5 discussed, his father had shown a certain leniency in allowing Christians of various confessions to gain access to their holy sites in the city a few decades earlier because of a period of stability, while the mid-​century turmoil in Cairo led to a different approach for Hasan.80 The incorporation of the Jerusalemite pilaster into the complex’s façade may have symbolized the mid-​fourteenth century Mamluk subjugation of Christian 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80

Little, “Coptic Conversion,” 567–​568. See ibid., 552–​553. Ibid., 567–​568. See ibid., 565. See ibid., 568–​569. See Hunt, “Churches,” 66. Little, “Coptic Conversion,” 557, 560, 565. Ibid., 562–​563. See also John Alden Williams, “Urbanization and Monument Construction in Mamluk Cairo,” Muqarnas 2 (1984): 34. See Behrens-​Abouseif, Practising Diplomacy, 7.

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into Islamic culture, and damage inflicted on the Holy Sepulcher relief of the pilaster seems to be a sign of this process (Figure 1.3).81 The angled direction and chipping of the stone—​seen only on that relief—​is consistent with a decisive downward swing of a mallet or hammer by a person of medium height. A close look at the current setting of the pilaster reveals that the corner of the façade wall nearest that relief was also struck in the direction of the damage lines on the relief, while the building corners near the capital above and the Dome of the Rock below were untouched. The similar patterns of wear on both the pilaster and the corner suggest that the damage was inflicted at the same moment and then remained exposed to the elements for some time. I suggest that this damage to the pilaster’s topmost relief of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher was done purposely after its insertion into the façade as a part of the Christian-​Muslim conflicts (Figure 1.1). A person would have been taking a risk in damaging a royal foundation, but a moment of chaos, such as happened often in the Mamluk era, could have provided the opportunity. The open area between the complex and the citadel, called the maydan al-​Rumayla or Rumayla, was a place where demonstrations were staged, attacks on the citadel launched, and rebellions started amongst the mamluk amirs against the Mamluk leaders (Figure 1.2).82 For example, the amirs Baraka and Barquq had a rivalry during the reign of the child sultan, al-​Mansur Alaʾ ad-​Din Ali ibn Shaʾban ibn Husayn ibn Muhammad ibn Qalawun (or al-​Mansur Ali ii, or r. 1377–​81). Barquq entered into the complex of Sultan Hasan with his mamluks, climbed the minarets near the tomb, and attacked Baraka. At another point in 1390, the complex had become such a locus of conspiracy that orders were given to destroy the complex’s front steps, close the doors, and demolish the minaret stairs. The building was not restored until 1424.83 Regardless of the precise timing or intention of the damage, the mutilated representation of the Christian monument on the pilaster denigrated it on a daily basis and highlighted the lesser status of Christians in general and of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in particular. This examination of the political and religious significance of three Jerusalem sites in Islam and of Muslim-​Christian relations of fourteenth-​century Egypt points to how the audience in Cairo might have understood the Jerusalem imagery on the reused pilaster in multiple ways. In particular, it shows the possible concerns of Sultan Hasan, a young leader, who needed 81 82 83

Compare Hunt, “Churches,” 61n55. See also Jacoby, “Ideological and Pragmatic Aspects of Muslim Iconoclasm,” 14–​15 and Jacoby, “Crusader Sculpture in Cairo,” 126. Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 72. Ibid., 77.

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to affirm his prestige as sultan of the Mamluk realm at a challenging time for himself and his people. 6.2

The Jerusalemite Pilaster as Spolia

Another possible approach to examining the Jerusalemite pilaster is as spolia—​building elements pillaged and reused for diverse reasons. Scholarship on spolia in late antique and medieval settings offers additional suggestions for how to interpret reused fragments like the Cairo pilasters.84 Finnbar Barry Flood’s discussion about Ayyubid-​era spolia proposes political, aesthetic, and pragmatic reasons for reuse.85 One purpose of architectural spolia was as military booty, stripped by the victors from one place and displayed in another to show power over the conquered.86 A second type of reuse entailed a builder or patron reusing architectural components for aesthetic reasons, because they add something desirable to a monument.87 A third reuse was for practical reasons—​spolia could comprise materials needed for a new building that were already prepared and/​or not readily available otherwise.88 The

84

Dale Kinney, “Rape or Restitution of the Past? Interpreting Spolia,” in The Art of Interpreting, ed. Susan C. Scott, Papers in art history from the Pennsylvania State University (University Park, PA: The Department of Art History, Pennsylvania State University, 1995), 53–​54. For multiple essays on the spolia topic, see also Richard Brilliant and Dale Kinney, eds., Reuse Value: Spolia and Appropriation in Art and Architecture from Constantine to Sherrie Levine (Farnham and Burlington: Ashgate, 2011/​Virtual Reprint 2016) and Ivana Jevtić and Suzan Yalman, eds., Spolia Reincarnated: Afterlives of Objects, Materials, and Spaces in Anatolia from Antiquity to the Ottoman Era (Istanbul: Koç University Research Center for Anatolian Civilizations, 2018). 85 Flood, “Ambiguous Aesthetic,” 203. 86 See Kinney, “Rape or Restitution of the Past?,” 53–​54 and Beat Brenk, “Spolia from Constantine to Charlemagne: Aesthetics versus Ideology,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 41, Studies on Art and Archeology in Honor of Ernst Kitzinger on His Seventy-​Fifth Birthday (1987): 203. 87 On Roman spolia columns and capitals used in the Dome of the Rock, see Nees, Perspectives, 103–​113. 88 See Julia Gonella, “Columns and Hieroglyphs: Magic Spolia in Medieval Islamic Architecture of Northern Syria,” Muqarnas 27 (2010): 103. On spolia in ancient Rome, Kinney, “Rape or Restitution of the Past?,” 54–​55. See also Brenk, “Spolia from Constantine to Charlemagne,” 103–​104 and Lucilla De Lachenal, Spolia. Uso e reimpiego dell’antico dal iii al xiv secolo, ed. Mario Torelli, Biblioteca di Archeologia (Milan: Longanese & C., 1995), 11–​13. Greenhalgh questions whether “economic re-​use” had much aesthetic meaning, see Greenhalgh, Marble past, 12. See also Michael Greenhalgh, “‘Spolia’: A Definition in Ruins,” in Reuse Value: ‘Spolia’ and Appropriation in Art and Architecture from Constantine to

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Jerusalem-​themed pilaster and its mate might have been understood in the Sultan Hasan complex in Cairo in these three ways and, in addition, offered an iconographic connection to the holy city of Jerusalem.89 A brief review of the use of spolia in Islamic lands is necessary to comprehend the reuse of the pilaster pair, especially as it pertains to both the Jerusalem theme and the complex of Sultan Hasan. Spoliated materials were reused around the Islamic world from the seventh century onward.90 Instances occurred of Muslim leaders having architectural fragments from disassembled crusader buildings in the Levant loaded onto boats for transfer to Cairo, which already had storehouses of architectural remains from ancient Egypt, Rome, and Byzantium.91 One such case transpired under the Ayyubid leader Salah al-​Din, who had many crusader monuments disassembled in 1187 when he conquered Jerusalem.92 Salah al-​Din’s actions were political, demonstrating his new sovereignty over formerly crusader-​controlled monuments; but they were also aesthetically motivated by the choice of fine sculpture and materials and practical in that they shifted the despoiled buildings’ functions back to Muslim use. By the fourteenth century, such reuse was a well-​established practice in the Mamluk empire. Examples of spolia use in Cairo as a demonstration of Mamluk might were numerous, suggesting by their settings that Mamluk leaders sought out architectural pieces for political reasons.93 In particular, Sultan Baybars commissioned a mosque (1266–​69) in the Cairo citadel that included

Sherrie Levine, eds. Richard Brilliant and Dale Kinney (Farnham and Burlington: Ashgate Publishing, 2011), 75–​95. 89 Compare Flood, “Ambiguous Aesthetic,” 202–​203. See also Philippe Plagnieux, “Le portail d’Acre transporté au Caire: sources et diffusion des modèles rayonnants en Terre sainte au milieu du xiiie siècle,” Bulletin monumental 164, no. 1 (2006): 527. 90 On the columns of the Dome of the Rock as spolia, see Nees, Perspectives, 100–​143. On the substantial reuse of marble in the Islamic world of the Mediterranean in particular, see Greenhalgh, Marble past, 4–​6. 91 See Viktoria Meinecke-​Berg, “Spolien in der mittelalterlichen Architektur von Kairo,” in Ägypten, Dauer und Wandel: Symposium anlässlich des 75 jährigen Bestehens des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Kairo, am 10. und 11. Oktober 1982, Sonderschrift Deutsches Archäologisches Instituts. Abteilung Kairo (Mainz am Rhein: v. Zabern, 1985), 136, 141n163. See also Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 82 and Nasser Rabbat, The Citadel of Cairo: A New Interpretation of Mamluk Architecture, ed. Ulrich Haarmann, Islamic History and Civilizations. Studies and Texts (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1995), 248–​249. 92 Lutfi, Al-​Quds Al-​Mamlûkiyya, 113. Between 583/​1187 and 642/​1244, he and other Ayyubid rulers founded or restored to Muslim use approximately twenty-​five buildings, Flood, “Ambiguous Aesthetic,” 202. On Salah al-​Din’s reuse, see Greenhalgh, Marble past, 162–​164. 93 See Mathews, “Mamluks and Crusaders,” 177–​200.

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­f igure 6.2 Main portal, Mosque-​madrasa-​mausoleum of Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad, Cairo, 1295–​1303

wood and marble, which some contemporaries described as trophies, from the fortress of Jaffa captured from the crusaders.94 The iron grates above the main entrance to the mosque-​mausoleum-​madrasa (1284–​85) of Hasan’s grandfather, Sultan Qalawun, were almost certainly from a crusader source.95 Their prominent location on a main street suggested at least some element of pride and politics in their display. The best-​known Mamluk martial reuse of crusader architectural materials in Cairo is by Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad, the father of Sultan Hasan. In the case of the portal of his mosque-​madrasa-​mausoleum complex (1295–​1303), it moved from Acre to Cairo and demonstrates the complicated path that such spolia could follow (Figure 6.2).96 Al-​Nasir Muhammad’s predecessor, Sultan

94

95 96

The chroniclers Ibn al-​Furat and al-​Maqrizi reported this instance, Jacoby, “Ideological and Pragmatic Aspects of Muslim Iconoclasm,” 14. On the mosque see Jonathan M. Bloom, “The Mosque of Baybars al-​Bunduqdari in Cairo,” Annales Islamologiques 17 (1982): 45–​78. On the spolia, see also Mathews, “Mamluks and Crusaders,” 181–​184; Behrens-​Abouseif, Islamic Architecture, 94; and Meinecke-​Berg, “Spolien,” 131. See Mathews, “Mamluks and Crusaders,” 184–​191; Behrens-​Abouseif, Islamic Architecture, 18, 95–​97, 100, 126; and Meinecke-​Berg, “Spolien,” 141. On the logistics and transport of marble spolia, see Greenhalgh, Marble past, 87–​139. On this portal in particular, see Mathews, “Mamluks and Crusaders,” 191–​198; Plagnieux, “Le portail d’Acre,” 61–​66; Meinecke-​Berg, “Spolien,” 141n163; Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 82; and Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 86. Some suppose that the original church for this portal was St. Andrew in Acre, see Mathews, “Mamluks and Crusaders,” 193; Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 456; Behrens-​Abouseif, Islamic Architecture, 100; and Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 87, 104. On the lack of secure evidence regarding this supposition, see Hunt, “Churches,” 43.

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al-​Malik al-​Ashraf Khalil (r. 1290–​93), led a successful attack on Acre and then ordered the burning and dismantling of the city’s walls and churches.97 He took the portal initially, perhaps from the church of St. Andrew, and shipped it to Cairo along with other architectural spolia in 1291.98 At first, an amir, ʿAlam al-​Din Sanjar al-​ShujaʿI, stored the portal in his Cairo house, but it was appropriated by a higher-​ranking amir who disliked the sultan and had him assassinated, only to be killed himself a few days later.99 When the new sultan, al-​Malik al-​ʿAdil Zayn-​ad-​Din Kitbugha Ben Abd-​Allah al-​Mansuri al-​ Turki al-​Mughli (or Kitbugha, r. 1294–​96), began to build a madrasa in Cairo in c. 1295–​96, he bought and installed the portal there. Finally, Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad purchased and finished the building, thus appropriating the portal as his own.100 Hasan’s father had established storage facilities that held a variety of crusader and Egyptian materials.101 The brief delay between this portal’s removal from Acre and its reuse in Cairo makes it likely, if not provable, that the Mamluks in general and al-​Nasir Muhammad in particular recognized its original source as Frankish.102 The well-​known Mamluk writer Taqi al-​Din Ahmad ibn ʿAli al-​Maqrizi (or al-​Maqrizi, 1364–​1442) described the attractive nature of the portal in a fifteenth-​century description but said nothing about its source: “one of the most marvelous things made by a man, for it is of white marble of wonderful shape and of the highest quality of workmanship.”103 The attention paid to this portal by several leaders indicated that they appreciated its beauty, and it is likely that some of them understood it as a sign of Mamluk victory over the crusaders in the Levant.

97

Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 86. See also Denys Pringle, “The Churches of Crusader Acre: Destruction and Detection,” in Archaeology and the Crusades, eds. Peter W. Edbury and Sophia Kalopissi-​ Verti, Proceedings of the Round Table, Nicosia, 1 Feb. 2005 (Athens: Pierides Foundation, 2007), 114–​115. On looted and trophy marble generally, see Greenhalgh, Marble past, 141–​144. Trophy looting might occur to help fill coffers, to reward soldiers, to memorialize a triumph, to serve as relics or souvenirs, to show dominance, or to degrade the loser, ibid., 144–​152. 98 See Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 456; Behrens-​Abouseif, Islamic Architecture, 100; Sherif, “Layers of Meaning.” On transport of marble spolia by sea and land, see Greenhalgh, Marble past, 124–​136. 99 Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 87–​88. 100 Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 82; Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 88–​89. On final cutting and preparation of marble for reuse, see Greenhalgh, Marble past, 136–​138. 101 Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 82. On stockpiling of architectural pieces and stones in the Middle Ages, see Greenhalgh, Marble past, 120–​124. 102 See Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 86, 99–​100 and Mathews, “Mamluks and Crusaders,” 194–​195. 103 Translated in Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 82n78.

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Even if Frankish spolia had an occasional martial referent in Islamic contexts, Flood’s work on Islamic Egypt, Palestine, and Syria has suggested that reuse was more often a question of aesthetics—​respect for pieces that were beautiful or had particular iconographical or antiquarian interest.104 The fact that the Mamluks reused pieces from a range of times and cultures supports this conclusion. The sources of spolia in Islamic settings were sometimes crusader Christian, but often culled from ancient Egyptian, Roman, or earlier Islamic monuments.105 Attractive spolia can be found in Sultan Hasan’s complex not only on the façade but also in the mosque’s main mihrab, which features elegant crusader columns in the colorfully-​polychromed qibla wall (Figure 6.3) and in the dikka platform in the qibla iwan (Figure 6.4).106 These aesthetic uses of spolia may have been seen as a part of the Mediterranean courtly culture and its shared taste for prized objects.107 The third reason for spolia reuse was practical recovery, which often meant aesthetic recycling. High-​quality materials and varied colors of spolia provided Mamluk builders with ready-​made architectural elements to insert in places that warranted special decoration, such as façades, domes, mihrabs, walls, doorways, and windows.108 These insertions saved time in the Mamluks’ active building campaigns by taking advantage of readily available supplies that were also often attractively prepared.109 In the case of the Jerusalemite pilaster and its mate, their meanings may have related to all three types of spoliation.110 The exact details of the crusader pilasters’ transfer to Cairo sometime between 1191 and 1356 are unknown. When Sultan Hasan or his designers first saw them, probably in a Cairene storeroom, they may well have recognized the Jerusalem buildings.111 Even if the crusader pilasters’ precise site of origin was unknown, Sultan Hasan and his designers might have recognized the rare pilaster as crusader pieces given 104 Finbarr Barry Flood, “The Medieval Trophy as an Art Historical Trope: Coptic and Byzantine ‘Altars’ in Islamic Contexts,” Muqarnas 18 (2001): 41, 54, 57. 105 Meinecke-​Berg, “Spolien,” 131. For instance, Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad established storage facilities with a variety of crusader, Islamic, and ancient materials in its holdings, see Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 82. See also Meinecke-​Berg, “Spolien,” 136. 106 These placements in the religious focal point of the building suggest that they were highly valued. See Meinecke-​Berg, “Spolien,” 132; Behrens-​Abouseif, Islamic Architecture, 126; and Mathews, “Mamluks and Crusaders,” 195. 107 See Mathews, “Mamluks and Crusaders,” 196–​198. Compare Hoffman, “Christian-​Islamic Encounters,” 129–​142. 108 See Plagnieux, “Le portail d’Acre,” 454. 109 Gonella, “Columns,” 104 and Meinecke-​Berg, “Spolien,” 131. 110 See Flood, “Medieval Trophy ” 41, 53–​54, 60–​62. 111 See ibid., 60. Compare Jacoby, “Ideological and Pragmatic Aspects of Muslim Iconoclasm,” 14–​15 and Hunt, “Churches,” 61.

