Emblematica : an interdisciplinary journal for emblem studies 2019 [2] 9782600059534

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EMBLEMATICA Essays in Word and Image Volume 2

Editor in Chief Mara R. Wade

Droz Geneva

Founding Editors Peter M. Daly

Daniel Russell

Editores Emeriti David Graham, Managing Editor Emeritus Michael Bath, Review Editor Emeritus

Andrea Alciato, "Virtuti fortuna comes" [Fortune attendant on virtue], from

Emblematum libellus (Paris: Chrestien Wechel, 1534). (Image courtesy of Emblematica Online, Glasgow University Library.)

EMBLEMATICA

Essays in Word and Image EMBLEMATICA ISSN 2571-5070 Manuscript submissions and other editorial correspondence should be addressed electronically, in a standard word-processing document format, to Mara R. Wade . All submissions will be submitted to blind external peer review; the editors’ decision on acceptance will be final. Books for review should be addressed to Tamar Cholcman; however, no obligation is recognized to review or return any books received. Articles and essays should conform to the house style sheet, which is available upon request. General guidance may be obtained from the MLA Handbook for Writers and the Chicago Manual of Style. Authors should be prepared to submit high-quality electronic images, also in a standard format such as JPEG or TIFF, and to provide evidence of permission to reproduce them. Subscriptions and remittances should be sent to the publisher, Droz, 11 rue Firmin-Massot, case postale 389, 1211 Geneva 12, Switzerland, subscriptions@ droz.org. Camera-ready copy of this volume of Emblematica was produced at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign by Jeffrey Castle. Volume 2 ISBN 978-2-600-05953-4

Copyright © Droz & Emblematica, 2019 All rights reserved All Droz books are printed on acid-free paper that meets the guidelines for performance and durability of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council on Library Resources. Droz

Emblematica publishes original articles, essays, and specialized bibliographies in all areas of emblem studies. In addition, it regularly contains review articles, reviews, research reports (including work in progress, theses, conference reports, and completed theses), notes and queries, notices of forthcoming conferences and publications, and various types of documentation. Emblematica is published annually.

Mara R. Wade, Editor in Chief Department of Germanic Languages and Literatures 2090 Foreign Languages Building 707 S. Mathews Avenue

University of Illinois at

1211 Geneva 12, Switzerland www.droz.org

Tamar Cholcman Review Editor

Department of Art History Faculty of the Arts

Tel Aviv University Ramat Aviv, Tel Aviv, 6997801, Israel

[email protected]

Urbana-Champaign Urbana, IL 61801 USA

[email protected]

Editorial Board

Tatiana Artemyeva Herzen State Pedagogical University

of Russia, St. Petersburg

Paulette Choné

Université de Bourgogne (Dijon)

John Cull University of Virginia's

College at Wise Agnés Guiderdoni

Université catholique de Louvain

Hiroaki Ito

Senshu University, Japan Pedro Germano Leal Arkyves

11 rue Firmin-Massot

case postale 389

|

Editors

Donato Mansueto

Universita di Bari

Jean-Michel Massing

University of Cambridge Dietmar Peil Ludwig-Maximilians-Universitat, Munich

Stephen Rawles University of Glasgow Library Mary Silcox

McMaster University

Arnoud S. Q. Visser Universiteit Leiden Emeritus Members

Pedro F. Campa University of Tennessee at Chattanooga

Denis L. Drysdall

University of Waikato, New Zealand Alan Young Acadia University

Lubomir Koneény Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic, Prague Sabine Médersheim University of Wisconsin, Madison

P

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he

ee

Johannes Sambucus, “Principi ivvent[utis] et Αὐτοὶ Saeculi? from Arcus aliquot triumphales et monumenta victoriae classiscae in Honorem Jani Austriae (Antuer-

piae: Ex officina Christophori Plantini, 1572). Ghent University Library, BHSL. RES.1394.

EMBLEMATICA Essays in Word and Image Volume 2

Preface to Volume 2

xiii

ARTICLES Denis L. Drysdall Andrea Alciato: The Law and the Emblems Cornelia Niekus Moore

Emblematic Schools of Virtue and Vice: Lucas Martini’s

Ebrenkräntzlein

(1580) and Lasterspiegel (1592)

37

Walter S. Melion Hendrick Goltziuss Method of Exegetical Allegory in His

Scriptural Prints of the 1570s

69

Tamar Cholcman Three Parts Divided: The Construction, Reconstruction, and Deconstruction of Festival Emblems

Leticia Mercado Sepulchral Space in Villamediana and Vaenius

185

Daniela Caracciolo

“The Images and Similitudes of Things”: The Symbolic Ars in the Works of Giulio Cesare Capaccio

221

Katerina Dolejst

The Pearl of the Orient: Xaverian Emblems in a Jesuit Book of 1663 from Olomouc

247

VOLUME

EMBLEMATICA Ulrich Schéntube

Church Emblems and Their Literary Sources in Brandenburg and Upper Lusatia

297

NOTICES Christopher D. Fletcher and Matthew Krc

The Emblemata Politica in Context: A New Approach to Digital Facsimiles of Emblem Books

347

REVIEWS Pedro Germano Leal and Rubem Amaral Jr., eds. Emblems in

Colonial Ibero-America: To the New World on the Ship of Theseus, by Carmen Ripollés

Peter M. Daly and G. Richard Dimler, S. J. The Jesuit Emblem in the European Context, by Katetina Dolejgi

363

367

Karl A. E. Enenkel and Paul J. Smith, eds. Emblems and the Natural World, by Simon McKeown

371

Jorg Roberts, ed. Intermedialitat in der Frühen Neuzeit. Formen, Funktionen, Konzepte, by Johannes Frohlich

379

Anja Wolkenhauer and Bernhard F. Scholz, eds. Typographorum Emblemata: The Printers Mark in the Context of Early Modern Culture, by Simon McKeown

382

Hans Westphal. Sehnsucht nach dem himmlischen Jerusalem. Das Emblemprogramm der Stettener Schlosskapelle (1682), by Jill Bepler

387

Hanna Pahl, ed. Emblematic Strategies in Contemporary Art, by Alison Adams

390

Ingrid Hôpel and Simon McKeown, eds. Emblems and Impact: Von Zentrum und Peripherie der Emblematik, by Tamar Choleman

392

2

Grégory Ems. L'Emblématique au service du pouvoir: la symbolique du prince chrétien dans les expositions emblématiques du college des Jésuites de Bruxelles sous le gouvernorat de Léopold-Guillaume (16471656), by Anne Rolet and Elizabeth Black (trans.)

402

Otto van Veen. Physica et Theologice Conclusiones (1621) Conclusions de Physique et de Théologie, by Alison Adams

408

Florence Vuilleumier Laurens. L’Université, la robe et la librairie a

Paris. Claude Mignault et le Syntagma De Symbolis (1571-1602), by Valérie Hayaert

410

William E. Engel, Rory Loughnane, and Grant Williams. The Memory Arts in Renaissance England: A Critical Anthology, by Michael Bath

413

Michael Bath. Emblems in Scotland. Motifs and Meanings, by MaraR. Wade

420

Volume Index

429

Preface to Volume 2

There is much to report with the second volume of Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image. First and foremost, we would like to thank our publisher, Max Engammare at Droz, for a very collegial cooperation with our first volume; we are very much looking forward to a productive future for our journal. The editorial and administrative structures of the journal are changing on several levels, and we would like to announce them formally here. The journal has grown in scope and complexity over the years, and expansion of the editorial group seems both adyisable and appropriate. Therefore, beginning with the next volume, Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image vol. 3, two of our colleagues, Simon McKeown and Elizabeth Black, will serve jointly as associate editors. They have considerable experience in emblem studies, through their conference attendance and presentations as well as their reviews and publications, and they will bring valuable scholarly and editorial expertise to their new roles. The editorial team will benefit greatly from their knowledge. As an art historian, Dr. Simon McKeown, Marlborough College, UK, brings not only his wide-ranging knowledge of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century art but also, more specifically, his exceptional knowledge of Otto Vaenius, eighteenth-century painting, and Northern European emblems. In addition to her expertise on sixteenth- and seventeenth-century French literature, with a particular focus on emblematica, Associate Professor Elizabeth Black, Old Dominion University, also contributes her insights into digital methods and tools to our cluster of editors. Emblematica seeks to publish the best scholarship in emblem studies and closely adjacent fields through a double-blind peer-review process. As a reader of this journal, you present papers and conduct research that is appropriate for our journal. At conferences and lectures you also hear scholarly papers presented that can be expanded for publication. You also likely know of other scholars, at universities, museums, and libraries, who engage in emblem studies and have interesting material for our journal. Please send us your research for consideration for possible publication in Emblematica, and please encourxiii Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image, vol. 2. Copyright © 2019 by Droz & Emblematica. All rights reserved.

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EMBLEMATICA

age others to do so as well. Please also keep in mind that we publish conference reports, research notes, and other items of scholarly interest to emblem studies. You and your colleagues can submit your research by following the information provided at the front of this volume. In addition to a strong pool of submissions, a robust journal requires a strong cohort of peer reviewers to help make the articles the best possible versions of the research submitted. Unlike many other journals, Emblematica understands that there is much of interest to our discipline from all areas of the globe, and therefore, the editors and peer reviewers work with non-native writers of English to advance their contributions to publication. In addition to traditional scholarship, we actively seek articles about emblems that present new and interesting perspectives, particularly topics from less frequently represented areas of our discipline. We will be calling on all members of the advisory board as well as additional subject experts from our midst to serve as peer reviewers. Please say yes when we ask you to serve as a peer reviewer, and know your insights and subject knowledge are valued. Your many contributions make the journal the success that it is. The book-review editor is now Dr. Tamar Cholcman, an art historian at Tel Aviv University. She has published on emblems and triumphal entries (see her article in this volume) and is busily identifying books to be reviewed. This means, of course, that she is always seeking reviewers. If you are interested in suggesting a book for review or in serving as a reviewer yourself, please

contact her at [email protected]. The strength of our review section is

integral to the journal's success, and your input is desired. While we normally review only books that directly address emblematics, such as those in this volume’s reviews section, we will also consider publications from emblemadjacent fields of research that have significant chapters on emblems or particularly useful conceptual approaches. In keeping with her study of emblems and arches, Tamar Cholcman has offered us the emblem from Sambucus that opens this volume of Emblematica. Five members of the advisory board, many of them active, supportive members of the journal since its inception, are now rotating off the board. They are Pedro Campa, Denis Drysdall, Lubomir Koneény, Sabine Môder-

sheim, and Alan Young. We want to thank them for their years of service and the scholarly expertise they brought to our work. Emblematica has become an outstanding journal owing to their contributions. We intend to continue this trajectory and are delighted that Pedro Germano Leal has accepted our

Preface

XV

invitation to serve on the advisory board going forward, Valérie Hayaert is also shifting her role within the journal from that of book-review editor and will continue as a member of the advisory board. We want to thank her for her service as review editor and are equally delighted that she will continue her association with the journal in this new capacity. All of these changes are reflected in the front matter of the present volume. The final change is one that might not have been otherwise noticed by the general readers of the journal, but is one that will have a significant impact on our work. Jeffrey Castle, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, has served as Mara Wade's editorial assistant for three and a half years. He assisted in all important ways in the editing of the final volume of Emblematica: An Interdisciplinary Journal for Emblem Studies, vol. 22, and he was essential to seeing the journal through the somewhat adventurous transition into Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image, vol. 1. After the present volume, Jeffrey will dedicate himself fully to completing his dissertation in modern German literature, with an expected defense in the very near future. He has been indispensable to the smooth running of the journal and is, above all else, our expert editor for design and layout. By now he also has memorized the Chicago Manual of Style! We have worked closely together in a seamless fashion, and he has been a model of professionalism and collegiality. Please join me in offering him best wishes and all good luck for the future. As a sign of our indebtedness, we have asked Jeffrey Castle to provide the closing emblem of this volume. He has chosen “Non uno sternitur ictu” [It is not felled with one blow], from Gabriel Rollenhagen’s Nucleus emblematum. This Volume in Overview

This volume of Emblematica is pleased to offer a wide range of articles cov ering everything from Cornelia Moore’s insightful presentation of emblematic strategies in the illustrations for prayer books intended for women and girls to Denis Drysdall’s magisterial overview of Alciato. On the one hand, Moore examines the Ehrenkrantzlein (1580) and the Lasterspiegel (1592), both printed in Prague, and demonstrates the significance of the emblems to the religious messages in these works of devotional literature for children. On the other, Drysdall traces key emblems through Alciato’s juridical works, confirming that the Milanese lawyer reintroduced the rhetorical argument into the practice of law, thereby setting the stage for an entire tradition of

legal emblem books. These two very different approaches to emblem stud-

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EMBLEMATICA

ies confirm the reach of the journal in presenting the best scholarship to our diverse readership. Daniela Caracciolo situates Guilio Cesare Capaccios Delle imprese (1592) within the broader philosophical context of his several emblematic and symbolic works, offering a fresh and detailed assessment of this often-understudied, at least in English, significant author.

She confirms Capaccio as an im-

portant emblematist, both in terms of theory and practical application. Building out from her earlier publication on emblems and triumphal en-

tries, Tamar Cholcman offers an analysis of how members of the Republic of

Letters read the emblems on ephemeral architecture in the public sphere and,

by temporal extension, in printed festival descriptions. In so doing, she posits a tripartite emblematic reading strategy of event, book, and spectator. Providing detailed new information on emblem books and emblematic practices at the Jesuit College of Olomouc, Kateïina Dolejgi offers an indepth analysis of the second-oldest known emblem imprint from Moravia, Divus Franciscus Xaverius Magnus Indiarum Apostolus in symbolica decade In honorem annorum decem in Indiis exantlatorum adumbratus et epigrammatum centuria expressus. . . (1663). This symbolic chronicle documents the

life and miracles associated with St. Francis Xavier during his travels to India in ten emblems. Dolejgi’s article explores the sources behind these emblems, analyzes them, and situates them within the context of pedagogical practice

Preface

new study of emblems and their sources during the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries in these German-speaking lands. Paying particular attention to how architectural emblems are transmitted from printed sources,

Schéntube offers a typology of the processes for emblematic transmission across media. Christopher D. Fletcher and Matthew Krc describe the project funded by the Samuel H. Kress Foundation at the Newberry Library, Chicago, which, among other research activities, resulted in the collaborative creation of the digital facsimile of VAULT Wing MS 279, a unique volume held in the Newberry’s collections. This volume is a hybrid print and manuscript book, now also a digital work, consisting of Georg Rem’s nscriptiones . .. and his and Peter Isselburg’s Emblemata Politica (1617). The website provides a full digital facsimile with transcriptions from the Latin and German, a translation of the German, and related webpages. The project also included the ingestion of the volume into Emblematica Online, where it can be viewed with other copies in the portal. The review section is robust, providing more than a dozen detailed summaries and analyses of the recently published research in our field. Reviews are important to our mission of improved scholarly communication in all areas. Please support emblem studies by asking your institution to acquire these publications and to subscribe to Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image.

among the Jesuits.

A learned exploration of Hendrik Goltzius’s exegetical practice informs Walter Melion’s analysis of two series of biblical engravings, Allegories on the Life of Christ and Allegories of the Christian Creed, engraved in the late 1570s by Philips Galle. In this richly illustrated paper Melion works out in detail the emblematic structure and function of the engravings within their scriptural contexts. He demonstrates how these biblical allegories are simultaneously both scriptural loci communes and biblical emblems. Leticia Mercado undertakes a fresh reading of two funerary sonnets (numbered 199 and 313) by Juan de Tassis y Peralta, Count of Villamediana (c. 1582-1622), in light of three emblems from Otto Vaeniuss Quinti Horatii

Flacci Emblemata. Her analysis explores the tomb as a liminal space where the reader of the sonnet and its poetic voice encounter the alignment of emblem and ekphrasis in the defense of virtue. Applied architectural emblems from churches in Electoral Brandenburg and Upper Lusatia provide the foundation for Ulrich Schôntube entirely

xvii

MARA R. WADE, Editor in Chief University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign

Andrea Alciato: The Law and the Emblems DENIS L. DRYSDALL University of Waikato, New Zealand This article describes the traces of the emblems in the judicial works and the evidence these offer to help us understand the emblems. There are three sections: The first addresses Alciato’s relations with his own colleagues and other teaching professions; the second, the connection

Alciato himself makes between emblems and legal presumptions; and

the third, Alciato’s own experience of the law itself as a subject or formative element of the emblems. I conclude that the Emblematum Liber was not entirely legal in provenance or in the bulk of its content. Alciato’s reintroduction of rhetorical argument into legal discourse and his adaptation of devices nevertheless place him at the beginning of a movement that led to a whole tradition of legal emblem books.

he subject of emblematics and the law is a wider field of study than the personality and work of Alciato himself, as Valérie HayaertVanautgaerden was among the first to show. By confining myself to Alciato, I may seem to suggest that he does not exhibit a “mens emblematica,” but that is not my intention. I want to describe here not the general nature of his thought but the traces of the emblems in the judicial works and the evidence these works offer to help us understand the emblems. We should note, however, by way of preliminaries, that Alciato is known in the history of law firstly for his application of philology to the texts of the Corpus iuris civilis, inspired in part by Guillaume Budé’s broader cultural 1 Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image, vol. 2. Copyright © 2019 by Droz & Emblematica. All rights reserved.

2

Denis L. Drysdall

EMBLEMATICA

investigations (specifically, Annotationes [1508] and De Asse et partibus eius

[1514]), as well as by his own exceptional skill in Greek and Latin, and his epigraphical work on local monuments—a philological activity that did much to correct the contemporary reading of the Corpus iuris civilis, and that led, subsequently, to the creation of the French historical school of law. He is known secondly for his introduction—or, rather, reintroduction— of the “topics” or arguments, of rhetoric into the armory of the courtroom lawyer. One might wonder in this connection if the reintroduction of thetoric into legal discourse enabled Alciato to derive imagery for his poetry from his professional activity, or if his poetic talent, loaded with classical imagery, colored his legal discourse. His predecessors and contemporaries used an essentially abstract, Aristotelian logic! to argue the validity or invalidity of the law. In this apodictic logic—“scientific,” as it was called at the time—“invention” was mainly a matter of finding the right argument of the syllogistic type, which would compel or claim to compel belief, and the discussion consisted for the most part of reference to the arguments of preceding authorities. In the rhetoric of the humanists, however, “invention” wasa matter of findingin the topics of Aristotle, Cicero, and Quintilian a wide range of probable arguments, of imagery and figurative speech, mostly simile and metaphor, that would persuade rather than compel belief. One might suppose Alciato’s conviction of rhetoric’s power to persuade might inspire the thought that visual imagery would be just as persuasive as or even more persuasive than abstract argument. But such rhetoric is in fact not common in his legal writings; indeed he rejects the extra difficulty that such ornament would involve for his readers. As far as the emblems are concerned, such an approach would probably mask the more precisely identifiable effects of his legal thinking and experience in particular emblems. 1. 2.

At first based on the Categories and On Interpretation (logica vetus) and, from the thirteenth century on, the Prior and Posterior Analytics and the Sophistical Refutations (logica nova). See the dedication of the De verborum significatione: “Ad h{a]ec scenae me ser-

3

To demonstrate these effects it is convenient to divide the discussion into three sections: in the first I shall consider what is visible of Alciato’s relations with his own colleagues and with other teaching professions; in the second, the connection Alciato himself makes between emblems and

legal presumptions; and in the third, his own experience of the law as a

subject or formative element of the emblems.

Relations with the Professions: Law and Teaching I have wondered if the whole emblem “Duodecim labores Herculis” [The twelve labors of Hercules]* could be read as Alciato’s ideal of his own

profession or career. In his letters he complains frequently of enemies he calls “sophistae” or “antisophistae,’ as in line 2 of the epigram, but there are only two cases where he portrays laws or colleagues in the image of the hydra: in the Paradoxa and in a letter of 1521.5 I conclude that, unlike Budé, Alciato did not generally see his work as akin to the labors of Hercules. But he may have thought of himself as Hercules in another sense: as the Gallic Hercules, symbol of eloquence. Or perhaps the emblem “Eloquentia fortitudine praestantior” [Eloquence is superior to physical strength]

was conceived as a compliment to the French (in Latin, “Galli”) when

he was nominated to the chair at Bourges. In line 9 he quotes Cicero's famous dictum “Cedunt arma togae” [Arms give way to the toga]/ He had previously quoted this in his De singulari certamine, in a passage with obvious personal feeling, where he enumerated those who could not be 3,

Emblematum libellus, 15x°; Emblemata cum commentariis, CXXXVIII.

4.

“Non immerito Lernaeam hydram tractatum hunc delegationis vocaverim, quod et tot exsurgat cervicibus ut una avulsa altera non deficiat” [Not without reason I would call this treatise on delegation a Lernean hydra, for so many heads rise out of it that, when one is cut off, there is always another] (Paradoxa, 21)

5.

“Nolui ad verbum confutare aliquid ambagibusque disputationum immolari,

quae scis in nostro iure eiusmodi esse ut numquam finem habeant, ut non Ler-

naea Hydra, nec Minotaurus ipse Labyrintheus pares nobis sint” [I did not want to confute anything word for word nor be sacrificed to argumentative digres-

vire necessarium fuit: quotus enim quisque ex legalibus mystis nostra legeret, si

sions that, as you know, are such in our law as to be quite endless; neither the Le-

dum illi esset, unde et antiqua vocabula addiscere, et figuratos loquendi modos percipere necesse haberet?” [Add to this that I had to work in public; how many

no. 13, 11.10-13).

rnaean Hydra nor the Minotaur in the Labyrinth are our equals in this] (Barni,

praeter anxiam legum scrutationem, cornu quoque copiae in manibus haben-

of the legal priesthood would read my works if, in addition to careful scrutiny of

the laws, they had to have in hand some cornucopia from which they would have to learn old ways of speaking and be able to spot figures of speech?] (4).

6.

Emblematum liber, E6r°; Emblemata cum commentariis, CLXXXI.

De officiis, 1.77. In Cicero's text the verb is subjunctive: “cedant” [Let arms give way to the toga],

4

Denis L. Drysdall

EMBLEMATICA

legitimately challenged to a duel. Like clerics, doctors of any profession could not honorably be challenged by a man of arms. The personal feeling is obvious when he switches from the third person to the first: “If you challenge me with your arms, I would cite you in my own arena, that is before magistrates, where I would show you how inferior are your skills to my weapons, books and legal authorities . . . . Those of us who study Pallas and the Muses have nothing to do with the utterly mad god Mars” (De singulari certamine, 47). Alciato tended to depreciate his own talent for eloquence,* but the dedicatory letter of the first collection of Parergon iuris, an encomium of eloquence, and this emblem show how much he valued the art. The most common characterization of opponents in Alciato’s profession was as “maledicentia” [evil speaking|.” Alciato used the image of wasps or

hornets for the first time that we know of in 1514, in the dedication to Filippo Sauli of the Annotationes in tres posteriores Codicis libros, where he anticipates opposition from those who think there is no need for lawyers to study humanities.!° The image reappears several times in his correspondence—for example, in a letter written from Bourges, where he asks Amerbach to delay publication of his De ponderibus et mensuris because the work may not only make trouble for him with Guillaume Budé

but may also create other enemies for him in a foreign land;!! and again in ἃ letter to Viglio van Zwickum from Pavia in 1537, explaining the repeatedly delayed publication of the first collection of the Parergon iuris: “Indeed I am by nature a delayer, because I am afraid of stirring up hornets.”'? This remark suggests that his own device, “Numquam procrastinandum” [Never procrastinate], was also chosen with a certain ironic self-depreciation. In the treatise of the De verborum significatione, the major work that reintroduces rhetoric into legal argument, and elsewhere, Alciato seems to dismiss the arguments of those he refers to, disparagingly, as “dialecticians.” In practice, however, he never discounted the arguments and methods of his predecessors, the glossators and post-glossators. This is clearly shown in records of his lectures, such as those on De verborum obligationibus, on which he lectured in something like the manner of these predecessors at three different universities. It is also explicitly stated in recommendations to his students made in his praelectio, the introductory lecture of his course, at Bologna in 1539. There he tells them they will need to study at least a selection of the work of the commentators, which is too extensive for him to cover in his lectures. This lecture, structured around the saying attributed to Pythagoras—“Where have you gone astray? What are you achieving? What are you leaving out that should be done?”'*—gave rise, with the 11.

8.

9. 10.

Emblematum libellus, 371°; Emblemata cum commentariis, LI “Auguror tamen: quin potius video: quantos in meum caput crabrones excitam: quum exploratum mihi sit: increbuisse eam inter recentiores iuris civilis sectatores opinionem: ut eiusdem esse negent, et leges scire, et humanitatis studia

profiteri” [But I foresee, or rather see, how many hornets I shall stir up around my head, for I have already experienced how this opinion has grown among

modern members of the legal profession, denying that the same person can teach

the humanities and know the law] (Annotationes, a4r°).

“Cum Lugdunum appulissem lucubrationes meas rursus mecum accepi, ut viderem si quid in his esset unde seminaria aliqua controversiarum cum Budaeo oriri possent, quod idea faciebam ne hospes in aliena terra crabrones excitarem”

[When I reached Lyon, I looked again at my ideas to see if there was anything

See the new preface of 1529 of the Paradoxa: “Sunt qui nimiam mihi sermonis

brevitatem objiciant, copiamque requirant, quibus respondeo, id a nobis consulto affectari: quin et solere me cos ridere, qui aliter scribunt: non quod flumina illa eloquentiae exhauriri velim, sed quod rarius id donum est, quam ut ego speraverim mihi posse contingere” [Some reproach me for the excessive conciseness of my style and demand fullness. To them I answer that I adopt this style deliberately, indeed that I usually ridicule those who write differently, not because I would want the rivers of eloquence to be exhausted, but because the gift is rarer than I could hope to achieve] (2r).

5

there from which some germ of controversy with Budé might arise, for as a guest

12.

in a foreign country I wanted to avoid stirring up hornets] (Barni, no. 51, 7 May 1529, ll. 37-38). “Ego quidem natura cessator καὶ ἀναβαλλόμενος sum, ne libenter crabrones ir-

13.

Emblematum libellus, 46v°-47%°; Emblemata cum commentariis, I.

14.

“Quo prætergressus? quid agis? quid omittis agendum?” In his praelectio Alciato

rito” (Barni, no. 101, ll. 16-17).

had given, by way of a Latin equivalent, not a translation but an adaptation, in which the tense of two of the verbs had been rendered as present and the subject

of the whole line was the second-person singular, so that the questions were addressed to the hearer. The original is a line from a poem known as the “Carmen aureum” [Golden verses], commonly attributed to Pythagoras: Πῆ παρέβην; τι δ᾽ ἔρεξα; τί μοι δέον οὐκ ἐτελέσθη, which translates as, “Where have I transgressed, what have I achieved, what duty of mine has not been fulfilled?” The verse is line

42 of the “Carmen aureum” (Diehl, fasc. 2, p. 86) and is attributed to Pythagoras by Diogenes Laertius, 8.22.

6

Denis L. Drysdall

EMBLEMATICA

addition of the image of the cranes, to the emblem “Lapsus ubi ... ?” [Where

have I transgressed . . . ?].5 The emblem

does not, of course,

say anything about using the commentaries of the glossators, but we are reminded that, as well as being a general commendation of prudence, the title initially served as advice to law students about how they should approach and conduct their studies. Another emblem that gives us a similar glimpse of Alciato in the classroom—but at Avignon or Bourges, since it is in the 1531 collection— is “In facile a virtute desciscentes” [Easily deflected from the right course]! with the picture of the ship restrained by a remora. The last two lines of this suggest very similar concerns about his students: trivial causes may hold back people who are on their way to the top—for example, “A worrying lawsuit, or that desire for whores which entices the young away from honorable studies”! Alciato’s source for the image and for this suggestion is almost certainly Pliny the Elder, who says, “It is believed that when [the remora] has attached itself to the keel of a ship its progress is impeded...

For this reason also it has a disgraceful repute, as being employed in love philtres, and for retarding judgments and legal proceedings.”"* Before explicitly reintroducing rhetorical methods, Alciato was preoccupied above all—following the lead of other humanists, particularly Poliziano and Budé—with the need to return to the sources, ad fontes. For him this meant correcting as far as possible the judicial texts on which his contemporaries sought to found their arguments. For example, using the

histories of the relevant period—that is, the Scriptores historiae Augustae,

Procopius, and others—for his Annotationes on the last three books of the Codex, his already extensive knowledge of other non-judicial texts, particularly those of Plautus, for whose vocabulary he always showed a special interest, and surviving judicial sources other than the commonly 15.

I) παρέβην; τι δ᾽ ἔρεξα; th μοι δέον οὐκ ἐτελέσθη (Emblematum libellus, 291°);

16. 17.

Emblematum liber, C5:°; Emblemata cum commentariis, LXXXIII. “Anxia lis veluti est, vel qui meretricius ardor / Egregiis iuvenes sevocat a studiis.”

18.

“[echeneis] est parvus admodum piscis adsuetus petris, echeneis appellatus. hoc

“Quid excessi? Quid admisi? Quid omisi?” (Emblemata, 20); “Lapsus ubi? quid feci? aut officii quid omissum est?” (Emblemata cum commentariis, XVII).

adhaerente naves tardius ire creduntur, inde nomine inposito. quam ob causam amatoriis quoque veneficiis infamis est et iudiciorum ac litium mora” (Naturalis historia, 9.41).

7

available manuscripts, and correcting or supplying misunderstood or missing Greek terms, he sought to reestablish the texts of the Corpus iuris civilis on a more sound basis. This philological work is the matter of much of his publications up to and including the commentaries that now form the second part of his De verborum significatione. (It is necessary to remember that the commentaries derive from lectures he gave in Avignon in 1520-1521; the treatise that precedes them in the published work of 1530 was actually written later, in 1527-1528.) Alciato’s essentially individual contribution as a lawyer in this philological work was his insistence that the proper understanding of these texts could not be simply what the language of Cicero would authorize, or even what “grammarians” like Lorenzo Valla might think correct, but the usage of the recognized authors of the period, including the jurists, up to Justinian’s time.” Opinions of his fellow professionals and other teachers expressed in the emblems are commonly a reflection of this philological work. His attacks are directed at the Ciceronian purists and at the general class of teachers he calls, indiscriminately, “grammatici” “rhetores,’ or “literatores.” In the dedicatory letter of the second collection of the Parergon iuris, he rejects the attacks of “the uncultivated and the uneducated who shout at him, ‘Stick to your knitting!” and “the elementary pedagogues who mangle texts when they think they can gain thereby reputation and glory.””” Alciato is too conscious of the dignity of his profession, and of the need for specialist knowledge and technical vocabulary. This leads him to ignore the 19. 20.

Gaius, Ulpian, Papinianus, Paulus, and Modestinus, the five jurists whose views

were later considered to be the only ones worthy to be included in the Codex Theodosianus, are all of the second and third centuries AD. “Et ut ego velim, non ferrent hi, qui caeterarum artium rudes & imperiti, illud ex

trivio exclamarent, Hoc age quod agis . .. fieri tamen non potest, quimlurisconsulti, quam sustineo, persona, professoriumque munus aliqua ex parte me retrah-

ant: nec talia moliri me permittant, quae trivialis cuiusque paedagogi morsibus sint obnoxia, quaeque literatores isti arbitratu suo lancinent, cum inde ingens nomen, magnamque gloriam acquirere se posse existiment” [If I had my way these people, uncultivated and unskilled in the other arts who shouted from the primary schools “Stick to your knitting,’ would not make the rules. .. my role as

a jurist and my position as a teacher cannot but restrain me in some degree, nor

can it prevent me from undertaking such studies as are exposed to the attacks of any petty pedagogue, and which those rhetoricians tear to pieces in their own

way when they think they can gain from them immense reputation and huge glory] (Opera, nn 2 r°).

8

Denis L. Drysdall

EMBLEMATICA

distinction Poliziano had made between grammatici and grammatistae?\

to retain the traditional hierarchy, bringing grammatici, with rhetores and literatores, back to the status of pedagogues, teachers of the trivium, and to distinguish himself as the professional specialist. Two emblems, while not at first sight legal in inspiration, may be seen on closer examination to reflect Alciato’s criticism of the grammarians, or others who were ignorant of the usages of good legal Latin—or even, in some cases, of common usage. One is “Remedia in arduo, mala in prono

4 SU

” By Pb

9

Y

he

ati es

λ

RL

esse” [Remedies are hard, damage is easy], where he uses the word “noxa”

[harm], which carries special significance for a lawyer (fig. 1). Alciato had used this word, which covers torts, damages, and penality, as his first example of Valla’s errors in book IV of the De verborum significatione. It is worth quoting the whole passage, which Mignault also noted as worthy of comment in connection with this emblem: However Lorenzo Valla, a most erudite man but bold beyond his powers, did not hesitate to attack the jurists, take them to court, and declare them guilty of high treason against the majesty of Latin. I have considered it necessary to confute briefly twenty-nine heads of his accusation, both to blunt somewhat his great arrogance—perhaps it is philautia—and to let these “men of letters” [hi literatores] know that they should not deviate from the usage of our authorities, that the jurists pass on more correct meanings, 21.

22.

This use of “grammatici,” “rhetores,’ and “literatores” is symptomatic of a variability in the use of these terms before and during this period. Valla had not used the term “grammaticus” of himself—he called himself an “orator” or “thetorician’—but certainly claimed to be a philologist, not a dialectician or a philosopher. Poliziano, following the most inclusive definition of grammar as transmitted by Quintilian and Suetonius, had made a point of calling himself a “grammaticus,’ in an eleyated sense, distinguishing himself as a professor of the enkyklos paedeia, of universal learning, from teachers of the elementary disciplines, whom he called “grammatistae,’ “literatores” and “paedagogi.” Emblematum liber, ESv°; Emblemata cum commentariis, CXXXI. More literally: “Remedies are up-hill work; damage is an easy descent.” The verse as trans-

lated by Betty Knott: “Once Jupiter had cast Ate down from the heavenly abode,

what an evil bane [zoxa] thereafter assailed poor man! Ate flies out fleet of foot with fast-beating wing and leaves nothing untouched by mishap, So Jove's daughters, the Litae, accompany her as she goes, to mend whatever ill she has brought about. But they are slow-footed, poor of sight and weary with age, and

so they restore nothing until later, after long passage of time” (Knott, 142). 23.

Emblemata cum commentariis, col. 7290.

Fig. 1. Andrea Alciato, emblem CXXXI, “Remedia in arduo, mala in prono esse,” from

Emblemata cum commentariis. (Image courtesy of Emblematica Online, University of

Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.)

Denis L. Drysdall

EMBLEMATICA

10

even about other professional subjects, than Valla himself, although the most eminent of grammatici, could say about his own art. Firstly; he disapproves of Justinian’s sentence

which

also calls noxa the physical

person of the slave which causes harm, but calls the illegal act itself oxia . Among the ancients I find noxa is derived from nocere, to harm, whence,

in addition to “penalty”, it also means nocumentum,> harm or injury... . Ovid says: “in daytime they [the waters of Pheneos] will do no harm at all [sine noxa bibuntur}?* So the slave who did harm, can be called noxa, just as Homer's Ate is called noxa;”’ but noxia is the guilt itself or the guilty act. Plautus in the Bacchilides says: “I’ve been suspected quite enough as it is, when I was guiltless of a fault [careo noxia].’* Marcus Manilius says: “But

virtue too can be unhappy and guilt [noxia] happy.” And Servius*? wrote quite correctly that Virgil said noxa for noxia.*" 24.

“Noxa autem est corpus quod nocuit, id est servus: noxia ipsum maleficium, veluti furtum, damnum, rapina, iniuria” [Noxa is the object responsible for the damage, that is to say, the slave; noxia is the illegal act itself, as, for instance, the theft, damage, robbery, or injury] (Jnstitutes, 4.8.1; trans. Scott).

25. 26.

Not classical. Metamorphoses, 15.334

27.

Iliad, 19.90-94, 126-31.

28.

Bacchilides, 1004.

29.

Astronomica, 4.94.

30.

“unius ob noxam. noxam pro ‘noxiam. Et hoc interest inter noxam et noxiam,

quod noxia culpa est, noxa autem poena. quidam noxa quae nocuit, noxia id

quod nocitum accipiunt” [for the fault of one. “noxa” for “noxia.” And there is this difference between “noxa” and “noxia”: “noxa” is the penalty. Some take “noxa” to be what harms, “noxia” that which is harmed] (Servius, Commentary

on the Aeneid of Virgil, 1.41). Virgil’s “unius ob noxam” is translated by John Dryden as “for the fault of one offending foe” (Dryden, 77).

31.

“Laurentius tamen Valla, ut maximae vir doctrinae, ita et supra vires suas audax, nec ἃ Iureconsultis quidem temperaverit quo minus illis diem diceret, et de verborum quorundam significatione, ceu Latinae maiestatis laesae, reos faceret, cuius accusationis novem et viginti capita breviter ego confutanda duxi: tum ut tantam eius arrogantiam nescio, certe φιίλαυτίαν, aliquatenus retunderem: tum

The number of literary examples quoted is clearly designed to show that Valla is ignorant of common as well as judicial usage. Moreover, the discussion of zoxa and the allusion to the Homeric figure of Ate suggest strongly that this is the occasion when Alciato thought of the emblem. If in the emblem Ate is oxia, in the legal sense of damages, then the Litae, who follow her so slowly (liad, 9.502-12), are reparations. So the last lines— “But they are slow-footed, poor of sight and weary with age, / And so they restore nothing until later, after long passage of time” —may well speak not of “Fortune” or “Chance,” as the emblem is somewhat loosely classified by Barthélemy Aneau, but, more exactly, of the delays involved in legal appeals. The word “noxia” also occurs in the last line of the second of these emblems, “Alius peccat, alius plectitur” [One sins, but another is punished ],” which again reminds Mignault of the response to Valla. Again it seems quite possible that this emblem is not only a general comment about misdirected revenge—about “Vindicta,’ as Aneau classifed it—but a reflection on cases of judicial error, inspired again by this particularly important word. Alciato may well be reacting here too against Valla, whose criticisms of lawyers and their language were ill-founded, and caused

damage that Alciato finds difficult to put right. It is Valla who sinned; it

is Alciato’s colleagues and students who suffer the damage. And since in this same passage of De verborum significatione he explicitly accuses Valla of “philautia” [selfregard, selfishness], it is tempting to wonder whether the

emblem with that title (Φιλαυτία)55 was not also composed with the author of the Elegantiae in mind. Behind some emblems lies the opposite criticism, of those who have legal learning but lack humane letters, and who misunderstand the law for that reason. The letter to the senator Jacques Minut (Jacobus Minutius)* that prefaces the first book of the Praetermissa describes that work as dedicated to this problem:

Ovidius ‘Sine noxa luce bibuntur’ Merito ergo servus qui nocuit, noxa dici potest: sicut et ἄτη illa Homerica noxa appellatur. Noxia vero ipsa est culpa, seu maleficium. Plautus Bacchilides ‘Sat sic suspectus sum cum careo noxia. M. Manilius: ‘Quin etian infelix virtus et noxia felix’ Unde merito Servius Vergilium noxam pro noxia dixisse scripsit” (De verborum significatione, 90).

ut hi literatores non esse temere ἃ nostris recedendum cognoscerent, et veriora ἃ

lureconsultis, etiam in alienis professionibus tradi, quam ipsemet Valla, alioquin

Grammaticorum praestantissaimus, in propria arte commentari potuerit. Primo

lustiniani sententiam non approbat, noxam appellantis ipsum quoque servi cor-

pus quod nocet, noxiam vero maleficium. ... Ego apud veteres ‘noxam’ a nocendo dictam invenio, unde praeter ‘poenam’ etian ‘nocumentum’ significare. . . .

11

32. 33. 34,

Emblematum liber, DSv°; Emblemata cum commentariis, CLXXV. Emblematum libellus, 38v°; Emblemata cum commentariis, LXIX. For Jacques Minut, see Delaruelle.

12

Denis L. Drysdall

EMBLEMATICA For since in the law there are many things that cannot be understood without knowledge of humane studies, I have separated these from others and brought them together here, so that they should not be contaminated by the judgement of our learned doctors among all those other crabbed and even distasteful questions.”

An example of this is the emblem

“Cuculi”

[Cuckoos].* Alciato had

several things to say about adultery in his Paradoxa, in 1518,” but here there is a question about the correct name of the bird that symbolizes the adulterer: should it be cuculus or curuca? The emblem did not appear until 1546, but in 1543, in the second collection of his Parergon iuris, Alciato talks of a disagreement with lawyers who are not sufficiently familiar with, of all people, Horace. Alciato claims to know from Horace that the word cuculus was a term of abuse directed at the lazy vintner who had not pruned his vines before this bird called in spring. According to Alciato this is not the bird that lays its egg in the nest of other birds; this should be the curuca, the Greek κόκκυξ [coccyx].% Some recent teachers (grammatici) 35.

“Cum enim in Iure multa sint quae sine cognitione studiorum humanitatis

percipi nequeant, a caeteris operibus ea segregavi, et in hunc locum congessi,

ne inter tetricas illas (utinam non etiam odiosas) quaestiones, haec nostratium Doctorum iudicio sordescerent” (Praetermissa 1, dedication in Paradoxorum ad Pratum [1518] ... CXXVIIr°). In other words, the Praetermissa book I is an

early anticipation of what he will do more systematically in his Parergon iuris.

Book II is a second edition of the Opusculum, which contained corrections of Greek words.

36.

37.

38.

have mistranslated κόκκυξ as cuculus. According to the note in the Parergon iuris, therefore, the emblem, though it is entitled “Cuculi” and starts with

Horace’s explanation about why some rustic people are so called, offers another explanation by talking, in line 3, of a different bird, the coccyx. The idle man is rightly called idle, or cuculus, when the coccyx calls in spring, but that does not mean the two words mean the same bird. The bird that lays its egg in another bird’s nest is the coccyx, or curuca, the adulterer; the cuculus is the victim, the cuckold. Since this emblem appears later than the chapter in the Parergon iuris, it seems impossible to read it as if cuculus and coccyx both mean “cuckoo.” If this is correct, the title should be translated, perhaps, not

as “Cuckoos” but as “Cuckolds.” Several expressions of rivalry and professional jealousies in the emblems were noted by the early commentators. The best-known is “Aemulatio impar” [Inferior imitation], in which, after comparing the behavior of the high-flying hawk and the ignoble kite, Alciato concludes that his students now have to put up with his successor, the runny-eyed Oenocrates [ Winebibber].* It is clear that in 1546 he is speaking of his retirement from the chair at Pavia. In his “Life” of Alciato, Mignault adds that this man, whom

he calls Alexandrinus,*' was a contemporary and emulator, that he often provoked and insulted Alciato, who did not answer. But, Mignault goes on, “a good man’s anger usually runs deeper, and he considered it unworthy that this man should be set alongside him and named as his successor to the chair.’* Alciato himself adds something to this in book 6 of his Parergon these grammatici call it the “curucus.” But on this argument they ought to call it not “cuculus” but “curucus,’ because they do not lay in another’s nest but others heap up eggs in theirs] (Parergon iuris, 7.5).

Emblematum libellus, 121°; Emblemata cum commentariis, LX.

Paradoxa, 5.8, 5.10, mainly emphasizing that, though adultery is a serious crime,

it is not one liable to capital punishment (éus gladii). “Ego Cuculos peculiari convicio agricolas dictos apud veteres legi, qui negli-

gentes, socordes, tardique essent, quod non prius putatas vites haberent, quam Cuculus canere coepisset. Horatius: Magna compellans voce Cuculum, graece xoxxv§, a voce dicitur . ... Recentiores Grammatici Cuculos dici hos homines

39.

40.

putant a natura avis, quae in alienum nidum, maxime Hypolaidis, quam ipsi [re-

41.

Cuculi, sed Curucae dici debuissent: cum non ipsi in alienum, sed alii in suum nidum congerant” [I myself have read that cuculi was used among the ancients

42.

centiores grammatici] Curucam vocant, ova sua transfert. Sed hac ratione non

as a particular insult of farmers who were careless, lazy, or slow, because thay had

not pruned their vines before the cuculus had begun to sing. Horace says, “The cuculus, with loud reproachful call .. ” (Satires, 1.7.31). It comes from the Greek word κόκκυξ... Modern grammatici think cuculi is used of men from the habit of the bird which lays its eggs in another bird’s nest, most often the hypolais, and

13

Emblematum libelus, 37v°; Emblemata cum commentariis, CXLII.

“δὶς mecum Oenocrates agit: at deserta studentum / Utitur hoc lippo curia tamquam oculo” [This is how Oenocrates behaves with me; but in the students’ lecture hall, which I have left, he is tolerated like a runny eye] (IL. 5-6). See note 42. Barni (147n3) identifies him as Giovanni Antonio Rossi of Alessandria (see also 14n4 and 135n4). “Vita per Claudium Minoem” in Emblemata cum commentariis, XXXII: “Fuit etiam illi aemulus, et σύνδρομος in Italicis Academiis Doctor quidam iuris nomine Alexandrinus, a quo non semel provocatus, saepeque conviciis impetitus

nihil respondit: ut tamen interdum solet esse acrior viri boni iracundia, indigne tulit eum quasi sibi opponi, et in eodem suggestu successorem nominari” [ There

was a certain enemy and rival of his, a professor in the Italian universities called

14

Denis L. Drysdall

EMBLEMATICA

iuris, where he quotes Plautus to show that /ppo oculo [runny-eyed] is used of someone we cannot get rid of and must put up with, but this in an article explaining an edict that allows slaves who are runny-eyed to be classed as damaged goods and returned to the vendor.’ Perhaps Alciato also had this in mind when he wrote of his successor. Another emblem about his critics, in the same late collection of 1546, is “In detractores” [Against his detractors], which concludes with the similar

thought “Negligere est satius, perdere quod nequeas” [It is better to ignore what you cannot get rid of }.* Such detractors are characterized in the first line as “stupidi magistri” [thick-headed school teachers]—a phrase that

echoes the “triviales paedagogi” of the of Parergon iuris,® who only mangle answers them, they will only make persistently, like flies. In the biography also quotes this emblem to emphasize

recently published second collection texts they do not understand. If he more noise, like crickets, or return of Alciato just mentioned, Mignault again Alciato’s reticence.

The emblem entitled “Doctorum agnomina” [Professors’ nicknames}*”

seems to be the very last Alciato published, not appearing in the collection until the edition of 1550. Itis possible, of course, that these names—or some, at least—were invented by students, but Alciato himself clearly conceived of each name as evoking an emblematic object that represented some feature of that professor’s personality. The Canon® is Curtius, who only explains easy and obvious passages; Meander is repetitious; the Labyrinth is

Alexandrinus, by whom he was challenged more than once and often attacked and insulted, but he never answered . . . .]. Mignault then quotes this emblem.

difficult to follow; the Chopper (Mucro)* is too concise; the Pelican (Truo) has a voice that shatters the columns of the building;’! the Bat ( Vespertilio),

on the other hand, has a squeaky voice; the Swallow (Hirundo) mumbles the endings of his words (proof of ignorance in Latin);* the Starling (Sturnus) insists on talking himself and listens to no one. The commentators do not identify these lecturers—with the exception of Mucro, the Chopper, who

may be Claude Chansonette (Cantiuncula). Some of these names are reminders of other emblems not otherwise connected with the profession. Chaerephon, the subject of the first emblem, titled “Vespertilio; who has a squeaky voice, may well be Albius, the lecturer with the squeaky voice.” Crassus, the Swallow, may also be the target of the emblem “Garrulitas,” with the dreadful legend of Procne and Philomela.*

Emblems and Presumptions Immediately after the well-known reference in De verborum significatione to Horapollo, Chaeremon, and the Emblemata, and in the context of his paragraph on things that may signify, Alciato remarks, “But from proven signs too presumptions arise.” In this context the implication of the remark is clearly that proven signs—that is, certain circumstances of the plaintiffs or the defendants—are, like emblems, “things that signify, and that presumptions are the meanings of such signs, which the law can take into account. Signs

and presumptions are analogous to emblematic “things” and their meanings. 50.

The Greek is κοπίς [chopper], not κόπις [babbler], as in the commentary in Emblemata cum commentariis, col. 407a.

S1.

Cf Emblemata cum commentariis, XCV1: “In garrulum et gulosum.”

52.

In Greek, “twitter like a swallow” (χελιδονίζω) was a proverbial expression for foreign or barbarous speech.

53.

Los Emblemas de Alciato traducidos en rhimas espanolas, 247; Emblemata cum

54.

This “Vespertilio” is not the proverbial expression that Alciato lists in book 4 of his De verborum significatione among the eighty proverbs known to the law but not included by Erasmus. Alciato used this in “Vespertilio aliud;’ in 1549, an

Emblematum libellus, 40x°; Emblemata cum commentariis, LXX. For the legend, see Ovid, Metamorphoses, 6.424-674. “Sed et ex certis signis praesumptiones oriuntur” (De verborum significatione,

43.

Parergon iuris, 6.12, referring to D.21.1.10.3; Plautus, Persa, 1.1.11; Bacchilides, 4.8.72.

44,

Emblematum libellus, 16v°; Emblematum cum commentariis, CLXIV.

45.

“Epistola nuncupatoria,” in Parergon iuris libri septem posteriores.

46.

“Vita, in Emblemata cum commentariis, XXXIII-IV.

47.

Emblemata, 104; Emblemata cum commentariis, LXXXXVII.

48.

As line 12 suggests, “Dictus Truo est scholasticis” [He was called the “Pelican” by the students]. Cf. the past-tense usage in lines 13-14: “Contra est voca-

55.

squeaky-voiced, was called the “Bat”].

56.

tus, tenuis esset Albius / Quod voce Vespertilio” [On the other hand Albius,

49.

“Standard stuff” from the Greek κανών [standard, model].

15

commentariis, LX1. See also Parergon iuris, 9.16.

emblem of the debtor who only goes out at night, to avoid his creditors.

102).

16

EMBLEMATICA

In his treatise De praesumptionibus, Alciato gathers the various sorts of judicial presumptions under three “principal rules.” Under rule 1—“That a natural quality inborn in a person is presumed to be always present”— Alciato discusses a situation in which “someone who has turned his hand on himself is presumed more easily to be likely to kill someone else.” “Take note” he adds, “of these words warning against those who take in perpetrators and hucksters who have consumed their own goods, because they will the more easily consume those of others” The passage concludes with a reference to the Greek epigram about Medea that is the principal source for the emblem—“Ei qui semel sua prodegerit, aliena credi non oportet” [The property of others should not be entrusted to someone who has once squandered his own]. The epigram deplores the act of an unwise

swallow (a much-maligned bird in the emblems) who builds her nest on a statue of Medea. The passage in De praesumptionibus refers to laws in the Codex and the Digest. Here, the proven sign is the character of prodigals and the presumption is that they will continue to be wasters. Rule 2 says, “Change is not to be presumed.” The emblem “Bonis a

divitibus nihil timendum” [The innocent should not have to be afraid of

the rich]® is the product of a dispute between Alciato and some neighbors

whose new house threatened to block his windows. Alciato, forced to go

to court, thought it useful to argue his case using this presumption that certain situations or conditions are permanent, that his leasehold of the house gave him a permanent right to the easement attached to it—that is, to the light of his windows. The proven sign in this case is the legality of his 57.

“Interfecturus alium facilius praesumitur, qui sibiipsi manum intulit .. 7: “... ubi praesunitur facilius alium interfecturus, qui sibiipsi manum intulit ... Et ista nota contra eos, qui accipiunt factores seu institores qui consumpserunt propria

Denis L. Drysdall

17

lease, and the presumption that follows from it is the permanence of the right to the light from his windows. We shall see later, in a different context, that he thought he had another argument to support his claim, although in the end he was obliged to compromise. Rule 3 provides that a presumption must be made so as to allow a better outcome, which seems to mean for Alciato that a presumption is always made in the interest of the general or public good. In one example of this rule, we find that “in doubtful cases the presumption is against the treasury [fiscus] and judgment should be made against it.” To illustrate this case, Alciato refers to the story of Plotina, wife of the emperor Trajan, who says the treasury is to the state what the spleen is to the body: when it is enlarged, other parts of the body waste away (De praesumptionibus, Regula tertia, Praesumptio XLI [1 and 2], col. 808). This is, of course, the image and the subject of the emblem “Opulentia tyranni, paupertas subiectorum” [Wealthy ruler, poor subjects],“' where the title corresponds precisely to Proven sign and presumption. In his Parergon iuris, Alciato quotes the response of Modestinus in the Digest to support this presumption: “I do not think that [the jurist] violates his duty who, in questions that are doubtful, answers against the Treasury.” He supports his opinion with a reference to the story from Pliny the Younger’s Panegyric of Trajan: “Your particular glory is that the treasury is always the loser, which is never the case except under a good ruler.” These three examples illustrate the ways in which presumptions may be

incorporated or illustrated in emblems, but it seems it would be too much

to say that all the emblems are also a form of presumption, or even that judicial presumptions provided Alciato with a common inspiration for his emblems.

bona: quia facilius consument aliena, ut dicitur in primo graecorum epigram-

matôn lib[ro]” (De praesumptionibus, in Opera omnia, IV, Regula prima, Praesumptio LII [5], col. 662). 58.

Emblematum liber, E8v°; Emblemata cum commentariis, LIV. Although this is

based on an epigram by Archias from the Greek Anthology (AG 9.346), Alciato’s translation is not included with those in the Selecta epigrammata, 139-40.

61.

59.

“De legitima tutela” (C.5.30.5) and “Ad legem luliam de adulteriis coercendis”

62.

60.

Emblematum liber, F2r°; Emblemata cum commentariis, XXXIL. De praesump-

63.

(D.48.5.0).

tionibus, Regula secunda, Praesumptio prima, cols 664-65, See Drysdall 2012; and Drysdall 2013, 271-83.

Los Emblemas, 252; Emblemata cum commentariis, CXLVII.

“Non puto delinquere eum, qui in dubiis quaestionibus contra fiscum facile re-

sponderit” (Parergon iuris, 8.6, D.49.14.10). “Quae praecipua tua gloria est, saepius vincitur fiscus; cuius mala caussa nun-

quam est, nisi sub bono principe” (Pliny Caecilius, Panegyricus, 36). Alciato may also have known Sextus Aurelius Victor; Epitome de Caesaribus, 42.21.

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Law as a Subject of the Emblems General Experience and Opinions The eulogy of law in Alciato’s praelectio, or introductory lecture, delivered in Avignon in 1519, includes what is clearly an anticipation of the emblem “In senatum boni principis” [On the council of a good prince}: So history tells us that the statues of magistrates were carved by the Thebans without hands, and those of rulers with their eyes closed, showing that justice was of such a nature that it was uncorrupted and did not yield to bribes, or prayers, or other vile means of pleasure.

The emblem, it seems, was not strictly an image of a good prince, as Aneau classifies it, but of the incorruptible justice that should reign in his court. We do not know how Alciato understood the story of Myrtilus when he included his translation of this Greek epigram in the emblems of 1531. “Auxilium numquam deficiens” [Help never failing] tells how Myrtiluss shield saved him in battle and from drowning after he was shipwrecked. But in another praelectio, this one at Pavia in 1535, Alciato interprets it as an allegory of law, both as a profession, which he commends to his students, and as an intellectual refuge he has found for himself during his time in Bourges.” There is no need to doubt the sincerity of these commendations of his profession, but we should remember they are praelectiones, formal eulogies. Another emblem that puts law and judges in the context of good

started life in 1546, as an alternative interpretation of the hostile hornets of the emblem “Maledicentia.” Here, Alciato has used the quite different— and scientifically incorrect—tradition that attributed the quality of mercy to the king (or rather, the queen) bee because it has no sting. The epigram becomes a separate emblem in subsequent editions. It is also apparent that Alciato had other thoughts about his profession and, indeed, some reservations. The title of “Tandem tandem iustitia

obtinet” [At long last justice prevails]® suggests that Alciato is alluding

to the law delays, as in “Remedia in arduo, mala in prono esse.” But the last line of the epigram—“Affectus fas est cedere iustitiae”—is, as the commentator points out,” an “epimythion,’ a moral added by Alciato to his translation of the Greek epigram. He is speaking of the feelings that led the Greeks to award Achilles’s shield not to the real conqueror of Hector, who was Ajax, but to Odysseus. I translate the word “affectus,” which is plural, as “feelings,” for the Greeks are said to have been swayed by Odysseuss eloquence,” not by partiality (as in one English translation) or preference for one disputant or the other. I would suggest that the subject of this emblem is not the delays of the law, nor strict legality or the broad idea of justice implied by Aneau classification, nor the general notion of truth as Mignault would have it, but the harmful effects of emotionalism and the more flexible judicial notion of equity:” “It is right that equity should prevail over feelings.” In 1547 it becomes the epigram of “Principis clementia” (no number; follows 11,67). For the tradition about the king (i.e., queen) bee, see Aristotle, Historia animalium, 553a25; Pliny, Naturalis historia, 11.17: “Illud constat, imperatorem aculeo non uti” [It is clear that the king does not make use of his sting}; Seneca, De clementia, 1.19.3: “iracundissimae ac pro corporis captu pugnacissimae sunt apes et aculeos in volnere relinquunt, rex ipse sine aculeo est” [bees become very

government is “Principis clementia” [Clemency in a ruler], where the last

line speaks of the sanctity of law entrusted to good judges. This epigram 64. 65.

Emblematum liber, D1r°; Emblemata cum commentariis, CXLV. “D. Andreae Alciati iurisconsulti oratio in laudem iuris civilis, principio studii

habita cum Avenione profiteretur”: “Quapropter memoriae traditum est, magistratuum statuas a Thebanis ita solere formari, ut sine manibus essent, principum

vero clausis oculis: nimirum eam iustitiae naturam esse ostendentes, ut incorrupta sit, nec precio, precibusve, aut alienae vili voluptati cedat” (Opera, II, 539).

66.

Emblematum liber, C2v°; Emblemata cum commentariis, CLXII. See also An-

67.

“D. Andreae Alciati Ticini in celeberrima academia profitentis oratio habita”

68.

academy of Pavia] (Opera, II, 544). Emblematum libellus, 371°; Emblemata cum commentariis, CXLIX. The 1546

thologia graeca, 9.42; and Selecta epigrammata, 96.

angry and bellicose when held by the body and leave their stings in the wound; only the king is without a sting].

69.

70.

AG9.115, 115a; Selecta epigrammata, 43. Emblematum liber, B8r°; Emblemata cum commentariis, XXVIII.

Emblemata cum commentariis, col. 1658.

71.

In this story Alciato appears to follow Ovid in saying the judges were the Greeks, not the Trojan captives and Athena as in Homer or Quintus Smyrnaeus. Ovid, Metamorpohoses, 12.612-13.383; Homer, Odyssey, 11.544-65; Quintus Smyr-

72.

The comparative “justior” [more just], which Alciato applies to Neptune, in line

[Opening address pronounced by Andrea Alciato when he taught at the famous

edition has the epigram, headed “Contra,” on the same page as “Maledicentia.”

19

naeus (Calaber), Posthomerica, 5.156-S8.

2, also suggests equity.

20

Ajax is also the subject of “Insani gladius” [The madman's sword],” but

this emblem did not appear until 1546. From 1543 to 1546, after some dispute with the authorities in Milan, who failed to pay his stipend, Alciato was teaching at Ferrara. In his praelectio he remarks, “Just as the best wines, if they are put into a dirty or defective jar, go bad and are corrupted, so legal learning entrusted to evil men is simply, as the common saying goes, a sword in the hands of a madman.”” Clearly Alciato is thinking of what happens when the law is administered by bad authorities, but the reference to legal learning in a lecture to students suggests he may be thinking more particularly of judges, magistrates, and teachers, rather than authorities in general. This emblem is a notable example of the way Aneau’s imposition of a scheme of “common places” distorts Alciato’s intention: an emblem clearly intended to draw attention to the importance of responsible justice is presented as an example of “Vindicta” [Revenge]. The last lines of “In divites publico malo” [Against those who grow rich from public misfortune]” tell us something of Alciato’s broader views regarding the role of the law in society: “Likewise a state in turmoil becomes a source of profit to people / Who in peace go hungry, because they are constrained by the law.” Unlike Erasmus, who, pacifist that he was, applied the proverb “Anguillas captare” to princes who benefit from making war,” Alciato applies it to profiteers. For him the law has not only a governmental or disciplinary role but an economic one, since—in peacetime, at least—it prevents or restricts profiteering from public disorder. 73. 74.

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Emblematum libellus, 141°; Emblemata cum commentariis, CLXXVI. “Oratio habita Ferrariae MDXLIII cum primum professurus illuc venit”: “Nam

sicut optima vina, si mucido vitiosoque vasi commitantur, in vapam traanseunt

atque corrumpuntur: sic doctrina legalis malis hominibus credita, nihil aliud est

Finally among these samples of thoughts about the law is one that I cannot attribute directly to Alciato, but that is suggested by a commentator. “Obnoxia infirmitas” [Weakness is vulnerable] dates from 1549,” and is clearly a reflection on the weakness in legal situations of the powerless, the friendless, or the poor. The image is of sardines that, trying to escape a larger fish, become the prey of gulls. The commentator quotes a proverb— common, apparently, but not in Erasmus or the other paremiographers— “Big fish eat little fish,” and he adds, “This is what happens to those litigants who, without the help of wealth or supporting friends, go randomly and vainly from one judge to another”* But it is perhaps also inspired by Alciato’s own situation in 1549, suffering illness and disfavor in Milan. Personal Experiences Although one cannot be certain, in one or two cases in the emblems the use of first- and second-person verbs suggests that Alciato may have had a personal involvement in a prosecution or a consultation. One such case is “In deprehensum” [About a captive]: For a long time I have been pursuing you, wherever you flee, but now You are at long last caught in my net. You will no longer be able to elude my power; I have gripped the eel in a fig-leaf.*!

We do not know the nature of the crime, if there was one, in this case. According to the Suda (u1432 [Mvpatva]), the eel is an image of a traitor, or a deceiver, or a lecher; Pliny remarks on its slipperiness (Naturalis historia, 78. 79.

quam quod vulgo dici solet, in manu furiosi gladius” (Opera, II, 549). Cf. Hor-

ace, Ep. 1.2.54: “Sincerum est nisi vas, quodcunque infundis acescit” [Unless the

jar is clean, anything you put in it goes sour].

75. 76. 77.

Emblematum libellus, 3x°; Emblemata cum commentariis, LXXXIX. “δίς iis res publica turbida lucro est / Qui pace, arctati legibus, esuriunt.” Adagia, WI vi 79. The source for Alciato may be Aesop’s fable of the fisherman

who stirred up the water to drive fish into his net; the moral of that fable is, “Civitatum etiam rectores tunc maxime operari, cum patrias in seditionem indu-

cerent” [Governors of states get rich especially when the stir up sedition in their lands). Alciato would have found this in the volume published by Aldus in 1505: Habentur hoc volumine haec, videlicet Vita et Fabellae Aesopi ..., C {iv v°].

21

Los emblemas, 250; Emblemata cum commentariis, CLXX. “Pisces magni parvulos comedunt” (Emblemata cum commentariis, col. 712a). Not in Erasmuss Adagia, not in the sylloge of proverbs in the Aldus volume of 1505, and not in the Suda. The commentator, who identifies himself as German when he adds, “Nobis Germanis ‘Die grosse [sic] Fische fressen die Kleinen,” was

probably Thuilius. 80.

81.

“Ur litigatoribus accidit iis qui nullis opibus, nullisque amicis favitoribus adiuti, a iudice ad iudicem temere frustraque provocant” (Emblemata cum commentariis, col. 7134). “Iamdudum quacunque fugis, te persequor: at nunc / Cassibus in nostris de-

nique captus ades./ Amplius haud poteris vires eludere nostras:/ Ficulae anguillam strinximus in folio” (Emblematum liber, D1v°; Emblemata cum commentariis, XXI).

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Denis L. Drysdall

EMBLEMATICA

9.39). It is true that Alciato may have all this from Erasmus’s adages “Folio ficulino tenes anguillam” and “Cauda tenes anguillam” (Adagia, | iv 95; Liv 94). However, I wonder if the tone of satisfaction discernible here was not inspired by a personal experience. Alciato also speaks in the second person to an accused in “In receptatores sicariorum.”* This emblem is directed not at assassins but at those who

23

Other Examples

“Scaeva,’ in the first line of the epigram, can be taken to mean “clumsy, but may also be, as a commentator suggests, a proper name.™ Alciato pictures the man as if he had encountered him going about the streets accompanied by a gang of swordsmen, and evokes for him the fate of Actaeon, who was torn to pieces by his own hunting dogs. Is this simply a way of saying that men who harbor assassins are as bad as the assassins themselves—or could it also be that Alciato was able to convict an individual responsible for assassinations in the Milan of the 1520s?

Ofall Alciato’s emblems, the one that tells of the legitimation of Hercules, “In nothos” [On bastards],** has perhaps the most-extensive legal background (fig. 2). In no fewer than ten of his texts, we find not only how we should understand the emblem but something of his personal opinions on this subject. There is no systematic account of illegitimacy in the judicial works, but Alciato returns to the subject on several occasions, finally quoting the emblem itself in the Parergon iuris, of 1543.57 Hercules was made legitimate by a means no longer found in Roman law or contemporary practice, but these passages show that bastards could be legitimated in Alciato’s time by a power of the pope or monarch. Going against what seems to be ἃ widespread opinion among lawyers of his time and earlier, and occasionally against their readings of both civil and canon law, Alciato holds furthermore that legitimation raises the status of the person legitimated, that such persons may in some circumstances inherit, and that, as persons who suffer not from a fault of their own but from someone else’s fault, they deserve clemency. These passages also remind us repeatedly of Alciato’s personal interest in the fact that, as a count palatine, he could use the power delegated by the pope in favor of the illegitimate, even of children of adultery and incest. As a humanist, he is prepared to appeal also, against traditional readings of both civil and canon law, on pragmatic grounds, to present custom and to the common usage of language. It is

82.

the emblem for Erasmus Cynosarges one modern

harbor and feed them. It alludes to a law known as the /ex Cornelia, and to

a section entitled “De receptatoribus,” which states,

The harborers of criminals constitute one of the worst classes of offenders, for without them no criminal could long remain concealed. The law directs that they shall be punished as robbers. They should be placed in the same class, because when they can seize robbers they permit them to go, after having received money or a part of the stolen goods.

83.

84.

85.

Emblematum liber, E6v°; Emblemata cum commentariis, LIL.

“Pessimum genus est receptatorum, sine quibus nemo latere diu potest: et prae-

cipitur, ut perinde puniantur atque latrones. In pari causa habendi sunt, qui, cum adprehendere latrones possent, pecunia accepta vel subreptorum parte dimiserunt” (D.47.16.1).

Emblemata cum commentariis, col. 253a. The word is not capitalized in 1531,

but it is in the authorized edition of 1534 and thereafter. His source appears to be Stobaeus, Anthologii libri duo posteriores, 1:473 (Εκλογῶν T cap XIV 12): “Quemadmodum Actaeon a canibus, quos alebat, discerptus est: ita parasiti & assentatores eos, a quibus enutriuntur, misere perdunt” [Just as Actaeon was torn to pieces by the dogs he fed, so parasites and flatterers bring to utter ruin those by whom they are nourished], though Stobaeus applies the image to parasites and flatterers, not to harborers of criminals.

clear, therefore, that his attitude toward bastards is not hostile, and that

is not a reflection of the formula of abuse that characterizes the adage “Off with you to Cynosarges” (Adagia, III i 70: “Ad ). The title should be translated not as “Against bastards,’ as in English case, but “About bastards.” Most significantly, in the

passage in the De singulari certamine, repeated in the Parergon iuris, Alciato

willingly admits that many successful men and great leaders, even of his 86.

Emblematum libellus, 15v°; Emblemata cum commentariis, CXXXIX. The

verse, as translated by Betty Knott, reads, “Bastards, you should always celebrate

the honors of Hercules, for he was the chief of your line. He could not become a

god until as a babe he sucked the milk which Juno was giving him, unaware that she was being tricked” (Knott, 151). 87.

Parergon iuris, 4.3. The chapter could have been written and the emblem com-

posed some time before 1543, perhaps even before 1537, given the delay in publication of the first collection of the Parerga in 1537.

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Denis L. Drysdall

EMBLEMATICA

25

own profession, were of illegitimate birth. This emblem says clearly to them that their patron Hercules was a hero and a bastard made legitimate.®

The image of the emblem “In fraudulentos” [Against deceivers]® is the

starred gecko or lizard, known as stellio stellata, which had a bad reputation among the ancients and gave its name to all sorts of deception and fraud. Everything that the Digest has to say about such deception, in the law called “Stellionatus,’ comes down to the fact that it is not covered by civil law; actions for fraud that may be taken and the punishments that may be incurred are a matter of criminal law (D.47.20.1-3.3). It does not mention marital deceptions, but this is what the emblem is about, and the figure is explained by Alciato in a passage of book 1 of his Parergon iuris. Quoting Pliny the Elder, he describes two medical uses, the second of which is “a bad medicine by which women are deceived. When [the lizard] is drowned in wine the face of anyone who drinks the wine is blackened. This is why wives who want to ambush the beauty of mistresses kill it in an ointment.’ The crime here appears to be the act not of the mistress but of the wife, and Alciato does not say he disapproves of such revenge. Idleness hardly seems a matter for legal consideration, but Alciato describes the choenix, or jar, of the emblem “Desidiam abiiciendam” [Away with idleness]”' in his De ponderibus & mensuris.” The work gives a very exact account of vases and their capacities, distinguishing the choenix of Athens and those of other Greek centers. It states specifically that it was a 88.

See especially Paradoxa, 1.17; De singulari certamine, ch. 19; Parergon iuris, 4.10. For full details see “Hercules Prince of Bastards and Alciato on Illegitimacy,’ in Drysdall 2013, 285-97.

89.

Emblematum libellus, 71°; Emblemata cum commentariis, XLIX.

90.

“Crimen stellionatus unde appellationem sumpserit. . . . ex eo malum medicamentum fiat, quo mulieres decipiuntur: nam cum immortuus est in vino, faciem eorum, qui biberint, lentigine obducit: ob hoc in unguento eum necant, si quae

mulieres pellicum formae insidiantur, . . . Unde et impudentiae est symbolum”

[Where the crime called “stellionatus” gets its name ... from it (sc. from the lizard) a bad medication can be made with which women are deceived, for when it is drowned in wine, the face of those who drink is blackened .... Hence it is a

91. Fig, 2. Andrea Alciato, emblem CXXXIX, “In nothos” from Emblemata cum commentariis. (Image courtesy of Emblematica Online, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.)

92.

sign of lewdness] (Parergon iuris, 1.46); Pliny, Naturalis historia, 29.23.

Emblematum liber, A7v°; Emblemata cum commentariis, LXXXII. A text that, incidentally, he anticipated would cause him some difficulties with Budé. See Barni, no. 42, IL 45-46, 144-49; no. 49, 27-42; no. 50, 10-12; no. 51, 90-100; no. 56, 18-24; no. 63, 4-13.

26

measure of the normal reward in grain for a day’s labor. The information is also summarized in the Parergon iris where Alciato refers to a decree of Justinian requiring prisoners to be given two /ibellue, equivalent to one choenix, per day.” He refers here, too, to the saying of Pythagoras that he quotes in his first line: “Do not sit on the choenix.” This, he says, means we should take care to provide for the morrow, and according to him it runs contrary to the teaching of the gospel: “Take no thought for the morrow” (Matt. 6:34). Erasmus, in his discussion of the symbol, manages to reconcile it with the gospel by interpreting it, unlike Alciato, to mean that “we should not idly seek leisure and sustenance from others, but acquire through our own industry the means to sustain life decently” (Adagia, I i 2). For the purpose of this article, the important point for this emblem is that the legal texts show Alciato’s usage of the word choenix to be quite exact: as the symbol of daily labor. It is to be distinguished from the modus, or barrel, of 93.

“et sciendum apud Athenienses fuisse mensuram tritici quantum quisque uno die comederet: ea erat & maior libra, vocabaturque choenix, vel μέτρον …. Igitur iubet constitutio duas libellas, id est, choenicem victualis substantiae custoditis

praestari: quod etiam olim fieri solitum ostendit Pythagorae symbolum: Super

choenicem non esse sedendum: id est, non debere quemquam praesenti cibo contentum esse, sed potius adversus legem Evangelicam de crastino solicitari”

[and you should know that among the Athenians this was a measure of grain

equal to what one would eat in a day; it was more than a pound and was called a choenix or uétpoy .... So the decree orders that two pounds, that is one choenix,

should be given to prisoners by way of sustenance. But the Pythagorean symbol shows that in the past people were accustomed to say, “Do not sit on the choenix”; that is, no one should be satisfied with the sustenance they have at present, but rather, contrary to the gospel, to take concern for the morrow] (Parergon iuris, 1.17).

94.

Denis L. Drysdall

EMBLEMATICA

“Iudices dominicis diebus productos reos e custodia carcerali videant interrogent, ne his humanitas clausis per corruptos carcerum custodes negetur: victualem substantiam non habentibus faciant ministrare libellis duobus aut tribus diurnis vel quot existimaverint commentarienses decretis, quorum sumptibus

proficiant alimoniae pauperum: quos ad lavacrum sub fida custodia duci oportet” [ Judges shall have prisoners brought before them from prison on Sunday, and they shall interrogate them, in order that humane treatment may not be denied them by corrupt jailers during their confinement. They must cause proper food to be furnished, if they do not have it, and shall assign them two or three pounds daily, or as much as those having charge of them consider necessary, which they may charge to the fund intended for the poor, and the prisoners ought also to be conducted to the baths under a trusty guard] (C.1.4.9; C.1.4.10 in Scott).