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­f igure 6.3  Mosque iwan, Mihrab and qibla wall, Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63

­f igure 6.4  Courtyard towards the mosque iwan, Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo, c. 1356–​63

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the representation of a Christian church in Jerusalem. A knowledgeable and well-​traveled designer may even have observed similarities of the pilasters’ vine motifs and zigzag capitals to pieces reused in the city of Jerusalem on the Haram al-​Sharif itself, especially on the dikka and in the portal of al-​Aqsa Mosque (Figures 1.10 and 1.13).112 Sultan Hasan was likely aware that crusader spolia was used in his predecessors’ Cairene monuments, so it is plausible that he understood spolia as war booty. By authorizing reuse of the pilasters, he proclaimed that the Mamluks had supplanted Christian European rule in the Holy Land, symbolized in the relief of the Holy Sepulcher. This visual reference to the geographical reaches of Sultan Hasan’s realm may have signaled the legitimacy and stability that the young leader must have been seeking. The pilasters were paired in the façade in a balanced arrangement, presumably for aesthetic reasons (Figures 1.1, 1.2, and 1.9). The fact that these two pilasters were similar but not exactly matching supported this approach, meaning that their fine carving and roughly symmetrical nature were enough for Hasan’s designers to include them. Such subtly carved architectural elements added variety and beauty to the massive and imposing façade, in the way that, according to Karen Mathews, Mamluks typically displayed their cultural sophistication.113 In practical terms, the pilasters’ intact nature and matching capitals made them a convenient choice. Their petite size would have suggested a logical placement near eye level so that their interesting details would be visible to viewers entering the building. Moreover, the two pilasters already lacked or had their figural imagery in the alternating panels erased, making them appropriate choices for a sacred building in which geometric, floral, architectural, or calligraphic decoration was acceptable but figures of humans or animals were not.114 Sultan Hasan’s reuse of the Jerusalemite pilaster and its mate thus seems plausibly motivated by political, aesthetic, and practical reasons. 6.3

The Pilaster’s Setting in Mamluk Cairo

Opening up our consideration to the context of the complex, Sultan Hasan, and their place in Cairo broadens the perspective on the crusader pilasters. To 112 On the triumphalism of reuse in the dikka at al-​Aqsa Mosque, see Greenhalgh, Marble past, 160. 113 Mathews, “Mamluks and Crusaders,” 198. 114 Wheeler M. Thackston, “The Role of Calligraphy,” in The Mosque: History, Architectural Development, and Regional Diversity, eds. Martin Frishman and Hasan Uddin-​Khan (London: Thames and Hudson, 1994), 43.

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explore the Jerusalemite pilaster and its pair as a part of the sultan’s approach as a leader and building patron, a closer look at the Mamluk ruler’s background is necessary.115 Close inspection of the complex suggests that Sultan Hasan used the Jerusalemite pilaster to present himself as an orthodox Muslim who cared for his people as a way of strengthening his authority in Cairo and beyond. Sultan Hasan was the seventh son of Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad and came to power at age eleven.116 His intellectual and cultural activity was notable among the early fourteenth-​century sultans, probably because his native-​born status placed him between the Arabic literary world of Egypt and the Turkic culture of his Mamluk family.117 Four years into Hasan’s first reign from 1347 to 1351, he attempted to assert his majority by calling a council meeting of his amirs, dismissing his vizier (who oversaw his administration and taxes), and arresting some amirs.118 Instead of solidifying his power through these actions, he lost his throne within a year as disgruntled amirs promoted his brother, al-​ Salih Salih, to the throne.119 Hasan spent his brother’s reign under house arrest overseen by Amir Taz al-​Nasiri in the Cairo citadel, perched on a hill overlooking the city.120 To regain the throne again from 1354 to 1361, Hasan used a typical Mamluk network of loyal followers.121 In 1354, two amirs, Shaykhu and Sarghitmish, 115 As Oleg Grabar asked, “How … did a weak ruler [such as Sultan Hasan], murdered in his youth, find the time or the support to commission the most magnificent madrasa in Cairo and one of the few great ones remaining in the Muslim world?,” Oleg Grabar, “Architecture and Art,” in The Genius of Arab Civilization: Source of Renaissance, ed. George N. Atiyeh et. al. (New York and London: New York University Press, 1992), 138. 116 Sources vary on calling him eleven or twelve years old, see Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 70; Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 126; and Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 5. On Mamluk succession, see Irwin, Middle East, 156–​158. 117 Ulrich Haarman, “Arabic in Speech, Turkish in Lineage: Mamluks and Their Sons in the Intellectual Life of Fourteenth-​century Egypt and Syria,” Journal of Semitic Studies 33, no. 1 (1988): 88. See also Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 70 and Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 127. 118 See Steenbergen, Order, 154–​155 and Irwin, Middle East, 138–​139. For more about the amir rankings of ten, forty, and a hundred and their commensurate responsibilities and benefits, see Steenbergen, Order, 33–​49. On the mutually interdependent relationships between the sultan and his amirs, see ibid., 26–​29. See also Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 70; Steenbergen, Order, 111–​114; and Irwin, Middle East, 134. 119 Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 70 and Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 127. See also Steenbergen, Order, 30, 114–​115. 120 For more on the Citadel, see Behrens-​Abouseif, Islamic Architecture, 78–​83. On the origins of the Citadel under the Ayyubids and a description, see K.A.C. Creswell, The Muslim Architecture of Egypt. Ayyubids and Early Bahrite Mamluks A.D. 1171–​1326, Reprint 1959 edn., 2 vols., vol. 2 (New York: Hacker Art Books, 1978), 1–​40. 121 See Steenbergen, Order, 106.

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helped him arrest, send into exile, relegate into provincial positions, or execute his rivals in order to return to the throne.122 Sultan Hasan then strengthened his power base and fostered allegiance among his mamluks by appointing some of them into vacant administrative and military positions. He had an innovative approach to developing new allies, placing more awlad al-​nas (literally, son of the people, or freeborn man) individuals as amirs, advisors, and officials in his government to cultivate their loyalty.123 Hasan’s apparently unprecedented alteration to the typical Mamluk method of making appointments subverted the existing mamluk system.124 While Hasan’s ruling approach may have been unconventional, he built his massive complex between 1356 and 1361 in a typical Mamluk attempt to demonstrate power through architectural display.125 Its design also reflected his interests in displaying broad authority, care for his people, and his orthodoxy. Three Mamluk era writers—​Abu al-​Mahasin Yusuf ibn Taghribirdi (or Ibn Taghribirdi (c. 1409–​70)), Khalil ibn Shahin al-​Zahiri (d. 1468), and Muhammad ibn Iyas (d. 1524)—​later reported that the sultan personally hired the supervisors, architects, and many workers for the project.126 Muhammad ibn Bilik al-​Muhsini 122 Compare Al-​Harithy, who dated it 1355, Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 70. See also Irwin, Middle East, 142–​143. Amirs Shaykhu and Sarghitmish were at first Hasan’s special allies and also patrons of important monuments in Cairo, Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 127. See also Steenbergen, Order, 113–​115, 130–​132, 156 and Irwin, Middle East, 141–​143. On Hasan’s actions towards his rivals, see Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 70; Steenbergen, Order, 114, 120, 155–​157; and Irwin, Middle East, 142–​143. On Mamluk historians as sources, see Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 70, 78n. On these chroniclers generally, see Massoud, The Chronicles. 123 In contrast to an imported mamluk, an awlad al-​nas was the son of elite native Egyptians or descendants of ruling Mamluks or lesser mamluks whose native-​born status decreased their standing, see Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 132–​133; Howyda Al-​Harithy, “Architectural Form and Meaning in Light of Al Jurjani’s Literary Theories” (Master of Science in Architecture Studies, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 1987), 45; Al-​ Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 70–​71; Haarman, “Arabic in Speech,” 81–​114; Steenbergen, Order, 20–​21; and Stuart J. Borsch, The Black Death in Egypt and England. A Comparative Study (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2005), 25–​26. Hasan himself was an awlad al-​nas, though as a sultan’s child, was especially privileged within that class, Haarman, “Arabic in Speech,” 103. Sultan Hasan represented a general trend in social mobility as the fourteenth century progressed, Steenbergen, Order, 21, 106. 124 Steenbergen, Order, 23–​25. 125 See especially Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, vii–​viii. See also Plagnieux, “Le portail d’Acre,” 464–​465. In particular, the building complex was seen as Hasan’s response to his father, al-​Nasir Muhammad whose thirty-​two-​year reign was prosperous and produced many monuments, in an attempt to surpass his father through a monument that was more spectacular in size and scope, Behrens-​Abouseif, Islamic Architecture, 18. 126 Kahil, “Architect/​s,” 156. Though no known documentary evidence demonstrates that he did the hiring directly, it seems possible that he was consulted for these major positions.

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and al-​Hujayj ibn ʿAbdallah al-​Salihi, both of Cairo, worked together on the design and decor of the complex.127 Ibn Bilik’s name was recorded in a stucco frieze that credits him as calligrapher and construction supervisor, visible in the courtyard and around the western iwan of the Hanafi madrasa.128 His high status as one of ten awlad al-​nas whom Hasan appointed as an “amir of one hundred” (the highest Mamluk administrative rank) makes it likely that the inscription aptly described his leading role in the building’s construction.129 Ibn ʿAbdallah was not cited in the sources related to the building, but he held the title “architect of the sultan” in 1360–​61 and probably had some role in this project.130 The mosque-​mausoleum-​madrasa-​hospital of Sultan Hasan was a vast complex conceived to serve a large community (Figure 1.2). The zone around the complex contained several palaces belonging to the amirs of al-​Nasir Muhammad, around which buildings with pious, social, or residential functions had been constructed.131 In Hasan’s complex, expansive shared spaces served the public and the students who resided within. A substantial square courtyard, open to the air, occupies the center of the complex with iwans or vaulted, covered spaces around its four sides (Figure 6.4). The building was dedicated to the study of the four main orthodox approaches to Sunni law.132 Students studied the Quʿran, the traditions, grammar, logic, ritual, and rhetoric. Around the courtyard were spaces for instruction, housing, and food for approximately 506 advanced students, 200 younger schoolboys, and 340 staff members.133 The complex also housed a school for a few hundred orphans and

For the various texts of these writers and their general background, see Massoud, The Chronicles, 3, 28n72, 60–​61, 67, and 69–​70. 127 Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 169–​181 and Kahil, “Architect/​s,” 155–​174. 128 Kahil, “Architect/​s,” 154 and Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 172–​173. Compare Mohammad Fahim and Ali Zaghloul, The Great Madrassa-​Mosque of Sultan Hassan (Cairo: Dar al-​ Maaref, 1974), 11. 129 Kahil, “Architect/​s,” 161–​164. On Ibn Bilik, see ibid., and Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 174–​181. 130 Kahil, “Architect/​s,” 170–​171 and Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 181–​186. 131 Rabbat, Citadel of Cairo, 286–​287. A full-​fledged communitarian analysis of this institution would be relevant but goes beyond the scope of this chapter. Compare Renard, “A Method for Comparative Studies,” 115. 132 As such it was a bastion of orthodox education. See Fahim and Zaghloul, The Great Madrassa-​Mosque of Sultan Hassan, 5. On the politics of the four schools, see Behrens-​ Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks, 10–​11. 133 This foundation was more than four times larger than any other in Mamluk Cairo. See Behrens-​Abouseif, Islamic Architecture, 123 and Behrens-​Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks, 204.

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a hospital with three doctors and ten medical assistants, accessible to the local community including staff and students not living in the complex.134 Chroniclers expressed the perception that the scale and beauty of the complex reflected the sultan’s image as a cosmopolitan leader. Al-​Maqrizi described several of the “wonders” of the complex, observing that it was seen as grand in scope and splendor.135 Contemporary accounts spoke of the great quantity of funds, resources, and people marshaled to create it.136 Al-​Maqrizi stated, for instance, that for the first three years the work on the complex did not stop for a single day and that Sultan Hasan spent more than one million dinars on it.137 Such a large sum, though perhaps not precise, indicated a sizable expenditure that the populace surely recognized as symbolic of their leader’s investment in this site.138 The specifically Muslim functions and forms of the complex are worth emphasizing as the context for the reuse of the crusader pilasters. Sultan Hasan’s institution included a congregational mosque, which occupied the largest, southern iwan of the central courtyard (Figure 6.4). The endowment called for the mosque to have forty-​eight muezzins to perform the call to prayer.139 Behind the mosque-​iwan was the large building that was to be the

134 Al-​ Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 75 and Behrens-​ Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks, 204. 135 See Martyn Smith (trans.), “Mosque of Sultan Hasan” Martyn Smith, http://​www.maqr​ izi.com/​mosqu​e_​pa​ges/​m_​s​ulta​n_​ha​san.html, accessed 25 July 2011; and Taqī al-​Dīn al-​ Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-​Mawāʿiẓ wa-​al-​Iʿtibār fī Dhikr al-​Khiṭaṭ wa-​al-​Āthār [Exhortations and Learning by Example, on Topography and Monuments], ed. Ayman Fuʾad Sayyid, 6 vols., vol. 4, Pt. 1 (London: Al-​Furqan Islamic Heritage Foundation, 2003), 316–​317 in vol. 312. See also Martyn Smyth, “Maqrizi on the Web,” http://​www.scr​ibd.com/​doc/​43578​073/​Maqr​izi -​on-​the-​Web, accessed 30 June 2021, par. 4. Al-​Maqrizi was a member of the civilian, literary elite who spent most of his life in Cairo, first as a government official, then as a Muslim legal scholar and imam, and eventually as a historical writer, Nasser Rabbat, “Who was al-​ Maqrizi? A Biographical Sketch,” Mamluk Studies Review 7, no. 2 (2003): 5, 12–​18. See Sylvie Denoix, Décrire le Caire Fusţāţ-​Misr d’après Ibn Duqmāq et Maqrīzī. L’histoire d’une partie de la ville du Caire d’après deux historiens égyptiens des xive–​x ve siècles, Études urbaines (Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire, 1992), 11–​13 and Massoud, The Chronicles, 48–​49, 64. His “Exhortations and Learning by Example, on Topography and Monuments” revealed an important view of Egyptian topography and of the Mamluk conception of the past, yet did not detail aspects such as the pilasters in his discussion of this monument. 136 See Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 2–​3. 137 al-​Maqrizi and Smith (trans.), “Mosque of Sultan Hasan” par. 3. See also Al-​Harithy, “Architectural Form,” 42. 138 Behrens-​Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks, 203. 139 Ibid., 320.

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mausoleum of Sultan Hasan. Visitors accessed the mausoleum through two doors on opposite ends of the qibla wall. These spaces combined to make the first Mamluk example in Cairo of a gathering place for Friday prayers contiguous with a madrasa and mausoleum.140 With the additional functions of the hospital—​a significant charity serving all classes—​and a bazaar, the institution aided its community in diverse ways.141 At a time when official medical care was limited, patients’ access to clean water, hygienic facilities, and consistent food in this institution was notable. By providing vital Muslim establishments, the sultan showed concern for his people and emphasized his role as a Muslim leader. The grand size and multiple functions of Sultan Hasan’s institution meant that it had an impact on a large number of people every day, multiplying the impact of its crusader pilasters.142 Hasan’s vast complex became the most visible sign of his authority—​and later of the instability of his rule. By 1357, he had gained control over the fiscal resources of his realm in an important assertion of his leadership. In the early period of construction, Hasan had few political conflicts and little resistance.143 Yet Hasan’s fiscal choices were ultimately disastrous; his poor management, increasing indulgences, gross expenditures, and growing financial demands eventually made him an ineffective patron of the amirs and unpopular with the public.144 His patron-​client relationships destabilized, and the amirs’ frustrations and ambitions became impossible to keep in check, leading to the young ruler’s downfall and assassination in 1361.145

140 Ibid., 11, 204 and Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 75. To link a madrasa and its community functions to a founder’s mausoleum was common in Mamluk Cairo by the mid-​thirteen century, perhaps to provide a justification for a mausoleum’s essentially selfish purpose to benefit the patron, though never before had a congregational Friday mosque been added, see Robert Hillenbrand, Islamic Architecture. Form, function and meaning (New York City: Columbia University Press, 1994), 197, 200, 202. See also Behrens-​ Abouseif, Islamic Architecture, 15 and Fahim and Zaghloul, The Great Madrassa-​Mosque of Sultan Hassan, 7. 141 See Adam Sabra, Poverty and Charity in Medieval Islam. Mamluk Egypt 1250–​1517, ed. David Morgan, Cambridge Studies in Islamic Civilization (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 80 and Richard Yeomans, The Art and Architecture of Islamic Cairo (Reading: Garnet Publishing Limited, 2006), 156. The community that the buildings served was likely of diverse social classes, as it was built in a residential area not far from the gracious homes of court officials but with a student, teacher, and patient population in its immediate neighborhood. 142 Compare Behrens-​Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks, 17. 143 Steenbergen, Order, 156–​157. 144 Ibid., 33, 157. 145 See Irwin, Middle East, 143–​144. See also Behrens-​Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks, 16.

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6.3.1 The Visual Evidence of the Portal in Cairo Given this knowledge of Sultan Hasan and his complex, it is relevant to consider how the Jerusalemite pilaster’s placement in the portal represented a crucial set of meaningful artistic choices that had connections to other Mamluk monuments. At 37 meters tall, the imposing portal of Sultan Hasan’s complex is the tallest in Cairo (Figure 1.2).146 The portal is situated in an angled segment of the façade that faces between northeast and east, while the rest of the façade faces a more northerly angle to the northeast. Because the façade of other Cairene monuments typically matched the urban grid, this angled projecting facade stood out.147 The representations of the Jerusalem buildings on the right pilaster—​at right angles to the façade surface—​face to the east-​ southeast toward the adjacent public square, the Rumayla, and across that to the Cairo citadel, the fortress on a cliff-​like rise begun by the Ayyubids in the twelfth century and continually added to by the Mamluks (Figures 6.1 and 6.5).148 Examination of the complex’s relationship with the Rumayla, citadel, and other Mamluk monuments elucidates how the choice and location of the Jerusalemite pilaster reflects the religious, social, and political rationales for the whole complex.149 The citadel was a royal fortified city unto itself, housing thousands of people and a military compound, several mosques, madrasas, palaces, and residential sections for the sultan’s court and family.150 Archaeological and textual evidence (and the modern situation) reveal that the citadel’s west side offered a view over the maydan to Hasan’s complex (Figure 6.6).151 Significantly, the quarters in which Hasan was purportedly held under house arrest between his 1 46 See Yeomans, The Art and Architecture of Islamic Cairo, 157. 147 Compare Behrens-​Abouseif, “The Façade of the Aqmar Mosque,” 29 and Bernard O’Kane, Treasures of Islam: Artistic Glories of the Muslim World (London: Duncan Baird Publishers, 2007), 74. 148 Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 76. On the Citadel’s history, generally see Rabbat, Citadel of Cairo. See also Yeomans, The Art and Architecture of Islamic Cairo, 105–​111. 149 Hasan’s monument is located on the west side of this square at the south end of a road leading from the Fatimid royal city center of al-​Qahira (est. 969), Al-​Harithy, “Architectural Form,” 45 and Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 149. On Mamluk urban development, see Williams, “Urbanization,” 35–​36. 150 In the case of the Mamluk constructions of the Citadel, unfortunately little is left except some large halls; Hasan’s private domed palace and a tower for his private apartments, for instance, are now gone, Behrens-​Abouseif, Islamic Architecture, 83. See also Rabbat, Citadel of Cairo and Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 79n41. 151 On views from the Citadel onto the maydan, see Rabbat, Citadel of Cairo, 110–​111, 151–​152, 203–​204, and pl. 132. On the Citadel’s destruction and the evidence for its former states, see ibid., 18–​22.

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­f igure 6.5 View east towards the Citadel from the Jerusalemite pilaster in the portal of the Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo

two reigns were on the western edge of the fortress, with a clear view of the Rumayla and his future construction site. Officials and royal family members along the western edge of the citadel’s enclosure could peer onto the Rumayla and, eventually, at Hasan’s complex, especially its mausoleum and the façade angled toward the citadel. The Rumayla was a large, grassy oblong in which demonstrations, tournaments, religious festivals, spectacles, and pre-​pilgrimage ceremonies had taken place since al-​Nasir Muhammad’s reign.152 In Mamluk times, access from the citadel to the complex of Hasan was easy and direct (Figure 6.5). The monumental Stable Gate opened directly onto the Rumayla from the stables of the lower citadel enclosure.153 Having the portal of the Sultan Hasan complex face the citadel was likely meant to signal to those going in and out that they were under the constant watch from the Mamluk leader and his soldiers guarding the institution.154 At the same time, it seems likely that Hasan’s complex was intended to impress members of the royal household and administration from their vantage point above it (Figure 6.6). They could easily have seen the bustling activity at his monument below and gauged its importance to the people as they 152 Ibid., 76–​77; Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 71–​72, 77; and Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 129. For a description of al-​Nasir Muhammad descending into the maydan, see Rabbat, Citadel of Cairo, 202–​204. To the south was a horse market and to the north, where now a nineteenth-​century mosque sits, was an aqueduct leading to the stables on the Citadel. See Behrens-​Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks, 205 and Behrens-​Abouseif, Islamic Architecture, 123. 153 Rabbat, Citadel of Cairo, 22–​24. 154 Compare ibid., 283.

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­f igure 6.6 View west from the western side of Citadel towards the Complex of Sultan Hasan, Cairo

looked down from the citadel.155 Just as the al-​Ablaq palace (1313) was built by Hasan’s father on the western edge of the citadel to appear imposing from the amirs’ palaces below,156 so too the complex of Sultan Hasan—​built on the site of palaces sponsored by al-​Nasir Muhammad for his amirs and destroyed by Hasan—​was meant to seem impressive, a statement of power to the palaces and citadel above.157 Lobna Sherif suggested that the complex was intended to place Hasan on par with his father and to overshadow the amirs around him.158 The inventiveness of the façade angle, and thus of the Jerusalemite face 155 Al-​Harithy, “Architectural Form,” 48. On the purposeful location of Hasan’s complex, see also Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 71–​72. Compare Behrens-​Abouseif, Islamic Architecture, 123 and Fahim and Zaghloul, The Great Madrassa-​Mosque of Sultan Hassan, 9. 156 Hasan’s father, al-​Nasir, built two palaces (completed c. 1337) to give himself a pleasing architectural view from the Citadel above, a motivation inspiring Hasan perhaps for his own complex, Behrens-​Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks, 205. 157 Compare Rabbat, Citadel of Cairo, 224, 227, 277–​279 (fig. 246). The former palace inhabitants were Nasiri Mamluk amirs, precisely of the group against which Hasan asserted himself. Hasan likely bought the palaces and tore them down around 1357 when he carried out other actions against his rival amirs, Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 72. See also Meinecke, Die Mamlukische Architektur, vol. 2, 181. At the same time, Hasan asserted his strength over his allied amirs Shaykhu and Sarghitmish. Though they helped put him in power, he demonstrated to them and to the public that he surpassed their nearby palaces and pious institutions in size and import, Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 149. 158 See Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 121–​166. The royal hall of the Qaʿa al-​Ashrafiyya (1292), used as a residence by the grand amir Shaykhu and visiting dignitaries during Hasan’s

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of the pilaster, emphasized a visual connection with the citadel above it and reinforced the likelihood that Hasan meant this structure and its pilasters to be highly visible. They showed his power in Cairo and to the ends of his realm. In these details of location and direction, the pilasters fit into two Mamluk architectural trends analyzed by Abdallah Kahil. First, the pilasters demonstrate Mamluk rulers’ and architects’ interest in studying buildings outside of Cairo.159 They often imitated alien features or integrated whole components into new Mamluk buildings. Hasan’s architects seem to have been well-​ traveled individuals, perhaps selected both for their experience in the capital city and for their knowledge of monuments outside of Cairo.160 Ibn Bilik was known to have visited Damascus and Tripoli (Lebanon),161 and Ibn ʿAbdallah was sent to Hama (Syria) by Sultan al-​Salih Imad ad-​Din abuʿl Fida Ismaʿil (r. 1342–​45) in 1342 to study an exemplar for a structure in the Cairo citadel.162 Michael Meinecke argued that the decorative relief panels with geometric carpet patterns that flank the portal on Hasan’s complex façade reflected the work of Syrian craftsmen, while the vegetal patterning in the façade medallions and the inscription band in the qibla iwan showed Persian influence (Figures 1.1, 1.9, and 6.1).163 Mamluk sources reported that architects and artisans from outside Cairo were also a part of the building team, suggesting that Hasan sought inspiration and models from the broader Islamic world.164 Along with other foreign elements in Hasan’s complex, the highly visible and obviously foreign crusader pilasters showed Cairene viewers that the patron had worldly knowledge and dominion beyond Cairo. The pilasters were also a part of a second Mamluk trend: using decorative elements from other artistic media in a new setting.165 Floral relief patterns that frame the main portal on the façade’s lower surface include

1 59 160 161 162 163 164 165

sultanate, also had views onto the Rumayla and the complex, Rabbat, Citadel of Cairo, 150–​152. See Kahil, “Architect/​s,” 154 and Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 188. Kahil, “Architect/​s,” 170. Ibid. and Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 181–​182. Kahil, “Architect/​s,” 170–​172 and Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 181–​182. Michael Meinecke, Die Mamlukische Architektur in Ägypten und Syrien (648/​1250 bis 923/​ 1517), 2 vols., vol. 1 (Glückstadt: Augustin, 1992), 117–​118, 121–​123 (Taf. 177c, 180a, 181a, b, and d). Kahil, “Architect/​s,” 156, 158, 174; Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 18, 24, 188; and Behrens-​ Abouseif, Islamic Architecture, 18, 125. On the effect of the plague outbreak of 1347–​49 on laborers, Dols, Black Death, 265–​270. See Behrens-​Abouseif, Islamic Architecture, 19. See also a listing of some Mamluk reuse, Plagnieux, “Le portail d’Acre,” 458–​465.

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chinoiserie-​influenced lotuses, peonies, and chrysanthemums; they extend upward in a floral and vine band alongside the portal and remain unfinished near the top (Figures 1.9 and 6.1).166 These motifs likely entered the Mamluk repertoire through portable decorative arts from East and Central Asia, which were popular luxury items in fourteenth-​century Cairo.167 This surface relief can be compared also to manuscript and ceramic patterns used in Islamic, Christian crusader, and Armenian cultures.168 The images of buildings of Jerusalem on the right pilaster were unmatched in Islamic art, and, with the vine and flower motifs on its left mate, were probably recognized as foreign decorative elements. These elements could have added to the façade’s cosmopolitan and innovative character and enhanced the ruler’s prestige. 6.4

Sultan Hasan’s Complex and the Black Death

I have discussed the interests of Sultan Hasan in particular and the tendencies of Mamluk architecture in general as the reasons for including the crusader pilasters in the Cairo complex. Another potential motivation for their reuse is related to broader social and religious issues that had a major impact on the Mamluk capital and empire. I suggest that the pilasters’ status as spolia and their representations of Jerusalem lent them a protective aura and an active role in the plague-​ridden mid-​fourteenth century. Cairo was grim in the years following the Black Death of 1347–​49. Rat fleas from Central Asia transmitted the bacterial contagion of the bubonic plague across the Levant, Africa, and Europe; the disease brought on swelling of the lymph nodes (bubos) and quick death to most sufferers.169 While Europe’s population, commerce, agriculture, and artistic production rebounded after this plague, that was not the case in Egypt and Syria, where the population did not easily return to its pre-​plague level in either urban or rural settings.170 1 66 Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 74, 79. 167 See Valentina Vezzoli, “Precious Objects for Eminent Guests: The Use of Chinese Ceramics in Mamluk Cairo: The Fustat Ceramic Collection from The Royal Museums of Art and History (Brussels),” in Mamluk Cairo, a Crossroads for Embassies: Studies on Diplomacy and Diplomatics, eds. Frédéric Bauden and Malika Dekkiche, Islamic History and Civilization (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2019), 823–​827; Behrens-​Abouseif, Islamic Architecture, 125–​126; and Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 79. 168 Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 104–​106. 169 Borsch, Black Death, 3. See also Irwin, Middle East, 135. 170 Borsch, Black Death, 15; Irwin, Middle East, 135–​136; and Dols, Black Death, 162–​163, 169, 183. On art, compare Diana Norman, “Change and continuity: art and religion after the

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Outbreaks of pneumonic plague, a winter infection with a higher mortality rate because it spread from person to person, contributed to this lack of population recovery.171 In addition, significant population losses in rural areas meant a decline in the number of agricultural workers available and the quantity of food produced, so that less food was available to nourish survivors.172 Other economic effects of the plague in Egypt were that land rents increased, grain prices rose, wages dropped, per capita incomes fell, the irrigation system decayed, and the inefficient and decentralized landholding system stayed intact. All these things caused economic instability until Ottoman times.173 Formerly strong commercial sectors in Egypt such as textiles then weakened, decreased, or ceased production because of the paucity of workers, allowing cheaper imports from Europe to invade the market.174 The army of mamluks, whose close quarters in the barracks apparently resulted in a high plague-​ mortality rate, saw a reduction in manpower from which it never recovered, depleting the military forces. In addition, elevated prices for enslaved servants probably made it difficult to replenish their numbers.175 In short, the Black Death left Cairo in a precarious situation that lasted for decades.176 The context of the Black Death combined with the history of spolia used as talismans raises the possibility that the pilasters in Sultan Hasan’s complex served as apotropaia or talismans to avert further evil and bad luck. Apotropaia had a long history in the Greco-​Roman, Byzantine, pre-​Islamic Arabic and Iranian, and Islamic worlds.177 The Jerusalemite pilaster was certainly visible like an apotropaion, but its imagery may have given it a numinous quality of a talisman.178 (Because both apotropaia and talismans were used to deflect Black Death,” in Siena, Florence and Padua: Art Society and Religion 1280–​1400, ed. Diana Norman (New Haven: Yale University Press in assoc. with the Open University, 1995), 177–​196. 171 See Borsch, Black Death, 4; Irwin, Middle East, 135–​136; and Jakeman, “Abstract art and communication,” 102 (vol. 1). 172 Borsch, Black Death, 15, 40–​53 and Dols, Black Death, 162–​163. 173 Borsch, Black Death, 113. See also Byrne, The Black Death, 106–​109. 174 Dols, Black Death, 265. On the loss of craftsmen and patrons, see Jakeman, “Abstract art and communication,” 101–​102 (vol. 1). For more on economics and the plague, see Dols, Black Death, 255–​279. 175 Dols, Black Death, 187–​189. 176 Borsch, Black Death, 16. 177 See Flood, “Image against Nature,” 143–​156. See also Henry Maguire, “The Cage of Crosses: Ancient and Medieval Sculptures on the ‘Little Metropolis’ in Athens,” in Rhetoric, Nature and Magic in Byzantine Art, ed. Henry Maguire (Aldershot: Ashgate Variorium, 1998), Pt. ix. 178 Christopher Faraone, Talismans and Trojan Horses. Guardian Statue in Ancient Greek Myth and Ritual (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), 4.

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evil from entering a space or building, I use the two terms interchangeably.) Its iconography and perceived antiquity may have augmented the apotropaic implications of crusader spolia inserted into a medieval Islamic structure.179 In other words, we should consider whether and how the Cairene public may have perceived that the pilasters had special powers to keep out malign forces, which ranged from birds to rodents to jinn to illness, from the Sultan Hasan complex.180 Diverse texts mentioned talismans in their discussions and histories of contemporary cities, suggesting that these elements were an integral element of a medieval Muslim’s daily experience.181 By the twelfth century, geographical writers commonly included information about talismanic spolia in Muslim cities.182 Those who wrote about extraordinary phenomena, the “marvels” of the Islamic world, sometimes included sections on architectural talismans in a town or region. The ʿAjaʿib al-​makhluqat (Marvels of Creation) by the Persian cosmographer and geographer Zakariyya ibn Muhammad al-​Qazwini (d. 1283) was one of these well-​known texts.183 Others cited the apotropaic effect of reused objects or the images on them as capable of turning a malevolent force back upon the bearer.184 The eleventh-​century Persian traveler Nasir-​i Khusrau noted that a column inscribed in a non-​Arabic language at the city gate of Maʿarrat al-​Nuʿman (Syria) was a talisman against scorpions, and in Aleppo, 1 79 Flood, “Image against Nature,” 153–​155. 180 Joseph Henninger, “Beliefs in Spirits among the Pre-​Islamic Arabs,” in Magic and Divination in Early Islam, ed. Emilie Savage-​Smith, The Formation of the Classical Islamic World (Aldershot Variorum: Ashgate Publishing Ltd, 2004), 35, 40. On origins of jinn and their development in Islam, see ibid., 6–​41 and Michael W. Dols, “The Theory of Magic in Healing,” in ibid., 90–​91. 181 See Ibn Khaldun, Abu Zayd ʿAbdu r-​Rahman ibn Muhammad, The Muqaddimah. An Introduction to History (Abridged), trans. Franz Rosenthal and N.J. Dawood (abridged and edited), First paperback edn., Bollingen Series (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969), 268. See also Flood, “Image against Nature,” 144–​145; Emilie Savage-​Smith, “Introduction: Magic and Divination in Early Islam,” in Magic and Divination in Early Islam, ed. Emilie Savage-​Smith, The Formation of the Classical Islamic World (Aldershot Variorum: Ashgate Publishing Ltd, 2004), xiii, xxix–​x xx; and Bishr Farès, “Figures magiques,” in Aus der Welt der Isalmisichen Kunst. Festschrift für Ernst Kühnel zum 75. Geburtstag am 26.10.1957, ed. Richard Ettinghausen (Berlin: Verlag Gebr. Mann, 1959), 154–​155. Compare Faraone, Talismans and Trojan Horses, 11. On talismans, see Tewfik Canaan, “The Decipherment of Arabic Talismans,” in Magic and Divination in Early Islam, ed. Emilie Savage-​Smith, The Formation of the Classical Islamic World (Aldershot Variorum: Ashgate Publishing Ltd, 2004), 125–​127. 182 Flood, “Image against Nature,” 147–​149. 183 Gonella, “Columns,” 106. 184 Flood, “Image against Nature,” 154.