27

the emblem “Desidia” [Idleness], which, despite Aneau’s grouping, is very

different. The emblem “Desidia,”” published in the 1546 collection, is probably not the product of any legal considerations but, instead, a late echo of Alciato’s letter of 1518 to Bernard Mattius. But a point made in two legal texts throws an interesting light on one argument he used to try to dissuade his friend from joining the Franciscans. In this letter, now known as the “Contra vitam monasticam,” he had quoted a law that forbade men to abandon their office in order to live as hermits (Drysdall 2014, §30; Codex, 10.32.26). In the Dispunctiones, also published in 1518, he had interpreted this law, in its time a condemnation of Christian practice, as being applicable now only to those who abandon their offices for dishonest reasons (3.11). This interpretation is justified in book 2 of the De verborum significatione, where he argues that contemporary usage must be allowed to replace ancient usage if the latter should be in effect impious. The use of that law against Mattius might seem in this light to be somewhat disingenuous; although to be quite exact, the argument is aimed not at his friend but at the monasteries. We are not told who is represented by the tomb and the symbols of “integrity” in the emblem “Abstinentia” [On abstention],”” or what his profession was, but it seems very likely that Alciato was thinking particularly of the magistracy. Both Mignault and Sanchez de las Brozas thought so and referred the emblem to the so-called Julian Law on Extortion, which Alciato discusses in his Dispunctiones (III, 9; D.48.11.1, 3-4). In paragraph 1 the Digest says, “The Julian Law on Extortion has reference to money received by someone who holds the position of magistrate, or who is invested with

some degree of power, or administration, or with the office of Deputy, or any other public employment or occupation whatsoever; and also applies 95.

96.

97.

Emblematum libellus, 35°; Emblemata cum commentariis, LXXXI.

“Putaverim tamen, si qua lex ex eo sensu, quem a principio habuerit, iniqua esset, Posse ex praesenti usu declarari, ut iniquitas illa emendetur . . . atque hoc modo

interpretatione prudentium legislatoris impietas confringitur” {I would think, however, if any law, taken in the meaning it had originally, is unjust, it can be explained on the basis of present usage so that the injustice is corrected... and interpreted by wise people in this way unrighteousness on the part of the legislator is annulled] (De verborum significatione, Il, 41).

Emblemata, 34; Emblemata cum commentariis, XXXI.

EMBLEMATICA

Denis L. Drysdall

to the attendants of the above-mentioned dignitaries.” And in paragraphs

was a legal presumption that he had the right to retain the light from his windows. He maintained also, according to his account in the commentary, that a decree of the municipal council requiring owners to complete and embellish their houses should not apply when what was proposed was not a completion but an extension of a building already completed. Specifically, he argued that the interpretation of the decree should be “restricted.” What he meant by this becomes apparent in a passage devoted to municipal ordinances and how they relate to Roman civil law. The rule to be observed, he says, is that such statutes are to be restricted because they give way to common law (ius commune)—that is, common Roman law in force in any particular locality." He also argued his case in the commentary on the basis of equity (ius gentium), a notion he discusses in the following section of the treatise: “However this must not be omitted: whenever anyone might suffer an undue penalty from the general application of a statute a restriction must be made to the common law ... for it is to be admitted that any disposition in laws, responses, wills, or contracts is to be limited in order not to introduce an injustice.”'"' Behind the protest of the title

28

3 and 4, “He is liable under the Julian Law relating to Extortion who,

while invested with any authority, accepts money for rendering a judgment or decree . . . or for doing more or less than he was obliged to do in the performance of his official duty” (trans. Scott). Does this emblem, which appeared only in 1548, tell us that Alciato himself has always preserved his integrity?

Two Emblems Alluded to in the De verborum significatione

The discussion of “proper meaning” which constitutes the first book of the De verborum significatione, alludes incidentally to two emblems. It needs to be said here that the treatise of this name is not a discussion of the meaning of individual words or laws, like the accompanying commentaries, but of the ways “meaning” may be understood, how it may be “restricted,” or “extended,” or “interpreted,” when there is conflict or uncertainty in the confrontation of ancient and modern law. The “proper meaning” of the texts of the Corpus iuris civilis is, for Alciato, the meaning that would be allowed by the jurists who wrote them. It is in this context of “proper meaning” that we find reflections of the two emblems.

allow a man who wants to build a sumptuous house to force his neighbor to sell the adjacent property? And will it also support someone who has completed a sumptuous building but wants to add to it; say, to enlarge the garden or the im-

[have already said that the emblem “Bonis a divitibus nihil timendum””*

pluvium? When I was attacked on this question, I said he is not supported; for although there was a decree setting out a plan for the embellishment of the city,

is an expression of Alciato’s disappointment at the failure of his case against his neighbors, who would block the light of his window by extending the house on the next property. Alciato gives several details of the affair in one of the commentaries of his De verborum significatione and in a passage in his De praesumptionibus.” He had argued in court, as I said, that there 98.

99.

and which encouraged citizens to embellish their buildings, this plan was not applicable in the case of a person who had already finished—for someone who had already finished should not be encouraged to build, nor would someone

Emblematum liber, F2x°; Emblemata cum commentariis, XXXII.

This material is introduced as an example in the commentary on the phrase “perficere aedificium” (lex

CXX XIX), which is defined as meaning “to finish, com-

plete a building” to the point where it can be occupied. “Sed finge, concedit lex volenti laute aedificare, ut vicinum ad proximae rei venditionem cogere possit, an eum quoque adiuvabit, qui lautum aedificium perfecit sed addere illi aliquid desiderat, puta hortum ampliare, an impluvium? Qua in re cum ego impeterer, negabam adiuvari: cum enim ornatus urbis ratione ita constitutum esset, et qud

100.

wish to build who had already built—and since indeed this modest enlargement was not in itself an embellishment for the city, but a building which was already sufficiently completed. And I said that the ordinance should be restricted in its interpretation, because not only was it brought in against the civil law but even took away a natural right. . .]. For the De praesumptionibus see note 60. “Sequens tractatus est de plebiscito municipali, quando iuxta antiquiores leges restringi debeat, et regula est, debere: quoniam statuta secundum ius commune interpretationem accipiunt. Et quoties statutum de aliqua re, persona, loco, ver-

ba facit, de idoneo et habili ex iuris communis dispositione intelligitur” [The following discussion concerns municipal ordinance and when it must be restricted by the older laws, and the rule is it must be restricted, since statutes are inter-

cives ad expolienda aedificia incitarentur, in eo, qui iam perfecisset, haec ratio locum non habebat: nam incitandus non erat, qui iam perfecisset, nec volebat ae-

preted according to common law. Whenever a statute speaks about any thing, person, or place, it is understood to conform to and be accepted according to the

dificare, qui iam aedificasset: quandoquidem & modica illa ampliatio civitati ipsi

ornamento non erat, sed aedificium, quod satis iam perfectum fuerat: restringendumque interpretatione decretum dicebam, quod non solum adversus legem civilem inductum erat, sed etiam ius gentium tollebat” [But think: does the law

29

disposition of common law] (De verborum significatione, I, 11).

101.

“Hoc tamen non omittendum, ubicunque aliquis ex generalitate statuti dam-

num indebite pateretur, semper restrictionem ad ius commune faciendam ...

EMBLEMATICA

Denis L. Drysdall

of this emblem, therefore, lies a failure in court to win the argumment on a point that is a continuing element of his discussion of the relationship between common law and contemporary ordinances: the ordinance should be restricted if it leads to an injustice. Although he devotes much of book 4 of De verborum significatione to figurative language, and particularly to metaphor and proverb, Alciato uses imagery very rarely to illustrate his own arguments and statements in his technical works. In the section of book 1 devoted to the relationship between common law and municipal decrees, he illustrates just one point

topoi.'* The locus “place” involves consideration of the physical or geographical situation. If, for example, a known criminal were living in the

30

with a proverb, which becomes the title and subject of an emblem

in

1531. This is “Aliquid mali propter vicinum malum” [Evil caused by an

evil neighbor].’” In this section Alciato describes a number of arguments,

causae, and here seems to be using the term in the narrow sense of causae iuridicales (De verborum significatione, 15)—that is, arguments about the rightness or wrongness of an action and involving questions of expediency and necessity (Maclean, 77). To do this he makes use of a classification by what he calls praedicamenta—a term that, following the usage of the Middle Ages, suggests the Aristotelian categories—but that turn out to be obviously rhetorical places (topoi or loci).!° The topoi Alciato chose for the purpose of expounding what he believed were the important arguments for restricting modern decrees in order to avoid inequities—“person, thing, quality, quantity, place, time, good or bad” and “reasonable excuse”— constitute a list that, with some insignificant differences of terminology, corresponds closely to the main heads of Quintilian’s account of rhetorical nam generaliter fatendum est quamlibet dispositionem in legibus, rescriptis, testamentis, contractibus, coarctari, ne iniquitas aliqua introducatur” [But this

should not be overlooked: whenever anyone suffers undeserved harm from a general statute, a restriction must always be made to accord with common law... for it must be generally admitted that any dispositions in laws, rescripts, wills, or

102.

103.

contracts are limited in order to avoid introducing an injustice] (De verborum significatione, I, 15). Emblematum liber, D1r°; Emblemata cum commentariis, CLXVI.

Cf. Ong: “The topical tradition is omniverousin its selection of these headings...

Thus, even before Aristotle’s Topics [became available], and from then on, ser-

viceable bits of the general philosophical apparatus, including the well-known Aristotelian categories or predicaments .. . were more or less incorporated into the classificatory finding-apparatus among the ‘places” (104).

31

vicinity, it is likely that the harm (damnum) of which a neighbor complains

was done by him—a thought that leads Alciato to quote the proverb and, probably, to compose the emblem.!° Conclusion

Alciato’ original collection of emblems presented to Ambrogio Visconti in 1522 consisted, as his letter of 9 January 1523 says quite clearly, of epigrammatic descriptions of images. These images would be “devices” symbolic expressions of the personal aspirations and ideals of those who wore them on their hats or shields. Such devices, insignia or symbola, were already in use before 1531 in aristocratic circles, and there is some evidence to suggest they were already called emblemata in imperial court circles (Drysdall 2008; 2013, 95-105). Alciato himself used the word four times in this sense in his De singulari certamine, a work first mentioned in a letter dated 26 May 1528.’ This, like the translated Greek epigrams that appear in the 1531 edition, suggests that it would be an exaggeration to say, as Peter Goodrich does, “This book [the Emblematum liber), with a highly didactic normative content, was /egal in both provenance and in the bulk

of its content” (Goodrich, 50-51, my emphasis). The law lies behind some, but not a majority, of Alciato’s emblems; he did not set out to compose

exclusively or mostly emblems of the law. That came later, with La Perriére and Aneau. The examples I have found—no more than 32 out of the total 104.

105.

“Persona, res, qualitas, quantitas, locus, tempus, bonum malumve,” and “iusta excusatio.” Cf. Quintilian, Institutiones oratoriae, 5.10.23-34.

“Sed et si in vicinia quisquam facinorosus habitet, verisimile est ab co factum esse

damnum, de quo vicinus conqueritur: vetus enim proverbium est, Aliquid mali propter vicinum malum” [But also, if some criminal type resides in a neighbor-

hood, it is likely the harm complained of by a neighbor was caused by him; for there is an old proverb, “Something bad from a bad neighbor”] (De verborum

106,

significatione, 25); cf. Adagia, 1i 32. Barni, no 42. There are in fact four occurrences of the word in the De singulari certamine—not three, as I had said elsewhere. The added occurrence, in chapter 5, equates emblemata with armlets (armillae) worn with the declared intention

that anyone who touched them would be considered as issuing a challenge to a fight. It is a usage that does not seriously affect my earlier conclusions about Alciato’s use of the word before 1531.

32

Denis L. Drysdall

EMBLEMATICA

33

of 212, but I do not claim to have made an exhaustive search—show that legal experience is the source of only a small part of Alciatos inspiration. His reintroduction of rhetorical argument into legal discourse and his adaptation of devices to create the new genre of the emblem nevertheless place our author at the beginning of a movement that gave rise, as Peter Goodrich shows, to a whole tradition of books of legal emblems. This movement is still a rich source for inquiry today; but how far imagery—and, particularly, the image that the law creates of itself, with solemn and often magnificent settings, with gowns and wigs, not to mention

its language—

affects judicial proceedings and decisions is a study beyond my scope. But perhaps I may finish with a contemporary, if somewhat parochial, example of this tradition of solemn imagery. In the earthquakes of 2010 and 2011 that shook the city of Christchurch, in New Zealand, the courthouse was destroyed, but one piece of furniture, a fine specimen of Victorian Gothic revival, survived. This was the judges’ bench and dais of the High Court, complete with its canopy and coat of arms (fig. 3). When the new judicial precinct and courthouse were designed, a dispute arose between

the Ministry of Justice and the local legal fraternity about whether this very impressive piece of furniture should be retained and reinstated. According to the minister, “Today's courtrooms should be warm, user-friendly places rather than intimidating judicial arenas filled with legal reefs, rocks and

submerged hazards’—the mixed metaphor is the minister’s, not mine— “presided over by a visual reminder of the law’s essential majesty.” I am

sure Alciato would support the Christchurch lawyers, who wanted to keep

the dais, by responding, firstly, that the “legal reefs, rocks and submerged

hazards” are of the nature of the law and will not be removed by a change

of décor. Secondly, he would insist, as he does on several occasions in the De verborum significatione, that the interpretations and decisions of the law should be, if not “warm and user-friendly,’ at least “humane.” And, thirdly,

he would say the law must preserve its dignity and may even display an “essential majesty”; it does not seek thereby to intimidate but, instead, to show its impartiality and independence.

I regret to report that the dispute has now been settled by ministry fiat,

and that the dais has been consigned to the Canterbury Museum—an act

emblematic, if I may use the term, of political correctness that shows little regard for the independence of the law.

Fig. 3. Judges’ bench and dais of the former High Court, Christchurch, New Zealand. (Im-

age in the public domain.)

34

EMBLEMATICA

Denis L. Drysdall

35

Dryden, John, trans. Virgil’s Aeneid. Harvard Classics 13. New York, 1909.

Works Cited

Alciato, Andrea. Opera omnia. 4 vols. Basel, 1557-- 1558. . Annotationes in tres posteriores Codicis libros. Strasburg, 1515.

Drysdall, Denis L. “Devices as ‘Emblems’ before 1531.” Emblematica: An Interdisciplinary Journal for Emblem Studies 16 (2008): 253-69.

__ . De verborum significatione. Lyon, 1529.

. “The good have nothing to fear from the rich. Did Alciato Really Believe That?” Emblematica: An Interdisciplinary Journal for Emblem Studies 19 (2012): 115-31.

___. Emblematum liber. Augsburg, 6 April 1531.

. Hieroglyphs, Speaking Pictures, and the Law. Glasgow, 2013.

___. Emblematum libellus. Venice, 1546.

. Andreae Alciati, Contra vitam monasticam epistula. Andrea Alciatos Letter against Monastic Life. Supplementa Humanistica Lovaniensia XXXVI. Ed., trans., and comm. Denis L. Drysdall. Leuven, 2014.

__ . De singulari certamine. Paris, 1541.

___. Emblematum libri duo. Lyon, 1547. ___. Emblemata. Lyon, 1548. ___. Los Emblemas .. . en rhimas españolas. Lyon, 1549.

Goodrich, Peter. Legal Emblems and the Art of Law. Cambridge, 2014.

___. Emblemata. Lyon, 1550.

Hayaert-Vanautgaerden, Valérie. juridique. Geneva, 2008.

__ . Emblemata cum commentariis

.... Padua, 1621.

___. Paradoxa, Dispunctiones, Praetermissa. Milan, 1518. ___. Paradoxa, Dispunctiones, Praetermissa. Lyon, 1529. ___. Parergon iuris libri tres. Lyon, 1537. __ . Parergon iuris libri septem posteriores. Lyon, 1543.

_.

Tractatus de praesumptionibus (1538). In Opera omnia, vol. IV. . Le lettere di Andrea Alciato, giureconsulto. Ed. G.L. Barni. Florence, 1953.

Corpus iuris civilis, consisting of the Codex lustiniani, the Digest or Pandects, the /nstitutiones, and the Novellae. Ed. Th. Mommsen. Trans. S.P.

Scott. hetps://droitromain.univ-grenoble-alpes.fr.

Selecta epigrammata graeca latine versa, ex septem epigrammatum Graecorum

libris, Accesserunt omnibus omnium prioribus editionibus ac versibus

plus quamquingenta Epigrammata, recens versa, ab Andrea Alciato, Ottomaro Luscinio, ac Iano Cornario Zuiccauiensi. Basel, 1529.

Delaruelle, L. “Un président au parlement de Toulouse, Jacques Minut.” Annales du midi 35-36 (1923-1924): 136-53. Diehl, E., ed. Anthologia lyrica graeca. Leipzig, 1949-1952.

“Mens

emblematica”

Knott, Betty L, trans. and ann. Emblemata. Lyons, Intro. John Manning. Aldershot, 1996.

et Humanisme

1550. Andrea Alciato.

Maclean, Ian. Interpretation and Meaning in the Renaissance: The Case of Law. Cambridge, 1992. Ong, Walter J., Ramus, Method and the Decay of Dialogue. 2nd ed. Cambridge, Ma., 1983. Stobaeus. Anthologii libri duo posteriores. Ed. Otto Hense. Berlin, 1958.

Emblematic Schools of Virtue and Vice: Lucas Martini’s Ehrenkrantzlein (1580) and Lasterspiegel (1592) CORNELIA NIEKUS MOORE University of Hawaii

Although Lucas Martini, author of Der Christlichlichen Jungfrawen Ebrenkränzlein and Der Jungen Leute Lasterspiegel (Prague, 1580

and 1592), never used the word Sinn-Bild in reference to his work,

he was thoroughly familiar with the tradition that employed samples

of flora and fauna as “examples” (Exempel), “parables” (Gleichniffe),

or “allegories” (Allegorien). According to the forewords of the abovementioned texts, his “books” of reference were God's creation, the Church fathers, and the Bible, with its shrewd snakes and its lilies of the field, which stood for abstract concepts of virtue and vice. The flower illustrations in the Ehrenkranzlein, which exemplify a compendium of virtues, and the women figures in the Lasterspiegel, who portray various vices, are each followed by a subscriptio of several pages, once again relying on tales from the Bible and from history to entice young readers to practice virtue and avoid vice. While following tradition in many respects, Martini proclaims that he is the first to write for

girls. The following article examines these early examples of children’s literature within the context their time, considering the importance of the emblematic illustrations in the works’ educational message as well as the role of the Prague publisher/printer Michael Peterle in the execution of the emblems.

37 Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image, vol. 2. Copyright © 2019 by Droz & Emblematica. All rights reserved.

38

EMBLEMATICA

Cornelia Niekus Moore

39

uring his long career as a member of the Lutheran clergy—first in

Zeitz (Saxony), then in Nordhausen (Thuringia), and eventually in Brunswick (Lower Saxony)—Lucas Martini (1548-1599) was

involved in the founding and regulation of schools, focusing on religious education. His Latin Catechismus (1589) was dedicated to the (male) students of the Nordhausen city school. But he wrote for (young) women as well. His Frommer Frawenlob [In praise of pious women] (1588), based

on the twenty-sixth chapter of the book of Ecclesiastes, details the virtues

of a good woman,

as does Der Christlichen Jungfraw Ehrenkrantzlein

(1580). Like his biblical sources, Martini was also capable of castigating the young for their apparent vices, as shown by the second book under

discussion here: Der jungen Leute Lasterspiegel (1592). The Ehrenkräntzlein

and the Lasterspiegel are the only books in Martini’s literary output that have illustrations. Approaching these illustrations as emblems helps to clarify their functions within the books’ overarching moralistic/ religious programs. The full title of the Ebrenkrantzlein offers an indication of the relationship between image and text that Martini intended for his works:

Der Christlichen Jungfrawen Ehrenkräntzlein. Darinnen alle ihre

Tugenden durch die gemeine Krantzblumen abgebildet und erklaret werden. Durch M. Lucam Martini beschrieben. Mit einer Vorrede D. Tohannis Avenari (fig. 1).

Although Martini did not use the word Sinn-Bilder to describe the pictures that adorn his “little wreath” of flowery exampla, he certainly engaged in emblematic strategies in his publication by combining texts and images, using illustrations of flora and fauna as “examples” (Exempel), “parables” (Gleichniffe), or “allegories” (Allegorien) (E iii),? According to the foreword, his own “books” of reference were God’s creation and, especially, the Bible, 1.

2.

“The honor wreath of a young Christian maiden, in which all her virtues will be

pictured and explained by a wreath of common flowers. By Lucas Martini. With

an introduction by Dr. Johannes Avenarius” (Prague: Michael Peterle, 1580). This article relies for its quotations, references, and illustrations on the 1581 edition, which is accessible online at http://resolver.staatsbibliothek-berlin.de/ SBB00158BF00000000. See also Barth, 61-82 and 1560-64. See Henkel and Schéne. These two volumes contain many emblems accordin g

to subject (e.g., flowering plants [1:283-318], herbs [1:335-55], and animals

et

aly.

virtues/vices are under “Personifications” [2:1533-84]). See also

P

à

l

PAA

_s

Fig. 1. Lucas Martini, title page of Der Christlichen Jungfrawen Ebrenkräntzlein (Prague: Michael Peterle, 1581). (Image courtesy of the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin.)

40

with its shrewd snakes, its simple doves, and its lilies in the field. The church fathers provided additional examples of flowers, animals, and historical figures standing for abstract concepts (E iiij). The concepts that Martini wanted his readers to contemplate in the Ebrenkräntzlein were a set of virtues, the “Tugenden” in the subtitle, according to the prevalent notion that a person was an amalgam of virtues and vices—the former to be enhanced, the latter to be suppressed.’ Such concepts were of long standing throughout Western Europe, heavily influenced by Aristotle’s Ethics and Christianized throughout the Middle Ages with added virtues like “faith” “hope, and “charity, and a heavenly reward for those who embraced them. Lists of virtues or vices could be expanded to include a variety of desirable or harmful behaviors, as Gabriel Rollenhagen’s Nucleus Emblematum (1611) shows. Good behavior was an expression of underlying virtues, and bad behavior a sign of vices taking the upper hand.* This view of a person’s makeup provided educators like Martini with a set of teachable values that if instilled in their pupils would lead them to develop certain virtues, which would then find expression in virtuous (tugendhaft) behavior toward others, a sign of underlying piety (Frômmigkeit) and of being in God grace (Gottseligkeit). Specific virtues and vices were associated with an individual's station in life. Doctors, for example, were admonished to be diligent, lawyers to be wise, and merchants to be honest. As his reason for choosing an audience of girls and young women, Martini stated in his foreword that while old people were frequently told to be pious, loving, and patient, and young men were instructed to be diligent, he had found—with the exception of guidelines for convent women, written by the church fathers—very little advice concerning the behavior of girls. Conceptually, his book, which is

tailored especially for girls, is modeled after the kind of flower wreaths that 3.

4.

Cornelia Niekus Moore

EMBLEMATICA

See Gottlieb, esp. 73-91; Hursthouse, esp. 1-24. For Luther’s views on Aristotle

see Meerhoff. Most helpful because of their inclusiveness are the extensive descriptions of thirty-five virtues and their corresponding vices in Hildegard von Bingen’s Liber vitae meritorum (written 1158-1173). This work has been translated into English as The Book of the Rewards of Life, by B. W. Hozeski. See Bautz, especially the appendix (171-319) that categorizes and lists depictions of virtues in the Middle Ages and in sixteenth-century Europe.

41

girls would weave, with each flower representing a desirable maidenly virtue (Moore 2013; 2014). Martini expressed the hope that he could “lure, invite, and admonish” (“locken, bitten und vermanen”) (Biv) his young female

readers to follow these positive examples, rendering negative, deterring examples unnecessary. As it happens, the publication of the Ehrenkrantzlein coincided with a rise in the number of devotional/pedagogical books in German written exclusively for girls (e.g., Johann Bufleben’s Jungfrau Spiegelein/ das ist/ Ein Christlich Büchlein von gutter Zucht/ und bewehrter Sitten [1570]) (Moore 1987, 42). Increasingly, parents and teachers of students in schools frequented by girls saw a need to provide reading material for young women, always with didactic overtones.’ But with the exception of an occasional frontispiece, most of these books were devoid of illustrations. Martini’s book was the first book for girls to be illustrated with emblems. His involvement with school ordinances in Nordhausen and, later, in Brunswick (1596) shows that he was involved with educational policy in both cities (Beste,

131-33). The edition of Luther’s catechism he

adapted for school use while in Nordhausen might indicate that he had at least a passing acquaintance with the often-haphazard arrangement of the so-called German schools (in contrast to the more rigorous Latin schools), where boys and girls would learn to read German and study the catechism (Martini 1589). As he stated in his foreword, he considered his Ehrenkräntzlein to be the result of his own “Christian teaching” (“Christliche Belehrung”) (Bij). Even if he never mentions

the word, Martini was right in assuming

that he was the first to write an emblem book for girls (HKJL1; Hépel). Emblem books for young readers began to appear around 1600.° The engraver Johann Theodor de Bry’s Emblemata Secvlaria Mira et Ivcunda

Varietate Secvli Huius Mores Ita (1596), for example, attempted to educate

young people and “counteract the bad mores of the time” (HKJL, 2:1 138). But none of these works addressed young girls as readers, and none used a flower theme throughout. Jacob Cats’s moralistic Maeghdenplicht, first 5!

6.

See Rhau, whose 1548 edition of Hortulus Animae is dedicated to his five daughters, The illustrations and their coloration are similar to the Ehrenkrantzlein; see also Porta.

Emblemata Anniversaria Academiae Altdorfiae (Nürnberg: Wagenmann, 1617).

HKJL, 2:228.

42

published in 1610, would prove to be popular in Germany as well, but at the time of Martini’s Kräntzlein it was still a generation away (Cats). The author must have been guided in his choice of publisher by Johannes Habermann (lat. Avenarius, 1516-1590), the longtime superintendent of Naumburg-Zeitz

(Saxony), where Martini was archdeacon. Habermann,

the author of a popular prayer book, was a native of Eger (near Prague) and was about to publish his Vita Christi, das Leben und die gantze Euangelische Historie von Jesu Christo (1580) with the Prague printer and publisher Michael Peterle, who was making a name for himself with timely and skillfully executed prints and illustrations. In the dedication of his Vita Christi, to the Electress Anna of Saxony (1532-1585), Habermann wrote that the printer Peterle had covered the entire cost of the book’s 151 woodcuts. With Habermann writing a foreword to Martinis Ehrenkrantzlein, one can assume that the printer might have done the same for Martini’s thirty-two woodcuts. If so, it proved to be a good investment. Both works were veritable bestsellers. Habermann’s Vita Christi had at least one Czech printing (1579) and two German ones (1580 and 1583) with the Prague printer as well as many adaptations elsewhere throughout the seventeenth century. Peterle’s publications of Martini’s Ehrenkrantzlein date from 1580, 1581, 1584, and 1585. Peterle’s successor, Wenceslaus Marinus, published identical versions in 1590 and 1602. Further publications in various languages abound.’ In his foreword to Martini’s Ehrenkrantzlein, Habermann quotes Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians, which calls for parents and educators not to alienate their charges by being harsh and unfriendly but, instead, to use a levelheaded and friendly approach with children, neither too severe nor

too soft. There are many ways to bring young people to piety, Habermann argued, either with sermons or through books, with admonitions or with friendly words, using exampla or parables, through comparisons with other creatures, through pagan proverbs (“heidnische sentenz” [A iiij]) or words

from scripture, through true stories or poetic verse, or through comedies

and tragedies. Convinced by the book’s pedagogical strength and its likely appeal to its target audience, Habermann expressed confidence that there would be many Christian girls and maidens who would read it or have it 7.

Cornelia Niekus Moore

EMBLEMATICA

There were two Low German versions (both dated 1604) and translations into Czech, Swedish, and Danish, as well as an anonymous Hungarian RC version,

Az keresztyen szyvzeknec (Nagyszombatba, 1591). See also Barth.

43

read to them. Then, whenever they would see the flowers, they would be reminded of these virtues and encouraged to follow the positive examples portrayed in the book.§ Lucas Martini dedicated his Ehrenkrantzlein to the daughters of William the Younger of Brunswick-Liineburg (1535-1592) and his wife, Dorothea, née of Denmark (1546-1617), The daughters are mentioned by name— Elisabeth, Dorothea, Clara, Anna Ursula, Margarethe, and Marie—and at the time of the work publication, they ranged from fifteen to five years of age. As Martini points out in his foreword, Christ himself used exampla when he spoke to children. The church fathers likewise included many allegories (“allegorische Gedancken”) in their writing—relating stories of the sun and the moon and of bees, ants, pelicans, crocodiles, deer, and other creatures. Martini saw his own work as following in their footsteps, depicting the flowers that young girls could plant in their gardens, flowers that would serve as daily reminders of the virtues the Lord desires them to cultivate (E iiij). In total, the Ebrenkrintzlein is woven from twenty flowers, twenty premises, in which each flower stands for a particular virtue. The text of the Ehrenkrantzlein is composed in a rhetorical style that was also employed in sermons of the time. In this style, a particular object or phrase is taken as a premise. The sermon considers the phrase or object from various sides, embellishing and supporting the premise by relying on biblical quotations and stories, history and legend, and exampla of flora and fauna. If executed well, it is not only persuasive but entertaining and highly

effective. Martini was reputedly a mediocre orator (Beste, 131-32), most

likely a result of his poor delivery at the pulpit and, occasionally (by his own admission), his failure to prepare (Ehrenkrantzlein, B ij; Moore 2006, 184-84). But he certainly knew how to deliver a printed argument in timehonored rhetorical fashion. None of the exempla in the Ehrenkrantzlein are original—and for good reason. Martini’s references to the chaste Saint Agnes or the hardworking Rebecca evoke a rich emblematic lineage of 8.

Habermann’s foreword/dedication in the Ehrenkrantzlein to Anna of Saxony

makes sense. The electress Anna was very much interested in a Christian education for her children. Of the fifteen children that she bore to August of Saxony,

two teenage girls (Dorothea and Anna) were still living at home at the time of

the dedication. See Keller, esp. 39-42. Zeitz-Naumburg was in the elector's territory, and Habermann was personally acquainted with August and Anna of Sax-

ony. His Vita Christi is dedicated to the electress as well.

44

EMBLEMATICA

Cornelia Niekus Moore

saints and biblical figures, inviting his young readers to partake of a shared cultural heritage and a shared tradition of values. What makes this book an emblem book are its thirty-two pictures, depicting gardens,

flowers, and

silk threads

| sh δ" 4 ’ And.Matthioli Comm. [> " y Μερονσῤδσιε::,.αν απ τον COMPOSITION A ia …2:.:;;;.',‘.':.. …Wm

in various colors. After an

eme

extensive introduction, each of the sections opens with an emblem, a picture of a common flower. According to Martini’s foreword, the illustrations in the Ehrenkrantzlein are copies ο the woodcuts in the oo a wellknown book on horticulture by Pietro Andrea Mattioli (1501-1577). A

bw

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German edition of this work had been published in Prague in 1563, where τς

na

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4

perundtis:

Martini’s Ehrenkräntzlein appeared eighteen years later (figs. 2 and 3). i ; ; Thus, not only the emblematic references in the text but also the emblematic illustrations harken back to a reputable—and, indeed, a famous—source. : i Mr: : i The flower pictures themselves are derivations, simplified icons. Their Latin and German names are listed as inscriptions. Martini takes credit for the idea of combining individual flowers into a wreath to achieve the emblematic rendering of a bundle of virtues, especially appropriate for girls.

finito

node tot ubirecremétum peffum ierit, mutato uafe, in craterem melleillità Mu vest faerant, À re fifi olei.iterum premito, eritue fcundariumo- 44 eus Qopd firertias ufane, i fundens I

It is clear that as the author, Martini considers his own text, with

its extensive explanation of virtues, the most important part of the

ì

Ehrenkräntzlein. In the dedication, he likens the content of the book to a sugarcoated pill, the flower illustrations being the sugar. Most of the flowers included in the work are well-known species—roses, violets, daffodils, carnations—with long-established connections to particular human characteristics. The violet, for example, is closely associated with humility,

|

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i tantiin olco ma nc at dl dsbars «μόν το cufgue Fa ii τᾷ ,antafpalatho τ πῶ Rep cr re a “ Dr rs

teen e Re

while the rose is a symbol for modesty (a “blushing” rose). In some cases, the German name of the flower influences what virtue it represents. The i i } rather prosaically, veris,j for example, isi often referred toini English, primula as “cowslip”; its German ᾧ name, R Himmelschlüssel, however, means “key ; to SE ὦ heaven.” Similarly, the viola trinitatis, known as “heartsease” in English,

— a > I Gi une ae erat nome D rs congo 5.4 medicamenta aérmfcentar, ΚΕoa σ pope ConἘΞΞΞΞΞΞΕΞΞΙΕΞ . ; sen cg pr cone pote rariam liceat, coor ibs. fimp.medee οἴου agens, fic init. Ex eis cognofeere & de all's: 50 pre o POA E a ποτε,

pr ne tat A À are these species closely connected with piety in the Ehrenkrantzlein. The

ioe.

bears the German name Dreifaltigkeitsblume, or “trinity

flower.” Both of

derivation of other flowers’ attributes is equally logical: marjoram is chosen A : to represent gratitude to God and people because of its pleasant smell, and

ena rosemary represents chastity for a similar reason. Lavender represents thrift.

9,

con μα

b

eee

ee awe Sn

= pla Deer à rfi

eeequod ipfa par ondi ratione dis ane Sees Par ay Age

porch mar ως ; e de: Reyer …M…*—

=

co

,

-

ΡΟΣ > rer fa infolanr. Poftremé

Pietro Andrea Mattioli. New Kreüterbuch. German trans. Georgius Handsch (Prague: Georg Melantrich, 1563). The Commentaries were based on De Ma-

Fig. 2. Pietro Andrea Mattioli, illustration of a rose in New Kreüterbuch Mit den allerschonsten und artlichsten Figuren aller Gewechsz/ dergleichen vormals in keiner sprach

herbal medicine. Martini mentions both authors (B ij).

(Image courtesy of the Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbiittel.)

teria Medica, by Pedanius Dioscorides (40-90 AD), an encyclopedic work on

nie an den tag kommen, trans. Georgius Handsch. (Prague: von Aventin, 1563).

46

EMBLEMATICA

ann

i: frawen sShrenfrdng! itt:

Cornelia Niekus Moore

47

because its cuttings last all year long. The daisy represents being soft-spoken because it grows low to the ground.!° Although the book is dedicated to five young noblewomen and some of the virtues are deemed especially appropriate for people in power (the narcissus, for example, represents largesse because it grows in high places), Martini emphasizes repeatedly (e.g., in section 9, on diligence [N vii]) that his book and the virtues it

promotes are intended for young girls at all levels of society.'! For instance, thrift (Sparsamkeit [section 17]) should be encouraged in everyone because

everyone may experience lean times. Martini acknowledges the power of a printed image to prompt instant recall. Contemplating the pictures in the Ehrenkrantzlein or seeing the flowers in real life, the readers of the book would be reminded of their corresponding virtues. Put in emblematic terms, the symbolic flower images fulfill the function of picturae, while the accompanying texts serve as subscriptiones. Looking at each picture by itself, the reader is reminded of the virtuous concept that it represents. This would be especially true for younger children, such as the younger duchesses mentioned in the dedication, who might just be learning how to read. Unlike Martini’s

catechism, it is unlikely that the Ehrenkrantzlein would serve as a textbook

in a German

school, where instructional methods

memorization and recitation.

~~

ganse Seib Ped dem ud acberden sp FA». affo Caz εὐξείαςε / dAf es mit

Aes tury rechter vernunfft of nach dem

relied heavily on

In his text, Martini mentions other symbols of virtues: saints, biblical and historical figures, flora and fauna. This is a relatively simple premise, and Martini makes the most of this simplicity. It is also not original, but except for allusions to the Bible and the church fathers, Martini does not reference any works by other authors. Susan Barth has emphasized the traditional aspects of flower imagery, such as its reliance on established symbols that often date back to the Middle 10.

Section 1: Primula veris, Himmelschliissel [cowslip] = Love of God; section 6: Amaracus Maiorana, Maioran marjoram] = gratitude to God and people; sec-

tion 10: Viola Trinitatis, Dreifaltigkeitsblume [hearsease] = propriety; section

$

j

τος

Fig. 3. Lucas Martini, “Rosa, Rose,” in Der Christlichen Jungfrawen Ehren-kräntelein (Prague: Michael Peterle, 1581), [Q vi]. (Image courtesy of the Staatsbib-

liothek zu Berlin.)

16: Rosmarinus coronaria, [rosemary] = chastity; section 17: Lavendular [lavender] = thrift; section 20: Bellis minor, Kleine Mafflieben | daisy] = discretion,

ον

reticence.

11.

Section 18: Narcissus = largesse; section 9: Staechas citrinum, Reinbliimlein = Arbeitsamkeit [diligence]. According to Bautz, 169, the specifically burgher virtue of diligence appeared especially in Dutch prints in the second half of the sixteenth century.

48 Ages.

EMBLEMATICA Reformed

readers

approached

such

illustrations

Cornelia Niekus Moore with

suspicion,

viewing them as remnants of a bygone era, and subversive agents of Catholic idolatry (Dietz and Stronks). However, influenced by Luther’s views on word-image interaction—which held that a picture remained neutral until it was given a particular meaning by its user—a Lutheran author and his reading public saw tradition rather than inherent religious views.!? Luther had also recommended the use of imagery as testimony, as memory, proclaiming images especially useful in works for children." Martini echoes these sentiments in his foreword, when explaining why he added images to his publication. The examples in the text and the illustrations reveal that there were traditional anthropomorphic characteristics attributed to flowers and animals that lent themselves to emblematic renderings.'* The Ehrenkrantzlein is the result of this traditional harmony between form and content, picture and text. Given that the symbolism of his exampla was grounded on a biblical foundation and that his illustrations were drawn from well-known scientific handbooks, the only truly novel element of Martinis book was its intended audience: young girls. A comparison with Habermann’s Vita may show the difference between the two books that left the Prague printing shop at about the same time. Habermann’s Vita Christi delivers what its title promises: the life of Christ in pictures. Although that very life is held up as a paragon of virtuous living, Habermann’s book is primarily concerned with presenting a narrative. Each episode is allotted two pages, one page with a picture, a title, and an

accompanying Bible verse—which can be read as an emblematic inscriptio,

a pictura, and a subscriptio, respectively—and one page with a prayer. Though the prayers are intended to encourage meditative thought, the 12.

13.

14.

Martin Luther, Wider die himmlischen Propheten von den Bildern und Sakrament (1525), WA 18:37-214. Luther rejected those pictures that showed overtly Catholic doctrine or deviated from the biblical text, See Weimer. See Martin Luther, Ein Betbiichlein mit einem Kalender und Passional (Wittenberg: Hans Luft, 1538).

Martin Luther is not mentioned, although Martini’s foreword to Aesop’s fables, edited by Erasmus Alberus, goes into detail about the use of animal figures in

books for children. See Springer. The Ehrenkrintzlein and the Lasterspiegel are also devoid of the anti-Catholic rhetoric that was common in the era of increasing confessionalization. This reflects the location of the publisher, Prague, at that time the seat of the Holy Roman Emperor Rudolph II of Habsburg (1552-

1612).

49

emphasis of the book as a whole is clearly on the biblical story that the pictures reveal. Although the Ehrenkrdntzlein appeared in many editions and was translated into several North European languages, only a few copies exist today. One of these, a 1581 edition, located in the Staatsbibliothek

Berlin, contains clues as to how it made its way from one German reader

to another. The initial page depicts the heraldry of two owners: Erhard

von Liechtenstein (1566-1632) and Johann Gerwich von Schwarzenberg (1546-1608). Von Liechtenstein was a Roman Catholic canon in

Wiirzburg from 1581 to 1632. He died when the Swedish army conquered the city during the Thirty Years’ War. The other owner, Johann Gerwich von Schwarzenberg (1546-1608), was a Roman Catholic cleric as well. He was dean of the cathedral (Domprobst) and scholasticus in Bamberg, and president of the Imperial Supreme Court (Reichskammer-Gericht) in Speyer.'® Since the two coats of arms in the book were probably crafted at the same time and since they appeared on the same page, the book might have been a present from one cleric to another. This might also have been the occasion upon which the book acquired its leather binding. It shows a Roman Catholic interest in this finely crafted, well-written, and wellillustrated emblem book for young readers. After serving as archdeacon in Zeitz, Lucas Martini became pastor in Nordhausen (Thuringia). He also published Frommer Frawenlob and a school edition of Luther's catechism, both octavo-size publications.!” These successful books, printed by established publishers but without illustrations, show his interest in education as well as his aim to provide devotional material for youth, including girls. In 1589, he became pastor of the Martini Church in Brunswick, followed by appointments as coadjutor, 15.

For an illustration of Johann Gerwich von Schwarzenberg’s heraldic coat of arms, see Bernard Peter, “Galerie: Photos schéner alter Wappen Nr 2120. Würz-

burg-ein heraldischer Leckerbissen,” www.//dr-berhard-peter.de/Heraldik/ak-

tuell.galerien3. 16.

17.

For more on Johann Gerwich von Schwarzenberg and the Bavarian line of this

extended family, see Wurzbach, 33:29ff.

Lucas Martini, Frommer Frawenlob/ Nach anleitung gôttlicher schrifft (Leipzig:

Abraham

Lamberg, publ. Henning Grosse,

1588); Epitome Religionis Chris-

tiane = Lehrbiichlein, darinn die Hauptstiicke der Christlichen Religion blos erzelet, aufsgeleget, resoluiret, und mit Hauptspriichen der Schrift befestiget werden (Helmstedt: Brand, Lucius 1589).

50

EMBLEMATICA

Cornelia Niekus Moore

in 1590, and superintendent, in 1594. In these capacities, he was influential in the establishment of the Martini School (1595) and the publication of a new school ordinance (1596) (Rehtmeyer, 4:80, 150-53; Beste, 130-31). In 1592, he published Der Jungen Leute Lasterspiegel Durch M. Lvcam Martini Hamelbergensem derer Kirchen in Braunschweig coadiutorem

Zugerichtet (figs. 4 and 5).!8

Although sixteenth-century authors were certainly capable of vituperous literature,” the tone of the Lasterspiegel, both text and illustrations, published during Martini’s time in Brunswick, is surprising from an author who had earlier published the flowery Ehrenkrantzlein, especially since the Lasterspiegel was dedicated to the same aristocratic family, this time to the mother and the oldest (now-married) daughter. In the foreword to the Ehrenkrantzlein, the author had darkly hinted that he could compose

a catalogue of vices as well; he had concluded, however, that a catalogue of

virtues (a Tugendspiegel) was more appropriate at the time. This certainly

aligned with the tendency of children’s literature around 1600, which shied away from providing youthful readers with negative role models.” But there it was: Martini’s Der Jungen Leute Lasterspiegel (1592), again with Peterle’s emblematic woodcuts, but this time portraying the various vices to which the youth fell victim. Although Martini’s Lasterspiegel includes youth of both sexes, all of the vices are portrayed as female figures, making it more reminiscent of adult misogynic literature of the time—a departure from his previous Frawenlob. In his foreword, Martini uses the classic argument that the behavior of young people in his time has deteriorated, with parents too indulgent, and teachers too scared to

use the rod and so incur the wrath of the parents (E iiij). The Lasterspiegel 18.

“The Young Peoples Mirror of Vices Composed by Mag. Lucas Martini of

He

1592).

19.

20.

a

Coadjutor of the Church in Brunswick” (Prague: Michael Peterle,

See, for example, Welt Spiegel/ Darinn Der Welt gemeine händel/ Laster und allerhand verderblich wesen zu sehen/ neben Lebr-reicher Erinnerung und Warnung von Lastern abzustehn/ unnd den schweren Straffen Gottes zu entfliehen: hergegen aber ein Ebrbar und tugendsam Leben zu fübren; Mit viel schinen Figuren/ Spriichen/ und Historien gezieret/ der Jugend und gemeinen Mann sebr nut-

zlich zu lesen (Basel: Johann Schròter, 1624). See Conrad Porta, Jungfrawen Spiegel.

Peterle, 1592), (Image courtesy of the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin.)

51

Cornelia Niekus Moore

EMBLEMATICA

53

exposes the vices of youth and advises young people and their parents of

how to counter such vices. The emblems of the introduction and conclusion are very much in line with the texts central message. Each shows a picture of a mirror (figs. 6 and 7). In the introduction (part 1 of the book), the mirror is divided into sections, each of which shows a possible reason why a person is likely to

develop a vice: original sin, temptations of the devil, etc. The mirror in

the conclusion shows possible remedies for evil tendencies: being mindful of Christ’s salvation, following God’s law in his Ten Commandments,

remembering the example of the martyrs, etc. In the second (middle) part

RY

kh

i

ass

Jey

Sahl

way

WZ

of the book, the vices are arranged according to the Ten Commandments in nineteen sections, each with its own emblematic illustration?! In his introduction, the author uses animals (the pig, the dog) to symbolize particular vices, but the main figure in the illustrations of the middle part

RE

MM =

52

is a woman engaging in behavior corresponding to the underlying vice, accompanied by the animal more traditionally associated with the vice being portrayed. For instance, in the image depicting the fifth vice, superbia

[pride], a woman figure holds up a mirror, and the animal standing next to

her is a peacock proudly spreading his feathers (fig. 8). As with the Ehrenkrantzlein, the text must have seemed most important to the author. And again, Martini must have delved deeply into his collection

of examples to illustrate each reprehensible behavior. In his introduction, he

mentions animals associated with particular vices (the wolf is unmerciful; the porcupine is garrulous), but his main interest is in exposing misbehaving

persons.

In doing so, he tends to imitate the tenor of his sources. His

section on cruelty (section ix), for example, resembles the many historical accounts of that vice from biblical/classical times. Similarly, his section on

overindulgence (section xiii) reads like a heavy-hitting sermon on alcohol abuse. The pages on crude and rude behavior are reminiscent of the manner booklets of his time, with an oblique reference to Erasmus’s book on good manners. (subsection viii; see fig. 10).2? One section that sounds intensely 21. 22. Fig. 5. Lucas Martini, Der Jungen Leute Lasterspiegel (Prague: Wencislaus Marino, 1597). (Image courtesy of the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin.)

The number 11 is missing, but this seems to be a matter of faulty numbering rather than a missing part. Erasmus of Rotterdam’s De civilitate morum puerilium (1530) is a handbook for

children on items of morality and good manners, divided into seventeen sections, each dealing with an aspect of good behavior. Although some of the sec-

tions could be applied to girls, it was definitely written for boys.

54

EMBLEMATICA

Fig. 6. Lucas Martini, “Der Klagspiegel” [Mirror of Woe]. “You are evil, I

know,’ in Der Jungen Leute Lasterspiegel (1592), B iij. (Image courtesy of the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin.)

Cornelia Niekus Moore

Fig. 7. Lucas Martini, “Der Warnungspiegel” [Mirror of Admonitions], in Der Jungen Leute Lasterspiegel (1592), Z iiij. (Image courtesy of the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin.)

55

56

EMBLEMATICA

Cornelia Niekus Moore

57

personal is the one on ingratitude.** The emblem depicts a screaming woman breaking a broomstick, accompanied by a cuckoo, a bird thar spoils the nest in which it has been surreptitiously placed (fig. 9). The author rant against students, children, servants, subjects, and parishioners, with detailed examples of ungrateful behavior, has particularly personal overtones. In this middle part of the Lasterspiegel, the emphasis shifts from underlying vices to the behavior of those afflicted by them. Only the introduction and the conclusion address how these vices become part of a human's makeup and how such developments should be prevented. In the dedications of both books, Martini is quite clear about his intended audience. The first, the Ebrenkräntzlein, was intended for young girls and for their parents and educators. The flower theme was meant to appeal to a young audience, and weaving a garland is an activity that girls can engage in. The second book, the Lasterspiegel, is dedicated to the mother and the oldest daughter, both married adults. It addresses parents and other educators, blaming them for their indulgent treatment of the young. The intricacy of the emblems shows the difference in intended audience as well. The high quality, dramatic elements, and darker content of the emblems in the Lasterspiegel are better suited to more-mature readers, who would then, hopefully, remember what they read when educating younger generations, resisting overindulgence and not sparing the rod. There is a difference between the two books in the relationship between text and illustration. In both books, the illustrations are the eye-catchers. However, in the Ebrenkrantzlein, the text takes on added importance as an extended emblematic subscriptio, as an explanation of the flower pictures, the emblematic meaning of which may not be immediately apparent from the imagery alone. Thus, picture and text form a necessary unity. The illustrations of the Lasterspiegel, however, are far more intricate and were probably created by the same workshop that produced the illustrations 23. 24 Fig. 8. Lucas Martini, “Ambitiosa Superbia” [Ambitious pride], in Der Jungen othek

Leute Lasterspiegel (1592), section v. (Image courtesy of the Staatsbibli

zu Berlin.)

Ingratitude is treated in section vi: “Ingrata Contumatia erga benemeritos, Un-

danckbare Ungehorsame Widersetzligkeit gegen wol verdiente Leuth.” Duchess

Dorothea

of Braunschweig-Lineburg,

née princess of Denmark

(1546-1617), and her daughter, Margrafin Sophia of Brandenburg-Ansbach (1563-1639), née duchess of Braunschweig-Lüneburg. The Berlin copy of the

1592 edition has stamps and handwriting that identify it as having been in the

ducal library in Celle. Ir is likely thar this was the copy Martini sent to Celle with his dedication. Ir is not hand colored. See fig. 1.

58

EMBLEMATICA

s LI

Cornelia Niekus Moore

Dee Sangin Leathe NA

το

E

ΤῸ Le sie ς δ

#

UE

pape

τ

Ingrata Contumatia | Bndaricfbare erga benemeritos ,-

τα

hotfame twiderfeniial

Wot verdicntesf

FINE

59

to Habermann’s Vita Christi. They present dramatic renderings of the behaviors described in the text. Since the behavior of each figure clearly exemplifies a particular vice, there is less need for an immediate explanation. However, there is also a playfulness in the Lasterspiegels emblematic portrayal of human foibles: The figure of Sloth has a finger in her nose (fig. 10);?° Superbia gazes into a mirror (fig. 8); Ingratitude spits out her ungrateful accusations (fig. 9). Except for Sloth, all are dressed nicely and are surrounded by the appropriate fauna. They are also depicted standing upright, in essence mimicking the poses associated with the personifications of virtues. One wonders how much influence Martini had in the creation of these emblems. In their playful, witty portrayals of vice, the figures of the Lasterspiegel trivialize the bad behavior their author set out to combat. Much like other Europeans, German scholars have grappled with the notion of secularization in early modern European literature—that is, the non-religious use of originally religious images in text and picture, and, conversely, the use of non-religious texts and images in books with devotional intent.” 1 have argued previously that in devotional literature there were two forces at work: one introduced secular notions or applications to what was advertised as religious literature (secularization), and the other tried to

Ÿ

| i RG

engulf daily activities in an aura of religiosity (sacralization) (Moore 2007).

An example of the latter can be found in Pietist literature for children and young adults, which tried to promote religious contemplation as an accompaniment to daily activities, like making one’s bed or combing one’s hair. It is useful to consider this duality when dealing with books about virtue and vice, which can be seen in a religious/soteriological context as well as in a societal one. Emblems, which can be interpreted in a religious or secular context, fulfill a dramatic role in tipping the scale toward either. It is also imperative to consider the profession of the author and, thus, his probable intent in tending toward either a secular or sacred interpretation.” The capacity of emblems to treat either devotional or worldly matters brings up an interesting set of questions when considered in the context of 25.

Fig. 9. Lucas Martini, “Ingrata contumatia” [Ungrateful, disobedient, recalcitrant], in Der Jungen Leute Lasterspiegel (1592), section vi. (Image courtesy of the Staatsbibliothek Berlin.)

26. 27.

Sloth is treated in section viii: “Incivilitas in Moribus, Unbescheidene Unhéfliche Grobheit.” Note the pig. Inthe context of secularization in children’s literature, see Bettina Bannasch, esp. 32-33.

Hôpel discusses the Protestant religious emblem book and its authors in the

seventeenth century; see 210-28.

60

EMBLEMATICA

2

Cornelia Niekus Moore

@& Der ' Snngen Lentfe

ES MI

|

i

Anciuilitas in Mo- | 23nbefdeidene 5 ide

ON

aN

AM

creates

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;

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Fig. 10. Lucas Martini, “Incivilitas in moribus” [Sloth, bad manners], in Der Jungen Leute Lasterspiegel (1592), section viii, (Image courtesy of the Staatsbibliothek Berlin.)

61

Pastor Martini’s two books: Is the desirable human behavior portrayed in the Ehrenkrantzlein based on religious values? Similarly, can the unethical behavior of people depicted in the Lasterspiegel be suppressed by a return to religious values and directives, or does it rely instead on the idea that a society functions better when its people exhibit moral virtue in their behavior? In both works, emblematic illustrations play a determinative role in shaping meaning, making such considerations worthy of further attention. Most emblematic motifs are not inherently religious or secular. In the Ehrenkrantzlein, the flowers are static representations of certain virtues, while most of the examples in the text are drawn from biblical stories and religious history. The authors argument is that his readers will connect the flowers they see in nature with the virtues he expounds in his work, and that such religious contemplation will make them more pious. As proffers of religious thought, the static and simple emblematic portrayals endorse the text and the desired behavior. Martini brings his authority as an archdeacon and as an educator into play in illustrating how such an outcome is both possible and desirable. The introduction to the Lasterspiegel gives the impression that a similar strategy is at play in this work: the symbolic resonances of animals such

as camels, calves, foxes, scorpions, otters, and goats (A vij) point to vices

that afflict humans. The organization of material in the Lasterspiegel is also firmly based on church teachings. The introduction mentions the reasons why a person is prone to vice, and the conclusion shows the remedies that will help a person overcome evil tendencies, In the middle section, the vices are arranged according to which of the Ten Commandments they violate. In this part, however, there is very little discussion of how each vice violates the commandment to which it is attributed. Rather, the focus centers on how the bad behavior elicited by the vices impacts society. In the tableau-like pictures in the Lasterspiegel, which straddle the fence between

illustrations and emblems, human figures act out bad habits associated with

each vice, while an accompanying text blames either the bad disposition of youth or the indulgence of educators for the prevalence of these habits. Thus, while the flower pictures of the Ehrenkrantzlein invite a religious reading, the images in the Lasterspiegel asks readers to condemn bad behavior primarily because of its impact on society, and to decide to do a better job of educating in order to prevent such behavior from recurring. To be sure, most of the Ten Commandments already address how a person

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Cornelia Niekus Moore

deals with others (Thou shalt not kill! Thou shalt not steal!), but Martini’s

relentless emphasis on the disregard for societal values displayed by the youth moves the argument away from religion and toward civil order. This is a curious development because in the Ehrenkrantzlein (Eij) the author offered his book as a replacement for books like Sebastian Brandt's Ship of Fools and other more trivial works of the fools’ genre. But this is precisely what the pictures in the Lasterspiegel evoke. Martini might not have agreed with this explanation. As the conclusion explains, religious solutions should be applied to remedy vice-driven misbehavior, but the female figures in the Lasterspiegel’s emblems, who are so enthusiastically engaged in bad behavior, do not invite such solutions. In fact, there is uncertainty as to how much input Martini had in the creation of the illustrations. Although the illustrator shows a passing acquaintance with the emblematic tradition, as displayed in the depiction of Superbia— employing the enclosed space of the mirror and female figures to depict virtue or vice—there is no borrowing of existing emblems; each image stands out for its originality and theatricality (figs. 8, 11, and 12). Would educators buy a book with pretty but explicit illustrations of bad behavior, coupled with condemning prose? As the sermons of the time show—for instance, sermons against alcohol abuse or extravagant clothing—congregations must have been accustomed to some heavy fire and brimstone

from

the pulpit. Still, the twenty

chapters of relentless

bashing might have turned away even the most salubrious, inquisitive, or repentant readers, The Lasterspiegel is said to have had two printings, but I suspect that for the reissue, the successor to Peterle, Wenceslaus Marinus, printed a new title page with his name and a new date, and hand colored

the illustrations of the copies that were still in his storeroom to make them more attractive to potential buyers. Martini’s professional trajectory, from archdeacon in Zeitz to pastor in Nordhausen to coadjutor in Brunswick, shows a desirable professional advancement. However, his promotion to Brunswick superintendent, in 1594, after the departure of Polykarp Leyser (1552-1610), proved to be

a step into discord. His tenure in this position was marred by infighting

in the Brunswick consistory. Moreover, his advocacy of the predestination

teachings of Samuel Huber (d. 1624) contradicted the recently accepted 28.

Seealso Rollenhagen, 91mm.

Fig. 11. Hans Burgkmair the Elder (1473-1531), “Die Firsichtikait” [Prudence]. (Image courtesy of the Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel.)

63

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Cornelia Niekus Moore

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65

Book of Concord and pitted him against the city council, his own consistory, and the Brunswick clergy (Rehtmeyer, 155-64; Beste, 131-32). The theological infighting and the politics of his position severely affected his health. In 1599, he suffered a stroke, which forced him to retire from his post as superintendent, and he died shortly thereafter (Rehtmeyer, 190-91). No longer in office, he appeared not to have merited a printed

funeral book. Thus, we have no record of how the Brunswick authorities

felt about their recalcitrant and not very popular (ex)superintendent. What

he thought about them and their young progeny is amply portrayed in his books of virtue and vice. The decision to use emblems to illustrate these books of youthful behavior places the volumes squarely into an emerging didactic emblematic tradition. Works Cited

Bannasch, Bettina. Zwischen Jakobsleiter und Eselsbriicke: Das “bildende Bild” im Emblem- und Kinderbilderbuch des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts. Gottingen, 2007. Barth,

Susan.

“Lukas

Martini,

‘Der

Christlichen Jungfrawen

Ehren-

krantzlein.” In Handbuch zur Kinder- und Jugendliteratur von 1570 bis 1750, ed. Theodor Briiggemann and Otto Brunken. Stuttgart, 1991. Cols. 59-82 and 1560-64.

Bejczy, Istvan P, ed. Virtue Ethics in the Middle Ages: Commentaries on Aristotles Nicomachean Ethics, 1200-1500. Leiden, 2008. Beste, Johannes. Geschichte der braunschweigischen Landeskirche von der

Reformation bis auf unsere Tage. Wolfenbiittel, 1889.

Briiggemann, Theodor, and Otto Brunken, eds. Handbuch zur Kinder- und Jugendliteratur von 1570 bis 1750 [HKJL]. Stuttgart, 1991.

Fig. 12. Gabriel Rollenhagen, “Dedeceat vt ne quid” [Self Knowledge], in Emblemata ofte

Vollsinnighe uytbeelses (Arnheim: Janszen, Utrecht: Passeus, 1617), 2:91. (Image courtesy of the Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel.)

Cats, Jacob. Silenus Alcibiadis sive Proteus, Voorghestelt in Minn’— en Zinne-Beelden alsmede zyn Maeghden-Plicht en andere wercken. Dordrecht: Maerten de Bot, 1645.

Daly, Peter M. The Emblem in Early Modern Europe: Contributions to the Theory of the Emblem. Farnham, U.K., 2014. De Bry, Johann T. Emblemata Secvlaria Mira et Ivcunda Varietate Secvli Huius Mores Ita. Frankfurt am Main, 1596.

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Dietz, Feike, and Els Stronks.

“German

Cornelia Niekus Moore

Religious

Emblems

Epitome Religionis Christiana: Lebrbüchlein/ darinnen die Heuptstiicke der Christlichen Religion blos erzelet/ aufsgeleget/ resoluiret, und mit Heuptspriichen in der Schrifft befestiget warden, der lieben Schuljugendt in Northausen dargestellet. Helmstedt, 1589. : Der Jungen Leute Lasterspiegel Durch M. Lvcam Martini

as Stimuli

of Visual Culture in the Dutch Republic.” Church History and Religious Culture 91.3--4 (2011): 349-75.

Dôrstel,

Wilfried.

“Zum

Bildgebrauch

in

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Kinder-

und

Jugendliteratur” In Handbuch der Kinder und Jugendliteratur

Hamelbergensem derer Kirchen in Braunschweig Zugerichtet. Prague: Michael Peterle, 1592.

vom Beginn des Buchdrucks bis 1570, ed. Theodor Brüggemann

and Otto Brunken. Stuttgart, 1987. Pp. 118-34.

Emblemata Anniversaria Academiae Altdorfiae.

1st ed.

1581; 2nd

: Der Jungen

ed.

Erasmus of Rotterdam. De civilitate morum puerilium. Basel: Froben, 1530.

Erlôser und Seligmacher.

In schoene Kunstreiche Figuren

vnnd

kurtze Sprüche gefasset/ samt sehr niitzlice Gebetlein fir fromme Christen gestellet. Prague: Michael Peterle, 1580.

Henkel, Arthur, and Albrecht Schone, eds. Emblemata: Handbuch zur Sinnbildkunst des XVI. und XVII. Jahrhunderts. Darmstadt, 2013.

Hôpel, Ingrid. Emblem und Sinnbild: Vom Kunstbuch zum Erbauungsbuch. Frankfurt am Main, 1987.

Hursthouse, Rosalind. On Virtue Ethics. Oxford, 1999. Keller, Katrin. Kurftirstin Anna von Sachsen (1532-1585). Regensburg, 2010. Luther, Martin. Ein Betbiichlein mit einem Kalender und Passional. \st ed.

1522; 2nd ed. Wittenberg: Hans Luft, 1538. WA 10 I1:355-60.

Martini

coadiutorem

- “Heilsame Lebens-Regeln: Die Lutherische Erbauungsliteratur für Madchen in der Frühen Neuzeit” In Säkularisierung vor der

Aufklärung? Bildung, Kirche und Religion 1500-1750, ed. Hans-

Martini, Lukas. Der Christlichen Jungfrawen Ehrenkräntzlein: Darinnen

- Frommer Frawenlob/ Nach anleitung gôttlicher schriffi. Leipzig: Abraham Lamberg, publ. Henning Grosse, 1588.

Lucam

resoluiret, und mit Hauptsprüchen der Schrifft befestiget werden. Helmstedt: Lucius Brand, 1589. Mattioli, Pietro Andrea. Neu Kretiterbuch Mit den allerschinsten und artlichsten Figuren aller Gewechsz/ dergleichen vormals in keiner sprach nie an den tag kommen. Trans. Georgius Handsch. Prague: Georg Melantrich, 1563. Meerhoff, Kees. “Some Sixteenth-Century Readings in Aristotle's Ethics.” In Der Aristotelismus in der Frühen Neuzeit: Kontinuität oder Wiederaneignung, ed. Günter Frank and Andreas Speer. Wiesbaden, 2007. Pp. 291-324. Moore, Cornelia Niekus. The Maiden’s Mirror: Reading Material for German Girls in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. Wiesbaden, 1987. - Patterned Lives: The Lutheran Funeral Biography in Early Modern Germany. Wiesbaden, 2006.

18:37-214.

alle ihre Tugenden durch die gemeine Kräntzblumen abgebildet und erkläret werden. Durch M. Lucam Martini beschrieben. Mit einer Vorrede D. Iohannis Avenarii. Prague: Michael Peterle, 1580.

M.

die Hauptstücke der Christlichen Religion blos erzelet, aufxgeleget,

. Wider die himmlischen Propheten von den Bildern und Sakrament. 1525. WA

Lasterspiegel Durch

coadiutorem

Martini, Lukas. Epitome Religionis Christiane = Lehrbiichlein, darinn

Gottlieb, Paula. The Virtue of Aristotle's Ethics. Cambridge, 2009. Historia von Jesu Christo/ Gottes und Marie Son, unserem einigen

Leute

Hamelbergensem derer Kirchen in Braunschweig Zugerichtet. Prague: Wenceslaus Marinus, 1597.

Nürnberg: Wagenmann, 1617f.

Habermann, Johannes. Vita Christi: Das Leben und die gantze Euangelische

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Ulrich Musolff et al. Cologne, 2007. Pp. 197-214.

-

- “Spiegel weiblicher Tugenden: Die Fürstin als Vorbildliche.” In Der

Hof: Ort kulturellen Handelns von Frauen in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. Susanne Rode-Breymann and Antje Tumat. Cologne, 2013.

Pp. 100-115.

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EMBLEMATICA . “The Wise Woman (c. 1525): An Emblematic Catalogue of Virtues.” In The German Book in Wolfenbiittel and Abroad, ed. William A. Kelly and Jürgen Beyer. Tartu, 2014. Pp. 243-60.

Peter, Bernard. “Galerie: Photos schôner alter Wappen Nr 2120. Würzburg — ein heraldischer Leckerbissen.” http://www.//dr-berhard-peter. de/Heraldik/aktuell.galerien3. Porta, Conrad. Jungfrawen Spiegel. Eisleben: Urban Gaubisch, 1580; rpt. Frankfurt, 1990.

Rehtmeyer, Philippus J. Historiae Ecclestiasticae Inclyta Urbis Brunswigae. Oder

der

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Stadt

Braunschweig

Kirchen-Historie.

Braunschweig, 1715.

Hendrick Goltzius’s Method of Exegetical Allegory in His Scriptural Prints of the 1570s WALTER S. MELION Emory University

Rhau, Georg. Hortulus animae, Lustgarten der Seele, Mit schinen lieblichen

Figuren. Wittenberg: Georg Rhaw, 1548.

Rollenhagen, Gabriel. Emblemata

ofte Vollsinnighe uytbeelses. Arnhem:

Janszen / Utrecht: Passeus, 1617.

Rollenhagen, Gabriel. Nucleus Emblematum Warncke. Dortmund, 1983.

(1611). Ed. Carsten-Peter

Trained by the Dutch polymath Dirck Volckertsz. Coornhert, who was an accomplished engraver, moral philosopher, and theologian, Hendrick Goltzius (1558-1617) became closely associated in the mid-1570s with his teacher’s method of scriptural exegesis. Coornhert, a proponent of Catholic Reform, opposed all forms of sectarianism, whether Roman Catholic, Lutheran, or Calvinist, and

Schrôder, Johann. Welt Spiegel/ Darinn Der Welt gemeine handel. . . zu

sehen. Basel: Johann Schroter, 1624.

espoused close reading of the Bible as an antidote to religious strife and dogmatic orthodoxy. His approach to biblical interpretation can

Springer, Carl. Luther's Aesop. Kirksville, Mo., 2011.

commentaries and, instead, relies upon scripture to expound itself,

Weimer, Christoph. “Luther and Cranach on Justification in Words and Image.” In The Pastoral Luther: Essays on Martin Luther Practical Theology, ed. TimothyJ. Wengert. Grand Rapids, Mi., 2009. Pp. 292-309.

best be described as intertexual: he eschews mediating glosses and

by searching for thematic analogies among key passages from the Old and New Testaments, which are then read in tandem. He also anchors the process of exegetical image making in parabolic allegory,

as licensed by Christ in the Parable of the Sower (Matthew 13:2-23; Mark 4:2-34; Luke 8:4-18). Goltzius adapted Coornhert’s method

of scriptural exegesis most fully in an extensive series of biblical

allegories—the Allegories on the Life of Christ and the Allegories of the

Christian Creed—invented and engraved between 1578 and 1580 for the Antwerp-based print publisher Philips Galle. Whereas the former series focuses on the trope of spiritual vision, as applied to the image

of God bodied forth by Christ, the latter series intensively explores the Roman Catholic doctrine of faith and works as the joint sources of salvation. The prints derive in form, function, and argument from Coornhert’s system of scriptural /oci communes. Like Coornhert’s loci

69 Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image, vol. 2. Copyright © 2019 by Droz & Emblematica. All rights reserved.

70

communes, they are organized under rubrics, generally inscribed as headings, such as “Infancy of Christ” “Exemplar of Virtues, “Passion of Christ,’ “Consolation of the Heavy-Burdened” “Remission of Sins,’ “To Build upon a Foundation of Stone,’ or “To Build upon a Foundation of Sand.” Again like Coornhert’s commonplaces, Goltziuss prints do not move unidirectionally toward a specific destination. The allegories share a distinctive format: small biblical scenes presented emblematically, with a titulus or lemma and a scriptural epigram, alternate with complementary biblical impresae; these emblematic devices enframe a large central scene consisting of biblical exempla, occasionally intermixed with personifications that body forth scriptural terminology. In the cases where the central scene simply narrates biblical events, it is the emblematic relation between the rubric (construable as lemma or motto), the central images, and the corollary texts and images in the frame (construable as verbalvisual epigrams) that signals the allegorical status and function of the pictura maior. In all cases, the central pictura operates as the tertium comparationis, visualizing the crux of the underlying analogy that unites the prints numerous textual and pictorial components. This article examines the distinctive form, function, and meaning of Goltzius’s scriptural allegories of the late 1570s, asking how they combine two species of hermeneutic machina—that of the biblical loci communes, as codified by Coornhert, and that of the biblical emblem.

endrick Goltzius adapted his teacher Dirck Volckertsz. H Coornherts method of scriptural exegesis most fully in an extensive series of biblical allegories invented and engraved between 1578 and 1580 for the Antwerp-based print publisher Philips Galle and, in one instance, for the widow of Hieronymus Cock, likewise based in Antwerp. Goltzius, who had been studying with Coornhert since 1574, followed his master from Cleves to Haarlem in 1577, where soon thereafter he produced the seven Allegories on the Life of Christ and ten Allegories of the Christian Creed, along with closely related prints such as

the Winnowing of Evils, the Allegory of the Mercy of God, the Education of

Boys, the Allegory of False Judgment, and Christ and the Cross! (figs. 1-4, 1.

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EMBLEMATICA

On these prints, see Leeflang and Leesberg, 1:104-45, esp. 106-18, on the AL legories on the Life of Christ; 1:126-42 on the Allegories of the Christian Creed. See also Clifton and Melion, 195; and Clifton, 547-57. In format, Goltzius’s

71

5-7, 12-15, 16, and 17-18).’ He was thus very closely associated with Coornhert when he devised these prints, which, as we shall see, derive in form, function, and argument from Coornhert’s system of scriptural Loci communes.’ Coornhert, who began compiling these biblical commonplaces in the mid-1550s, continued assiduously to broaden their scope until his death, in 1590. So extensive were they that Cornelis Boomgaert, editor of his Wercken, published posthumously in 1630, describes them as follows: In such a kind has this author described and dissected with the utmost method and brevity a very great number of key words and names taken from Holy Scripture, the majority concerning Virtues and Vices, Passions or Motions of the Heart—Hope, Fear, Joy, Sorrow, Judgment, Will, Desire, Knowledge, Intelligence, Instruction, [as well as] Teacher, Nature, Inclination, Habit, Life, Death, Strife, Peace, Cross, Suffering, Repose, Labor, Rule, Obedience, Birth, Growth, Child, Son, Man, Flesh, Soul, Angel, Devil, Salvation, Damnation, etc.—the which, being so vast a work, we have [for the most part] left to another occasion, rather than overburdening the present publication.‘ early exegetical prints derive from three series engraved and published by Philips Galle: The Seven Sacraments (1576), The Seven Works of Spiritual Mercy (1577),

and The Seven Works of Corporal Mercy (1577), on which see Sellink and Leesberg, 2:178-208. These prints differ from Goltzius’s in several respects: for the most part, they foreground contemporary scenes exemplifying the eponymous sacraments or works; corollary scenes and texts taken from the Old and New

Testaments have a primarily exemplifying function, in that they illustrate bibli-

cal precedents for the various sacraments or works in question; the frames incorporate large, full-length figures of paired prophets or apostles who point at these exempla, and hold scriptural texts that foretell or describe them; and non-scrip-

tural quatrains at the base of the prints summarize the nature of the sacraments and works, and distill their moral and spiritual effects upon the person who en-

acts them. This is to say that Galle’s three series are more reiterative than exegetical, in that they mainly consist of proof images and texts that jointly supply a scriptural pedigree for each of the sacraments and works on show. Moreover,

they lack the syllogistic structure of Goltzius’s early exegetical prints, and appear not to derive from Dirck Volckertsz. Coornhert’s system of loci communes,

on which see infra. On Galles Peccantes corrigere [Correcting sinners] from The

Seven Works of Spiritual Mercy, see Clifton and Melion, 175.

2. 3. 4.

Figures can be found in appendix 2. On Coornhert’s loci communes, which he considered his life's work and magnum

opus, see Bonger, 27-28, 118, 134-35; Voogt, 21, 105, 204, 224; and Fleurkens, 109, 113-15.

“Op dese maniere heeft desen Autheur int langhe een seer groote menichte van de bysonderste Woorden ende Namen der heylighe Schrift, meest werckende als

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72

Boomgaert nevertheless considered these “bysonderste Woorden ende Namen” so important that he inaugurated the first volume of the Wercken with a selection comprising the sections on “God; “Christ,” and the “Holy Spirit” and on “Faith” “Truth” “Hope” “Penitence,” and “Love” (Boomgaert

1: fol. 40v). These

topics, broadly

speaking,

encompass

the scriptural subjects that Goltziuss biblical allegories explore. Like Coornhert’s loci communes, they are organized under rubrics, generally inscribed as headings, such as “Infancy of Christ,’ “Exemplar of Virtues,’ “Passion of Christ” “Consolation of the Heavy-Burdened,” “Remission of Sins” “To Build upon a Foundation of Stone,’ and “To Build upon a Foundation of Sand.”> Again like Coornhert’s commonplaces, Goltziuss prints do not move unidirectionally toward a specific destination. Instead, they were assembled with a view to potential expandability. Indeed, as Marjolein Leesberg and Huigen Leeflang observe in The New Hollstein volumes on Goltzius, no strict ordering system can be applied either to the Allegories on the Life of Christ or to the Allegories of the Christian Creed. It was the publisher Hendrick Hondius, not Galle or Goltzius, who numbered the fourth state of the latter, reconceiving it as a series (Leeflang and Leesberg, 1:119). The allegories share a distinctive format: framing elements consisting of small biblical scenes, sometimes alternating with symbolic objects described in the Bible, surround a large central scene consisting of biblical exempla, occasionally intermixed with personifications of scriptural terminology— “Fides” “Anima morbida” and “Medicus” in the Miracula Christi, for example, or “Fidelis” “Obedientia Dei? and “Charitas Dei; in the Passio Christi (figs. 1 and 2). In the cases where the central scene simply narrates van Deuchden ende Sonden, Affecten of Herts-tochten, Hope, Vreese, Blijdt-

schap, Droefheyt, Oordelen, Willen, Begheren, Weten, Kennen, Leeren, Leer-

aer, Nature, Gheneghentheyt, Ghewoonte, Leven, Sterven, Strijdt, Vrede, Cruys,

Lijden, Rusten, Wercken, Regeeren, Ghehoorsamen, Baren, Telen, Kindt, Sone, Mensch, Vleesch, Ziele, Engel, Duyvel, Saligheyt, Verdoemenisse, &c. alles

geheel methodice oft int korte beschreven ende ontledet, ‘twelck selve een seer

5.

groot werck wesende, om dit boeck niet te beswaren, tot andere gheleghentheyt naghelaten is.” (Boomgaert, 1: fol. 40v) Respectively, “Infantia Christi” “Exemplar virtutum, “Passio Christi, “Levamen onustorum,’ “Aedificare super petram and “Aedificare super arenam,’ on which see Leeflang and Leesberg, 1:107-8, 113; 108-9, 115; 109-10, 116; 119, 126; 122, 131; 122-23, 132.