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stones with non-​Arabic scripts had a talismanic role.185 The Mamluk chronicler al-​Maqrizi stated that three capitals carved with birds were employed as talismans against birds nesting in al-​Azhar Mosque (tenth century) in Cairo.186 The special iconography of the Jerusalemite pilaster could have rendered the pilaster apotropaic.187 The architectural imagery alludes to a city whose holy status may have conferred protection as the setting for actions of the prophets important to Islam and the site of Allah’s future judgment. The pilaster and its depiction of the holy city may have offered protection to Sultan Hasan and his people in the troubled post-​Black Death period in a city beset by Muslim-​Christian conflict.188 I have not found a specific reference to the Hasan complex in contemporary literature about popular beliefs, but the crusader pilasters have three features that are characteristic of apotropaic spolia reused in Ayyubid and Mamluk monuments.189 First, talismanic spolia were noticeably unlike the rest of a building’s construction; they stood out as old, exotic, or simply different.190 In the Cairo complex, the style of the bold zigzag capitals and simple foliate, floral, and braid designs on the sides of the pilasters did not match the intricacy and subtle craftsmanship seen in the adjacent borders and medallions.191 The most common spolia in Mamluk structures was ancient Egyptian relief carving, although crusader-​era spolia were used in Ayyubid and Mamluk cities.192 For instance, the two vertical columns added to the sides of the ʿUmar mihrab

185 See ibid., 147. See also Naser-​e Khosraw, Naser-​e Khosraw’s Book of Travels (Safarnama), ed. Ehsan Yarshater, trans. W.M. Thackston Jr., Persian Heritage Series (Albany, New York: Bibliotheca Persica, 1986), 11. 186 See Flood, “Image against Nature,” 158 and Marianne Barrucand, “Les Chapiteaux de remploi de la mosque al-​Azhare et l’émergence d’un type de chapiteau médieval en Égypte,” Annales Islamologiques 36 (2002): 50. 187 See Ernst Kitzinger, “The Threshold of the Holy Shrine: Observations on the Floor Mosaics at Antioch and Bethlehem,” in Art, Archaeology, and Architecture of Early Christianity, ed. Paul Corby Finney, Studies in Early Christianity (New York and London: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1993), 111–​113. 188 See Savage-​ Smith, “Magic and Divination,” xxii and Meinecke, Die Mamlukische Architektur, vol. 1, 1, 115. On the plague’s connections to Mamluk architecture, see Jakeman, “Abstract art and communication,” 99–​111 (vol. 1). 189 Though perhaps an accident of survival, most of those Ayyubid and Mamluk monuments found with examples of such architectural reuse are religious structures. See Flood, “Image against Nature,” 149–​151 and Gonella, “Columns,” 107–​109. 190 Flood, “Image against Nature,” 155. 191 See Meinecke, Die Mamlukische Architektur, vol. 1, 117–​123. 192 See Meinecke-​Berg, “Spolien,” 139–​140 and Flood, “Image against Nature,” 155, 156, Figs. 151–​152.

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in al-​Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem, perhaps placed during Salah al-​Din’s reign, were identifiable crusader spolia (Figure 1.14).193 A second feature typical of Egyptian and Syrian talismanic spolia is the pilasters’ locations flanking the main portal of the complex. Medieval Arabic and Persian sources asserted that visibility and a prominent location were central to the efficacy of apotropaia.194 Placed at the entryway, the pilasters marked and protected the boundary between the exterior world and the prayer sanctuary within; a doorway or mihrab was a site of exit and entry not only for people but also for bad spirits and rodents.195 Ancient Egyptian stones were used regularly at the entryways and thresholds of Cairo’s Mamluk monuments.196 Examples include the mosque-​khanqah (Sufi lodge) (1355–​56) of the Amir Shaykhu, with its two polished black stone pieces on the inner sides of the doorway (Figure 6.7), and the khanqah-​mausoleum (1307–​10) of Sultan al-​Malik al-​Muzaffar Rukn al-​Din Baybars al-​Jashankir al-​Mansuri (or Baybars ii, r. 1309–​10) (Figure 6.8), with a door sill carved with Egyptian hieroglyphic reliefs.197 A third feature shared by the crusader pilasters and other apotropaic spolia was the inclusion of knotwork and interlace. The pilasters were a part of a long history of stones bearing interlace or knot patterns that served an apotropaic function at openings, whether around a doorway, a mihrab, or a city gate.198 In the Cairo portal, each crusader pilaster had sides with non-​figural patterns: the right Jerusalemite pilaster had an interlace braid on the front-​ facing side and on one hidden side, and its mate had entwined vines on the front (Figures 1.1 and 1.9). Knot and interlace patterns had an apotropaic function, especially in cultures descended from ancient Rome in which belief 1 93 Flood, “Ambiguous Aesthetic,” 207, Pl. 211.207. 194 Flood, “Image against Nature,” 149–​150. For early Christian examples, see Kitzinger, “Threshold,” 111–​113. 195 See Jean-​Michel Spieser, “Doors, Boundaries and the Use of Space in Early Christian Churches,” in Urban and Religious Spaces in Late Antiquity and Early Byzantium, ed. Jean-​Michel Spieser (Aldershot: Ashgate Variorum, 2001), 1. Entryways could be actual or symbolic, as in a mihrab, James Trilling, “Medieval Interlace Ornament: The Making of a Cross-​cultural Idiom,” Arte Medievale 9, no. 2 (1995): 77–​78. 196 Meinecke-​Berg, “Spolien,” 133–​135. See also Creswell, Muslim Architecture, 2, 101. Talismans might also be buried under door lintels, Canaan, “Decipherment,” 126. 197 See Meinecke-​Berg, “Spolien,” 140 and n141 and Plagnieux, “Le portail d’Acre,” 456. 198 See Flood, “Ambiguous Aesthetic,” 212. Compare Kitzinger, “Threshold,” 104, 110–​113. See also Mildred Budny, “Deciphering the art of interlace,” in From Ireland coming. Irish art from the early Christian to the late Gothic period and its European context, ed. Colum Hourihane (Princeton: Index of Christian Art, Department of Art and Archaeology, Princeton University 2001), 197.

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­f igure 6.7 Spolia insertions to sides of main portal, Interior, Mosque-​khanqah of Amir Shaykhu, Cairo, 1355–​56

­f igure 6.8 Spolia lower lintel in main portal, Khanqah-​ mausoleum of Sultan Baybars ii, Cairo, 1307–​10

in the evil eye and the supernatural protections of interlace and knots were widespread.199 Geographic and cultural connections established a transfer of interlace meaning from ancient culture to medieval European, Byzantine, and Islamic regions.200 For instance, the columns flanking the ʿUmar mihrab in al-​Aqsa Mosque were braided pairs (Figure 1.14).201 The intricacy of interlace attracted viewers, including bad spirits, but also confused and thus thwarted any intended evil.202 1 99 200 201 202

Kitzinger, “Threshold,” 110. Trilling, “Medieval Interlace,” 76. Flood, “Ambiguous Aesthetic,” 207, 208, and 212, and Pl. 11.7. Trilling, “Medieval Interlace,” 70–​71.

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Contemporary sources analyzed the complexity and possible apotropaic meanings of intertwined designs such as those on the pilasters. The Mamluk writer Abu Zayd ʿAbd al-​Rahman ibn Muhammad ibn Khaldun (or Ibn Khaldun, 1332–​1406) described how knots were a locus of magical operation, symbolized by the criss-​crossed designs, but that prayers and Allah’s intercession could weaken their powers.203 According to the hadith, Allah revealed a related verse to Muhammad to help him: And (I take refuge in God) from the evil of the women who blow into knots (113:4). ʿAisha said: ‘As soon as he recited the Qurʾan over one of those knots into which a spell against him had been placed, that particular knot became untied.’204 Muhammad then said ten more verses, and each prayer released a knot; once all were loosened, he was relieved of his illness.205 These same Qurʾanic verses were commonly used on Islamic talismans, demonstrating a general understanding of how intertwining motifs were connected to concepts of magic and to scriptures.206 The complicated patterning of inscriptions around mihrabs also signaled how interlace calligraphy protected a holy space from evil.207 Therefore, the interlace patterns on the crusader pilasters in Hasan’s portal were almost certainly perceived as a defense against evil entering the complex. Although many amulets and talismanic objects were related to pre-​or non-​ Islamic traditions, their aura in a Muslim context was transformed through scriptural invocations to Allah in Arabic.208 The Qurʾanic content of the complex’s inscriptions might also be apotropaic. Excerpts from the Qurʾan appeared above the portal and all around the complex, calling upon the holy book to sanctify the place (Figures 6.1, 6.3, and 6.4). Talismans represented how

203 In Dols, “Theory of Magic in Healing,” 95, quoting from Abu Zayd ʿAbdu r-​Rahman ibn Muhammad Ibn Khaldun, The Muqaddimah: An Introduction to History, trans. Franz Rosenthal, 3 vols., vol. 3, Bollingen Series (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1958), 160–​161. 204 In Dols, “Theory of Magic in Healing,” 95, quoting from Ibn Khaldun, The Muqaddimah, 3, 160. See Abu Zayd ʿAbdu r-​Rahman ibn Muhammad Ibn Khaldun, Al-​Muqaddima, ed. Khalil Shahada, vol. 1 (Beirut: Dar al-​fikhr li-​an-​nashr wa at-​tawzi 2001), 657–​658. See also Ibn Khaldun, The Muqaddimah, 393. 205 See Canaan, “Decipherment,” 131. 206 See ibid. 207 Compare Trilling, “Medieval Interlace,” 77. 208 See Savage-​Smith, “Magic and Divination,” xxii.

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thoroughly medieval religion, magic, and popular medicine were interlinked as ways humans beseeched Allah to protect and heal them.209 My suggestion that the pilasters’ inclusion and apotropaic potential were connected to the plague accords with the context of Hasan’s complex. Rulers built pious foundations and fortifications, supported the needy and ill, and sponsored scholars and students as part of their princely duty as chief administrator of the treasury charged with overseeing public works to ensure the well-​being of their subjects. This was especially important at a time of crisis.210 Al-​Harithy described the complex’s construction as “a grand gesture to uplift the spirit of the people, reassert the glory of Egypt, … [and] renew the faith.”211 Ironically, the deaths of so many plague victims likely provided some of the necessary funds for building Hasan’s complex, with revenue raised through heirless estates and/​or estate taxes.212 The Mamluks exercised strict state control over inheritance, requiring the reporting of deaths before burial so that property could be surveyed immediately and taxes administered.213 If there were no full heirs, all or part of the estate went into the state treasury, which in turn sent some funds to the sultan and some to local needs.214 The plague also led indirectly to the death of Hasan. In 1361, a smaller plague epidemic broke out in Cairo. This outbreak caused him to remain outside of the city, thus creating instabilities among his allies.215 These erstwhile allies then deserted and attacked him, assassinating the young sultan. Hasan’s body was never found and thus was not buried in his mausoleum; the complex that he began remained incomplete. I propose not only that the plague influenced Hasan’s inclusion of these talismanic spolia pilasters, but also that their positive effects were intended to complement the medical functions of the complex. One function of magical and talismanic spolia in the Islamic world was to fend off disease and maintain good health. Sultan Hasan’s endowment for the complex offered medical care not only to its own resident community but also to outsiders who would have entered via this portal.216 A medieval physician typically treated plague 2 09 See Canaan, “Decipherment,” 129 and Dols, “The Theory of Magic in Healing,” 87. 210 Behrens-​Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks, 15. 211 Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 77. Compare Dols, Black Death, 269 and Grabar, “Architecture and Art,” 138. 212 Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 69 and Dols, Black Death, 269–​270. 213 Lutfi, Al-​Quds Al-​Mamlûkiyya, 20. 214 Ibid., 13–​15, 137. See also Dols, Black Death, 175–​177. 215 Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 132. Hasan was also absent during the 1347–​49 plague at a country estate outside of Cairo, Dols, Black Death, 154. 216 See Behrens-​Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks, 12.

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patients by excising buboes, bloodletting, and offering herbal baths.217 These treatments only alleviated the symptoms, as doctors had little comprehension of the plague’s actual causes and could not stop the course of the disease. A religious institution with an attached hospital and talismanic pilasters might have helped visitors and residents deal with the disease in a spiritual manner as well.218 Without a medical understanding of the plague, most Muslims turned to faith to comprehend the Black Death and the recurring plague epidemics in Egypt. In their minds, the root of the plague was in Allah’s delivery of affliction as a punishment for evil and a test for the virtuous.219 A plague treatise by Ibn Hajar al-​ʿAsqalani (1372–​1449) examined the history of plague, including its religious, climatic, and medical causes and its theological and legal ramifications. He emphasized that it was caused by jinn or demons sent by Allah.220 Others focused on the plague’s source as a dark cloud or vapor, a sign of Allah that moved from land to land.221 To prevent the illness, most authors, even medical ones, mentioned penance, supplication, and prayer, occasionally with some medical intervention, special diet, or particular activities to ward it off.222 During the Black Death, people also sought relief with different types of magic, such as written incantations worn around the neck.223 Communal supplications occurred regularly in Egypt to ask Allah for help during the plague outbreaks.224 Some called for religious reform to cleanse people’s souls and rid communities of the evil spirits. Contemporary sources described how the significant numbers of dead required large-​scale funeral services in the main mosques and processions out to the cemeteries.225 Pious men were hired by mosques to recite prayers for the souls of the dead, and orders were given for people in Cairo to gather in mosques and say certain prayers in unison.226 In short, Cairo’s religious buildings provided a backdrop 2 17 Dols, Black Death, 105–​107. 218 See Byrne, The Black Death, 105–​106 and Jakeman, “Abstract art and communication,” 103–​105, 158 (vol. 1). 219 Dols, Black Death, 84–​97; Irwin, Middle East, 135; and Jakeman, “Abstract art and communication,” 104–​106 (vol. 1). 220 See Dols, Black Death, 110, 116–​117, 329. 221 See Irwin, Middle East, 135 and Dols, Black Death, 10. 222 Dols, Black Death, 98–​103. 223 Byrne, The Black Death, 106. See also Jakeman, “Abstract art and communication,” 106–​107 (vol. 1). 224 Dols, Black Death, 11. 225 Ibid., 11, 182, 240–​241. See also Byrne, The Black Death, 106. 226 Dols, Black Death, 239–​240, 246. See also Jakeman, “Abstract art and communication,” 99–​100, 108–​109 (vol. 1).

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for concerns and rituals related to the plague.227 Prayers and funereal activities likely took place in large congregational mosques like the one in Hasan’s complex, which already had dozens of prayer leaders. The citizens of Cairo faced the plague as a community, and a large complex with the special pilaster decoration probably had a key protective role in that approach.228 6.5

Hasan’s Motivations for the Complex and the Use of the Jerusalemite Pilaster

The waqfiyya for Sultan Hasan’s complex made no direct mention of architectural details or the rationale for the reuse of the pilasters, but it did shed light on the sultan’s motives for building this institution more generally.229 It laid out the details of the complex’s organization and management and described the basic architectural forms in a way that set the stage for the Jerusalemite pilaster on its façade.230 The document designated which of the patron’s lands and properties were to provide income to support the institution in perpetuity. The waqfiyya suggested that the pilasters may have symbolized the sultan’s hope that his charitable foundation would help others and also ensure his own heavenly reward.231 The waqfiyya expressed how Hasan saw himself as involved in the complex’s construction and many benevolent functions: “He, indeed, founded a waqf endowed and dedicated to charitable purposes. Allah perpetuates his kingdom of the founder who gave charity of what will be later mentioned and clarified.”232 The document also stated that “the waqf founder hopes that Allah, be He raised far above, showers his blessings and grace upon him, as Prophet Muhammad, Prayer and Peace be upon him, says

2 27 See Jakeman, “Abstract art and communication,” 99 (vol. 1). 228 See ibid., 109–​110 (vol. 1). 229 On the lack of texts regarding spolia reuse, see e.g. Brenk, “Spolia from Constantine to Charlemagne,” 103 and Bryan Ward-​Perkins, “Re-​using the Architectural Legacy of the Past, ‘entre idéologie et pragmatisme’,” in The Idea and the Ideal of the Town between Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, eds. Gian Pietro Brogiolo and Bryan Ward-​Perkins, The transformation of the Roman world (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 226–​227. 230 Howyda Al-​Harithy, ed. The Waqf Document of Sultan al-​Nasir Hasan b. Muhammad b. Qalawun for his Complex in al-​Rumaila, Bibliotheca Islamica (Beirut: Das Arabisches Buch, 2001). I would like to thank Rafika Zahrouni, former graduate student at Washington University in St. Louis, for her translation of this work for my use here. 231 See ibid., 3–​4. 232 Translation of ibid., 4–​5.