73

biblical events—the Resurrectio Christi, say, or the three episodes of the forgiveness of sins (“Christ and the Woman Taken in Adultery,” “Christ and the Penitent Woman in the House of Simon,’ and the “First Words of Christ from the Cross”) gathered under the title Remissio peccatorum—it is the emblematic relation between the /emma, or motto, the central images, and the corollary epigrammatic texts and images in the frame, that signals the allegorical status and function of the pictura maior (figs. 4 and 6).

Within this scheme, both image and text operate as attendant subscriptiones; they may further be characterized as impresae Christi, in that they condense and comprise essential attributes of Christ. In the so-called Allegories on the Life of Christ, the picturae distill the Christological meaning of the entire visual-verbal complex: the Resurrection of Christ is an allegory of the promise of eternal life; the three scenes of Christ forgiving sinners are a tripartite allegory of the remission of sins through the empathetic suffering and death of the Lord. In all cases, the middle scene operates as the tertium comparationis, visualizing the crux of the underlying analogy, which unites the print’s numerous textual and pictorial components. It is crucial to note

that nothing we see or read in these prints is extra-biblical; on the contrary, everything has a scriptural source. The /emmata either quote from scripture or describe scriptural events; the inscriptions that attach to the images are biblical citations and usually include a precise reference to chapter and verse; the images, whether narrative or symbolic, illustrate biblical sayings or occurrences. Equally pertinent is the fact that Goltzius, though he regularly quotes from the Vulgate, for the most part stitches scriptural places together in new and unprecedented ways, codified in none of the primary exegetical sources, such as the Glossa ordinaria et interlinearis, the Pictor in carmine, the Catena Aurea of Thomas Aquinas, the Biblia pauperis, or the Speculum humanae salvationis. This proves especially true of the Allegories of the Christian Creed: in Levamen onustorum (Solace of the heavy-burdened], for instance, the text encircling Christ’s brow like a halo, Matthew 11:28 (“Come to me all you that labor and are burdened, and I will refresh you’), correlates to Wisdom 17:20 and Matthew 23:4, on the left, and Zechariah 5:6-8 and Ecclesiasticus 3:29, on the right, ingeniously illustrated in the oval

scenes just above these texts (fig. 7).° The left-hand scene depicts a scribe or 6.

All scriptural citations are taken from The Holy Bible from the Latin Vulgate, with slight adjustments made to harmonize with Goltzius’s citations from the Vulgate.

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is heavier than them both”), inscribed above. These pericopes, respectively marked “E” and “D,’ correspond to antitheses in the central scene: a man carrying a fox seated on a stone—a reference to the heavy weight of selfdeception—and a man burdened by large leaden avoirdupois. Unlike their antipode, they beseech Christ to lighten their loads. Above and below the central scene, Goltzius quotes Isaiah 55:1-2 and 55:6-7, to define more precisely the nature of Christ’s lightening promise:

Pharisee perched on the shoulders of a man whom he steers away from the sun and whose eyes he shrouds from its light. Whereas the light of Christ, as the central scene shows, beckons all who “labor and are hard pressed?” inviting them to partake of his merciful Gospel, the encumbered man on the left has been waylaid, his spiritual eyes blinded. The oval thus combines the message of Wisdom 17:20 (“But over them only was spread a heavy night, an image of that darkness which was to come upon them, though they were to themselves more grievous than the darkness”) and Matthew 23:4

(“For [the scribes and Pharisees] bind heavy and insupportable burdens, and lay them on men’s shoulders”). The clear implication is that Christ, the image of divine mercy, toward whom the halt, the lame, and the oppressed stream from all sides, and at whom they intently gaze, provides the only true antidote to spiritual blindness. To drive this point home, Goltzius juxtaposes the subsidiary image of the man waylaid by the Pharisee to the central image of the Canaanite woman from Matthew 15:28, who kneels before Christ, begging him to heal the grievously sick daughter she bears upon her back; the dogs to whom she humbly likened herself accompany her. The text of Matthew 15:28, marked “I” like the nearby image of the Canaanite woman, appears above the oval: “O woman, great is thy faith: be it done to thee as thou wilt; and her daughter was cured from that hour” Similarly, the excerpt from Matthew 23:4, marked “K? is paired with the

figure of a man, also marked “K,” who looks to Christ to disburden him of the heavy load of books he bears. The right-hand scene likewise depicts an epitome of spiritual blindness, this time taken from Zechariah 5:6-8: “[This is their eye in all the earth.] And behold a talent of lead was carried, and behold a woman sitting in the midst of the vessel. And he said: This is wickedness.” Whereas the central scene alludes both to the Sermon on the Mount and to Mark 1:45 (“But he being gone out, began to publish and to blaze abroad the word, so that he could not openly go into the city, but was without in desert places; and they flocked to him from all sides”), the oval depicts this scene’s antithesis: the

eyes of the man whose desires anchor in earthly things are turned away from Christ; instead of striving, like his peers, to reach the fiery, aureolate words of Christ (distilled from Matthew 11:28), he trudges down the hillside, staring in the opposite direction. This serves also to illustrate Ecclesiasticus 3:29 (“A wicked heart will be laden with sorrows”), inscribed just below, and

Proverbs 27:3 (“A stone is heavy, and sand weighty: but the anger of a fool

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All you that thirst, come to the waters: and you that have no money make haste, buy, and eat: come ye, buy wine and milk without money, and without any price. Why do you spend money for that which is not bread, and your labour for that which doth not satify you? ... Seek ye the Lord, while he may be found: call upon him, while he is near. Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unjust man his thoughts, and let him return to the Lord, and he will have mercy on him, and to our God; for he is bountiful to forgive.

Here as elsewhere in this print, and throughout all the biblical prints Goltzius produced in the late 1570s, the relation between the densely interwoven pericopes from the Old and New Testaments is more veridical than typological. By this I mean that they function mutually as evidentiary proof texts: the Sermon on the Mount does not figuratively fulfill— which is to say, “fulfill” in a manner of speaking—what was prefigured or adumbrated in Isaiah; rather, it corroborates what the prophet describes, just as the prophet precisely delineates what Goltzius, by reference to Mark 1:45, has visualized. Moreover, the typological relation between allegory and fact has been reversed: it is the New Testament scene that may be

construed as an allegory, though an allegory whose components each derive

from clearly identified scriptural /oci; the Old Testament texts, on the other hand, elucidate what it is that Christ enacts and dispenses, and in this sense, they may be characterized as evidentiary—as statements of fact, rather than as figured prophecies that encode allusions to Christ and necessitate unfolding.’ Furthermore, the sheer quantity of biblical texts from both

testaments, shown

7.

side by side, or one above the other, contravenes the

Coornhert explains and justifies his scriptural practice of allegoresis in Negentich plaetsen der H. Schriftueren, one of the few major texts not included in the omnibus edition of his Wercken. His primary sources were Augustine’s De Genesi contra Manichaeos and De Genesi ad litteram; see Coornhert 1585, fols. Aiij rAiiij v.

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typological symmetries codified in the manuscript tradition and later block books, in which corollary Old Testament types center on a clearly privileged New Testament antitype. And, in addition to all this, many of the texts Goltzius has selected, as noted above, were not canonized as mutually referential in the standard exegetical sources, or, for that matter, in the Breviarum Romanum or the Missale Romanum. The print’s format can therefore be seen to imply that the Bible must be read integrally, and that exegetical analogies may be drawn from correspondences among all its parts, from Genesis through to Apocalypse. Finally, and most importantly, these analogies emerge from the correlation of text to text, scriptural image to scriptural image: Matthew 20:32-34, Isaiah 55:1-2, Mark 3:5, and Isaiah 5:6, in the top row, for example; or Isaiah 4:6, Isaiah 55:6-7, and Ecclesiastes 4:8, in the bottom row; or, again, Mark 1:41-42, Matthew

he produced. This conviction is what led him to devote more than three decades to the task of compiling his biblical /oci communes (figs. 8-11). Coornhert, as Anneke Fleurkens so trenchantly observes, considered these commonplaces to be his life’s work—not only the means whereby he could better understand the Bible, but the ultimate source of all his ethical and theological plays, dialogues, and treatises (Fleurkens, 109-10, 114-15). In a letter to his friend Aggaeus van Albada, he writes about the loci communes: Beside and in addition to which, with the utmost diligence and attention, I have been laboring upon a great work for more than twenty-five years, gathering and distributing notes into various notebooks, with a view to completing them before my death (God willing): these are biblical loci communes concerning not only such things as God, the devil, man, truth, falsehood, wisdom, folly, etc., but also their effects, so that we might know what God, man, truth, etc. bring to pass, with their causis qualitatibus, etc., described summa methodice, so that each thing’s character may be fully seen, and besides, each things distinctive effect, namely the qui, quid, ubi, quibus auxiliis, cur, quo modo, quando, etc. And thereby shall Holy Scripture show herself to all who are truly desirous of knowledge, to be a better interpreter

15:28, Wisdom 17:20, and Matthew 23:4, in the left-hand file; or Matthew 9:20, Proverbs 27:3, Zechariah 5:6--8, and Ecclesiasticus 3:29, in the right-

hand file. We might best put this as follows: Goltzius has constructed an exegetical machina, an intertextual apparatus whose various parts mutually

qualify each other, resulting in pregnant analogies that elaborate on the message of Matthew 11:28, a visual allegory of which constitutes the tertium comparationis in and through which all these analogical texts circulate by association. That the allegory is itself assembled from these texts, and does not simply coordinate them, as the inscribed letters connecting the central picture to the marginal pericopes indicate, draws attention to another key

feature of Goltzius’s exegetical method: Levamen onustorum, rather than claiming to impose an exegetical pattern on scripture, instead purports to

draw its exegetical argument from associations discernible to anyone who reads the Bible closely, with an eye to the visual analogies implicit among its constituent parts (fig. 7). Scripture, in other words, provides everything one needs to read scripture, for it is its own best exegetical instrument.

The Exegetical Form and Function of Coornhert’s Scriptural Loci Communes The principle that scripture is the definitive exegetical source for reading scripture, that the Bible, if it is properly to be understood, must first and foremost be allowed to read itself, derives from Coornhert, for whom it was

the guiding light that illuminated every genre of scriptural text and image

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of herself than all man-made glosses and commentaries. (Coornhert 1626,

122-23, no. 44)°

The immense importance Coornhert placed on these biblical commonplaces explains why Boomgaert, the probable compiler of his literary nalatenschap, positioned a selection from them first in the Wercken,

where they immediately precede his Hert-Spieghel Godlijkcker Schrifturen, vertoonende een clare, corte, ende sekere wegh, om in dese werre-tijden de H. 8.

“Onder ende beneven een groot werck, by my nu al met ernstigher aendacht

ende vlyt meer dan 25. jaren inne gearbeyt, ende in verscheyden boecken met notulen verstroyt legghende, die ick nu vergaedere, om voor mijn af-scheydt (gevet de Heere) te voleynden: Dit sijn Bybelsche Loci communes niet alleen van dinghen als van Gode, vanden duyvele, van den mensche, van waerheydt, loghen, wijsheydt, dwaesheydt, etc. Maer oock van de werckinghen der dinghen, als te weten wat Godt werckt, wat de mensche werckt, wat waerheydt werckt, etc.

met heure Causis qualitatibus, etc. Summa methodice beschreven, soo datmen daer oock sal moghen sien elcks dinghs gatsche aerdt, ende beneven dien oock sonderlinghe dessels werckinghen, naementlijck quis, quid, ubi, quibus, auxiliis, cur, quo modo, quando, etc. Sulcks dat de H. Schrift selfs voor alle recht leer-

gierighen beter uyt-leghster van haer selfs sal moghen wesen, dan alle menschelijcke glosen of commentarien.” (Fleurkens, 109)

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to repudiate all such written or spoken commentaries, whether my own or others, in favor of the only book of God’s true, clear, and holy witness, whereby having savored the soul-satisfying taste of the true wheat, you shall turn your back on the unsatisfying and hollow chaff of men; and may God grant you to feed and make full your souls in truth, within whose house the servants and hired men are given bread abundantly, through his son, who is himself the bread that came down from heaven, from out the mouth of God

Schrift vruchtbaarlijck endy veylighlijck, sonder dolings angst te lesen [Hearts mirror of godly scriptures, showing a clear, concise, and sure method of reading holy writ fruitfully and securely in these confusing times, without fear of going astray]. The reader's preface to this exegetical guide avows the author’s conviction that since every tradition of biblical commentary can only serve to lead the reader astray, he must rely solely upon scripture as his exegetical lodestar. All who sincerely desire to be nourished by the Truth of God must have recourse to his Word. Since the preface closes with a cogent (and typically emphatic) defense of the authors approach to scriptural

whose words alone he commended to men’s hearing. Amen. (Coornhert

1630, fol. 2r-v)?

Coornhert’s loci communes were his answer to the perilous gloss books that threatened to lead the Christian flock toward perdition. His primary topics—as mentioned aboye, God, Christ, the Holy Spirit, the nature of

interpretation, I here cite the conclusion in full:

But this [Truth] withholds itself from all who hunger after and satisfy themselves with the swine’s chaff of human Opinion, which for the most part prevaricates. And so these lost sheep, straying beyond the Lords testimony, rather than being fed by the truth, become themselves food for falsehood, the earth-eating serpent [Genesis 3:14] that feasts on these carnal and error-loving billy-goats, devouring them with the connivance of shepherds who pasture themselves [rather than their flocks] and with their feet tread down the good pastures [Ezechiel 8:8 and 8:18]; and who preach the lies which such goats rejoice to hear and to emulate. Therefore, whoever abhors to become food for falsehood to their eternal destruction, must turn away from all human teaching and search with exigent yearning after the truth of divine instruction; and thus shall they become food for the true serpent that hungers after the salvation of humankind. Who is this? Jesus Christ who, being himself the truth, exposes the vanity of falsehood and devours not the sheep but their hunger, feeding them with his very self, that is, with his holy word. Is there any Christian, even one in name only, who doubts that the testimony [of Christ] in Holy Writ is altogether true and sufficient for our salvation. What Christian could doubt that men’s words, testimonies, glosses, and commentaries are not only not true, but also insufficient, indeed injurious to our salvation. God offers us this bread of life gratis, whereas that chaff, though heedless of truth, is bought at great cost. And so be not deceived as one who averse to God’s steadfast truth neglects his sure and pure witness in Holy Scripture, and on the contrary rejoices to hear and read the unsure and impure commentaries of men, whether spoken

Faith and of Infidelity, of Truth, Hope, Penitence, and Love—are comprised

by thematic headings: first, a beschryvinghe [description] that pictures the topic verbally, so far as it can be portrayed to the mind’s eye; then the who, what, wherefore, etc., each of which constitutes a chapter heading; and finally, lists of scriptural places, with chapter and verse cited after a brief paraphrase of the content. For instance, the long section on Christ—*“Van Christo. Sijnen naem, by-namen, hoedanigheyden, daden ende wercken: nae zijn Goedtheydt, Almoghentheydt, Rechvaerdigheyt, Wijsheydt, Liefde, Barmhertigheydt, etc. Getuygenissen der H. Schrift” [On Christ. His name, sobriquets, qualities, deeds, and works, according to his goodness, power, justice, wisdom, love, charity, etc. Testimonies of holy scripture]— commences with the chapter “Beschryvinghe Christi” [Description of Christ], which actually cites, rather than merely paraphrasing, the biblical passages wherein Christ is described either literally, as in Isaiah 9:6-7 (“For a child is born to us, and a son is given to us....”) and Hebrews 1:3

(“Who being the image of his glory and the figure of his substance . . ..”), or allegorically, as in Psalm 2:6-7 (“But I am appointed king by him over Sion his holy mountain, preaching his commandment . . . 0) and Isaiah 11:1-2 (“And there shall come forth a rod out of the root of Jesse .. ..”) (fig. 8).!° Several of the passages—in particular, John 1:1-4 (“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God ....”) combined with Colossians 1:15-18 (“Who is the image of

or written. How is this different from loving to be imperiled? What else

should they (who are not masters of themselves) expect than to perish? For

the many men who write such tomes strive to lead the reader astray from the

9.

holy books of the Bible, by means of their never-ending and depraved glossbooks which obscure the truth necessary for salvation. But I am needs driven

10.

_

See appendix 1.

Boomgaert, 1: fol. 13r.

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the invisible God, the firstborn of every creature . . . .”)—emphasize that the mystery of Christ has to do with his identity as the visible image of the God, whose presence was and is otherwise invisible. By contrast, the section on God—“Van Godt. Sijnen naem, by-namen, hoedanigheyden . .. ? —commences with a series of passages not susceptible to visualization:

for example, Exodus 3:14 (“I am who I am”), John 4:24 (“God is a spirit;

and they that adore him must adore him in spirit and in truth”), and Isaiah 30:27 (“Behold the name of the Lord cometh afar, his wrath burneth....”). Throughout

the loci communes, citations and paraphrases from the Old

Testament mingle with passages from the New Testament, and in the case of Christ, the Holy Spirit, and the Christian virtues, the four evangelists, Paul, and prophets such as Isaiah and Jeremiah are seen equally as sources of literal and allegorical images. For Coornhert, in other words, literal and allegorical images are fully complementary, and their relation is construed neither as hierarchical, with prophecies anticipating the persons and events that will ultimately fulfill them, nor as typological, with figurative images adumbrating the birth, ministry, Passion, and Resurrection of Christ.

Having established a complex image of Christ, Coornhert now attends

to characterizing him

more

fully, again

in terms

that

may

be visibly

portrayed. Take chapter 3, “De ware Menscheyt Christi blijckt uyt Christi 1. Benaminghen, 2. Wesen ende 3. Hertstochten ofte beweghinen” [The true humanity of Christ appears from how he is denominated, from his condition of being, and from his passions and motions (of the soul)]. Coornhert points out that Christ is called a “Man” in Luke 23:47, 1 Timothy 2:5, John 19:6, and Romans 5:15; “Flesh” in John 1:14, Romans 1:3 and 9:5, Colossians 1:22, Hebrews 2:14, and 1 Timothy 3:16 and

4:2; “David’s Son” in Matthew 1:1, Luke 20:41, Romans 1:3 and 15:12, 2 Timothy 2:8, Apocalypse 22:16, and Isaiah 11:10; and so forth. In his being, he is said to consist of body in Matthew 27:59, soul in Matthew 26:38 and Mark 14:34, and spirit in Matthew 27:50 and Luke 23:46. He is shown to have experienced sensations such as hunger in Mark 2:16 and 11:12 and Matthew 42:2 and 21:18, and thirst in John 19:28, to have

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26:11, Mark 14:7, John 14:3 and 28 and 16:5-7 and 16, 2 Corinthians

5-89, Philippians 1:23, and 1 Peter 1:8. And he is revealed to have felt the passions and to have been moved to action by them: anger in Mark 3:5, sorrow in John 11:33 and 35, and Matthew 26:37, melancholy in Matthew 26:38, fear and oppression in Mark 14:33, astonishment in Mark 6:6, joy in John 11:15 and Luke 10:21, longing in Mark 8:12, and consternation in John 12:27 (Boomgaert, 1: fol. 13v). Each of these attributes testifies to one of the three criteria whereby the humanity of Christ is made visible to us scripturally: first, through the names he bears and the ways in which he is denominated; second, through his condition of being; third, through his passions and motions of the soul (Boomgaert, 1: fol. 13r). In this respect, as authoritative and evidentiary proof texts, the scriptural /oci function for Coornhert in the way that commonplaces operate in Rudolf Agricola’s De formando studio of c. 1508, one of the chief sources of what Mark Meadow, with reference

to Pieter Bruegel’s Netherlandish Proverb Country, has felicitously called the “notebook method” (Meadow, 25, 83-97). As Fleurkens rightly recognized, the idea that biblical citations could provide paradigmata for the reading of difficult scriptural passages derives from another of Coornhert’s models, Erasmuss Ratio, seu methodus compendio perveniendi ad veram theologiam of c. 1519. Furthermore, she is surely right to suggest that the cognitive value of such scriptural loci communes lay in their potential as building blocks for the formulation of statements relating general concepts (“theses”) and concrete cases (“hypotheses”).'’ This notion goes back, of course, to Philip Melanchthon’s Loci communes rerum theologicarum seu hypotyposes theologicae, of 1521.” For Coornhert, as for Melanchthon, /oci communes were mainly desirable because they allowed the reader to construct authoritative arguments rooted in the relation between thesis and hypothesis, which implicitly organizes the construction of the commonplace book. This relation, if it is fully fleshed out, proves constitutive of the most powerful of all dialectical instruments—the analogy, or, more specifically, the syllogism.

walked about in Mark 11:27, to have stood, sat, and slept in Mark 10:49

and 3:32 and Matthew 8:24 (respectively), to have become weary on his journey in John 4:6, to have grown both in body and spirit in Luke 1:80 and 2:52, and to have died in John 19:30. Moreover, he is described as being bodily with his disciples and, conversely, absent from them in Matthew

11. 12.

See Fleurkens, 109-16, esp. 113-14. On Melanchthon’s commonplace method 1994a and 1994b.

of argumentation, see Meerhoff

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We can see how this works for Coornhert by reexamining each of the hypotheses that attach to the thesis “The true humanity of Christ appears from how he is denominated, from his condition of being, and from his

even while being censured by the scribes and Pharisees, acting in opposition to their scruples concerning the law; therefore, Christ shows himself to be our affectionate shepherd and assures us that we are his beloved flock, the

and, specifically, to how he is designated in the Bible as being of the flesh and of David, the syllogism may be completed as follows: men are born bodily,

supplying a scriptural warrant for the supposition that Jesus is our watchful guardian, invites us to formulate a fully formed allegorical image of him as the Good Shepherd. The impulse to find scriptural /oci that can serve as the basis for such an image, and can regulate the image-making process that underlies it, permeates the entire section on Christ, the longest in the loci communes. The chapter headings cum thesis statements make this abundantly clear: “Fifth Chapter: Some Characteristics of Christ” “Eighth Chapter: What There Is and What Exists in Christ . . . The Works Making Evident his Omnipotence,” “Eleventh Chapter: The Works of Christ Conforming to his Trust in God and in his Followers,’ “Twelfth Chapter: The Works of Christ Conforming to his Love,’ “Thirteenth Chapter: The Works of Christ

passions and motions [of the soul].” With regard to how Christ is named,

and Jews are the sons of David; in Luke 23:47, Christ is called a man, in

John 1:14 et aliis, flesh, and in Matthew 1:1, David's son; therefore, Christ must have been discernibly incarnate, born a Jew of the flesh and blood of David. With regard to the personhood of Christ: men consist of body, soul, and spirit; in Matthew 27:59, Christ’s body is mentioned, in Matthew 26:38 and Mark 14:34, his soul, and in Matthew 27:50 and Luke 23:46, his spirit; therefore, Christ must have been fully human, in full possession of the body, soul, and spirit of a man, and, thus, perceptible to his fellow men. With regard to the sensations and passions of Christ: sensations impel men to eat, drink, move, stand, sit, or sleep, and passions move them; in Mark 2:16 and 11:12, Christ is said to have felt hunger, in John 19:28, to have thirsted, in Mark 3:5, to have felt anger, in John 11:33 and 25, to have felt sorrow, in Mark 14:33, to have felt fear and oppression, etc.; therefore, the humanity of Christ must have encompassed the full range of human sensations and passions, meaning that the motions of his body, soul, and spirit would have been visible to all who encountered him (Boomgaert, 1: fol. 13v). What these three syllogisms enforce is the message that scripture, in conveying an image of Christ, makes his humanity apprehensible to the attentive reader/ viewer. This image is presented as verifiably concrete and factual. The commonplaces that follow elaborate upon this relatively general image of Christ, adding various particulars. Chapter 10, for instance, puts forward the parable of the Good Shepherd as an hypothesis of the thesis, taken from Hebrews 1:9, that “the goodness of Christ is recognizable to all,

his love of justice and hatred of injustice.” The syllogism runs as follows: the good and righteous shepherd is the man who attends to his flocks, gathering in the sheep and making sure that none is left unguarded; in Matthew 9:36, Christ expressed compassion for the multitudes who followed him like a flock without a shepherd; in Matthew 20:34, he healed the two blind men who called to him from the wayside; in Luke 7:13, he took pity on the widow of Naim and raised her dead son; in Mark 1:41, he made clean the

Galilean lepers who begged him to cure them; and he did all these things

beneficiaries of his righteousness (Boomgaert, 1: fol. 16v). Coornhert, in

Conforming to his Mercy,

Conforming to his Conforming to his Christ Conforming Christ Conforming

“Fourteenth

Chapter: The Works

of Christ

Humility, “Sixteenth Chaper: The Works of Christ Forebearance,’ “Seventeenth Chapter: The Works of to his Strength,’ “Eighteenth Chapter: The Works of to his Justice. 1. In Achieving [What Was Promised].

2. In Judging [Accordant to Our Words and Deeds]. 3. In Compensating

[Accordant to Our Just Deserts]. 4. In Punishing.” The sixth chapter enumerates “Sommighe figuren Christi” [Some Figures of Christ], starting with Adam (Romans 5:14), Abel (Genesis 4:8), Abimelech King of Gerar (Genesis 20:16), including the stone anointed by Jacob (Genesis 28:18), the chief stone (Zechariah 4:7), the lion who ate, out of which came forth food (Judges 14:14), and ending with the fatted calf (Luke 15:23), the anointing of the kings of Israel (2 Kings 2:4), and the cluster of grapes carried upon a lever (Numbers 13:24). Since this chapter is embedded among various others focusing on the visible works of Christ, it seems clear that Coornhert conceived of them less as types than as symbolic works or attributes of Christ, utilizing them to compound the image being generated, particularizing it by means of allegorical amplification. 13. 14.

Boomgaert, 1: fols. 15r-v, 16v, 17r-v. Boomgaert, 1: fol. 15r-v.

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Even the greatest mysteries of faith—the incarnation, death, and Resurrection of Christ—can be visualized, argues Coornhert in the extended final chapter of “On Christ,’ if one focuses on their effects upon us. Entitled “The Vocation of Christ, or the Final Cause of his Incarnation, Death, and Resurrection,” chapter 25 opens with an elaborate diagram showing a series of increasingly specific effects produced by Christ, who is their final cause (fig. 9). To begin, the Lord’s vocation can be visualized by reference to the conversion of pagans into Christians (Isaiah 61:11), to the angelic annunciation of peace between God and the world, delivered at the Nativity (Luke 2:14), and to his ministry in service of God, through which, as Isaiah 66:14 points out, the Father’s will was made visible and knowable to all (“You shall see and your heart shall rejoice, and your bones shall flourish like an herb, and the hand of the Lord shall be known to his servants, and he shall be angry with his enemies”). It can also be seen in the way the Gospel divides the Jews, some of whom recognize Jesus as a sign of salvation, others of whom reject what he signifies (2 Corinthians 2:15-16

and Luke 2: 34: “Behold this child is set for the fall, and for the resurrection of many in Israel, and for a sign which shall be contradicted”). Coornhert then subdivides the latter branch of the vocational diagram: First, Jesus as sign insistently bisects the world into those who see and those who see not, as John 9:30 makes clear: “For judgment I am come into this world; that they who see not, may see; and they who see, may become blind.” Consequently, subbranch

1 refers to “Judgment of Them Who

Believe Not” whereas

the more heavily laden subbranch 2 pertains to “Salvation of Them Who Believe” (Matthew 20:28, Genesis 22:18, Luke 3:17, etc.). In turn, the latter

subbranch trifurcates into a triad of corollary branches: First, “[Salvation]

through the Taking Away of Our Evil Deeds and Wickedness” which consists of the further branches “He Saves Us from the Damnation Our

Sins Have Merited, through the Perfection of Our Justification,” “He Saves

Us from Dominion by Our Enemies,’ and “He Saves Us from Miseries.”

Second, “[Salvation] through the Bestowal of Gifts,’ which subdivides into “[ The Gift of] Life... through the Mediation of Divine Light” and “Unity

with the Father through the Son ... and through the Mediation of Divine Love.” The latter two subbranches are specially replete allusions to how

Christ illuminates his votaries, making visible to them his saving grace: for

example, Isaiah 35:5: “Then shall the eyes of the blind be opened”; Luke 2:32: “A light to the revelation of the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people

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Israel”; and John 12:46: “Iam come a light into the world; that whosoever believeth in me, may not remain in darkness.” Third, “[Salvation] through

the Preservation of His Own,’ which subdivides into “In Justice” and “In Strength” (Boomgaert, 1: fol. 27r). The subdivisions of the first branch of salvation assist us to envision how Christ operated as an active force in the world. By viewing him through the lens of the scriptural /oci listed under the subheadings “His Mastery over such Enemies as the World” (John 16:33, Galatians 1:4), “.. . the Flesh” (1 Peter 3:18, Galatians 5:24), “the Darkness” (John 12:46, Isaiah 49:9, etc.), “..… the Devil” (1 John 3:8, Habbacuc 3:5, etc.), and “. . . Sins” (1 Peter 2:24, 2 Corinthians 5:15, etc.), we are encouraged to fashion an image of Christ actively laboring to justify humankind. Coornhert then specifies the scriptural places in which we are shown how “[Christ] Delivered us

from Miseries” such as “Bondage and Captivity” at the hands of death, the devil, and his agents (Hebrews 2:15, Isaiah 49:9, etc.), “Fear” of eternal damnation (Hebrews 2:15, Sophonias 3:15, etc.), “Spiritual Dejection” (Isaiah 61:1 and 66:13, etc.), “Reproach” (Isaiah 25:8, Ezechiel 36:15, etc.), “Earthly Peril” (Hosea 2:18, Isaiah 26:1, etc.), “The Law” (Hebrews 10:9, Galatians 4:5 and 3:13), “Perdition” (Romans 8:1 and 34, etc.), “Death” (Hosea 13:14, 2 Timothy 1:10, etc.), and “Hell” (Hosea 13:14).

The subdivisions of the second branch of salvation assist us in producing three complementary scriptural images of ourselves: first, in conjunction with the doci listed under “Out of which Comes Forth True Knowledge of our Wickedness and Self-Hatred,” we may visualize how far our lineaments

have diverged from those of Christ, by reference to Ezechiel 36:31, Genesis 3:15,

and

Psalm

118:104;

second,

in conjunction

with

the loci listed

under “[Out of which Comes Forth] Knowledge of God’s Goodness,’ we

may visualize the twelve fruits of our increasing similitude to Christ— Regret and Contrition, Good Will, Conversion, Forsaking of Self, Fear of God, Faith, Hope, Love, Wisdom, Strength, Justice and Obedience, and

Freedom—by reference to a plethora of scriptural passages (to cite just one apiece from the many listed under each of these virtues, Ezechiel 36:31, Isaiah 62:4, Deuteronomy 4:30, Hosea 2:14, Isaiah 33:6, Habbacuc 9:4, Sophonias 3:12, Deuteronomy 30:6, Isaiah 33:6, Joel 3:10, Ezechiel 36:27,

and Isaiah 19:20); third, in conjunction with the /oci listed under “One Shall Seek to Discern the Will of God and of Men, [in the Knowledge that] Unity with God is Man's only Salvation,’ we may visualize how the

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image of ourselves and that of Christ become gradually indistinguishable, in light of our burgeoning desire to accept the salvation Christ offers us (John 1:12, Romans 5:17, Psalm 80:11, etc.), our growing inclination to embrace godliness (Isaiah 19:22, Jeremiah 3:12, 2 Corinthians 3:16, etc.), our expanding impulse to pay heed to the Lord’s teachings (Psalm 1:2, John 5:25, Acts 17:1, etc.), our increasing trust in God (Proverbs 3:5-6, Jeremiah

17:7, Mark 9:23, etc.), our cleaving closer to the commandments (Matthew 7:21, Deuteronomy 11:26, Hebrews 5:8, etc.), and our intensifying struggle against evil (Matthew 10:34, Luke 12:49). Coornhert’s loci communes facilitate the production of scriptural images at every turn. The section “Van Godt” consists mainly of places describing the works by which God's presence may be ascertained: “Sixth Chapter: God Actions or Works according to his Goodness,’ “Seventh Chapter: Gods

Works

or Actions

according

to his Charity,

“Eighth

Chapter:

God's Works according to his Justice in Fashioning the Law, in Judging, in Punishing, in Requiting,’ etc. (fig. 10). Under the subheading “In Judging” of the latter chapter, for instance, we are urged to behold (“Aensiet”) how he “rain[s] snares upon sinners” and incinerates them with “fire and brimstone and storms of wind” (Psalm 10:7), or to imagine how the wrath of God abated when he saw the Ninevites turn from their evil ways (Jonah 3:10). These works may be construed either as verifiable anecdotes or compelling allegories, but whether

as one or the other, they are translatable

not what to do, we can only turn our eyes to thee” (Boomgaert, 1: fol. 35r).

The next chapter, “De ghedaente des gheloofs” [On the semblance of faith],

enumerates fourteen epitomes of faith, starting with Abraham (Romans 4:16) and ending with the Thessalonians who prayed to God to succor them (2 Thessalonians 3:2).'” Perhaps the best example of Coornhert’s tendency to body forth his overarching topics in a scriptural image taken directly from the Bible is chapter 1, “Beschryvinghe wat die is” [Description of what it is], of “Vande ware Penitentie, bekeeringhe, boete, of wedergheboorte”

[On true penitence, conversion, contrition, and rebirth]. Here he quotes

Job 33:15-30,

By a dream in a vision by night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, and they are sleeping in their beds. Then he openeth the ears of men, and teaching instructeth them in what they are to learn. That he may withdraw a man from the things he is doing, and may deliver him from pride. Rescuing his soul from corruption: and his life from passing to the sword. He rebuketh also by sorrow in the bed, and he maketh all his bones to wither. Bread becometh abominable to him in his life, and to his soul the meat which before he desired. His flesh shall be consumed away, and his bones that were covered shall be made bare. His soul hath drawn near to corruption, and his life to the destroyers. If there shall be an angel speaking for him, one among thousands, to declare man’s uprightness, he shall have mercy on him, and shall say: Deliver him, that he may not go down to corruption; I have found wherein I may be merciful to him. His flesh is consumed with punishment, let him return to the days of his youth."®

into

description of what it is, its cause, operation, means, end, fruit, and force, etc.], assembles various exempla under the rubric “Wtbeeldinghe”: among

15. 16.

Boomgaert, 1: fols. 2r, 4r, Sy. Boomgaert, 1: fol. 6r.

the extended passage in which Elihu, chiding Job for

impenitence, paints a verbal picture of true penitence. Elihu describes how God visits the sinner, teaches him to recognize his sins, urges him truly to repent, and thereby turns him into a paradigm of what Job must aspire to become. Elihu stands proxy for Coornhert, who aims to inspire penitence by deferring to this biblical example of penitential image making:

images. The same holds true of what at first may seem to be abstractions. Entitled “Van t ware Gheloove wtbeeldinghe” [On the portrayal of faith], chapter 2 of “Van t’Ghelooye, wat dat is, oorsaeck, werckinge, middel, eynde, vrucht, ende kracht, etc., klare beschryvinghe” [On faith, a clear others, Abraham, as described in Romans 4:20-21 (“In the promise also of God he staggered not by distrust; but was strengthened in faith, giving glory to God”), or Josaphat, in 2 Paralipomen 20:12, standing in the new courtyard of the house of the Lord, and praying, “O our God, wilt thou not then judge them? As for us we have not strength enough, to be able to resist this multitude, which cometh violently upon us. But as we know

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17.

Boomgaert, 1: fol. 35r.

18.

“Door eenen droom in des nachts visioen als den slaep de menschen overvalt ende sy int bedde slapen: dan opent God de ooren der mannen, ende hen-lieden leerende, onderwijst hy die met leeringe: dat hy den mensch soude af keren van t’gene dat hy gedaen heeft, ende hem verlossen vander hoovaerdijen. Verlossende zijn ziele vande verderffenisse, etc. Hy straft oock door pijne int bedde, ende alle zijne ghebeente doet hy verdwijnen. Afgrijselijc wort hem in zijn leven

het broot, ende zijnder zielen de spijse die te voren lustigh was. Sijn vleesch sal

verdwijnen, &c. Sijn ziele is tot de verderffenisse genaeckt, ende sijn leven den dootlijcken dingen. Ist datter eenen Engel zijn sal voor hem sprekende, een uyt

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Coornhert amplifies this passage by quoting Jeremiah 4:1-4 on circumcision of the heart, Isaiah 1:16-17 on the merciful works that the true penitent will be moved to perform, Isaiah 55:7 on the Lord’s bountiful mercy toward repentant sinners, and Ezechiel 33:14-15 on God’s promise of life to the penitent slain by his sins. Other /oci—Jeremiah 7:3, 26:13, and 18:11, Ezechiel 14:6, 20:18, and 18:30-31, Hosea 12:6 and 14:3-4, and Malachi 3:7—are also cited, though not quoted (Boomgaert, 1: fol. 411). Throughout the /oci communes, Coornhert layers passage onto passage, allowing the images gradually to emerge from this process, whereby the scriptural commonplaces are woven into an intertext capable of imprinting biblical “wtbeeldinghen” [images, depictions, pictures, portrayals], “ghedaenten” [forms, semblances], and “figuren” [figures] (fig. 11).° These forms, images, and figures suffuse the syllogisms that underlie the commonplaces; the reader, in identifying these syllogistic analogies, becomes the discoverer of divine truths that are revealed, it would seem, by fully scriptural means, without the mediation of any glossist—least of all Coornhert himself.” This is to say that many, if not all, of the syllogisms not only operate in and through images but also result in scriptural images that function as bearers of divine wisdom. Coornhert believed that the exegetical apparatus on offer in his loci communes, unlike almost every other exegetical model, was fundamentally eirenic. Known as a proponent of Catholic Reform (though also, to some, as a heretic), he ardently opposed all forms of sectarianism, whether Roman Catholic, Lutheran, or Calvinist.”! He espoused close biblical reading, arguing for it assertively,

den duysenden, om te verkondighen des menschen gherechtigheyt, hy sal zijns

ghenadigh wesen, ende sal segghen: Verlost hem dat hy in de verderffenisse niet neder en dale, ick heb ghevonden daer door ick zijns ghenadigh sal zijn. Sijn vleesch is verteert van de pijnen, laet hem wederom keeren tot de daghen zijnder jonckheyt.” (Boomgaert, 1: fol. 41r) 19.

On “wtbeedinghen,” see Boomgaert, 40v, 41r; on “figuren” 1: fol. 15r.

20.

On loci communes as engines for the construction of syllogisms, see Meerhoff 1994b, 51-68; on Coornhert’s conception of the syllogism, Fleurkens, 114.

21.

1: fol. 35r; on “ghedaenten

1: fols. 357,

On Coornherts unorthodox Catholicism and his zealous advocacy of freedom of conscience, see Bonger, 37-159; and Veldman 1990, 15-16, 72, 75-79, 82-85. On Goltzius’s religious convictions, and, specifically, on his cultivation of freedom of conscience, inferable from his biographer Karel van Mander's description of him as a “beminder van zijn eygen vrijheyt” [lover of his own

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even demonstratively, as an antidote to religious strife and dogmatic orthodoxy. The strong implication is that the exegetical images engendered by his loci communes are to be received as scripturally true, and as such, operate beyond the bounds of confessional partisanship. The Form and Function of Goltzius’s Exegetical Allegories of the 1570s

Goltziuss Allegories on the Life of Christ and Allegories of the Christian Creed, along with related prints, such as Christ and the Cross, closely follow the exegetical model laid out by Coornhert in his loci communes (figs. 1-4, 5-7, 12-15, 16, and 17-18).

Take Christ and the Cross, engraved for the

widow of Hieronymus Cock: the central allegory equates the triumph of Christ and the cross with the corporal works of charity, portrayed in the frame, and with the eighth of the beatitudes, enacted in the landscape behind Christ (fig. 16). The four martyrdoms staged here are celebrated as attempts to imitate the willing self-sacrifice of Christ: on the right, James the Lesser, who was cast out of the temple (visible in the distance) and beaten to death with a fuller’s club, or, alternatively, Thaddeus, who was beaten to death with sticks; on the left, Paul, James the Greater, or possibly Matthias, all of whom were beheaded with a sword; just behind him, the first martyrdom

of John, who was thrown into a cauldron of boiling oil

before the Latin Gate; and on the horizon, Andrew, on his X-shaped cross.

These scenes, though not strictly scriptural, are licensed as exempla of the

eighth beatitude, as described in Matthew 5:10-11: “Blessed are they that

suffer persecution for justice’ sake; for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are ye when they shall revile you, and persecute you, and speak all freedom], see Leeflang 2003, 13-21, esp. 21; also see Van Mander, fol. 286r.

On Goltzius’s wide circle of Catholic patrons, friends, and acquaintances, see Melion, 296, 319n7-8. Hendrick Gulick van Berch refers to Goltzius as discipele

of Coornhert, in a letter dated 9 January 1576, for which see Nichols, 86. As

Veldman points out (1990, 69-85), Coornhert summarized his anti-sectarian views in the print series De ontaarding van de Katholieke geestelijkheid oftewel de

achtergronden van de opstand en de beeldenstorm |Degeneracy of the Catholic

clergy, or the causes of the revolt and iconoclasm], invented by him and engraved by Adriaan de Weert; he staged these views in a series of eight dialogues, SchynDeught der secten met hare verwerde twistigheden om de Ceremonien ende anders [Sham virtue of the sects, with their confounded quarrels over ceremonies and

other topics], composed in 1574, for which see Boomgaert, 3: fols. 341r-55r.

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that is evil against you, untruly, for my sake.” They also perfectly illustrate the account of this beatitude in Luke 6:22 and 28. The quatrain below, probably composed by Goltzius’s close collaborator Cornelis Schonaeus, as Leesberg plausibly surmises, paraphrases several passages from the Epistle to the Hebrews: “Christ bore human faults and offences, / He washed the human race in his deep-flowing blood. / And he whose blood erased sin, / At the same time suffered the penalty imposed by sin” This short poem distills the argument and terminology of Hebrews 9:14: “How much more shall the blood of Christ, who by the Holy Ghost offered himself unspotted unto God, cleanse our conscience from dead works, to serve the living God.” It also alludes to Hebrews 10:10: “In the which will, we are sanctified by the oblation of the body of Jesus Christ once.” In combination with the image of Christ’s beautiful body, victorious over death, Schonaeus’s poem also adverts to Hebrews 10:12: “But this man offering one sacrifice for sins, forever sitteth on the right right hand of God.” Ranged along both sides of the frame are panels depicting six of the corporal works of mercy, accompanied by citations from Matthew 25:3536, in which Christ identifies himself with all who hunger, thirst, or wander

abroad, or are naked, sick, or imprisoned: “For I was hungry, and you gave me to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave me to drink; I was a stranger, and you took me in: naked, and you covered me; sick, and you visited me: I was

in prison, and you came to me.” Christ looks attentively at the scenes to his left, while gesturing toward the scenes to his right, thus indicating that

he sanctions these works, and is to be seen as present in them. Goltzius also subtly incorporates an eschatological allusion drawn from Matthew 25:31-33. The bodily perfection and radiance of Christ, who yet displays

his wounds, characterizes him as the son of man, who shall come at the

end of time, to judge men in light of their works: “And when the Son of man shall come in his majesty, and all the angels with him, then shall he sit upon the seat of his majesty. . . And he shall set the sheep on his right hand ... ” Christ's right arm, raised in an adlocutory gesture, brings this passage vividly to mind, along with the subsequent passage, which connects the works of mercy to the eschatological and minatory assurance of divine judgment: “Then shalt the king say to them that shall be on his right hand: 22.

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“Sustulit humanas culpas, et crimina Christus, / Lavit et humanum sanguinis amne genus. / Et qui peccatum delevit sanguine, poenam / Peccato positam sustulit ille simul.”

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Come yet blessed of my Father, possess you the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.” Above, another quatrain by Schonaeus paraphrases and amplifies Proverbs 31:10, on the virtues of the good wife: “The best of husbands loves the truly pious wife / Acknowledging her as his own, / The wife nobler than gems, more beautiful than gold / Who is diligent about God, diligent about men.” These verses embed the relevant passage from Proverbs: “A good wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels” (31:10). More importantly, situated in relation to the six texts and images describing corporal works of mercy, they strongly imply that the good wife also exemplifies the virtue of compassion, as described in Proverbs 31:20: “She hath opened her hand to the needy, and stretched out her hands to the poor.” The further implication, given that Christ’s gestures are exactly like the wife’s, is that the Savior, in showing solicitude toward us, resembles a loving wife, and, conversely, that when we engage in works of mercy in his name, we become to him like loving wives. Surprisingly, the quatrain attaches to an image not of the seventh corporal work of mercy, burying the dead, taken from Tobit 1:20, but, instead, to a scene of Mary’s espousal to Joseph, recorded in Matthew 1:18: “Now the generation of Christ was in this wise. When as his mother Mary was espoused to Joseph, before they

came together, she was found with child, of the Holy Ghost.” The removal

of Tobit 1:20 likely resulted from its status as the source of an apocryphal seventh work of mercy, not invoked by Christ in Matthew 25. In lieu of illustrating this work, Goltzius interpolated a scene with a scriptural

warrant, which, in association with the adjacent texts and images, becomes

an allusion to the spiritual espousal of the Christian and Christ to be secured through charitable works. Another implication is that martyrdom may be construed as a work of mercy, in that it brings the martyr closer to

Jesus, converting him into a living image of his Savior.

Even the branches of fruit that thread their way around the strapwork frames are implicitly scriptural, for they must surely derive from Galatians 5:22-23, which closely coordinates with the imagery of merciful works:

“But the fruit of the Spirit is, charity, joy, peace, patience, benignity, goodness, longanimity. Mildness, faith, modesty, continency, chastity. 23.

“Optimus uxorem vera Pietate maritus / Diligit, ut partem noverit esse sui, /

Uxor nobilior gemmis, speciosior auro est, / Quae studiosa Dei, quae studiosa 5 viri.

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Against such there is no law.” They also resonate with the analogy of good works to a fruiting tree in Matthew 12:33: “Either make the tree good, and its fruits good; or make the tree evil, and its fruits evil. For by the fruit the tree is known.” The tacit conclusion to be drawn from this confluence of scriptural /oci is that just as the sacrifice of Christ licenses the works of mercy and the beatitudes, so his cross may be compared to a fertile tree that produces abundant fruit. And among these fruits, the martyrs who die for the faith, in imitation of Christ, are the most perfect, the most ripe. The syllogism discernible in the print’s carefully aggregated scriptural citations, paraphrases, and images might be formulated as follows: that Christ died on the cross to redeem human sin is a supreme work of mercy; all who engage in corporal works of mercy, and who live and die by the eighth beatitude, imitate the mercy of Christ; therefore, they shall be united with him, as if espoused, and sanctified by his oblation, shall taste the fruit of redemption. The syllogistic argument is entirely produced by biblical means, with images and texts functioning equally as scriptural statements. The print Levamen onustorum, discussed above, in that it refrains from paraphrases and quotes more extensively from scripture, typifies Goltzius's modus operandi even more fully (fig. 7). The central allegory functions as the thesis statement, its significance clarified by the titular motto, Levamen onustorum, which appears just above. Scriptural texts and images in the surrounding frame function as the particularizing hypotheses to be connected to the thesis. The relation between thesis and hypotheses, once it is discerned, facilitates the formulation of a syllogism distilling a point of doctrine divinely sanctioned by scripture, Here, the allegory mobilizes every burdensome instance of sin, death, and oppression described in the peripheral coffers. Coffer “L” for example, cites Isaiah 46:1: “Bel is broken, Nebo is destroyed: [their idols are put upon beasts and cattle] your burdens of heavy weight even unto weariness.” Nearby, in the central image, a man, labeled “L,” carries strapped to his back a broken effigy of the god Bacchus; positioned at the base of the hill, the man is farthest from Christ and lower down than any other figure. Yet he prays no less fervently to be relieved of the dead weight he carries. His eye fixed on Jesus, he seems to read the text, from Matthew 11:28, that radiates from the Lord’s brow: “Come to me all you that labor and are burdened, and I will refresh you.” The syllogism can thus easily be discerned, for the allegory would seem to enact its argument: Christ offers consolation to all who are heavy burdened,

as Matthew 5:11-12, Isaiah 55:1-2 (inscribed in the frame above), and

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Isaiah 55:6-7 (inscribed in the frame below) attest; humankind is beset by every kind of heavy weight, whether bodily or spiritual, as Mark 3:5, Isaiah 35:6, Matthew 9:20, Proverbs 27:3, Zechariah 5:6-8, Ecclesiasticus 3:29, Ecclesiastes 4:8, Isaiah 46:1, Matthew 23:4, Wisdom. 17:20, Matthew 15:28, Mark 1:41-42, and Matthew 20:32-34 demonstrate (proceeding clockwise from upper right to upper left); therefore, Christ can be identified with every confidence as the living source of disburdenment put forward in scripture. He is, as the Bible superabundantly shows, the only true “levamen onustorum.” Alternatively, we could reverse the positions of Matthew 11:28 and the situlus, so that the syllogism would run as follows: Christ is, as scripture implies, the one true “levamen onustorum”; humankind is freighted by insupportable burdens of every kind; therefore, one may be assured that he promises consolation to all who humbly approach him, as Matthew 11:28 testifies. Goltzius, like Coornhert, makes his case exclusively by scriptural means. Every component of the central allegory—including, as we have seen earlier, its allusion to the Sermon on the Mount—is scriptural. Every text and image in the frame is likewise scriptural. And the interaction of text and image, centerpiece and frame, sets in motion the process of comparative analogy that leads to confirmation of the underlying structural syllogism. Both in word and image, scripture is activated as the privileged instrument of scriptural reading. The exegetical apparatus relies on the gathering of scriptural texts and images—/oci—under a topical head, which in this case, interestingly, can be construed either as the major premise or the conclusion of the substratal syllogism. Even Goltzius’s system of lettering is reminiscent of Coornhert: chapter 25 of “Van Christo,” to cite the most obvious parallel, is subdivided into topics lettered “A” through “G” (fig. 8). The fact that Coornhert’s loci communes are implicitly visual, in the sense that they supply a machina comprised by commonplaces that expedites the production of scriptural images, would have made his exegetical system all

the more paradigmatic for Goltzius. Many of Goltziuss #tuli, with their supporting texts and images, recall Coornhert’s theses: Passio Christi, for instance, together with the personification of Charitas Dei (Divine Charity, a mother with three babes, who affectionately looks down at Fidelis, the faithful Christian) and the

excerpt from 1 John 4:9 (“By this hath the charity of God appeared towards

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us, because God hath sent his only begotten Son in the world, that we may live by him”) bears resemblance to Coornhert’s chapters 12 and 16, “De wercken Christi na sijn Liefde” and “De wercken des Heeren na syne Lijdtsaemheyt” (Boomgaert, 1: 17r). Here and elsewhere, however, Goltzius for the most part selects different citations, assimilating the exegetical structure of his former master’s loci communes, even while implementing different loci. One might argue that in this respect, he took to heart Coornhert’s admonition against turning his own writings into a gloss through which to read scripture. Goltzius emulates Coornhert but returns anew to the Bible, rather than the constituent elements of Coornhert’s loci communes, as his authoritative exegetical source. In most other ways, he cleaves close to him, as his reliance upon syllogism makes apparent. The syllogistic argument that exegetically distils the message of scripture here runs as follows: Christ’s Passion, as 1 John 4:9 avers, bodies forth the love of God; every scene from the Passion embedded in the frame, along with the emblematic devices that alternate with these scenes, alludes to the intensity and salvific potency of Christ’s suffering; therefore, Christ must be recognized as the epitome of divine love. The Resurrectio Christi invites a similarly syllogistic conclusion: the central allegory, which shows Christ defeating death and the devil, avows incontrovertibly that he rose from the grave; the framing biblical scenes, which depict the disciples handling his lifeless body (above) or interacting with the risen Christ (below and at the sides), and the emblematic devices, likewise taken from scripture, which emphasize that he rose for all our sakes, demonstrate that the Resurrection pertains first and foremost to needful humankind; therefore, the print certifies that Christ promises life after death to all who place their trust in him without fail. In spite of these

many

similarities, however,

there

are four further

divergences from Coornhert, all of which are significant. First, Goltzius’s ingenious format—a central allegory and corollary frame—directly

derives not from Coornhert but from Raphael’s famous Quos Ego of c. 1515-1516, by way of Giorgio Ghisi’s Man of Sorrows, of c. 1575 (figs. 19 and 20). Both prints feature a large central scene surrounded by smaller complementary framing scenes, and Marcantonio Raimondi’s print after Raphael even incorporates various texts, mostly paraphrases from books 1-4 24.

On Ghisi’s Man of Sorrows, see Boorsch, Lewis, and Lewis, 180-81; on Raimondi’s Quos Ego after Raphael, see Kleinub.

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of the Aeneid. Goltzius adapted this format to the task of devising a pictorial counterpart to Coornhert’s loci communes. Second, Goltzius relies heavily on narrative allegory to body forth his primary premises and theses. The problem, as he saw it, was how to visualize the many references to the works of God, Christ, the Holy Spirit, Faith, Hope, Love, Penitence, etc., in the topical headings of Coornhert’s loci communes (“Wercken Christi zijn Almogentheydt verklarende,’ “Wercken Christi nae zijn Mildtheydt” “De wercken des Heeren na syne Sterckheyt,” etc.)2° The term wercken implies that the Omnipotence, Mercy, or Strength of Christ expressed itselfin and through actions and their discernible effects. The locution easily accommodates a prosopopoeic response, and this is the route Goltzius took in the Allegories on the Life of Christ and Allegories of the Christian Creed. \n the Passio Christi, for example, the presence of the personification Charity, and the parallel between her action of lovingly gazing down at the votary and Christ of gazing intently into the same votary eyes, even while bearing the weight of the cross, signifies that the matter at hand is, as Coornhert puts it, the “works [of Christ] according

to his .. . Righteousness, Wisdom, Love, Mercy, etc.” But Goltzius goes a step farther, interpolating the figure of Obedientia Dei [Obedience to God], who shows Fidelis a heart overtopped by the tablets of the Law. This is the heart of Christ, whose loving obedience to God compelled him to embrace the Passion. In response, Fidelis tramples blind Cupid, the carnal antithesis to the sacrificial love of Christ, and displays his heart to him. The complexity of the allegory, its subtle dialogic structure involving four protagonists who mutually interact (eight if one counts Cupid and Charity’s three offspring), inflects the syllogistic conclusion to be drawn, by introducing a strong mimetic constituent: if Christ epitomizes divine love, he does so with a view to making it amply visible to us; conversely, it falls to us, having seen this love, to embrace it, as best we can, by imitating the Passion of Christ. As a matter of fact, dramatic allegories of this kind ultimately derive from Coornhert himself, who devised numerous allegorical subjects, the majority based on scripture, both independently and in collaboration with draftsmen such as Maarten van Heemskerck and publishers such as 25.

26.

Boomgaert, 1: fols. 16r, 171, 17v.

“Van Christo. Sijnen Wercken: nae zijn... Rechtvaerdigheyt, Wijsheydt, Liefde, Barmhertigheydt, etc” (Boomgaert, 1: fol. 13r).

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Hieronymus Cock. Typical is the allegory Faith Purifying Human Hearts in the Blood of Christ, which, like the Passio Christi, foregrounds Christ and the Cross, portraying his triumph over errant human hearts (fig. 21).7 Goltzius also engraved moral allegories such as False Opinion Causes the Ruin of Truth and Justice, of c. 1577, directly after Coornhert’s invention,

incorporating both sinnekens [embodied vices] and personifications.*

The Allegories on the Life of Christ and Allegories of the Christian Creed assimilate this freer allegorical mode into the exegetical mode exemplified by Coornhert’s loci communes. Third, throughout the Allegories on the Life of Christ, Goltzius inserts symbolic devices into the frames, which have a specific interpretative function largely based on contemporary emblematic usage. In form and function, they can be identified as impresae of Christ. The impresa is a kind

of condensed emblem: it consists of a motto and pictura (rather than a

motto, pictura, and epigram), and distills the vocation of its owner, whose life's task is equated with his identity and moral character. The impresae that ornament Goltziuss frames bring the vocation of Christ into alignment with the prints major premise or conclusion. In the Passio Christi, they comment on the meaning of the Passion to Fidelis, by reference to scriptural passages that are coopted as mottoes. Starting at the upper right, we see a ram, its horns stuck fast in a brier, with the motto “A ram amongst thorns” (Genesis 22:13). The verse in full—“Abraham lifted up his eyes, and saw behind his

back a ram amongst the briers sticking fast by the horns, which he took and offered for a holocaust instead of his son”—indicates that Christ, his head crowned with thorns, is our holocaust, and stands proxy for us, as did the ram for Isaac. The reference to sight enjoins Fidelis to look up and see Christ as acutely, and hopefully, as Abraham saw the ram of sacrifice. The sword, inscribed with the words “Gladius acutus” (Isaiah 49:2: “And he hath made my mouth like a sharp sword”), emphasizes that Christ admonishes us to dwell upon his Passion, and to imitate him, lest we be

cut away by the sword of judgment. The temple, simply labeled “Templum”

(John 2:15-19: “. . . he drove them all out of the temple, the sheep also and the oxen, and the money of the changers. . . . The Jews, therefore, 27. 28.

On this print, see Veldman and Luyten, 2:125. On this print, which concludes the four-part series How False Opinion Ruins the World, see Veldman 1990, 67-69.

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answered, and said to him: What sign dost thou shew unto us, seeing thou dost these things? Jesus answered, and said to them: Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.”), reminds Fidelis that the temple of the Lords body is a purifying instrument that transcends every earthly edifice; having been raised, it can never be razed. The pelican in its piety, labeled “Pellicanus” (Psalm 101:6-7: “Through the voice of my groaning, my bone hath cleaved to my flesh. I am become like a pelican of the wilderness”), advises Fidelis that the Lord's solitary Passion was begotten by compassion, and demands a like compassion from its beneficiaries. The altar, labeled “Altare” (Hebrews 13:10: “For it is best that the heart be established with

grace, not with meats. .. We have an altar, whereof they have no power to eat who serve the tabernacle”), prompts Fidelis to recall that the Passion is a source of sacramental grace and, as such, of spiritual nourishment. The holy mountain, inscribed “Mons sanctus” (Jeremiah 33:13: “And in the cities on the mountains . . . and round about Jerusalem, and in the cities

of Juda shall the flocks pass again under the hand of him that numbereth them, saith the Lord”) characterizes Christ in his Passion as the Good

Shepherd, who defends and nourishes, but also judges and culls his flock. The scales, labeled “Justitia” (1 Corinthians 1:23 and 23: “But we preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews indeed a stumbling block, and unto the Gentiles foolishness. . . . And the base things of the world . . . hath God chosen. ... But of him are you in Christ Jesus, who of God is made unto us wisdom, and justice, and sanctification, and redemption”), apprises Fidelis that Christ crucified is the foundation stone upon which the house of faith is built, and its inhabitants consecrated. Finally, the lion, inscribed “Leo de tribu Iudae” (Apocalypse 5:5: “Weep not: behold the lion of the tribe of Juda, the root of David, hath prevailed to open the book, and to loose the seven seals thereof”), celebrates Christ who opened the way to salvation.

Coornhert had included “sommighe figueren Christi” in “Van Christo”

of the loci communes, and these and other figurative images occasionally

appear among the scriptural hypotheses clustered under the various theses, but nowhere does he give them such prominence or integrate them so

systematically as Goltzius (Boomgaert,

1:15r-v). Goltzius’s symbolic

images, like Coornherts, are resolutely biblical; none derives from an extrabiblical source. But their connection to the Passion, and the principle that underlay their selection, originated in exegetical tradition—and specifically, in the Glossa ordinaria et interlinearis and Nicholas of Lyras Postilla super

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totam Bibliam. With regard to Genesis 22:13, the Glossa states that “what was figured through Isaac, is transferred to the ram, because Christ is a sheep—a son in that he was born, a ram in that he was slaughtered.”” Respecting Isaiah 49:2, “For he shall liberate his people from their sins... .

But God be with us, whose power and virtues have bestowed Jesus by reason of nature and divine economy. A sharp sword ... that is, separating the bad from the good.” With reference to John 2:14-- 16, “Asif [ Jesus] were saying, ‘For this temple which I justly and figuratively purify, signifies the bodily temple bearing no stain, that, dissolved by men and [the power of ] death, I can by divine power raise up. ... For Jesus was speaking of his own body, which is a temple of God.”*! As regards Psalm 101:6-7, “The pelican, they say, . . . kills its chicks, and mourns for three days: then with its beak pours forth on them an abundance of blood, whence they revive; and so Christ

kills persecutors such as Paul, and with his blood vivifies . . . °° Pertaining to Hebrews 13:10, “We need not busy ourselves with holocausts, for we have an altar—the body of Christ—in faith of which prayers and works are made acceptable to God.” Relating to Jeremiah 31:23, “The fullness of the prophecy is referred to Christ, in whose first advent these things [of justice] were brought to pass [viz., through his self-sacrifice]; in whose second

29.

“Sed q quod figuratamJERI est per Isaac; translatum est 4 ad arietem, quia Christus ovis. Ipse enim filius quia natus, aries quia immolatus” (Bibliorum sacrorum, 1: cols.

266-67). 30.

31.

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“Ipse enim populum suum a peccatis eorum liberabit....At nobiscum Deus, ex naturae & oeconomiae ratione inditus est, ut Jesus a facultate & viribus. Gladium acutum ..., malos scilicet a bonis separans” (Bibliorum sacrocrum, 4: col.

403).

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coming, all things shall be fulfilled.”** Regarding 1 Corinthians 1:30, “But just as he is made life to us, so too is he made justice, and as we are made party to him, so by adhering to him we live in justice, and thus is he justice tous....And this for the reason that first he was made our redemption, that is, redeemed us through his suffering. And all these things were brought to pass, so that no one may glory in himself, but rather, in the gifts of God.” Apropos of Apocalypse 5:5, “The lion sleeps with open eyes, and thus did Christ expire divinely alive.” If we check the impresae in Exemplar Christi, Miracula Christi, or Resurrectio Christi against the Glossa, we find once again that it informs Goltzius’s choice of symbolic devices. The presence of the Glossa, however, is deeply submerged: the exegetical apparatus governing each of these prints subsumes the scriptural references into a network of mutual association that remains apparently and insistently biblical. It is as if Goltzius were eliding the Glossa into a domain where the Bible is allowed to take precedence over exegetical tradition, even while leaving some of the exegete’s analogies intact. Visual puns are used to affix the emblems to the adjacent pericopes. The lion of Juda’s pose roughly resembles that of Christ in the garden; its strength functions as a counterpart to the fortifying grace that illuminates him. The ram caught in the brier, its knees bent, body sprawled, recalls Christ held captive, set low upon a stool, and tormented by soldiers. The pendant scales allude to Christ hanging from the column; its fulcrum is aligned with him, its two cups with the soldiers positioned symmetrically on either side of the column. The sharpness of the sword matches the sharpness of the thorns with which Christ, who sits as upright as a sword, is crowned. The holy mountain corresponds to Mount Golgotha; the temple, with its cupola, to Christ raised on the cross, his arms splayed like the temple’s triple arcade.

The holocaust burning on the altar and the pelican bathing its chicks in

“Quasi dicitur. Quia hoc templum, significat templum corporis in quo nulla est macula & merito hoc figurare purgo, qui illud ab hominibus morte solutum

34,

“Plenitudo autem vaticinij ad Christum refertur, cuius primo adventu spirituali-

32.

“Pellicanus dicitur ... rostro pullos suos occidere, & triduo lugere: tunc rostro

35.

“Sicut autem cum fit vita, nobis fit iustitia, cum tamen eius efficimur particeps, ita cum cohaerendo iuste vivimus, & per hoc ipse est nobis iustitia . . . .Et hoc ideo, quia prius factus est nobis redemptio, id est, quia prius redemit nos patien-

33.

“Item non studendum escis, quia habemus altare, id est corpus Christi, in fide cuius oblatae preces & operationes sunt acceptae Deo” (Bibliorum sacrorum, 6: col. 956).

divina potentia suscitare queo .... Quod de proprio corpore quod est templum Dei dicit Jesus” (Bibliorum sacrocrum, 5, col, 1061).

sanguinem suum super eos fundere, unde illi reviviscunt, sic Christus occidit ut Paulum persecutorem, & suo sanguine vivificat .. ? (Bibliorum sacrorum, 3: col.

1211).

36.

ter haec facta sunt. In secundo vero universa complebuntur” (Bibliorum sacrorum, 4: col. 799).

do. Et hoc totum ideo factum est, ut nullus glorietur, nisi donis Dei” (Bibliorum sacrorum, 6: cols. 207-8). “Leo dormit apertis oculis, ita Christus expiravit divinitate vivente” (Bibliorum sacrorum, 6: col, 1506).

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blood coincide with Christ laid upon the cross and bleeding from the nails hammered into his hands and feet. That all these places, things, and animals signify the flesh of Christ, answers to the admonition in 1 Peter 4:1-2, the prints bottommost citation: “Christ therefore having suffered in the flesh, be you also armed with the same thought: for he that hath suffered in the flesh, hath ceased from sin. That now he may live the rest of his time in the flesh, not after the desires of men, but according to the will of God” The symbolic usage that takes these items for something other than themselves—namely, as allusions to the sacrificial vocation of Christ, rather than as the mundane

things they seem to represent—can

be connected with the Pauline instruction in 1 Corinthians 1:28-30 (encompassed by the reference to 1 Corinthians 1 at the upper left): “For see your vocation, brethren, that there are not many wise according to the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble. But the foolish things of the world God has chosen, that he may confound the wise. . . . That no flesh should glory in his sight.” Fourth, Goltzius injects into both the Allegories on the Life of Christ and Allegories of the Christian Creed an additional thematic register that operates independently of the structural register of syllogistic argumentation (figs. 1-4, 5-7, 12-15, and 17-18). This alternative register serves to unify the prints and operates no less scripturally than its other constituent elements. Since it is discernible across multiple prints, it might justifiably be called meta-discursive. Whereas the former series focuses on the trope of spiritual vision, as applied to the image of God bodied forth in Christ, the latter series intensively explores the doctrine of faith and works as a joint source of salvation, but does so in novel ways that liberate this contentious issue from more conventional, and confessionally bound, formulae.

The Trope of Vision in the Allegories on the Life of Christ and the Non-Confessional Argument concerning Faith and Good Works in the Allegories of the Christian Creed The allegories featuring Christ in person—Infantia Christi, Miracula

Christi, Exemplar

virtutum, Passio

Christi, and

Resurrectio

Christi—

emphasize visually and textually that the imitatio Christi is predicated on the votary’s commitment to looking intently, both with bodily and with

spiritual eyes, at the Savior’s words, deeds, and embodied virtues (figs. 1-4,

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17). The central allegories and framing texts and images call attention to

the ways in which the Christological mysteries were and continue to be discernible through their visible effects. The pictorial images themselves, which translate these effects into various species of image—narrative, allegorical, emblematic—stand warrant for this verity. In counterpoint with these images, many of the biblical citations asseverate that Christ has given himself to be seen, as a visible pledge of our salvation. The Passio Christi offers a case in point: the centerpiece, as noted above, consists of crisscrossing lines of sight issuing from or leading back to Christ (fig. 2).

He beckons to Fidelis with his eyes, and in response, Fidelis gazes back and extends his heart toward him; the two gestures—that of offering and that of beholding—run precisely parallel, and this indicates that they are mutually conducive. If one wishes truly to see Christ, all of oneself must be offered to him, to be seen in return. Fidelis, by fixing his eyes on Christ,

demonstrates himself to be obedient to the will of God, as is shown by the fact that Obedientia Dei’s most conspicuous attribute is the intense gaze she trains on Fidelis, which in turn echoes that of Christ. Charitas Dei likewise stares very intently, looking down at Fidelis and Obedientia, in imitation of Christ, as if to say that to behold Christ the Man of Sorrows, and be beheld by him, is the consummate expression of divine love. The antithesis to this equation of sight and divine love is blind Cupid, whose bandaged eyes declare his inability to respond lovingly to the image proffered by Christ. By doubly framing the central allegory—both simply, within a narrow rectilinear frame, and ornately, within a network of interlocking ovals, roundels, and squares—Goltzius accentuates the prints

status as an image of the votary’s encounter with the Passion of Christ. He thus demonstrates that this encounter, along with its constituent elements,

is translatable into images, in and through which the Passion can be seen

to operate as a source of lifegiving salvation. Christ’s charitable gesture of offering himself and his cross to Fidelis’s eyes implicitly licenses the form and function of Goltzius’s print; conversely, the print invites the viewer

to emulate Fidelis by attentively pictorial image. This is surely why as turning either toward Fidelis or this way, imports Goltzius, answers

and wholeheartedly scrutinizing this the seated figure of Christ can be read toward us. To engage with the image in Christ's call to engage lovingly with his

Passion. And like Fidelis, the viewer is enjoined to mobilize his bodily eyes,

as a spur to beholding—which is to say, embracing—Christ with his heart.

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The vignettes from the Passion position Christ frontally, or, as in the Agony in the Garden, spotlight him, so that he becomes maximally visible to the beholder. As a complement to these scenes, many of the citations direct the reader/viewer to pericopes having to do with Christ as the image of one’s salvation. Apocalyse 5:5, for example, insists that the lion of Juda be seen as the agent who shall open the sealed book, and Genesis 22:13 describes how Abraham “lifted up his eyes, and saw” the ram to be sacrificed in lieu of Isaac. The roundels of the lion and the ram flank, with some irony, the

descry him. The notion that Christ is the living embodiment of truth and grace, who in his person makes them visible, derives from John 1, marked “D” below, which attaches to the figure of the votary gathering the Lord’s blood: “And of his fullness we all have received, and grace for grace. For the law was given by Moses; grace and truth came byJesus Christ. No man hath seen God at any time: the only begotten Son who is in the bosom of the Father, he hath declared him” (1:16-18). This passage follows from an avowal of the mystery of the Incarnation that describes how this mystery

him, as described in Mark 14:44: “And he that betrayed him, had given them a sign, saying: Whomsoever I shall kiss, that is he.” 1 Corinthians 1 contains the famous verses counseling the votary to see in Christ their

among us, and we saw his glory, the glory as it were of the only begotten

scene of Judas showing Christ to the soldiers who have come to apprehend

“vocation” as fools of God “chosen ... to confound the wise” (1:28-30).

Isaiah 49, shortly after likening the Messiah to a sharp sword, compares him to a light that reveals to the Gentiles their salvation, making it visible “even to the farthest part of the earth” (49:6). Hebrews 13 opens with perhaps the most famous of all doctrinal affirmations of the visualness of Christ, who is the “very image of the [good] things” merely adumbrated by the sacrifices of the Old Law: “For the law having a shadow of the good things to come, not the very image of the things; by the selfsame sacrifices which they offer continually every year, can never make the comers thereunto perfect. . . Wherefore when he cometh into the world, he saith: Sacrifice and oblation thou wouldest not; but a body thou has fitted to me” (13:1

and 5). The pelican of Psalm 101 watches “on the housetop,” awaiting the

Messiah’s coming, and trusting that “he shall be seen [by Sion] in his glory” (101:8 and 17). The selection of scriptural passages avowing that Christ

will show himself to all who desire to know him connects this and the other Allegories on the Life of Christ to Coornherts “Van Christo” from the loci communes, which primarily consists of scriptural passages that promote the production of images of Christ and his works. A brief survey of four other plates from the series will serve to reveal how fully Goltzius explored the trope of vision. The central scene of the Infantia Christi portrays Veritas displaying the boy Jesus to a votary who comes to drink from the fountain of the child’s redemptive blood (fig. 3). She is assisted by Gratia Dei, who, like her, is a bodying forth of the gifts

offered by Christ. That these gifts are visible, embodied as prosopopoeiae,

indicates how the salvation he offers is accessible to anyone who strives to

is newly made visible in Christ: “And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt

of the Father, full of grace and truth.”

Gloria Christi, who crowns the boy

Jesus, correlates to this passage, marked “B” below. Puer Jesus, Veritas, and

Gratia Dei together enact the gospel truth affirmed in John 1:16-18, that the grace and truth of God—indeed, God himself—may now be discerned in Christ. The radiant tetragrammaton at the upper left, its rays magnifying Jesus, signifies the formerly invisible presence of God, which he makes perceptible to the eyes of men. The action staged by these four figures also alludes to Isaiah 28, as the inscription on Jesuss podium attests.