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that the sponsor of the orphans … will be in [the] heavens.”233 Hasan clearly hoped that his charity would abet his entrance into paradise. The creation of Hasan’s charitable complex fit into a propagandistic campaign for the people of Cairo to perceive their patron as a protective ruler who cared for his people, kept illness at bay, treated the poor and the sick, and sponsored prayers at the mosque to aid the souls of the living and deceased. The poor population was a constant in Cairene life.234 They had a difficult day-​to-​day existence that made them reliant on the medical help, education, and water offered by institutions such as Sultan Hasan’s complex.235 For laborers who survived the Black Death, wages increased because the supply of workers decreased, but this slight rise in their standard of living was relative and did not alleviate their struggles overall.236 They continued to turn to the irregular intervention of the state and the elite at times of crisis. Doris Behrens-​Abouseif noted that by building in a neighborhood that was not well-​served previously, Sultan Hasan ingratiated himself with the people and affirmed his authority to yet another group of his subjects.237 Royal tombs were often associated with charity.238 Charitable institutions connected to a highly visible tomb meant that those to whom help was given, whether in the form of education, water, food, or medical care, would be expected to pray in return for the soul of the institution’s founder, who was to be buried within.239 The sultan’s mausoleum reminded the public to help prepare his soul for judgment. As Adam Sabra noted, “Islamic belief holds that the deceased is interrogated about his or her deeds once interred,” so prayers requesting forgiveness just before burial were especially important.240 Those prayers continued long after the moment of death. Visits to tombs and cemeteries were a regular practice, especially on Fridays, to continue to atone for the sins of the deceased and lessen punishment in the afterlife.241 Hasan’s

2 33 234 235 236 237

2 38 239 240 241

Translation of ibid., 3–​4. See Sabra, Poverty and Charity, 121–​123. Ibid., 165. Ibid., 121–​123. In Sultan Hasan’s case, she cautions that contemporary chroniclers did not seem to laud the sultan for his charitable efforts on this complex or link this monument to a particular lofty cause. Yet historians were often critical of the motivations of rulers—​and rightly so—​for their building programs, Behrens-​Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks, 16–​17. See Sabra, Poverty and Charity, 95–​100. Ibid., 99. Ibid., 96, 99. Ibid., 97.

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mausoleum was deliberately located behind the mosque’s qibla wall, and thus in the congregants’ direction of prayer.242 Prayers of the faithful were to waft over his tomb and aid his soul in its transition to the afterlife.243 The waqfiyya document confirmed that the care shown by Sultan Hasan for his people, his concern for his own soul in paradise, the purpose of the complex buildings, and the Jerusalemite pilaster were all interlinked. In addition to its formulaic praises of Allah and glorification of the founder, the document highlighted why a Mamluk patron would establish such an institution: first thing that man saves for doomsday and lays in the presence of his creator during attestation … depends on the good deeds that he advances and the harvest that he sows for the hereafter. What a great harvest it is! It is the charity through which the benefactor hopes to get recompense and retribution.244 The first section concluded by affirming that of all forms of charity, the waqf was most valuable in the eyes of Muhammad because of its ongoing benefits.245 The document stressed that “by endowing the foundation, the founder … assigned ongoing charity for the benefits of the poor and the wretched, the weak and the needy among Muslims.”246 Muslim tradition affirmed that the sultan’s final recompense for his good acts would be meted out in Jerusalem at the Dome of the Rock, pictured on the relief of the Jerusalemite pilaster. Mamluk leaders highlighted a special connection to Jerusalem as the first qibla. Baybars, the first Mamluk sultan, called himself the sultan of two qiblas. Like Baybars, Hasan strengthened his ties to Jerusalem by incorporating a visual reference within his Cairo mosque to Muhammad’s first qibla in the form of the Dome of the Rock.247 Additionally, inscriptions covering the walls of the entryway into Hasan’s complex linked the Cairo site to this Islamic sacred history.248 Above the vestibule flanked by the two crusader pilasters, an inscription from the Qurʾan (24:36–​37) appears in the band just below the muqarnas semi-​dome (Figure 1.2): 242

See Behrens-​Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks, 17–​18. On the antecedents of the mosque/​ mausoleum form, see Hillenbrand, Islamic Architecture, 196. 243 See Sabra, Poverty and Charity, 98–​99. 244 Translation of Al-​Harithy, Waqf Document, 1, ll. 18–​20. 245 Ibid., 2, ll. 11–​13. 246 Translation of ibid., 4, ll. 12–​13. 247 Ibid. 248 Compare John Renard, “Comparative Religious Architecture: Islamic and Hindu Ritual Space,” Religion and the Arts 1, no. 4 (1997): 80.

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(Lit is such a light)/​In houses, which Allah/​Hath permitted to be raised/​ To honour; for the celebration,/​In them, of His name:/​In them is He glorified/​In the mornings and/​In the evenings, (again and again)—​/​ By men whom neither/​Traffic nor merchandise/​Can divert from the Remembrance/​Of Allah, nor from regular prayer,/​Nor from the practice/​ Of regular Charity:/​Their (only) fear is/​For the Day when/​Hearts and eyes/​Will be transformed/​(In a world wholly new).249 These verses followed the Light verse (24:35), which was traditionally set into the décor on a lamp or around a mihrab because it refers to a niche in which a lamp was set to symbolize divine illumination.250 Verse 24:36 refers to mosques (houses) in which individuals who attend to other tenets of the faith such as prayer and charity regularly worshipped. This pendant to the Light verse would have evoked it and would certainly have been recognized by any educated student or congregant entering the structure, many of whom had memorized the Qurʾan.251 Erika Cruikshank Dodd and Shereen Khairallah argued that transferring this directional reminder from the mihrab to the façade made the d­ oorway a symbolic mihrab, signaling the prayer that took place within the complex.252 The inscription may have affirmed the notion of community implicit in the shared focusing of prayer that a mihrab typically provides—​prayer that in Islam’s early years was directed toward Jerusalem, before it was redirected to Mecca.253 The insertion of this pilaster with its representation of the Dome of the Rock may have been intended to evoke the idea of the first qibla.254 Someone reading the inscription above the entrance to the complex would be mindful that praying in the proper way was tied to the concept of final judgment (“For the Day when/​Hearts and eyes/​Will be transformed” 24:37). The portal inscription suggests that, just like those who pray towards the mihrab

2 49 In ʿAli, Qurʾan, 877–​878. 250 Al-​Harithy, Dodd, and Khairallah asserted that the Light verse link lent a special character to the entryway. Compare Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 69–​70 and Erika Cruikshank Dodd and Shereen Khairallah, “The ‘madrasa’ of Sultan Hassan in Cairo,” in The image of the Word: a study of Quranic verses in Islamic architecture, eds. Erika Cruikshank Dodd and Shereen Khairallah (Beirut: American University of Beirut, 1981), 45, 47, 51. See also Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 456–​457 and Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 93–​96. 251 Compare Thackston, “The Role of Calligraphy,” 45. 252 Dodd and Khairallah, “The ‘madrasa’ of Sultan Hassan,” 47. 253 Ibid., 51. Compare Behrens-​Abouseif, “The Façade of the Aqmar Mosque,” 37. On the aesthetic and spiritual working together in architectural symbolism, see Renard, “Comparative Religious Architecture,” 73–​74. 254 Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 457.

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in a mosque, those who enter this doorway were preparing for judgment and a righteous path to paradise with the help of the divine light, proper prayer rituals, and acts of charity.255 Islamic interest in eschatology and the final judgment in Jerusalem was pervasive by the later medieval centuries.256 Through the prayer and religious study conducted in Sultan Hasan’s complex, the visitor and the patron hoped to attain a favorable judgment and a heavenly reward.257 By placing a representation of the Dome of the Rock on the façade along with excerpts from sura 24, the designer was likely alluding to widespread concerns about the end of days, judgment, and paradise, devoutly hoped for by survivors of the plague.258 Additional inscriptions inside the mosque reinforced this concern for judgment and access to paradise. For instance, the mihrab inscription noted that the faithful should turn their faces toward the heavens and the sacred mosque in Mecca, while the larger kufic inscriptions around the upper level of the qibla iwan mention the faithful entering a paradisiacal garden with the blessing of Allah (Figures 6.3 and 6.4).259 The pilaster’s theme of Jerusalem as the potential gateway to Paradise could thus be read throughout the portal, underscoring its purposeful placement on the facade as a signal of messages within. As the Mamluk sultan, Hasan had a duty to protect Jerusalem as a holy city of Islam.260 Even though Jerusalem was under the rule of the provincial governor in Gaza, the Mamluk central government was involved in Jerusalem on administrative, governmental, religious, and practical levels.261 The Mamluks directed the governor, an “amir of forty” (the second highest rank), to assume 255 See Dodd and Khairallah, “The ‘madrasa’ of Sultan Hassan,” 55. See also Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 456; Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 69–​70. 256 Larry Nees questioned whether the creation of the Dome of the Chain in its central Haram al-​Sharif location provided evidence of an early Islamic understanding of judgment in that spot, see Nees, Perspectives, 62, 64–​65. Compare Grabar, The Shape of the Holy, 130–​ 131. For those themes in the Dome of the Rock, see also Lassner, Medieval Jerusalem, 159–​ 160, 163–​176, 192 and Rosen-​Ayalon, Early Islamic Monuments, 28, 46–​69. 257 Though I am not arguing that Hasan’s building should be seen to be a copy of a structure in Jerusalem, as the Mosque of Qalawun has been argued to be derived from the Dome of the Rock, this structure’s clear allusions to Jerusalem would have been evocative, see Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 458. 258 At least one account of a plague-​related event in al-​Azhar mosque in Cairo emphasized the belief in the coming of the Last Judgment, Dols, Black Death, 241. 259 Dodd quoted the mihrab text as 2:139, though the translation noted matches up to 2:144. Sura 48:1–​6 is on the east iwan walls, Dodd and Khairallah, “The ‘madrasa’ of Sultan Hassan,” 47, 51–​57. 260 See Lutfi, Al-​Quds Al-​Mamlûkiyya, 221, 337. 261 The sultans cared for Jerusalem road repairs, water works, and religious institutions in the thirteenth-​fourteenth centuries, ibid., 112, 154–​155, 163.

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responsibility for the Muslim shrines of Jerusalem and to build new, predominantly religious structures such as mausolea, madrasas, khanqahs, and ribats (strongholds also serving as retreats or hostels).262 He was to prepare accommodations for pilgrims to and mystics in the holy city; forty-​three hospices were constructed in the Mamluk era.263 Until 1382, the Bahri Mamluks also worked to make Jerusalem a notable place of Sunni Muslim learning, building twenty-​four madrasas.264 A number of high-​ranking elites constructed monuments and buildings around the Haram al-​Sharif and the Dome of the Rock, reflecting a concentrated interest in this holy site.265 As Sivan pointed out, their building activity showed how the converted Mamluks expressed their orthodoxy in this sacred city.266 Sultan Hasan emphasized his own interest in Jerusalem and the Haram al-​ Sharif by building there himself. In 1361, at the same time he was constructing his complex in Cairo, he founded a small madrasa with two small domes on the western edge of the Haram al-​Sharif.267 Like the institution in Cairo, it included space for all four Sunni schools, although was smaller, with twenty students in each (Figure 6.9).268 Because Hasan was killed before its completion, his faithful mamluk and amir, Manjak al-​Yusufi (formerly his vizier in Egypt), took over the Jerusalem madrasa’s construction and named it al-​Manjakiyya after himself.269 It was located directly in the ring of buildings around the Haram al-​ Sharif, and its immediate view of the Dome of the Rock would certainly have been meaningful to both patrons (Figure 6.10). In addition to Sultan Hasan’s desire to care for his own soul and those of his people, he had a duty as the leader of the Mamluk empire to safeguard the holy sites of Islam within his borders. The Jerusalemite pilaster was not the only component in Hasan’s complex to refer to the holy cities of Islam. 2 62 See ibid., 118, 169 and Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 454. 263 Lutfi, Al-​Quds Al-​Mamlûkiyya, 114. 264 Versus thirteen under the following Burji Mamluks (1382–​1517), ibid., 117. 265 Burgoyne, Mamluk Jerusalem, 33, Fig. 32. See also Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 454. 266 Sivan, “Le caractère sacré de Jérusalem,” 181. 267 He also purportedly supported a maktab al-​sabil or water source in Jerusalem, as well as in Damascus, Hebron, and Gaza, Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 194. 268 Ibid. Kahil published the original document. 269 Meinecke, Die Mamlukische Architektur, vol. 2, 2, 230–​231; Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 194n116; Michael Hamilton Burgoyne, “1260–​1516: The Noble Sanctuary (Al-​Haram al-​ Sharif) under Mamluk Rule—​Architecture,” in Where Heaven and Earth Meet: Jerusalem’s Sacred Esplanade, eds. Oleg Grabar and Benjamin Z. Kedar (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2009), 202–​203; and Burgoyne, Mamluk Jerusalem, 77, 384–​398. Now it houses the Department of Pious Endowments and Islamic Affairs. On Manjak, see Irwin, Middle East, 138–​139.

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­f igure 6.9 Façade, Manjakiyya, Western edge of al-​Haram al-​Sharif, Jerusalem, c. 1361

­f igure 6.10 View east from the Manjakiyya towards the Dome of the Rock, al-​ Haram al-​Sharif, Jerusalem

Certain decorative elements and inscriptions alluded also to Mecca as part of a larger thematic reference to sacred Muslim cities in the sultan’s realm.270 Inscriptions at the Sultan Hasan complex referenced also the permanent qibla, the most holy Muslim city of Mecca. The Light sura was connected to sura 9, Repentance, which discussed pilgrimage to and taking care of the mosque in Mecca.271 The link between these inscriptions was both metaphorical and literal, because the vestibule behind the portal featured a Qurʾanic excerpt in a carved stone inscription band high on the walls (9:18–​25). It reads, in part (9:18–​19):

270 On the general holiness of Qurʾanic inscriptions, see Thackston, “The Role of Calligraphy,” 45. 271 See Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 73–​74.

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The mosques of Allah/​Shall be visited and maintained/​By such as believe in Allah/​And the Last Day, establish/​Regular prayers, and practise/​ Regular charity, and fear/​None (at all) except Allah./​It is they who are expected/​To be on true guidance. Do ye make the giving/​Of drink to pilgrims,/​Or the maintenance of/​ The Sacred Mosque, equal/​To (the pious service of) those/​Who believe in Allah/​And the Last Day, and strive/​With might and main/​In the cause of Allah?/​They are not comparable/​In the sight of Allah:/​And Allah guides not/​Those who do wrong.272 Although practically illegible from the ground, this text reflected both the viewpoint of the patron and the prayer functions of the building.273 It reinforced that this complex was a house of worship in which religious duties should be carried out without disturbance from the outside world. This inscription may have reminded the faithful of another connection between the sultan and Mecca. The Rumayla adjacent to the complex was where preparatory ceremonies for pilgrims departing to make the hajj to Mecca and Jerusalem took place and was the starting point for their caravans.274 The vestibule inscription thus references past and future pilgrimages to Mecca while implying a focus on Allah and on judgment day in Jerusalem. Allusions to Mecca called attention to Hasan’s important responsibilities in the holy cities. The fifteenth-​century chronicler Ibn Taghribirdi said that Hasan “accomplished glorious deeds in the honored city of Mecca” and that “His name is written on the eastern side of the holy mosque. The existing door of the Kaʿba was made during his reign. He also provided the cover for the Kaʿba. He was charitable to the people of Mecca and Medina.”275 Hasan established good relations with local rulers in these holy cities and was proud that they were part of his realm.276 He defeated a leader of Yemen who threatened Mecca in order to keep the city open and in Mamluk hands.277 With its 2 72 In ʿAli, Qurʾan, 442. 273 See Kahil, Sultan Hasan Complex, 107–​108, 263, pl. 153–​155. 274 Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 129. See also Rudolf Kriss and Hubert Kriss-​Heinrich, Volksglaube im Bereich des Islam. Wallfahrtswesen und Heiligenverehrung, vol. i (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1960), 26 and Elad, “Pilgrims,” 305–​306. 275 In Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 74. See Abu al-​Mahasin Yusuf Ibn Taghribirdi, al-​Nujum al-​Zahira fi muluk Misr wa-​al-​Qahirah, ed. Muhammad Hussein Shams al-​Din, vol. 10 (Beirut: Dar al-​Kutub al-​ʿIlmiyah, 1992), 248. See also Al-​Harithy, “Architectural Form,” 51. 276 Al-​Harithy, “Architectural Form,” 51. 277 Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 74.