Prior to the coming of Jesus, the

accomplishments of men were nothing but fleeting images; on the contrary, the glory of Christ is fixed, not perishable: “And the fading flower of the glory of his joy, who is on the head of the fat valley, shall be as a hasty fruit before the ripeness of autumn: which when he that seeth it shall behold, as soon as he taketh it in his hand, he will eat it up. In that day the Lord of hosts shall be a crown of glory, and a garland of joy to the residue of his people” (28:4-5). Romans 5, likewise marked “D construes the boy Jesus as an antidote to the only self-image available to humankind before his advent. We were all similitudes of Adam, images of his transgression, but Christ, the image of saving grace, replaces this former image, and unlike it, abounds and perdures: “But death reigned from Adam unto Moses, even over them also who have not sinned after the similitude of the transgression of Adam, who is a figure of him who was to come. But not as the offence, so also the gift. For if by the offence of one, many died; much more the grace of God, and

the gift, by the grace of one man, Jesus Christ, hath abounded unto many” (5:14-15). The contiguous scenes from the infancy of Christ tie in with these scriptural references to the grace and truth of Christ, and to the image

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of salvation he promulgates. The Annunciation ushers in the great mystery made apparent in Jesus, whom Mary and Joseph attend in the Nativity and Flight into Egypt, who is worshiped in the Adoration of the Shepherds and Adoration of the Magi, offered up in the Circumcision and Presentation, and closely watched by the temple doctors. Isaiah 49 and Apocalypse 21, inscribed on the two impresae below, similarly allude to the visibility of Christ: the former designates him a “light of the Gentiles” made everywhere visible and a “standard to the people” “lift{ed] up by [God's] hand” (49:6 and 22); the latter characterizes him as the “lamp” of God’s glory, in whose light all nations walk, and which the “kings of the earth” go to see (21:23-24). Miracula Christi centers on an allegory of Christus Medicus [Christ the Doctor], based on an analogy between Numbers 21:8-9, in which God

commands Moses to erect the brazen serpent, and Matthew 12:10-13, in which Christ demonstrates by way of a parable, that he is Lord of the Sabbath (fig. 1). As Moses raises the image of the serpent, “setting it up for a sign” (Numbers 21:9), so Jesus adduces the parabolic image of a man who

rescues a lost sheep, thus defending his right to work miracles, even on the sabbath (Matthew 12:10-13); and as the one image confirms God’s power to heal, so the other confirms Christs. Jesus, his medical bag hanging at his hip, holds the brazen serpent aloft, signifying his vocation as healer. In his right hand, he holds a heart, whose mundane contents—a toad, swine, and money bag—he inspects and diagnoses. He sees through this heart to the world that preoccupies it, and just as he lifts the heart up, so he upholds the world, which floats upon the breath of his words, in illustration of Hebrews 1:3: “Who being the brightness of his glory, and the figure of his substance, and upholding all things by the word of his power, making purgation of sins, sitteth on the right hand of the majesty on high.” Viewed in light of this passage, the image of the world sustained by the Word doubles as an allusion to Christ as the image of the Father, whose subtance he represents. Only by

imprinting this image upon the heart, in lieu of the terrestrial images that currently possess it, will Anima morbida [The Sickened Soul] be raised. She appears in the form of the woman with an issue of blood whose faith

Christ rewards in Matthew 9:22. In particular, the image she must retain is

that of Christ crucified, as the cross-like stave held in his left hand and the blood pouring from his side-wound, inscribed “by his bruises we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5), betoken. To drive this point home, Fides, who assists Anima

Morbida, holds a crucifix similar in shape to the cross bearing the serpent.

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Goltzius combines the radiant figure of Christus Medicus with the passage from Isaiah in order subtly to activate an image of Christ transformed. This transformation, he implies, underlies all the miracles displayed in the frame, wherein the lame, the blind, the leprous, the wounded, the possessed, and the deceased are revivified and made whole. Just as Christ was changed from the Man of Sorrows prophesied by Isaiah into the risen Lord, beautiful in his majesty, embodied by the Medicus, so

we, who suffer from the conditions to which our sinful, corruptible flesh is

prey, will be changed and perfected by the grace of Christ. Isaiah 53:2-5 portrays the Messiah as a sacrificial victim so bruised and broken that he repels the eyes. This image of the Lord is “unsightly? difficult to see: There is no beauty in him, nor comeliness: and we have seen him, and there

was no sightliness, that we should be desirous of him. Despised, and the most abject of men, a man of sorrows, and acquainted with infirmity: and

his look as as it were hidden and despised, whereupon we esteemed him not. Surely he hath borne our infirmities and carried our sorrows: and we have thought him as it were a leper, and as one struck by God and afflicted. But he was wounded for our iniquities; he was bruised for our sins: the chastisement of our peace was upon him, and by his bruises we are healed.

By contrast, the image of Christ at whom Fides intently stares, guiding Anima to do the same, though riven by the victim’s wounds, has been utterly transformed. That Fides holds an effigy of Christ crucified, and that her face is shadowed like the crucifix, indicates her awareness of the prior image of the Man of Sorrows, which the light of Christ has begun to penetrate. Her face is already less dark—crepuscular, if not yet lightsome, and Anima’s, with eyes half opened, is partly lit, as if moving from sickly shadow into healing light. What Goltzius has staged, then, is the image of Christus Medicus being received by the soul who acknowledges his presence with the eyes of faith. The roundels immediately to the left and right of the orb, heart, head of Christ, and serpent underscore the theme of a restorative image bestowed and beheld. On the left, the rainbow represents the “sign of the covenant”

placed in the heavens to signify divine mercy. Genesis 9:12-17 utilizes anaphora to insist on the importance of this signifying image: And God said: This is the sign of the covenant which I give between me and you, and to every living soul that is with you, for perpetual generations. I will

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EMBLEMATICA set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be the sign of a covenant between me, and between the earth. And when I shall cover the sky with clouds, my bow shall appear in the clouds. And I will remember my covenant with you, and with every living soul that beareth flesh: and there shall no more be waters of a flood to destroy all flesh. And the bow shall be in the clouds, and I shall see it, and shall remember the everlasting covenant, that was made between God and every living soul of all flesh which is upon the earth. And God said to Noe: This shall be the sign of the covenant which I have established between me and all flesh upon the earth.

Goltzius cleverly positions clouds behind the arc of blood streaming from Christ’s side-wound, and thus compares it to the diluvian rainbow. Similarly, he compares the brilliant, upright figure of Christ to the “pillar of fire” in Genesis 13:21-22, which certifies the guiding presence of God to the Israelites by night. The light of this image shall never fail them, promises the Lord. By rendering Christ’s tunic with long, upturned strokes of the burin, Goltzius strengthens the analogy between its flickering folds and the darting flames of the pillar of fire. The Resurrectio Christi turns on the antithesis between the mystery proper, so majestic and terrifying that it causes one of the soldiers to take flight, and the many instances in which Christ offered himself to be seen,

after the fact, as living proof that he had indeed risen (fig. 4). The central

scene demonstrates that the mystery, even though it was seen by noone, may yet be visualized in the form of an allegory: it shows Jesus triumphant over death, hell, and the devil, fettering them with their own chains. The frames vignettes and impresae insist on this point—that Christ has licensed images as proxies for the great mystery—by showing the many instances in which he appeared to them after the Crucifixion and Entombment, and correlating these events with prophetic images of the Resurrection. Above are the staff of Moses, with which the Lord commands him to “do the signs” wherewith the Israelites are shown “that the Lord God of their fathers . . .

hath appeared to thee” (Exodus 4:2-5), and the image of Christ the worm,

whose supplication causes God to look upon his Church, and “all the ends of the earth [to] remember and be converted to the Lord? and “all the kindreds

of the Gentiles [to] adore in his sight” (Psalm 21:7 and 21-31). At the sides, in addition to scenes of Christ discoursing with the disciples en route to Emmaus (Luke 24:15), infusing the disciples gathered in Jerusalem, with the breath of the Spirit (John 20:21-22), revealing his wounds to Thomas (John

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20:27), and rising heavenward from the summit of Mount Olivet (Acts 1:9), he is compared to the angelic ladder upon which the Lord displayed his image to Jacob (Genesis 28:12-- 15), to the star born of Jacob, the form in which Balaam beheld Christ, now “but not now,’ near “but not near” (Numbers

24:17), to the “temple candlestick of beaten work of the finest gold,” whose fire bears witness to the Lords presence (Exodus 25:31-40), and to the Sun of Justice that rises from the Lord’s holy name, to all who fear it duly (Malachi 4:2). Below, the scene of the third apparitio—when Jesus shares a simple meal with the disciples by the Sea of Galilee, and thereby certifies that it is he himself who accompanies them (John 21:12-14)—is flanked by the image of the lamp that promises the coming of a Savior “lighted as a lamp” and discernible “as brightness” (Isaiah 62:1), and by death triumphing over death (hence the stacked skulls and the victor’s palm), to signify the Lord’s power to make himself known as the sole God of Israel, over whom neither death nor hell can exercise dominion (Hosea 13:4 and 14).

These many references to the images through which Christ conveys the mystery of the Resurrection, in a manner attuned to human sense, mind, and heart, are further bolstered by the citations at the bottom of the print. Psalm 67:19 concerns the signs by which God’s power is made manifest to his people; first and foremost, he is risen to a height whence all may behold him: “Thou hast ascended on high, thou has led captivity captive.” 2 Timothy 1:9-10 reveals that Christ Jesus bodies forth the saving vocation of God, and makes visibly manifest what had previously been known only by inference: “Who hath delivered us and called us by his holy calling, not according to our works, but according to his own purpose and grace, which was given us in Christ Jesus before the times of the world. But is now made manifest by the illumination of our Savior Jesus Christ, who hath destroyed death, and hath brought to light life and incorruption by the gospel.” Colossians 2:15 praises Christ for putting “in open shew” the mystery of our salvation, so that we may bear witness to his triumph over death and the devil: “And despoiling the principalities and powers, he hath exposed them cofidently in

open shew, triumphing over them in himself.”

Together, the Infantia Christi, Miracula Christi, Passio Christi, and Resurrectio Christi call attention to the ways in which the mysteries of the Incarnation, Passion, and Resurrection can be seen and said to have been

communicated: they are knowable, to the extent this is possible, by means of divinely sanctioned images, transmitted in, through, and by Christ (figs. 1-4).

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The Infantia Christi argues that the image of God, formerly fleeting and virtually indiscernible, is now anchored, made perdurable through the coming of Christ (fig. 3). The Miracula Christi maintains that the images disseminated by Christ, if taken to heart and properly deployed, have the power to heal and renew us (fig. 1). Passio Christi construes the image of Christ as both symptom and agent of divine love (fig. 2). Resurrectio Christi shows how even the profoundest of mysteries may be visualized by means of evidentiary images that confirm the mystery’s effects (fig. 4). Implicit in all these examples of Christ as image maker is the doctrine of the imitatio Christi, which the print Exemplar virtutum analogizes to the mimetic practice of painting (fig. 17). To visualize the image that Christ proffers of himself requires Anima, jointly personified as Imitatio Christi and Pictura, to transfer this image into her heart: she must visualize his infancy, miracles, Passion, and Resurrection, and then, having called them to mind, impress them upon her heart, as if she were painting them after the life. In the central allegory, Christ points at the lamb, the parabolic image of himself, that sits beside a painter's toolbox filled with pouches of pigment, shells for mixing colors, a flask of oil (next to the box), implements for drawing (quills, knife, a pen case, an inkpot, and a chalkholder [Ὁ] on top of the box), and a grinding stone and pestle. That Anima portrays Christ’s action of pointing at the attributes of painting indicates that she is taking to heart Christ’s admonition to fashion Christian images; if viewed as attributes of

Christ, the toolbox and its contents further indicate that Anima is painting an image of Christ as image maker, whom she sees as actively engaged in his ministry of pastoral image making. This is why he appears, in the image in the image, as the proverbial Good Shepherd, crook in hand, offering Anima

a posey of humble snowdrops (they are identifiable as such in the izmpresa “Humilitas,’ at the upper left of the Annunciation, from the Allegories on the Life of Christ) (fig. 18). Viewed through this lens, the lamb beside the toolbox functions as a reference both to Christ and to Anima: Anima / Pictura / Imitatio Christi obeys his admonition to portray herself in the guise of a lamb, thereby acknowledging that she belongs to his flock. Christ presents himself in the form of a child to assure her that his love is as tender as that between a mother and child, and to remind her that she ought to treasure him as if he were a lambkin. In his fine explication of Exemplar virtutum, Tristan Weddigen identifies John 12:50, portrayed above, as the topical head that unifies the print’s

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myriad parts. As Christ declares in his final sermon to the multitude before the Passion, he speaks the things said to him by the Father, precisely as the Father said them: “And I know this commandment is life everlasting. The things therefore that I speak, even as the Father said unto me, so do I speak.” Goltzius tropes this mimetic relation by converting it into an allegory of picturing; and, as Weddigen points out, the print qua print, since it depicts Anima following Christ’s call to imitate him as closely as he imitated the Father, can itself be read as an allegoria artis chalcographiae.” In this context, painting/engraving not only functions as the figure of the imitatio Christi; it actually fulfills, in the form of the Exemplar virtutum, the admonition to imitate Christ—or, better, to propagate the imitatio Christi, in line with the passage from Ephesians 5:1 inscribed above the toolbox: “Be ye therefore followers of God, as most dear children; [and walk in love]

Goltzius, per usual, amplifies and refines his allegory by correlating it

to pertinent scriptural images and citations. Below, in counterpoint to the

scene from John 12, appears an image of Christ asleep in the open, a bird sitting on a branch above, and a fox beside its burrow in the distance. This

vignette illustrates Matthew 8:20: “The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air nests: but the son of man hath not where to lay his head.” He enunciates this proverbial analogy in response to a scribe who states, in Matthew 8:19: “Master, I will follow thee whithersoever thou shalt go.” Jesus is instructing the scribe to imitate his poverty, and implying that the scribe will either fail or refuse to do so. Matthew 8:20 thus appears as an antithesis to John 12:50. The scene of Christ at lower right, pointing to his heart with one hand, gesturing toward Jerusalem with the other, and sitting beside a hen sheltering its chicks, provides another antithesis. It accompanies an excerpt from Matthew 23:37: “[ Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou

that killest the prophets,] how often would I have gathered together thy children, [as the hen doth gather her chickens under her wings,] and thou wouldest not.” The pointing gesture echoes that in the central allegory, with the difference, of course, that whereas Jerusalem rejects Christ, Anima

scrupulously attends to the image of his heart that he offers her. Directly to the left and right of Christ, vignettes of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet (John 13:5) and Jesus with the woman taken in adultery (John 8:11), respectively depicting humility and benevolence, feature him in variations of his pose in the central scene. Both vignettes tally well with 37.

See Weddigen, esp. 91-94, 104-6,

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the allegory of painting in that both feature Christ staging a visual, and expressly silent, exemplum of the virtue in question. In John 13:13-15, Christ explains to his apostles what he was doing, and why: “You call me Master, and Lord; and you say well, for so I am. Ifthen I being your Lord and Master, have washed your feet; you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example, that as I have done to you, so you do also.” In John 8:5-6, Jesus bends down to write, rather than directly answering the

scribes and Pharisees who seek to provoke him. After refusing to condemn the woman, and urging her to sin no more, he elucidates what it was he tried to disclose by writing silently—namely, that he is the living image of the world’s salvation, who has come to illuminate it: “And therefore, Jesus

spoke to them, saying: I am the light of the world: he that followeth me, walketh not in darkness, but shall have the light of life.” Below the scene from John 13, the emblematic device of a hand identifies God as divine

artisan; his chief work is Christ, whose gospel cuts like a sword, as Isaiah 49:2 asserts: “And he hath made my mouth like a sharp sword: in the shadow of his hand he hath protected me, and hath made me as a chosen arrow; in his quiver he hath hidden me.” The imagery of the hand of God that has fashioned Christ to cut like a sword or pierce like an arrow nicely accords with the Exemplar virtutum’s artisanal imagery of the imitation of Christ. The emblematic image of the Sun of Justice, taken from Malachi 4:2, identifies fear of the Lord with illumination of the spirit that enables the soul to discern the judgment of God: “But unto you that fear my name, the Sun of Justice shall arise, and health in his wings: and you shall go forth,

and shall leap like calves of the herd.”

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leading to the awareness of sin and its effects—remorse, contrition, and amendment. Although superficially, the prints may seem to cleave to a Roman Catholic reading of the relation between faith and works, in subtle ways, they refrain from simply restating a clear-cut orthodox position, and do so in a manner Coornhert would have approved—by imposing no obvious theological gloss on the mutually qualifying texts and images assembled around the topics of remission, satisfaction, seeking to imitate Christ, and building upon the example of Peter.** To start, Aedificare super Petram is no mere institutional defense of the Roman Catholic Church; rather, it was designed as a pendant to Aedificare super arenam [To build on sand], which argues that insufficient fear of the Lord (Ecclesiasticus 27:4), failure to keep the commandments (Deuteronomy 28:5), lack of self-knowledge (James 1:23-24), desire for carnal things (Proverbs 11:28), pride in one’s possessions (Wisdom 5:8), and refusal to exercise works of charity (James 2:14), will result in the destruction of the house of faith (figs. 14 and 15). “House” in this context connotes the manner of life led by each Christian man, in accordance with the parable of the houses built on stone and on sand, with which Christ concludes the Sermon on the Mount. The gist of the parable is quoted in the frame above: “And every one that heareth these my words, and doth them not, shall be like a foolish man that built his house upon the sand; and the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and they beat upon that house, and it fell, and great was the fall thereof” (Matthew 7:26-27) (fig. 15). Ezechiel 33:31-33, quoted in the frame below, assists the reader to parse the parable; actions best testify to faith in Christ’s words:

If the construal of Jesus as image resonates through the Allegories on the

Life of Christ, so, too, an engagement with the doctrine of faith and works— which is to say, with the doctrine of justification in Christ—permeates the Allegories of the Christian Creed (figs. 1-4, 5-7, 12-15, and 17-18). This theme—or, better, thematic—operates interstitially: it is woven into the fabric of many of the prints, and appears most conspicuously in the Remissio peccatorum (Remission of sins], Satisfactio Christi [Satisfaction of Christ], Regnum Dei quaerere {To seek the kingdom of God], and Aedificare super Petram [Τὸ build upon Peter the rock] (figs. 6, 12, 13, and 14). It seems clear that this subset of prints acknowledges the importance of works within the economy of salvation, but by the same token, the four prints emphasize

that Christ, and Christ alone, is the redemptive source of all forms of grace

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And they come to thee, as if a people were coming in, and my people sit before thee, and hear thy words, and do them not: for they turn them into a song of their mouth, and the heart goeth after their covetousness. And thou art to them as a musical song which is sung with a sweet and agreeable voice: and they hear thy words, and do them not. And when that which was foretold shall come to pass (for behold it is coming) then shall they know that a prophet hath been among them.

The central allegory represents the destruction of the house built on sand, and also alludes to Ezechiel 33:27, which marshals the image of a house in collapse, 38.

For the Tridentine position on the relation between faith and works, see the “Decree on Justification,” in Tanner, 2:673-74, 675-76.

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to describe the man who parrots the words of God but fails to do them: “As I live, they that dwell in the ruinous places . . . ? The palace of the richly dressed householder tumbles into a choppy sea; he beckons toward Fleeting Prosperity, who deserts him, having pulled her cornucopia out of reach. The palace’s three pillars—effigies of Bacchus, Venus, and Pride—shatter and fall, recalling Leviticus 26:30, quoted in the frame at left: “You shall fall among the ruins of your idols, and my soul shall abhor you.” Psalm 51:7-9, inscribed at the base of the print, emphasizes that this is the final end for all who labor for material gain, rather than for God: “Therefore will God destroy thee for ever: he will pluck thee out, and remove thee from thy dwelling place; and thy root out of the land of the living. The just shall see and fear, and shall laugh at him, and say: Behold the man that made not God his helper; but trusted in the abundance of his riches, and prevailed in his vanity.” Interwoven throughout the frame, as complements to the passages on the relation between words and deeds, are numerous references to the relation between faith and works, as instruments salvation. Goltzius takes care to leave open the precise value he ascribes to the one or the other factor. In the passage from Ezechiel 33, for example, works are construed as symptoms or expressions of faith that primarily serve to give evidence of one’s belief in God. What one does bears witness to the fact that one has heard the Lord, like an effect that issues from a cause. Elsewhere, however, the relation shifts: works do not merely issue from faith; they are said to animate it. The two positions are held in delicate suspension by the vignette and accompanying citations on the right. The scene portrays the parable Christ himself enacts in Matthew 21:19-22: having seen a fruitless fig tree, he causes it to wither and die, and then explains that the tree stands for the man of insufficient faith. True faith, on the contrary, bears rich fruit, for it

can accomplish any task, however great:

And seeing a certain fig tree by the way side, he came to it, and found nothing on it but leaves only, and he saith to it: May no fruit grow on thee henceforward for ever. And immediately the fig tree withered away. And the disciples seeing it wondered, saying: How is it presently withered away?

And Jesus answering, said to them: Amen, I say to you, if you shall have

faith, and stagger not, not only this of the fig tree shall you do, but also if you shall say to this mountain, Take up and cast thyself into the sea, it shall be done. And in all things whatsoever you shall ask in prayer, believing, you shall receive.

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Here works are attributive; produced by faith, they are as if transparent to it. But Goltzius appends James 2:26 to this passage, a text that veritably advances works as productive of faith: “For even as the body without the spirit is dead; so also faith without works is dead.” Another passage from

James, cited at the lower right, reminds the reader that faith alone has not

the power to save: “What shall it profit my brethren, if a man say he hath faith, but hath not works? Shall faith be able to save him?” Proverbs 19:8 is then cited to enforce the point; in the pericope, “faith” is analogized to “verba”: “He that followeth after words only, shall have nothing.” The two texts at lower left further complicate the argument. 1 Corinthians 4:1920 distinguishes between empty words and true “virtus,” but the status of “virtue” —whether it refers to faith or works or to the two in concert—is left undefined: “And I will know, not the speech of them that are puffed up, but the power. For the kingdom of God is not in speech, but in power.” The text that follows, Genesis 27:22, relativizes, or even reverses, this valuation; Jacob secures Esau’s birthright by deceiving blind Isaac, who fails to determine rightly who is who, because he relies more on touch (i.e., the works of his hands) than on hearing (i.e., the words of Jacob): “[Isaac said:] The voice indeed is the voice of Jacob; but the hands are the hands of Esau” Aedificare super Petram centers on an allegorical image of the house firmly built upon rock, as described in Matthew 7:24: “Every one therefore that heareth these my words, and doth them, shall be likened to a wise man that

built his house upon a rock; and the rain fell, and the floods came, and the

winds blew, and they beat upon that house, and it fell not, for it was founded on a rock” (fig. 14). Beneath the situ/us, Goltzius inserts two further pericopes—1 Peter 2:4 and Psalms 39:3—that characterize Peter not as a priest but as an epitome of every Christian man who builds his spiritual house upon the example set by Christ. The phrase “a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices” is pointedly dropped from the first citation: “Unto

whom [the Lord’s] coming, as to a living stone, rejected indeed by men, but

chosen and made honorable by God. Be you also as living stones built up, a spiritual house...” The citation from Psalms reads petrus not as Peter but as “rock,” alluding to Christ the foundation stone, prophesied in Isaiah 28:16 and confirmed in 1 Corinthians 3:11. The latter text is inscribed on the rocky island upon which the allegorical house, its dome supported by the cardinal virtues, has been built. Buffeted by the winds of prosperity and adversity, the house stands unshaken, for it rests on four stable piers—the evangelists—

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three of whom are visible: Luke, Mark, and John, respectively symbolized

[Longing for Wisdom], Spes, and Fides, and accompanied by an innocent child (Matthew 19:14). The man who hungers and thirsts after righteousness carries an effigy of justice (Matthew 5:6); the man persecuted for Christ’s

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by the ox, lion, and eagle. Ephesians 2:21, incised on the podium encircling

the room where Christ and Peter sit, identifies the structure as co-built and cohabited by Christ and the votary: “In whom all the building, being framed together, groweth up into an holy temple in the Lord. In whom you also are built together into an habitation of God in the Spirit.” This citation reaffirms the message of 1 Corinthians 3:9, inscribed on the rock between the lion of Mark and ox of Luke: “... you are God's building.” The texts near Christ and Peter oscillate between stressing fidelity to the words of Jesus and fidelity to his deeds. On the entablature, John 14:23 avers, “If any one love me, he will keep my word, and my father will love him, and we will come to him, and will make our abode with him.”

given these “You heart, As

On the tablecloth, “[For I have

you an example, that as I have done to you, so you do also.] If you know things, you shall be blessed if you do them.” On top of the podium, are my friends, if you do the things that I command you.” Hand to Peter demonstrates that these teachings have moved him deeply. in Aedificare super arenam, a shifting emphasis on faith or works runs

parallel to that on words or deeds (figs. 14 and 15). At the upper right, 2 Peter 1:10 can be interpreted one way or the other. Either it avows that works are a function of faith, corollary to one’s “calling and election, signaling that the votary belongs to the fellowship of Christ, or it avows that works consolidate one’s “calling and election” crucially fortifying them:

“Wherefore, brethren, labour the more, that by good works you may make sure your calling and election. For doing these things, you shall not sin at

any time.” At the lower right, Luke 11:28 declares that salvation belongs to those who “hear the word of God, and keep it” whereas 1 John 2:17 qualifies this statement by insisting that to keep his word, one must do the things he

wishes us to do: “... but he that doth the will of God, abideth for ever.” Other

passages state unequivocally that works are justifying instruments that grant agency to faith; James 2:35, for instance, cited beneath the vignette, on the right, illustrating how Rahab helped the spies of Joshua escape from Jericho (Joshua 2): “[Faith is dead without works.] And in like manner also Rahab

the harlot, was not she justified by works, receiving the messengers, and sending them out another way?” 2 Peter 1:10-11 features prominently as well in Regnum Dei quaerere: the print’s longest citation, it appears below the central scene (fig. 13). Three penitents climb Mount Sion, guided by Concupiscentia Sapientiae

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sake bears the cross (Matthew 5:10); and the man poor in spirit, dressed in

rags, prays with head bowed and hands folded (Matthew 5:3). 1 Corinthians 4:20 likewise makes a reappearance, this time in counterpoint to a vignette of the Epiphany, and an excerpt from Matthew 5:19 that connects the eight beatitudes to the doing and teaching of the commandments: “But he that shall do and teach, he shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven.” Christ affirms that he has come to fulfill the Law, and thus enjoins observance and propagation of the commandments. In spite of the fact that Aedificare super Petram explicitly defends neither the papacy nor the Church of Rome, the presence of the pun on perrus and Petrus suggests that the Allegories of the Christian Creed may have appealed first and foremost to Catholic readers/viewers (fig. 14). The emphasis on

visual images as mediating devices, in and through which Christ assists humankind to grasp, as least partly, the great mysteries of faith—an emphasis evident in Satisfactio Christi, as we shall shortly see—seems best suited to the expectations of Catholic viewers. On the other hand, since the prints do not, strictly speaking, constitute a series, Lutheran or Reformed readers/viewers may have found them attractive as well, with or without the Aedificare super Petram.® It would have been left to the purchaser to buy them separately or gather them into sets. It is striking how tactfully Goltzius treats potentially contentious issues: the scriptural references to faith and works are embedded within an open-ended exegetical apparatus focusing on moralizing subjects such as the parabolic houses built on rock and on sand, or the aspiration to live a godly life. The pair Remissio peccatorum and Satisfactio Christi does not focus primarily on the sacrament of penance (figs. 6 and 12). Indeed, none of the prints cites more than one or two of the major scriptural proof texts respectively codified in Tridentine, Lutheran, or Reformed accounts of the doctrine of faith and works. The alternative suggestion I would, of course, want to propose is that Goltzius, like Coornhert, was offering an exegetical apparatus deliberately loosed from confessional stricture, in the interest of using scriptural means

to discover scriptural truths. How Goltzius unmoors Satisfactio Christi and 39.

For a summary of Lutheran and Reformed doctrine on the relation between faith and works, see Schreiner, 37-53, 54-63.

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Remissio peccatorum from Tridentine arguments about justification and the justifying functions of faith and work may serve better to reveal the extent to which he followed Coornhert in allowing scripture to speak for itself. Satisfactio Christi is distinctive among the Allegories of the Christian

Creed (fig. 12). Like such prints as Passio Christi and Exemplar virtutum,

in presenting Christ as the agent of salvation, Satisfactio Christi urges the reader/viewer to acknowledge the Savior’s status as the image of God, made fully and mercifully visible to human eyes and hearts (figs. 2, 12, and 17). Fides, standing at the foot of the cross, holds an effigy of Christ crucified, to signify how fully his image is impressed—in this sense, borne—upon

her heart (fig. 12), She collects the holy blood in a heart-shaped vessel that

represents her own heart immersed in the blood of Christ; from this vessel she siphons blood onto the tablets of the law, making them light in the scales of Justitia. The tablets are not only light, but they are also broken, an allusion to Ephesians 2:14-- 15, in which Paul avouches that Christ, through his sacrifice, has broken the enmities instigated by the Law—between God and men, between Jews and Gentiles—and reconciled all by making void the partitioning effects of sin: “For he is our peace, who hath made both one, and breaking down the middle wall of partition, the enmities in his flesh: making void the law of commandments contained in decrees; that he might make the two in himself into one new man, making peace.” The blood

then pours into the far weightier “chalice of the new testament in [the] blood [of Christ]” (Luke 22:20; 1 Corinthians 11:25), which “outweighs”

sin’s dire effects, to the consternation of Satan, who stands nearby and

espies his undoing. The crucifix is slung over Fides’s shoulder, as if she were carrying it with Christ—shouldering his burden, as it were. He and she communicate visually: hanging from the cross, he looks down into her eyes, and she responds by gazing into his side-wound. The attention she bestows stands warrant for her conviction that one is justified by faith in Christ, as Romans 3:22, inscribed just above, attests: “Even the justice of God, by faith of Jesus Christ, unto all and upon all them that believe in him.” By contrast, Satan gazes not at Christ but down at the skull of Adam, whose death was the wages of original sin; absorbed by this image of death, and by the pouring out of blood that triumphs over it, he fails to see the image of human salvation hanging beside him. John 14:30, inscribed above Satan,

interprets his failure of sight as a sign of vanquishment: “For the prince of this world cometh, and in me he hath not any thing.”

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Christ points with his right digit finger at God the Father, who in turn points at the Son. The gesture adjures us to acknowledge that the sacrifice of Christ is fully expressive of the divine will: “And the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.” The short excerpt from John 19:30—“It is consummated” —underscores this meaning of the gesture. But it also has a second meaning: God's visage is obscured bya dense network of crosshatches that veils his presence, indicating that he is impenetrable to human eyes; seen against this backdrop, his gesture of pointing—“Behold!”—connotes that salvation is visibly bodied forth by the Son, who functions as the living image through which the Father's will is made known. Conforming to this reading, Romans 3:26, quoted on the plaque propped against a stone at the lower left, interprets the Crucifixion, and, thus, also his image of the Crucifixion, as a “showing forth” by God of his divine mercy and justice: “Through the forebearance of God, for the shewing of his justice in this time; that he himself may be just, and the justifier of him, who is of the faith of Jesus Christ.” The first part of Romans 3:22, its presence implied by the second part, quoted above Fides, augments the message of Romans 3:26: “But now without the law the justice of God is made manifest, being witnessed by the law and the prophets.” The same holds true of Hebrew 2:9, cited in the frame, contiguous to the plaque: “[But we see Jesus, who

was made a little lower than the angels, for the suffering of death, crowned

with glory and honor:] that through the grace of God he might taste

death for all.” This pericope identifies the Passion suffered by God made

flesh in Christ as the visible sign of the salvation that Jesus has secured

for humankind. To accentuate this point, Goltzius placed two vignettes of blood sacrifices under the Old Law in the frame, on the left and right. Though infinitely powerful as agent, instrument, and sign of salvation, the shedding of Christ’s blood is situated in a lineage from these earlier signs of divine exaction and benediction: on the left, the mitered Levites present the sacrificial calf before the tabernacle (Exodus 29:9-- 10); at right, they mark their thresholds with the blood of the lamb (Exodus 12:7). On axis with the Crucifixion scene, above and below, two scriptural texts proclaim that our salvation rests with Christ. The print makes this case more strongly than any other because no adjoining texts focus on works, and the two vignettes portray Mosaic works superseded by the sacrifice of Christ. Goltzius instead stresses the importance of works in a pendant image, Remissio peccatorum, which, like Satisfactio Christi, concerns the debt of sin

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and its forgiveness (figs. 6 and 12). Here, the emphasis falls on the Lord’s justifying blood (fig. 12). Above, 1 Peter 1:18-- 19 contrasts the shedding of Christ’s blood against the performance of ritual acts: “Knowing that you were not redeemed with corruptible things, as gold or silver, from your vain conyersation of the tradition of your fathers; but with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb unspotted and undefiled.” Below, Romans 3:25-26 emphatically asserts that the propitiatory power of Christ’s blood mollifies God, tempering divine justice with forebearance; the blood of Christ, in that it “shews” the justice and longanimity of God, is the image of our justification: “Whom God hath proposed to be a propitiation, through faith in his blood, to the shewing of his justice, for the remission of former sins. Through the forebearance of God, for the shewing of justice in this time; that he himself may be just, and the justifier of him, who is of the faith of Jesus Christ.” So important is this passage that Goltzius repeats it twice: an excerpted version appears within the allegorical image, as we have seen. This same passage takes center stage among the Tridentine decrees on justification, wherein it constitutes the core of session 6, chapter 8, “In what manner it must be understood that the impious is justified by Faith, and freely.” The conciliar reading construes Romans 3:24-28 as a statement of the initiatory function of faith within the doctrine of salvation. Faith must be paired with works, both having been licensed by the grace of justification flowing from Christ: But whereas the Apostle saith, that man is “justified by faith? and “freely” (Romans 3:24 and 28), those words are to be understood in that sense which the perpetual consent of the Catholic Church hath held and expressed; to wit, that we be therefore said to be “justified by faith. because faith is the beginning of human salvation, and the foundation, and the root of all

justification; “without which it is impossible to please God” (Hebrews 11:6), and to come unto the fellowship of His sons; but we are therefore said to be

justified “freely,” because none of those things which precede justification, whether faith or works, merit the grace of justification. For, “if it be a grace, then is it no more by works, otherwise,’ as the same Apostle saith, “grace is no more grace.” (Romans 6:6)"

Goltzius by no means contests this decree, but he also does not explicitly

illustrate it. Fidess gesture of carrying the cross alludes tactfully to the 40.

Canons and Decrees, 36; cf. Tanner, 2:674.

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importance of works, and the complementary print, Remissio peccatorum,

takes up this theme (fig. 6). But for the most part, Satisfactio Christi

removes Romans 3:25-26 from the specific exegetical domain invoked by the decree’s reference to the “perpetual consent of the Catholic Church” (fig. 12). Moreover, Goltzius embeds the passage within a network of other citations—Isaiah 53:4, 1 Peter 2:24, Ephesians 5:2, 2 Corinthians 5:19, et alii—most of which play little or no part in the decrees on justification. And finally, by juxtaposing it with a powerful allegory consisting entirely of scriptural constituents, he invites us to draw the conclusion that Christ, agent of our salvation, as a corollary to the redemptive process he consummates, offers himself as an image of salvation freely given. Goltzius thereby provides a meta-discursive justification for his engraving, which can be seen to picture the image that the new dispensation of Christ licenses. Remissio peccatorum returns to the method of balancing texts and images about faith and works that characterizes the five prints from the Allegories of the Christian Creed 1 have been examining (figs. 6, 12-15). The central scene consists of a three-part allegory on Christ’s power of remitting sin: in the foreground, he forgives the woman taken in adultery, whom the scribes and Pharisees, skulking away in the background, had thought to execute (John 8:1-8); in the middle ground, he forgives the penitent woman who showed him much love in the house of Simon (Luke 7:47); in the background, he asks the Father to forgive his crucifiers (Luke 23:34) (fig. 6).

The two vignettes at left and right depict Moses pleading with God for the forgiveness of Israel, atop Mount Sinai, after his discovery of the golden calf (Exodus 32:31-32), and Abraham poised to sacrifice Isaac (Genesis

22:10-12). Both scenes portray the patriarchs laboring either to sway or fulfill the will of God, and as such, both epitomize the commitment to works. The addition of an excerpt from the Lord’s prayer, as transmitted in Matthew 6:12, beneath the Sacrifice of Isaac—“Dimitte nobis debita nostra” [Forgive us our sins]—along with the cross carried by the angel, insists that works, whether the sorts of labor exemplified by the patriarchs, or the ministry and Passion of Christ, are essential for the remission of sins.

The same point is made very strongly by the text of Ezechiel 18:21-22, below at center, in which God, speaking through the prophet, states that he shall forgive the penitent who performs works of penitence with a truly contrite heart: “[Ifa wicked man truly repent, he shall be saved]: but if the wicked do penance for all his sins which he hath committed, and keep all

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my commandments, and do judgment, and justice, living he shall live, and shall not die. I will not remember all his iniquities that he hath done: in his justice which he hath wrought, he shall live.” Jeremiah 36:7, cited at the lower right, argues, similarly, that divine forgiveness of sin and iniquity is predicated on the sinners’ efforts “to return every man from his wicked way(s].” Isaiah 52:3, however, quoted in the left of the frame, reminds the reader to have faith in the saving power of Christ, whose forgiveness cannot be bought at any price: “For thus saith the Lord: you were sold gratis, and you shall be redeemed without money” Romans 3:25, cited at the upper left, and Romans 8:34, cited within the central image at the upper right, assert that Christ, who died and rose from the grave, and who now sits at the right hand of the Father, alone has the power to intercede on our behalf, and to justify us. These texts and images on the justifying grace of Christ, and on faith and works, and how they can be said to operate within a divine economy of sin and forgiveness, leave it to the reader/viewer to reconcile the various scriptural statements on these crucial topics. As he did in Satisfactio Christi, Goltzius liberates the pericopes from any overarching, confessionally bound system of exegetical interpretation. For Trent, by contrast, Ezechiel

18, rather than forming part of the discussion of faith and works, becomes a key component of the defense of the sacrament of penance, and of clerical mediation, as the sine qua non for the remission of sins.*! The prophet speaks as the mouthpiece for a specific exegetical tack that serves to enforce a point of doctrine. To paraphrase Coornhert, “the Lords testimony, rather than being fed by the truth,” has been subsumed into a “commentary of men.” Trent asserts,

But because God, rich in mercy, “knoweth our frame” (Psalm 102:14), he

hath bestowed a remedy of life even upon those who, after baptism, may have delivered themselves up to the servitude of sin and the power of the devil, the sacrament, to wit, of penance, by which the benefit of Christ’s death is applied to those who have fallen after baptism. Penitence was indeed necessary, in order to attain to grace and justice, for all men who had defiled

41.

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offence of God. When the prophet saith, “Be turned, and do penance from all your iniquities, and iniquity shall not be your ruin” (Ezechiel 18:30). The Lord also said, “Except ye do penance, ye shall all likewise perish” (Luke 13:5). And Peter, the prince of the apostles, recommending penitence to sinners who were about to be initiated by baptism, said, “Do penance, and be baptized every one of you” (Acts 2:38). Nevertheless, neither before the coming of Christ was penitence a sacrament, nor is it such, since his coming, to any one previously to baptism. But the Lord then especially instituted the sacrament of penance, when, being raised from the dead, He breathed upon His disciples, saying, “Receive ye the Holy Ghost; whose sins ye shall remit, they are remitted unto them, and whose sins ye shall retain, they are retained” (John 20:22-23). By which action so signal, and words so clear, the consent of all the fathers has ever understood, that the power of “remitting and retaining sins” was communicated to the apostles and their lawful successors, unto the reconciling of the faithful who have fallen after baptism.”

In point of fact, Goltzius utilizes Ezechiel 18 much as Coornhert does in the loci communes, where it is the most frequently cited passage in “Vande ware Penitentie, bekeeringhe, boete, of wedergheboorte.” Its meaning is inflected by context as it shifts from one constellation of scriptural places to another, and comes to be aligned with different though complementary premises. Ezechiel 18:21 and 30 are comprised under thesis 8, “De wercken van den genen die penitentie doet ende waerlijck bekeert” [The works of those who do penitence and truly convert], where they attach to the hypothesis “Sucht ende treurt” [Sighs and mourns]. Adjacent hypotheses include “Verhardt zijn herte niet” [Hardens not his heart] (Hebrews 3:8), “Verscheurt zijn herte” [Rends his heart] (Joel 2:13), “Zaeyt in tranen” [Sows tears] (Psalm 125:5, Baruch 2:18), and “Bidt voor syne sonden” [Prays for his sins] (Psalm 31:6, Ecclesiasticus 17:21-22, Lamentations 3:41). Ezechiel 18:21 recurs under the hypothesis “Onderhoudt Gods gheboden” [Keeps God’s commandments], where it adjoins Deuteronomy 30:8, 2 Esdras 1:9, Ezechiel 36:37, and Philemon 2:13, and qualifies adjacent hypotheses, such as “Beterende hem selven, maeckt zijne

themselves by any deadly sin, even for those who had begged to be washed by the sacrament of baptism; that so, their perverseness cast aside and amended, they might, with a hatred of sin and a pious sorrow of mind, detest so great an

wandelinghe goet” {Bettering himself, he makes good his divagations]

See session 14, “Teaching Concerning the most Holy Sacraments of Penance and Last Anointing,” in Tanner, 2:705.

42.

(Jeremiah 7:3, 26:13), “Leert wel doen” [Learn to do good] (Isaiah 1:17),

43.

Canons and Decrees, 92-93; cf. Tanner, 2:703. Boomgaert, 1: fol. 41ν.

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“Is God ghehoorsaem” [Is obedient to God] (Deuteronomy 30:8), and “Bemint God den Heere” [Loves God the Lord] (Deuteronomy 30:6, 10:16; Jeremiah 4:4; and Ezechiel 36:26). Ezechiel 18:21-22 appears yet again under the hypothesis “Inde rechtvaerdigheyt die hy doet” [In the justice that he does], in connection with Philemon 3:10 and Ecclesiasticus 17:20. Adjacent hypotheses include “Maeckt een nieu hert ende gheest” [Fashions a new heart and spirit] (Ezechiel 18:31, Psalms 36:27), “Leeft in nieuwigheyt des levens” [Lives in newness of life] (Romans 6:4; Colossians

3:10; Ephesians 4:24, 6:10-11; Titus 1:14), and “Draghende Gode

vruchten” [Bearing Godly fruit] (Romans 4:7, Colossians 3:12).# All these hypotheses connect to thesis 8, whose minor premises track penitential works leading from contrition to the reformation of self. Ezechiel 18:21 resurfaces under thesis 10, “De middelen of vorderinge tot penitentie”

[Means

or progress

toward

penance],

in association

with the hypothesis “Bekeeringhe ende ghebedt tot God” (Conversion and prayer to God] (2 Paralipomen 6:24), and with specific reference to engaging one’s entire heart and soul (“Van gantscher herten ende zielen”) (2 Paralipomen 6:37-38, Joel 2:13 and 21, Ezechiel 18:31), to the “gravity and devotion” of Manasses (“Ernstelijck ende aendachtelijck [bekeeringhe ende gebedt]”) (2 Paralipomen 33:13), the Ninevites (Jonah 3:6-7), Nehemias (2 Esdras 1:4), and the Israelites (Esther 4:2-3), and to turning away from one’s sins and evil ways (“Van alle boose wegen ende sonden”) (3 Esdras 10:3, Ezechiel 18:21 and 30, 2 Paralipomen 6:24).‘ Ezechiel 18:21 then reappears under thesis 11, “Vruchten of effecten

van penitentie” [Fruits or effects of penitence], in association with the hypothesis “Vergiffenis der zonden” [Forgiveness of sins], where it clusters with other pertinent scriptural passages such as Acts 3:19; Isaiah

1:18;

Colossians 2:14; Ezechiel 18:21 and 30, 33:12,16, and 19; Luke 18:13-14; Wisdom 11:24; Jeremiah 3:12, 31:24, 36:3; Isaiah 38:17; Sophonias 3:17; Proverbs 28:13; 2 Paralipomen 7:84, 19:3, 12:12; Acts 5:31; and Romans

4:7, 8:4). Contiguous hypotheses include “Verlichtinghe” [Illumination] (Job 22:18, Isaiah 58:8), “De zonden ontvlieden” [Flee sins] (Ecclesiasticus 3:32, 20:4; Sophonias 3:14), “Godes ontferminghe ende ghenade” [God's 44.

Boomgaert 1: fol. 43r.

45.

Boomgaert, 1: fol. 42r.

46.

Boomgaert, 1: fol. 42v.

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mercy and grace] (Ecclesiasticus 12:3; Isaiah 55:7; Deuteronomy 30:3; 2

Paralipomen 7:14, 6:24; Titus 3:5; Jonah 3:6-7, 4:2 and 11; Joel 2:12-- 14; Jeremiah 6:26; and Ecclesiastes 17:28), and “Het berouwen Godts over

de straffinghe die hy dachte te doen” [God rues the punishment he had thought to mete out] (Jeremiah 16:3 and 13; Psalms 105:45; Judges 16:16; 2 Paralipomen 9:24, 29, and 30; Jeremiah 18:3, 26:19; Job 42:10). Ezechiel

18:21 then recurs under the hypothesis “Het leven leven” [Lives the life], along with Ezechiel 33:15, in close proximity to the cognate hypotheses “Verlossinghe ende vryheyt” [Salvation and freedom] (2 Esdras 9:28, Isaiah 59:20, Luke 1:74-75, Deuteronomy 30:3, 1 Kings 7:3, Psalms 106:19), “Verlossinghe ende vryheyt van de stricken des Duyvels” [Salvation and freedom from the devil’s snares] (2 Timothy 2:25-26), “Niet gheordeelt werden” [They are not judged] (1 Corinthians 11:31), “Weder levendigh werden” [They are brought back to life] (Luke 15:24, Isaiah 57:15), and “Geluck ende voorspoet” [Godspeed and prosperity] (Job 22:28, Psalms 1, Deuteronomy 28, Leviticus 26). Coornhert’s theses and hypotheses, and the scriptural wellsprings upon which he draws, Ezechiel 18:21-22 in particular, undoubtedly supplied prima facie evidence for the doctrine of perfectability on which his conception of divine mercy turns. Briefly put, this doctrine affirms that God has bestowed all the means necessary for securing salvation; humankind must harness these God-given instruments, striving to imitate the arduous life of Christ, as transmitted by the Gospels, and laboring to make the best of the spiritual gifts conferred through his Passion and Resurrection. For Coornhert, overcoming sin by engaging fully in the process of penitence is one of the chief means whereby the sinner climbs the ladder of salvation, working in concert with Christ to effect his salvation.

He distilled this doctrine in numerous treatises, most vividly in Ladder

lacobs, de Trappe der Deughen:

betoonende, als in eenen claren spieghel, den

staat alder Menschen, ende dienende tot kennisse sijns selves: daar toe hier werden aangewesen die rechte middelen, hoe ende waar door dalderdiepste zondaar trappeling opstijght vande aartsche onsaligheydt tot die hemelsche saligheyt, so gants onpartijdelijck als Schrifiuerlijck in vier gespraken by vrage ende antwoorde, tot vorderinghe van alle menschen voor ooghen ghestelt [Jacobs Ladder, the Stairway of Virtues: reflecting, as in a clear mirror, the

47.

Boomgaert, 1: fols. 42v-43r.

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state of all humankind, and conducive to self-knowledge: for which end the requisite measures are here revealed, by what means and in what manner the most inveterate sinner may climb the stairway from earthly infelicity to heavenly felicity: placed before men’s eyes, completely without bias, according to Scripture, in four dialogues comprising questions and answers, for the advancement of all men]: One shall not advance from a good beginning without moving ahead and sallying forth. Say a person embarks on some path, swiftly and smoothly traversing the first mile or two, in the direction of a city where he desires to be: what shall it advantage him, if partly underway he then stands still, ever at rest? So shall it avail him nothing to have set foot on the first or second step of a stair [leading] from apprenticeship or servitude to transformation into a child of God, ifhe remains standing there, feeling at ease, and thus never sets foot on the third step—that of Godly childhood. Such people take pleasure in avoiding punishment or receiving a reward, but they fail to feel the love of God poured into their hearts by the Holy Ghost, [whose] love is pledged alone to the children of God (and not to apprentices or hirelings).**

It would be possible to reach a similar conclusion by closely attending to the constellations of mutually resonant texts and images in Satisfactio Christi and Remissio peccatorum, and constructing plausible syllogisms based on their constituent theses and hypotheses (figs. 6 and 12). But although Goltzius deploys Coornhert’s exegetical paradigm, he refrains from steering these two prints toward so specific a statement of doctrine, even one that

he must surely have found sympathetic. The /oci communes system allowed 48.

“Dat een goet beginne niet en voordert, soomer niet in voort en vaart. Laat

yemant int beginne eens weeghs schoon snel loopen een Mijl of twee, nae een Stadt daar hy begheert te wesen: wat sal’t hem voorderen, blijft hy dan voordts onderweghen staedelijck stille ligghen in rusten? Soo en baat oock niet ghetreden te zijn opte eerste of tweede Trappe van knechtschap ofte huerlinghschaps tot het worden van een kint Godes, indien men voorts op d'eerste of tweede Trappe blijft staan, ende sich daar te rusten stelt, want dese soo doende

nimmermeer en sullen komen opte derde trappe van de kintschappe Godes, dat

is soo syluyden sich vernoeghen met het ontgaan van de straffe of met het verkrijghen van't loon, sonder te ghevoelen dat die Liefde Godes door den Heylighen Gheest uytghestordt is in hare herten, t'welck alleen der kinderen (niet der knechten of huerlinghen) seker pantschappe is. Daaromme heeft sich soo wel de huerlingh als de knecht sorghvuldelijck te hoeden (niet anders dan voor fenijn

der zielen) voor die vermetele waene end hoochwaardighe goedtdunckenheyt.” (Boomgaert, 1: fol. 172r)

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Coornhert to draw from scripture the conclusions he did—the correct ones in his view—but for Goltzius to have constructed his prints with a view to arguing these same conclusions would have contravened the very raison d’être of the scriptural system he was deploying. Instead, Goltzius, as is evident from his approach to the question of faith and works, used biblical texts and images to instigate and facilitate a more open-ended process of hermeneutical engagement. The results might best be called exegetical spiritual exercises designed to let “Holy Scripture show herself to all who are truly desirous of knowledge.’

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Appendix 1 DV. Coornhert, Hert-Spieghel Godlijkcker Schrifturen, in Boomgaert, ed., 1 Deel van Dieryck Volckertsz. Coornherts Wercken, fol. 2r-v: “Maar dit en gheschiet niet in alle die hongheren ende sich verlustighen inder verckenen draf van de Opinie der Menschen, die meest al loghenachtigh zijn. Soo werden dese verleyde schapen; weydende buyten de Godtlijcke tuyghenissen; niet ghevoedt metter waarheydt [Gen. 3. 14.]: maar worden

self een spijse des aardt-etenden Serpents, de loghen, die sulcke aardtsche ende loghen-lievende bocken eet, ende haar verslindt door sijne valsche herders, die haar self weyden, de goede weyde vertreden met haar voeten

[Ezech. 34. 8. 18.]: ende loghenen preken, die sulcke bocken met lusten

hooren ende navolghen. Wie dan selve niet en wil worden een spijse des loghens tot sijn eeuwigh verderven: die keere sich af van aller Menschen leere, door waarheyts ondervinden van sijnre zielen quellijcke onversaadtheydt tot de leere Godes: ende worde alsoo een spijse des ware Serpents dat daar honghert na der Menschen saligheydt. Wie is dat? De waarheydt self Jesus Christus, die niet den schapen maar haar hongher, uyt het bevinden van des logens ydelheydt; verslindende, haar voedet met sich selve, dat is met sijnen heylighen woorde. Wat Christen; al waar hy’t noch maar metten namen; twijfelt of desselfs tuyghnissen inder heyliger Schrifturen oock al t’samen waar zijn, ende ghenoeghsaam tot onser saligheyt. Wat Christen mach daar teghen twijfelen, dat der Menschen woorden, tuyghenissen, glosen, of uytlegginghen, niet al t’samen waar zijn, oock niet ghenoech, ia meest

hinderlijck, tot onser saligheydt. Dit broot des levens biedt ons Godt self om niet aan. Dat kaf kooptmen duyr, al waar’t maar met versuymenisse der waarheydt. Willen sy dan niet bedroghen zijn die Godes trouwe waarheyt in desselfs sekere ende suyvere tuyghenissen der heyligher Schrift, als daar van walghende, verlaten: ende sich daar teghen inder menschen ontrouwe ende onreyne glosen mondeling of schriftelijck verlustighen, ende die begheerlijck hooren ende lese? Wat is dat anders dan perijckelen te beminnen? Wat moghen sy anders wachten (bedaren sy hen niet) dan daar in te vergaan? Des boecken makens heeft gheen eynde, die maken veele om u, Leser, af te leyden van de heylsame Bybelsche boecken, die eynde ende mate hebben ende al dat ter saligheyt noodigh is, tot haar oneyndelijcke ende heyloose gloos-boecken, die de waarheydt, ter saligheyt noodigh zijnde, verduysteren. Maar ick ben ter noot ghemaackt, omme u, van my

Walter S. Melion

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ende van alder Menschen schriftlijcke of mondtlijcke glosen af te wijsen tot het eenighe boeck der ware, klare, ende heylsame ghetuyghenissen Godes, op dat ghy daar eens de zielzadighe smake van de ware tarwe ghesmaackt hebbende, den rugghe meught keeren aller Menschen onversadelijck ende ydel kaf, met waarheyt na der zielen ghespijst ende versaadt meught worden, dat gunne u de Vader, in wiens wooninghe oock de knechten ende huyrlinghen overvloeyen van broodt dat van den Hemel is ghekomen uyten monde Godes, die dat alleen, ende niet der Menschen woorden te hooren, u heeft bevolen. Amen.”

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Appendix 2

Mey = S Se) LE Fe tale GE = : oo Fig. 1. Hendrick Goltzius, Miracula Christi, from Allegories on the Life of Christ (1578). Engraving, 269 x 187 mm. (Image courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.)

Fig. 2. Hendrick Goltzius, Passio Christi, from Allegories on the Life of Christ (1578). Engraving, 271 x 187 mm. (Image courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.)

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-

=

a

—

W

130

|

* Fig.

Fig. 3. Hendrick Goltzius, Infantia Christi, from Allegories on the Life of Christ Engraving, 270 x 187 mm. (Image courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.)

(1578)

a

omorr, mem FR ema

wate toate er ee

Dr

es

ira

on i

4. Hendrick Goltzius, Resurrectio Christi, from Allegories on the Life of Christ (1578)

Engraving, 269 x 186 mm. (Image courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.)

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Walter S. Melion ᾿ς.

παι.

ΒΑRE MR

Fig. 6.

Fig. 5. Hendrick Goltzius, Dissidium in Ecclesia, from Allegories of the Christian Creed (1578). Engraving, 256 x 187 mm.

(Image courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.)

S

133

allied

PS eee

Hendrick Goltzius, Remissio peccatorum, from Allegories of the Christian Creed

(1578). Engraving, 254 x 189 mm. (Image courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.)

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Fig. 7.

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Walter S. Melion

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Hendrick Goltzius, Levamen onustorum, from Allegories of the Christian Creed

(1578). Engraving, 247 x 186 mm. (Image courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.)

Fig. 8. Dirck Volckertsz. Coornhert, “Van Christo. Sijnen naem, by-namen, hoedanigheyden, daden ende wercken: nae zijn Goedtheydt, Almoghentheydt, Rechvaerdigheyt, Wijsheydt,

Liefde,

Barmhertigheydt,

etc. Getuygenissen

der H. Schrift”

in Cornelis

Boomgaert, ed., 1. Deel van Dieryck Volckertsz. Coornherts Wercken. Waer van eenige noyt voor desen gedruct zyn, fol. 13r (Amsterdam: Iacob Aertsz., 1630). (Image courtesy of the Universiteitsbibliotheek Leiden, Bijzondere Collecties.)

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Fig. 9. Dirck Volckertsz. Coornhert, “Het Ampt Christi of d'eyntlijcke oorsake vande mensche-werdinghe, doodt ende verrijsenisse Christi” in Cornelius Boomgaert, ed., I. Deel van Dieryck Volckerstz. Coornherts Wercken. Waer van eenige noyt voor desen gedruct zyn, fol. 271 (Amsterdam: Iacob Aerstz., 1630). (Image courtesy of the Universiteitsbibli otheek Leiden,

Bijzondere Collecties.)

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Fig. 10. Dirck Volckertsz. Coornhert, “Van Godt. Sijnen Naem, By-namen, Hoedanigheyden, Daden ende Wercken: Nae zijn Goedtheydt, Almoghentheyt, Rechtvaerdigheyt, Wijsheyt, Liefde, Barmhertigheydt, etc. Ghetuygenissen der H. Schrift,’ in Cornelis Boomgaert, ed., 1 Deel van Dieryck Volckertsz. Coornherts Wercken. Waer van eenige noyt voor desen gedruct zyn, fol. 1r (Amsterdam: Iacob Aertsz., 1630). (Image courtesy of the Universiteitsbibliotheek Leiden, Bijzondere Collecties.)

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Walter S. Melion

139

Fig. 12, Hendrick Goltzius, Satisfactio Christi, from Allegories of the Christian Creed (1578). Engraving, 244 x 190 mm. (Image courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.) Fig. 11.

Dirck Volckertsz. Coornhert, “Van t'Gheloove. Wat dat is, oorsaeck, werckinge,

middel, eynde, vrucht, ende kracht, etc. klare Beschryvinghe,’ in Cornelis Boomgaert, ed., 1. Deel van Dieryck Volckertsz. Coornherts Wercken. Waer van eenige noyt voor desen gedruct zyn, fol. 35r (Amsterdam: lacob Aertsz., 1630). (Image courtesy of the Universiteitsbibliotheek Leiden, Bijzondere Collecties.)

140

Fig. 13.

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Hendrick Goltzius, Regnum Dei quaerere, from Allegories of the Christian Creed

(1578). Engraving, 246 x 188 mm. (Image courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.)

=

s

.

DE EY£

141

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Fig. 14. Hendrick Goltzius, Aedificare super petram, ftom Allegories of the Christian Creed (1578). Engraving, 259 x 186 mm. (Image courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.)

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=

—

Fig. 15. Hendrick Goltzius, Aedificare super arenam, from Allegories of the Christian Creed (1578). Engraving, 256 x 186 mm. (Image courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.)

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Fig. 16. Hendrick Goltzius, Christ and the Cross (c. 1575-1580). Engraving, 443 x 344 mm. (Image courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.)

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Walter S. Melion

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Fig. 17. Hendrick Goltzius, Exemplar virtutum, from Allegories on the Life of Christ (1578). Engraving, 270 x 186 mm. (Image courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.)

Fig. 18. Hendrick Goltzius, Annunciation, from Allegories on the Life of Christ (1578). Engraving, 266 x 187 mm. (Image courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.)

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Fig. 19. Marcantonio Raimondi after Raphael, Quos Ego (1515-1516). Engraving, 425 x

325 mm. (Image courtesy of the British Museum, London.)

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Fig. 20. Giorgio Ghisi, Man of Sorrows (c. 1575). Engraving, 283 x 223 mm. (Image courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.)

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Works Cited Bibliorum sacrorum cum glossa ordinaria.... 6 vols. Venice: s.n., 1603. Bonger Hendrik. Leven en werk van D. V. Coornhert. Amsterdam, 1978. Boomgaert,

Cornelis, ed. Dieryck

Volckertsz.

Coornherts

Wercken.

Waer

van eenige noyt voor desen gedruct zyn. 3 vols. Amsterdam: Iacob Aertsz., 1630.

Boorsch, Suzanne, Michal Lewis, and Ray E. Lewis. The Engravings of Giorgio Ghisi. Exhibition catalog for the Metropolitan Museum of Art. New York, 1985. Canons and Decrees of the Sacred and Oecumenical Council of Trent. Trans. James Waterworth. London, 1848. Clifton, James. “Modes of Scriptural Illustration: The Beatitudes in the Late Sixteenth Century.” In Imago Exegetica: Visual Images as Exegetical Instruments, 1400-1700, ed. Walter S. Melion, James Clifton, and

Michel Weemans. Intersections: Interdisciplinary Studies in Early Modern Culture 33. Leiden/Boston, 2014. Pp. 545-78.

Clifton, James, and Walter S. Melion. Scripture for the Eyes: Bible Illustration

in Netherlandish Prints of the Sixteenth Century. Exhibition catalog for the Museum of Biblical Art, New York, and the Michael C. Carlos Museum, Atlanta. London/New York, 2009.

Coornhert, Dirck V. Negentich plaetsen der H. Schriftueren gheestelijck wtgheleydt/ Ofte gheallegoriseert door Aurelium Augustinum/ ende vergadert oock vertaelt tot nut ende stichtinghe van allen gheestelijcke herte. S.L.: s.n., 1585. Coornhert, Dirck V. Brieven-boeck .

. van D.V. Coornhert. Amsterdam:

Jacob Aertsz. Calom, 1626.

ge

i

-

=

=

——

.

-—

—

=

Σὰ

Fig. 21. Dirck Volckertsz. Coornhert after Maarten van Heemskerck, Faith Purifying Human Hearts in the Blood of Christ (c. 1559). Engraving, 360 x 262. (Image courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.)

. Hert-Spieghel Godlijkcker Schrifiuren. In I. Deel van Dieryck Volckertsz. Coornherts Wercken, ed. Cornelis Boomgaert. Amsterdam: Iacob Aertsz., 1630. The Holy Bible Translated from the Latin Vulgate and Diligently Compared with the Hebrew, Greek, and Other Editions in Divers Languages...

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The Whole Revised . . . by Bishop Challoner. Baltimore, 1899; rpt. Rockford, 1989.

Fleurkens, Anneke C.G. Stichtelijke lust. De toneelspelen van D. V. Coornhert (1522-1590) als middelen tot het geven van morele instructie. Hilversum, 1994.

Kleinub, Christian K. “Raphael’s Quos Ego: Forgotten Document of the

Renaissance Paragone” Word & Image 28 (2012): 287-301.

Leeflang, Huigen, ed., and Marjolein Leesberg, comp. The New Hollstein Dutch & Flemish Etchings, Engravings, and Woodcuts: Hendrick Goltzius. 4 vols. Ouderkerk aan den Ijssel/Amsterdam, 2002. Leeflang, Huigen. “The Life of Hendrick Goltzius (1558-1617)

In

Hendrick Goltzius (1558-1617): Drawings, Prints, and Paintings,

ed. Ger Luijten

Leeflang et al. Exhibition

catalog for the

Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, the Metropolitan Museum, New York, and the Toledo Museum of Art. Amsterdam/New York/Toledo,

2003. Pp. 13-21.

Mander, Karel van. Het Schilder-Boeck. Haarlem: Paschier van Wesbusch, 1604. Meadow, Mark. Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s Netherlandish Proverbs and the Practice of Rhetoric. Zwolle, 2002. Meerhoff, Kees. “The Significance of Philip Melanchthon’s Rhetoric in the Renaissance.” In Renaissance Rhetoric, ed. Peter Mack. New York,

1994. Pp. 46-62.

- “Logique et création selon Philippe Mélanchthon: à la recherche du lieu commun.” In Logique et littérature à la Renaissance, ed. André Tournon and Marie-Luce Demonet-Launay. Paris, 1994. Pp. 51-68.

Melion, Walter S. The Meditative Art: Studies in the Northern Devotional Print. Early Modern Catholicism and the Visual Arts 1. Philadelphia, 2009. Nichols,

Lawrence

W.

“Goltzius:

Documents

and

Printed

Literature

Concerning his Life.” Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Jaarboek 42-43 (1991-1992): 77-120.

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Schreiner, Thomas. Faith Alone—the Doctrine of Justification: What the Reformers Taught ... and Why It Matters. The Five Solas Series. Grand Rapids, 2015. Sellink, Manfred, ed. and comp., and Marjolein Leesberg, comp. The New Hollstein Dutch & Flemish Etchings, Engravings, and Woodcuts: Philips Galle. 4 vols. Rotterdam/Amsterdam, 2001. Tanner, Norman P., SJ., ed. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils. 2 vols. London/Washington, D.C., 1990. Veldman, Ilja M. De wereld tussen goed en kwaad: late prenten van Coornhert. Exhibition catalog for the Stedelijk Museum Het Catharina Gasthuis, Gouda. The Hague, 1990. Veldman, Ilja M., comp., and Ger Luyten, ed. The New Hollstein Dutch and Flemish Etchings, Engravings, and Woodcuts, Maarten van Heemskerck, 2 vols. Rosendaal, 1994.

1450-1700:

Voogt, Gerrit. Constraint on Trial: Dirck Volckertsz Coonhert and Religious Freedom. Sixteenth Century Essays and Studies 52. Kirksville, Mo., 2000.

Weddigen, Tristan. “Italienreise als Tugendweg: Hendrick Goltzius “Tabula Cebetis.” Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Jaarboek 54 (2003): 90-139.

Three Parts Divided: The Construction, Reconstruction, and Deconstruction of

Festival Emblems TAMAR CHOLCMAN Tel Aviv University

The inclusion of emblems in festival imagery during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries seems to stand at odds with the nature of such outdoor events, which were characterized by perpetual movement and a wealth of distractions. The interpretation of these emblems required humanistic practices that extended temporality by establishing a unique private space for the literati within the public sphere and, once a recorded description of the event and its pictorial program had appeared in book form, by allowing for contemplation within the private study of the reader. The documentation of civic festivals created a dual existence for the emblems involved in these events, and the addition of an enduring, literary context allowed them to be constructed, reconstructed, and deconstructed in ways that transcended the limits of ephemeral presentation. This practice also gave rise to new approaches to spectatorship, linking the event, the book, and the learned spectator to form a scholarly-humanistic tripartite cycle.

153 Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image, vol. 2. Copyright © 2019 by Droz & Emblematica. All rights reserved.

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uthors of festival books, when writing about events such as triumphal processions, coronations, joyous entries, or funerals, took great care in describing to their readers not only the ceremonies and monuments but also the experience of the whole day. The crowd's participation, the flow of people outside the city walls to welcome the dignitaries, the crowded streets, and the shouts of joy are detailed in order to enhance the reader’s perception of the splendor of the event.' The readers of the book, like the spectators, are thus able to perceive the hectic atmosphere and the progression of the day’s events as if they were part of the entourage themselves, moving from one monument to the next. However, the use of emblems in these processions presents an immediate and fundamental interpretative challenge—for the contemporaneous spectator as well as for modern emblem scholars. This challenge resides in the combination of two very different, even opposed, viewing/reading practices, as is evident from written accounts. Namely, how does one approach the emblems in these grand and performative experiences, and how do emblem-reading practices, which require careful decryption of words and images, relate to the viewing practices of triumphal processions? The practice of reading emblems seems to stand in stark contrast to the progressive

viewing

experience

inherent

in entries,

processions,

and

other similar public events: the continuously unfolding nature of the entourage contradicts the frequently nonlinear process of decrypting and interpreting emblems. Another consideration is the afterlife of ephemeral monuments and the emblems that adorned them. At the conclusion of the event for which they were constructed, these monuments were most often dismantled, effectively erasing once richly decorated displays. In ekphrastic festival descriptions, however, the tension between transience and permanence dissipates. The emblem’s description is inscribed in a book, reintroducing it into the literary and textual realm. This process involves a shift from outdoors to indoors, from the public sphere into the private, and, above all, a transformation of an image into text. In this context, ephemeral

monuments are described one by one, allowing the reader to consider each image and detail carefully, in a static reading mode. The text, as I have argued elsewhere, directs the readers in a specific order, from one image to the next (Cholcman 2014, 50). The live image is replaced, so to speak, by the guiding text of the ekphrastic account. In the specific 1.

Meadow argues that the designers of these entries took the reaction of the audience into consideration in their designs, just as the audience’s response was shaped by the entry’s design.

155

case of emblems, however, where there is an inherent interplay between text and image, the question that emerges is, How, or in what way, does the transition from physical existence during the event to a documented, written description manifest itself? Do the emblems’ written descriptions differ from their physical representations? Does the relationship between text and image change with the transformation of the emblem from its physical form, as part of the event, into its written record, in the book? I argue that the dual existence of festival emblems—as physical elements of ephemeral architecture during festivals and, later, as the objects of ekphrastic description—present an opportunity to construct, reconstruct, and deconstruct emblem elements in unique ways. I also contend that the designers of civic festivals used this bimedial genre in a strategically planned metadesign, intended to address the audience of literati both as spectators and as readers. Through the consideration of three case studies— the triumphal arch erected by Heidelberg University to celebrate the marriage of the future elector palatine Charles II to Wilhelmina Ernestina of Denmark and Norway, in 1671; a tableau vivant in the entry of the archdukes Albert of Austria and Isabella Clara Eugenia into Antwerp in 1599; and the triumphal arch dedicated by Italian merchants for the entry of Philip III of Spain into Lisbon in 1619—I show how the emblem is dismantled, so to speak, and split into two separate facets (ephemeral/ enduring), two different spaces (outdoors/indoors), and two different experiences (viewing/reading). The Metadiscourse of the Festival Emblem

Much has been written on the relationship between text and image in the formation and understanding of emblems. Moreover, emblem scholars have long noted the inclusion of emblems in civic festivals. Pointing to the nature of these emblems as allegories within allegories, they have argued for the importance of contextualized analysis, of interpreting festival emblems within the context of both the civic event and the ephemeral architecture they adorned.’ Many scholars have also noted the crucial difference between emblem reading/interpretation during the event and after it (when the

emblems were transferred to book form). Daniel Russell, for example, argues that French royal entries of the sixteenth century were constructed entirely in accordance with an emblematic model (2007, 55-72). He claims 2.

On the interpretation of festival emblems in light of their contemporary court and political contexts, see, for example, Wade; Hubach; and Russell 2007. For an interpretation of festival emblems in urban spaces and in architectural contexts, see Loach.

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that the textual components of the emblematic image were utilized to guide the reader’s interpretation, making it easier to pick up on certain motifs during the event. Total comprehension, he therefore contends, was possible only after the official publication of the book (2007, 59). Russell further demonstrates how the interrelations between the visual and textual parts of an emblem can be versatile and can determine the polysemic nature of the genre (1985, 174). The opening of emblem studies to applied/displayed emblems, on the one hand, and to naked emblems, on the other, allows for further consideration of how an emblem’s various components—motto, pictura, epigram—interact.? An emblem can be as simple as a pictura embroidered onto a garment, woven into a tapestry, or sculpted or painted to decorate a building (with or without textual components), or, conversely, it can be a printed text lacking any physical form altogether. In these instances, the interplay between text and image, between what can be seen and what is known (but lacking), is, in effect, decomposed. Consequently, examining early modern civic-festival emblems not only in the context of the events in which they appeared but also from the point of view of the ekphrastic records created after the fact offers a deeper view into the mechanisms and strategic applications of the decomposed tripartite emblem. During the event, as Judy Loach contends, it was not only doubtful that spectators would have been capable of understanding all of the artistic and emblematic components on display; in many cases, they were not even meant to (11-12). The fact that most events took place at night, in crowded streets, accompanied by fireworks and theatrical distractions, indicates that these performances were “contrived so as to penetrate beyond the intellect, to move the will” (12). Christian Jouhaud asserts that the official book,

published after the event, was the “final monument” of the festival (326),

noting, however, that there are multiple layers of meaning. Thus, while it is true that fully deciphering the emblematic imagery of an entry was only

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festival events themselyes were intended to provide an overwhelming experience, the books that followed them focused more on intellectual perception. We might ask, then, whether the metadesign of both stages of the event—physical and written—took transformations of the festival emblems, as described above, into account. And, correspondingly, did the assumption that during the physical stage the designers had no intention of communicating the entirety of the message determine the emblems’ text-image relation during the event? In other words, did the designers, who in most cases also authored the official written records, have these considerations in mind, and did they, consequently, not only add explanations to the text but also differentiate written emblems from their pictorial counterparts?* Contrary to what one might expect, this article shows that the difference between, on the one hand, the representation of festival emblems during festivals themselves and, on the other, the subsequent presentation of these emblems in book form, does not necessarily assign the imagery component to the former and the textual part to the latter (especially the epigram). The 1671 Heidelberg triumphal arch provides a clear example of this discrepancy. Reconstruction

In honor of the 1671 wedding ceremony of the future elector palatine Charles II to Wilhelmina Ernestina of Denmark and Norway, in Heidelberg, the University of Heidelberg erected a triumphal arch (fig. 1). It was the third of four triumphal arches erected for the wedding ceremony, following the one created by the city of Heidelberg and preceding the arch erected by the court.’ Paul Hachenberg, the author of the official record and most probably also the designer of the ephemeral architecture, described it as “a building famous and esteemed for the elegance of its construction

possible with the aid of the book, we can assume that most onlookers never

managed to achieve more than a partial understanding. Only the literati,

who read the official book upon its publication, engaged with the subject

matter on a deeper level (326-27). Presuming that designers were aware of this fact as well, it is safe to say, following Loach’s arguments, that whereas

3

The term applied emblem has been criticized by Leal as not comprehensive enough, since it implies the precedence of the written emblem. Leal suggests the term displayed emblem as an alternative. For further reading on naked and applied emblems, see especially Boker and Daly; Manning, 18, 194; Bath, 29-55; and Davidson,

4.

For the authors involvement in the planning of the event, see Kubler.

5.

The first arch, dedicated to the bride, was a simply structured “living arch,” made of plants and fruits. The second, erected by the city, was a single arch with only two ionic columns, one on either side; the statue of Hymenaeus, the god of wed-

dings, is on the top of the front façade, and Juno Lucina, the goddess of childbirth, is on the other side. Under the statues, a painting of Venus in her trium-

phal chariot is on the first fagade, and the wedding of Thetis and Peleus is on the

other. The fourth triumphal arch, erected by the court, was the most elaborate and rich, compared by the author to the arches of Constantine and Vespasianus. See Hachenberg, 30, 67-84.

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and the magnificence of its emblems.” His involvement in the invention of the emblems is suggested in a poem serving as a prelude to the book, where he is credited for conferring glory upon the prince, in the form of, among other things, “many emblems [which] adorn the triumphal arch? The emblems are thus directly linked to Hachenberg, suggesting that his record of the triumphal arch is based not only on his close involvement with both the prince and the event but also, most probably, on his role as designer.® Hachenberg description of the university's triumphal arch begins at the top of the front façade, with the statue of Apollo, “the dean of our studies.”” Below, a large painting depicted the marriage of Mercury and Philology in the presence of the Muses, based, according to the text, on De Nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii [On the marriage of Philology and Mercury], by the fifth-century author Martianus Capella. The story is an

allegory of the union of eloquence (Mercury) and learning (Philology),

a union of the arts of the ¢rivium (grammar, dialectics, and rhetoric) and the guadrivium (arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music).!° Above the painting, the inscription promises that this marriage “will lead to great rewards,’ but the legend beneath it oddly compares Charles not to Mercury but to Apollo (Phoebus), and Wilhelmina to the virgin goddess Pallas Athena, rather than to Philology.'' As Hachenberg explains, Mercury is 6.

“Opusstructurae elegantia, & emblematum magnificentia insigne, dignumq[ue]”

(Hachenberg, 69).

“Quanta triumphales ornat Emblemata moles!” (Hachenberg, 66).

8.

Hachenberg had been the prince’s tutor and, since 1652, a member of the Philosophy faculty of Heidelberg University. The great propinquity between him and the prince continues also after Charles II assumed his title (1680) and Hachenberg was appointed his chief minister. Hachenberg’s knowledge of and involvement in emblem writing and design is evident; see, for example, his introduction

Fig. 1. Philipp Kilian, The Triumphal Arch of the Heidelberg Academy, from Paul Hachenberg, Kurtze und eygentliche Beschreibung Def jenigen, so bey der Verlobnus, Heimfiibr- und Vermählung Des Durchleuchtigsten Fürsten und Herrn, Herrn Caroli, Pfaltzgrafens bey Rhein... Mit der auch Durchleuchtigsten Fürstin und Frauen, Fraven Wilhelmina Ernestina . . . (Heidelberg, 1672), pl. 5. (Image courtesy of the Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbiittel.)

9.

to the prince’s own emblem book, the Symbola Christiana, published in 1677 under the pseudonym Philotheus. For further reading on the writing of the Sywbola Christiana, see Saunders. “In vertice superiore stabat praeses studiorum Apollo” (Hachenberg, 69).

10.

The book was the foundation of medieval trivium and quadrivium and was re-

garded as the key work in the history of education, rhetoric, and science. See Stahl,

11.

21-22.

“Qualis castum intrat felix Sapientia lectum,/ Et miscet magno pronuba corda deo;/ Talis in augustos ardescit CAROLUS ignes,/ Et subit in thalamos, regia virgo, tuos./ Iste refert Phoebi vultum, atque haec Palladis ora./ Quantum est, ipsa etiam fronte referre deos” [ Just as happy wisdom enters the chaste bed, and/

In marriage her heart with that of the great god;/ So too does Charles burn with

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the cultured lover, and his bride, Philology, is wisdom that “enters the chaste bed??? This very subtle distinction between the visual depiction and the textual inscription establishes two analogies by using two couples: the Capellian couple, representing eloquence and learning, and the divine couple of Apollo and Athena. The latter is based on a mythological story, and the

former on an academic, or professional, text. It is evident, therefore, that in addition to celebrating Charles and Wilhelmina’s wedding, this monument was intended to establish the position of the university and communicate its interests to the future elector palatine. Accordingly, two niches, one on either side of the arch’s opening, held the statues of Rupert I (right), who founded Heidelberg University (1386), and Rupert (Durus) II (left), who provided financial security by confiscating the property of Jews and prostitutes and bequeathing it to the university (1391). This rather simple plan, which addresses the needs both of the university and the elector’s wedding, is complemented by four emblems placed over and under the niches occupied by the university founders. The two emblems above possess all of the canonical tripartite components—motto, pictura, and epigram. The upper left emblem, for example, features a figure lying on the ground, surrounded by what seems to be weaponry (fig. 2); its motto is inscribed in capital letters, while the epigram below is in lowercase letters, of which only the first two words appear in the illustration. It might seem, based on the above description, that the Heidelberg arch

represented a simple transfer of emblematic tradition and practice to the festival context. Like the readers of emblem books, the literate spectators were presented with all of the emblem’s tripartite structure and seem to have had the opportunity to read and decipher the image in conjunction with the text during the event. However, we learn from the written description that the arch was seventy feet tall (Hachenberg, 69). At that height, it is doubtful that all of the emblem’s components could have been seen. It is also highly likely that in the commotion of the wedding procession, the emblem’s three components were hardly noticed—or, at the very least, were rendered illegible, Thus, although all three components of the emblem were present at the event, it was only through turning to the textual record that the reader—as opposed to the spectator—might have seen the emblem in its entirety. Only then could he read the motto, “Ut ipse quiescam” [So that reverent flames,/ And enter your chambers, O royal virgin;/ He wears the coun-

12.

tenance of Phoebus, and she the face of Pallas./ How wonderful it is to resemble the gods even in one’s very features!] ( Hachenberg, 70). “Qualis castum intrat felix Sapientia lectum” (Hachenberg, 70).

Fig. 2. The Sleeping Cupid (detail from fig. 1).

I too might rest], together with what Hachenberg identified as the figure of Cupid, “lying stretched upon a lion skin; and surrounded by weapons, he was napping.”'? Hachenberg then adds the complete epigram: The victor reclines, exhausted by the defeated Hercules; Defeated, and resting on a tawny hide, is Love. Around him lie weapons, and quivers, and bows, and torches; And the god rejoices to hide himself within his own fire. So that wicked hands might not disturb the child’s peaceful sleep, Ernestine embraces and punishes on his behalf as he reclines.

13. 14.

“... stratus super leonis pelle jacebat Cupido; & positis circiim telis somnum

capiebat .. ἢ (Hachenberg, 70).

“Procumbit victo lassatus ab Hercule victor,/Victus et in fulva pelle quiescit Amor./Circum tela jacent, pharetraeque arcusque facesque,/ Seque suo gaudet

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Although the entire emblem had been presented as part of the ephemeral architecture, it could only be decoded and understood as the sleeping figure of Cupid when it had been removed from the public realm and placed into the private one, into the scholar’s study. Furthermore, the enigmatic connection between Hercules and Cupid could only be discerned with the aid of Hachenberg’s text. The Sleeping Cupid emblem, though based on a known theme, appears to be a new invention, intended specifically for the wedding. To understand it, we must turn to several sources that might have inspired it. The image of a sleeping Cupid appears in the Palatine Anthology, a collection of Greek poems and epigrams that was discovered in 1606 in the Palatine Library, in Heidelberg. Saumaise (Salmasius) copied the poems and circulated clandestine manuscript copies of them under the title Anthologia Inedita (Hutton, 38n1). Thus, although the manuscript was sent to Rome in 1623, having been taken when Heidelberg was sacked during the Thirty Years’ War, it is likely that the university professors and scholars were acquainted with it. In the Palatine Anthology, the epigram of the sleeping Cupid stands for the fire of love, which can never be extinguished, not even by the waters of reason. Another emblem depicting a sleeping Cupid, probably inspired by the same source, is in Jakob Bornitzs Emblematum sacrorum et civilium miscellaneorum, first published in Heidelberg in 1659 (fig. 3). Here, the motto “Non amor omnia vincit” reverses Virgil’s “Omnia vincit amor” (Eclogues 10.69), claiming that death defeats even love. None of these sources, however, refer to Hercules—neither as mighty nor as defeated, as stated in the epigram. Moreover, the figure of Hercules

has been a symbol of German autochthon since the time of Maximilian I, who portrayed himself as Hercules Germanicus!7—a model figure used by both Habsburg emperors and Protestant leaders (see, for example, Luther's condere in igne deus./Ne pueri placidum turbet manus improba somnum,/ERESTINA fovet, proque jacente ferit” (Hachenberg, 70). 15.

The manuscript was given as a present by Maximilian I of Bavaria to Gregory XV.

16.

“Here under the plane trees overcome with soft slumber slept Eros after giving

his torch in charge to the nymphs. Then said the Nymphs, to one another, ‘Why hesitate? Would that with this we had extinguished at the same time the fire of the heart of men. But when the torch kindled the very water, the water is hot that the amorous (?) nymphs pour thence into the bath” (Charles Knox Pooler, as in Shakespeare, 392-93).

17.

Foran overview of the cult of Hercules in Maximilian’s circle, and particularly its political implications, see McDonald.

Fig. 3. Jakob Bornitz, emblem 50 from Zacobi Bornitii LC. Emblematum Sacrorum Et

Civilium Miscellaneorum: Sylloge Prior [-posterior] (Heidelberg, 1659). (Image courtesy of the Rare Book and Manuscript Library, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, UIUC Online Collection.)

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alluding to the University of Heidelberg, through its connection, in wordplay, to the Ernestine duchy in which the University of Wittenberg is situated. The University of Wittenberg had served as the spearhead of the Reformation since Martin Luther wrote his Ninety-Five Theses there,

in 1517. This, it seems, hinted at the efforts undertaken by the University of Heidelberg—the birthplace of the Heidelberg Catechism, possibly the

most ecumenical of the Reformed catechisms and confessions (written in

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1563 and approved by the Synod of Dort in 1619)—to fashion itself as a center for the palatine churches. Concurrently, it had been just twenty years since the reopening of the University of Heidelberg, in 1652, by the elector Charles Louis (Charles's father), who had restored it as a Protestant institution and a leading Calvinist center after the Peace of Westphalia. Hence, both the academy and the Electorate of the Palatinate needed the peace and continuity that such princely nuptials might promise. Ernestina, the prince’s love interest and the embodiment of matrimony, could thus be interpreted as the guardian of the elector and the academy, as she, according

iii

= wo

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as

to the epigram, “embraces and punishes on his [Cupid’s] behalf, as he

Fig. 4. Andrea Alciato, emblem

109 from Emblematum liber (Augsburg,

courtesy of the University of Glasgow Libary.)

1534). (Image

depiction by Hans Holbein the Younger [c. 1519]). Thus, the Sleeping Cupid emblem could be interpreted as a symbol for a prince defeated by love.'* The image of a sleeping figure, however, refers also to academia. In emblem 109 of Alciato’s Emblematum liber, the figure of a sleeping scholar can be found in front of a tree on the right side of the pictura (fig. 4). Behind him stands Mercury, and over him, holding a scepter, is Juno. Behind Juno

stands Minerva, wearing a garland and holding a book under her right arm, and behind her is Venus, whose raised right arm holds a heart over a fountain. The motto reads, “In studiosum captum amore” [A scholar in the toils of love], and the epigram explains that love defeats even great scholars. In accordance with the Heidelberg epigram, which states that “the god rejoices to hide himself from his own fire [of love]? Cupid, the embodiment

of “love conquers all? triumphs over both the Prince

(Hercules Germanicus)

and the Scholar (Mercury). However, Hercules is not the only figure to have been endowed with twofold meaning—while the reference to Ernestina in the epigram certainly has significance in connection with the prince’s bride, Wilhelmina

Ernestina of Denmark,

18.

For the image of Luther as Hercules Germanicus, see Weber.

19.

“Seque suo gaudet condere in igne deus” (Hachenberg, 70).

it might also be

reclines.””° This rather intricate and elaborate emblem could only be understood and decoded by a careful examination of its three parts. From seventy feet below, viewers could not read the epigram or see the pictura’s details; thus, it was not until the book’s reconstruction as text that the emblem could in fact function as an emblem, rather than as a mere decoration. Being the

first emblem and the first component in Hachenberg’s description of the arch’s first floor, it also plays the vital role of establishing the entire plan’s communicative agenda. The emblem of the Sleeping Cupid follows and develops the themes of Apollo and the wedding of Mercury and Philology, which Hachenberg had described before. It serves as an introduction and a key to the emblems and statues of the university founders, which come next. The two emblems on the lower part of the arch, for example, were meant to be understood in relation to one another, as each presented one facet of a common message: The first, on the left, shows two crossed laurel branches spouting flames, with the motto “Uno ardent igni” [They burn

with one flame] alluding to the marital union. The second, on the right, is Pegasus, accompanied by the motto “Non coelo propior alter” [No other closer to heaven], a reference to the academy (Hachenberg, 72). Significantly, these last two emblems each contained a motto and pictura but lacked epigrams. In comparison, the emblems on the lower part of the

city’s triumphal arch exhibited tripartite structure (Hachenberg, 75-84). 20.

“... ERESTINA fovet, proque jacente ferit” (Hachenberg, 70).

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The reason for this variance may have stemmed from a desire on the part of Hachenberg’s academic patrons to target the literati, who would have had no difficulty decoding these much simpler and more well-known emblems, even if only by their picturae and mottoes, both during the event and in the book?! In either case, I would argue that although the book presents an almost-exact reconstruction of the emblems in the event, until they were transcribed, printed, and published in Hachenberg’s account, the full meaning of each emblem, as well as the emblematic plan in its entirety, could not be fully comprehended.

ef

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New Construction

ri)

A tableau vivant presented in Antwerp offers an entirely different, even contrasting, example of the use of emblems in festivals and the degree to which their presentation in live events and books can differ. The twelfth monument created for the entry of the archdukes Albert and Isabella into Antwerp in 1599 was a tableau vivant with a papier-mâché statue of the Gallic Hercules, by Cornelis Floris.” Floriss monumental figure is seated on a high pedestal or throne and surrounded by actors personifying the eighteen provinces of the Netherlands, which are identified

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by their shields (fig. 5). Above is the inscription “Non armis opus” [There

21.

—

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is no need for weapons]. Below, several of Hercules labors are depicted on the stage’s pedestal. The tableau vivant is a form from which movement and speech are generally absent. Therefore, the incorporation of text into these scenes, as Stijn Bussels rightly argues, can be seen as parallel to contemporary emblematic literature (81). Just like in emblem books, the text, inserted into these living pictures by means of a cartouche or an inscription, needed There are numerous examples of these emblems. For the two-branches emblem,

see, for example, Camerarius, 35, emblem 33; and Bornitz, 44-45, emblem 22. For Pegasus on Parnassus, see, for example, emblem 93 in Rollenhagen. Pegasus

on Mount Parnassus appears also in other festival books, often in the company of the Muses. See, for example, Der Minervae Banqvet, Welches zu sonderbaren Eh-

ren/ auff den LXXVII. Geburts-Tag Des... Herrn Augusti/ Hertzogs zu Brunswyg und Lunäburg/ Nemlich den 10. Aprilis, def 1655. Jahrs zu halten bestimmet

geworden/ Aus Ursachen aber bif auff den 1. May . . verschoben/ und ins Werck gestellet worden; and Von Himmeln Entzündete Und/ Durch Allgemeinen Zuruff

Der Erde/ Sich Himmelwerts Erschwingende Frolockungs-Flammen Zu Hüchstfeyerlichster Begängnüff Def Hochzeitlichen Beylagers/ Beyder Allerdurchleuchtigsten Majestaten Leopoldi I. Rômischen Kaysers …. [et]c. Und Margarite, Geborner Infantin Hispanien. [1656]. 22.

Stadsarchief Antweroen, PK. 1627 Albrecht en Isabell.

Fig. 5. Pieter van der Borcht, Typus Herculis Gallici, from Johannes Bochius, Historica narration... Alberti et Isabellae (1602). (Image courtesy of the Museum Plantin-Moretus/Prentenkabinet, Antwerp.)

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to be interpreted in conjunction with the image presented on the stage— either with or without the help of the actors. The connection between emblematic form and function has already been discussed by Rosemary Freeman, who argued that the English dumb show is in fact “only a more elaborate version of the pictures in an emblem book” (15). This same view is supported by Dieter Mehl and elaborated on by Peter Daly, who has added, more particularly, that the dumb show can be seen as the inscriptio to the pictura of the whole play (Mehl, 13-15; Daly, 170). In the example of Antwerp’s Gallic Hercules, not only can the stage be seen as drawing from emblematic form and structure, by establishing a similar relationship between text and image, but it can also be linked to a specific emblem. In fact, to decode the meaning of the stage, the spectators at the event would have needed to draw on emblematic practices as well as emblematic knowledge. The more learned audience members would have had no difficulty in doing so, as the stage clearly resembled Alciato’s emblem of the Gallic Hercules, which was, in turn, closely based on Lucian of

Samosa’ description of a statue he had seen in Gallia (Lucian, 1-3) (fig. 6).

The inscription “Non armis opus,” above the stage, faithfully conveys Alciatos motto, “Eloquentia fortitudine praestantior” [Eloquence superior to strength], and the colossal statue of the hero follows Alciato’s description of an older Hercules, who carries a club in his right hand and a bow in his left hand and has strings running from his mouth, connecting his tongue to the people's ears—a symbol of his powers of persuasion (Alciato 1591, emblem 180). Following the translation of Lucian’s book by Erasmus in 1506, the Gallic Hercules figure was adopted by both humanists and rulers as a representation of peaceful government and the power of persuasion (Vivanti; Hallowell). This new Herculean ideal was formulated primarily by Erasmus himself, in his Adagia (Adagiorum Collectanea, printed in 1500) and in his Education of a Christian Prince (1516), and then perpetuated in the self-fashioning of kings and rulers such as Henry IV of France or Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden (Vivanti; Wintroub, 46-49; PolleroR, 38-39). The trend toward viewing Hercules in a new light also led to a reinterpretation of his labors

as evidence of his wisdom and moral strength, and as a metaphor for the

princes wise governance, as presented by Alciato (emblem 137 (Leiden,

1591]).” The seven scenes depicting the labors on the stage’s pedestal must,

therefore, be read along the same lines. A depiction of the first labor, the slaying of the Nemean Lion, was placed on the right short side of the stage’s pedestal. The pedestal’s front held three 23.

See Erasmus, III.1.1.

Fig. 6. Andrea Alciato, emblem 180 from Emblemata (Leiden, 1591). (Image courtesy of the University of Glasgow Library.)

scenes: the second labor, the killing of the Hydra, on the right; the fourth labor, the capture the Erymanthian Boar, in the center (the third labor was

omitted); and a scene depicting Hercules fighting the Centaurs, on the left

(this is not another labor in itself but part of the story of the Erymanthian Boar). The back of the pedestal displayed only one scene: the struggle between Hercules and the giant Antaeus, which, again, is only a part of the story of the Hesperide Apples. Finally, on the left short side was the

capture of Cerberus, the twelfth labor (Bochius, 268). Two conclusions can

be drawn from this arrangement: First, the pedestal depicts specific scenes that encompass only four labors and two related stories. Second, because the sequence of scenes is interrupted and does not allow for continuous

viewing all around

the stage, the presentation

of Hercules’s labors was

intended not to be delivered as a narrative but, rather, to convey a specific

170

meaning.” I propose, therefore, to consider the six scenes on the pedestal, together, as an epigram, whose double function, paraphrasing Schòne, is to offer a more elaborate description of the figure of Gallic Hercules and to portray it as “beyond itself” as a res significans (Schone, 22). Reading the labors as an epigram requires one to begin with the three scenes at the front, where the spectators would be standing as they arrived at the stage from Suerstraet.” Here, we see the killing of the Hydra on the right, with the inscription “Principiis obsta scelerum, nascuntur ab uno Plurima” [Distance yourself from the source of crime, from which many grow]. In the middle is the capture of the Erymanthian Boar, with the motto “Affectus domat Alcides” [Alcides’s grandson tames the urges]. And

finally, on the left, is Hercules fighting the Centaurs Chiron and Pholos, accompanied by the inscription “Motusque refrenat Imperio virtutis” [And the turmoil he [Hercules] controls through the power of Virtue]

(Bochius, 268). Both the composition of the scenes and their thematic connotations position the middle scene (the Erymanthian Boar) as the central subject: the power of Hercules lies in his ability to govern animal urges. Giving into these urges leads one to commit crimes, initiating a cycle that, as demonstrated by the Hydra, will ceaselessly perpetuate itself, no matter how forcefully it is disrupted. Hercules’s wisdom, therefore, lies in defeating evil by attacking its roots (i.e., the body of the Hydra). The superiority of wisdom and virtue is further established on the back of the pedestal, with the depiction of the struggle between Hercules and Antaeus. The motto “Fraude reperta Vincitur Antaeus” [ Antaeus is defeated by a fraud revealed] denotes, again, the inferiority and deceptive nature of physical strength and, in contrast, the superiority of Hercules’s virtuous ways. Similarly, the inscription under the Nemean Lion, on the right short side, attributes the victory over the lion’s wild urges to the superiority of 24,

The “natural” progression of spectatorship, which would have gone across the stage either from right to left or from left to right, does not correspond with

the order of the story. The narrative order starts with the first labor, on the right short side (the Nemean Lion), and continues with the three scenes on front side (right to left: the Hydra, the Erymanthian Boar, and the Centaurs). After the

fighting with the Centaurs (on the left of the front side), however, the narrative

25. 26.

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the mind. As the inscription states, “Ratione furores Indomitos animi compescuit” [He tamed the wild passions of the soul by rationality]. The final labor—the capture of Cerberus—depicted on the left short side, promises that this path of wisdom and virtue has earned Hercules eternal glory, enabling him to surmount even death: “Se Gloria faucibus Orci liberat” [With Glory he releases himself from the jaws of Orcus] (Bochius,

268). nts: the Herculean stage as an emblem reveals a message that is much in line with Alciato’s Gallic Hercules, but that has been adapted here to apply specifically to the entering archdukes. The inscription on the gable is the motto, declaring that there is no need for weapons; the image of Hercules and the provinces presents an example of governing by persuasion; the epigram below concludes by advising future rulers to govern and control animal urges through wisdom rather than force. The underlying message is clear: these rulers should employ wisdom to bring peace to all eighteen provinces—both north and south. This reflected the city’s hopes that the appointment of Albert and Isabella, as the autonomous sovereign archdukes of the Seventeen Provinces of the Netherlands—after the turbulence of the Dutch Revolt, the Spanish Fury riots, and the Spanish

reconquest of Antwerp (1576-1585)—would, in the words of the city

council, restore Antwerp to “its former prosperity and unity.” Making these connections during the course of the event would certainly have been within the capabilities of the learned spectator, with a reserve of emblematic and humanistic knowledge from which to draw. The book, however, augments the meaning by adding, for example, that the image on the stage is based not only on Lucian’s Gallic Hercules but also on Musagetes—the leader of the Muses.” This image explains the motionlessness of Hercules and the personifications of the provinces, while the new image, the combination of Gallic Hercules and Musagetes, accentuates and advances even further the Erasmian advocacy for a government founded on wisdom. Although such details enhance the meaning of the emblem, we must conclude that during the event this

emblem would have been self-explanatory and legible, at least to educated and learned spectators, without help from the authors account.

continues at the back of the stage (the struggle with Antaeus), and only then goes back to the left short side, to the final scene (the capture of Cerberus). The previous monument was southeast from the Gallic Hercules stage, which

27.

“...wederom te sien in henne oude pros- periteyt ende eenicheyt ...

The Centaurs brought ruin upon themselves by failing to govern their own animal urges, and thus the inscription attributes to Hercules the ability to control

28.

345v. Bochius, 266. Bochius declares that the he relies on Suetonius (Suet. Aug. 29).

stood just before the entrance to the Grote Markt. them with the power of Virtue.

Stadsar-

chief Antwerpen PK 1661, Magistraatsboeken (1596-1599), register f. 346r—

172

Tamar Cholcman

EMBLEMATICA

Deconstruction

While the Gallic Hercules in Antwerp represents a new construction of an emblem—a translation, so to speak, of emblematic practices into a form more suitable to live staging—another Hercules, in Lisbon, represents a practice of a different type: a deconstruction of the emblem’s tripartite structure. As in the two previous cases, we rely here on the book, most probably written by the planner, arranger, and organizer of Philip III’s entry into Lisbon in 1619: the Portuguese court historian Joao Batista

Layanha.” The triumphal arch for the entry, erected by Italian merchants (fig. 7), featured the papal triple crown, with crossed keys at the top; below was a picture of the Capitoline She-Wolf (Lupa capitolina) with Remus and Romulus; on the left were the statues of Janus, whom the Romans had considered to be their first king, and Aeneas, the progenitor of the first

emperors. On the right were Julius Caesar and (Gaius Octavius) Augustus,

and below, leaning against the pilasters on the second floor, were the of Vespasian,

Antoninus

Pius,

Trajan,

and

Marcus

Aurelius.

Between them, above the archway, was a depiction of King Philip III, with a personification of Italy offering him a cornucopia. An inscription above the painting dedicated it to “Catholico Hispaniarum Monarchae, Amplissimo Novi Orbis Imperatori” [The Catholic monarch of Spain, and to the great emperor of the New World] (Lavanha, 32). The inscription beneath it, which is only partially recorded in the illustration, promised the king the loyalty and fidelity of Icaly.* The two pictures on either side of this painting depicted the expulsion of the Moriscos, as decreed by King Philip ΠῚ on 9 April 1609.*! The upper part of the arch unambiguously proclaimed Philip’s greatness as the Catholic King and the Protector of the Faith, to whom Italy—descendant of the Roman Empire and home to the Holy See—had declared its allegiance. On

OL

IS cr τες» ὅσσαι

the lower part of the arch were two city views, commemorating

29. — Lestablished Lavanha’s role as author and organizer of the Lisbon entry in Cholcman 2011, 42.

30.

“En esta rica cornucopia os ofrece Italia las riquezas, i coraçones de sus habitado-

res, en los quales vereis, o gran Rey, no ser desigual su fidelidad a la Española” [In

this rich Cornucopia Italy offers you the riches and heart of its inhabitants, in

which you will see, O great King, [that] they are no different from the Spanish] (Lavanha, 32). 31.

Onthe left, they are seen boarding in Spain, and on the right, they are seen arriving in Africa.

7

Philips successful acquisition of the North African ports of Larache ‘

ERS DE τόνε PALIAROR

=—

statues

Fig. 7. The Italian Triumphal Arch, from Lavanha, Viage de la Catélica Real Magestad del Rei D. Felipe III (1622), 32v. (Image courtesy of the Biblioteca Nacional, Madrid. Sala Cervantes, R/6057.)

173

174

EMBLEMATICA

Tamar Cholcman

(1610), depicted on the left, and Mamora (1614), depicted on the right.” Two emblems were placed beneath: on the right, under Mamora, was an emblem of Apollo killing Python, with the motto “Optata salus” [Desired health], and on the left, below Larache, was Hercules, clearly recognizable by his club and the lion’s skin, fighting Cerberus, with the motto “Irritus custos” | Useless guard]. In contrast with the emblems in Heidelberg, or even Antwerp, the emblems of Philip III’s entry into Lisbon, in their ephemeral form, consisted only of picturae and mottoes. Only in the book did they receive explicatory epigrams. The epigram for the Hercules emblem reads,

into “appetitus qualitatis,” “appetitus quantitates,’ and “appetitus quanti continui.”** The interpretations of de’ Bambaglioli and da Pisa are founded on the commentary of Pietro Alighieri, Dante’s son, who, referring to the

Hercules represented his majesty, as victorious over the dog Cerberus, guardian of Hell, with his three heads, which, as the poets said, were the

signifiers of the three vices, Gula (gluttony), Luxuria (lust) and Avaritia

(avarice) [whose] three-virtue counterparts—Parsimonia, Continentia and Liberalitas—shine from within the King our Lord, with many other [virtues].#

The three moral vices are contrasted against princely virtues proclaiming King Philip as worthy and able to act as protector of the faith and leader of the Catholic empire. Thus, although the overall meaning of the emblem could have been gleaned from just the pictura and motto (i.e., in its ephemeral form), the significance of Cerberus’s three heads is suggested only by the textual aid offered in the epigram, which appears in the book

alone. The reader (rather than the viewer) is referred to Dante’s Inferno, for example, where Cerberus is the guardian of the Circle of Gluttons (canto

6.13-27).

Dante commentators, such as Guido da Pisa, explained further that

Cerberus had in fact assumed upon himself the forms of the of the condemned (da Pisa, 119, canto VI). The mentioning sparks from hell—Avarice, Envy, Pride” in verse 74 refers, Alberto Ferreiro, to Cerberus’s three heads (Ferreiro, 71).

vices and sins of the “three according to Graziolo de’

Bambaglioli, who preceded Guido da Pisa, explains Cerberuss

fourth circle of hell—which is guarded by Pluto (the master of Cerberus)

and dedicated to the avaricious and prodigal—speaks of the “three carnal sins, which are lust, gluttony, and avarice.”® When contrasting these three vices against parsimonia, continentia, and

liberalitas, which, again, can be found only in Lavanha’s record, it becomes clear that the allegory deals with political rather than moral virtues and vices. Parsimonia—as referred to by Cicero, Seneca, and other early writers, as well as Machiavelli—is wise, virtuous thrift and good parsimonious practice, which leads to properly restrained liberality (Cicero, 1.92; Seneca, 2.34; and Benner, 187). The virtue of continentia, self-control (the Greek enkrateia [ἐγκράτεια]), is the mastering of (one’s own) carnal urges, but also a condition for the government of others (Dorion, 125, 135-36). The specific choice of virtues and vices here may reflect the feelings of discontent in Portugal over Spain’s fiscal and economic policies, such as the creation of the Junta de Hacienda, whose duty was to find ways to increase Portugal’s financial contributions to the Spanish monarchy (Feros, 161; Sanz Hermida, 293). Accordingly, the emblem in its entirety may be interpreted not as general praise, or merely flattery of Philip as the virtuous Hercules, vanquisher of evil, but, rather, as a more specific call to restrain

Spain’s financial appetite. Similarly, the second emblem compares the king to the sun god Apollo, who is victorious over the personification of evil (Python). He is thus a remedy of sorts, an important player in achieving “desired health” (Optata

salus). Accordingly, the epigram centers on the need to end these times of darkness: Wanting to show that in the same way that the sun shines and rejoices with its rays, banishing Melancholy that is caused by darkness and by the humidity of the night, [all of which] the snake Python signifies; thus, the royal presence of your Majesty which was absent for thirty-six sad years, [a presence] so desired by the Portuguese, [a presence that did finally] disperse the fog, removing the darkness that covered this kingdom [and] brought

three-

headedness as resulting from the tripartite division of “appetitus gule” 32.

33.

175

For further reading, see de Bunes Ibarra and Garcia-Arenal; and Magnier, 49-

51.

“Hercules, que representava a su Magestad, vencedor del Can Cerbero, guarda

del Infierno con tres cabeças, como fingieron los poetas, significadoras de tres

vicios, Gula, Luxuria, i Avaricia, contrarios de tres virtudes, Parsimonia, Conti-

nencia, i Liberalidad, que en el Rey nuestro sefior con otras muchas resplende-

cen” (Layanha, 33).

34.

Graziolo de’ Bambaglioli, as in Guido da Pisa, XXVIII.

35.

“Et hec quantum ad licteram; quantum vero ad integumentum allegoricum auc-

tor hoc sensit, scilicet quod dicto de tribus vitiis incontinentie quasi ut de tri-

bus carnalibus, scilicet de luxuria, gula et avaritia cum prodigalitate coniuncta”

(Alighieri, vv. 97-130).

176

EMBLEMATICA it back light and joy, that with the sight of its Kings used to have, and the desired health, that was hoped to achieve from His Majesty its king.

Lavanha’ explanation in the book provides a specific meaning to what could have been otherwise interpreted during the event as a general invocation of the Christian prince. The “royal presence of your Majesty, which was absent for thirty-six sad years,’ refers to the long-awaited visit of the king since the death of Philip II, in 1598. In 1580, eighteen years before his death, Philip II had incorporated Portugal into the Spanish crown while preserving Portuguese independence rights (Nowell, 142-44). However, under the reign and administration of Philip III, this policy had changed, and Portugal was dominated and oppressed by the Spanish Empire. Portuguese commerce was especially affected after Philip III signed a twelve-year truce with the Northern Provinces (Holland), in 1609, granting them freedom of trade and allowing their expansion in East India (Israel, 37). In light of these developments, the Portuguese hoped that in his 1619 visit Philip ΠῚ would confirm the terms of the Estatuto de Tomar (November 1582), in which Philip IT had guaranteed the privileges and autonomy of Portugal (Olival, 31-32; Sanz Hermida). These hopes were nevertheless accompanied by skepticism, and even objections to the visit, by some of the governing cémaras, who foresaw only excessive expenses and no real gain (Sanz Hermida, 293). Both the Hercules and the Apollo emblems address these worries and feelings of mistrust by attributing specific vices to the mythological beasts, as well as a special degree of virtue to the king—the virtue the Portuguese expect him to show during his reign. However, it is probable that most viewers would have encountered these emblems in their ephemeral contexts only, meaning they would have understood them as depictions of Philip III achievements in the war against the Muslims and of his greatness as emperor of the New World. Only by reading the book is it possible to access this other dimension, in which the focus shifts to more-pressing and immediate worries in Portugal, such as the restoration of Portugal privileges and right to self-governance by diminishing Spain’s involvement in and exploitation of Portugal's economy and trade. Deconstructing the emblem’s tripartite structure—namely, omitting the epigram when the emblem is used in 36.

“Queriendo mostrar, que como el Sol alumbra, i alegra la tierra con sus rayos,

desterrando della la Melancolia, causada de la escuridad, i humedad de la noche, significada por la serpiente Python, assi la Real presencia de su Magestad tan des-

seada de los Portugueses, de la qual avia treinta i seis afios que con suma tristeza

carecian, ha desehecho las nieblas, quitando la escuridad que cubria a este Reyno, reisituyendole la luz, i alegria, que con la vista de sus Reyes solia tener, i la desseada salud, que de la de su Magestad, Rey suyo espera conseguir.” (Lavanha, 33)

Tamar Choleman

177

ephemeral contexts—provides the reader (as opposed to the spectator) not only with a more comprehensive understanding but also with an entirely different reading, on account of the emblem’s completeness in book form. In Lavanha’s record, the emblems become critical (and critiquing) components, albeit accessible only to the literati in their private sphere. We can assume that this somewhat subversive interpretation was directed at them specifically, and that, more poignantly, it was formed through the deconstruction of the emblem in its ephemeral state, providing its complete configuration only in the enduring literal form. Conclusion

The presence of emblems in the ephemeral architecture of the triumphal procession and its pictorial imagery demanded a viewing practice of a different kind. The study of emblems requires patient consideration and studious reflection on a broad body of knowledge, practices that do not lend themselves to the crowded, rushed viewing experience of a public celebration. The creation of festival books based on the pictorial programs of such events allowed literati to linger on the subtleties of emblem interpretation in a private space and, using the books’ textual descriptions, reconstruct the emblems from their ephemeral forms, which relied heavily

on images and short, concise phrases.

Within the civic festival’s ephemeral architecture, however, emblems could convey meaning in several ways. Although the emblems on the Heidelberg arch seem merely to have been reproduced in the book—representing to the reader exactly what was presented during the event—the emblems can only truly be seen, or read, in the book. Because of their high positioning, one can even argue that they were excluded from the public sphere, functioning more as ornaments.

In Antwerp, a different strategy was used: the Gallic Hercules presented a new construction of Alciato’s emblem, translating it, so to speak, into a ‘living picture”—a tableau vivant—with a motto, a living pictura, and carefully chosen and arranged paintings whose meaning constituted an epigram. Although everyone could see the stage, only those trained in and familiar with emblematic practices could have grasped its full meaning— namely, that to lead all the provinces, south and north, back to peace, a leader must possess Herculean wisdom and use it to control and fight the evil compulsions of both sides. the emblem was The case of Lisbon presents a third variant: deconstructed, and its constituent elements were divided between the public and the private spheres. In the version used during the event itself,

178

EMBLEMATICA

Tamar Choleman

we find only the pictura and motto, whose combined message is rather ordinary, praising the king as the champion of the Christian faith and the empire. A few months later, another, more subversive interpretation is suggested in the emblem’s book form. The meaning of an emblem lies not in any of its isolated components but, rather,

in the

intersections,

references,

and

subtexts

suggested

by

the interplay of the constituent parts, which only together can form the whole. In civic festivals, the whole—the complete emblem—was not always present. The adaptation of emblems for ephemeral and permanent contexts (i.e., for festival architecture and, later, for festival books documenting such events) often involved a process of deconstruction and reconstruction: the creation of a distinct structure for the physical-temporal event itself, which presented only one or two of the emblem’s components, and another for the book, which contained the epigram, with or without the other components. I propose that the use of emblems in the contexts described in this article has generated the need for yet another—a third—sphere of viewing: the private sphere, which itself can be seen as the final element of a unique scholarly-humanistic tripartite cycle. This tripartite cycle is formed by the event, the book, and the emblems’ intended audience, all of which are inseparably linked. First, the event provides both a public sphere of viewing and a private sphere (within the event itself), a space in which learned spectators can arrive at a preliminary understanding of the emblems. Second, the book supplies the emblems’ missing parts, allowing them to be reconstructed and interpreted in their entirety, this time in the privacy of the scholars’ study. Third, and finally, the literati, who were both spectators at the events and readers of the subsequent printed descriptions, served as the emblems’ intended audience. Thus, not only did this tripartite cycle form the basis for comprehensive interpretation of civic-festival emblems; it also established a unique connection between public events and humanistic practices. Works Cited Alciato, Andrea. Emblemata. Leiden, 1591. . Emblematum liber. Augsburg, 1534.

Alighieri, Dante. The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri. Vol. 1, Inferno. ‘Trans. Courtney Langdon. Cambridge, Ma., 1918. Alighieri, Pietro. Comentum super poema Comedie Dantis (IIT red.). Rome, 2006.

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Boker, Hans J., and Peter M. Daly, eds. The Emblem and Architecture: Studies in Applied Emblematics from the Sixteenth to Eighteenth Centuries. Turnhout, 1999. Bornitz, Jakob. Jacobi Bornitii LC. Emblematum Sacrorum Et Civilium Miscellaneorum: Sylloge Prior [-posterior]. Heidelberg, 1659. Bunes Ibarra, Miguel Angel de, and Carmen Garcia-Arenal. Los españoles y el norte de Africa, siglos

XV-XVIII. Madrid, 1992.

Bussels, Stijn. “Powerful Performances. Tableaux vivants in Early Modern Entries in the Netherlands.” In Le tableau vivant ou l'image performée, ed. Julie Ramos and Léonard Pouy. Paris, 2014. Pp. 71-92. Camerarius, Joachim. Joachimi Camerarii Medici, V. Cl. Symbolorum Et Emblematum Centuriae Tres. I. Ex herbis & stirpibus. IL. Ex animalibus quadrupedibus. III. Ex. volatilibus & insectis, Heidelberg, 1605. Capella, Martianus. The Marriage of Philology and Mercury. Vol. 2 of Martianus Capella and the Seven Liberal Arts, trans. William Harris Stahl, Richard Johnson, and Evan Laurie Burge. New York, 1971. Cholcman, Tamar. “The Merchant's Voice: International Interests and Strategies in Local Joyeuse Entrée. The Case of Portuguese, English and Flemish Merchants in Antwerp (1599) and Lisbon (1619).” Dutch Crossing: A Journal of Low Countries Studies 35.1

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Daly, Peter M. Literature in the Light of the Emblem: Structural Parallels Between the Emblem and Literature in the Seventeenth Centuries. Toronto/Buffalo, 1998.

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Der Minervae Banqvet, Welches zu sonderbaren Ebren/ auff den LXXVIL

Geburts-Tag Des . . . Herrn Augusti/ Hertzogs zu Brunswyg und

Lunäburg/ Nemlich den 10. Aprilis def 1655. Jahrs zu halten

bestimmet geworden/ Aus Ursachen aber δὴ auff den 1. May . . . verschoben/ und ins Werck gestellet worden. Wolffenbiittel: Sterne, 1656.

Dorion, Louis-André. “Plato and Enkrateia.” In Akrasia In Greek Philosophy: From Socrates to Plotinus, ed. Pierre Destrée and Christopher Bobonich. Leiden, 2007. Pp. 119-38. Erasmus, Desiderius. The Adages of Erasmus. Ed. William Watson Barker. Toronto, 2001.

Feros, Antonio. Kingship and Favoritism in the Spain of Philip III, 15981621. Cambridge, 2006. Ferreiro, Alberto. “Simon Magus, Dogs, and Simon Peter.” In The Devil, Heresy and Witchcraft in the Middle Ages: Essays in Honour of Jefferey B. Russell, ed. Alberto Ferreiro. Leiden, 1998. Pp. 45-89. Freeman, Rosemary. English Emblem Books. London, 1948. Hachenberg, Paul. Kurtze vnd eygentliche Beschreibung Def jenigen, so bey der Verlübnus, Heimführ- und Vermählung Def Durchleuchtigsten Fürsten und Herrn, Herrn Caroli, Pfaltzgrafens bey Rhein... Mit der auch Durchleuchtigsten Fürstin und Frauen, Fraven Wilhelmina

Ernestina, Geborner Kénigl. Erb-Princessin zu Dennemarck, . . .

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Hallowell, Robert E. “Ronsard and the Gallic Hercules Myth” Studies in

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Hutton, James. The Greek Anthology in Italy to the Year 1800. Ithaca, 1935. Israel, Jonathan Irvine. “A Conflict of Empires: Spain and the Netherlands 1618-1648.” Past and Present 76 (1977): 34-74. Jouhaud, Christian. “Printing the Event: From La Rochelle to Paris.” In

Culture of Print: Power and the Uses of Print in Early Modern Europe, ed. Roger Chartier, trans. Lydia G. Cochrane. Cambridge, 1989. Pp. 290-334. Loach, Judy. “Architecture and Emblematics: Issues and Interpretation.” In Emblems and Art History, ed. Alison Adams and Laurence Grove. Glasgow, 1996. Pp. 1-21. Lavanha, Joao Baptista. Viage de la Catélica Real Magestad del Rei D. Felipe III N.S. Al Reino de Portugal, I Relaciôn de la Solemne recibimiento que en el se hizo. Su Magestad la mando escrivir por Ioan Baptista Lavaña su coronista mayor. Madrid, 1622. Lucian. Phalaris. Hippias or The Bath. Dionysus. Heracles. Amber or The Swans. The Fly. Nigrinus. Demonax. The Hall. My Native Land. Octogenarians. A True Story. Slander. The Consonants at Law. The Carousal (Symposium) or The Lapiths. Trans. Austin Morris Harmon. Loeb Classical Library 14. Cambridge, 1913. Magnier, Grace. Pedro de Valencia and the Catholic Apologists of the Expulsion of the Moriscos: Visions of Christianity and Kingship. Leiden, 2010. Manning, John. The Emblem. London, 2002. McDonald, William C. “Maximilian of Habsburg and the Veneration of Hercules: On the Revival of Myth and the German Renaissance.” Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies 6 (1976): 139-54. Meadow, Mark A. “Met geschickter orderen: The Rhetoric of Place in Philip Ils 1549 Antwerp ‘Blijde Incomst.” The Journal of the Walters Art

Gallery 57 (1999): 1-11.

Mehl, Dieter. The Elizabethan Dumb Show: The History of a Dramatic Convention. London, 1965. Nowell, Charles E. À History of Portugal. New York, 1952. Olival, Fernanda. D. Felipe II de cognomen Ὁ pio.’ Lisbon, 2006. PolleroR, Friedrich. “From the Exemplum Virtutis to the Apotheosis:

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Sepulchral Space in Villamediana and Vaenius LETICIA MERCADO Colby College

This study reads the textual construction of the sepulchral space in two ekphrastic sonnets by Villamediana (c. 1629) in the light of

three emblems in Otto Vaenius’s Quinti Horatii Flacci Emblemata (1607). Text-monument and emblem represent the tomb as the boundary where poetic voice and implicit reader confront the limits of language. Paradoxically, the site of death becomes a locus where the voice of fame proclaims the perfections of the virtuous soul and its defeat of silence. Ekphrastic text and emblematic image unite in defense of virtus inconcussa in the context of the culture of CounterReformation Europe.

[: sonnets 199 and 313, two ekphrastic texts dedicated, respectively, to the monuments of Pope Paul V and Saint Paul, Juan de Tassis y Peralta, Count of Villamediana (c. 1582-1622), depicts the tomb as a spatial boundary where poetic voice and implicit reader confront the Derridean limits of language. This study proposes a reading of Villamediana’s textual construction of the sepulchral space in the light of its representation in one of the most influential books of emblems in early modern Europe, Quinti Horatii Flacci Emblemata, by Otto Vaenius (Otto van Veen, 15561629), first printed in Latin (Antwerp, H. Verdussen, 1607 and 1612),

and reprinted in subsequent editions throughout the seventeenth century, including several translations into Spanish. 1,

The complete title of the first edition is Quinti Horatii Flacci Emblemata insignibus in aes notisque illustrata [Emblems of Quintus Horatius Flaccus illustrated

185 Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image, vol. 2. Copyright © 2019 by Droz & Emblematica. All rights reserved.

186

Born in Lisbon, where his parents had relocated to follow King Felipe II,

Villamediana was essentially “a poet at court” (De Armas, 61). His first

sonnets appeared in 1599, after the king’s death, but most of his works were published posthumously in Zaragoza in 1629. Villamediana’s poetic production has often been read through a biographical lens, especially due to a certain fascination about his life, which was marked by “events that seesaw from favor to disgrace in the political and amorous arenas and lead from glory to exile to triumphant return to ignominious death? Villamediana was one of the most widely read poets of early modern Spain, praised in his time by authors such as Baltasar Graciän and Luis de Géngora, of whom he has often been called a literary disciple. Ranging from love sonnets to mythological, sacred, satirical, and funerary compositions, from classical and erudite forms to popular meters, his output has been described as a synthesis of the main poetic currents of his time, both thematically and formally (Ruiz Casanova, 25-27). In sonnets 199 and 313, Villamediana’s descriptions of tombs are, as much of his love poetry, deeply intertwined

with emblems and critical notes]. According to Sebastian Lopez, the emblems were designed by Vaenius and his brother, Gisbert; according to Praz, they are the work of Boél, Cornelius Galle, and Pierre de Jode (Sebastiän Lépez, 8).

Other printings of this book include a polyglot edition, with text in Spanish

by Diego de Barreda (Antwerp, 1612), and several Spanish editions, such as the one printed by F. Foppens in Brussels in 1669 and 1672, under the title Theatro moral de toda la Philosophia de los antiguos y modernos, con el Enchiridén

de Epicteto, obra propia para ensenanza de Reyes y Principes [Moral theater of all ancient and modern philosophy, with Epictetuss Enchiridion, proper work for the instruction of kings and princes], and the editions by H. and C. Verdussen in

Antwerp, in 1701 and 1733, the latter published by H. Verdussen’s widow, un-

with the concept of silence as a boundary in the poetic voice’s “dialogue” with a funeral monument.‘ Fernando Rodriguez de la Flor has argued that in Baroque visual culture, representation of sepulchral space, such as the space of the crypt, implies renouncing the ideas of continuity and progress that characterize a positive view of human history; in this sense, in the depiction of sepulchral space “el cuerpo humano, envuelto en su atmésfera de consuncién—llimese cripta o atatid—revela con fuerza la extincién del mundo, señalando el lugar expreso de su déficit” [the human body, wrapped in its atmosphere of consumption—whether it be called crypt or coffin—powerfully reveals the extinction of the world, signaling the express place of its deficit] (2007, 335).° The visual encounter with the tomb on the printed page—or in the reading of an ekphrastic poem that describes a tomb—places the implicit reader in a space that plunges into the future, working as a warning of the proximity of death. But, for reader and poetic voice alike, figuratively entering the sepulchral space implies a confrontation not only with the boundaries of time or human history but also with those of human speech. See Weich for a study of silence in Villamediana’s love sonnets.

5.

All translations are mine. The representation of sepulchral space in early modern Spanish poetry and visual art is a field yet to be explored, especially in theoretical terms. Τῆς relationship between death and space has been studied mostly in anthropology, in works such as Silverman and Small. On the “archaeology of death,’ see Lull and Picazo. For a fundamental bibliography on Baroque visual culture, see Diez Borque and Osuna; on “hieroglyphs of death” in Andalusian Baroque art, see Brown; see Sanchez Carmago on the representations of death

in Spanish painting. On funeral rites and monuments of queens and kings in Spain and Hispanic America, see, among others, Allo Manero; Escalera Pérez;

Jara Fuente; Gallego 1985; Mariazza; Minguez 1990, 1995, 2012, and 2014;

the Theatro moral from 1672 (Vives-Ferrandiz, 162). See Cacheda Barreiro, 73,

would be a difficult task. Some fundamental studies on Baroque visual culture

ἔν the changes that the original title of the book suffered in its different Spanish editions.

3.

187

der the title Theatro moral de la vida humana en cien emblemas, con el Enchiridén de Epicteto, y la Tabla de Cebes, Philésofo Platénico [Moral theater of human life in a hundred emblems, with Epictetus’s Enchiridion and the Tablet of Cebes, Platonic Philosopher] (see Minguez 2013 and Cacheda Barreiro for these data).

The Tabla de Cebes, which was first published in Spanish in 1532, accompanied

2.

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See Ruiz Casanova for these data. Some bibliographical studies of Villamediana

are Alonso Cortés; Astrana; Cotarelo; Rosales; Rozas 1964b; and Vossler. Relatively few studies have been published to date on Villamediana’s works; some are Arellano 1993; Candelas Colodrén; Costa Palacios; De Armas; Fucilla; Gherardi 2011a, 2011b, 2012a, 2012b, 2012c, and 2013; Kluge; Mata; Miñana; Navarro Duran; Rozas 1964a; and Weich.

De Armas, 61. Villamediana was assassinated on the streets of Madrid in 1622.

Nüñez Rodriguez; Rodriguez Moya ephemeral funerary architecture, see published to date on the relationship emblem in early modern Spain, and

and Minguez Cornelles; and Varela. On Soto Caba. Numerous studies have been between literature, visual culture, and the providing a complete catalogue of them

are Gallego 1984 (especially his chapter on ars moriendi and funerary monuments [140-50]); Pedraza 1978; and Fernando R. de la Flor 1995 and 2007. On the role of Baroque visual images in the education of princes, see Checa. On the relationship between literature and the emblem, see Campa; Daly 1998;

Egido; Maravall; and Praz. On Ceryantes’s works and the emblem, see, among

others, Arellano 1998; Bernat Vistarini; numerous studies by Cull, such as 1990,

1992a, and 1992b; Ledda; and Lokos. For bibliographies on emblems and early modern Spanish theater, see Bouzy; Brito Diaz; and Cull 1992c, 2016, 2017a, and 2017b.

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In Spanish Baroque poetry, the poetic voice’s encounter with the tomb often implies confronting the death of human language: the contemplation of the monument—in the case of the implicit reader, the formation of a mental image—triggers an awed silence, or “pasmo” which, according to Tesauro, is triggered by an artistic experience in which the mind is “somewhat suspended and astonished” (J/ cannocchiale aristotelico [The Aristotelian telescope] [1654], ch. 15). The ekphrastic text then manifests the “positioning of a ‘figuration of silence’ at a liminal juncture between two distinct spheres” (Benthien, 276)—namely, voice as life and incarnation of presence versus silence as death and absence. The silence engendered by the ineffable is paradoxically canceled by the very presence of a poetic voice, which

makes

manifest the “message”

of the tomb, often the panegyric

praise of the virtue of the deceased, or a general defense of virtue. In this context, the tomb becomes a key element not only in textual but also in visual representation: located at the unstable boundary between presence and absence, noise and silence, the “site of death” becomes an inhabitable space, the locus where the reader can be confronted with a moral lesson pertaining to virtue and salvation.

In the Baroque ekphrastic description of tombs and other funerary artifacts, the poetic encounter with the monument often links voice and silence to the concepts of life and death in the figuration of the voice of Fame, the voice of the tomb (or the statues that decorate it), or the voice

of the person buried inside of it, a tradition inherited from the early uses of ekphrasis in epigrammatic poetryf Funeral imagery is often employed as a rhetorical device for the self-exploration of the poetic voice in genres such as love poetry. In sonnet 237 (1629), Villamediana elaborates on the Petrarchan topic of silence through a series of funerary images that express a passion frustrated by the desengano del mundo {disillusionment with the world]: Silence, in your sepulcher I deposit hoarse voice, blind quill, and sad hand, so that my pain, given already to the winds and written on sand, does not sing in vain.

Leticia Mercado where today I surrender to more than reason, and will give to time all I take from myself. I shall limit desires and hopes, and in the orb of a clear disillusionment, I shall constrain my life within brief margins

so that no szares come to me from the one who tries to ensure my harm and caused such cautious flight. (Emphasis added)’

In the first quatrain, the poetic voice declares its intention to silence itself in view of the apparent futility of repeatedly announcing of its feelings, both in writing—because the exercise of poetic composition is a source of failure

and tiredness in the poet’s “blind quill” (“pluma ciega”) and “sad hand” (“triste mano”)—and verbally, as the poetic voice has so often sung its love, mostly “in vain” (“en vano”), that it became “hoarse” (“ronca”). The poet's art is thus destined to an ephemeral existence—hence the references to a

voice that the winds will take away and that, as if written on sand, is bound

to disappear. The silencing or repressing of passion is communicated by

means of a funeral image: silence is a “sepulcher” (“sepulcro”), in which dead

hopes can be deposited, or restrained. These connotations of reclusion and enclosure reappear in the second quatrain, where the poetic voice reclaims “tomb and death by forgetfulness” (“tumba y muerte de olvido”), as well as in the first tercet, where it announces, “I shall limit my desires and hopes” (“limitaré mis deseos y esperanzas”) and “I shall constrain my life within brief margins” (“margenes pondré breves a mi vida”).' The presence of these connotations of reclusion defends contention as morally convenient or necessary in view of the failure derived from making passion public. 7.

The Greek sepulchral epigram, “a verbal inscription on sculpture or tombstone” (Krieger and Krieger, 15), was related to prosopopoeia, which Heffernan defines as “the rhetorical technique of envoicing a silent object” (302). Therefore, it is

related to ekphrasis in what Mitchell considers its main utopic aspiration, “that

the mute image be endowed with a voice” (156).

“Silencio, en tu sepulcro deposito / ronca voz, pluma ciega y triste mano, / para

que mi dolor no cante en vano / al viento dado ya, en la arena escrito. / Tumba y

muerte de olvido solicito, / aunque de avisos mas que de años cano, / donde hoy

mas que a la razôn me allano, / y al tiempo le daré cuanto me quito. / Limitaré

deseos y esperanzas, / y en el orbe de un claro desengaño, / mérgenes pondré breves a mi vida, / para que no me venzan asechanzas / de quien intenta procurar mi daño / y ocasioné tan provida huida.” Only a few of Villamediana’s sonnets have been translated into English, in anthologies such as Cobb's. Since I have been

I request the tomb and the death of forgetfulness, even when my hair is turn grayer due more to warnings than to my years, 6.

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ὃ.

unable to find translations for the sonnets analyzed in this article, I provide my own prose versions of all original sources. Bergmann identifies a similar metaphoric scheme in the sonnet-epitaph that Luis de Géngora wrote to the tomb of El Greco (1975, 161-63). This study

cites from Ruiz Casanova’s 1990 edition of Villamediana’s complete poems.

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The sonnet articulates the spatialization of silence: it turns into a locus where language can be kept, metaphorically killed, or neutralized. This technique is also employed in love sonnet 69 (1629), where the poetic voice refers to a lover crying in vain on the beloved’s tomb, conceptualized as a space where language comes to die: On this marble, deaf to your complaints, and already a pyre of aromatic rages, liquid rays from your eyes run, pearls you let loose in weeping. (Emphasis added)?

Referred to as the metonymical “marble” of verse 1, the tomb nullifies or voids all verbalization of pain by the poetic voice. Both as a metonymy for the deceased beloved, silenced by death, and as inanimate matter, the tomb is unable to respond to complaints uttered by the lover, whose entreaties find their boundary on the materiality of the tomb itself (as marble cannot be anything but deaf), a closed threshold that speech cannot cross. Villamediana’s “physical” containing of silence within the sepulchraltextual space is a device for the expression of the failure of language in the face of human mortality. The poetic voice seems to imply that if death overpowers language, then the latter must also be put to death, locked up in a tomb of silence, where all verbalization of pain can be abandoned. The text connects to the epitaphic tradition in that language is reanimated in every reading of the poem, just as in the reading of the inscription on a tombstone (Clymer). In these readings, the voice of the text-monument gives the reader a moral warning of the futility of the expression of passions, as in sonnet 237, or reminds the reader that virtue is the only path to salvation, in sonnets 199 and 313. In parallel to the poetic depiction of the tomb as boundary, the representation of the monument in seventeenth-century emblem books can be described as one of Foucault’s heterotopias: in the picturae, the site of death is a virtual space located on the unstable edge of silence and noise, and visual cues are provided to situate the reader within its boundaries. Instances of such representations can be found in Otto Vaenius’s Quinti Horati Flacci Emblemata. First published in 1607 (Latin) and 1612

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Cacheda Barreiro comments, the book was a product of a culture that strove to combine the tradition of classical authors with the Christian morality of the Counter-Reformation (73-75), and so its relevance can be understood in the context of the great influence that Neo-Stoicism had in the moral philosophy of Baroque Spain." Quinti Horati Flacci Emblemata elaborates a series of reflections on vice and virtue in different aspects of human existence through the adaptation of mottoes from the works of Horace and other classical authors such as Seneca and Ovid (Lépez Poza, 151), often evidencing a concern with death;

in the 1607 edition, more than fifteen emblems reflect on human mortality and the passage of time.!! Three emblems in this edition—91, 96, and 98— make the tomb their conceptual axis.'* Emblem 91, “De rogo, non de domo extruenda senex cogitet” [Let the old man think about his epitaph and not about building his palace], functions as a reminder of the fragility of all

10.

9)

“Sobre este sordo mdarmol, a tus quejas / pira ya de aromaticos enojos, / corren liquidos rayos de tus ojos, / perlas que en Ilanto desatadas dejas.”

Different Neo-Stoic treatises were being read and translated in Spain at the time. Some examples are a translation of Epictetuss Enchiridion (c. AD 125)

by Francisco Sanchez de las Brozas (1523-1600), as Doctrina del estoico filésofo

Epicteto [Doctrine of the Stoic philosopher Epictetus] (1600), a Spanish version

of Justus Lipsiuss Politicorum sive civilis doctrinae libri sex [Six books of poli-

tics or civil doctrine] (Leiden: François van Raphelengen, 1589) by Bernardino de Mendoza (1540-1604), titled Los seis libros de las politicas o doctrina civil (1604), and a translation of Lipsius’s De Constantia libri duo [Two books on constancy] (Leiden: Christophe Plantin 1584) by Juan Bautista de Mesa (15471620), titled Libro de la constancia [Book of constancy] (1616); see Cantarino, 77-79; and Robbins, 41. In this sense, emblems were often ideal vehicles for what Baltasar Graciän (1601-1658) called “azucarar los desengaños” [sugaring disillusionments] (Εἰ Criticén, 1651, 1653, and 1657, discurso LV, I1:192), in line with the tradition of docere et delectare [reach and please].

11.

(polyglot), the book was reprinted in Spanish, by Francisco Foppens, as

Theatro moral de la vida humana (Moral theater of human life] (Brussels, 1669), a speculum principum [mirror of princes] dedicated to the queen regent of Spain, Mariana de Austria, and the future king, Carlos II. As

191

12.

This study cites from the 1607 Antwerp edition and reproduces images from

the 1612 reprinting, which seem identical to those in the 1607 edition. The corresponding emblem numbers in the 1672 Brussels edition have been provided. I have not been able to access the edition printed in Brussels in 1669, a copy of which is held at the Biblioteca Universitaria of the Universidad de Santiago de Compostela, Spain. The 1701 edition includes a prose explanation of each emblem, along with one written in verse, as well as Latin verses from diverse authors, intended to illus-

trate their meaning. On this book, see, among others, Sebastian Lopez 1983; and Lépez Vazquez 2013. For fundamental bibliographies on emblem books in

the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, see de la Flor 1995; Daly 1980, 1998; or

Villegas Jiménez 2012, among many others.

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193

human endeavor (fig. 1). The pictura introduces the motif of the tomb as a

foreshadowing of the metaphorical “ruina del edificio humano” [ruin of the human edifice] and as a warning about the necessity of renouncing worldly possessions and enterprises in order to prepare for death, within the idea of exercising virtue in life to obtain salvation. The subscriptio refers to the vanity of old age, which builds when death is at hand; the moral warning is based on the figurative identification of the implicit reader with the old man who, when death draws near, should worry only about building an eternal abode but who, nonetheless, “starts the building of a sumptuous Palace as his future abode when he ought to tend to the building of his sepulcher, where (despite his vain hopes) he will very soon be a stinking feast to disgusting worms.”'* In the pictura, an old man, heeding the admonishment of the subscriptio, supervises the construction of a stone sepulcher, paying little attention to the palace being built in the background. The tomb, the place where the soul will live eternally, surpasses any temporal abode in importance. The stone of which it is made reminds the reader of the stone used in the construction of the palace and its columns, evoking the close proximity between the cradle and the tomb or, in this case, between life’s pleasures (symbolized by the palace) and the eternal life of the soul, in the austere eternal home of the stone tomb. The sepulchral thus becomes liminal, and it is once again connected to silence and noise: in the landscape behind the old man, the reader can distinguish a finished tomb, in the middle of a graveyard, surrounded by trees, The implicit peace and quiet of the scene, which the reader can understand as perfectly silent, is set in contrast to the noise of the busy construction site, where, directly across from the graveyard, several human

figures endeavor to finish the building. The noise of the construction can almost be felt as a clear-cut contrast with the old man’s peaceful attitude and the nightly landscape in which the action is framed. Noise and silence underlie the scene, linking the tomb conceptually to a quiet space inhabitable by the soul, inclined to the eternal, rather than to ephemeral worldly noise. 13.

14,

This is emblem 95 in the 1672 edition, where it is entitled “Cuyde el viejo de la fabrica de su sepulcro, y no de su palacio” [Let the old man take care of the construction of his sepulcher, and not of his palace]. “comienza la obra de un sumptuoso Palacio para su futura morada; quando de-

biera cuydar de la fabrica de su Sepulcro, donde (a pesar de sus vanas esperanzas)

sera muy en breve, hediondo manjar de asquerosos gusanos” (190).

Fig. 1. Otto Vaenius, emblem 91 from Quinti Horatii Flacci Emblemata (Antwerp, 1612). (Image courtesy of Emblematica Online, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.)

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195

Even though it does not depict a sepulcher, emblem 28 (fig. 2) must be mentioned in this context because of its similar representation of the silence of virtuous endeavor at the boundary of the noise of the world. Titled “Nihil silentio utilius” [Nothing is more profitable than silence], the emblem portrays Harpocrates, worshipped by the ancients as god of silence, as the 1672 edition explains in the accompanying prose text: Although, actually, he was a Greek philosopher in whose school (as in Pythagorass) it was rigorously professed. He was depicted with a finger to his mouth, sitting between Wine and Wrath, as we see him here, to teach us that neither the secrets of Kings nor those of Friends must be revealed, and that they ought to remain under the seal of silence.'® The god is seated in the foreground, with a finger to his lips as an invitation

to silence, while holding the banner of military silence in reference to the Roman virtue of civic prudence (Pedraza, 42).!’ The background scene

narrates the story of the Roman child Papirius, who, taken to the Senate by his father and having heard its secret deliberations, lies to his mother

when she questions him on the subject, in order to protect those secrets

that should only be revealed in due time.'® However, while it is true that

this scene can be read as a commentary on the concept of the secrecy of the Senate, related to the idea of good government, it also functions as a 15.

This isemblem 29 in the 1672 edition.

16.

“Aunque realmente, fue este un Philésopho Griego en cuya escuela se professava rigurosamente, (como en la de Pithägoras). Pintavanle con un dedo en la boca, sentado entre el Vino, y la Ira; como aqui le veemos; para enseñarnos, que no se han de revelar los secretos de los Reyes, ni de los Amigos; y que han de quedar debaxo del sello del silencio.” (58) Muslow explains how Harpocrates was the name given by the Egyptians to the

17.

god Horus as a child, whom they often depicted with a finger to his lips. This

gesture alludes to the fact that he was a child, but it was interpreted by Plutarch, in “De Iside et Osiride” (Moralia, book V [c. 100 AD]), as a gesture of secretism that symbolized access to knowledge of the divine. Since then, the image of Har-

pocrates was linked to the concepts of esoteric silence and secretism. Hyppolit Von Colli (1561-1612) was the first to depict an image of the god with a finger to his lips “as a representation of sagacious conduct, on the frontispiece of his Harpocrates sive de recta silendi ratione [Harpocrates or of the eight reasons to be silent] (Leiden: Commelinus, 1603), which defends knowing when to keep quiet as the most useful strategy in public life, preferable even to “el buen decir”: “prudenti silentio nihil utilius” [to the wise person nothing is more profitable than silence] (16); see Muslow, 115-17. 18.

See Pedraza 1985, 42, for these ideas.

WY

jee —=

——

=

Fig. 2. Otto Vaenius, emblem 28 from Quinti Horatii Flacci Emblemata (Antwerp, 1612). (Image courtesy of Emblematica Online, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.)

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general conceptual frame in which silence is opposed

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197

to uncontrolled

passions: the group of women in the background is portrayed in an attitude of antagonistic confrontation.” The focus of this secondary narrative is its implied noise: the raised voices of the female figures symbolize wrath, as the accompanying text specifies. The emblem thus contrasts the background noise to the serenity of the god in the main visual narrative, whose attitude represents the correct path of temperance, which must be chosen despite

the constant noise and battle of the world. The topos of contemptus mundi [despising of the world] is emphasized in both emblems 91 and 28 through

a double frame, where the accessory narrative completes the main one by means of antithesis. Emblem 96 (fig. 3), “Nil aliud ac umbra atque flatus est homo” [The

human being is nothing more than shadow and breath],”° depicts a site of death that “astounds” on being entered because it presents to the reader’s eye the end of all temporal beauty. In the 1672 Brussels edition, the text elaborates, as emblem 91 did, on the topic of the fragility and futility of human endeavor, this time directing the reader’s attention in a sort of “indigitacion” (Vives-Ferrandiz, 57-59), or gesture of pointing, at the

presence of an urn containing the ashes of a woman who was known in life for her great beauty, implying the necessity of reflecting on one’s own death:

Consider attentively that small Crystal Vase on the entrance pillar. In it the cold ashes of the greatest beauty of her time are kept, and note that the graces

that captivate you and the perfections that you so much admire in the false Idol you worship must end the same way. And even if it is disagreeable to you, this obscure mansion of Ghosts and Visions, it still must be the Temple where the author of this life wants you to sacrifice some brief moments, on the consideration of Death?!

19.

Pedraza explains that these women have gone to the Senate to complain of its decisions, misled by Papirius’s lies.

20.

Thisisemblem 102 in the 1672 edition, where it is entitled “Advertid que somos polvo” [Note that we are dust].

21.

“Considera con atenciôn aquel pequeño Vaso de Cristal, sobre el pilar de la en-

trada, En él se conservan las frias cenizas de la mayor beldad de su siglo, y advierte

que en lo mesmo han de parar las gracias que te cautivan, y las perfecciones que tanto admiras en el falso Idolo que adoras. Y aunque te desagrade esta obscura mansion de Phantasmas, y Visiones; todavia ha de ser el Templo, donde el autor de la vida quiere que sacrifiques algunos breves ratos, a la consideracién de la Muerte.” (205)

Fig. 3. Otto Vaenius, emblem 96 from Quinti Horatii Flacci Emblemata (Antwerp, 1612).

(Image courtesy of Emblematica Online, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.)

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The idea of “pasmo” connects the image to the limit of language, which ceases at the contemplation of the material proof of the destiny of human beauty, the corruption of the body in the tomb. In his Discurso de la verdad (Discourse on truth] (1670), Miguel Mahara (1627-1679) also characterized the sepulchral space as triggering a sense of awe and amazement; the reference to its silence is a rhetorical strategy for the elaboration of a moral discourse along the lines of the topos of ubi sunt [where are they?]: “Look, what silence! One cannot hear a noise; only

the gnawing of woodworm and worm is perceived. And the racket of pages and footmen, where is it?”” If in Mañaras crypt silence reigns sovereign, interrupted only by the incessant labor of the worm, and can be “contemplated” (hence the common synesthesia “mira qué silencio”), Vaeniuss emblem emphasizes the visible darkness of the sepulchral space as a metaphor for the cessation of both human life and human speech. In emblem 96, the pictura directs the reader’s attention to the presence of the epitaphs inscribed on the tombs, almost invisible in the darkness. The

figurative reading aloud of the epitaphs by the implicit reader breaks the

silence of the crypt; now transformed into the voice of desengaño, the voice of the reader is the only “light” that can penetrate the scene. In this sense, the shadows that “astound” metaphorize the silence of the tomb: just as its darkness is broken by the reader-pilgrim who enters, throwing light on the funeral vases and sculptures, the implicit reader who decodes the epitaphs awakens them upon making them “speak”? The breaking of silence, enclosed within the sepulchral space, together with the contemplation of funerary artifacts and the darkness of the mausoleum, are the prerequisites for the activation of desengano. Silence offers to be trespassed, just as the crypt does; only then can both point us to the truth. Similarly, the reader of Villamedianas sonnets will “contemplate” the magnificence of the monuments described, which metaphorize that of the soul of the deceased,

and, through the decoding of the ekphrastic text, access truth.”

22. 23. 24.

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“Mira qué silencio! No se oye ruido; sélo el roer de las carcomas, y gusanos tan solamente se percibe. Y el estruendo de Pages y Lacayos dénde esta?” (8-9). On voice and inscribed epigrammatic text, see studies such as Clymer; or Bergmann 1979.

As Waters comments, in the Greek tradition of the epitaph, the concept of truth was inseparable from the tomb and consisted of the idea of voice as the keeping of remembrance: “Truth, in Greek is alétheia, ‘unforgettingness, [so] the stone guards the voice against forgetfulness” (113).

199

Finally, in emblem 98 (fig. 4), “Mors ultima linea rerum est” [Death is

the last limit of all things], the tomb is again the space where discourse ceases at the contemplation of human mortality and the radical emptiness and vanity of the world. The pictura manifests this liminality in its representation of the tomb; the implicit reader, placed within this site of death, becomes the feigned observer of a virtual space where it is possible to reflect on death while still occupying a real space, as reader of the material page. Figuratively standing at the edge of the tomb, the reader enters momentarily into a heterotopic space and faces the vanitas scene. The tomb contains a series of levels, or strata, of varying depth. Six putti holding “los simbolos de la prudencia, la templanza, la justicia, la fortaleza, la magnanimidad y la religién” [the symbols of prudence, temperance, justice, fortitude, magnanimity, and religion] hover over it in a cloudy sky (Monterroso Montero 2013, 113); inside the tomb lies the skeleton of a king, pope, or bishop, and attributes of power are scattered around it, as well as on a lower level. The image metaphorizes death spatially as a remote place that is reached through the passage of time—just as the reader must penetrate the scene in the pictura by traversing its different levels with the gaze—but that is not as distant as it may seem. The skeleton lies at the farthest edge of the tomb from the reader's perspective, and yet the latter is included as spectator of the scene from a high angle, almost from within the sepulchral area rather than outside of it. At the edge of the tomb, it is easy to observe its contents; the subscriptio conveys the moral lesson by equating the reader with the skeleton, as the first will inevitably become the latter in time. In the last two verses (“que τύ sers, lo que él es, / como él fue, lo que τύ eres” [that you will be what he is, / as he was, what you are]), the

skeleton becomes the mirror that reflects the ultimate truth, and the reader can figuratively exchange places with it, seeing him- or herself as a corpse.”® Otherness is visually canceled by this free access to the tomb, which is no longer the closed and secret space of the previous emblems but a locus that openly presents the reader with the truth of desengaño. Just as Villamedianas sonnet 237 constructs silence as space, Vaenius’s emblem 98 conceptualizes death in spatial terms: the identifi25. 26.

This is emblem 103 in the 1672 edition, where it is entitled “La muerte es el Ultimo término de todo.” Vives-Ferrandiz, quoting Paz y Miranda, highlights the fact that in the Baroque

imaginary the skull is “el espejo que nos devuelve la imagen y condicién de lo que

somos [y que por tanto] adquiere el status de retrato del espectador” [the mirror that returns to us the image and condition of what we are (and that therefore)

acquires the status of the spectator’s portrait] (105).

200

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201

cation “muerte—sepulcro—linea” [death—sepulcher—line] is established

already in the title, taken literally from verse 79 of Horace’s epistle 16, book I (Sebastian Lépez, 37). In this context, it is important to consider that in its etymological meaning the Latin word /inéa refers not only to a geometric line but also to a “término, limite,” in the sense of a limit or boundary. The architectural structure of the tomb in the pictura, ending in a wall crowned by cones, refers to the structure of the Roman Circus Maximus, in which the athletes had to reach a meta to win at the chariot races: “This line was the one drawn in plaster at the circus, close to which the judges were situated in order to see the first one who crossed it, and proclaim him winner. In the engraving this end has been indicated by means of the three obelisks in the background? Emblem 98 not only identifies death visually with the meta in a Roman circus; in the 1672 edition, the text resorts to the metaphor of the pillars of Hercules to elaborate a comment on the power of virtue. Just as the athlete only reaches the goal line through effort and skill, to then be deemed uictor [conqueror] by the judges, the Christian who arrives at the threshold of the sepulchral space, at which all human activity finds its end, will only be able to surpass it—that is, to obtain salvation and eternal life—by the exercise

of virtue:

With how much more truth and fundament than Hercules could he inscribe this one victor of the World on the columns of its boundary the zon plus ultra [no further beyond], as none passed on from it. Here all mortals end

their journey. Here all give up. And here is verified with evidence how the glory of this world passes. Let us consider, on the other hand, Virtue, which is the only one that passes this fatal limit, and how its origin is Heaven, where

27.

“Esta linea era la trazada en yeso en el circo, cerca de la cual se situaban los jueces del campo para ver al primero que la traspasaba y proclamarle vencedor. En el

grabado se ha señalado esa meta por los tres obeliscos del fondo” (Sebastian

Lépez, 37-38). The meta, “or turning point, in the form of large gilded bronze

Fig. 4. Otto Vaenius, emblem 98 from Quinti Horatii Flacci Emblemata (Antwerp, 1612). (Image courtesy of Emblematica Online, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.)

cones,” was situated at each end of the spina, “the 344-meter-long barrier along

the central axis of the circus” (Potter and Mattingly, 237). The idea of a meta as reward for virtuous endeavor is also found in emblem 15 (emblem number 9 in the 1672 edition), “Fructus laboris gloria” [Glory is the fruit of effort], in which

the pictura shows the same structure crowned by gilded cones, toward which “la inclinacién virtuosa” [virtuous inclination] runs, “despreciando noblemente

quantos trabaxos se le oponen por la gloria de llegar a la propuesta meta” [nobly

despising those opposing toils for the glory of reaching the proposed end]. I am indebted to Mercedes Blanco for the feedback received on this particular point

at the 2017 annual meeting of the Renaissance Society of America, Chicago, Ill, where this study was originally presented.

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Death has no Rule, showing itself triumphant over universal Tyranny, and shows us that only the inferior and corruptible side of Mankind perishes; and that the Superior one ought to dwell with it eternally, in Virtue of their good deeds.