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allusions to one of the holy cities of Islam, the Jerusalem pilaster’s placement on the facade of his Cairene complex may have been a strategic reminder of the sultan’s generosity and piety as a supporter of Muslim sacred sites at home and abroad. Together these elements emphasized the orthodox leadership of the young Sunni sultan and his attention to his people in a bid to influence public perceptions as he jockeyed for power.278 6.6

Conclusions

Examination of the purposeful insertion of the Jerusalemite pilaster and its mate into the portal of the massive Sultan Hasan complex in Cairo reveals multilayered meanings (Figures 1.1, 1.9, and 6.1). One broad theme suggested by these pilasters was the constant struggle for control of the Mamluk empire, a creative and destructive process that highlighted the identity of individual rulers. The Mamluk sultans—​who began as a special class of enslaved young men and then rose to become the orthodox Muslim leaders of a Mediterranean empire—​relied on a network of relationships to destroy rival regimes and consolidate power. In that cycle of political destruction and creation, the production of art and architecture was essential because it created a stable, visible sign of rule in an otherwise unstable polity.279 This chapter focused on Sultan Hasan’s creative reuse of an architectural fragment that was severed from its original context by the destructive political and military processes of his predecessors. The Jerusalemite pilaster thus represented the annihilation of crusader Jerusalem and the Mamluk’s subsequent control of the Mediterranean; it was an enduring sign of shifting hegemony and identity. The special connections between Jerusalem and the Last Judgment manifested in the pilaster’s iconography and its placement in the years after the Black Death. From the perspective of Cairo’s suffering, the paradisiacal associations of King David’s city of Jerusalem would have been comforting. Allah would eventually appear on the Haram al-​Sharif, gateway to the heavens, for the final judgment. The Dome of the Rock represented on the pilaster alluded to Allah’s will and his power to help Hasan’s people gain access to paradise. The inscription from sura 24 above the portal emphasized these concerns about final days and judgment. Through the prayer and religious study conducted

278 See Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 455. On the didactic function of architectural symbolism, see Renard, “Comparative Religious Architecture,” 77–​81. 279 See Behrens-​Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks, 15. See also Watenpaugh, “Review,” 374–​379.

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inside the complex, the visitor and patron could hope for more ready access to the heavens.280 The idea that the façade of a religious institution in Cairo might deliver a message to viewers was not new in Cairo or in Islamic culture more generally.281 The grand size, great expense, and attention to details demonstrated the patron’s interests in this commemorative complex. Given the short but complicated life of Sultan Hasan, it was not surprising that such an ambitious undertaking as this mosque-​madrasa-​mausoleum-​hospital and its pair of crusader pilasters should have reflected such a variety of meanings to the diverse audiences of the patron. That the complex was intimately and immediately identified with Hasan was clear from people’s reactions to the collapse of one of its minarets in 1361. Some saw this as a sign of his reign’s imminent fall, and indeed he was assassinated thirty-​three days later.282 Just as Sultan Hasan’s attempts to construct his rule and reify his authority were not completed, the complex remained unfinished at his death. Bashir Agha al-​Jamdar, the sultan’s valet, oversaw the mausoleum dome, the fountain, marble paneling, inscriptions, and surface decoration up to 1363 although some aspects such as the façade were never finished.283 Scholars have debated whether Hasan’s complex expressed his caring for or domination over his people.284 I would argue that the pilasters provide evidence for both. Their visual themes of Jerusalem especially demonstrated the religious nature of Hasan’s contribution to his fourteenth-​century realm. The pilasters’ status as spolia alluded to their source in Jerusalem and their

2 80 See Taragan, “Image of the Dome,” 458. 281 The Fatimid al-​Aqmar mosque in Cairo (1125–​26) is a relevant comparison. Compare Behrens-​Abouseif, “The Façade of the Aqmar Mosque,” 29–​38 and Caroline Williams, “The Cult of ʿAlid Saints in the Fatimid Monuments of Cairo, Part i: The Mosque of al-​ Aqmar,” Muqarnas, 1 (1983): 37–​52. 282 Al-​Maqrīzī and Smith (trans.), “Mosque of Sultan Hasan,” par. 6 and 7. See Al-​Harithy, “Architectural Form,” 41. 283 Al-​Maqrīzī and Smith (trans.), “Mosque of Sultan Hasan,” par. 7. See Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 69. Sherif notes that if truly completed, it would have been filled with inlay, veneer, and decorative bands like the elaborate Gök Medrese in Sivas, Turkey (c. 1271), Sherif, “Layers of Meaning,” 133. 284 Compare Al-​Harithy, “Complex of Sultan Hasan,” 69–​72 and R. Stephen Humphreys, “The Expressive Intent of the Mamluk Architecture of Cairo: A Preliminary Essay,” Studia Islamica 35 (1972): 117, 119. Stephen Humphreys commented that the building promoted the common Mamluk command of the ruler over his subjects. In comparison, al-​Harithy considered the building itself as not typically Mamluk and saw it as a manifestation of Hasan’s political reform and as an appeal to and in sympathy with the local people of Egypt.

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apotropaic use reflected the ruler’s concerns for the spiritual and physical needs of his people and himself. At the same time, the pilasters demonstrated Hasan’s political claim to earthly power and religious authority across his entire empire.

Conclusions This book has addressed how the sacred city of Jerusalem developed as a concept and point of reference in the minds of its medieval visitors and inhabitants. It examined how the city’s key buildings were represented in ­architectural sculpture, manuscripts, painted glass, and inlaid metalwork that were produced and used in places under both Christian and Islamic rule over two centuries. These artworks revealed approaches to the holy city that were as diverse as their media. At the same time, they demonstrated common reactions to its gain or loss, displaying architecture as a physical sign of the city and reimaginings intended to keep Jerusalem in the minds and memories of its medieval visitors and even of those who had never set foot in the holy city. Examining each object for its details and context showed how these artworks were significant for their expression of varied cultural concepts of Jerusalem from the twelfth into the fourteenth century that last until today. Across these artworks, individuals displayed what Italo Calvino called “affinity and contrast” to Jerusalem by representing its key buildings as religious and political instruments that could express power over the city, console people for its loss, persuade others to acquire it, provide spiritual guidance, offer protection, and convey its mythic status.1 Analyses of each artwork revealed that people’s interactions with Jerusalem’s holy sites in the Middle Ages were complex because of the city’s sacredness to three faiths. People recalled some sites (established “affinity”) and rejected others (established “contrast”) based on strong emotions inspired by their religious perspectives and by their own faith’s symbolic or actual struggle for possession of Jerusalem.2 The affinity in the Riccardiana Psalter images (in Chapter 2) showed an attempt to possess the actual city spiritually through representation of the Temple as the Dome of the Rock. This historical moment in the thirteenth century may have been close enough to the Franks’ possession of the city up to 1187 that it reflected personal knowledge and projected hope for its eventual return custody, which did in fact occur from 1229 to 1239. That story compares well to the contrast found in the Clement Bible (in Chapter 5), which represented the Temple in an uncommon Roman form. This diverse visual aspect symbolized the Neapolitan king’s greater physical distance from the city and his relinquishment of his political presence there. 1 Calvino, Invisible Cities, 15–​16, on Zora. 2 See Grabar and Kedar, Where Heaven and Earth Meet, 9–​13. On emotion and memory, see Carruthers and Ziolkowski, “General Introduction,” 8–​9.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | DOI:10.1163/9789004525894_009

340 Conclusions These artworks demonstrate a cycle of gains and losses of the city by diverse Christian and Muslim factions. These shifts engendered political as well as religious and devotional changes that then altered people’s experience and knowledge of the city, leading to more political change, et cetera. The Riccardiana Psalter and Freer Canteen (in Chapters 2 and 4) displayed Jerusalem sites as part of a past sacred, Christological narrative. At the same time, they reveal knowledge of those sites through a display of the city’s contemporary architectural and landscape forms and a familiarity with the devotional actions that took place there, recalling Christ’s life through the liturgies that commemorated him even when the patron was far from the city. These examples also represent how alterations to city access and control brought about inevitable changes to the medieval liturgies and ceremonies that took place—​and thus to the shape, use, and perceptions of buildings. The relief pilaster now in Cairo and the glass beakers in Baltimore (in Chapters 1, 3, and 6) convey acquaintance with specific buildings in the holy city as a context for the religious and political networks of their audiences. In other words, a Jerusalem building rarely existed alone but contained connections to other monuments because of symbolic meanings and actual rituals. Some of these works suggested how distant viewers could incorporate the holy city into their lives through tactile contact with its representation. The Riccardiana Psalter, the glass beakers, and the canteen (in Chapters 2, 3, and 4) all provided a physical interaction with Jerusalem by the turn of a folio, the action of drinking, or the gestures of dispensing a liquid. The Christian owners of these artworks seemed to grasp at the city as it slipped from their fingers. Analyzing these diverse artworks revealed some artistic trends about Jerusalem’s architectural representation over time.3 The twelfth-​and early thirteenth-​century images tended to be more precise and specific in their architectural imagery. The Jerusalemite pilaster (late twelfth century) included elements such as the rarely depicted curia regis to emphasize the crusaders’ political presence in the city. The Riccardiana Psalter (1220s–​30s) (in Chapter 2) encouraged its female owner to experience certain holy sites associated with Christ visually as well as liturgically by including such details as the belltower of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, perhaps because the book’s owner could not be there herself. This specificity may have been due to a greater ease with which European Christians could visit in the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries and the concomitant attention paid to the holy city in texts. In the mid-​ thirteenth-​century, the glass beakers and the Freer Canteen (in Chapters 3 and 4) 3 Compare Folda, “Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre,” 164.

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showed continued connections with the city in the minds of their owners and also increasing exchange of influence across cultures. Their imagery revealed how Eastern Christian patrons could continue to engage with the city, keeping Christian traditions alive through liturgical and textual references while also integrating developing Muslim lore about Jerusalem. As the fourteenth century progressed, both Christians and Muslims staked their claim to Jerusalem’s sanctity by representing past architectural imagery rather than contemporary structures as they appeared in the moment. As Europeans became increasingly distant from Jerusalem in time and space, the Clement Bible (c. 1330–​34) (in Chapter 5) demonstrated that Neapolitan courtiers of Robert i, who claimed kingship of Jerusalem, favored a symbolic visual association with the holy city. The Bible displayed an unusual Jerusalem Temple form while explicitly conveying its worth as a part of the biblical narrative and as a symbol of contemporary Mediterranean tensions. It showed the Temple as the Pantheon and connected Rome to Jerusalem for reasons tied closely to the king’s local concerns, making the Pantheon/​Temple remote yet still potent. The Mamluk sultan Hasan (in Chapter 6) coopted Christian crusader representations of Jerusalem architecture in the Muslim context of his massive complex in Cairo (1356–​61). He reappropriated the holy city’s past appearances and meanings to underscore the long-​standing religious and political significance of Jerusalem to Islam, which included its paradisiacal potential as the gateway to heaven. At his time, these spoliated pilasters also had apotropaic value that was especially important after the ravages of the Black Death. The works discussed in this book exposed some modern terminological complexities and connections in relation to the multicultural settings in the medieval eastern Mediterranean and Levant. The term “crusader,” sometimes applied to the pilaster, the Riccardiana Psalter, the beakers, and the Freer Canteen (in Chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4), typically refers to a culture of western European Catholic individuals undertaking expeditions to the Holy Land from the late eleventh to the thirteenth centuries.4 Exploring these objects beyond the European, Catholic context usefully opened the discussion to show the interactions of the many cultures present in the region and the rich variety of interconnected meanings implicit in the word crusader. The context of the Clement Bible provides evidence of an expanded meaning for papal crusades beyond the Holy Land. Medieval “crusades” had a penitential theme in common with the purpose of many of these objects, with allusions to the city of 4 See Riley-​Smith, What Were the Crusades?, 1–​8.

342 Conclusions Jerusalem often involving concern for the redemptive place of the holy city in all of the Abrahamic faiths.5 The enamelled glass beakers and Freer Canteen (in Chapters 3 and 4) have often been called “Islamic” for the materials and methods used to create them, although my analysis highlighted their Eastern Christian iconography in addition to their allusions to Islamic understandings of Jerusalem and Bethlehem. These artworks demonstrate how Jerusalem had an overlapping though distinct religious signification in Christianity and Islam. While Muslim texts promoted Jerusalem’s holiness especially beginning in the tenth century, visualizations of the city in Islamic arts did not materialize in the same way that they did in art and texts produced for Christians. Muslims and Christians shared an interest in sites such as the Dome of the Rock (on the beakers and canteen) and the cradle of Jesus (on the canteen). The beakers suggest that multiple Christian groups were interacting in certain medieval religious practices. They also beg the question of whether a term more fitting than “Islamic” glass might be useful for pieces that clearly reflect the interests of medieval Christian along with Islamic culture in the Levant.6 While clearly the dominant culture c. 1260 was Islamic and the prevailing language was Arabic, the beakers suggest that a Christian patron lived in that world and worked with either Muslim or Christian artists to create them. The beakers and canteen suggested how the city’s mythic status and its important sites could resonate for Muslims and Christians in similar ways and reveal cross-​pollination of their texts and traditions. The movement of the relief pilaster from a crusader site in Jerusalem to the entrance of Sultan Hasan’s Cairene complex (in Chapter 6) indicated that the Mamluks’ association of Jerusalem with power and sanctity was similar to that of the crusader kings almost two hundred years earlier. Perhaps the descriptive terms should be material, regional, or chronological in nature, emphasizing Syria and Egypt in the later Middle Ages rather than the overly general term “Islamic” glass. These six case studies of the representation of Jerusalem from c. 1160 to 1356 demonstrated that neither the architecture nor the holiness of Jerusalem was stable in the Middle Ages. The city’s identity changed with each set of owners, who altered its architecture to fit their needs and interests. They transformed 5 Ibid., 7–​8. 6 See, e.g., William Gudenrath, “A Survey of Islamic Glassworking and Glass-​Decorating Techniques,” in Glass of the Sultans, eds. Stefano Carboni and David Whitehouse (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001), 46–​67. Stefano Carboni has focused more on the geo-​ political naming of this glass from Islamic lands, for instance, Carboni, Glass from Islamic Lands and Carboni, “Glass Production,” 3–​7.

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the city’s functions and meanings for its audiences and artists, enveloping it in a cycle of continuous transformation. The mystique of the medieval holy city is displayed today through the continuing modern struggle, which shapes the city’s form and meaning by referring to that distant past in order to empower diverse peoples to claim and reimagine its present and future for themselves.

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Institut Catholique de Paris, Bibliothèque de Fels. “L’évangéliaire copte-​arabe de la Bibliothèque de Fels: Les enluminures.” https://​ipac.icp.fr/​uPor​tal/​page/​decouv​rir/​ expo/​eva​ngel​iair​e_​co​pte/​evangi​les.htm. King’s College. “The St Albans Psalter.” University of Aberdeen. Accessed 15 November 2018, https://​www.abdn.ac.uk/​stal​bans​psal​ter/​engl​ish/​index.shtml. Marjanovic, Pavle. “Anastasis, Chora Church, Istanbul, Deposit photos, #3030769.” Accessed 4 January 2022, http://​deposi​tpho​tos.com/​3030​769/​stock-​photo-​The -​Anasta​sis-​Desc​ent-​into-​Hell.html. Metropolitan Museum of Art. “The Adoration of the Magi c. 1340–​43.” New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2020. Accessed 20 January 2020, https://​www.met mus​eum.org/​art/​col​lect​ion/​sea​rch/​459​133. Metropolitan Museum of Art.“Dirham of Nur al-​Din Muhammad (r. 1167–​1185): Winged Figures Above an Enthroned Figure A.H. 576 /​A.D. 1180–​1181.” New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2021. Accessed 7 January 2022, https://​www.metmus​ eum.org/​art/​col​lect​ion/​sea​rch/​651​177. Metropolitan Museum of Art. “Marble strigilated sarcophagus.” New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2007. Accessed 22 June 2021, https://​www.metmus​ eum.org/​art/​col​lect​ion/​sea​rch/​257​781. Metropolitan Museum of Art. “Pyx with the Women at Christ’s Tomb.” New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2007. Accessed 22 June 2021, http://​www.metmus​ eum.org/​toah/​works-​of-​art/​17.190.57. Metropolitan Museum of Art. “The Nativity c. 1406–​10.” New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2020. Accessed 20 January 2020, https://​www.metmus​eum.org/​art/​ col​lect​ion/​sea​rch/​459​007.