The influence of Neo-Stoicism is evident in this insistence on virtue and “good deeds” (“buenas obras”) as the only paths that can guarantee the life of the soul after death; the Theatro moral is, after all, a speculum principum written to instruct not only the prince but also his subjects—along with the implicit reader—on the abhorrence of all vice and the necessity of avoiding passions (Minguez Cornelles 2013, 32).” In this sense, Vaenius follows the line of such Neo-Stoic works as Politicorum sive civilis doctrinae libri sex {Six books of politics or civil doctrine], by Justus Lipsius (15471606) (Leiden, 1589), a work that “se dirige al gobernante insistiendo en la ejercitacién de su virtud como clave para la eficacia politica” [is addressed 28.

“Con quanta mas verdad y fundamento que Hércules, pudiera gravar esta Vencedora del Mundo, en las Colunas de su Meta, e/ non plus ultra: pues ninguno pasé

della . . . . Aqui acaban todos los Mortales su carrera. Aqui se dan todos por

vencidos. Y aqui se verifica con evidencia, cémo passa la gloria deste Mundo.

Consideremos por otra parte ἐᾷ Virtud que es la tinica que passa deste término fatal; y como su origen es del Cielo, donde la Muerte no tiene Imperio; se muestra triumphante de la universal Tirania; y nos enseña que slo la parte inferior

y corruptible del Hombre pereze; y que la Superior ha de habitar con ella eter-

namente, en Virtud de sus buenas obras” (206, emphasis added). The subscriptio comments on the fact that a virtuous life is the only one that leads to eternal life. Villamediana’s sonnet 338 (1629) is the perfect materialization of this message, as a reflection on the vanity of human endeavors in view of the unyielding passage of time and virtue as the only means of transcendence. The poetic voice addresses a “you” that is supposedly observing (with him) a landscape of ruins

and sepulchers, as does the implicit reader within this “site of death” in a deictic gesture that aims at the elaboration of a moral lesson along the lines of desengaño in other Baroque poems on ruins, such as Rodrigo Caro’s (1573-1647) song on Itdlica. 29.

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In the 1672 edition of the Theatro moral, the prose explanation to emblem 17, “Ama la virtud por si misma” [Love virtue for its own sake], specifies that one

to the ruler, insisting on the practice of their virtue as key to political

efficiency] (Cacheda Barreiro 73-75).

The visual representation of the tomb as liminal space is still found at the end of the century in works such as Carlos Bundeto’s Εἰ espejo de la muerte [The mirror of death] (Antwerp, 1700), an ars moriendi [art of dying] aimed at instructing readers in the ways to prepare for a good death, through a series of reflections on Christ’s own passion and death. Two of the illustrations, by Romeyn de Hooghe, depict a funerary monument as a key element of the composition, The first image in the book (fig. 5) is an allegory of death represented as a skeleton holding a scythe and a winged hourglass, a symbol of the transience of life. Death is about to pound on the door of a mausoleum, which it reaches by stepping on another tomb, adorned with the painted scene of an entombment and covered with a series of scattered objects related to earthly power: weapons, banners, and pieces of armor.’! The skeleton’s gesture points at a stillness, which is about to be broken. The pictura situates the reader at an acoustic threshold; death’s imminent “wakeup call” is a warning of the proximity of Judgment Day. The tomb becomes the herald of truth, reminding the reader of the inevitability of death and the necessity of contrition.” The inscription on the lintel of the mausoleum confirms this: “[quemadmodum] statutum est hominibus semel mori, [ post hoc autem ludicium] This is a partial quotation from Hebrews 9:27, meaning, “[as] it is appointed unto men once to die, [but after this the Judgment].” A universally inescapable law, death is represented as the ultimate physical and metaphorical frontier, located at the edge of silence, 30.

resenting greed (this emblem is number 10 in the 1607 edition, titled “Amor vir-

tutis” [Love of virtue.]) On Vaenius’s book as exploration of the concept of “virtus

inconcussa,” see Lopez Väzquezs 2013; and Van der Poel. On Lipsius’s influence on Vaenius, see Minguez Cornelles 2013, 29; and Cacheda Barreiro, 75. According to Lépez Poza, Vaenius was a fervent admirer of Lipsius (151).

Cacheda Barreiro comments on the relevance of the works of Tacitus, who de-

fended “la virtus en el principado romano como sinénimo de valor y determi-

naciôn para preserver la libertad y dignidad personales” [virtue in the Roman

princedom as a synonym of valor and determination to preserve personal liberty

and dignity], and of Aristotle, for whom virtue and prudence were inseparable 31.

should value virtue and “las buenas obras” above fame and worldly possessions; the

pictura represents the wise man embracing virtue in the background scene, while in the main visual narrative Nemesis is scourging with her whip a group of men rep-

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32.

Monterroso Montero points out the presence of an emblem along the lines of Rollenhagen’s models, as well as the fact that the tomb establishes a visual parallel with the battle scene that is barely distinguishable in the background (2009,

65-66). The idea of desengaño del mundo [disillusionment with the world] implies that to obtain salvation one needs to reflect on the present state of one’s soul and act accordingly: “El prudente debe tener en cuenta el tiempo futuro, la muerte, para

acomodar el alma para su salvaciôn” [The prudent man or woman must take into account the future, death, to accommodate the soul for his or her salvation] (Vives-Ferrandiz, 41).

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where the implicit reader is placed in a scene frozen in time and embedded in a precarious silence, awaiting the noise of the skeleton’s knocking (or the angels trumpet) on the last day.” The techniques employed by Vaenius can illuminate Villamediana’s textual construction in that the latter is also based on the juxtaposition of silence and voice within the proximity of the tomb, in a liminal position between poetic language and the ineffable. Like Vaeniuss emblems, Villamediana’s representation of silence in spatial terms grants the reader access to a message of desengaño in the decoding of the ekphrastic text. The text-monument becomes the poetic counterpart of the emblem; the encounter with the tomb facilitated by ekphrasis also teaches that in the face of death, only the virtuous soul is triumphant. Villamediana’s sonnet 199 (c. 1629) manifests an interaction between

monument, poetic voice, and implicit reader that, read in the light of the

aforementioned emblems, constitutes a textual device to reinforce a similar moral message. The sonnet, dedicated to Paul V’s chapel in Santa Maria Maggiore, Rome, known today as the Borghese or Pauline Chapel, is a good illustration of a funerary ekphrasis, in which the tomb stands for “the limit of language play, and of operations of language as such” (Mills-Courts, 1), as well as for the origin of the silence of awe, or “pasmo”:* This sumptuous edifice and pomp, whose highness was built with such rightful zeal that in it the piety and greatness of its owner are shown to us, declared; where speech incredulous, stumbles and truth itself, as if astounded, suspends credence, and takes its admiration and richness for a dream;

applause is rightfully owed to the mausoleum

whose subject, prodigious in art, elevates judgment more than the eyes; Fig. 5. Carlos Bundeto, untitled image from E/ espejo de la muerte (Antwerp, 1700). (Image courtesy of Bayerische Staatsbibliothek München, shelfmark 4 Asc. 166, folio 8r, URN

33.

urn:nbn:de:bvb:12-bsb10222813-1.)

34.

Francisco de Quevedo (1580-1645) refers to it as a day of terrifying resonances in sonnet VIII: “Ya formidable y espantoso suena, / dentro del corazon, el postrer dia” [The last day sounds already, formidable and awesome, inside the heart] (1-2). Ruiz Casanova’s edition explains that Paul V was pope between 1605 and 1621, and that this sonnet was either written after Villamediana’s trip to Italy (c. 1615) or in 1621, the year of the pope’s death (278).

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but it comes to be only a humble place of an immortal work, and of a desire, where to deposit such remains.

The poetic voice is figuratively positioned in front of the monument, brought ad oculos by the use of the deictic “ésta” [this one] in verse 1, a commonplace of the ekphrastic genre, which aims at bringing together implicit reader and poetic voice as active participants in the artistic experience of “observing”

the monument. In Vaenius’s emblems this relocation of the reader in close proximity to the tomb is metaphorized in the contemplation of the pictura on the printed page and in the decoding of both motto and subscriptio. In sonnet 199, the identification between the artistic perfection of the tomb and the Pope’s virtue becomes manifest from the first quatrain, which elaborates a funeral eulogy by referring to the “pompa” and “alteza” [pomp and highness] of the monument, which are equivalent to that

of the deceased, hence the “justo celo” [rightful zeal] employed in its construction.** The monument is a successful mimetic endeavor: “en ella [the tomb] se os muestra declarada / la piedad de su dueño y su grandeza” [in it the greatness and piety of its owner is shown to us, declared] (emphasis added). This success is not only the result of the artist’s zeal: the adjective “declarada” [declared] implies a verbalizing along the lines of “speaking

out” (Webb, 7), linking it to the very essence of ekphrasis. Verse 3 confirms

the monument as a mimetic success; both the tomb and the text fulfill the ekphrastic objective of giving voice to a mute entity—achieved in the sonnet by the synesthetic combination of the visual (the tomb “points at”

or “shows” us a message through its material form) and the verbal (that

message is also “voiced” by the tomb through the channel of the poetic voice). The tomb is endowed with a voice even when it seems to be mere silent matter. 35.

36.

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“Esta maquina y pompa, cuya alteza / fue con tan justo celo fabricada, / que en

ella se nos muestra declarada / la piedad de su dueño y la grandeza; / donde el discurso incrédulo tropieza, / y la misma verdad, como asombrada, / el crédito suspende, y por soñada / tiene la admiracién y la riqueza; / aplauso es bien debido al mausoleo, / cuyo sujeto prodigioso en arte / ms eleva el juicio que los ojos; / pero de inmortal obra, y de un deseo, / sélo viene a quedar humilde parte

/ para depositar tales despojos.” The Diccionario de autoridades defines pompa as “el acompañamiento suntuoso, numeroso y de gran aparato, que se hace en alguna funcién, ya sea de regocijo, o fünebre” [the sumptuous accompaniment, numerous and of great artifice, which

is made in any performance, whether it be rejoicing or mournful] and mdquina

as “edificio grande y suntuoso” [a large and sumptuous building].

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And yet, as an artifact, the funerary monument is also humbled by such greatness; the panegyric is completed by means of hyperbole: the magnificent construction is not worthy of the human remains it contains (“it comes to be only a humble place where to deposit such remains” [“sdlo viene a quedar humilde parte / para depositar tales despojos”]). The tomb is the perfect vehicle for the transmission of a lesson on virtue, yet the second quatrain paradoxically characterizes it as a physical boundary, an obstacle to the operations of language that generates a silent feeling of awe: the monument is the place “where speech, incredulous, stumbles” (“donde el discurso incrédulo tropieza”) (emphasis added), an idea reinforced by hyperbole in verses 6-7. Like Vaenius, Villamediana spatializes silence, constraining it to the physical space where the tomb is located. The monument is where silence begins, and silence is multiplied as if in a game of mirrors: the silence of awe echoes that of death. The sonnet meets the traditional challenges of the ekphrastic tradition: the deictic function of language struggles to overcome a radical ineffability, where the poetic voice refers to a reduction to silence triggered by the artistic experience; at the same time, it paradoxically acknowledges the incapacity of human speech to render the grandiosity of the monument at which it is pointing.” In both Villamediana and Vaenius, this destabilization of language is represented as taking place at a physical and metaphorical boundary. In the sonnet these tensions are resolved in the presence of the poetic voice itself, which is superimposed on silence and absence when

“voiced” by the reader. As text-monument, the poem “speaks” of virtue as the only path to eternal life, just as Vaenius’s emblem 98 does in the images of the circus and the Pillars of Hercules. The tomb is a “prodigious” (“prodigioso”) and “immortal” (“inmortal”) product of art and human endeavor, thus built to contain the physical remains of a man whose virtue led him to eternal life. The sonnet articulates tensions between ineffability and poetic description that are inherent to the tradition of ekphrasis: the interactions between self and monument evolve from the first quatrain, where virtue can be “read” on the very surface of the marble, to the second quatrain, where it becomes a

source of admired silence on behalf of poetic voice and reader alike. 37.

I further explore silence in the ekphrastic poetry of Baroque Spain in my doctoral

dissertation. As part of the sepulchral space, the tomb is linked to the idea of

interruption: the cemetery (or the crypt, the burial chapel, etc.) being “a locus

marking the interruption in the smoothness of the social exchange, a space which, while carving itself out of the tissue of the polis [city] (its location is most frequently peripheral), in fact, cuts right into its most vital processes” (Slavek, 50).

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Nevertheless, the first tercet reactivates language, which intervenes to overcome “pasmo” and guarantee the permanence of virtue in eternal memory and fame. Art is not the cause of empty admiration; rather, it “voices out” the existence of eternal life for the virtuous soul, and merits applause because its observation inspires the imitation of the deceased: “it elevates judgment more than the eyes” (“mas eleva el juicio que los ojos”). Thus, the poetic voice channels a “disillusioned truth” (“verdad desengafiada”)—only the virtuous live forever, just as their monument will—that becomes “audible and visible” in a space that the implicit reader can temporarily inhabit. In this context, it is relevant to consider Derrida’s comments on the Hegelian conception of the tomb. For Derrida, the tomb has a double function—as a reminder of death and as a warning about the existence of the transcendent: The tomb is the life of the body as the sign of death, the body as the other of the soul, the other of the animate psyche, of the living breath. But the tomb also shelters, maintains in reserve, capitalizes on life by marking that life continues elsewhere . ... Thus the tomb also shelters life from death. It warns the soul of possible death, warns (of) death of the soul, turns away (from) death. This double warning function belongs to the funerary monument. (82)

This double meaning is relevant to the theory of desengano not only because the tomb is a reminder of human mortality but also because it promises the eternal presence of the soul. The tomb ceases to be the representation

of absence and incarnates life and permanence, granted by a virtuous life.

If, according to Paul de Man, poetry is that which must operate between the representational and incarnative functions of language, then the poetic voice is phenomenalized and actualized in its “dialogue” with the reader (Mills-Courts, 2), despite its being fictional, and it channels the lesson that the monument intends to teach: a promise of the eternal permanence of virtue in memory, and a cancellation of absence. In this sense, sonnet 199 can be read in the light of Vaenius’s emblems and the interactions they represent between different participants (monument, reader, poetic voice)

at a figurative threshold opened up in the decoding of text and image. Villamediana’s sonnet 313 (c. 1625-1629) is another instance of ekphrastic reference to a tomb, in this case to St. Paul’s monument in the Vatican Basilica, in which the monument stands for the “physical” limit of silence. Like sonnet 199, the text comments on the capacity of art to reproduce the immateriality of the human soul through plastic form, ultimately elaborating a panegyric of the saint:

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This temple, now dedicated to the first sacred pilot of God’s depths,

is not only a temple—even if devout—

but the expression of an altar that is alive, of an animated tumulus whose sublime worship now sees its more heroic and religious vote attained, which Clotho’s common exercise has violated with two eternities. No high construction, no force of art can give the voice of the living deceased

to stone, their eyes to metal,

when sacredly proud colossi are humble, and are even worthy of depositing such remains.*

Verses 3-4 describe the Basilica as more than just a temple; it is a space destined to fulfill a specific function—namely, guarding an altar and a tomb that are “alive” and “animated” (“vivo” and “animado”) as depositories of the presence of God and the immortal soul of St. Paul, respectively. The latter, defined as “the first sacred pilot of God’s depths” (“de los senos de Dios sacro piloto”), is one of the few virtuous men whose souls dwell in, or “navigate,” the sea of eternity—in that sense, a “muerto vivo.” In the first stanza, the reference to the temple by means of the noun “afecto” (“expression”) is strategic: in the context of the visual arts, the term refers to “aquella viveza con que representa la figura en el lienzo la accion que intentò el pincel” [that vividness with which the figure is represented on the canvas

38.

“Este ahora al primero dedicado / de los senos de Dios sacro piloto, / no sélo es

templo, afecto—si devoto— / de vivo altar, de tamulo animado; / cuyo sublime culto hoy ve logrado / al mas heroico y religioso voto / que la comün ejecuciôn

de Cloto / con dos eternidades ha violado. / Alta no construccién, no fuerza de

arte, / en virtud puede dar, de muertos vivos, / voces a piedras, a metales ojos, /

cuando colosos sacramente altivos / humildes son, y aun son con digna parte / para depositar tales despojos.” The sonnet is a highly complex text, both in terms of syntax and meaning, and my English rendering is an approximation. See foot-

note 39 for a clarification of my choice of the word “expression” for the Spanish “afecto.”

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211

by the paintbrush’s efforts to represent it] (Autoridades).” The stanza implies that the temple successfully mimetizes the life of the soul kept in the tomb (“tumulo animado”) and the presence of God in the altar (“vivo altar”), offering them to the eye of the beholder and presenting them to the mind's eye of the reader. The monument is characterized by the virtue of enargeia, in its capacity of making manifest in its materiality the perfections of the soul and of metaphorizing its eternal presence.” The sonnet explores the tensions between the incarnative function of language (presence and voice) and the potential difficulties of mimesis

piedras, a metals ojos”), becomes difficult when the saint’s humbleness is

overcome the silence of “pasmo” in the presence of the tomb, and while in Vaenius’s emblems the reader confronted the silence of the sepulchral space, sonnet 313 detains both poetic voice and reader in front of the monument, where they confront the potential failure of language. But the second quatrain seems to confirm the triumph of the monument in “speaking” of eternal life: the tomb has twice conquered fate and death—personified as Clotho, one of the Moirai, who spins the thread of human life—because it guarantees “two eternities” (“dos eternidades”): the eternal life of St. Paul's

voice and implicit reader confront the sepulchral space as an “infinitely

(absence and silence). While in sonnet 199 the poetic voice strove to

as extreme as his greatness, because his monument must mirror that virtue

in its great artifice; both the tomb and the deceased become “sacredly

proud colossi” (“colosos sacramente altivos”). Thus, both poetic language

and visual art struggle to convey two virtues that seem mutually exclusive, and the reader is positioned in a space that oscillates between closure and openness, enargeia and ineffability. When read in the light of Vaenius’s emblems, Villamediana’s textual monuments become new spaces where an impassable boundary can and must be trespassed in the search for truth (R. de la Flor 2007, 366). Poetic

open space” (Foucault, 23), which propitiates a new artistic experience, in

which the memory of the deceased is perpetuated along with the message of “desengaño”: the perfections of the virtuous soul can ultimately defeat death. As in sonnet 23 (1629), Villamediana, “as opposed to worldly ambition, which closes up the path to eternity, affirms that Virtue is the middle path; talent and bravery give wings, without the limitations of opposing time. (Orozco, 132)*!

soul, which it both guards and symbolizes, and that of God, as well as,

possibly, the tomb’s own eternal presence as memory. However, the sonnet closes with yet another paradox. In an echo of the last verses of sonnet 199, the final stanza highlights the humble condition of the tomb, which cannot compete with that of the deceased, no matter how magnificently it is built. The mission that art must accomplish, of giving voice to stone and eyes to metal (“dar, de muertos vivos, / voces a 39,

‘The word afecto can also have multiple meanings as an adjective: “agregado, unido,’ and “propenso, amigo y, en cierto modo, parcial y benévolo y que mira con cariño y afecto a alguno o a alguna cosa” (prone, friendly, and, in a certain way, partial and benevolent, regarding with affection someone or something] (Autoridades). These connotations indicate that the Basilica is more than a temple because it is adjacent to the saint’s tomb, of which it is also a friendly harbor.

40.

One of the main objectives of ekphrasis was to make the listener or reader “see”

that which was being described. According to Zanker, the adjective ἐναργής (enargés), commonly used by Greek poets from Homer to the end of the classical period, meant “visible, palpable in bodily shape especially of the gods appear-

ing in their own forms,’ “manifest to the mind's eye” or, when applied to words,

“clear, distinct” (304). For Goldhill, enargeia is “a key rhetorical idea that goes back to Aristotle... [and which can be defined as] the ability to make visible. . . This is one of the orator’s most important weapons of persuasion, and ekphrasis

is, as it were, the practice of enargeia, as enargeia is one of the ‘virtues [aretai] of

ekphrasis.” (Goldhill is quoting from Theon’s progumnasmata.)

Like Vaenius, the poet invites the reader to take the path of virtue to escape death and oblivion, and in Villamediana’s ekphrases and Vaenius’s emblems

the monument becomes the ideal vehicle for the defense of virtus inconcussa

[unshaken virtue] in the context of Counter-Reformation Europe.

41.

“frente a la ambicién terrena que cierra el camino a la inmortalidad, afirma que / La virtud es el medio peregrino; el valor, y el talento prestan vuelo / sin que el

tiempo contrario lo limite” (Orozco, 132). The stanza implies that virtue takes flight from the constraints of time, being the only secure road to eternal life. The poetic voice refers here to the scarce value of human ambition and to virtue within the frame of the topos of aurea mediocritas, according to which both virtue and happiness are found in moderation and in the avoidance of all excess and worldly ambition. The adjective “peregrino” means, in this context, “extraño, especial, raro o pocas veces visto” [strange, special, rare, or seldom seen], and also “adornado de singular hermosura, perfeccién o excelencia” [adorned with

singular beauty, perfection, or excellence]. I am indebted to the Real Academia Espanola de la Lengua for the help received on this particular point. De Armas

interprets the second tercet as a lesson in desengano: “Man must tend to his soul, which is eternal, by practicing Christian virtues as opposed to pagan pride. Only then can he climb since he will be devoid of the weight of the earth” (68).

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DANIELA CARACCIOLO University of Salento

Mil. Vogl. VIII 309) Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik

143 (2003): 59-62.

This paper examines Giulio Cesare Capaccio’s treatise Delle imprese (1592), which provides an extensive overview of numerous symbolic images as well as a summary of the prevailing interpretive theories connected with them during the sixteenth century. After clarifying Capaccio’s methodology in preparing this work, and identifying his figurative, iconographic, and literary sources, the following article analyzes his theoretical approach to Delle imprese in relation to his other symbolic works, including the Apologi con le dicerie morali (1602) and the Principe... tratto da gli emblemi dellAlciato. . . (1620).

Examining these works together reveals Capaccio as a proponent of the late sixteenth-century cultural mindset that conceived of imprese, emblems, and hieroglyphics as teaching aids: the bearers of ethical and moral tenets shared by the elite members of late Renaissance Italian society. Thus, Capaccio not only demonstrates his expertise

in deciphering and interpreting symbols; he also proves himself a prolific constructor of figures, which he designs with special regard to practical utility.

221 Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image, vol. 2. Copyright © 2019 by Droz & Emblematica. All rights reserved.

222

Cesare Capaccio (1552-1634)! was one of the most prolific (5 Neapolitan authors of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, partly by virtue of having written and published from the 1580s A highly learned and well-read historian, poet, and scholar 1630s. the into ofthe ancient world, he also held prestigious posts in public administration: In 1593, the viceroy of the Kingdom of Naples, Don Giovanni di Zunica, Count of Miranda, made him head of the Provveditoria dei grani e degli oli, the office responsible for supplying the city with wheat and oil. Subsequently, in 1602, he held the post of city secretary. Capaccio’s story is rich and complex on both human and cultural levels, marked as it was by intense personal vicissitudes: In 1611, he garnered

considerable public respect as a founding member of the influential literary association Accademia degli Oziosi, only to fall into disgrace after his son was accused of extortion. Stripped of his position, in 1613, and forced to abandon Naples after seeing his beloved collections of books and antiquities dispersed (Capaccio 1615, 101-2), in 1616 he was taken in by Duke Francesco Maria II della Rovere, ruler of Urbino. At the duke’s court, Capaccio initially maintained literary silence, finding solace in his duties as keeper of the city library, which he performed assiduously. In 1619 he returned to writing, composing the funerary oration for Isabella della Rovere (Capaccio 1619), sister of Francesco Maria, and in 1620 he published his treatise on Alciato’s emblems, Principe... tratto da gli emblemi dellAlciato, con duecento, e pit avvertimenti politici e morali [Prince ... taken from the Alciati Emblems].

In 1631, after nearly two decades of living in exile, Capaccio returned to Naples, and in 1634 he published the dialogue Forastiero, whose jubilant proclamation “Viva Napoli. Bella Napoli, splendissimo lume fra tutti i lumi del mondo” [Long live Naples. Beautiful Naples, the most splendid

light of all the lights in the world] clearly reflects his attachment to the city (Capaccio 1634, 929). In many ways, a common thread that would unify Capaccio’s extensive literary production remains elusive. In addition, not enough attention has been paid to his intellectual abilities, which enabled him to move from his early religious writings (Prediche quadragesimali [Lenten sermons] [ Venice, 1.

Daniela Caracciolo

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Crasso 1666, 227-30; Soria 1781, 128-39; Mazzarella 1816, vol. III; Cubic-

ciotti 1898; Pedio 1973, 92-98; Nigro 1975, 374-80. This article was translated by George Metcalf.

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1582-1586]; Selva dei concetti scritturali [Wood of scriptural concepts]

[Venice, 1594]) to collections of prose and poetry, connected with the Bay of Naples (Mergellina. Egloghe pescatorie [Mergellina. Fishing eclogues] [Rome, 1598]), to essays treating emblems and princely education, and,

finally, to travel guides and historiographical texts (Quondam 1975, 187-

225).

Adopting the approach laid out by Benito Iezzi (Iezzi 1988, 1-24), this paper examines Capaccio’s treatise Delle imprese. . . in tre libri diviso. Nel primo, del modo di far l'impresa ... nel secondo, tutti ieroglifici, simboli ... nel terzo, nel figurar degli emblemi...|Onimprese ... divided into three books. In the first, on the construction of imprese ... in the second, all hieroglyphs, symbols . . . in the third, on picturing emblems . . .], published in 1592. While this treatise does not have the same importance as Andrea Alciato’s Emblemata, it exemplifies a cultural theme that was the subject of great interest in Naples, and elsewhere, throughout the seventeenth century. Vincenzo Ricci’s Geroglifici morali [Moral hieroglyphs] (1626), which contained a rich repertoire of symbolic images dealing with theological and religious themes ad usum praedicandi, may be cited as an example in this context (Palumbo 1990, 57-67). In addition to Delle imprese, this article analyzes Capaccio’s Apologi con le dicerie morali |Apologues with moral sayings] (1602) and the abovementioned Principe (1620), with the aim of identifying the principal sources and methods underlying these works as well as the meaning and function of the symbolic images contained within them.

System, Method, and Sources In 1592, Giulio Cesare Capaccio published the treatise Delle imprese, while living in Naples. This text has been of great interest to scholars and critics of symbolic literature from this period,? who have aptly described it as a “broad summary” (Savarese 2006, 45). Such an assessment is supported

by the author himself in the dedication at the start of book I, where he 2.

Of the rich bibliography on this topic, the following studies are worthy of par-

ticular mention: Klein 1970; Savarese and Gareffi 1980; Innocenti, G. 1981; Innocenti, L.1983; Bregoli Russo 1990; Savarese 1993; Arbizzoni 2002; Arbizzoni 2004, 513-39; Arbizzoni 2005, 125-39; Savarese 2006, 3-48; Mansueto

et al. 2007; Con parola brieve e con figura. Emblemi e imprese fra antico e moderno, 2008.

states that the work’s aim is to analyze “la varietà delle figure, la congerie degli oggetti” [the variety of figures, the miscellany of objects] to be used in the composition of imprese, which, in his opinion, can employ the same figurative repertoire as emblems.’ In the treatise’s dedication, Capaccio outlines the work’s central focus: “We are dealing here with a new style concerning the subject of the imprese, and not collecting them but, rather, making a rich store of common places for producing new ones, which is critical; in fact, you will see how much benefit I have brought to this profession.”* Even from this small segment, the breadth of the author’s ambitions becomes quite clear: On the one hand, they are theoretical (“We are dealing here with a new style concerning the subject of the imprese”), but on the other, they can be seen as accumulative (“making a rich store of common places for producing new ones”), and in some places even interpretative (“which is critical”). In producing such a text, Capaccio sought to question the rules formulated by Paolo Giovio, addressing all conceivable issues linked to the invention “of symbolic things” in order to “make new things to revive this profession.” This was an effort with few parallels—the intellectual was setting himself a truly ambitious task. The title of the opening chapter of book I—“Che ‘| trattar delle Imprese è difficile. E de gli autori c’hanno scritto di questa material” [That dealing with imprese is difficult. And authors have written

on this subject]—clearly shows how much Capaccio desired to produce not just a summary of the prevailing theories of the sixteenth century but also a collection of all the symbols proposed by the most famous authors

of imprese and emblems (Bregoli Russo 1990, 109-1 1). As this article

seeks to demonstrate, he made constant reference to these authors through revisions, summaries, and textual citations. The sheer volume of the treatise’s subject material—verging on chaotic excess—is skillfully kept in check by its subdivision into three books: Book 3.

“Ho stimato cosa giovevole alla nostra materia, ridurre questi ad una semplicita

di figure di animali, o di piante accid che oltre alla moralita ch’esplicar possino,

siano anco materia all’esplicazione di vari concetti d’Imprese” (Capaccio 1592, c. 3).

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“La materia dell’Imprese, con nuovo stile si tratta, e non raccogliendo, ma facendo ricco armario di luoghi topici per far le nuove, e con lesser critico nelle fatte, si vedra quanto giovamento ho portato a questa professione” (Capaccio 1592,

ς. 3).

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I deals with theoretical and formal topics, such as the correct methodology for constructing imprese and emblems, for which Capaccio also specifies proper functions. Book II contains an analysis of hieroglyphics, which can enrich the iconographic repertoire of imprese by following, as he himself states, the approach of Pierio Valeriano. In 1556, Valeriano published a commentary on Horapollos Hieroglyphica, a fifth-century manuscript discovered in 1419 and first published in 1505, by Aldo Manuzio (Aldus Manutius). In book III, Capaccio analyzes emblems taken from Andrea Alciato’s work and considers how they can be used for the composition of imprese. The result is a rich corpus of images grouped into three general categories: “Some [symbols] are physical, belonging to the nature of things, while others are historical or mythological.”* This three-way division into physical, historical, and mythological symbols in turn paved the way for another system of classification (similar in structure to the so-called cosmic model), which is composed of two macro-categories: celestial things, including the true and fabulous, and natural things, including images associated

with the four elements (earth, air, fire, and water). While Capaccio draws from a broad range of images—plants and animals, geometric figures and instruments, parts of the human body, mythological figures, coats of arms, coins and medals—his elucidations of symbol construction consistently start from the description of a specific object, which is why, at the beginning of the treatise’s first book, he stresses the importance of classification: “The Emblems, Hieroglyphics, Enigmas, and Symbols having some conformity

among themselves, it will be necessary to declare these terms as the basis of

our reasoning.”

The intention to structure such a variety of images according to a

rational system led him to draw up a classificatory grid that further confirms the encyclopedic character of the treatise. In practice, however, the solid structural framework from which Capaccio sought to begin quickly falls apart under the weight of the impossible task of managing such complex textual material. Capaccio’s education led him to compose 5.

“Altri [simboli] sono fisici, alla natura delle cose appartenenti, altri historici, o mitologici” (Capaccio 1592, I:3v—4r).

6.

“Havendo conformita di alcuna parte tra loro gli Emblemi, i leroglifici, ! Enigmi, i Simboli, necessario sara dichiarar queste voci, per base del nostro ragionamento” (Capaccio 1592, I:2v).

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the treatise in accordance with sixteenth-century erudition: the symbols contained within it are heavily annotated with verse references, narratives, and observations by philosophers, poets, and Greek and Latin historians. The excessive presence of citations, for which Capaccio provides authors’ names rather than the titles of the texts to which he is referring, makes the work somewhat difficult to read. As evidenced by the “Elenco de gli autori” | Delle imprese, list of authors], Capaccio draws the majority of his material from the symbolic literature of the sixteenth century. Paolo Giovio, cited eighteen times, is one of the author's most productive sources (the majority of Capaccio’s references to Giovio can be traced back to the Dialogo dell’imprese militari et amorose [Dialogue of military and amorous feats] [1566]). Of lesser importance are the contributions of Luca Contile, Camillo Camilli, Andrea Palazzi, and Lodovico Domenichi. Capaccio’s treatment of the work of Girolamo Ruscelli—appearing twelve times in the treatise—is particularly interesting. Although a number of imprese are taken directly from Ruscelli’s Jmprese illustri,’ there are some cases in which Capaccio questions the images’ validity, disputing above all their symbolic meaning? A case in point here is the impresa of the Marquis of Rivoli, Marcello Pignone, which depicts a palm tree with branches and fruits reaching upward toward the sun—a symbol of love for Ruscelli (Ruscelli 1566, 11:339) but a symbol of victory for our author (Capaccio 1592, I1:129v). In another case, Capaccio criticizes the validity

of the symbolic meaning attributed to an image: “But what has he to do with the Eagle? And in what manner and by what correspondence can it be that love’s desire is kindled by means of these animals?” he asks himself in reference to the impresa of the Marquis Giovan Battista d’Azzia.’ The 7.

9:

rulers) (Capaccio 1592, 1:12) of the individuals to whom the imprese are

dedicated, Capaccio uses images taken predominately from ancient medals and coins: “What would we have ever known of the imprese if we had had no knowledge of the medals of the Ancients, who knew so many things, and taught so much to subsequent generations with those illustrious memories, where we see all that is rare and excellent and can be known by its nature 10.

paccio 1592, II:78r; Ruscelli 1566, II:187—89), Carlo Spinello, Duke of Semi-

(Capaccio 1592, 1:67r; Ruscelli 1566, I1:202-8), and Ferrante Carrafa (Capaccio 1592, 1:46v; Ruscelli 1566, I1:216-18).

Compare Capaccio 1592, II:129v, with Ruscelli 1566, 11:339, on the question

of the impresa of Marcello Pignone, Marquis of Rivoli; also compare Capaccio

1592, 11:97τ, with Ruscelli 1566, 11:282, on the impresa of Marquis Giovan Battista d’Azzia. “Ma che ha che far con l'Aquila? E in che maniera può corrispondere ad amante

in cui per questi animali si accende desiderio d'amore?” (Capaccio 1592, II:97r).

227

impresa in question shows an eagle bitten on the breast by a serpent, with the motto “Semper ardentius” [Always burning], on which Ruscelli offered the following commentary: “We may thus surmise that he [the marquis] sought to convey to the world that he was driven by a most high and noble love, and that the more he thinks of her and the more he contemplates her, the more overwhelmed he finds himself by thoughts of her and contemplation of her, or, rather, that the more he sees her, the greater his desire to see her”!° Further indications of Capaccio’s critical and/or reinterpretive tendencies can be found in his treatment of Ruscelli’s impresa of St. Carlo Borromeo, which shows a deer with snakes crossing a river, accompanied by the motto “Una salus” [The only hope] (Ruscelli 1566, 11:97-105). Here, Capaccio expresses clear reservations concerning the absence of a close link between figure and words, and the consequent risk of misunderstanding the symbolic meaning that the image is intended to convey."! Capaccios method in Delle imprese is faithful to sixteenth-century classicism in its attempt to unify docere with delectatio, as in ancient thetoric. Consequently, the symbolic figures Capaccio proposes play the role of “teaching aids,’ aimed at key members of Naples elite. In order to demonstrate the “azioni onorate, i gesti delle guerre, i trionfi, le virtù, i governi” [honorable actions, feats of war, triumphs, virtues, and skills as

Consider, for example, the imprese of Emanuele Filiberto, Duke of Savoy (Canara (Capaccio 1592, 1:48v; Ruscelli 1566, 11:145-49), Count Fabio Pepoli

8

Daniela Caracciolo

11.

“Possiamo dunque interpretare, che egli [il marchese] abbia con essa voluto sig-

nificare al mondo d'esser preso d’altissimo e nobilissimo amore, e che quanto più pensa in lei, e più la contempla, più ardentemente si ritrova ingordo di pensarvi,

e di contemplarla, o più tosto, che quanto più la vede, più s’accenda di desiderio di vederla” (Ruscelli 1566, I1:282). “Ma non sono buoni quei che in questa maniera sarebbero, dubbiosi, come nel Cervo cinto di Serpenti che corre al fume, Impresa del Cardinal Borromeo, Una salus; perchè potrebbe essere ambigua nel seguente, Victis nullam sperare

salutem” [But not good are those that in this way would be doubtful, such as

with the deer, encircled by serpents, running to the river, the impresa of Cardinal

Borromeo, with the motto “Una salus” (The only hope); because it could be ambiguous in the following: Victis nullam sperare salutem (The only hope for

the doomed is no hope at all. ..)] (Capaccio 1592, 1:78v).

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and by its art?”!? His motivation in doing so is clear: the ancients had produced “tante bellissime imagini, Imprese di questi valorosi Capitani” [many beautiful images, imprese of those valorous Captains] (Capaccio 1592, I:13r), from which “ogni soggetto eroico” [every heroic subject]

could be developed (Capaccio 1592, I:12v).

Small ancient objects were held in high regard by the intellectuals and collectors of the sixteenth century, for it was from them that representations of history's great figures, whose deeds and virtues they sought to reconstruct, could be derived. This same humanist tradition taught Capaccio to elaborate figures from the images impressed on coins (monuments, myths, historical episodes, animals, and geographical places) for use as the “oggetto di corpo proporzionato” [justly proportioned object of the impresa] (Capaccio 1592, 1:63v). Coins and medals, precisely because they bore impressed figures, constituted a store of images to be imitated and replicated. This had already been noted by Paolo Giovio (Giovio 1556, 4) and echoed shortly thereafter by Lodovico Domenichi, in his “Ragionamento” that appears in Giovo's Dialogo dell'imprese militari et amorose: “Sogliono gli uomini litterati ancor far delle imprese, massimamente ne rovesci delle medaglie, per esprimere i concetti de gli animi loro” [The educated men are still in the habit of making imprese, mostly on the obverse of medals, to express the concepts of their souls] (Giovio 1556, 116). At first sight, the descriptions of the coins presented in Capaccios treatise seem to derive mostly from Discorso sopra le medaglie degli antichi [Discourse on the medals of the ancients] (Venice, 1559), by the Venetian scholar Sebastiano Erizzo (1525-1585), whom Capaccio indeed cites. Erizzo’s reading of the “Dichiarazioni” [Declarations] contained in the Discorso clearly shows that this document was the source of Capaccios description, for example, of the type of medal associated with the Roman emperor Antoninus Pius, which bore the image of an elephant on its obverse (Erizzo 1559, 308; Capaccio 1592, II:21v). However, rather than directly copying from Erizzo, Capaccio provides analytical summaries of the pieces’ iconographies. In another case, that of the medal of Hadrian, whose obverse depicts an “intiera figura sedente, col corno di dovizia in 12.

“Che havrebbomo saputo noi dell’Imprese, se non havessimo havuto cognizione delle medaglie de gli Antichi, i quali seppero tante cose, e tante insegnarono à posteriori con quell’illustri memorie, ove si scorge tutto cid che di raro, e di eccellente possiamo saper per natura e per arte?” (Capaccio 1592, I:12y).

Daniela Caracciolo

229

una mano, e con lo Scorpione nell’altra, che dinota quella regione [Africa]

ove infiniti nascono gli Scorpioni” [whole seated figure, holding a horn of plenty in one hand and the Scorpion in the other, denoting that region (Africa) where an infinity of Scorpions are born] (Capaccio 1592, II:59v), the image described in the treatise is clearly the same as the one from Erizzo’s Discorso (Erizzo 1559, 251-52). This can also be said of the medal

of Antinous (the favorite of the Roman emperor Hadrian), which shows “un Ariete, fattagli dopo la morte, a soddisfazione di Adriano, nelle delizie del quale fu questo giovane tenuto. Fu quella Impresa di affetto venereo” [an Aries, made for him after his death, for the satisfaction of Hadrian ....

It was an impresa of physical affection] (Capaccio 1592, I1:72v). Capaccio’s description and symbolic interpretation of this medal also echo Erizzo’s

more painstaking notes (Erizzo 1559, 281-82).

However, despite the frequent points of similarity between the descriptions offered by the treatise and those found in the works from which it draws, a reader of Capaccio would not immediately be prompted to recognize his sources, on account of the absence of specific textual references. Capaccio likely opted for this approach because he was less interested in bringing together “le figure delle medaglie” [the figures of the medals] (Capaccio 1592, 1:63v) to show “l’antichità maestra dell'invenzione” [antiquity as the teacher of invention] (Capaccio 1592, 1:63v) and more interested in “esplicar i concetti” [explicating the concepts]

(Capaccio 1592, 1:63r). He may have gotten the idea from the 1592 Italian

edition of the Didlogos de las medallas, inscripciones y otras antigüedades

[Dialogues about medals, inscriptions and other antiquities], written by

Spanish historian Antonio Agostini (1516-1586) and first published in 1587. It was Agostini who first analyzed the symbolic messages conveyed by “ancient things,” explaining the benefit of a medal’s obverse for “de’ pittori e d’altri artefici” | painters and other artists] (Agostini 1592, 11). In addition to illustrated books, this article considers another—no less problematic—question: the possible influence of collections of ancient objects that Capaccio may have encountered while working on the treatise. Research suggests that the author made use of his contacts with collectors, whose galleries he frequented with great enthusiasm and assiduousness (Capaccio 1607, 236, 270). Direct contact with ancient objects (coins, medals, small sculptures, cameos) allowed him to make firsthand descriptions, which he could then propose as “images of imprese”

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This is certainly the case for the “bellissima antichita in marmo, opera di eccellente mano” [beautiful antiquity in marble, the work of an excellent hand] (Capaccio 1592, II:69r), which refers to a piece from the collection of the antiquarian Adriano Spatafora (the piece in question is a statue of a leopard holding a goat, an image that is traditionally interpreted as a symbol of meretricious love), as well as for “quel marmo οὐ un cane che giace in

terra, col capo erto a modo di un che fissamente guarda” [that marble with a

dog lying on the ground, with its head raised as if keeping watch] (Capaccio 1592, I1:40r), referring to a piece from the Maffei collection, in Rome. This brings to light another, rather significant, potential source for Capaccio’s imagery: small statues also lend themselves to the composition of imprese, since “other types of figures, which scholars of antiquity see every day in bronze, marble, gold and silver, also inspire thoughts both heroic and common, with beauty and with doctrine” Here, Capaccio’s objective is affirmed once more: he presents his readers with “a few examples, which are not, however, so few as not to encompass all antiquity for those who have good judgment and, concerning the imprese, wish to make use of them.”'* In his explanation of the hieroglyphic bearing the symbol of the bull, Capaccio states,

The effects of the earth and of agriculture were noted in secret hieroglyphics on that beautiful marble tablet, which in Rome can be seen in the house of Ottaviano Zeno, near the Pompeo Theater, which I have always considered the pride of antiquity, where man is a cultivator, the bull is the earth, the knife is fatigue, the dog is loyalty, the lion is strength, the scorpion is generation, the crab is creation, the serpent is providence, the crow is diligence."

231

Capaccio refers here to the images of the god Mithra in the act of killing the bull, as depicted on a bas-relief that was for a time in the possession

of Ottavio Zeno (Vermaseren 1978, 15-17; Gordon 1996) and is today

preserved in the Museo Archeologico Romano. An illustration of this work was included by the printer and publisher Antoine Lafréry in the Speculum romanae magnificentiae [Mirror of Roman greatness] (Gordon 2004). Giovanni Macario, author of the Hagioglypta (ready for printing in 1605 but not published until 1859 [de Rossi 1864, 18-19]), correctly interpreted its iconography (“Memoria sopra un bassorilievo del Dio Mitra . . ? [Inscription above a bas-relief of the God Mithras . . .]), managing to identify the image precisely, at least with respect to the indications of

sixteenth-century antiquarians (Fulvio 1588, 308r-9v).

Any attempt, even if limited to just a few cases, to identify the textual and figurative sources Capaccio used carries a certain risk. The fact that he refers to ancient items does not prove that he had direct knowledge of them. It is thus worth asking at this point whether his only sources may have been large printed reference volumes, such as encyclopedias and handbooks. Particularly significant in this regard are the antiquities of “Bembo, ristaurator delle buone lettere” [Bembo, master of fine letters] (Capaccio 1592, II:148r). Capaccio may have derived his references to these objects (which were kept in Padua) from the Discorsi sopra le medaglie de gli antichi (Venice, 1558), by the Parma engraver Enea Vico (1523-1567), a work

containing numerous comments on Bembo collection (Vico 1558, 32, 41,

Zeno presso al Teatro di Pompeo, ch'io sempre ho giudicato onor dell’antichita

87, 93).!6 Capaccio belonged to a world that knew how to derive models and iconographies from the ancients, a fact made evident at various points in his writing. In his letter to the Neapolitan sculptor Geronimo D’Auria (contained in the Secretario, a treatise on epistolary writings published in 1589), he does not neglect the importance of the ancient object as a direct historical source, concluding, “Vi gioverà più quel Giove di marmo, che dite di havere, che tutti i miei Giovi per lettera” [You will gain more from that marble Jove, which you claim to have, than all my literary Joves] (Capaccio 1607, 256r). The importance of ancient items as direct sources was to be crucial above all for his works of historical and antiquarian character—the Puteolana historia {History of Pozzuoli], of 1604, and the

leone la fortezza, lo scorpione la generazione, il granchio la creazione, la serpe la

16.

13.

“altre maniere di figure, che gli studiosi dell’antichita vedranno ogni giorno in bronzo, in marmo, in oro, in argento, (si) potranno accomodar pensieri o eroici o comuni, con leggiadria, e con dottrina” (Capaccio 1592, 1:63v).

14,

“pochi esempi, che non sono perd cosi pochi che non rinchiudano tutta l’antichità per quei c’han giudizio, e che nella materia dell’imprese vorran servirsene” (Capaccio 1592, 1:63v).

15.

“Gli effetti delle terra, e dell’agricoltura furono per secreti geroglifici notati in quella bellissima tavola di marmo, che in Roma si vede nella casa di Ottaviano ove l'uomo è l’agricoltore, il toro la terra, il coltello la fatica, il cane la fedelrà, il provvidenza, il corvo la diligenza.” (Capaccio 1592, I1:30r)

OnBembo’s interests as a collector, see Danzi 2005; on Enea Vico contribution to the antiquarian disciplines, see Bodon 1997.

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Neapolitanae historiae [Stories of Naples], of 1607— which were composed in his capacity as antiquarian consultant to the viceroy of Naples. Impressed in the pages of these texts are notes on ancient objects admired, observed, and studied while visiting the sites and major collections of the time: those of Berardino Rota; of Giovan Vincenzo della Porta, brother of the famous Giovan Battista della Porta; and of their uncle Adriano Spatafora; as well as the collections of Fabrizio Santafede and Prince Conca Matteo di Capua, and the garden of Scipione Loffredo, in Pozzuoli, which is decorated with ancient statues.

While the description of items serves a clearly narrative purpose in Capaccio’s historical and antiquarian works (eg, the historical reconstruction of the city and the Campi Flegrei), in Delle imprese the ancient is used as a mere repertoire of images. Here, Capaccio was interested

solely in extrapolating iconographies from ancient items to use in the composition of imprese. We may thus conclude that the ancient object is dematerialized, so to speak, in favor of the symbolic meaning it carries.

Capaccio separates the figures from their material contexts (coins, medals, and small sculptures), creating an inventory of forms, which, having lost their organic connection with real objects, are proposed as exempla of moral virtues.

From Theory to Practice: Creating Symbolic Images With the treatise on imprese, Capaccio sought to portray himself as a perfect courtier, able to satisfy the needs of the social elite of his time. Amedeo Quondam’s analysis is consistent with this view, as he recognized that Capaccio’s symbols were intended as exempla. In distinguishing between emblem, hieroglyph, and impresa, Capaccio described an emblem as a figurative representation and an epigram as the disseminator of specific meanings, while he defined the impresa, as Quondam observes, as a symbolic image for recently elevated nobles who needed to claim unequivocally the

privileges of an ancient and glorious lineage (Quondam 1975, 506).

Naples Eletti dei Seggi [Nobles of the robe], the traditional aristocratic

representatives of the city’s parliaments, who were cultivated patrons of the arts. The dedication to Carmignano in particular should be interpreted as a gesture of thanks for this group’s involvement in Capaccio’s appointment as city secretary, in 1602. In addition, the Eletti paid Capaccio a financial subsidy for printing the first volume of the Historiae Neapolitane, in 1607 (Trombetta 2006, 142). In a sense, Delle imprese became a sort of gallery of illustrious citizens of Naples (men of letters, scientists, princes, military captains) to whom Capaccio sought to pay homage. Thus, in addition to his efforts as a theoretician—fruit of the union between the culture of emblems and the antiquarian tradition—this article considers his equally interesting activities as a constructor of symbols designed for the representatives of the Eletti dei Seggi, all of whom sought to acquire the same privileges as the more ancient Nobilta di Spada [Nobles of the sword]. Capaccio was not only the decoder and interpreter of symbolic language but also the creator of figures that were intended to be of practical utility. Aware of the function of images, he was as much a consultant as he was a “maker of imprese,’” as can be noted at various points in his treatise.'* For example, Capaccio provided advice for the impresa of Antonio Perenoto,

cardinal of Granuela, which he expressed in a letter to A. M. Menelao (“I wish for once that you would make the body [i.e., the figure] and I the soul

[i.e., the symbolic meaning], to make you see that it is better and safer to give

advice than to gain experience”!”) and in the following recommendation to 17.

Carmignano, in the Apologi (1602), link Capaccio to the environment of

Francesco Antonio Soria, for example, states that “when Filiberto di Savoia was in Naples for the expedition against the Turks, he treated him [Capaccio] with

great benevolence and partiality, and also wanted him to make the emblems, and mottoes for his ship Ammiraglia” (1781, 130). The story was also told by Capac-

18.

Capaccio’s approach, quite unlike Alciato’s in Emblemata, develops a discourse that is more practical than theoretical, and the symbolic images he proposes are associated with contemporary social institutions. The dedications to Giovan Battista Crispo, in Delle imprese, and to Antonio

233

cio himself (1634, 519-29). To cite a few examples, the treatise describes imprese composed for the knights

Paolo Caracciolo (Capaccio 1592, 11:1 51) and Pietro Giacomo di Gennaro (Capaccio 1592, II:37r), Cardinal del Mondovi (Capaccio 1592, I:36v), Don Francesco Bermudez (Capaccio 1592, 1:47r-48v), the Prince of Bisignano (Capaccio 1592, 1:52r), Giovan Simone Moccia (Capaccio 1592, 1:64r), and various other

gentlemen (Capaccio 1592, 1:38, I:46r, 1:48r, I1:123v), as well as for the decora-

tion for a fountain of the villa of Giovan Luigi Mormile (Capaccio 1592, I:40r).

19.

“Vorrei ch’una volta νοὶ faceste il corpo, io l’anima, accid che conosceste ch’é

meglio e più sicuro dar consiglio, che fare esperienza” (Capaccio 1607, 267r).

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Signor Tauldino: “The impresa must offend neither the eye nor the thought, but must be so candid, that the sight of it accommodates to the purest intellect. ... the draft of the impresa that you send me, with no meaning, I say freely does not please me!”” He gives ample proof of his imaginative abilities as inventor when he writes, “I say that for the salons the heroic imprese are most suitable, for the chambers the beautiful, for the gardens the sylvan.””' The issue of pertinence addressed here indicates Capaccio’s attachment to certain precepts, in the spirit of the theory already formulated by Ruscelli, which examines the “places where they [the imprese] are most suitable” (Ruscelli 1556, 185): Install imprese above the doors of the houses, either painted or as sculptures ... Install them above the doors of the chambers, or above the cornices (where these are used) of the headboards, in framed canvases or panels, like portraits and so on. However, in effect I do not appreciate the installation of pictures of imprese by themselves, but in portraits or other sorts of pictures they will be appropriate whether above or below, or on one of the sides as part of the surrounding frieze, or in other ways to accommodate the impresa in a piece.”

This strategy is reflected in the proposal addressed to Signor Abbate de’ Vecchi, drawn up in accordance with the principle of functional rationality. Capaccio suggests a decoration for the loggia “della nuova fabrica per occupar quel falso che porgea non buona vista allo studio” [of the new building to occupy the unsatisfactory part that looks so bad from the studio] (Capaccio 1607, 241r), where every element marks a step in an ordered expository process designed to celebrate the virtues of the patron. 20.

“Non deve l'impresa offendere né l’occhio, né il pensiero, ma deve ella esser cosi

candida, che la buona vista si accomodi al più purgato intelletto. . . . l’impresa

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The loggia, probably subdivided into three vaults (“volte ornate di cose

marittime” [vaults decorated with maritime things] [Capaccio 1607, 241r]), was characterized by a succession of decorative schemes, such as

grotesques “con granchi, paguri, turbini, con fiumi coricati cinti d’alche, e mill'altre invenzioni de’ pittori” [with crabs, hermit crabs, shells, with

rivers bordered by vegetation, and a thousand other painters’ inventions” (Capaccio 1607, 241r). The first painting in the vault of the ceiling was of Neptune drawn by horses, with a retinue of nymphs on dolphins, followed by two ships, one in a storm and one with its sails unfurled. The cycle concluded with two tondos, showing Triton and Virgil; two niches, with Bellona and Apollo; and a series of marble statues depicting emperors. The underlying symbolic meaning clearly alluded to the virtues of the owner, exalted for his valor and erudition. In this case too, although the source of Capaccio references is not immediately recognizable, his work is based on a specific expository model—the famous Roman courtyard commissioned by Andrea della Valle: “I would like very much that walking one day you might go to see the beautiful studio of the Marquis della Valle, who alone today in this City dedicates himself to the liberal arts, putting to shame those gentlemen who unfortunately indulge in less worthy pursuits.” Perhaps precisely because of Capaccio’s highly developed skills as a scholar of the ancient, Giovanni Battista Manso, head of the Accademia degli Oziosi (founded in Naples on 3 May 1611), entrusted him with the task of drawing up the iconographic program for the decoration of one of the halls of the Palazzo Reale [Royal palace]. Painted by Belisario Corenzio, between 1624 and 1629, by order of Antonio Alvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alba and viceroy of Naples from 1622 to 1629, the cycle of frescoes shows the achievements of the duke’s ancestor (the general of the imperial armies, Fernando Alvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alba and viceroy of Naples

che V. S. mi manda nel disegno, senza (succo) alla libera dico che non mi piace!” (Capaccio 1607, 268v). 21.

“Dico che nelle sale convengono l'Imprese eroiche, nelle camere le deliziose, ne’ giardini le boscareccie” (Capaccio 1592, I:40r).

22.

“Fannosi dell’imprese sopra le porte delle case, o dipinte, o in scultura.... Fansene sopra le porte delle camere, o sopra le cornici (ove s'usano) da spalliere, in quadri di tela, o di tavole, come i ritratti e gli altri tali. Benché in effetto io non

lodo molto il far quadri dell’imprese sola, ma ne i ritratti, o nell’altre sorti di

quadri stara bene che o in cima, o da basso. o dall’un de’ lati nel fregio d’attorno,

23.

“Havrei a caro che passeggiando un giorno andaste a vedere il bellissimo studio del Marchese della Valle, che solo oggi in cotesta Citta si diletta dell’arti liberali, con grave scorno de’ Cavalieri datisi purtroppo alle delicatezze” (Capaccio 1607, 2421).

24.

On the aesthetic and figurative discussions of the Accademia degli Oziosi, see Schiitze 1992, 209-26; see also the notes in Schütze, as well as in Willette 1992,

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Signor Tauldino: “The impresa must offend neither the eye nor the thought, but must be so candid, that the sight of it accommodates to the purest intellect. ... the draft of the impresa that you send me, with no meaning, I say freely does not please me!””° He gives ample proof of his imaginative abilities as inventor when he writes, “I say that for the salons the heroic imprese are most suitable, for the chambers the beautiful, for the gardens the sylvan.” The issue of pertinence addressed here indicates Capaccio’s attachment to certain precepts, in the spirit of the theory already formulated by Ruscelli, which examines the “places where they [the imprese] are most suitable” (Ruscelli 1556, 185):

Install imprese above the doors of the houses, either painted or as sculptures . . . Install them above the doors of the chambers, or above the cornices

(where these are used) of the headboards, in framed canvases or panels, like portraits and so on. However, in effect I do not appreciate the installation of

pictures of imprese by themselves, but in portraits or other sorts of pictures they will be appropriate whether above or below, or on one of the sides as part of the surrounding frieze, or in other ways to accommodate the impresa ; a piece. em ee in

This strategy is reflected in the proposal addressed to Signor Abbate de’ Vecchi, drawn up in accordance with the principle of functional rationality. Capaccio suggests a decoration for the loggia “della nuova fabrica per occupar quel falso che porgea non buona vista allo studio” [of the new building to occupy the unsatisfactory part that looks so bad from the studio] (Capaccio 1607, 241r), where every element marks a step in an ordered expository process designed to celebrate the virtues of the patron. 20.

“Non deve l’impresa offendere né l'occhio, né il pensiero, ma deve ella esser cosi candida, che la buona vista si accomodi al più purgato intelletto. .. . !impresa

Daniela Caracciolo

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The loggia, probably subdivided into three vaults (“volte ornate di cose marittime”

[vaults decorated

with

maritime

things]

[Capaccio

1607,

241r]), was characterized by a succession of decorative schemes, such as grotesques “con granchi, paguri, turbini, con fiumi coricati cinti d’alche, e mill’altre invenzioni de’ pittori” [with crabs, hermit crabs, shells, with rivers bordered by vegetation, and a thousand other painters’ inventions” ] (Capaccio 1607, 241r). The first painting in the vault of the ceiling was of Neptune drawn by horses, with a retinue of nymphs on dolphins, followed by two ships, one in a storm and one with its sails unfurled. The cycle concluded with two tondos, showing Triton and Virgil; two niches, with Bellona and Apollo; and a series of marble statues depicting emperors. The underlying symbolic meaning clearly alluded to the virtues of the owner, exalted for his valor and erudition. In this case too, although the source of Capaccio’s references is not immediately recognizable, his work is based on a specific expository model—the famous Roman courtyard commissioned by Andrea della Valle: “I would like very much that walking one day you might go to see the beautiful studio of the Marquis della Valle, who alone today in this City dedicates himself to the liberal arts, putting to shame those gentlemen who unfortunately indulge in less worthy pursuits”? Perhaps precisely because of Capaccio’s highly developed skills as a scholar of the ancient, Giovanni Battista Manso, head of the Accademia degli Oziosi (founded in Naples on 3 May 16112*), entrusted him with the task of drawing up the iconographic program for the decoration of one of the halls of the Palazzo Reale [Royal palace]. Painted by Belisario Corenzio, between 1624 and 1629, by order of Antonio Alvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alba and viceroy of Naples from 1622 to 1629, the cycle of frescoes shows the achievements of the duke’s ancestor (the general of the imperial armies, Fernando Alvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alba and viceroy of Naples

che V. S. mi manda nel disegno, senza (succo) alla libera dico che non mi piace!” (Capaccio 1607, 268v).

21. 22.

“Dico che nelle sale convengono l’Imprese eroiche, nelle camere le deliziose, ne’

giardini le boscareccie” (Capaccio 1592, I:40r).

23.

“Fannosi dell’imprese sopra le porte delle case, o dipinte, o in scultura.... Fan-

sene sopra le porte delle camere, o sopra le cornici (ove s’usano) da spalliere, in quadri di tela, o di tavole, come i ritratti e gli altri tali. Benché in effetto io non

lodo molto il far quadri dell’imprese sola, ma ne i ritratti, o nell’altre sorti di

quadri starà bene che o in cima, o da basso, o dall’un de’ lati nel fregio d’attorno, o in altro modo si faccia accomodar l’impresa in un pezzo.” (Ruscelli 1556, 185)

“Havrei a caro che passeggiando un giorno andaste a vedere il bellissimo studio

del Marchese della Valle, che solo oggi in cotesta Citta si diletta dell’arti liberali,

con grave scorno de’ Cavalieri datisi purtroppo alle delicatezze” (Capaccio 1607, 2421).

24.

On the aesthetic and figurative discussions of the Accademia degli Oziosi, see Schütze 1992, 209-26; see also the notes in Schütze, as well as in Willette 1992,

33-41.

236

from 1556 to 1558) in Germany and Flanders.” It is no surprise, then, that Capaccio wrote of himself in his Forastiero: “In pictorial decoration [my knowledge of antiquity] made me an explainer of infinite details that were then painted in loggias, chambers and vases with a workmanship worthy of being admired.”?

Moral Emblems

Having already indicated the ethical and moral meaning of symbols, in Delle imprese, in 1602 Capaccio came out with another “iconic text” (Rak 2003,

129)—the Apologi, published in Naples””—in which he experimented with

another codified literary genre: fables.” Specifically, Capaccio reprised the ideas of Bernardino Baldi (1553-1617), a poet whom he likely met at the court of Urbino, where our author moved after leaving Naples. Baldi had published his Cento apologi in 1590.” The moral commentary of Capaccio’s Apologi is produced by the interplay between text and image: Each brief chapter consists of a title, a symbolic image, a poetic composition, and an explanatory warning. Drawing from these elements, each apologue evokes a symbolic meaning, 25.

On the frescoes of Palazzo Reale, see Pacelli 1984, 158-79. Capaccio worked with Marcantonio Cavalieri in the preparation of the program for a decorative cycle, references to which remain in the correspondence kept in the Archive of

26.

Monte Manso, in Naples, and published by Pacelli 1984, 178-79. The paintings by Belisario in Palazzo Reale are referred to in Capaccio 1634, 854. “Negli adornamenti di pitture mi ha fatto [la conoscenza dell’antichita] spiegatore d'infiniti capricci che poi sono stati dipinti in logge, in camere, in vasi con lavoro degno di essere ammirato” (Capaccio 1634, 66).

27.

An initial study of this work is to be found in Ianella 1999.

28.

This genre enjoyed great success in Naples. An example is Aesopus. Vita et fabulae latine et italice, an incunable of 1485, finely illustrated, containing the Latin version of Aesopus moralisatus with the corresponding Italian translation and comments by Francesco Del Tuppo (Coppola 1996, 3-14; Corfiati 2004, 745-58). Bentley 1987; Mulas 2000, 77-106. “Ond’io questo stile seguendo con l'occasione de gli Apolgi accennati da Ber-

29.

Daniela Caracciolo

EMBLEMATICA

nardino Baldi Abate di Guastalla, a cui deo molto che con gli scritti suoi a scriver

237

just like the imprese and emblems, which refer to something other than what they appear to show at first glance. The apologues conclude with dicerie morali [moral sayings], of which Capaccio writes, “Parve a i curiosi che la nudita de gli apologi dovesse con le sue moralita coprirsi” [It appeared to the curious that the nakedness of the apologues had to be covered with their moralities]. What this manner of writing produces, he adds, is “tutto cid che questa maniera di scrivere produce è che diletta lanimo, esercita l’ingegno, alleggia la malinconia” [that which delights the

soul, exercises the wit, chases away melancholy] (Capaccio 1602, “Avviso ai lettori”). The function of the apologue in Capaccio’s work is thus affirmed: it is a form of pleasure for the intellect, from which one may draw useful moral teachings. A similar intent seems to underlie the Principe, of 1620, a treatise Capaccio had been working on since 1594,* dedicated to the explication of ethical, civil, and religious norms. The work is a fundamentally preceptive text. Capaccio describes the virtues necessary for the perfect prince, which include fairness, courage, moderation, magnificence, magnanimity, generosity, humility, and wisdom. The function of emblems in this work is to establish what constitutes virtue and what constitutes vice, much like the Apologi, whose primary goal was to provide “sentenze di verita nell’Etico, e nel Politico” {judgments of truth in the Ethical and Political] (Capaccio 1602, “Avviso ai lettori”). Capaccio obtained a large part of the material for the Principe from Alciato: “From all the Emblems of Alciati I was able to derive political precepts for the erudition of a Prince.’*! His reasons for doing so can be clarified by considering the conditions of the court in which he had taken refuge: the young Federico Ubaldo, son of Francesco Maria II, had succeeded to the throne of Urbino on 14 May 1621, at the tender age of sixteen. The duke’s young age explains why in the dedication (dated 20 November 1619 in Casteldurante) emblems are proposed as teaching aids, given their immediacy and visual impact (Cascione 2007, 93-114). After restating his theory of the three genres of symbolic images (impresa,emblem, hieroglyphic), which he had already introduced in Delle imprese, Capaccio also declares in the dedication that “the Emblem will be a painting based on

simil materia mi fu sprone, del suo pigliando molti concetti, e del mio giungen-

dola rima, e gli altri concetti miei; ho voluto far si, che passando i caldi dell'estate,

scherzando tra pensieri giocosi non solo haveste grate le mie fatiche, ma scorgeste chiaramente che in ogni tempo sono stato, e sard di giovarvi voglioso”

(Capaccio 1602, “Avviso ai lettori”).

30.

31.

This may be inferred from the dedication of the 1599 edition of the Secretario.

“Datutti gli Emblemi dell’Alciati ho potuto cavar precetti politici per lerudizione

di un Principe” (Capaccio 1620, 423).

238

fables, history, and natural things, to represent Morality, Government, and Civilization, and the whole course of human life, described by the brush.”” He refers here to symbolic figures that engage and involve the viewer, and that may be compared to “un bel quadro’ dove si pu vedere dipinto ‘in figure... tutto cid che pud in un medesimo tempo pascere l’intelletto, e dilettar l'occhio” [“a nice painting” in which one can see “in figures . . . everything that can in the same moment nourish the intellect and delight the eye”] (Capaccio 1620, “Avviso ai lettori”). This recalls the famous phrase from the Ars poetica, “utile dulci del poeta latino Orazio” (333). Capaccio thus reproposes the values of a “moralistic classicism” that rhetorically joins docere with delectatio. Capaccio’s reasoning appears to be fully consistent with the ideology underpinning state and society in late Renaissance Italy, as well as with the moralism of the Counter-Reformation. In a system characterized by political subjugation, Capaccio’s works address issues concerning the prince’s capacity to ensure good government. In order to be perfect, the prince must achieve moral primacy, for it is exemplary morality that unifies the state and guarantees the preservation of the values that the prince himself embodies (Viroli 1994, 74; Doglio 1993, 59-62). Perfectly integrated into a cultural climate in which seventeenthcentury philosophers sought to remind their rulers of the need for religious commitment, Capaccio also tended to emphasize the importance of Christian faith (“osservanza di Cristiano, e di nobile Cavaliero” [observance as a Christian and as a noble Knight] [Capaccio 1620, 195]). In the wider context of late Renaissance Italy, the prince becomes the defender of the Church of Rome and of the Catholic faith. For this reason, he must be “savio, suddito nella Religione” [wise and humble in religion] (Capaccio 1620, 193). The model Capaccio proposes is that of Emperor Charles V, “trionfator di tutti gli inimici di Cristo” [vanquisher of all the enemies of Christ] (Capaccio 1620, 77) and “domator di barbari, e ribelli della Fede”

[tamer of barbarians and rebels against the Faith] (Capaccio 1620, 193).

Praised as a bringer of peace and a paragon of Christian unity in a moment when the Catholic world was seeking to defend its prerogatives, Charles V came to embody the perfect “heroic prince,’ the sovereign who knew how to 32.

Daniela Caracciolo

EMBLEMATICA

“?Emblema sara una pittura cavata dalla favola, dall’historia, e dalle cose naturali, per rappresentare la Moralita, il Governo, la Civiltà, e tutto il corso dell'umana vita, descritta a pennello” (Capaccio 1620, “Avviso ai lettori”).

239

revitalize the imperial myth thanks to the renewed universalist perspectives resulting from the discovery of the New World and from missionary tasks entrusted to Spain (Firpo 2001, 245-61). At various points in the Principe, Capaccio praises the Spanish monarchy,” and, by implication, the Spanish viceroy in Naples, paying homage to the city that had cruelly banished him. This goes some way toward explaining the nature of his pro-Spanish ideology, the result of a long process that took him from writings on good government, which first appeared in a letter to Signor Giovan Battista Crispo (contained in his Secretario, of 1589), to his Principe (Muto 2007, 510), whose salient points are summarized very effectively in the Forastiero (Marino 2006, 145-64). In the works examined here, it is possible to trace a convergence of issues linked to the complex sociopolitical conditions of the Kingdom of Naples, a place where members of the elite, each with a specific history, sought vigilantly to affirm their cultural (and political) standing. Recognizable in Capaccio’s works, albeit mostly in subtle details, is the hegemony over the city exerted by the viceroy—the representative of the Spanish sovereign—as well as the privileged status acquired by the Eletti, who had established a clear degree of separation and self-sufficiency with respect to the nobility and who sought to constitute themselves as separate and autonomous from the court of the viceroy. Capaccio’ editorial project is thus the mirror of his time: In his treatise on imprese and in the Apologi, Capaccio addressed himself to the Eletti because he wanted to be included in the living reality of Neapolitan society, immersed in its vibrant city life and established in its power relationships. Capaccio amplified this position, a few years later, through his reflections on the “ideal prince” the embodiment of the values of classical and Christian civilization, who would victoriously affirm virtue above all else.

Conclusion

Capaccios writings ably record the cultures from which they arose, encompassing rhetoric and literature, fragments of contemporary life, and memories of ancient times. The authors choice of genres, themes, and stylistic approaches indicates his desire to immerse himself in a context of lively discussion. A committed member of the Accademia degli Oziosi, 33.

See praise of Philip II in Capaccio 1620, 103-5, 432.

34.

See homages to the Viceroy Don Pietro di Castro in Capaccio 1620, 53.

240

EMBLEMATICA

Capaccio functioned both as participant and observer in Neapolitan daily life, all the while remaining passionately loyal to the tradition of sixteenth-century classicism. His interpretations of the symbolic language of the imprese show an approach well grounded in theory, and one that values explicit meaning in considering the imprese's intellectual/hermetic aspects. Capaccio participates in the polemics on sacred images of the sixteenth century by considering emblems, #mprese, and hieroglyphics as symbols with ethical and moral significance. His work arose from a culture that sought to establish a moral code governing pre-classical civilizations, according to a theoretical framework similar in nature to the Discorso intorno alle immagini sacre e profane, by Gabriele Paleotti (Bologna, 1582). In the post-Triedntine world, sacred iconography, iconological treatises, and mythography permitted allegorical images as emblems, especially

because the treatise of the theologian Johannes Molanus (De picturis et

imaginibus sacris) had admitted their use.

Investigating key aspects of Capaccio’s rich literary and figurative production reveals a prolific author dedicated to formulating a practical poetics of images and texts for use in contemporary society. Capaccio’s symbolic images addressed to princes and rulers propose appropriate ethical and moral teachings. His works often adheres to the tenets of what might be termed a moralistic classicism, which seeks to combine education and pleasure through the implementation of figures. He does so not in the spirit of a courtly game played for the game’s sake but, instead, for the purpose of visual teaching, aimed at key exponents of contemporary society. Capaccio's

aesthetics thus derive from the theory, associated with classical rhetoric, of

the triple aim of the expressive arts to teach, to move, and to delight (docere, flectere, delectare). His goal was to persuade by means of symbolic images that are both images of instruction and images of power. Works Cited

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KATERINA DOLEJSI

Institute of Art History, Czech Academy of Sciences, Brno

This article takes as its subject a small but remarkable book of emblems associated with the conferral of academic degrees at the Jesuit university in Olomouc, a small town in central Moravia. With the exception of recent publications, by Lubomir Koneënÿ and Jaromir OkKovskŸ, treating the oldest emblematic work from Olomouc, Emblematica VII Artes Liberales [Emblems of the seven liberal arts] (1597), emblems from this region have received almost no scholarly attention. The second-oldest known emblem book from Olomouc, entitled Divus Franciscus Xaverius Magnus Indiarum Apostolus in symbolica decade In honorem annorum decem in Indiis exantlatorum adumbratus et epigrammatum centuria expressus . . . (1663), details

the life and missionary work of St. Francis Xavier (1506-1552). The emblems contained within it are the result of a collaboration between students and teachers of poetics at the university and the artist Martin Antonin Lublinsky (1636-1690), one of the foremost central European print designers of the latter half of the seventeenth century. He studied philosophy from 1656 to 1659 at the Olomouc University and worked for most of his career in Olomouc. In addition to the contributions by the aforementioned individuals, each emblem in Divus Franciscus Xaverius . . . bears a quotation from Torsellino’s biography of Xavier, De vita Francisci Xaverii, first published in 1594, or from another similar source. The following offers descriptions of 247

Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image, vol. 2. Copyright © 2019 by Droz & Emblematica. All rights reserved.