Index Abd al-​Malik (or ʿAbd al-​Malik ibn Marwan) 6, 84, 129 Abu Ghosh  Church of the Resurrection 38, 38n.60, 355 Abu Mansur Ali ibn Ahmad Asadi Tusi 184 Abu ʿUbayd ibn ʿAmr al-​Bakri 197 Acard of Arrouaise 209 Acre  Capital of Kingdom of Jerusalem 7, 15, 44, 65, 140, 165, 171, 172, 237, 238, 253, 291, 306 manuscripts 104–​105, 147, 154 St. Andrew 306 St. Anne 71, 105 St. John, Hospitaller church 44, 237 St. Mary Magdalen 71, 105 Aimery of Limoges 149 Aimery of Lusignan 51 Aix-​en-​Provence  Musée Granet  Nativity panel 261n.58 al-​Ashraf Khalil (or al-​Malik al-​Ashraf Khalil) 306 Aleppo 160, 161n.161, 165, 321 Alfonso I/​V  249 al-​Hakim 300 al-​Harawi (or Abuʿl-​Hasan ʿAli ibn Abi Bakr ʿAli al-​Harawi) 298, 299 al-​Hariri 210n.135, 224 al-​Idrisi, Muhammad 45 al-​Kamil (or al-​Malik al-​Kamil Nasir al-​Din Abu al-​Maʿali Muhammad) 66, 130, 149n.87, 200 al-​Mansur Ali ii (or al-​Mansur Alaʾ ad-​ Din Ali ibn Shaʾban ibn Husayn ibn Muhammad ibn Qalawun) 302 al-​Maqrizi (or Taqi al-​Din Ahmad ibn ʿAli al-​ Maqrizi) 306, 313, 322 al-​Muʿazzam ʿIsa (or Sharaf al-​Din al-​ Muʿazzam ʿIsa) 34 al-​Muqaddasi (or Muhammad ibn Ahmad al-​Muqaddasi) 201 al-​Nasir Muhammad (or al-​Nasir Muhammad ibn Qalawun) 44, 262, 264, 299, 305, 306, 310, 312, 316, 317

al-​Salih Ismaʿil (or al-​Salih Imad ad-​Din abuʿl Fida Ismaʿil) 318 al-​Salih Salih (or al-​Malik al-​Salih Salah al-​Din Salih ibn Muhammad ibn Qalawun) 301, 310 al-​Walid (or al-​Walid ibn ʿAbd al-​Malik) 200 al-​Zahiri, Khalil ibn Shahin 311 Amalric ii 253n.33 Amalric or Amaury 45, 51, 196 amir 34, 206, 289, 302, 306, 310, 310n.118, 311, 311n.122, 312, 314, 317, 317n.157, 317n.158, 323, 332, 333 ampulla/​e 99, 115, 116, 228n.217 Anastasis 61, 92, 97, 97n.125, 98, 98n.126 Anastasis Typikon 142, 142n.62, 144, 153, 155, 156, 168, 225, 225n.208 Anjou Bible 242, 242n.3, 265–​272, 278, 281, 283 Annunciation 38, 61, 73, 74, 76, 230 Annunciation to the Shepherds 61, 73, 77, 188, 196, 205 Apollonia (also known as Arsuf and Arsur) 159 apotropaia 150, 320, 321, 322, 323, 325, 326, 338, 341 Arabic xii, 8, 14, 82, 123, 150, 153, 158, 159, 162, 163, 164, 165, 170, 171, 184, 200, 204, 207, 229, 233, 235, 236, 241, 300, 310, 320, 323, 325, 342 Arbequina. See olive trees Armenian Orthodox 8, 142, 147, 152, 156, 157, 169, 206, 236, 238, 285, 319 Artuqid dynasty 192 Ascension 61, 99, 100, 106, 139 Assisi, San Francesco 149n.87, 251 Assizes of Jerusalem 54, 56 atabeg 160, 206 Atlit castle 159 Augustinian order 45, 46, 48, 49, 58, 130, 146, 203, 285 Avignon 247, 248, 249, 270, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277 awlad al-​nas 311, 311n.123, 312 Ayn Jalut (or ʿAyn Jalut) 166, 166n.190 Ayyubid dynasty 7, 15, 29, 30, 32, 34, 45, 54, 59, 65, 66, 86, 119, 124, 130, 156, 162, 163,

Index 164, 182, 183, 206, 212, 220, 227, 231, 238, 239, 241, 286, 291, 295, 298, 300, 303, 304, 315, 322 Babylon 5, 246, 247, 254, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277 Badr al-​Din LuʾLuʾ 206, 234 Baghdad 162, 224 Baldus de Ubaldus 276 Baldwin i 51, 53, 53n.119, 56 Baldwin ii 46, 56 Baldwin iii 51 Baldwin iv 54 Baldwin v 35, 56 Baltimore  Walters Art Museum  ms w.142 55n.128 ms w.152 107n.165 object 47.17 128–​135, 146 object 47.18 128, 135–​141 object 71.483 89n.93 objects 47.17 (large beaker) and 47.18 (small beaker). See glass beakers Baraka 302 Barletta  Archivio della Chiesa del Santo Sepolcro  MS s.n. See Barletta ordinal or breviary  Sant’Andrea 47, 50 St. Samuel Monastery 71 Barletta ordinal or breviary 96n.117, 104n.152, 142, 142n.62, 144, 145, 153, 154, 154n.123, 155, 156, 157, 167n.196, 168, 225, 226n.208 Barquq 302 Baybars (or al-​Malik al-​Zahir Rukn al-​Din al-​ Salihi Baybars al-​Bunduqdari) 159, 166, 166n.190, 167, 304, 330 Baybars II (or al-​Malik al-​Muzaffar Rukn al-​Din Baybars al-​Jashankir al-​Mansuri) 323 Benedict xii 248, 278 Benedict xiii 249 Benedict, saint 70, 114 Benedictine order 39, 70, 71, 105, 106, 109, 110, 113, 114, 248 Benham, Mar, saint 193, 194 Berlin  Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Bode Museum  ivory no. 2108 87n.87

395 Bethlehem  Church of the Nativity 38, 77, 79, 80, 82, 196, 199, 200, 212n.142, 223, 238, 260, 260n.52, 261, 285 Black Death 290, 294, 319, 320, 322, 326, 327, 329, 332, 336, 341 Brussels  Bibliothèque royal de Belgique  ms 9823/​9824 140n.55 Burchard of Mount Sion 228 Byzantine art 25, 37, 61, 71, 73, 74, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 89, 90, 92, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 103, 107, 114, 130, 138, 139, 150, 195, 196, 197, 204, 206, 207, 209, 210, 218, 229, 261, 304, 320, 324 Byzantine empire 5, 19, 83, 95, 107, 187, 195, 219, 253 Cairo  Citadel 262, 302, 304, 310, 315, 316, 317, 318 Coptic Museum  icon of Mar Benham and Mart Sarah 193 Khanqah-​mausoleum of Baybars II 323 Maydan al-​Rumayla 302, 315, 316, 335 Mosque-​khanqah of Amir Shayku 323 Mosque-​madrasa-​hospital-​mausoleum of Hasan 9, 15, 17, 30, 287–​338 Jerusalemite pilaster. See Jerusalemite pilaster  Cambrai  Médiathèque municipale  MS 466 19, 19n.12, 21n.15, 23, 25, 27, 28, 47, 49, 90, 90n.98, 131, 131n.26, 140n.55, 255, 291, 291n.14 Cambridge  Fitzwilliam Museum  MS 288 113n.204 MS 300 113n.204 MS 36-​1950 113n.204 Carobert (or Charles Robert) 268 Cava Dei Tirreni  Badia di Cava 106 Badia di Cava, Biblioteca  MS 22 106, 106n.161 Cavallini, Pietro 9, 243 Charles i 107, 253, 253n.32, 253n.33, 268, 269 Charles ii 268

396 Index Charles Martel 268 Chinese art 186, 319 Cistercian order 71, 105, 108n.172 Clement Bible 9, 242–​286, 242n.1, 339, 341 Clement vi 262, 278 Clement vii 242, 248, 249 coats of arms 185, 248, 249, 268, 269, 282 Conques  Saint-​Foi 96 Constantine i 6, 85, 195, 209 Coptic Christian 8, 145, 146, 146n.79, 147, 147n.80, 147n.83, 148, 152, 163, 164, 164n.176, 165, 167, 170, 172, 188, 193, 219n.180, 229, 232n.241, 300 Cradle of Jesus (or Mahd Issa) 78, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 342 crusader 2, 6, 7, 8, 9, 12, 13, 14, 19, 30, 32, 34, 35, 36, 41, 44, 46, 48, 53, 57, 59, 65, 66, 83, 85, 86, 87, 90, 91, 95, 96, 97, 104, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 124, 130, 132, 134, 135, 136, 139, 141, 159, 189, 196, 202, 206, 209, 212, 215, 218, 219, 221, 224, 236, 258, 283, 291, 292, 296, 297, 298, 299, 304, 305, 306, 307, 309, 313, 314, 318, 319, 321, 322, 323, 325, 330, 336, 337, 340, 341 crusades 13, 41, 43, 54, 59, 108, 144, 152, 223, 240, 279, 341 Da Scorno, Sister Margherita 71 Damascus 165, 185, 285, 296, 318 Great Mosque 296 Daniel the Abbot 85, 95, 97, 131, 154, 216 Daniel, prophet 244, 246 David Gate 298 David, biblical king 5, 27, 48, 56, 91, 97, 106, 109, 255, 270, 297, 298, 336 Deir al-​Fakhoury 146 Deir al-​Surian 170, 188, 235, 236 Deir Mar Benham 193, 194, 240 Deir Mar Hananiya 188 Deir Mar Mattai 137, 188, 206 Deir Mar Musa al-​Habashi 147n.85, 149, 156 dikka 33, 309 Divine Office 111, 112, 114, 117, 285 Doha  Museum of Islamic Art  MS 267.1998 4n.14 object MW. 483.2007 231n.233 Dominican order 71, 264, 272, 286

Easter 70, 96, 97, 114, 142, 153, 156, 223 Eastern Christian 2, 3, 151, 156, 163, 164, 165, 167, 168, 169, 170, 196, 212, 220, 223, 224, 227, 229, 232, 235, 236, 237, 240, 241, 261, 341, 342 Egeria 115, 152, 153 Elmacin, George (or Ibn al-​ʿAmid) 165 Emmaus. See Abu Ghosh Entry of Christ into Jerusalem 61, 86, 87, 137, 141, 142, 144, 178, 223, 225, 227, 228, 238, 270 Fadaʾil Bayt al-​Maqdis or Fadaʾil al-​Quds. See Merits of Jerusalem Fatimid dynasty 15, 65, 214, 291, 300, 337n.281 firmani 263, 263n.65 Florence  Biblioteca Nazionale  MS G 4 936 255n.35 Biblioteca Riccardiana  MS 227 xv, 81, 81n.60 MS 323. See Riccardiana Psalter Francis, saint 148 Franciscan order 102, 148, 255, 256, 259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 268, 280, 281, 283, 284, 285, 286 Franconi, Federico 272 Franks 6, 15, 17, 19, 21, 25, 27, 29, 32, 33, 38, 41, 44, 45, 46, 48, 49, 50, 51, 53, 54, 56, 57, 59, 90, 130, 136, 137, 140, 152, 153, 155, 159, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 202, 203, 209, 219, 220, 237, 238, 291, 292, 298, 306, 307, 339 Frederick ii 41, 65, 66, 67, 68, 73, 86, 107, 130, 154, 200, 298 Freer Canteen 8, 176–​241, 340, 341, 342 furusiyya exercises. See tournament Fustat 160, 161 Girona  Cathedral  ms Núm. Inv. 7 (11) 150n.100 glass beakers 8, 123–​175, 340, 341, 342 glass production 124, 128, 158, 159, 160, 161, 168, 171, 172, 174, 185, 342 Golden Age (Coptic and Syriac) 165, 167 Golden Legend 120, 139, 139n.50

Index

397

hajj 335 Hama 160, 185, 318 Harrowing of Hell. See Anastasis Hasan (or al-​Nasir Hasan ibn Muhammad ibn Qalawun) 15, 287, 288, 289, 290, 292, 294, 296, 298, 299, 301, 302, 305, 307, 309, 310, 311, 313, 314, 315, 317, 318, 322, 326, 328, 329, 330, 332, 333, 335, 336, 337, 338 Helena, saint 85, 195, 209 Henry i 253 Henry vii 278 Hildesheim  Dombibliothek  MS St. Godehard 1 134n.35, 216, 216n.157 Histoire d’Outremer (or History of Deeds Done Beyond the Sea) 55, 132, 147, 216, 237 Hodegetria 114, 186n.37, 187, 187n.43, 188, 188n.44, 192, 227 Honorius iii 66 horses 182, 183, 184, 185, 194, 206, 231, 232, 264 Hospitallers of St. John order 41, 44, 45, 106, 155, 159, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 222, 223, 226, 227, 236, 238, 253n.33, 263 Hugh iii 253n.33 Hugh iv 57 hunting 110, 185, 231

Ibn Iyas, Muhammad 311 Ibn Khaldun (or Abu Zayd ʿAbd al-​Rahman ibn Muhammad ibn Khaldun) 325 Ibn Sulayman, Muqatil 200 Ibn Taghribirdi (or Abu al-​Mahasin Yusuf ibn Taghribirdi) 311, 335 icon 37, 57, 101, 114, 170, 182, 187, 189, 193, 239 Imola  Biblioteca comunale  MS 100 114, 114n.206 Innocent iv 276 inscriptions 8, 14, 52, 71, 84, 113, 127, 128, 158, 159, 162, 163, 164, 165, 167, 170, 171, 178, 183, 213, 227, 229, 233, 234, 235, 236, 241, 271, 293, 312, 318, 325, 330, 331, 332, 334, 335, 336, 337 interlace 19, 35, 43, 47, 107, 291, 323, 324, 325 Isabel or Isabella ii (or Yolande) of Brienne 66, 67, 67n.16, 68n.17, 107 Isabel or Isabella of England 67 Isabella i of Jerusalem 253n.33 Islamic art 4, 7, 8, 13, 14, 30, 124, 127, 130, 138, 149, 150, 158, 162, 168, 176, 182, 183, 184, 192, 201, 202, 209, 223, 229, 233, 235, 241, 293, 296, 299, 302, 304, 307, 318, 319, 320, 321, 325, 330, 337, 342 israʾ 4, 6, 23, 129, 295 Istanbul  Church of the Holy Savior in the Chora (or Kariye Camii) 98 Topkapı Sarayı Museum Library  Hazine 2154 4n.16 Italy 41, 45, 57, 73, 84, 89, 243, 249, 269, 274, 275, 276, 277, 278, 279, 282 Italy, central 42, 269 Italy, southern 39, 41, 47, 57, 61, 67, 71, 73, 74, 103, 105, 107, 107n.168, 108, 244, 247, 248, 268, 278, 282

Ibn ʿAbdallah al-​Salihi, al-​Hujayj 312, 318 Ibn ʿAbid Rabbih 201 Ibn al-​ʿArabi 297 Ibn al-​Murajja (or Abu al-​Maʿali al-​Musharraf ibn al-​Murajja ibn Ibrahim al-​ Maqdisi) 201, 295, 297 Ibn Bilik al-​Muhsini, Muhammad 296, 312, 318 Ibn Hajar al-​ʿAsqalani 327

Jacobite Orthodox. See Syrian Orthodox Jacobus de Voragine 120 Jacobus of San Gimignano 121n.239 Jacobus of Verona 285 Jacques de Vitry 119 James ii of Aragon 264 Jerusalem  al-​Aqsa Mosque 33, 34, 35, 36, 46, 86, 201, 293, 295, 298, 309, 323, 324

Greek (or Byzantine) Orthodox 142n.62, 147, 152, 153, 169, 218n.170, 219n.180, 225, 225n.208, 236, 238, 259n.49, 285 Gregory ix 66, 154n.122 Gregory x 253 Guelph League 278 Guérin, Roger 263, 263n.67, 263n.68, 285 Guy of Lusignan 57

398 Index Jerusalem (cont.) al-​Haram al-​Sharif (or Noble Sanctuary) 6, 23, 30, 32, 33, 34, 35, 41, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 66, 97, 129, 151, 152, 197, 200, 201, 202, 203, 205, 212, 219, 220, 238, 249, 285, 293, 294, 295, 309, 333, 336 Anastasis Rotunda 19, 23, 28, 48, 50, 51, 56, 87, 95, 98, 116, 119, 131, 131n.27, 132, 134, 135, 147, 153, 154, 215n.155, 216, 218, 299 Ancient Temple 5, 6, 23, 48, 209, 254, 256 Armenian Gardens 50 Bible Lands Museum  object no. 1057 133, 133n.34 Cenaculum 90, 91, 92, 102, 103, 255, 256, 258, 259, 263 Church of the Ascension 99, 135, 139, 140, 141, 144, 152, 153, 154, 155 Church of the Holy Sepulcher 2, 6, 7, 8, 19, 21, 23, 32, 33, 35, 36, 43, 45n.81, 48, 48n.100, 49, 50, 50n.108, 55, 55n.128, 56, 58, 59, 67n.16, 78n.53, 87, 94, 95, 96, 98, 104n.152, 105, 108n.173, 116, 119, 131, 131n.26, 135, 138, 140n.55, 141, 142, 145, 146, 147, 148, 152, 153, 154, 155, 155n.125, 156, 157, 169, 170, 171, 173, 212, 212n.142, 213, 214, 214n.151, 214n.152, 215, 215n.155, 216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222, 223, 226, 238, 259, 260, 263, 264, 285, 291, 292, 299, 300, 302, 309, 340 Cradle of Jesus (or Mahd Issa). See Cradle of Jesus (or Mahd Issa)  Curia regis (or palace of Kingdom of Jerusalem) 27, 27n.23, 28, 28n.31, 49, 50, 50n.105, 54, 58, 292, 298, 340 Damascus Gate 38 David Gate 27, 297 Dome of the Ascension (or Qubbat al-​Miʿraj) 212 Dome of the Chain (or Qubbat al-​ Silsilah) 212, 293, 332n.256 Dome of the Rock (or Qubbat al-​ Sakhra) 2, 6, 7, 8, 23, 25, 29, 33, 66, 84, 85, 86, 97, 129, 130, 131, 138, 141, 146, 150, 151, 152, 153, 155, 166, 173, 207, 209, 210, 212, 218, 220, 249, 252, 265, 284, 290, 291, 292, 293, 294, 295, 296, 302, 330, 331, 332, 333, 336