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EMBLEMATICA the ten emblems in Divus Franciscus Xaverius ... and seeks to establish probable sources of inspiration for each. Consideration is also given to the excerpts from external sources (such as Torsellino’s biography) and how they might further illuminate the book’s portrayal of Xavier’s life.

his study focuses on the ten emblems from Divus Franciscus Xaverius Magnus Indiarum Apostolus in symbolica decade In honorem annorum decem in Indiis exantlatorum adumbratus et epigrammatum centuria expressus . . . [(The life of) Saint Francis Xavier, the great apostle of India, in honor of the decade he spent in the Indies, |

outlined in ten emblems and described by one hundred epigrams . . .] and

investigates their sources. All of the emblems under discussion here have the same basic layout, which consists of a superscript quotation from Torsellino’s biography of Xavier, De vita Francisci Xaverii (1594)—or, in some instances, from another source—followed by the traditional emblem components of motto, pictura, and subscriptio. The following analysis provides a description of each emblem before seeking to contextualize it within the life of St. Francis Xavier, whereby particular attention is given to the historical resonances evoked by its component parts. Among the Baroque books in Latin associated with Jesuit learned

circles at Olomouc University,’ there are a few volumes whose illustrations

exhibit the characteristics of emblems, which can be defined as small three-part combinations of image and text (Dolejs{ 2013). The presence of emblematic illustrations in books originating in the university milieu is not surprising considering the important place of emblems in Jesuit pedagogy (Ratio atque Institutio Studiorum, 91, 139; Dimler; Loach, 161-62). In

Olomouc, emblems began to appear shortly after the foundation of the university, in 1566, in the context of congratulatory poetry celebrating the conferral of academic degrees. The first such publication, Emblemata VII Artes Liberales [Emblems of the Seven Liberal Arts], appeared in 1597, when

the university was only three decades old, earning the distinction

of the first emblem book to be published by a Jesuit institution of higher

education (Olsovsky, 14-41; Koneény and OlSovsky 2003, 235-66; 2010,

41-44; Jakubec, 393, cat. no. 236). The brothers Andrzej and Krzysztof

1,

The Jesuit university in Olomouc, now Palackÿ University, has had several names through the years. From 1573 to 1635 it called only Academy (Alma Olomucensis academia collegii episcopalis Societatis Iesu), while after 1635 it was known

as Alma caesarea regia ac episcopalis universitas Societatis Jesu Olomucensis. For

the sake of clarity, it will be referred to as Olomouc University throughout this

article,

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Koryciñskÿ of Korytnä compiled the book as a congratulatory memento to honor members of the university’s Brotherhood of the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary who had just earned their master’s degrees. The frontispiece, whose seven concentric circular medallions each contain a numbered emblem (corresponding to one of the seven liberal arts), is the work of Polish autodidact Samuel Kochanowski. In the year 1597 he was registered at Olomouc University as a student: Samuel Kochanowsky Nobilis de Bari Polonus (Cinek, 69). A similar celebratory event in the spring of 1663 provided occasion for the publication of Divus Franciscus Xaverius Magnus Indiarum Apostolus in symbolica decade In honorem annorum decem in Indiis exantlatorum adumbratus et epigrammatum centuria expressus . . . (neither Backer and Sommervogel nor Daly and Dimler record this imprint; see Dolejgi 2013; 2014) (fig. 1). This little book was dedicated to the university by ten poetics students in celebration of their older peers who had just earned their bachelor’s degrees. The focus of their book on Xavier is not surprising given that the Cult of Xavier had become widely popular in Olomouc by the beginning of the seventeenth century. In 1572, Bishop Stanislav Pavlovsky (stationed in Olomouc from 1579 to 1598) founded a seminary for poor students at Olomouc University, which he named for the saint, whose canonization, in 1622, was marked by an eight-day series of celebrations in Olomouc (Pôtzl-Malikova). In comparison to the relative asceticism of Loyola, the spectacular miracles associated with Francis Xavier made for a story much more attractive to a teenage readership. The details of Xavier’s life are well documented, and do not warrant an in-depth retelling here. It may be useful, however, to consider some of the basic facts upon which the publishers of Divus Franciscus Xaverius . . . based their rendering of the saints biography. Francis Xavier was born on 7 April 1506 in the Castillo de Javier [Castle of Xavier], in Navarra, as Francisco de Jassu y Xavier, the fifth and last child of an old Basque aristocratic family. In 1525, Xavier moved to Paris to study at the Sorbonne, during which time he lived in the College of Santa Barbara. It was there that he met Ignatius Loyola, Peter Faber, and his other First Companions. In 1530, Xavier earned a master’s degree in philosophy.

Four years later, on 15 August, Xavier, along with seven of his companions, took a solemn vow of poverty, purity, and promise to act as missionaries in

the Holy Land. Soon after Pope Paul III formally approved the founding of the Society of Jesus, Xavier was sent as a missionary to the East Indies, where he spent the next ten years. On 3 December 1552, Xavier died on the island of Sancian, where he had stopped over on his way to China. He

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was canonized by Pope Gregory XV in 1622 (Mormando, 9-15; O’ Malley 1993, 23-37; Osswald, 260-64). Divus Franciscus Xaverius . . . begins with a prose preface in elaborate Baroque style, full of classical and biblical quotations as well as symbolic allusions, in which Xavier is given the title Gemma Orientalis [Pearl of the Orient]. There follow ten chapters, each with emblematic illustrations that glorify the ten years Francis Xavier devoted to missionary activity in the East and commemorate the fortieth anniversary of his canonization. The subtle theoretical difference between emblems and symbols was influentially codified by the Jesuit theorist Jakob Masen, in his oft-cited Speculum imaginum veritatis occultae (1650): “What distinguishes the symbol from the emblem? There exist various definitions, depending on how briefly or extensively one wishes to write of their character. In our opinion: the transferred image of the symbol is fashioned so as to clearly represent a single idea by the similitude of an inanimate thing with the life and morals of a living thing.”> Besides the work of Masen, whom Balbin considered to be the highest authority on the theory of emblems and symbols, it is possible that Silvestro Pietrasanta’s De Symbolis Heroicis Libri IX—which was frequently taught at Jesuit schools, and even recommended by Balbin himself—could also have prompted the authors of Divus

Franciscus Xaverius . . . to conceive of their illustrations as symbols. Here,

Pietrasanta establishes a close link between symbols and imprese as devices of a personal nature, whereas emblems have a more universal character: “Quocirca inducor equidem, ut quod est italice Impresa, latine id appellem symbolum heroicum” [Therefore, I am quite covinced that what is called in Italian an impresa should be called a heroic symbol in Latin] (Pietrasanta,

168). My current research indicates that Jesuits at Olomouc University generally preferred the term symbolum for emblematic illustrations in festival books. For this reason, I will refer to the emblems in Divus

Franciscus Xaverius . . . as symbola (sing. symbolum) throughout. The term

symbolum is likely a result, on the one hand, of the Jesuits’ desire to produce publications in accordance with contemporary theoretical discourse and, on the other hand, of the specific functions of university volumes, whose Fig. 1. Title page of Divus Franciscus Xaverius.... (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

2.

“Qualem sibi folia nostra Baccam vendicabunt? Gemmam Orientalem Xaverium” [Τὸ what manner of fruit will our collection be dedicated? To the Pearl of the Orient, Saint Francis Xavier] (Divus Franciscus Xaverius ..., 4).

3.

“Qui symbolum ab emblemate distinguunt, variis id faciunt definitionibus, prout quilibet arctius latiusve eius naturam circumscribit, nostro sensu: Imago est figurata, quae similitudine rei non intelligentis, vitam moresque rei intelli-

gentis, uno conceptu clare repraesentat” (Masen, 444).

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publication was often associated with the congratulatory ceremonies and theatrical productions accompanying the conferral of academic degrees, as well as the ephemeral architectural decorations the Jesuits frequently provided for important events in the Habsburg Empire. Of the twelve known emblematic works that originated from Olomouc during this period, only one describes its contents as “emblems,” whereas the rest use the term “symbol.”* In accordance with practices at other schools, Jesuits at Olomouc University did not reuse the components of their symbols from other emblematic publications in circulation at the time; instead, they composed each pictura and motto organically, with a specific event, person, or story in mind. The festival publication Divus Franciscus Xaverius . . . , a collection of symbola, poems, and epigrams, may also have served as a record of a performance staged during the degree-conferral ceremony, during which each of the ten students of poetics recited a poem he had written, accompanied by the display of a corresponding image, by Martin Antonin Lublinsky (1636-1690). Although we have no clear evidence of public performances in conjunction with Divus Franciscus Xaverius ..., we can speculate about what such an event might have looked like using similar cases at Prague University,’ which have been described by Balbin and Campion. Evidence from the period confirms that emblems played a significant role in the Jesuit education system, particulary in end-of-year celebrations, which included the conferral of degrees. On emblematic declamations used in Jesuit teaching, for example, Bohuslav Balbin writes, “There are other

emblematic declamations where emblems and paintings are interpreted

4.

The term “emblem” is explicitly used only in Emblemata VII Artes Liberales .. ..

The term “symbol” is employed in all of the following works: Academia Sapienti-

ae... (1631); Divus Fransciscus Xaverius...; Portae Gloriae... (1682); Zodiacus

Triumphalis ... (1690); Gloriae Josephiane... (1690); Trophaeum Geminum...

(1699); Leopoldo Iosepho Ioanni... Recens Nato Regis losephi Filio. .. (1700); Colossus olim Soli... (1705); Johannes Hillebrandt, S. J., mmortalitas Sapientis... (1720); Josephus Dalbert, S. J., Hebdomas Gemino Sacratiori Luminari . . . (1721); Christian Schardt, S. J., Via viri in adolescentia . . . (1727); Josephus Gihl, S.J., Pulchra ut Luna... (1742). 5.

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Like the Jesuit university in Olomouc, what is now known as Charles University, in Prague, experienced several name changes. In the seventeenth century it was

given the name Charles-Ferdinand University; later, this name was revised to

Charles University. Owing to the fact that the university had recently changed

its name at the time that Balbin was writing, I have chosen here to refer to the university by its more generic name, Prague University.

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without the emblem itself being performed on the stage” The emblems staged in Prague by the Jesuit Edmund Campion are further evidence of the practice of declaiming emblems not pictured on the stage; Balbin also writes, however, of instances in which painted emblems were placed directly on the stage as they were interpreted (Koneény 1996, 102; 1998,

147-59; 2011b, 9-10).

Each symbolum in Divus Franciscus Xaverius . . . is preceded by a quotation. Some of these quotations are taken from Horatius Torsellino’s biography of St. Francis Xavier (first published in 1594), clearly the most popular one at the time, while others reference the Antwerp Jesuits’ classic work Imago primi saeculi, of 1640 (O'Malley 2015). In one case, there is explicit mention of the bull of canonization issued by Pope Urban VIII on 6 August 1623, entitled Rationi congruit. Under the superscript quotation is the emblematic illustration itself, the pictura, along with a banderole containing the motto. Each illustration is set in a cartouche, the shape of which varies from symbolum to symbolum, together with a medallion bearing the family coat of arms of the poetry society member who selected it. The name of the noble donor is given below the coat of arms, and the page ends in an explanatory subscriptio, which offers a basic interpretation of the symbolum as a whole (fig. 2). On the pages that follow each symbolum, one of the nine Muses—and, in the tenth and last case, Apollo—supplies a Latin poem in measured verse. Ten epigrams written in elegiac distichs, the typical meter of this genre, further elaborate the theme of the emblematic image. The authors of these poems were presumably the noblemen who published the book, men who had attended the school’s class in poetics and were now applying the knowledge they had obtained there. Because the collection had a set theme and predetermined schema, there was little room for the expression of individual style. The poems and epigrams thus reveal much more about popular forms of Baroque poetry in Latin schools and the literary activities of Olomouc University in the seventeenth century than they do about the talents of the individual authors, The two-part structure of these poems resembles the two-part structure of emblem texts in that the first part functions as an apodosis [claim], using a classical allusion to establish a similitude, while the second functions as a protasis [explanation], applying

the similitude to the life of St. Francis Xavier (for a detailed discussion of

this text structure in Latin texts of the Czech Baroque, see Bediich 2008,

846-53; 2012; Némcova-Dragonova, 129-35). 6.

“Sunt aliae emblematicae declamationes, cum explicantur emblemata et picturae : See : S ate aut si etiam ipsum emblema in theatro producitur (Balbin, 480).

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This set of ten emblematic copper engravings (each of which measures

120-130 x 115-122 mm) is thus far the second-earliest known graphic

work signed by the founder of Moravian Baroque painting, Martin Antonin Lublinsky, who, according to Karel Skréta, was the most soughtafter and original artist in Bohemia and Moravia for university print making (see Zelenkovä 2011; Mädi 2014, 195-370). In 1663, the twentyseven-year-old Lublinsky had evidently already earned a master’s degree in philosophy, meaning he had accrued significant experience with the Jesuit educational system, a context in which emblematics had an integral place. He most probably cultivated his artistic talent with painters trained in Italian Baroque painting, who regarded imprese and emblems as sources of inspiration. Through these experiences, he became familiar enough with the main currents in contemporary literary and visual art that, as early as 1659, he confidently characterized himself as “erudite.” The fact that Lublinsky

consistently attached the word “fecit” [he made]

Fig. 2. Martin Antonin Lublinsky, symbolum 1 from Divus Franciscus Xaverius. ... (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

to his signature also

suggests that he played a major role in the emblems’ invention, although the initiator of the publication, very likely one of the Jesuits, must have been responsible for the work’s overall visual and poetic conceptualization. The commissioners of the book, students of emblematic poetry, may also have had a hand in its production. The following examination of the ten symbola of Divus Franciscus Xaverius . . . shows how the traditional figural iconographic schema was configured to suit emblematic structure, and suggests possible sources for this configuration (see Olleta, 359-414). Apart from the general taste for emblematics during this period, the authors’ choice of emblematic illustration over more-direct figural compositions may have been influenced by a 1655 collection of eulogistic poetry by Italian Jesuit Carlo Bovio (1614-1705)—dedicated to the other founder of the order, St. Ignatius of Loyola—which, though more sophisticated than Divus Franciscus Xaverius . . . , makes abundant use of emblematic imagery. Published eight years before Divus Franciscus Xaverius . . ., Ignatius insignium, epigrammatum et elogiorum centuriis expressus [Saint Ignatius depicted by one hundred pictures, epigrams, and elogies] contains one hundred emblems, here called “insigne” [signs], created by G. Castellus. As is clear from the title, Bovio’s book also structures its contents in a manner very similar to the Olomouc imprint. In Divus Franciscus Xaverius . . . , the subject of each symbolum is always introduced in the form of a quotation. The introduction of the

first subject, “Atlas coelestis sphaerae baiulus toti sufficit unus Xavier ab

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Ignatio in Indias missus, cum utrique unus orbis non sufficeret, Indiae toti

sufficit unus” [In his sleep, Saint Francis Xavier saw himself carrying on his back an Indian so heavy that he awoke from the dream exhausted by the weight], is almost an exact quotation from the eighth chapter of the first book of Torsellino’s biography (Torsellino, 25-26). In the second half of the seventeenth century, Saint Francis Xavier's ten years in the Indies and the miracles associated with his mission there split off as a distinct cycle from the overall iconography of the saint (Osswald, 266-77). This development was connected with the appearance of new honorary rituals, such as the Service for Ten Fridays, in which each of ten consecutive Fridays was devoted to one of the ten years of Xavier's mission. Prague Jesuits held this special service in their college in Prague’s New Town during second half of seventeenth century (Oulikova, 157). The subject of symbolum 1 is “Somnium Xaverii” [The dream of Saint Francis Xavier], a typical motif in most depictions of the saint’s ten-year mission. Even before he was sent to the Indies, Xavier had had a recurring dream that turned out to be prophetic. In it he saw himself carrying a native man on his shoulders, an image so vivid that he always awoke from the pain of physical exertion. The story, repeated many times during the canonization process, was the ideal symbol of Xavier agonizing selfsacrifice, a metaphor for his decision to propagate Christianity in Asia until

he became too exhausted to carry on (Leone, 453).

In the pictura of symbolum 1, Lublinsky transforms the saint into Atlas, who has fallen to his knees under the weight of the heavenly vault he bears on his shoulders. Around the celestial sphere is a belt with the motto “Non sufficit unus” [One (world) is not enough]. The subscriptio offers a guideline for interpreting the emblem: “Atlas coelestis sphaerae bajulus toti sufficit unus Xavier ab Ignatio in Indias missus, cum

Fig. 3. Martin Antonin Lublinsky, pictura and motto of symbolum 1 from Divus Franciscus Xaverius.... (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

utrique unus

orbis non sufficeret, Indiae toti sufficit unus” [Francis, whom Ignatius sent to India because one world would not have been enough for both, took it all upon himself, just as Atlas managed by himself to carry the vault of

heaven on his shoulders] (fig. 3). Both the motto and the protasis of the

subscriptio are drawn from the Imago primi saeculi. In this work, the poem glorifying the Society’s India mission is accompanied by a representation of the Western and Southern Hemispheres as the two worlds in which the two Jesuit missionaries, respectively, worked—since for them, “one world was not enough,’ as the poem’s inscription reads (Bolland, 326, similarly 318; 199 depicts another pictura with the motto “Nexus non sufficit unus”). Bovio used exactly the same motto, with a slightly altered word order—“Unus non sufficit”—for his emblem LVII. In this emblem,

Xavier's deployment on the mission to India is represented symbolically by the image of two spheres set alight with an ingenious ignition mechanism (Bovio, 169) (fig. 4). Although some theorists, such as Masen, advised against drawing from mythology in the creation of symbola, the use of the generally familiar motif of Atlas to refer to Saint Francis Xavier was effective and witty (Masen, 462). This was precisely the “novitas et inexpectatus lepor” [novelty and unexpected charm] praised by Balbin, the quality that made such emblems sought after and admired (Balbin, 318). The motif of Atlas is common in emblematics. For example, in the pictura of the third impresa in Juan de Borjas Empresas morales, Erasmus Hornick depicted a standing Atlas shouldering a celestial globe emblazoned with the Zodiac. The motto

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reads, “Leve et momentaneum” [Lightly and ephemerally] (Borja, 7). Atlas is presented in a similar way, only nude, in impresa 77 (for the Venetian Doge Andrea Gritti) of the third volume of Typots Symbola divina atque humana (Typot, 9). Here, the inscription reads, “Sustinet nec fatiscit” [He supports and does not tire]. The image of a standing Atlas, accompanied by the motto “Ur quiescat Atlas” [ Would that Atlas might rest], was also used

by Silvestr Pietrasanta (239) (fig. 5). Filippo Picinelli’s depiction of this

figure in his popular encylopedia of emblems of 1653, Mundus symbolicus, invites a comparative reading with St. Christopher, who carries the infant

Jesus on his shoulders (Picinelli, 75). This religious allusion is significant

Fig. 4. Carlo Bovio, emblem 67 from Ignatius insignium, epigrammatum et elogiorum cen-

turiis expressus (Rome, 1655). (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

when considering Xavier's dream, as it could be said that the image of Atlas represented something similar for the saint—namely, the responsibility of bringing Christianity to the East. Symbolum 2 of Divus Franciscus Xaverius ..., text by Petr Leopold Orlik of Lazisko, features another commonly depicted episode from Xavier’s life: his ecstasy, with the invocation “Satis est, Domine, satis est” [Enough Lord, enough!]. The superscript quotation reads, “Xaverius Goae in horto inambulans, Coelestium rerum Cogitatione absorptus, tandem sui compos in has voces prorupit: Satis est domine, satis est” [When Xavier was walking in the garden of the college in Goa, he was consumed by thoughts of heaven. As soon as he awoke from his trance, he called out, “Enough Lord,

enough!”]. The scene described here references a colorful account in Jesuit

sources, according to which “Saint Francis Xavier sometimes remained wholly immersed in pious thoughts during the night; both his hands were seen to tear the clothes from his chest and he was heard repeatedly calling out those words, so often already most sweetly whispered, ‘It is enough Lord, it is enough!” The iconography of the ecstatic trance was connected with the first vera effigies of Saint Francis Xavier, as created by Valerian Regnard for the ephemeral decorations to be used at Xavier’s canonization

ceremony, in 1622 (Osswald, 69).

This dramatic gesture of Xavier’s is also the subject of Lublinsky’s second pictura in Divus Franciscus Xaverius .. . (fig. 6). In an auricle cartouche, a soldier in a contemporary uniform loads a field cannon from the front, his barrel of gunpowder propped up against a nearby tree. A town is visible on a rocky outcrop in the background. The relationship between this rather 7.

Fig. 5. Silvester Petrasancta, “Ut quiescat Atlas” [Would that Atlas might rest], from De symbolis heroicis libri IX (Antwerp, 1634). (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

“Franciscus Xaverius, quorum hic exaestuante divina consolatione solitus exclamare: Satis est, Domine, satis est .. cum noctibus aliquando rigentibus sub divo in oratione persissteret, visus sit atque ambabus manibus tunicam a corde subducere, atque auditus non semel exclamare verba illa toties iam atque suavissime

decantata, Satis est Domine, satis est” (Bolland, 429, 605).

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God's favor, which threatens to set his heart on fire. In this example, the soldier establishes an unusual parallel with the love of God. The symbolism of this image becomes clearer when the possible sources of Lublinsky’s pictura are considered. One inspiration may have been Paolo Aresius’s Imprese sacre con triplicati discorsi illustrate & arricchite. The pictura of the nineteenth impresa in this work’s third book, a symbolic representation of mansuetudo {mildness], depicts

a bombardment—a cannon attacking

battlements. Instead of destroying its target, however, the cannonball is absorbed by a soft, downy covering attached to the fortification wall, lending visual expression to the motto “In molli frangitur” [It is weakened in softeness] (Aresi, 104). Pietrasanta depicts an almost identical scene, with the very same inscription, in his Symbola heroica, explaining that “lenitatis est Symbolum, quae sola virtus potest universum irae impetum hebetare” [the meaning of the symbolum “Mildness” is that only this virtue can blunt every angry assault] (Pietrasacta, 255; see also Picinelli, 511). An emblem portraying a cannon, together with a quadrant (for measuring the angle of elevation), can also be found in the popular book Idea principis christiano — politici, centum symbolis expressa, by Diego Saavedra Fajardo (Saavedra, 24;

Koneény 1972, 339; Henkel and Schône, 1519-1522; Peil, 179). Similar

emblematic sources were likewise an inspiration to Carlo Bovio in the conception of emblem V in his book Ignatius insignium, epigrammatum et elogiorum centuriis expressus, with the motto “Cum fulgore sonus” [With sound a flash] once again evoking the cannon imagery, this time in reference to St. Ignatius of Loyola (Bovio, 13) (fig. 7). Symbolum 3 in Divus Franciscus Xaverius . . . , text by Karel Julius

Orlik of Lazisko, metaphorically expresses the indomitable character of

Fig. 6. Martin Antonin Lublinsky, sybolum 2 from Divus Franciscus Xaverius.... (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

obscure scene and the mild and peaceful saint is elucidated in the motto, “Non capiorumpar” [Ishall notbear much too much], and in the explanatory subscriptio, “Machina bellica, plus aequo sese oneranti suo modo dicit: Non

Francis Xavier. The subject is the motif “Amplius Domine, Amplius” the counterpart to the preceding “Satis est.” The superscript, “Xaverius adversis exercitus necdum satur ingeminat Amplius Domine amplius” [ Xavier, although afflicted with various adversities, never had enough of them and cried, “More Lord, more!”], freely paraphrases the eulogistic speech dedicated to the saint in the Imago primi saeculi: “Dum novos ille labores cogitaret, laborum illi praemium praeparabat Deus, atque hisce ad se vocibus invitabat: Satis est, Francisce, satis est; omitte tuam istam vocem insatiabilem

saying, “It may tear me in pieces, I will not bear too much,’ so Xavier groans

laborum iuxta ac victoriarum, Amplius, amplius” [While he was musing on these recent difficulties, God was already preparing his reward for these adversities and with these words called him to himself: It is enough, Francis,

might be destroyed if not handled with care symbolizes Xavier at the height of his ecstatic trance, tearing the clothes from his chest to cool the heat of

victories over yourself ] (Bolland, 698). The pictura of the third chapter is set in an enfolded cartouche framed by a pair of columns, with an inscription

capio rumpar, Xaverius ex copia coelestium consolationum ingeminat satis est domine satis est” [As a cannon filled beyond measure resists the soldier,

over the great favor of heaven, “Enough, Lord, enough!”]. A cannon that

it is enough; leave now this unassuagable calling for “More, More” tests and

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Fig. 7. Carlo Bovio, emblem 5 from Ignatius insignium, epigrammatum et elogiorum centuriis

expressus (Rome, 1655). (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

identical to the device of the donor (the namesake of Emperor Charles V): “Plus ultra” [More and further]. In the Olomouc imprint, the two columns allude principally to the two main supporters of the Jesuit order, St. Ignatius of Loyola and St. Francis Xavier, as two ideal priests, counterparts to the apostles Peter and Paul (Bolland, 83; Nevimova, 395). In a vista of open countryside between the columns, St. Francis Xavier is depicted asa leafy tree from which pieces of branches are flying away. Instead of falling downward, however, the fruits of Xavier's tree—the Juglans regia

(literally “royal walnut”)—fall upward when it is beaten by sticks (fig. 8).

The walnut as a metaphor for the challenges of priesthood might have been deliberately chosen for Karel Julius Orlik of Lazisko—a young man destined by family tradition for a church career—as a symbol of the moral ideal to which he was supposed to aspire. The vocation of priesthood was often compared to the walnut, whose bark is bitter but whose core is sweet (Picinelli, 292). To clarify the image’s moral appeal, the tree is crowned

by the motto “Uberior cum verberor” [By beating I am improved]. The

Fig. 8. Martin Antonin Lublinsky, symbolum 3 from Divus Franciscus Xaverius.. . . (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

symbolic connection between the walnut tree and the career of St. Francis Xavier is interpreted in the subscriptio as follows: “Iuglans quo plus verberatur eo feracior hanc Epigraphen: Uberior cum verberor, S. Xaverius fructum uberiorem ut caperet in patientia amore crucis amplius domine

amplius inclamat” [Just as the walnut tree gives more abundant fruit the more it is beaten, the inscription reads, “By beating I am improved.” So also Xavier, in order that he should more abandantly harvest the fruits of privation in the desire to suffer, called out, “More, Lord, more”]. The motif of the tree whose fruits are produced by suffering was not the invention of Lublinsky. Rather, this motif has a rich iconographic tradition in emblematics. An example is emblem 193 from the editio optima of Alciato’s compendium, with the motto “In foecunditatem sibi ipsi damnosam”

[In

generosity ruinous to its very self] (Alciato, 822). Alciato’s emblem depicts two boys who beat a walnut tree with sticks to make its nuts fall. Lublinsky’s version omits the pair of boys, thereby slightly complicating the reading of the

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Fig. 9. Andrea Alciato, “In foecunditatem sibi ipsi damnosam” [In generosity ruinous to its very self]. (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

Fig. 10. Jacob Typot, “Inopem me copia facit” [Generosity makes me powerless], from Symbola varia diversorum Principum sacrosanctae Ecclesiae (Prague, 1602). (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

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pictura (fig. 9). With reference to the pseudo-Ovidian “Elegia de Nuce“ [Elegy on the nut], Picinelli reflects in similar spirit on the symbolic meaning of the nut in his compendium Mundus symbolicus, which, among other suitable mottoes, offers “Icor dum ditor” [I am beaten when I give gifts] (Picinelli, 292). Juan de Borja used a thematically related representation of a tree with a branch breaking under the strain of over-abundant fruit in the eighth emblem of his Empresas morales, “Timenda nimia Foecunditas” [Excessive fecundity is to be feared] (Borja, 17). The representation of the tree destroyed by its own fruit subsequently appeared in a book that may well have been one of Lublinsky’s sources of inspiration, owing to its direct relationship to the Olomouc circle. The Rudolphine engraver Aegidius Sadeler (c.1570-1629) used this symbol of fecundity for an emblem dedicated to the bishop of Olomouc, Cardinal Francis of Dietrichstein (1570-1636), in the dedication of the second volume of Typot’s three-volume emblematic handbook Symbola divina atque humana, of 1601-1603 (Typot, dedication of second volume) (fig. 10). The central theme of symbolum 4, the text of which was composed by the Polish nobleman Peter Samuel Jordan of Zakliczyn, is the miraculous

eloquence and power of persuasion exhibited by St. Francis Xavier, whose preaching was known for its accessibility and effectiveness across many languages and nationalities. Xavier's gift of tongues constituted one of the fundamental arguments for his canonization. Interestingly, he himself had complained of difficulties with Japanese and other Oriental languages. The heading of the fourth symbolum, “Xaverius pro concione, uno idiomate cum diceret, a diversis gentibus intellectus est” [Although Francis preached in one

language, different nations understood him], is a reference to the Imago primi saeculi and the papal bull Rationi congruit (Bolland, 602; Rationi congruit). The pictura of emblem 4 shows an organ with box bellows, accompanied by the motto “Varie in variis” [Differently in different things] (fig. 11). The meaning of the pictura is expressed by the subscriptio: “Vnus idemque spiritus in Organo Musico, pro diversitate fistularum operatur varie in variis, Xaverivs uno idiomate dicens ad varias nationes, ab omnibus intelligitur, tanquam vernacula singularum diceret” [Just as the air in the bellows of an organ gives different pitches because of the differences between the pipes, so Xavier, who spoke in one language to different nations, was understood by all as if he were speaking their own tongues]. The image of the organ as a symbol of unity in diversity had been used in emblematica before Lublinsky. Among Pietrasantas symbols, for example, is a depiction of a water organ,

accompanied by the motto “Concino dum concidis” [I play as long as you fall] (Pietrasanta, 430-31) (fig. 12). In a manner similar to the Olomouc emblem, in which Xavier is the organ into which God breathes the gift of

Fig, 11. Martin Antonin Lublinsky, symbolum 4 from Divus Franciscus Xaverius.... (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

the Holy Spirit, Picinelli’s handbook also adopts the motif of harmony in variety—Varietate concentus—whereby the reference is to persons of all types and qualities who work together in harmony for good government (Picinelli, 529). Here again, Carlo Bovio’s pictorially rich Ignatius insignium may have served as inspiration for Lublinsky. His insigne XVIII compares St. Ignatius to the instrument of sacred spaces. Just as the bellows of the organ need to be squeezed and the pedals pushed for the pipes to sound—“Per inania spiritus” [Through empty things, sound]—Ignatius tormented himself with hunger

and thirst in order to enjoy mystical experiences (Bovio, 52) (fig. 13).

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To give an idea of the structure and character of the individual poems found in Divus Franciscus Xaverius . . . , Jordan’s poem to accompany symbolum 4 has been included below in its entirety, in English translation (the original is included in the subsequent footnote). In composing this poem, Petr Samuel Jordan of Zakliczyn drew inspiration from two principal sources: the apodosis is based on the antithetical relationship between the most famous orators of antiquity, Pericles and Cicero, while the protasis treats the divine nature of St. Francis Xavier.

Terpischore enters

with her retinue and sings,

Hold your tongues, and speak more clearly, as you used το. Let the Cecropidae cease their thundering the name of Pericles, who is famous to the boundaries of the Argives. O nurturing mother of the Quirites, stop spreading the lightnings of thundering Tullius, thrown

:

Fig. 12. Silvester Petrasancta, “Concimo dum concidis” [I play as long as you fall], from De symbolis heroicis libri IX (Antwerp, 1634). (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

from public platforms, among the late future generations.

Veil your Plato, O Athenians, in appropriate shadows, although with his pleasant and easy tongue he awakens envy in Jupiter, the scatterer of the lightning. O eloquent barbiton of Orpheus, who

charms wild animals, leave forests to the Thracians! Vanish, O mythical lyres of Amphion! Away with Orion!

The lightning of gunpowder explosion on war does not thus roar in the ears,

nor do Jupiter’s rumbling stars, thrown with Cyclopean thunder, so clearly as [Saint Francis] Xavier's manifold voice sounds in the ears of the common people,

a preacher whose holy prayers strike many different nations ignorant of the art of rhetoric.$

Fig. 13. Carlo Bovio, emblem 18 from Ignatius insignium, epigrammatum et elogiorum cen-

turiis expressus (Rome, 1655). (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

8.

“Terpsichore succedens / In choro suo succinit. / Favete Lingvis ora disertius /

Assveta fari. Cecropidae suum / Tonare desistant Periclem / Argolicis celebra-

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The basis of the poem’s imagery is formed by the striking contrast between Xavier and the greatest orators of the ancient world. The effort to apply knowledge of classical poetry and rhetorical theories, acquired through long hours in the study of poetics, has a somewhat detrimental effect on the aesthetic tone of the verse. The first five stanzas refer to classical motifs, while only the final stanza draws the comparison to St. Francis Xavier, making an awkward transition to the actual topic of the collection. For the fifth symbolum, Vaclav Michal Harasovsky of Harasov chose another typical motif from the saint’s legend, one so powerful that it was probably present in every pictorial cycle depicting the life of Xavier. The biographical theme reads, “Venetiis Xaverius in Valetudinario navata aegris opera manantem ex ulceribus saniem semel atque iterum exfugit” [In a Venetian hospital for sailors, Xavier repeatedly used his own lips to suck pus from the boils on patients bodies]. Harasovsky, as well as Lublinsky, was most probably inspired by Torsellino’s biography, which includes a lengthy description of just such an episode (Torsellino, 14). Expanding on the motif of the hospital, Lublinsky depicts the inside of a Baroque apothecary’s shop, framed by a cartouche topped with a

conch. In the background, there are shelves of flasks, with labels showing

the names of medicines, and in the foreground, a water flask stands on a table. A banderole gives the motto “Et iuvor et iuvo” [By benefiting, I am benefited] (fig. 14). The attached subscriptio further elucidates the message: “Sangvisugae corporibus aegris applicatae, exsucto ex iis corrupto sanguine

singulare seorsim possunt dicere: Et iuvor et iuvo. Xaverius insigni victoria sui, exsucta

ulceris sanie aegrum

sanavit, atque

sibi ad maiores

Virtutes

viam aperuit” [Just as leeches, when they are placed on the body of the

sick to suck out poisoned blood, can say, “By benefiting I am benefited,

so could Xavier, by his exemplary behavior in overcoming his repulsion, when he healed a sick man by sucking the pus from his boils, open the path to greater glory]. The wavy lines in the flask represent the medical leeches ready to be applied to the patient's body. This comparison, which today may seem exaggerated, entirely suited the Baroque love of antithesis and sharply tum in oris. / Vulgare feris desine Posteris / Ultra, intonantis fulmina Tullii / In publicis jactata rostris / Alma Virum Genitrix Quiritum. / Platona Athenae convenientibus / Involvite umbris; Invidiam licet / Iovis cientem fulminantis / Svaviloqua facilique lingva. / Lingvata Thracis cedite barbita / Feras trahentis tum nemora Orphei; / Amphionis tam fabulosae / Ite lyrae, procul hinc Orion.

/ Non sic in auris bellica mugiunt / Displosa nitri pulvere fulmina / Neu Cyklopaeum tonitru / Rauca lovis jaculantur Astra. / En multiformis clarius insonat

/ In aure Vulgi XAVIER, ac ferit / Fandi imperitas Praeco sacra / Omnigenas prece nationes.” (English by Katarzyna Gara.)

Fig. 14. Martin Antonin Lublinsky, symbolum 5 from Divus Franciscus Xaverius .... (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

pointed moral statements, in which the author's acumen is expressed to the fullest. Bohuslav Balbin regarded such extreme comparisons as essential to the construction of an effective symbol: “Pulcherrima sunt, quae ex rebus obviis petuntur; nam lector miratur ex re tam obvia inveniri argumentum” [The most beautiful symbols are those that are drawn from ordinary things because they inspire wonder in the reader at the way that things so ordinary may be used as subjects] (Balbin, 450). The source of inspiration for Lublinsky’s illustration was emblem LXXIV from the fourth centuria of Joachim Camerarius the Younger’s Symbolorum et Emblematum, where a quite faithfully rendered leech on a muddy river bank dominates the circular pictura. In the background stands a rectangular pedestal with a glass flask in which other leeches are swimming, and are more distinctly recognizable as leeches than those in Lublinsky’s version.

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Camerariuss motto, “Vix imis satianda medullis” [Deep in the marrow hardly to be satisfied], makes a negative comparison between love and the insatiable leech, which deprives the beloved of all his power: “Nunquam, plena licet, satiatur sanguine hirudo / Sic succo atque omni sanguine privat

amor” [Although full of blood, the leech never has enough, like a mistress it

sucks out all blood and energy] (Camerarius 1605, 75) (fig. 15). In contrast, Picinelli stresses the healing power of leeches with the motto “Mordendo sanat” [By biting, it heals] (Picinelli, 273). Symbolum 6, text by Jan Alexander Jordin of Zaklyczin, found inspiration in St. Francis Xavier's most fantastical miracle. The story of the pious crab tells how during his voyage to India, the saint calmed a storm by throwing a crucifix into the sea. When the storm was over, a crab returned the crucifix to him. This fantastical but very popular story was in fact probably borrowed from Japanese mythology (Mormando, 11-12). The emblem’s

superscript quotation reads, “Xaverius iniectum

in mare crucifixum, sedata illius tempestate a Cancro marino recuperavit” [Xaverius threw a crucifix into the sea, calming the storm, whereupon a crab brought the crucifix back to him in its claws] (Bolland, 588). In the pictura, Lublinsky drew a lobster bringing from the stormy waves not a crucifix but a standard—vexillum—on which a Cross Pattée and the letters 4 a Q (alluding to the Bible [Rev. 21:6]) are painted. Inscribed in the ribbon above the cross is the motto “In hoc signo vinces” [In this sign you will conquer] (fig. 16). Together, the pictura and motto were meant to remind readers of Constantine the Great's famous dream on the eve of the

Fig. 15. Joachim Camerarius, emblem 47 from Symbolorum et Emblematum. (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

Battle on the Milvian Bridge, in 312 AD, as explained in the epigram under

the cartouche: “Constantino Magno insignitum Cruce Vexillum aether exhibuit cum hac epigraphe: In hoc signo vinces. Xaverio retulit cancer crucifixum, in quo de Maris tempestate triumphavit” [Just as a banner with a cross and the inscription “In this sign you will conquer” appeared to Constantine the Great in the sky, so a lobster brought back to Xavier the crucifix with which he had triumphed over a sea storm]. The story of the crab, in which St. Francis Xavier is presented as a thaumaturge, endowe by God with the ability to control nature, serves as a reaffirmation for the reader of the boundless capabilities of faith. In the pictura of the sixth symbolum, Lublinsky skillfully links these two motifs, and Pietrasanta combines the image of a lobster with the motto “Retrocedens accedit” [Withdrawing he advances] as an example of the ideal use of antithesis (Pietrasanta, 362; Picinelli, 218; Henkel and Schone,

727-28) (fig. 17). The depiction of the vexillus strikingly resembles the pictura of symbol XXVI of Diego Saavedra Fajardo’s Idea principis Fig. 16. Martin Antonin Lublinsky, syabolum 6 from Divus Franciscus Xaverius.... (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

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Fig. 17. Silvester Petrasancta, “Retrocedens accedit” [Withdrawing he advances], from De symbolis heroicis libri IX (Antwerp, 1634). (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research

Library.)

christiano — politici centum symbolis expressa, with the unfinished motto “In hoc signo” [In this sign] (Saavedra, 171) (fig. 18).

Symbolum 7 of Divus Franciscus Xaverius ..., which bears the coat of

arms of Vilém Jachym Harasovsky of Harasov, is devoted to St. Francis Xavier's miraculous ability to predict the future or to see events transpiring in different places at the same time. The pictura features a simple cartouche, inside of which a telescope is shown pointing to the stars. The idea of the telescope as an instrument enabling one to see the future had appeared carlier—in the poetry of John Milton, for example (Koneënÿ 1974, 368-73; 2002, 113-29). The illustration in symbolum 7 is accompanied by the motto “Ex his ventura” [From these what is to come] (fig. 19). The

superscript, “Xaverius insignem Lusitanis victoriam ex Saracenis praedicit” [Xavier predicted a glorious victory for the Portuguese over the infidels], quotes Torsellino’s biography, but it is far likelier that, once again, Urban VIII's canonization bull inspired the theme. Also aligning with the motto, an attached subscriptio explains the comparatio as “Astronomi directo ad sidera ope Tubi Optici oculo ex his ventura praesagiunt, Xaverius defixo in

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Fig. 18. Diego Saavedra Fajardo, “In hoc signo” [In this sign], from Idea Principis ChristianoPolitici 100 Symbolis expresa (1651). (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

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most distant things closeby]. With this motto, Ferro intended to glorify the

prelate’s foresight and ability to judge the distant effects of things (Ferro,

SECTE D i> À

astonomers use the lens of a telescope directed to the stars to predict future events, so Xavier turned his inner sight to God and was thus able to prophesy that the Portuguese would be victorious over the Saracens]. The first telescope in emblematica appeared forty years earlier, in 1623, in Giovanni Ferros Teatro d'imprese, as an imago in two imprese intended for Cardinal Maffeo Barberini, who ascended to the throne of St. Peter as Urban VIII in the same year. As pope, he issued the canonization bull of Xavier on 6 August 1623; however, the official ceremony canonizing Xavier, as well as four others (Ignatius of Loyola, Teresa of Avila, Isidore of Madrid, and Philip Neri), was celebrated by Pope Gregory XV on 12 March 1622. The first of Ferro’s imprese has the motto “Et remotissimia prope” [Even the

:3

deum mentis Oculo, ex eo Victoriam ex Saracenis praedicit Lusitanis”[As

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courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

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Fig. 19. Martin Antonin Lublinskÿ, symbolum 7 from Divus Franciscus Xaverius....(Image

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Fig. 20. Diego Saavedra Fajardo, “Auget et minuit” [It enlarges and diminishes], from Idea Principis Christiano-Politici 100 Symbolis expresa (1651). (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

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522-23; Koneény 2002, 114). The telescope was also used by Pietrasanta in

an impresa for Bishop Peter Aloysius Caraffa (Pietrasanta, 23). This impresa is

explicitly referenced in Bohuslav Balbin’s Verisimilia (Koneény 201 1a, 22931). Symbol VII of Diego Saavedra Fajardo’s Idea principis christiano, with its motto “Auger et minuit” [It enlarges and diminishes], offers the closest visual link to Lublinsky’s pictura (Saavedra, 40) (fig. 20). In Bovios book, a strikingly

similar emblem featuring a telescope is dedicated to a close relative of Pope Urban VIII, Cardinal Antonio Barberini. Just as the telescope allows viewers to see distant stars through its narrow aperture—“Visa per anggustvm” [Seen

through a slit] —so St. Ignatius of Loyola, when he found himself in a difficult

situation, was strengthened by a vision of Christ walking ahead of him (Bovio, 97) (fig. 21). Lublinsky made further use of the telescope emblem in his later

works (MadI 2013, 315-17; 2014, 291-99).

The eighth chapter of Divus Franciscus Xaverius . . . is devoted to another of Francis Xavier's miraculous powers, one that was evidently the most important for his canonization and that frequently appears in both paintings and books. According to Jesuit tradition, the saint supposedly revived the dead, as the inscriptio of symbolum 8 reminds us: “S. Xaverius quatuor supra viginti mortuos in vitam revocat” [St. Francis Xavier brought

more than twenty-four dead people back to life]. It should be noted that this part of Xavier's story was subject to frequent scrutiny and doubt, even among members of the Society of Jesus (Mormando, 11-12). In a richly sculpted cartouche with the coat of arms of the student Martin Kaspricky of Velopoli, Lublinsky depicted a table clock striking the hour, a traditional symbol of the transitory nature of human life. Twenty-four Arabic numerals are inscribed around the edge of a disc decorated as the sun (a so-called Italian dial) (fig. 22). The motto reads, “Repercutit ictas” [It repels blows]. The subscriptio offers an interpretation of this refined play

with transience and eternity, comparing Xavier to the striking hammer, and God, whose symbol is the sun disc, to the mechanism that powers the hammer: “In horologio Viginti quatuor horarum ponderum adminiculo malleus Repercutit ictas. S. Xaverivs in eo qui eum confortat, quaternos supra vicenos Vitae restituit” [Just as on the sounding clock the hammer,

with the aid of sounding weight, returns the blows of twenty-four hours, so Xavier, with the aid of that which strengthened him [God], brought back to life more than twenty-four of the dead]. A very similar clock, with a striking mechanism on which the gaze of the sun is fixed, is part of an impresa in de Borjas book Empresas morales. The accompanying motto reads, “A supremo dirigatur” [The supreme directs it] (Borja, 398-99). In the Imago primi saeculi, the clock is a symbol of

Fig. 21. Carlo Bovio, emblem 33 from Ignatius insignium, epigrammatum et elogiorum centuriis expressus (Rome, 1655). (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

contemplative life, which is refreshed by active life. The pictura of the striking clock is coupled with the motto “Descensus iuvat ascensum” [The descent

aids the ascent]. The last verse of the poem aptly refers to the life of St. Francis Xavier: “Perge per extremas gentes; maria omnia tenta: Ipse suo tollet pondere ad astra labor” | Hasten to the distant nations; set out across all seas: hardships alone will raise you to the stars by their weight] (Bolland, 456; Picinelli, 496) (fig. 23). The creators of the eighth emblem in Divus Franciscus Xaverius . .. may have once again drawn inspiration from Bovio’s Ignatian emblems, where the pictura of insigne XXII depicts a table clock with the motto “Pondus et ordo movent” [The weight and wheel set in motion], a reference to Ignatiuss

celebrated “spiritual exercises,’ which bear fruit only when accompanied by discipline and self-denial (Bovio, 64) (fig. 24).

A genre scene from the life of Francis Xavier inspired symbolum 9, text by the Polish nobleman Jan Stanislav Czechowitz of Pogovia: “Xaverius tenera aetatem campano aere evocatam Catechetica Doctrina imbuit” [Xaverius

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Fig. 22. Martin Antonin Lublinsky, symbolum 8 from Divus Franciscus Xaverius.... (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

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Fig. 24. Carlo Bovio, emblem 22 from Ignatius insignium, epigrammatum et elogiorum centuriis expressus (Rome, 1655). (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

summons the children by bell toa place in the open air, where he teaches them about the principles of Christianity]. According to Xavier's biographers, the saint used unconventional methods on his missionary journeys to foster interest in his religion, particularly among children, because he was keenly aware of the importance of instilling the basic principles of Catholicism at an early age. Torsellino charmingly describes how Xavier, a man already advanced in years and of a certain authority, would walk through the streets and squares with a little bell. He regarded nothing as unfitting that would be pleasing to God and so contribute to the salvation of the people. He would call children and slaves to learn about Christian teaching and in all corners and at crossroads would excite the piety of the inhabitants with this little song.” 9:

Fig. 23. Johannes Bolland, “Descensus

iuvat ascensum”

[The descent aids the ascent],

from Imago primi saeculi Societatis Iesu (Antwerp, 1640). (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

“Homo id aetatis, atque auctoritatis vias plateasque cum tintinnabulo circumibat: adeo nihil quod Deo gratum, hominibus salubre foret, sibi indecorum duce-

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For the pictura of the ninth symbolum, Lublinsky chose a relatively common motif: a cartouche frames a rural landscape with a pecking hen surrounded by chicks in the foreground. The motto reads, “Convocat ut pascat” [He invites them to graze] (fig. 25). Here, the hen symbolically represents St. Francis Xavier the pastor, who provides spiritual nourishment and protection to the local children just as the hen helps the chicks find grain and protects them with her wings. In the subscriptio, her clucking is compared onomatopeically to the ringing of the saint's little bell: “Gallina invento grano glociens pullos convocat ut pascat. S. Xaverius teneram adhuc aetatem tintinnabulo evocat ut catechesi imbuat” [As the hen, when

she finds grain, calls her chickens to graze by her clucking, so Xavier, using his bell, called very small children and taught them about the principles of Christianity].

Here again, Lublinsky’s most probable source was the Imago primi saeculi. Its third chapter includes the emblem of the mother hen protecting her chicks under her wings as an accompaniment to the passage entitled “Scholae Catechisticae” which details the effects of the Society of Jesus's teachings on the smallest children. The Latin poem accompanying the pictura is introduced by the following quotation from the Gospel of Luke

(18:16): “Sinite parvulos venire ad me” [Let the little children come to

me]. According to the poem, little children must be treated kindly and patiently, just as the mother hen treats her chicks when “invitat pennis, ivitat voce, graduque Lente festino sub sua mebra vocat” [she invites them with her feathers, invites with her voice, and summons them under her wings with clucking and slow little steps] (Bolland, 472-73) (fig. 26). Lublinsky’s depiction also has much in common with emblem LI from the third centuria of Camerariuss Symbolorum et Emblematum. The moral appeal of Camerarius's emblem of a rooster and hen pecking the grain was

Fig. 25. Martin Antonin Lublinsky, symbolum 9 from Divus Franciscus Xaverius. ... (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

very suitable for student milieux. The inscription “Pinguescit dum eruit” [While he pecks, he increases] is a metaphor for education, which can only

be acquired through constant hard work: “Rimatur vigilo Sophiae secreta labore, Qui cupit Aoniae frondis honore tegi” [He who wishes to don a laurel crown must with vigilant efforts peck out the secrets of wisdom] (Camerarius, 52) (fig. 27). In his Mundus symbolicus, Picinelli attributes

many symbolic shades of meaning to the hen. Among other things, she can function as an allegory of safety and protection or as a symbol of the preacher, who, by the force of his words, must turn errant souls from deadly bat: puerosque ac servos ad Christianum doctrinam conyocans, ad viarum angulos, atque compita subinde tali carmine incolarum pietatem excitabat” (Torsellino, 61).

Fig. 26. Johannes Bolland, “Sinite parvulos venire ad me. Luc. 18” {Let the children come

to me. Luke 18:16], from the Jmago primi saeculi (Antwerp, 1640). (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

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penetravit” [Not long after Xavier's death the Society entered into India and China].

In a cartouche with mascarons of exotic men, Lublinsky depicts a rocky landscape with a vista of a town in the background. The sun is setting behind a hill, and stars are already coming out in the night sky above the

town. Inscribed in a banderole is the motto “Solis ab occasu” [After the setting of the sun] (fig. 28). The setting sun represents the dying saint, and the stars lighting up the heavens represent the Jesuit missionaries who came

after him. The symbol of the sun has a privileged position in all cultures; it is associated with the fundamental opposition between good and evil, light and darkness. As a Chistological symbol, the sun almost always has a positive meaning. It represents divine perfection, here transferred to the idealized saint. The stars’ positioning in the sky ascribes a spiritual quality to them. In combination with the motif of the sunset, the stars’ part in the divine order suggests the higher meaning of the whole of Xavier's mission. The layered symbolism of light is also addressed in the subscriptio: “Stellae succedanea luce solis ab occasu horizontem illuminant. A morte Xaverii Socii in Sinas atque Indias penetrarunt Lucem Evangelicam afferentes” | Just as after the

setting of the sun the stars illuminate the horizon with strengthening light, so after the death of Xavier the Jesuits made their way into China and India,

bringing the light of the Gospel]. Using the movement of the sun and the Fig. 27. Joachim Camerarius, emblem 51 from Symbolorum et Emblematum. (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

sins, just as she, by her cry, summons her chicks: “Clamat, ut congreget” [She cries to bring them together]. However, Picinelli also regards the hen as a symbol of the academy, a place where children gain a basic education (“parvulis tantum” [only for children]) (Picinelli, 118-20). These various attributes of the hen clearly played a role in the creation of the ninth symbolum in Divus Franciscus Xaverius . As might be expected, symbolum 10, text by Karel Jindtich Schetzlich of Hetzenfeldt, is devoted to Francis Xavier’s death, on the coast of the island

of Sancian. The motif of the dying saint, who spent his final moments in

a dilapidated hut on the seacoast, is perhaps the most frequently depicted theme in his iconography. Its treatment in Divus Franciscus Xaverius . . ., however, accentuates a different dimension of the end of Xavier's earthly

pilgrimage. Death did not end his work; it simply marked a new stage.

Furthermore, tidings of his sanctity enabled other Jesuits to continue his

labors: “A morte Xaverii non ita diu post Societas In Indias atque Sinas

stars as a simile for the Jesuit mission attaches a cosmic importance to the efforts of Xavier and those of his followers in the years to come. Lublinsky’s source of inspiration for the pictura of symbolum 10 was, again, the Imago primi saeculi. Its fourth chapter treats Xavier's death in a poem, accompanied by an emblematic illustration with the superscript text “Xaverius,

orbe peragrato,

moritur

in littore Chinarum”

[Saint

Francis Xavier, after traveling through the whole world, died on the coast

of China]. In Divus Franciscus Xaverius .. ., the title of the poem assumes the function of the motto: “Tum te terra teget, cum totum impleveris orbem” [The earth covered you only when you had filled the whole world].

The illustration in the Imago primi saeculi, framed in a rollwork cartouche, depicts the globe, casting its shadow on a full moon surrounded by blazing stars. Just like the sun in the tenth symbolum of Divus Franciscus Xaverius..., the moon functions here as a symbol for celestial harmony. The Antwerp Jesuits often likened Xavier to the moon, whose phases constitute types of regularly occurring phenomena seen in the night sky by the naked eye. Xavier died having fulfilled his earthly mission, just as “Cynthia sic etiam plena perire solet. Cynthia terrarum, caeli Franciscus ab umbra Palluit” [the Moon, Cynthia, also always dies after the full moon. The Moon pales in

286

EMBLEMATICA

Katetina Dolejsi

287

Fig. 29. Johannes Bolland, “Tum te terra teget, cum totum impleveris orbem” [The earth covered you only when you had filled the whole world], from Imago primi saeculi (Antwerp, 1640). (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

Fig. 28. Martin Antonin Lublinsky, symbolum 10 from Divus Franciscus Xaverius . ... (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

the shadow of the earth. Francis is the heavenly shadow]. The explanation continues: “Obruitur tenebris atque furva Cynthia nube: Franciscus radiis obruit astra suis” [The moon drowns in shadows and dark clouds. Francis

waters the stars with his rays]. Furthermore, his death will give life to the efforts to spread the faith because “maius ab extinct corpora lumen erit” [light will come more abundantly from an extinguished body] (Bolland,

721) (fig. 29). As the moon wanes and waxes, as the sun rises and sets, so Xavier had to be born and then had to die so that his work might be fulfilled. Even more evident is the formal similarity between Lublinsky’s tenth symbolum and the sixty-first emblem in Bovio’s Ignatius insignium, which thematizes the humility of Francis Xavier, who so honored his spiritual father, Ignatius of Loyola, that he always knelt when writing reports to him from India. The pictura portrays a rising sun [St. Ignatius] with the stars [among them Xavier] humbly bowing and setting before its

rays. The motto reads, “Inclinata colunt” [They set in honor] (Bovio, 181) (fig. 30).

The ten individual symbola and their possible sources of inspiration pose the question of how Lublinsky constructed them, whether as inventor or compiler—though neither definition quite captures his modus operandi precisely. In the case of half of the symbola (1, 2, 4, 6, and 7), there is an evident kinship with the Italian Jesuit Silvestro Pietrasanta’s De symbolis

heroicis libri IX, of 1634, while an equal number (1, 2, 7, 8, and 10)

resemble the Ignatian emblems of Carlo Bovio, from 1655. When the details are compared, Lublinsky’s telescope in symbolum 7 emerges as a literal quotation from Bovio. Four symbola (1, 8, 9, and 10) are based on emblematic illustrations from the centenary publication by the Antwerp Jesuits entitled Imago primi saeculi. Three symbola (2, 6, and 7) evidently draw on Saavedra Fajardo’s Idea principis christiano-poilitici, the Latin translation of which appeared in 1649. The emblems of Joachim

Camerarius the Younger seem to have been a source for symbola 5 and 9, where in the latter, the pecking hen in the pictura is a reversed mirror image

288

Katetina Dolejsi

EMBLEMATICA

289

The events from the life of St. Francis Xavier celebrated in emblematic form the conferral of bachelor’s degrees. The preface to Divus Franciscus Xaverius... states clearly, “Philosophis damus Philosophum, quem quondam Parisii suspexere laureatum” [Give the philosophers a philosopher. His laurel was once admired in Paris]. Thus, the academic distinctions earned by these students—the laurel alluded to in the work’s preface—are reflected in the emblems the students studied during their time at Olomouc University and selected for inclusion in Divus Franciscus Xaverius .... Xavier, the great apostle of India, who graduated from the Sorbonne, was also the patron of Poetica, the class in Jesuit grammar schools that focused on the study of emblems. His invocation at the close of formal education, therefore, is entirely appropriate. Xavier was also often depicted in connection with the final defense, or disputatio, of university theses. By emblematizing the life of

the founder of the Society of Jesus, the creators of Divus Franciscus Xaverius...

paid tribute to their Jesuit education. Works Cited

Academia

Er

;a

ne

ee ἘΞ eI Ge: D. AL

oe 2

dya

ao

+ ant 2e

ai a

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Fig. 30. Carlo Bovio, emblem 61 from Ignatius insignium, epigrammatum et elogiorum centuriis expressus (Rome, 1655). (Image courtesy of the Olomouc Research Library.)

of Camerarius’s emblem. In one case (symbolum 3), Alciato’s emblems may also have been used. While it has been possible to document a series of prefigurings and parallels for individual emblems, the symbola of Martin Antonin Lublinsky

cannot be characterized as mere compilations or imitations. Lublinsky worked within the established canon of emblematic visual motifs to create his engravings for Divus Franciscus Xaverius . . . , drawing from a rich emblematic tradition extending back more than a century before the appearance of the Olomouc publication. By the time that Divus Franciscus Xaverius ... appeared, emblematica had become a mainstay in the world of letters, and a great deal of respect was accorded to those who managed to combine image and text in new and surprising ways. This is precisely the achievement of Martin Antonin Lublinsky, whose ingenuity reached its apex

in his later draft designs of university theses and in his output as a painter.

Sapientiae in brutarum Animantium Industria Rationis aemulatrice Symbolice adumbrata Reverendis Nobilibus ac Doctissimis Artium & Philosophiae Magistris Gratulationis ergo dicata cum triennali cursu confecto indepta publice velitationis Victoria, fixis ad metam quadrigis Supremam Philosophiae lauream Capesserent in Alma Universitate Episcopali Collegii Olomucensis Societatis Iesu. Olomouc, 1631. Available in the Research Library in Olomouc, sign. VKOL II 36.337. Alciato, Andrea. Emblemata cum commentariis, Padua, 1621. http:// emblematica.grainger.illinois.edu/portal/detail/book/A21a. Aresi, Paolo. Imprese sacre con triplicati discorsi illustrate & arricchite. Venice, 1629. https://archive.org/details/impresesacrecont13ares. Backer, Augustin and Alois de, and Carlos Sommervogel. Bibliothèque des écrivains de la compagnie de Jésus. 12 vols. Brussels/Paris/Toulouse, 1890-1911; rpt. Louvain, 1960.

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Church Emblems and Their Literary Sources in Brandenburg and Upper Lusatia ULRICH

SCHONTUBE

Evangelische Kirche Berlin-Brandenburg-schlesische Oberlausitz Emblems in church interiors are most frequently based on printed emblem books. Focusing on twelve emblematic decoration schemes found in churches in the Electorate of Brandenburg and the Margraviate of Upper Lusatia, this article explores the processes by which church emblems are formed from literary sources. In some cases, literary emblems or emblem cycles are “quoted” in their new, architectural contexts, without any change to their elements; in others, they are modified. Each case indicates a different reading and interpretation process. I argue, however, that the processes of intermedial transfer underlying these cases have enough in common to warrant categorization. What I propose here is a typology of church-emblem design, based on the relationships of the emblems studied to their sources in literature.

| n nineteenth-century registries of monuments, emblematic pictures are often described as Bauernmalerei (literally, decorative “paintings by farmers’—that is, naive paintings). But many of these images, and especially those found in church interiors, can be traced back to literary sources, Consideration of their literary backgrounds reveals them to be more than mere superficial decorations. Indeed, these adapted emblems invite many different levels of interpretation, not to mention observations on the reading processes associated with emblems in both printed and applied contexts. 297 Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image, vol. 2. Copyright © 2019 by Droz & Emblematica. All rights reserved.

298

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This article attempts to establish categories to describe the relationships between emblem cycles in church interiors and the literary sources from which they were drawn. The study is based on the analysis of twelve emblem cycles in Lutheran churches in the Electorate of Brandenburg (Kurfürstentum Brandenburg) and the Margraviate of Upper Lusatia (Markgrafschaft Oberlausitz). I begin by describing the historical and local backgrounds of the churches in which these emblem cycles are found. This is followed by a brief introduction of the emblem cycles themselves and their literary sources. Drawing on existing observations on the term applied emblematics, 1 then suggest new categories to describe the relationships between the emblems and their sources.

The Electorate of Brandenburg The territory comprised by the Electorate of Brandenburg was divided between Joachim II (1505-1571), who ruled the Kurmark, and Johann von Kiistrin (1513-1571), who governed the Neumark. Both brothers introduced the Lutheran Reformation to their regions. Joachim II attempted to find an intermediate position between the Catholicism of Emperor

Charles V (1500-1558) and the Lutheranism of the region, carrying out a

“Christian” Reformation (Stegmann, 578-90). When the areas were united,

in 1571, under Johann Georg (1525-1598), the confessionalization of the

Brandenburg Church began. All pastors and teachers in the Electorate of Brandenburg were obliged to sign the Formula of Concord, a strong statement of Lutheran doctrine, which had the status of a confessional document. A special church order and systematic inspection visits by church authorities (Kirchenvisitationen) served to consolidate the Lutheran orthodoxy even in the rural areas of the Electorate of Brandenburg. Johann Georg’s grandson Johann Sigismund (1572-1620) converted in 1613, in accordance with his personal and political convictions, from

Lutheranism to Calvinism. The protests of the area aristocrats against this “second Reformation” turned Brandenburg into a bidenominational territory: while the princely court did indeed become Calvinist, the aristocracy remained Lutheran (Beintker, 45). As a rule, the aristocrats held patronage over the village churches, and as far as it was possible they observed their own doctrine in recruiting local pastors as well as in all matters concerning the church buildings.

Ulrich Schéntube

299

This historical background is important for all of the churches in rural Brandenburg in which emblem cycles have been preserved. These churches are located in the electorate’s northern parts, in the Uckermark and in Prignitz, regions decimated by the Thirty Years’ War (1618-1648). Following the war, many churches were rebuilt or partially renovated in their interiors, and their decorative programs often reflected the teachings of the Lutheran faith, preferred by their patrons. Emblematic cycles can still be found in the village churches of Kunow, Dedelow, Casekow, Grenz, Falkenhagen, and Krampfer. Kunow

The Uckermark village church of Kunow houses the largest emblematic cycle in Brandenburg. On the church pews, sixty-one emblem panels have been preserved. The paintings, which were done between 1712 and 1719, are based on two emblem books by Daniel Cramer (1548-1637): the Emblemata Sacra (1624) and the Emblemata Moralia Nova (1630). Cramer was a Generalsuperintendent in Stettin, only fifty kilometers away from Kunow. The painter in Kunow adapted the picturae, the German subscriptio headings, and the biblical references from Cramer’s emblem books. The selection of emblematic motifs and their arrangement in the church area

were guided by liturgical considerations (Schéntube 2005, 31-62). Dedelow

Daniel Cramer's emblem books were also a source for the village church in Dedelow, located north of Prenzlau. The emblematic panels there were produced before 1742 and today are poorly preserved. The paintings, situated on the three-part pew in the presbytery, were used in the eighteenth

century as seating for the pastor and the church elders. The emblems were chosen from two parts of Daniel Cramer’s Emblemata Sacra, according to the pew’s liturgical functions. During the worship service, the church elders sat in the presbytery, and this is also where the sacrament of penance was given and where the corpse was placed during funerals. Accordingly, the selected emblems address good leadership, penance, and the preparation for death (ars moriendi).' i

The following emblems appear on the first pew: “Infernum timeo” (1.29), “Liberor” (1.9), “Suspiro” (1.38), “Per Angusta” (1.43), “Fidelis sum” (1.28); the following emblems appear on the second pew: “Anazwurein” (11.44), “Pro For-

300

Ulrich Schéntube

EMBLEMATICA 184

EMBLEMATUM

PER

| Darel Stubjalwnd. Anat

ANGUSTA,

Actor. 44.7, 22.

ad » arque animam laceranr, finem diadema coronar,

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geben,

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Par plafieurs tribulations il faule entrer au royaume de Dieu,

Le chemin de-vertu tonfiours eff epinenz;

Mais anfi far La fin om trouucLa couronne : Amfi celuy qui tend vers le règne des cieulx Appres pleurs & labeurs Le ioye l'enuirenne. Per molte tribulationi ci bifogna intrare nel regno d' Iddio. effer coronato bifogna che combatti :

"ες fenza labore gli virtuofi fatti : Cofi per ricewer La celefte coronas

Combatre con valore’ & ἃ pieta ti dona.

Tranfi angufta , cupii fi angufla capeffere, aditur Non mif per jpinas ad Diadema poli.

Fig. 2, Daniel Cramer, “Per Angusta,” from Emblemata Sacra 1.43.

Fig. 1. “Durch Trübsal und Angst,” emblematic painting on a church pew in Kunow. (Photo by author.)

Fig. 3. “Per Angusta 43,” emblematic painting on a church pew in Dedelow. (Photo by author.)

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Ulrich Schéntube

EMBLEMATICA

The congregation and the pastor certainly would have recognized the emblems from Emblemata Sacra because, in addition to the images, the Latin inscriptions and emblem reference numbers were also taken from Cramer's book. The corresponding German Bible verses were placed above the panel; today, they are partially damaged. Casekow

There are also emblems rooted in Daniel Cramer’s emblem books in the

village church of Casekow. The four emblems on the Kanzelaltar [pulpit altar] are discussed in detail later. These emblems were created in 1721

(Dehio 2000, 173).

Falkenhagen

Near Dedelow is the village of Falkenhagen. Its church was built in the thirteenth century and was newly furnished in 1725. Similar to the church in Dedelow, there are emblematic paintings on the pew in the church presbytery and also on the pulpit. These emblematic paintings occur together with depictions of biblical scenes. No inscriptions have been preserved. The emblematic and biblical pictures are rooted in several emblem books. Some come from Daniel Cramer, while others, such as those thematizing the Lord’s Prayer, were in published in the Biblia Ectypa (Augsburg, 1695), illustrated by Christoph Weigel. Grenz

Also

in the Uckermark

is the village church

of Grenz.

There

is an

emblematic cycle in its gallery that dates to 1711. The artist responsible for these illustrations drew from Gabriel Rollenhagen’s Nucleus Emblematum, as discussed below.

Krampfer In the Prignitz region, two emblematic cycles, created in 1688 and 1697,

have been preserved in the gallery of the village church of Krampfer. On the gallery's west side is a representation of the Ten Commandments, in accordance with the Lutheran tradition of illustrating the Decalogue. The ma” (11.22), “Vanitas” (1.36); the following emblems appear on the third pew: “Mitesco” (11.4), “Pacis amans” (II.3), “Charitas omnia suffert” (11.28), “Non tantum” (11.41), “Ne pream perant” (11.50), “Morieris” (11.49), “Mors Lucrum” (1.39), “Memento mori” (1.50).

Fig. 4. Emblematic painting on the pulpit in Falkenhagen. (Photo by author.)

303

304

EMBLEMATICA

16

EMBLEMATUM

SACRORUM

=

LESCO,

bos ον L + ftquod q is t mollisuteffequeat. acordis SRE a À, iiq i faxca frangat nempe Dei

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ΘΑ ΞΕ ΞΕ

Ulrich Schéntube Deca: EMBLEMA

17 L

Nunquid non verba mea , fant quafi malleus rens petram ? lerem, 13.29.

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epi qui dete ripe M Comme le battefer marteau la roche brife: Ainfi Seigneur ta loy mon cœur a desbrisé, Dont du tout abattu vers ta grace il vife; Seigneur par ta bonté, qu'il ne foit mefprieé

La mia parola non è ella comeun martello che fpezza la pietra? Conte il dur’ martel La dura rocca fpeffa:

Coff da tua Lagge à il dur mio cuore Batrute gravement, ¢ poft in gran dolore:

305

Other cities and the rural areas followed. This was hardly a uniform process—in some places the city authorities negotiated unusual solutions. The city of Bautzen, for instance, arranged for the simultaneous use of the main church by both denominations. In most cases, the introduction of the Reformation was the responsibility of the city councils, and in rural areas it lay in the hands of the nobility. In a manner similar to the arrangement in Brandenburg, the nobles governed by patronage over the churches, and they strove to make their Lutheran identity visible in the church furnishings. In the comparatively small area of Upper Lusatia, a great number of church emblem cycles have been preserved (Schéntube 2013, 101-19). The following examples are from churches in Reichenbach, Zittau, Waltersdorf, and Friedersdorf. Reichenbach

Ma anol por gra a

In the municipal church of St. John of Reichenbach, not far from Gérlitz,

Cor mibi faxofium eft, mollit me malleus ii EMBLE-

Suftimeo : quid tum , dummodo jim amelie

Fig. 5. Daniel Cramer, Emblemata Sacra (1624).

second cycle of images is located in the eastern part of the gallery, to the right and left of the pulpit. This cycle is based on the seven last words of Jesus on the cross, the Heptology. Its images originate from a sermon collection by Johannes Schlemm entitled Sieben Posaunen [Seven trumpets] (Schéntube 2008, 174, 338). This important cycle will also be discussed in greater detail below.

Upper Lusatia Unlike the elector of Brandenburg, the ruler of Upper Lusatia did not introduce the Reformation into his region. A particular method of

administration had been established there since the Middle Ages: In 1346,

the towns of Bautzen, Lauban, Lôbau, Gérlitz, Kamenz, and Zittau formed a

so-called Lusatian League (Sechs-Stadte-Bund) to protect the country against robber barons. In the middle of the fifteenth century, a diet (Landtag) was

formed, in which representatives from the cities, the landed nobility, and the monasteries came together to govern. The Reformation was first introduced

in Gorlitz and Zittau, by the municipal elites, in 1523-1524 (Speer, 346).

two emblem cycles, dating to 1685, have been preserved. One of the emblem cycles is located on the back of the pew for the church elders. The panels that comprise it derive from illustrations in the Geistlicher Danckaltar (1673), by Heinrich Müller (1631-1675). The selection criteria for these particular emblems have yet to be investigated. The other emblem cycle is located inside the confessional. These emblems are from Daniel Cramer's Emblemata Sacra. Their presence was obviously for the benefit of the pastor, not the public. The reasoning behind the selection of this cycle’s emblems is similar to that in Dedelow: the images are closely tied to the liturgical space and its function, as has been recently described in scholarship (Wieckowski, 92-95). Zittau

The St. James Church in Zittau, formerly a hospital church outside the center of the old city, also features emblems by Daniel Cramer—this time in the gallery. The church’s interior dates to 1617 (Dehio 1996, 872). The grisaille paintings containing biblical stories were created by Johann Sperber (1551-1623) in 1617 (Knuevener, 303). Later, five emblems were integrated from the second part of Daniel Cramer’s Emblemata Sacra. Underneath the plates are the corresponding Bible verses that Cramer had chosen for his literary emblems. It is remarkable in this cycle that Cramer's personal

emblem,

“Coronor;’

was

selected and

placed

before

the final

306

EMBLEMATICA

Ulrich Schéntube

Fig. 6. Pew for church elders in Reichenbach. (Photo by author.)

Fig. 7. Heinrich Miiller, “Haec Tempora signat from Geistlicher Danckaltar.

307

308

EMBLEMATICA

Ulrich Schéntube

309

Fig. 9. “Coronor” emblem in St. James Church in Zittau. (Photo by author.)

panel, the image of the Divine Judgment. Cramer’s emblem expresses that those who follow the right doctrine will receive the crown of eternal life at the Last Judgment (Médersheim, 78). The placement of this emblem in Zittau indicates that the composer of the cycle in the St. James Church not only wanted to teach biblical stories but also sought to make a doctrinal statement. Fig, 8. Cramer emblem inside confessional in Reichenbach. (Photo by author.)

Waltersdorf/Oybin A two-story gallery is located in the village church of Waltersdorf. On the lower level are thirteen emblematic panels, added in 1726, painted in the grisaille style common to the region. The images in one section illustrate the Lord’s Prayer, and in the other section biblical verses from Paul and

the psalms. These illustrations are based on engravings from Christoph Weigel’s Biblia Ectypa, similar to those in neighboring Oybin. The galleries and ceiling of the church in Oybin are covered with rich emblematic décor, added by Johann Christian Schmied, between 1623 and 1737 (Gurlitt, 200).

310

EMBLEMATICA

Ulrich Schôntube

The ceiling painting has not yet been fully analyzed. Some of the church’s

illustrations come from the most famous book of devotional literature at that time, Vier Bücher vom wahren Christentum [Four books on true Christianity], by Johann Arndt (1555-1621). The emblems illustrating the

Lord’ Prayer correspond to engravings in Christoph Weigel’s Biblia Ectypa

and will be discussed in greater detail later.

Friedersdorf The last emblematic cycle to be discussed here is in St. Ursula, the village church of Friedersdorf, near Gôrlitz. Unlike most of the cases named thus far, the church in which this collection is housed has already been described in the literature (Schubert 2011). The gallery of the church in Friedersdorf was constructed in 1701, and its panels were decorated with emblematic images. The cycle was created by former pastor Gottlob Chalybäus, who served the Friedersdorf congregation from 1699 to 1706.2 His successor, Reverend Christian Knauthe (1706-1784), who wrote a chronicle of the congregation and the church, in 1761, described the church interior as follows: “In the church, we found six wide galleries, which various friends of the church had painted at their expense in 1701. To that end, Mr. Chalybaus invented the pictures located there and produced the poems placed under them.”> Chalybäus likely combined and modified several known emblematic motifs from different emblem books in his work. An in-depth investigation of this cycle’s sources has yet to be undertaken. It does seem fairly clear, however, that financial sponsors guided the composition of the emblematic program itself, which combines biblical

and emblematic

motifs. One of the galleries, for example, funded by

jurors, deals with topics of moral and religious doctrines, or, per Knauthe’s

description, “Pflichten der Gerichtspersonen” [duties of persons associated

with the courts of law]. 2.

Otto, 201. Chalybaus was born in 1665 in Spremberg. He studied theology in Cottbus, Gérlitz, and Wittenberg. After 1686, he was a member of the pastoral council at Trinity Church in Gôrlitz, before he went to Friedersdorf, where he died, in 1706.

3.

“In der Kirche finden sich 6 geraume Emporkirchen, welche verschiedene Kirchenfreunde Anno 1701 auf ihre Kosten mahlen lassen, wozu die daran befindli-

chen Bilder Hr. Chalybäus inventiret, und die darunter gesetzten Reime verfertiget” (Schubert 2001, 24).

Fig. 11. Painting in the gallery in St. Ursula Church in Friedersdorf. (Photo by author.)

311

312

EMBLEMATICA

One emblem shows Moses with the tablets of the Ten Commandments, with a mirror in the background. In Knauthe’s description, the motto reads, “Das Gesetze ist ein Riegel und zugleich ein Lebens-Spiegel” [The Law is a template and at the same time a mirror of life]. Another panel depicts

God's eye and scepter above the world. Knauthe records the original motto, which is no longer in the church gallery, as “Gott siehet die ganze Welt,

wohl dem, der ihm gefällt” [God sees the whole world, blessed be he who

is in His favor]. With their many allusions to the law and judgment, these emblems represent the duties of jurors, who would have sat in this part of the gallery. Other emblematic images in the gallery refer to aspects of the Lutheran doctrine important to the congregation. One group, for example, depicts, “gegen Mitternacht ... in 8 Feldern den Stand der Erniedrigung und Erhéhung Christi” [toward the north ... in eight fields the state of humiliation and exaltation of Christ].5 This concept was of immense importance for Lutheran theology at the time. The status exaltationis of the two natures of Christ secured for the Lutherans the presence of the whole person of Christ during the Holy Communion, no matter where it was celebrated. The exalted status of Christ also marked the doctrinal difference between the Lutheran and the Calvinist church. Knauthe’s chronicle indicates the confessional and didactic purpose of this emblem cycle. By focusing on specific aspects of Lutheran doctrine, Chalybaus thus shared the same aim with all the other creators of emblem cycles in the areas described here—namely, to reinforce denominational choices through text and image. For ease of reference in the context of the discussion to follow, I have assembled the emblem cycles described thus far into a table, showing the town or village in which each cycle is located, the dates of its creation, the part of the church in which it appears, and the literary source or sources upon which it is based.