Golden Gate 87, 135, 136, 137, 139, 141, 144, 145, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 224, 225, 226, 227, 285 Heavenly or Celestial 11, 233, 247, 273, 275, 328, 332 Hospital of St. John 155, 214, 222, 223n.199, 263, 264n.70 Israel Antiquities Authority  inv. no. 2009–​1679, –​1675, –​1676 159n.148 Kingdom of 15, 66, 214, 215, 253, 264, 281, 291, 292 coronation 54, 55, 56, 57, 59, 219 Library of the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate   Hagios Stauros, MS 43. See Anastasis Typikon  maps 3, 19, 19n.12, 21, 23, 23n.16, 25, 27, 27n.25, 28, 28n.29, 47, 48n.96, 49, 54, 90, 90n.98, 109, 111, 115, 118, 131, 131n.26, 140, 140n.55, 255, 291, 292 Marwani Musalla. See Cradle of Jesus (or Mahd Issa)  Mihrab Dawud 297, 298 Mount of Olives 49n.100, 88, 90, 99, 119, 139, 141, 144, 152, 153, 155, 217, 226, 293 Mount Sion 49n.100, 90, 92, 119, 155, 155n.125, 255, 256, 258, 259, 263, 276, 285 New Jerusalem 273, 274, 275, 277, 280, 281, 282 patriarch 56, 140n.56, 142, 144, 147, 149, 152, 154, 155, 169, 184n.25, 213n.144, 213n.145, 214, 214n.151, 217, 217n.168, 217n.168, 217n.169, 218, 218n.170, 218n.170, 222, 226 Patriarchate’s quarter 217 Templum Domini (or Temple of the Lord) 6, 8, 25, 39, 45, 47, 48, 48n.100, 49, 50, 56, 58, 59, 84, 86, 130, 146, 147, 154, 155, 155n.125, 156, 203, 209, 212, 213, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222, 238, 249, 285, 292 Templum Salomonis (or Temple of Solomon) 27n.26, 46, 47, 86, 203 Tomb of the Virgin Mary 260, 285 Tower of David 2, 5, 8, 27, 29, 46, 48, 49, 50, 51, 54, 58, 59, 219, 291, 292, 296, 297, 298, 299 Jerusalemite pilaster 15, 17, 19, 23, 27, 29, 30, 35, 38, 39, 41, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 49,

Index 53, 57, 58, 287, 289, 290, 291, 292, 293, 296, 299, 301, 303, 307, 309, 310, 313, 315, 318, 319, 322, 323, 326, 328, 330, 332, 336, 340 Joanna i 265, 268 John of Brienne 51, 51n.112, 67n.16, 107 John of Würzburg 45, 46, 97, 98, 119, 132, 202, 222n.192 John xxii 247, 278, 280 Justinian i 195 khan 163, 163n.169 Khusrau, Nasir-​i 201, 321 Khwarazmian Turks 130, 162, 169, 238 King Richard i the Lionheart 57 Kitbugha (or al-​Malik al-​ʿAdil Zayn-​ad-​Din Kitbugha Ben Abd-​Allah al-​Mansuri al-​Turki al-​Mughli) 165n.180, 167n.192, 306 Kublai Khan 163 Last Supper 61, 88, 89, 89n.91, 90, 91, 102, 116n.218, 255, 256, 258 Latin Christian 3, 8, 37, 59, 66, 130, 146, 147, 148, 151, 152, 153, 154, 167, 168, 169, 172, 200, 219, 220, 256, 264, 283 lectionary 77, 82, 98n.126, 101n.141, 137, 138, 142, 198, 206, 211, 223 Legenda aurea. See Golden Legend Leuven  ku Leuven Libraries, Maurits Sabbe Library, gbib  gsm Cod. 1. See Anjou Bible  Levant (terminology) 3, 3n.10 Limburg an der Lahn  Diözesanmuseum or Dom-​Museum, Treasury  staurotheke 218, 218n.171 literacy 53, 111, 164 liturgy 5, 8, 95, 96, 97, 105, 114, 115, 116, 117, 120, 123, 151, 153, 154, 155, 156, 167, 168, 171, 173, 182, 199, 219, 220, 221, 223, See Easter, See Palm Sunday London  British Library  ms Add. 2902 104n.147, 104n.152 MS Add. 47672. See Clement Bible ms Add. 57528 104n.147, 104n.152 ms Add. 60629 114n.208

399 ms Add. 7170 188, 188n.47, 196, 196n.80, 198, 205, 205n.115, 211n.137, 224, 226n.209, 229, 236 ms Arundel 157 114n.205 ms Egerton 1139. See Melisende Psalter:  ms Or. 3372 211n.138, 223n.202 Museum of the Order of St. John  Seal of Grand Master Garin de Montaigu 213, 213n.143, 217n.164, 226n.212 Louis ix 171, 253 Louis of Toulouse 268 Ludolph of Sudheim 260, 260n.53, 285 Ludwig iv 278 Madrid  Biblioteca Nacional  ms 52 74, 74n.42, 76, 107, 107n.166 Magi, Adoration/​Visitation of 61, 82, 83, 196, 261 mamluk 289, 302, 311, 320, 333 Mamluk dynasty 12, 15, 29, 30, 44, 59, 124, 130, 131, 159, 160, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 167n.194, 170, 182, 183, 185, 231, 238, 239, 253, 255, 256, 261, 262, 263, 264, 277, 279, 281, 285, 286, 287–​338, 291n.17 manger 77, 78, 79, 195, 196, 197, 199, 204, 260 maniera greca. See Byzantine art Manjak al-​Yusufi 333, 333n.269 maps. See Jerusalem: maps Margherita di Sicilia 263, 263n.68 Maria of Antioch 253, 253n.33 Matilda of Canossa 43 Mecca xii, 4, 6, 162, 294, 295, 331, 332, 334, 335 Kaʿba 294, 295, 335 Meditationes vitae Christi. See Meditations on the Life of Christ Meditations on the Life of Christ 120, 121n.239, 283 Melisende 80 Melisende Psalter 79, 80, 87, 94, 96, 97, 98, 101, 121, 138, 138n.48, 142 Melkite Orthodox 8, 144, 147, 152, 153, 156, 162n.164, 164, 172, 219n.180, 225n.208, 236 menologion 82, 82n.64, 84 Merits of Jerusalem 201, 292, 293, 295, 296

400 Index Messina 74, 76, 93n.108, 106, 106n.162, 107, 108n.173 metalware 176, 178, 179, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 188, 221, 229, 231, 233, 235, 236, 339 mihrab 33, 34n.48, 35, 202, 296, 297, 297n.51, 298, 307, 323, 323n.195, 324, 325, 331, 332, 332n.259 miʿraj 129, 212, 295 Modena Cathedral 42, 43, 47 Möngke Khan 163 Mongol dynasty 4, 160, 162, 162n.164, 163, 163n.169, 165, 165n.180, 166, 166n.185, 166n.190, 167, 167n.192, 167n.194, 170, 183, 185, 230, 232, 291, 291n.17 Monreale Cathedral 41, 47, 58, 93, 94, 100, 106, 107 Montfort castle 159 Morlanwelz  Musée Royal de Mariemont  liturgical fan 188, 188n.45, 188n.46, 236 mosque. See Jerusalem: al-​Aqsa Mosque and Cairo: Mosque-​madrasa-​hospital-​ mausoleum of Hasan Mosul 9, 160, 165n.179, 183, 183n.18, 184, 184n.22, 186, 187, 188, 189, 189n.50, 192, 193, 194, 206, 211, 229, 231, 232, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239, 240, 241 Mount Athos  Dionysiu  ms 587 89n.91 Lavra, Skevophylakion  lectionary 77, 77n.47, 82, 82n.64, 98n.126 Mount Sinai  ms gr. 1096 153n.116 Mousket, Philippe 283 Mujir al-​Din al-​ʿUlaymi 141, 262n.64 Nadjm al-​Din Ayyub (or al-​Malik al-​Salih Nadjm al-​Din Ayyub ibn al-​Kamil Muhammad) 183 Naples Cathedral  Cappella Capece Minutolo 251 Nativity of Christ 38, 61, 73, 77, 78, 79, 80, 82, 83, 178, 188, 195, 196, 198, 199, 200, 200n.89, 204, 205, 206, 227, 238, 260, 261, 261n.55, 261n.58 Nebuchadnezzar 5, 247

Nestorian Christian 8, 152, 165n.180, 194, 238 New York  Metropolitan Museum of Art  American Numismatic Society  object 1925.13.1 192n.58 object no. 17.190.57a, b 132n.30 object no. 1975.19 261n.58 object no. 2002.18 218n.171 object no. 2005.258 133n.33 Richard Feigen collection  diptych 261n.59 Niccolò of Poggibonsi 102, 136, 141, 156, 259, 260 Nicosia  Santa Sophia (or Selimiye Mosque) 37, 38, 57 Nur al-​Din Muhammad ibn Qara Arslan 192 Odo Poilechien 253 olive trees 155, 157 Orthodox Christian. See specific Orthodox designations Oxford  Ashmolean Museum  Fragment G. 66 161n.159 Bodleian Library  ms Liturg. 407 114n.206 Padua  Scrovegni Chapel 84, 261n.55 Palermo 93n.108, 107, 196n.80 Cappella Palatina 196n.80, 210 Palm Sunday 48, 139, 142, 144, 144n.66, 145n.69, 146, 151, 152, 152n.107, 153, 153n.118, 154, 155, 156, 157, 167, 168, 170, 172, 217, 220, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 270, 271n.104, 285 papacy 214, 247, 248, 256, 273, 274, 275, 276, 278, 279, 280, 281, 282, 341 Paris  Bibliothèque nationale  ms arabe 5847 210n.135, 224n.205 ms fr. 9084 132n.31, 148n.86 ms gr. 510 101n.139 ms ital. 115 284n.160 ms lat. 12056 103n.146 Institut catholique de Paris, Bibliothèque de Fels  ms copte-​arabe 1 196n.80, 207n.127

Index Musée du Louvre  object no. mao 331 149n.93 object no. nao 360 183n.15 object no. oa 7947 188n.46 patriarch. See Jerusalem: patriarch peacock 150, 150n.98, 151 Pentecost 61, 90, 91, 100, 101, 103, 255 Petrarch, Francis (or Francesco Petrarca) 271, 275, 276, 276n.122 pilgrimage 5, 8, 9, 41, 61, 82, 85n.76, 99, 109n.175, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 134, 154, 171, 172, 172n.221, 192, 201, 202, 228, 228n.217, 229, 238, 240, 258, 259, 286, 295, 296, 297, 297n.51, 316, 334, 335 Pisa  San Silvestro 71 plague 320, 326, 327, See Black Death Polo, Marco 1 Presentation of Christ in the Temple 49, 61, 83, 84, 86, 178, 196n.80, 206, 207, 210, 212, 216, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222, 223, 227, 228, 234, 238, 251, 284 Protevangelium of James 74, 78, 82, 139n.49, 195, 195n.70, 196n.81, 197, 204, 204n.113, 205, 229, 261 psalms 61, 70, 109, 111, 112, 115 psalter. See Riccardiana or Melisende Psalter Qalawun (or al-​Mansur Sayf al-​Din Qalawun) 296, 305 qibla 6, 204n.111, 294, 307, 314, 318, 330, 331, 332, 334 Qurʾan 6, 197, 201, 229, 293, 294, 295, 297, 299, 325, 330, 331, 334 Raymond de Gramat 248, 282 Raymond du Puy 214n.152, 226n.211, 226n.212 Raymond iv of Toulouse 41 reliquary 96, 99, 173, 174, 218n.170, 218n.171 Remigio de’ Girolami 254, 255 Revelation 244, 246, 246n.9, 247, 273 Riccardiana Psalter 8, 60–​122, 138, 172, 175, 249, 258, 260, 261, 339, 340, 341 Richard, earl of Cornwall 107 Robert i 9, 242, 243, 247, 252, 253, 254, 255, 256, 256n.39, 265, 268, 269, 270, 271, 271n.104, 272, 273, 274, 277,

401 278, 278n.132, 279, 280, 281, 282, 283, 286, 341 Roger i 108 Roger of Sanseverino 107, 253 Roman Catholic. See Latin Christian Rome  Biblioteca Angelica  ms 150 270n.99 ms 477 (D.7.3) 103n.146 Pantheon 250, 251, 251n.29, 252, 265, 274, 277, 278, 279, 281, 284, 341 Rothelin Continuation 166 sacramentary. See Madrid: Biblioteca Nacional: ms 52 Saidnaya, Our Lady of 189, 239 Saint-​Gilles-​du-​Gard 39, 41, 41n.68, 46, 50 Salah al-​Din (or Salah al-​Din al-​Malik al-​Nasir Abu al-​Muzaffar Yusuf ibn Ayyub) 15, 17, 54, 65, 86, 91, 130, 136, 137, 141, 154, 162, 202, 218, 220, 221, 222, 291, 299, 300, 301, 304, 323 Samuel, prophet 71, 108 San Daniele del Friuli  Biblioteca Guarneriana  Bible 92, 93n.108 Sancia of Majorca 255, 261, 268 Sanjar al-​ShujaʿI,ʿAlam al-​Din 306 Sanjar Shah, Muʾizz al-​Din 160 Sanudo Torsello. Marino 258, 259, 279, 280 Sarah, Mart, saint 193, 194 Sarghitmish 310, 311n.122, 317n.157 Scholastica, saint 70 sella curulis 269, 272 sharbush 206 Shayku 310, 317n.157, 323 Sicily 41, 45, 57, 58, 73, 73n.37, 74, 75n.44, 93, 94, 103, 105, 106, 106n.162, 107, 107n.168, 108, 108n.173, 210, 280, 280n.146, 281 Kingdom of 41, 45, 58, 67n.16, 73, 106, 107, 108, 253 Solomon 5, 23, 46, 47, 48, 86, 97, 200, 203, 209, 253, 254, 256, 265, 269, 270, 272, 273, 278, 281, 283 spolia 30, 303, 303n.84, 303n.87, 303n.88, 304, 304n.90, 305, 305n.94, 305n.96, 306, 306n.98, 307, 309, 319, 320, 321, 322, 323, 326, 328n.229, 337, 341 St. Antony at the Red Sea 233n.241

402 Index St. Petersburg  Saltykov-​Shchedrin Public Library  MS gr. 21 101n.141 Stuttgart  Württembergisches Landesmuseum  ivory box 100, 100n.134 sultan 7, 29, 162, 163, 164, 167, 289, 292, 332, 336 Sunni Islam xii, 2, 3, 7, 162, 312, 333, 336 synaxarion 82n.64 Syriac 99, 145, 153, 164, 167, 198, 204, 205, 211, 224, 229, 235 Syrian Orthodox 8, 137, 138, 142, 145, 147, 147n.80, 149, 152, 162n.164, 165, 167, 169, 170, 184, 187, 188, 189, 193, 194, 196, 198, 204, 205, 211, 214n.151, 219n.180, 223, 224, 229, 236, 238, 239, 285

ms Barberini lat. 659 104n.152, 144n.64 ms S. Pietro F. 18 75n.44, 197n.81 MS sir. 559 xvi, 137, 137n.46, 142, 188, 188n.47, 196, 196n.80, 205, 206, 206n.118, 211, 211n.137, 223, 223n.202, 224, 229, 236 ms Vat. gr. 1613 82n.64, 84n.69 ms Vat. lat. 558 264n.72 mss Vat. lat. 4947 and 7241 104n.152 Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Museo Sacro  no. 1883a/​b 99, 99n.132 Vienna  Cathedral and Diocesan Museum, St. Stephen’s Collection  objects L-​5 and L-​6 173, 173n.232

talisman 150, 290, 320, 321, 322, 323, 325, 326, 327 Taz al-​Nasiri 310 Templar order 41, 45, 45n.81, 46, 47, 47n.94, 48n.100, 49, 49n.102, 58, 130n.23, 237, 253n.33 Temple workshop 32, 35, 38, 39, 41, 41n.68, 44, 45, 45n.81, 46, 57 Theoderic 27, 77, 85, 119, 139, 202, 209, 222n.192 Thietmar 78, 86, 92, 119, 189, 195, 239 tonsure 146, 148 Toronto  Royal Ontario Museum  inv. no. 924.26.1 128, 128n.11 tournament 231, 232, 316

waqf 141, 328, 330 waqfiyya 289, 328, 330 warfare 165n.179, 232, 233 Washing of the Apostles’ Feet 61, 88, 89, 89n.91, 90, 91, 102, 116n.218, 258 Washing of the Christ Child 61, 81, 196, 204 Washington, D.C.  Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution  no. F1941.10. See Freer Canteen Wilbrand of Oldenburg 119, 140, 200 William ii 58, 106 William of Tyre 55, 132, 132n.31, 166, 209, 209n.129 Women (or Three Marys) at the Tomb of Christ 92, 93, 94, 95, 97, 116, 216

Umayyad dynasty 6, 84, 129, 151, 204n.111, 293, 296 Urban vi 248

Yerevan  Matenadaran Mashtots Institute of Ancient Manuscripts  ms 6288 142, 142n.61

Vatican City  Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana 

Zengid dynasty 183n.18, 206