Ulrich Schéntube Kunow (1712-1719)

stall

Dedelow (before 1742)

stall

313 Daniel Cramer, Emblemata Sacra, Emblemata Moralia Nova

Daniel Cramer, Emblemata Sacra

Casekow (1721)

Kanzelaltar

Daniel Cramer,

Falkenhagen (18th century)

stall

Christoph Weigel, Biblia Ectypa

Grenz (1711)

gallery

Gabriel Rollenhagen, Nucleus Emblematum

Krampfer (1688-1697)

gallery

Johannes Schlemm,

Emblemata Sacra

Sieben Posaunen

Reichenbach (1685)

Zittau (after 1624)

stall and

Heinrich Miiller,

confessional

Geistlicher Danckaltar; Daniel Cramer, Emblemata Sacra

gallery

Daniel Cramer, Emblemata Sacra

Waltersdorf (1726) Oybin (1623-1737)

galleryand ceiling gallery

Christoph Weigel, Biblia Ectypa Johann Arndt, Vier Biicher vom wahren Christenthum;

Christoph Weigel, Biblia Ectypa; other unidentified emblem books

Friedersdorf (1699-1706)

gallery

several unidentified sources

4. 5.

Thetranslation of “Riegel” is difficult in this context, as Riegel is a bar or bolt to lock something firmly shut. Here it can be understood to suggest that the law offers both a guide to and a mirror of life.

Schubert 2010, 24. “At midnight“ refers to the northern part of the gallery.

314

EMBLEMATICA

Ulrich Schéntube

“Applied Emblems” versus “Change of Media” The relationships between emblems and their literary sources, as found in churches in Brandenburg and Upper Lusatia, can be characterized by three phenomena: 1.

In the context of church decoration, emblems frequently contain only a pictura and inscriptio. There was often not enough space for a subscriptio, which in the original literary source might have been an entire sermon or devotion instead of a short poem.

2.

In many cases, the picturae and inscriptiones of church emblems have been reproduced exactly from literary sources. This process of reproduction could be likened to quotation in a literary context, only here there is a change of medium involved as well. In other instances, one finds that the pictura and inscriptio were modified during the process of adaptation, perhaps by adding new details or finding new combinations of image and text. The variances that emerge from the transfer of an emblem into a new medium have mostly conceptual backgrounds.

3

The second phenomenon can also be observed on the level ofemblem cycles. In rare cases, a church emblem cycle can exactly reproduce the emblem cycle from a literary source. Frequently, the emblem cycle is composed of a selection from one or more emblem books. An emblem cycles relationship to its literary sources can be modified by

not including all emblems from a literary cycle or, as we will see later

on, by supplementing the cycle with new, invented emblems.

How can we interpret these phenomena? And does the approach of a literary source tell us something about the thought process behind a church emblem cycle? This matter has been thoroughly discussed in scholarship. Wolfgang Harms, for example, argues that an applied emblem’s literary source offers only limited information about the message it intends to convey: When we can really prove that a certain emblem book is the only basis for an emblem program in architecture, what do we actually know? In the first instance, only that the book was known, not the purpose that dictated is

315

transformation into the new medium, into the painted picture in the building. (Harms 1999, 4)

According to Harms, exploring a church emblem’s literary background seldom reveals anything about the sociohistorical background of the church patrons, which is crucial to its full interpretation. And although our historical knowledge of the literary use of emblems is limited as well, we are not released from task of having to describe the relationship between literary and applied emblems. Andrea Alciato, “emblem pater et princeps” understood his literary emblems as sources for artists and artisans.’ Therefore, the use of emblems beyond literature was intended from the beginning. Schéne’s Emblematik und Drama im Zeitalter des Barock (1964) includes dedications written by Alciato and other emblem authors who expected their emblems to be used for non-literary purposes. To describe the use of emblems as sources for artwork, Schône introduces the term angewandte Emblematik, or “applied emblematics.” A full discussion of this term is not possible within the scope of the present article, but some of the main aspects warrant mention. Schéne understood “applied emblematics” to refer to the transfer of emblems into all areas of art as well as to the effects of emblems in literature (Schône, 58, 59). In art history, however, the term angewandte Emblematik was used to describe the non-literary effects of emblematics. In 1975, Wolfgang Harms proposed a conceptual distinction between the use of inner-literary (“innerliterarisch”) and extra-literary (“auferliterarisch”) emblematics (Harms 1975, 9-10). But it seems that the term angewandte Emblematik was established for emblems in the fine arts, as Cornelia Kemp indicates in the title of her book Angewandte Emblematik in siiddeutschen Barockkirchen. She writes, in reference to Schéne, that examining a possible

source for an emblem frames the analysis around only one concern, but

6.

Alciato issues the following recommendation in his dedication to Konrad Peutinger, the Augsburg town clerk and royal councilor: “Haec nos festivis

Emblemata cudimus horis, Artificum illustri signaque facta manu: Vestibus ut torulos, petasis ut figere parmas, Et valeat tacitis scribere quisque notis [In the festive season we hammer out these emblems, made by the distinguished hand

of craftsmen. Just as one affixes trimmings to clothes and badges to hats, so it behooves every one of us to write in silent marks] (Latin text and translation from Alciato’s Book of Emblems: The Memorial Web Edition in Latin and English; see also Schone, 58).

EMBLEMATICA

often not the central one. And in the context of ephemeral emblems, it is not always possible to identify a source unequivocally. Some examples show that picturae and inscriptiones were transferred from different sources, resulting, in essence, in the formation of a new emblem (Kemp, 20). Therefore, in my interpretation, the term angewandte Emblematik has to be maintained, because it encompasses all processes involved in the development and redevelopment of emblems. These two conceptual approaches finally merged in 2004, when extraliterary emblems were established as a subset of applied emblems, as the title of the essay collection from a conference held in Wolfenbiittel in 1999 suggests: Die Domänen des Emblems: Ausserliterarische Anwendungen der Emblematik. This move was not made without a qualified objection. Ingrid Hôpel pointed out that the integration of the two concepts implies transfer processes in one direction, from literature to the visual arts. Such a conception discounts the reverse phenomenon, in which emblems that were primarily located in architecture were later expressed in literature. This can be seen in Peter Isselburg’s Emblemata Politica (1617), whose engravings depict existing emblems in the Niirnberg Town Hall. Nonetheless, in an article about the transconfessional reception of a Jesuit emblem book in a Lutheran gallery, Hépel suggests no new category. Instead, she opts for the term “change of medium” (Hüpel 2007,

1936), which was first used by Wolfgang Harms, in 1999 (Harms 1999, 4).

This seems to be a very good way to describe the process of using sources from different media to create emblems or emblem cycles. Although there are a number of case studies of emblems in architecture and their sources, there seems to be some hesitation in drawing concrete conclusions about the relationships between extra-literary emblems and their literary sources. To date, there has been no systematic attempt to develop formal categories to describe these diverse constellations. Doing so would be worth the effort because the relationships between emblems and their sources can be some of the most important aspects in the analysis of emblem cycles. The ways in which source emblems are used, as well as which emblems are selected for use, offer insight into the composition of the emblem cycle. In many cases, understanding this relationship can illuminate fundamental concepts. The use of literary emblems in the nonliterary context of church interiors also offers insight into how literary emblems were read. This is one aspect that should be reflected upon more

deeply, as Peter Daly indicates in his recent publication (Daly, 8, 169).

Ulrich Schéntube

317

Finally, in my understanding, the term “change of media,’ which has been used by Harms and Hôpel since 1999, seems to cover both aspects of the transfer of emblems to other media—namely, the reading process required by the literary emblem and the conceptual rethinking or adaptation of the emblem in an architectural space. The way in which the change of medium is carried out can be highly revealing, not only confirming that an original, literary source existed and that the creator of the emblem knew it, but also illuminating the different paths that the processes of reading and adaptation can follow.

Categories and Examples of Emblem Adaptation The change of medium and its characteristics provide the focus for the following discussion. In studying the transfer of emblems from literary sources to architectural spaces, two distinct methods by which the change of medium is negotiated—quotation and modification—can be observed. Both methods involve a process of adaptation, and for this reason, I suggest that the transfer ofemblems from one medium to another—no matter howit is carried out—brings with it a certain degree of change. The transformative potential of modification is apparent, and it is often the case that from this process an entirely new emblem is born. It bears emphasizing, however, that quotation can achieve similar ends, when material is transplanted into a new context or medium or when parts of an original source are selectively included or excluded. It is also important to note that quotation and modification of literary emblems can be observed at the level of the single emblem as well as that of the emblem cycle. In light of these facts, I propose the following categorization of emblem adaptation: peo eta le

316

Adaptation of single emblems through quotation Adaptation of single emblems through modification Adaptation of emblem cycles through quotation Adaptation of emblem cycles through modification

318

EMBLEMATICA

Ulrich Schôntube

These categories take into account not only the different modes of emblem adaptation—quotation and modification—but also their applicability to single emblems and emblem cycles alike. The following sections explore each category in greater depth, in addition to discussing relevant examples. Adaptation of Single Emblems through Quotation

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This category covers individual emblems that have been transferred from their literary sources as picturae and inscriptiones without modification. An example can be found in the emblems from a Kanzelaltar in a Lutheran church in Casekow, in the rural Uckermark. Near the altar table are two emblems from Daniel Cramer’s well-known Emblemata Sacra with their Latin inscriptiones. It is not known who selected the emblems and arranged the images on the altar, in 1721. The emblems chosen are “Praedestinor” and “Meditor,” symbolizing, respectively, the gift of faith” and the importance of observing religious teachings.* Despite the fact that these two emblems were transferred without modification—as direct quotations, so to speak— from their original source, their presence on the altar imbues them with new denominational meaning. The village church containing the Cramer emblems is located in an area with a history of confessional controversy. The elector of Brandenburg, Kurfürst Sigismund, converted from Lutheranism to Calvinism in 1614, while his subjects remained Lutheran. His followers worked to ensure peaceful coexistence between the small Calvinist congregation and the Lutheran majority. After the Thirty Years’ War, the Uckermark lost more than 50% of its inhabitants. The elector tried to overcome the area’s losses by allowing French Huguenot refugees to settle there, which led to the Lutheran congregation in Casekow having Calvinist refugees as neighbors. This religious background suggests that the Cramer emblems were selected to send a message regarding two controversial points: Holy Communion and predestination. They emphasize the Lutheran understanding of faith as a divine gift, in accordance with that denomination’s understanding “Praedestinor” (1.23). Cramer’s subscriptio reads, “Sollst nicht in Gottes heilger

Statt/ Du Mensch/ ein Bürger seyn? In dein Hertz selbst geschrieben hat Jesus den Namen sein.”

8.

“Meditor” (1.15). Cramer’s subscriptio reads, “Die Arbeit wil bey Tag und Nacht/ Gar wol verrichtet seyn. Wenn man der Lehr nimpt wol in acht/ Kann mans geniessen fein.”

Fig. 12. Kanzelaltar in Casekow. (Photo by author.)

319

EMBLEMATICA

Fig. 13. Painting on Kanzelaltar in Casekow. (Photo by author.

Ulrich Schéntube

—

320

Fig. 14. Paining on Kanzelaltar in Casekow (Photo by author.)

321

322 2

EMBLEMATICA EMBLEMATUM

Ulrich Schéntube

SACKORUM

Decas

MEDITOR.

II

EMBLEMA

73 Xv.

Seu radiisSolmané diem, feu vefhere fera Luna fiat no@em : nos labor ufque vocar,

Dum rempus habemus operemurbonumadomnes, ‘i

Si modé diuinas cor meditaruc opes:

Als wir nun Zeit haben, folajfer ons guces human jeders

Scilicer è dois venier Sapientia libris,

Galat.6.9,

man,

Neh betrachte. Die Arbeit wil bey Taa ond Nahe Gar wol verrichree Wenn mou der Lebe nempt tol in aches Ran mans genic(fen fern.

Galat, €. 9. Pendant qu’ auons le temps faifons bien à τους, Court eit le temps fuyart,& les bewres s'enselent, Ft nous conrrens appres, I ne faulr done laifer

Cependant qu’ auons temps , vn [eul moment paffer Sans monftrer nos bienfaits à çeulx qui nows en vucillent. Mentre ch'abbiamo tempo faciamo bene d rutti. Il tempo paffa , brene è l bumana vita: Faciamo ben, bawendo il tempo, ἃ tutti, Per effer alla fine nel cielo riceuuti. Felice quel che bene lo mediza,

EM-

Secla volant, abeuntque dies ,operemur Cuique bouts, done romper Bora

D

;

ut,

RE-

Fig. 15. Daniel Cramer, “Meditor” from Emblemata Sacra, 1.15. 104

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SACRORUM

Dscas

EMBLEMA

PRADESTINOR

IIL

103

XXIIL

& hic friber manu fua Ille vocabit Ὰ in nomine lacob,

aid dubiras ,cœlorua nomina {criptateneri?

ss Atque ira re civem coslitis eff chori? Ipfe tuo cordi infcripfic (ua nomina lesus,

Domino.

Non, tibi non tettis certior efle porett.

Eff. 44.5.

twird genehiner werden mit bem Namen Yacob. Bnd diefer wird fid mie femer Hand dem HE

Nchwerde suvor vorfehen.

sufchreiben.

sor mere

Soll wicht in GOrees heilger Stace Wienfeh 1 ein Bitrace feou?

Ef 44. 5

L'aulrre fc reclamerd du mom de Iacob , &!'aulere efcrità de fa main,te fuisà l' Eternel. Comment auray de mort

ὦ de I' enfer terreur,

Veu la bontède Dieu, qui La mort ne defire D'aulisn pecheur : Et Chriff qui m'en retire,

Efcript mon nom au liure,G& le fien en mon cœur?

Quelloinuecardif nome di Giacob,& vn altro feriuerd con la fua mano, lofono d'il

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of predestination. Such a targeted reconceptualization is reflective of sophisticated interpretive processes: the creators of the altar’s emblematic decorations obviously understood Cramer’s original well enough to detect resonances with the Casekow Lutherans’ cause, resonances they were able to highlight through mere recontextualization, without altering the source material. It is possible that these emblems, with their Latin inscriptiones, were intended not for the congregation but, instead, for the pastor, as a reminder of sorts. As a complementary example, the cycle of sixty-one emblems from Daniel Cramer in a church in the neighboring Kunow employs German, not Latin, biblical verses as inscriptiones, suggesting their intended audience was the congregation. Owing to the change in language, however, the emblems at Kunow belong to a different category: that of modified emblems, Adaptation of Single Emblems through Modification This category includes emblems with modified picturae and inscriptiones compared to their sources. There are plenty of possibilities for modification, such as changing the inscriptio or combining the pictorial elements in a new way. The boundary between modification and invention of new emblems is, in some cases, fluid. The church in the village of Grenz, in the northern Uckermark, has a

painted emblematic gallery from

1711. The wooden panels decorated

with emblematic images were discovered during a renovation in 1896 and refurbished. At that time, a text, which is not at all related to the emblems’ source, was created in the form of a banner over the whole gallery, thus demonstrating additional combinations of text and image.’ The gallery's four emblems derive from Gabriel Rollenhagen’s Nucleus Emblematum, but they appear in the Grenz church in modified form. A comparison of the third panel with its source emblem serves as an example. Rollenhagen’s original (emblem 79) depicts a winged heart set ablaze

over an open book, an expression of the importance of the Bible. As

Signore. Perche temer La morte & il terror δ inferno:

indicated in Rollenhagen’s epigram, the Bible is the ultimate authority on God, godliness, and wisdom: “Nosse Deum, metuisse Deum Sapientia

Poi ch’ Iddio non vuol che muora il peccatere, Et Chrifto Ridemtore che feritto νὰ fenza fiberno Mio nome nel libre, è il fico nel mio cuore? Annumeror Chrifle, cui fam de nominenstuc,

EM-

Rubrica i vite eft penna liberque mee.

Fig. 16. Daniel Cramer, “Praedestinator” from Emblemata Sacra, 1.23.

Gig

PRO-

9.

Thetext on the banner noch doch hoffe/ Daf Hände” [Even when I will have mercy on me

reads, “Ob ich gleich leide/ und mich Gott opfere/ DenGott mir gnädig/ Bif an mein Ende/ Und ich in seine suffer and sacrifice myself for God, I still hope that God until my death and I am in His hands].

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Summa est, Quaerere Cor Deum hanc, nocte dieg. solet“ [Τὸ know God,

to fear God, is the highest wisdom; the true heart seeks this night and day] (Rollenhagen, 79). In this emblem, the heart, a representation of the inner self, is admonished to think about the Holy Bible day and night. While Rollenhagen’s epigram does not explain the pictorial element of the flaming winged heart, its adaptation in Grenz elucidates its meaning. The winged heart expresses exaltation, which the inner self experiences while studying the Bible. In the open book, the artist in Grenz added the following verse: “Schwinge dich auf meine Seele, die Welt ist eine Jammerhôhle” [Rise up, my soul; the world is a cave of misery]. This epigram, acquired during the process of transfer from one context to another, interprets Rollenhagen’s original emblem. Bible study, which was for Rollenhagen the foundation of divine knowledge, godliness, and wisdom, elevates the soul above the world of misery. The modification of the emblem in Grenz clearly explains Rollenhagen’s message. In some cases, the modification of emblems during a change in medium can lead to the invention of an entirely new emblem or emblem cycle. An example of this phenomenon can be found in the St. Ursula Church in Friedersdorf. The historical background of this church’s emblem cycle has been described above. Knauthe’s chronicle explains the content and arrangement of the images, which are preserved in the church to this day. The inscriptions, however, are now only partly visible. In describing these emblems, Knauthe illustrates how his predecessor Chalybaus attempted to combine his didactic and representational aims, an endeavor that resulted in the “invention” of emblems. Interestingly, although Chalybaus did not

draw from any specific literary source in his inventions, we do find in his work several motifs that were circulating in emblematic literature of the time (Winzeler, 22). To give an example, one of Chalybäuss emblems is likely related to emblem 79 from Rollenhagen’s Nucleus Emblematum (mentioned above). Here, rays of sun illuminate heart on an open book. According to Knauthe’s description, this picture was accompanied by an inscription reading, “Nur das edle Wort Gottes, ist des Herzens Trost und Hort” [Only the precious word of God is the heart’s consolation and shelter]. The heart on the open Bible is particularly reminiscent of Rollenhagen’s emblem (fig. 18). There, however, the wings of the heart were decisive for its meaning: the study of the Holy Word makes the heart rise. Here, in Chalybaus’s emblem, the

Fig. 17. Painting in the gallery of the church in Grenz. (Photo by author.)

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Fig. 19. Friedersdorf, Gärtner Gallery. (Photo by author.)

heart is earthbound. It is merely illuminated by the light of God when it is close to the biblical scriptures. Adaptation of Emblem Cycles through Quotation This category covers emblem cycles that are transferred from literary sources without modification Examples of such cycles are comparatively rare, but

%Wféafi…m A Pure of, VERERE cor scrvm San notte hr Jolet —

Fig. 18. Gabriel Rollenhagen, emblem 79 from Nucleus Emblematum.

one can be found in the church in Krampfer, a village in the far northwest of Brandenburg. The emblem cycle was developed between 1688 and

1697. The congregation faces the Kanzelaltar, located, as the term implies, beneath the pulpit. On the balustrades to the left and the right of the altar is a cycle of seven emblems

depicting the Heptalogy—that

is, the seven last words Christ

spoke from the cross. The illustrations are based on a rare collection of sermons entitled Erklärung der sieben Worte/ welche der Herr Jesus zuletzt am Creutz als sieben starke Posaunen hat von sich hôren und vernehmen: mit

Anmuthigen Sinnbildern, schinen Anmerckungen, Gleichniissen, Exempeln,

Andachten und Gebeten; in Sieben Predigten ausgefübret und vorgestellet ...

[Explanation of the Seven Words/ which the Lord Jesus spoke from the

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Fig. 20. Kanzelaltar with emblematic balustrade in Krampfer Church, (Photo by author.)

Cross as seven strong trombones were sounded: with delicate Emblems, lovely commentaries, parables, examples, devotions, and prayers; explained and presented in seven sermons . . .], published by Johannes Schlemm (1636-1718) in 1690. Although the term “Sinnbild” appears in the title of the book, standard library catalogs do not list the work as having emblematic illustrations. The author states in his preface that the seven sermons, due to their length, should not be used during worship (Schlemm, 2). Although very little is known about the creation of the Krampfer altar, the placement of the pictures, on either side, where the preacher would have seen them while standing before the congregation, suggests their use as visual aids during the sermon. Owing to its nature as a closed text, the Heptalogy does not lend itself to omission, insertion, or other such changes to its core elements, which is why the entire pictorial cycle was included at Krampfer. What changed in the Krampfer version were the inscriptiones; the biblical texts referenced in the sermons replaced Schlemm’s original verses. Schlemm’s published sermons offer a key to understanding the emblems in Krampfer. Polycarp Leporin, a physician from Quedlinburg, provided a biographical sketch of Johannes Schlemm and his spiritual development, which is important to address in this context. Schlemm was born in 1636 in Hameln and studied theology in Helmstedt, Leipzig, Wittenberg, and Jena. In Jena, he was a student of Johann Musaeus (Leporin, 99) and

Fig. 21. Painting in the gallery in the church of Krampfer. (Photo by author.)

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specialized in philology. In addition to his sermon collections, he published philological disputations. In 1668, after his university studies, he became court chaplain for Duke Bernhard of Sachsen-Jena (1638-1678). Finally, in 1672, he became inspector and superintendent of schools in Dornburg and Biirgel. During this time, he published several sermons. One of his contemporaries wrote that, despite having lost his only son at the age of four months, he “hat seine Zeit niemal übel angewendet” [never used his

time poorly], and in fact published several collections of devotions (Grof, 346). The sermons—each spanning over one hundred pages—establish Schlemm as an academic theologian well trained in Lutheran doctrinal discourses. His thought is influenced especially by Johann Gerhard famous dogmatic systematic textbook, the Loci Theologici. Gerhard (1582-1637) was a teacher at the University of Jena one generation before Schlemm studied there. The emblematic engravings in Erklärung der sieben Worte... were clearly added after the composition of the sermons. In some cases, the images are not directly explained in the sermons, which suggests that Schlemm was not the emblems’ inventor. Whoever created them, however, relied on the sermons’ pictorial language. The emblem of the third Last Word serves as an example: “Als nun Jesus seine Mutter sah und bei ihr den Jiinger, den er lieb hatte, spricht er zu seiner Mutter: Frau, siehe, das ist dein Sohn!“ [When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman behold thy son!] (John 19:26).

Schlemm understands this word as an expression of God's righteousness and providence. Jesus takes care of his mother, Mary, otherwise without any rights, by establishing his disciple John as her guardian. Schlemm uses the following imagery to explain this:

Fig. 22. Johannes Schlemm, Heptalogoi, 139. (Image courtesy of Herzog August Bibliothek,

Wolfenbiirtel.)

Wishing to express, in the style of the pagans, the providence of the gods and their wide-reaching rule over all things here on Earth, the Egyptians created the following emblem and Sinnbild. They painted a straight, beautiful, royal scepter and above it an eye radiating over all the world, with the superscript “Vigili Cura!” And it is in this way that we, too, chose to express the wise governance and prudent care of our God. ... by creating an emblem, the same emblem, even, but purged of pagan idolatry. May Your watchfulness, O Father, touch us all! Thus, as an emblem and mnemonic

332

EMBLEMATICA device, we erect a straight, beautiful, royal scepter, with an omniscient eye hovering above, and the superscript “Vigili Cura 1710

Trained in the humanist tradition, Schlemm uses an Egyptian hieroglyph in his sermon to express God's righteousness and providence. The eye with the scepter stands for Osiris. Although the hieroglyphic alphabet had not been decoded at that time, some hieroglyphic signs were known. Henkel and Schône argue that the hieroglyph of Osiris was known through Horapollo’s Hieroglyphica, but there is no hieroglyph of a scepter and an eye in that collection. Schlemm obviously used another source. It is possible that he came to know Macrobiuss Saturnalia during his education. Macrobius (384-430) was one of the most widely read Roman authors in medieval times. The Saturnalia was intended as a collection of knowledge for his son. In this work, Macrobius reports, among other things, about ancient Egyptian writing and describes the symbol of Osiris, a scepter with an eye.!! The specific interpretation of this symbol, which according to Schlemm stands for righteousness and providence, probably comes from another author from antiquity. Cyril of Alexandria states in Contra Juilianum that we can find both grace and wisdom in ancient pagan religions. As an example, he describes the hieroglyph of Osiris—without naming the Egyptian god—as follows: “The scepter stands for majesty and righteousness and the eye for omniscience and providence”!? In his own emblematic rendering, 10.

“Wenn die Agypter nach der Heiden Art und Manier/ die Vorsorge der Gétter und ihre allerweiseste Regierung und Verwaltung derer Dinge/ so hinieden auf Erden sind/ haben wollen exprimieren und ausdriicken/ so haben sie dieselbe unter folgendem Emblemate und Sinnbilde vorgestellet. Nemlich sie mahleten

einen geraden/ schônen Kôniglichen Scepter/ und über demselben ein Auge/

Ulrich Schéntube

Schlemm combines the perspectives of Macrobius and Cyril, interpreting Jesus's Third Word to mean God's justice and providence. While perhaps a strange interpretation for Lutherans at that time, this was a standard reading in orthodox Lutheranism. Similar interpretations can be found in Bach’s St. John Passion. After a recitative on the Third Word, the composer uses a verse from the chorale “Jesu Leiden Pein und Tod” that expresses the same connection between justice and providence.'? While Schlemm may not have been innovative in his interpretation, he was exceptional in rendering standard interpretations via emblematic sermons. Without the long explanations given in Schlemm’s sermons, the emblems are impossible to interpret. Erklärung der sieben Worte ... , with its seven emblems, was the source for the emblem cycle in Krampfer. It seems therefore conceivable that the preacher at the Krampfer church used the emblems along the balustrade to explain not only the Heptalogy but also some of the finer points of Lutheran Orthodox doctrine during his sermons. The position of the emblems, next to the altar, suggests that they were used in sermons and catechetical lessons. Adaptation of Emblem Cycles through Modification The exact quotation of an entire emblem cycle is rare. As attested by several studies, emblem cycles normally draw on different emblem books," meaning that, in relation to their sources, they are modified. An example of a modified emblem cycle can be found in the church of Oybin, a village in the mountains of Zittau, in Upper Lusatia. The interior consists of wrap-around galleries on two levels. On the first-floor balustrades, there are emblematic illustrations of the Lord’s Prayer, and on intelligatur ejus omnia intuendi vis, atque adeo regalis majestas. Sceptrum enim regni symbolum fere semper est: et erecta virga significat naturam divinam in-

das seine Strahlen allenthalben hinwarff/ mit dieser Uberschrift: Vigili cura! So wir auch . . . von der allweisen Regierung und klugen Vorsicht unsers Gottes/ . .. ein Emblema sollten stellen und aufrichten/ so kénten wir zwar voriges

behalten/ . . . doch daf wir dasselbe von allen Heidnischen Abgôttereyen als

unnützen Schlacken/ säubern und reinigen. ... Deine Vorsichtigkeit/ o Vater! regiere alles! Drum wir ihm zum Sinn und Merckbild mit besserem Fug einen geraden/ schônen/ Kôniglichen Scepter aufrichten/ drüber ein allsehendes Auge schwebet/ mit dieser Uberschrift: Vigili Cura!“ (Schlemm, 139) 11.

12.

13.

alles Leid, / und dich nicht betriibe* [He closely observed everything in his last

mere volunt, insculpunt sceptrum inque eo speciem oculi exprimunt, et hoc si-

“Nam cum Deum, sive supremam et omnia exsuperantem illam naturam, significare volunt, pingunt oculum, cui rectam virgam subdunt; ut eadem opera

flecti nullo modo posse, sed quodammodo rectam semper esse, et omnia veluti sustentare ac firmare” (Cyril, 959C). Paul Stockmann, “Jesu Leiden, Pein und Tod, verse 20: “Er nahm alles wohl in acht in der letzten Stunde, / seine Mutter noch bedacht, setzt ihr ein Vormunde. / o Mensch mache Richtigkeit, /Gott und Menschen liebe, / stirb darauf ohn hour, / he was concerned for his mother, chose a guardian for her. / O man, act

“Hune Osirin, ut solem esse adserant, quotiens hieroglyphicis litteris suis exprigno Osirin monstrant” (Macrobius, I 21,12).

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14.

justly, / love God and mankind, / then you can die without sorrow, / and need not grieve!] (Frode, 454).

Take, for instance, the several emblem cycles in the famous Ordenskirche in Lucklum (Oertel 1975; Steiger 2018).

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the second, emblematic images of the Beatitudes, from Matthew 5. The common source of these emblems is the Biblia Ectypa (1695), by Christoph Weigel (1654-1725), a publisher from Augsburg. In his preface, Weigel

indicates that he is familiar with debates in the Catholic world regarding the effects of pictures. He quotes extensively from the Council of Trent's decrees on art as well as from De picturis imaginibus sacris (1570), by Johannes Molanus (1533-1585) (Hecht, 18; Schéntube 2008, 252). In the Biblia Ectypa, Weigel follows the recommendations of the Council of Trent regarding pictures. To avoid misunderstandings by simple-minded people, whom he terms “der fromme Nili” [the pious nothing], all images are accompanied by text." Surprisingly, he uses an emblematic scheme, with an inscriptio, pictura, and subscriptio, for the engravings, such that the Biblia Ectypa can be considered an illustrated Bible of sorts, with emblems taking the place of biblical text. The book consists of 1,200 engravings by Johann Jacob von Sandrart (1630-1708) and Georg Christoph Eimmart

(1638-1705), treating each book of the Bible. In the section devoted to the gospel of Matthew, 5 and 6, there are unexpected illustrations of the Beatitudes and the Lord’s Prayer, which can be read emblematically. In these emblem cycles, which are also used in the churches in Waltersdorf (near Oybin) and Falkenhagen (in the Uckermark), the designers in Oybin faced one problem: the Catholic Biblia Ectypa has no picture for the doxological end of the Lord’s Prayer—“For Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory forever and ever. Amen.” This was common in editions of the Lutheran Bible at that time, but not in the Catholic Vulgata 15.

“Sonst kénnen Offters auch die Einfaltigen und Ungeschickten einige Verblü-

mungen und Zierlichkeiten in den Gemählden sowol als in den Reden und

Schriften leichtlich vermuthen und errathen/ widrigen Falls ist ihnen nach dem Wunsch des frommen Nili, nach dem lôblichen Gebrauch der vorigen Kirche/ und nach dem ernstlichen Befehl der jetzigen in dem RatschluR der Tridentinischen Versammlung und dem Rémischen Catechismo, alle néthige Behülf und méglicher Vorschub zu thun/ entweder durch sattsamen miindlichen Bericht/ oder durch die Bysetzung der Namen und anderer summarischen Obschriften” [Even the simple-minded and unskilled can easily sense and identify some flowery and delicate matters in the paintings as well as in the speeches and

scriptures/ otherwise, according to the wish of the pious Nothing, according to the laudable handling of the previous church, and according to the serious order of the Council of Trent and the Roman Catechism, all necessary assistance and

possible advance must be provided/ either by oral report/ or through affixing names and other summary titles] (Biblia Ectypa, fol. 11vs).

‘

i

Fig. 23. Painting in the gallery of the church of Oybin. (Photo by author.)

Clementina, where the prayer ends with “sed libero nos a malo. Amen” [but

deliver us from evil. Amen] (Mt 6:13). But the inclusion of the doxology

was the basis of the Biblia Ectypa. The issue of divergent denominational traditions was solved in Oybin by creating an emblem, not found in the source, to supplement the Lord Prayer.

Denominational difference alone, however, does not explain the supplemented painted panel. At the time that the pictures in Oybin were created, in 1735, the Saxon elector published a church ordinance entitled Agenda das ist Kirchenordnung, Wie sich die Pfarrherren und Seelsorger in ihren Aemtern und Diensten verhalten sollen [Agenda that is church order,

how the ministers and the pastors should behave in their ministries and

services]. Church ordinances held legal status at that time. Thus, it can be

assumed that this book describes the standard liturgical practices in Saxony and Upper Lusatia during this period. Surprisingly, there are two versions of the Lord’s Prayer in the above-mentioned ordinance. One version is for

the Communion

liturgy, during which the pastor sings the Lord’s Prayer

as a solo, without the doxology, ending with “erlôse uns vom Bésen” [but

deliver us from evil] (Agenda, 135). During the baptism ceremony, however, it is written, “Hier lege der Priester die Hande auf des Kindes Haupt und bete das Vater unser sampt den Paten” [Here the Pastor lays his hands upon

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Fig. 25. Painting in the gallery of the church in Oybin. (Photo by author.)

the head of the child and recites together with the godfathers the Lords Prayer] (Agenda, 15). In the baptism ceremony, the Lord’s Prayer with the doxology is used. Seen in this light, the gallery’s supplemental emblem does not reflect a denominational difference but, rather, the congregation's practice of reciting the doxology in certain cases and not in others. The Lord's Prayer with the doxological words on the balustrade connects the cycle with the liturgical customs of the church’s congregation.

Concluding Remarks: A Wide Spectrum between Quotation and Modification This article’s analysis of church emblems in the Electorate of Brandenburg

and Upper Lusatia reveals various processes governing the adaptation of

emblems from a literary medium to an extra-literary one. These include very close quotation of pictura and inscriptio, modification of certain emblem components, and, in some cases, invention of entirely new emblems, based on a literary source. Examples of quoted emblems and emblem cycles can be found in the churches of Casekow and Krampfer. In Casekow, two emblems from Cramer’s Emblemata Sacra were quoted directly. However, in the context Fig. 24. Christoph Weigel, emblem Mt 5 from Biblia Ectypa. (Photo courtesy of the

Saxon State and University Library Dresden.)

of their new location, at the altar beneath the pulpit, the emblems acquire

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a confessional meaning. In Krampfer, the location of the emblem cycle was chosen in order to explain the emblems’ doctrinal significance during sermons. The phenomenon of modification of emblems or emblem cycles can be seen in Grenz, Oybin, and Friedersdorf. In the example from Grenz, the church emblem interprets its source emblem, taken from Rollenhagen, without any obvious doctrinal motivation. The reason for this detailed explication of Rollhagen’s emblem remains obscure. The emblem cycle in Oybin, however, was modified for liturgical reasons. The processes of quotation and modification take place at the level of single emblems and at the level of emblem cycles. The categories proposed here—adaptation through quotation and adaptation through modification, for emblems and emblem cycles—are intended to help scholars focus on what happens to the emblem during a change in medium, as well as during the process of reading. Finally, it seems that the designers of emblematic church interiors who used quotation were more limited by confessional considerations than those designers who modified and adapted emblems or emblems cycles for their own purposes. In both cases, however, the underlying literary sources offer insights and suggest possible interpretations of the church emblems. The twelve emblem cycles presented in this article are the only ones from the relatively large geographic area of Brandenburg and Upper Lusatia that remain preserved to this day. Understanding the literary sources behind these emblems is of great importance for restorers as well as for congregations, who seek to uphold the legacy of these historic works. Investigating the sources of church emblems also reveals a variety of communication processes, which have been characterized in recent theoretical discussions as “sakrale Intermedialität” [sacral intermediality]

and “intermedialer Dialogizitat” [intermedial dialogicity] (Steiger, 8-9).

For the emblem cycles presented here, the archival sources are quite poor, making it difficult to determine how emblematic communication processes were designed from room to room in the churches in which they are found. It is therefore impossible to speak of dialogicity in this context. Much of Steiger’s research, however, focuses on intermedial communication processes, a topic with which this article’s analysis of emblems applied across medial boundaries closely aligns. Studying emblems from this perspective affords two primary insights.

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The first insight is conceptual in nature. The selection and placement of emblems that have been quoted and modified not only indicate the focus of a cycle but also illuminate the creator's underlying thought process, Studying the use of emblems across medial boundaries has revealed a wide spectrum of liturgical strategies and motives that derive from this genres communicative potential. Emblems quoted in a new context (as, for example, in Casekow) could serve as denominational self-assurance for the pastor. Modified emblem cycles (as in Oybin) could serve to affirm a certain prayer practice. The second insight concerns the resonance of emblems and emblem books. The choice of both books and individual emblems is significant, especially the consideration of which literary emblems seemed particularly suitable for quotation and which for modification. Among the emblem books mentioned as sources here are some that were also popular in other regions. These include, for example, the Emblemata Sacra, by Daniel Cramer, whose emblems frequently appear in the extended Baltic Sea area, or Johann Arndt’s True Christianity.” It would be interesting in this context to investigate which emblems are frequently quoted or modified in contexts beyond Brandenburg and Upper Lusatia. From the perspective of the history of piety, it would also be interesting to consider what content is most often the focus of church decorative schemes. The overview of surviving emblem programs in Upper Lusatia and Brandenburg offered here expands the geographic scope of documented emblematic programs in churches available for research. Of particular interest to emblem scholarsis, on the one hand, the content ofthe emblematic

communication

and,

on

the

other,

the

dissemination

of emblematic

devotional literature. Both insights illuminate the intermediality of seventeenth-century ecclesiastical spaces. These emblematic decorations reveal key aspects of liturgy and personal devotions during this period. Owing to the preservation of twelve late seventeenth- and early eighteenth16.

17.

For Cramer emblems in Gaarz, Germany, see Schilling, 41-71; for Danzig

(Gdansk), Poland, see Cieslak, 21-44; for Lacké, Sweden, see Rosell; for Torup kirke, Semmels kirke, Nors kirke, Jennerup kirke, Hvidbjerg kirke, Galtrup kirke,

Dragstrup kirke, and Rested kirke, in Denmark, see Nicolaisen, 126-51.

For Arndt emblems in St. Katharinen (Frankfurt am Main), Thurnau (Kulm-

bach), and Heidenheim-Schneitheim, see Lieske 2007, 398-413; for Steigra, see Lieske 2012, 59-85; for Enge, see Hôpel 2016, 179-90; for the Vengarn Palace Chapel, in Sweden, see Ljungstrém 2008, 199; for Kummerow, see Schilling 1981, 415-82.

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century emblematic programs in Lutheran churches from these regions, scholars now have artifacts from a fairly cohesive geographical and social region that attest to lived emblematic practices in the communities of these areas. This article has sought to establish fixed categories to describe the various ways in which emblems are adapted from literary sources to fit new, extra-literary contexts. Whether these categories can be applied to emblems and emblem cycles in regions other than Brandenburg and Upper Lusatia is a topic for future research, especially on the basis of existing literature covering extra-literary emblem cycles.

Dehio, Georg. Handbuch der deutschen Kunstdenkmäler, Brandenburg. Munich, 2000.

. Handbuch der deutschen Kunstdenkmäler Sachsen I Regierungsbezirk Dresden. Munich, 1996. Fréde,

Texte zu den

Kantaten,

Motetten,

Messen,

Passionen,

Oratorien von Johann Sebastian Bach BWV 1-249. Wiesbaden,

Gerhard, Johann. Locorum

Theologicorum cum pro adstruenda veritate

tum pro destruenda quorumvis contradicendum falsitate per theses nervose, solide & copiose explicatorum tomus ....9 vols. Jena, 16101622.

Agenda das ist Kirchenordnung. Wie sich die Pfarrherren und Seelsorger in ihren Aemtern und Diensten verhalten sollen. Leipzig, 1735. Alciato’s Book of Emblems: The Memorial Web Edition in Latin and English. https://www.mun.ca/alciato/test1.html. Beintker, Michael. Vom Bekenntniswechsel Johann Sigismunds bis zum Edikt von Potsdam. \n Berliner Kirchengeschichte, ed. Giinther Wirth. Berlin, 1987. Pp. 44-62. Biblia Ectypa. Bildnufsen auf Heiliger Schrift alten und neuen Testaments in welchen Alle Geschichte und Erscheinungen deutlich und schriffimafsig zu Gottes Ehre und Andächtiger Seelen erbaulicher beschauung vorgestellet werden. Mit Rom. Kayserl. Privilegio neu hervorgebracht von Christoph Weigel Kupferstecher in Augsburg 1695. VD17, 12:654615F.

Cieslak, Katarzyna. “Emblematic Programmes in Seventeenth-Century Gdansk Churches in the Light of Contemporary Protestantism: An Essay and Documentation.” Emblematica: An Interdisciplinary Journal for Emblem Studies 9 (1995): 21-44. Cramer, Daniel. Emblemata Sacra, 1624. Mit einem Nachwort von Sabine Médersheim. Hildesheim/Zürich/New York, 1994.

Daniel. Octoginta Emblamata Hildesheim/New York, 1981.

Christine. 1998.

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des Konigreichs Sachsen. Vol. 29, Amtshauptmannschaft Zittau.

Dresden, 1906.

Grof, Johann Matthias. Historisches Lexicon Evangelischer Jubelprediger.

Darinnen eine Ehren-Crone der Alten und Ehrwiirdigen Lehrer

und Prediger enthalten, Die in Funffzig und mehr Jabrigen Aemtern

meistentheils viel erfahren und Gott gefürchtet haben; nach ibren Geburten und Lebensgeschichten ... . Vol. 1. Nürnberg, 1727.

Harms, Wolfgang. “The Investigations of Emblem Programmes in Buildings: Assumptions and Tasks.” In The Emblem and Architecture, Studies in Applied Emblematics From The Sixteenth to the Eighteenth Centuries, ed. Hans J. Boker and Peter M. Daly. Turnhout 1999. Pp. 3-16. and Hartmut Freytag. Auferliterarische Wirkungen barocker Emblembiicher. Emblematik in Ludwigburg, Gaarz und Pommersfelden. Munich, 1975. Hecht,

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Hôpel, Ingrid. “Change of Medium—from book graphics to art in sacred space. With the example of an emblem-cycle on a church gallery in Katharinenheerd.” In Das Emblem im Widerspiel von Intermedialitat

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. “Emblematik im Dienst von Pietismus und Aufklarung — die Katharinenkirche in Enge.” In Emblematik im Ostseeraum —

Nicolaisen, Lisbet Juul. Emblemmalerie i danske kirker. Et bidrag til belysning af emnet. Kirkehistoriske Samlinger Reihe 8.1. Copenhagen, 1969.

Kemp, Cornelia. Angewandte Emblematik in stiddeutschen Barockkirchen. Munich, 1981.

Otto, Gottlieb Friedrich. Lexikon der seit dem funfzehnten Jahrhunderte verstorbenen und jetzlebenden Oberlausizischen Schrifisteller und Kiinstler aus den glaubwiirdigsten Quellen müglichst vollstindig zusammengetragen. Gorlitz, 1800.

Emblematics around the Baltic. Ausgewählte Beiträge zur 10. Internationalen Tagung der Society for Emblem Studies in Kiel, 27. Juli bis 1. August 2014. Kiel, 2016. Pp.179-90.

Knuevener, Peter. “. . . biirtig auf der alten Prager Stadt, Biirger und Mahler allhir in Zittau’: Kunsthistorische Beobachtungen zum Zittauer

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Epitaphienschatz.” In Epitaphien — Netzwerke — Reformation, Zittau und die Oberlausitz im komfessionellen Zeitalter, by Peter Knuevener. Zittau, 2018. Pp. 299-318.

Peil, Dietmar. “Zur Illustrationsgeschichte von Johann Arndts Vom wahren

Leporin, Polycarp. Das Leben der gelehrten Deutschen so in Deutschland Vom Anfang des MDCCXIXten Jahrs dieses Zeitliche gesegnet/ Kurtz/ jedoch ausführlich/ und nach der Wahrheit beschrieben. Quedlinburg, 1719.

Rollenhagen, Gabriel. Nucleus Emblematum Selectissimorum. 1611; rpt. Hildesheim, 1985.

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. “Sonderbare Bilder in der evangelischen Kirche von Steigra. Ein

emblematischer Bilderzyklus nach Bildmotiven aus Johann Arndts Wahrem Christentum.” Pietismus und Neuzeit 38 (2012): 59-85.

Ljungstrom, Lars. “Piety and Learning, The Emblematic Chapels of Count

Magnus Gabriel De la Gardie.” In Art and the Church, Religious Art and Architecture in the Baltic Region in the 13th-18th Centuries, ed. Krista Kodres and Merike Kurisoo. Tallin, 2008, 190-221.

Macrobius, Ambrosius. Saturnalia Aparatu critico instruxit in Somnum Scipionis Selecta Varietate Lectionis ornavit. Ed. Jacobus Willis. Leipzig, 1964. Môdersheim, Sabine. “Domini Doctrina Coronat”: Die geistliche Emblematik

Danial Cramers (1568-1637). Frankfurt am Main, 1994.

Molanus, Johannes. De Picturis et imaginibus Sacris. Leuven, 1570.

Müller, Heinrich. Geistlicher Danck-Altar, Zum taglichen Lobopfer der Christen. Franckfurt am Mayn/Wust, 1673.

Christenthum. Mit einer Bibliographie” Archiv für Geschichte des Buchwesens 18 (1977): 953-1066.

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- “Die literarischen Vorbilder der Ludwigsburger und Gaarzer Embleme.” In Aufserliterarische Wirkungen barocker Emblembiicher, ed. Wolfgang Harms and Hartmut Freytag. Munich, 1975. Pp. 41-71. Schlemm, Johannes. Erklarung der Sieben Worte/ Welche der Herr Jesus zuletat am Creutz/ als sieben starke Posaunen von sich héren und vernehmen

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EG. Hopr. Consist. S. Adsess. Und Superint. Zu Dornburg und Bürgel. Franckfurt und Leipzig/ Zu finden bey Johann Hoffmann Buch und Kunsthändl. Nürnberg, 1690. VD17, 23:30452413.

Schône, Albrecht. Emblamatik und Drama im Zeitalter des Barock. 3rd ed. Munich, 1993,

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Brandenburgische

. Emporenbilderzyklen in der Mark Brandenburg. Ein Beitrag zum lutherischen Bildprogramm des 16.-18. Jahrhunderts. Frankfurt am Main, 2008. .““...Glaubensstarkungin dem Haupt-Artikulvon der Erlésungworauf

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Speer. Zittau, 2013. Pp. 101-19.

Schubert, Ulrich, ed. Pastor Christian Knauthe und Friedersdorf an der Landeskrone. Rothenburg, 2010. , ed. Die Emporenbilder der Friedersdorfer St.-Ursula-Kirche. Zittau, 2011. Speer, Christian. Frémmigkeit und Politik. Städtische Eliten in Gorlitz zwischen 1300 und 1550. Berlin, 2011. Stegmann,

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Steiger, Anselm. Ein Zentrum der europäischen Emblematik. Die Kirche in Lucklum und deren Ausstattung. In Bibelauslegung durch Bilder. Zur sakralen Intermedialität im 16. bis 18. Jahrhundert, by Anselm Steiger. Regensburg, 2018. Pp. 335-66. Strasser,

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Aufserliterarische Anwendungen der Emblematik. Wolfenbütteler Arbeiten zur Barockforschung 39. Wiesbaden, 2004.

Wieckowski, Alexander. Evangelische Beichtstühle in Sachsen. Beucha, 2005.

Winzeler, Marius. “Die Kirche Friedersdorf und ihre Emporenblder eine kunstgeschichtliche Betrachtung.” In Die Emporenbilder der Friedersdorfer St.-Ursula-Kirche, ed. Ulrich Schubert. Zittau, 2011.

NOTICES

The Emblemata Politica in Context: A New Approach to Digital Facsimiles of Emblem Books CHRISTOPHER D. FLETCHER MATTHEW KRC Newberry Library, Chicago ()

ver the past few decades, the digital humanities have considerably expanded and enriched the field of emblem studies.’ Extensive databases of emblems and emblem books have given the genre a more expansive public presence than ever before, as scholars around the world now have ready access to thousands of emblems for study or teaching. Still other digital resources seek to guide the field in different directions by facilitating new approaches and questions for emblem scholars. Extensive databases such as Emblematica Online and Arkyves use Iconclass metadata, making it easier for scholars to compare, contrast, and make connections between emblems across wide chronological, geographic, and cultural ranges.” However, while the study of emblems has been greatly enhanced by digital resources, the study of emblem books—that is, cohesive collections of

images, texts, and paratexts published in bound volumes—through digital 1.

2.

The Society for Emblem Studies website (http://www.emblemstudies.org/ digitisation-projects) provides a useful overview of digital projects devoted to emblems and emblem studies. See http://emblematicalibraryillinois.edu and http://arkyves.org. See also Cole, Han, and Wade.

347 Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image, vol. 2. Copyright © 2019 by Droz & Emblematica. All rights reserved.

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tools is still developing. To be sure, digital facsimiles of emblem books are readily available. Indeed, one of the great strengths of Emblematica Online is that it provides access to facsimiles of its nearly 1,400 emblem books from its partner institutions from a single location, many of them in a book-reader format. Not all of the digital facsimiles available in the various digital emblem resources, however, are presented in a format that mirrors the original’s functionality as a bound codex.’ Moreover, many of these resources offer little in the way of explanatory information beyond metadata, making it difficult for users without much knowledge of the historical background of early modern emblems to engage with them. In other words, while these digital facsimiles (and the resources that include them) have made extremely valuable contributions and opened up exciting possibilities, the field of emblem studies could grow all the more if users had access to digital facsimiles enriched by contextual information and more-intuitive functionality. Such resources could, for instance, make it possible for scholars to understand the highly collaborative interactions between authors, artists, printers, editors, and publishers that led to the published form of the book, or more easily to illuminate how emblem

books shaped one another through time and space (Manning, esp. 80-109). Achieving these objectives requires creating digital resources that would allow users to interact with an emblem book similarly to how its intended audience would have. Of course, producing such a digital resource is easier said than done. How to produce a digital facsimile of any premodern book in a way that accounts for the physical and intellectual experience of using the physical object remains a pressing matter for the digital humanities as a whole.* The challenge of that task is especially visible with emblem books, the contents of which resist easy understanding but nonetheless invite interpretation by both expert and novice users (Gehl). Creators of these books, however, assumed that such interpretations would come out ofa shared set of cultural experiences that were, quite understandably, not spelled out explicitly on 3.

Niirnberg’s public monuments, a context that was lost when the emblems

were printed by Isselburg (Wade 2017). Plans to publish VAULT Wing MS 279 digitally took form shortly after Wade's identification of its historical significance. In the spring of 2017, Wade and Lia Markey, Director of the Center for Renaissance 5.

Georg Rem, Inscriptiones picturae et emblemata quae in aula magna curiae Norimbergensis publice extant: quibus ob argumenti similitudinem accesserunt, 1. Chrongraphia arcuum aliquot triumphalium, II. Numi memorabiles, III. Alia[que] monumenta in varijs urbis partiblus] visu[m] jucunda, lectu[m][que]

digna (Nürnberg, c. 1620). Mara Wade first identified the importance of the manuscript as the Andrew W. Mellon and National Endowment for the Hu-

manities Fellow at the Newberry Library in the fall of 2016. She published a blog post about her findings for the Newberry’s blog From the Stacks. See Wade

Internet Archive (http://archive.org) using its book-reader interface. For more

See, for example, Treharne. The Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbiittel, has been very active in creating digital facsimiles. For a list of their publications, visit http://www.hab.de/de/home/bibliothek/digitale-bibliothek-wdb.html.

349

the page. Emblem books, in other words, urgently call for what digital humanists have referred to as a “virtual research environment”—that is, a resource that provides both content and the tools needed to engage with it (Bellamy). This would mean publishing an emblem book that provides not only the images, texts, and paratexts of all the emblems in the book but also the intellectual context necessary to interpret them. An opportunity to produce just such a resource arose when Mara R. Wade identified a unique hybrid emblem book in the collection of the Newberry Library, VAULT Wing MS 279% The book was most likely compiled around 1620 by Georg Rem, a Niirnberg patrician who wrote the epigrams for the emblems decorating the Great Hall in Niirnberg’s Rathaus, which were added after 1613. The emblems were engraved and published by Peter Isselburg, in 1617, in order to make them and their message of civic virtue more widely known.‘ In the Newberry manuscript, this print edition (except for the title page) is surrounded by Rem’s manuscript notes (in Latin and German), describing the allegorical programs in public monuments throughout Niirnberg, including the thrice-used triumphal arch, the allegorical chariot of Maximilian I, and commemorative medals. The purpose of the manuscript is never stated explicitly, but Wade has argued that Rem intended for it to help seventeenth-century readers understand how his emblems participated in the larger visual project of

Users can more easily page through digital facsimiles of emblem books on the on the importance of the Internet Archive, see below.

4.

Christopher D. Fletcher and Matthew Kre

EMBLEMATICA

2016.

6.

Emblemata politica in aula magna Curie Norinbergensis depicta. Que sacra virtvtum suggerunt monita prodenter administrandi fortiterque defendendi rempublicam. Nürnberg, 1617.

350

Christopher D. Fletcher and Matthew Kre

EMBLEMATICA

Studies at the Newberry, submitted an application to the Samuel H. Kress Foundation for funding to support a large project aiming to make Rem’s book and the scholarship informing it available online, to support the work of scholars and instructors.’ A small digital exhibition providing context for the book was created at the same time, to augment the application. After the grant was awarded, in May, this prototype became the foundation for the comprehensive digital publication of Rem’s hybrid book, which was officially launched in September 2018: The Emblemata Politica in Context (fig. 1). The creation of this resource was the result of close collaboration between scholars, librarians, curators, staff, photographers, and conservators at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign and in two departments at the Newberry Library—the Center for Renaissance Studies (CRS) and Digital Initiatives and Services (DIS).

Unlike its predecessor, The

Emblemata Politica in Context was to function as a scholarly tool that would contextualize the scholarship surrounding the manuscript in a way that went beyond what could be done in an essay alone. Using various digital tools in our toolkit, many relatively new, we were able to create a resource that supplemented Mara Wade's work, and encouraged readers to engage with the manuscript in a way that approximated how its original audience would have. Building for Engagement

A key element in making the Emblemata Politica digital resource work well as a more engaging digital facsimile was the decision to use the Scalar digital publishing platform, created at the Alliance for Networking Visual Culture, at the University of Southern California. Scalar uses a semantic web-based backend and a visually inviting user interface to create a rich multimedia web publication that is easier to navigate and adapt than other free and open-source solutions, such as Omeka. After the release of our first digital exhibit on it—Creating Shakespeare, in 2016—Scalar became the standard platform for new digital publications and exhibits at the Newberry.® See http://www.kressfoundation.org/.

8

See _hetp://publications.newberry.org/dig/creating-shakespeare/index.

was also used for a digital exhibition entitled Religious Change and Print,

1700: http://publications.newberry.org/dig/rep/index.

Scalar 1450-

351

The Emblemata Politicain Context: Georg Rem's Manuscript at the Newberry Library Regie ἐπὶ "Tacha

Fig. 1. Homepage for The Emblemata Politica in Context. https://publications.newberry. org/digital/emblemata-politica/index.

Scalar seems particularly well suited to contextualizing a digital facsimile of an emblem book. Each Scalar “book,” as individual projects within the platform are called, allows users to progress linearly through the site’s pages. Each of these pages can contain any amount of textual or multimedia content, and the platform offers a number of preconfigured templates for styling a page. At the same time, each Scalar book includes a table of contents, which allows for users to explore a work in a non-linear fashion and to toggle between one section of the site and another. This functionality is essential to approaching the early modern experience of Rem’s book, as users can access any contextual information they need without straying too far from the digital surrogate. A digital copy of Rem’s manuscript was intended to be the centerpiece of The Emblemata Politica in Context from the beginning of the process (fig. 2). In addition to Rem’s unique writings and compilations, the printed emblem book inserted into the middle of his manuscript has its own quirks, especially the fourth emblem (“Stultus amor nostri”), which was printed upside down. However, in order to make the manuscripts contents as easy to access as possible, the resource required a transcription of the texts alongside the images. Graduate students at the University of Illinois

352 l

EMBLEMATICA ἐ

οἱ

emblemata

quae in aula magna curiae Norimbergensis

Christopher D. Fletcher and Matthew Krc

ΕΠ

ΓΒΕ

a, |@

LIBERALITATIS, mit deren der keyBer sonderlichen hoch

begabet ist, derselbig kruncz hengt an dem Mittleren krancz MANSUETUDINIS,

Dieweilln der keyBer mitt

Sanfftmuethigkhels also gezieret ist, daS Niemand mit waarheit sprechen khan, daf der keyBer etwafi mit zorn oder herttigkheit handelle, sondern in allen Sachen, laufft MANSUETUDO, alB [ein] Translation:

(LIBERALITAS, with which the emperor is particularly highly

endowed. The same wreath hangs on the middle wreath MANSUETUDO, because the emperor is so adorned with Meekness that no one can truthfully suy that the emperor does anything in anger or harshness, but in all things acts with MANSUETUDO, )

Fig. 2. An image of the digital facsimile of VAULT Wing MS 279, showing Rem’s transcriptions of some “historical inscriptions” (Jnscriptiones Historicae) in the Great Hall of the Niirnberg Rathaus.

at Urbana-Champaign, Jessica Wells (Classics) and Andrew Schwenk (Germanic Languages and Literatures), transcribed all of the Latin and

German texts in Rem’s book. A translation of the German text, by Andrew Schwenk, was also completed by the official launch of the resource, and a translation from the Latin is forthcoming. These transcriptions make it possible for the manuscript to be used by scholars without the requisite paleography skills in their research and by teachers in their courses. With the enriched content of the transcriptions and translations in hand, the question then became how to display it most effectively for the broadest-possible audience. Rather than have a single webpage with all 306 pages of the manuscript arranged vertically, potentially straining the browser’s capabilities and the user’s attention, we felt that an interactive

cin sunderliche Edle Tochter TEMPERANTIAE mit vatter. Gegen der Mafligkheit ibersichet PRUDENTIA, greuffet mitt der Linckhen hand inn den kranex CONSTANTIAE, welliche bestendigkheit, thr dann gleich alf wohl, aif FORTITUDO zuestehet. ‘Mitt der Rechten handt heilt Sie den Krante INTELLIGENTIA, der sich in den Crantz MANSUETUDINIS flichtet, Translation:

(a particularly noble daughter of TEMPERANTIA. Opposite Temperance stands PRUDENTIA, gripping in her left hand the wreath

of CONSTANTIA, this Constancy, to which she, fust as

much as FORTITUDO, is equally entitled. With her right hand she holds the wreath of INTELLIGENTIA, which is braided into the wreath of MANSUBTUDO, )

Fig. 3. The book reader displaying the transcriptions and translations of Rem’s text directly below the digital facsimile.

display featuring the digitized images together with the transcribed texts and translations was necessary. While Scalar offers a number of “widgets”— premade modules for displaying web content—there was nothing that could handle the scale of images required to display and show text for comparison. For this project we decided to incorporate a native Internet Archive-style book-reader application into Scalar (figs. 2-3). The Internet

Archive offers a platform for all book-type assets, where images can be paged through in a way that emulates how a user would read a physical book. The source code used for this module is available for free on the public development platform Github,’ meaning that any set of images can

be viewed in a book-reader-style site with the proper setup.

9.

To access the book-reader bookreader.

module,

see https://github.com/internetarchive/

354

EMBLEMATICA

Integrating the Internet Archive book reader with the Scalar platform was a matter of adding the source files cloned from the Github repository for the reader and setting it up to take as a variable a structured data object featuring every page image and its corresponding transcription and translation. This initial step used the basic functionality of the bookreader source code to create the book object in Scalar, but the idea for the project involved allowing users to view transcriptions side by side with their corresponding pages. This required a forking of the book-reader source code to include what was essentially a cloned version of the book reader—one that displayed plain text rather than image elements. It was also important that, in addition to having a digital book copy, side-by-side analysis of the image, texts, and translation be possible in order to contextualize the text in a meaningful way (fig. 4). To this end, we added icons in the top right of the module that allow a user to see the corresponding transcription or translation on the page opposite. All of these additions were made with the hope of transcending a simple

static presentation

of the manuscript.

Our

aim

was

Inscriptiones picturae et embiemata

quae in aula magna

curiae Norimbergensis

to increase

engagement with it by emulating the codex structure familiar to readers while simultaneously making use of capabilities unique to the digital environment. Just as Rem's work embodies the idea of a hybrid book,

combining elements of printed material and manuscript, the digital presentation of The Emblemata Politica in Context attempts to combine the physical space of the book with the digital space of the web publication. In so doing, the resource offers its users the ability to engage with the book in a way similar to what Rem might have expected from his seventeenthcentury audience. Re-Creating Lost Context

With only these technical tools at their disposal, however, many users would still be hard-pressed to interpret Rem’s emblems or understand how they participated in the symbolic visual culture of early modern Nürnberg. Most of the potential users of The Emblemata Politica in Context are unfamiliar with the intellectual, social, political, and religious contexts that informed Rem work. The fact that many of the civic monuments referenced in the book were destroyed in the Second World War makes it even more difficult for users to enter into the experience Rem sought to preserve in his manuscript.

ND

OO

Ge

Fig. 4. Users also have the option of placing the transcriptions and translations on the verso of the book reader.

To that end, The Emblemata Politica in Context (to a certain extent) compensates for this lost context; the increased capacity of digital publishing and the simple navigation offered by Scalar allowed us to add

reference material on additional “pages” (with accompanying subpages), which employ descriptive texts and images to explain the history of the book and provide analytical tools for using it (Boot, 38). The explanatory

texts in these sections were purposefully kept brief and introductory, so that

the widest-possible audience might use them to learn how to engage with Rem’s book. The first, “The History of a Hybrid Book,” is focused primarily on the manuscript itself, and features subpages written by Mara Wade that explain the presence and function of emblems in Nurnberg (“Emblems in Early Modern Niirnberg”), the contents

of VAULT Wing MS 279 (“Rem’s

356

Hybrid Book”), and the book’s journey into the Newberry’s collection (“Coming to the Newberry”). In so doing, this section helps users understand why Rem would have wanted to create a manuscript with this content in the first place. The second major contextual page, “The World behind the Emblems,’ takes a broader view by addressing the intellectual and social life of seventeenth-century Niirnberg—that is, the shared cultural experience that Rem assumed his audience would draw on to interpret the contents of his book, including the emblems. Befitting this more expansive aim, we invited scholars, librarians, and curators from a variety of fields to describe aspects of the world behind Rem’s emblems. Their contributions again took the form of brief explanatory texts with corresponding images, so as to give users a sense of the culture in which Rem did his work. Befitting the local focus of the manuscript, the explanatory content in this section is keyed to Nürnberg itself, and the reasons why emblems came to play such a prominent role in the expression of its civic identity. This section teaches users about, among other things, the significant influence of Albrecht Diirer, who lived and worked in Nurnberg, on the development of emblematic culture, the use of images to record and recall encyclopedic knowledge in the city, and the presence of emblems on household items owned by the city’s elites. All of this contextual information was developed to help users accomplish the most fundamental aim of the book: interpreting the emblems themselves. Although all the emblems are visible in the digitized copy of the book, we decided to devote a separate page (“Emblem Interpretations”) to them, in order to “inspire further interpretations from scholars, students, and members of the general public”! This page provides images of the individual emblems from the book alongside—again—brief interpretations by scholars, curators, library staff, and graduate students involved in the project. The wide professional range of contributors was intentional, as a way to invite users of all levels of expertise to try their hand at interpretation. Importantly, the resource insists that the interpretations it offers are not definitive, but are only meant to guide users to work out their own meanings for the emblems, a task that early modern emblem creators themselves encouraged. 10.

Christopher D. Fletcher and Matthew Krc

EMBLEMATICA

See

https://publications.newberry.org/digital/emblemata-politica/emblems?

path=the-history-of-a-hybrid-book.

357

Of course, no single digital resource could provide users with all of the possible content to study early modern emblems, and so we envisioned The Emblemata Politica in Context as a complement to—not a replacement for—other digital emblem resources from the very beginning. Given the close collaboration between the University of Illinois and the Newberry Library to create the project, linking Ze Emblemata Politica in Context with Emblematica Online was a logical starting point.'' After it was digitized, the Rem manuscript was integrated into Emblematica Online, and links advertising this connection can be found throughout the Newberry resource. This connection brings VAULT Wing MS 279 into conversation with the copies of Isselburg’s Emblemata Politica held by UIUC and the Herzog August Bibliothek, to say nothing of the repository of over 30,000 individual emblems available through the application of Iconclass metadata. Moreover, the images of the emblems from VAULT Wing MS 279 on Emblematica Online have been linked with images of Rem’s manuscript description of the emblem and the German epigram from the printed edition." In this way, users may understand how the locally focused content of Rem’s hybrid book (taken either as individual emblems or as a book) fits into the larger emblematic culture of early modern Europe. A Collaborative Future

Importantly, the version of The Emblemata Politica in Context currently online remains a work in progress. This was intentional. Digital humanists agree that one of the most exciting aspects of digital scholarly tools is their

potential to grow, change, and expand over time, and The Emblemata Politica in Context was intended to do precisely this (Drucker). The resource leaves

room for other contributors (at the Newberry and elsewhere) to expand and build the site further, as part of ongoing expert curation. The “Emblem

Interpretations” section includes only twelve of the in Rem’s book, with the others to be added as they room for further context to be added; for instance, a focused on Rem could add more depth to the story 11.

12.

thirty-two emblems arrive. There is also biographical section behind the creation

For a more detailed discussion of the technical process of ingesting VAULT Wing MS 279 into Emblematica Online, see Cole. See also Cole’s abstract at https://publications.newberry.org/digital/emblemata-politica/symposium-

participants ?#.

E.g., heep://emblematica.library.illinois.edu/detail/emblem/E051808.

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Christopher D. Fletcher and Matthew Krc

of the book, and could be seamlessly integrated into the existing Scalar architecture of the site. In other words, The Emblemata Politica in Context is positioned to remain flexible in terms of the contextual content it can provide, without sacrificing any of the functionality necessary for reading Rems book. The opportunity for future collaboration allowed by the site mirrors the interpreting of emblems in social gatherings during the early modern period. In this way, the Newberry Library’s digital publication of Rem book adheres more closely to the role and function of emblem books in Rem’s day, giving modern users an experience of the emblem book that printed facsimiles or individual digitized emblems cannot provide. To that end, the future of the resource depends largely on how it will be able to reflect the needs of the scholars, teachers, and members of the general public who use it. Our hope is that The Emblemata Politica in Context advances the field of emblem studies by providing a model for guiding modern readers into the experience of working with an early modern emblem book. The technical capabilities of the site make it possible for users to explore Rem’s book in much the same way as they would in the Newberry’s reading room, while at the same time interacting with contextual information and other content in ways that exceed the capabilities of an essay, catalog entry, or even a printed facsimile. Yet all of this is rooted in the kind of interaction that Rem would have imagined for his contemporary readers—readers who could marshal the proper contexts to puzzle out the meaning of his emblems and their place in the public art of a great early modern city. In so doing, we hope that this resource will not only open up Rem and his work to further study, instruction, and enjoyment but also contribute to a conversation about finding new ways to make these rich sources for early modern culture available and understandable for generations to come.

Boot, Peter. “What's Next in Digital Emblem Studies?” In Transmigrations.

Works Cited

Arkyves website. http://arkyves.org. Bellamy, Craig. “The Sound of Many Hands Clapping: Teaching the Digital Humanities through Virtual Research Environments (VREs).” Digital Humanities Quarterly 6.2 (2012). http://www. digitalhumanities.org/dhq/vol/6/2/000119/000119.html.

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Essays in Honour of Alison Adams and Stephen Rawles, ed. Laurence Grove and Alison Saunders, assisted by Luis Gomes. Glasgow Emblem Studies 14. Glasgow, 2011. Pp. 31-40.

Cole, Timothy W. “Adding the Rem Manuscript to Emblematica Online, A Virtual Corpus for Research and Teaching.” Forthcoming in the selected conference proceedings. , Myung-Ja K. Han, and Mara R. Wade. “Linked Open Data and Semantic Web Technologies in Emblematica Online.” In Early Modern Studies and the Digital Turn: New Tools for New Research Questions, ed. Michael Ullyot, Diane Jakacki, and Laura Estill. New Technologies in Medieval and Renaissance Studies 502. Toronto/Tucson, 2016. Pp. 201-35. Drucker, Johanna. “The Virtual Codex from Page Space to E-Space.” In 4 Companion to Digital Literary Studies, ed. Susan Schreibman and Ray Siemens. Oxford, 2008. http://www.digitalhumanities.org/ companionDLS/. Gehl, Paul F. “Moral Analogies in Print: Emblematic Thinking in the Making of Early Modern Books.” Philosophica 70 (2002): 91-107.

Manning, John. The Emblem. London, 2002. Rem, Georg. Emblemata politica in aula magna Curie Norinbergensis depicta. Que sacra virtvtvm suggerunt monita prodenter administrandi fortiterqve defendendi rempublicam. Nürnberg, 1617. . Inscriptiones picturae et emblemata quae in aula magna curiae

Norimbergensis publice extant: quibus ob argumenti similitudinem accesserunt,

I. Chrongraphia

arcuum

aliquot triumphalium,

Il.

Numi memorabiles, III. Alialque] monumenta in varijs urbis partiblus] visu[m] jucunda, lectu[m]lque] digna. Nürnberg, c. 1620.

Treharne, Elaine. “Fleshing Out the Text: The Transcendent Manuscript in the Digital Age.” Postmedieval: A Journal of Medieval Cultural Studies 4.4 (2013): 465-78. University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. Emblematica Online. http:// emblematica.grainger.illinois.edu/.

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Wade, Mara R. “Emblematic of the Lost Art of Niirnberg.” From the Stacks

(blog). The Newberry Library, 20 December 2016. https://www. newberry.org/from-the-stacks.

. “Emblemata Politica in Context: Georg Rem’s Manuscript at the Newberry Library” Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image 1

(2017): 227-34.

, Christopher D. Fletcher, Matthew Kre, et al. The Emblemata Politica in Context: Georg Rem’s Manuscript at the Newberry Library. Version 1.0. 31 October 2018. https://publications. newberry.org/digital/emblemata-politica/index.

REVIEWS

Reviews

PEDRO GERMANO LEAL and RUBEM AMARAL JR, eds. Emblems

in Colonial Ibero-America: To the New World on the Ship of Theseus. Glasgow Emblem Studies 18. Geneva: Droz, 2017. x + 382 pp., 104 b/w ill. ISBN 9780-852-61954-4. $54.00.

The most recent volume of the Glasgow Emblem Studies series is a welcome and much-anticipated addition to the excellent collection of anthologies the University of Glasgow has devoted to specific aspects of the emblem tradition since the publication of the influential Emblems and Art History, in 1996, As the first volume covering the emblematic culture of the New World as a whole, and one of very few studies on the subject in English, this collection of ten essays by scholars from Spain, Portugal, Mexico, Peru, and Brazil (intended for an Anglophone audience) sets the parameters for future investigations, constituting an essential reference for anyone interested in the

vibrant and dynamic life that “colonial emblems” enjoyed in the three main Ibero-American colonies: the Viceroyalty of New Spain, the Viceroyalty of Peru, and the generally less studied Portuguese America. The book is divided into three sections corresponding to these territories, each presenting “different colonial realities” and “different native receptions” (7). As Pedro Germano Leal states in his excellent introductory essay, in this heterogeneous context, emblems “emerged as a new form of visual mediation between Europe and the Americas at the turn of the seventeenth century,

becoming “one of the stages in which the colonial dispute for a text-visual identity takes place” (4). Particularly in New Spain and Peru, this “pictorial clash” (or “iconographic dispute”) had two distinct moments: a first moment, in which, after the destruction of native imagery, emblems (either in printed or pictorial form) took over earlier visual forms of mediation, such as codices

363 Emblematica: Essays in Word and Image, vol. 2. Copyright © 2019 by Droz & Emblematica. All rights reserved.

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Reviews

and hieroglyphic catechisms (in a sense consolidating European hegemony), and a second one, in which creole identity challenged this hegemony by increasingly incorporating elements of its own ancient cultures into the realm of emblems. In this sense, the volume demonstrates Germano Leal’s assertion that “Ibero-American emblematic manifestations are not a collateral outcome of the colonial process” (4), as well as challenging the notion that “the emblematic culture in Ibero-America is merely secondary to what was then happening in Europe” (6). One distinctive feature of colonial emblematics is their fluidity and ability to be applied to a variety of material culture, challenging, in Leal’s words, “the Eurocentric paradigm according to which emblems are primarily a print modality” (50). Identified in the volume as “displayed emblems, they appeared throughout the colonial period in architecture, ephemeral apparatuses for the ubiquitous baroque “fiestas, and paintings, as well as on objects and furniture. The painted biombos, or folding screens, that proliferated in New Spain during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, for instance, exemplify this process of emblem adaptation, which often involved a “creolization” of visual elements (47). Moreover, while the traditional format of the emblem book was limited to upper classes and intellectuals, and was a relatively static entity, displayed emblems (also called here “centers of diffusion”) ensured dissemination among entire urban populations and interaction “with the folk culture in Colonial Ibero-America” (50), which ultimately involved significant transformations in medium, composition, and signification. In addition to Germano Leal’s introductory essay—an essential read to understand the dynamics of colonial emblematic culture—each of the book’s three sections is preceded by a useful overview by leading emblem scholars. The section dedicated to New Spain begins with an essay by Victor Minguez focused on the so-called “emblematization of New Spain” (63) through the early arrival of emblem books, poets, scholars, painters and friars from Spain;

Rodriguez Moya provides a detailed description of the hieroglyphs and symbols adorning the catafalques of Philip II and Philip IV erected by the Mexican Inquisition (established in 1571) in the Templo de Santo Domingo, a prime example of the importance of festival culture in Mexico City and of the use of emblems in the service of exalting the Spanish monarchy and the Catholic faith. In contrast, Rocio Olivares-Zorrilla’s essay on the emblems in Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz’s Neptuno Alegérico, one of the ephemeral triumphal arches for the entry of the new viceroy of New Spain, Tomas de la Cerda y Aragôn, demonstrates the increasing incorporation of local references—in this case, the unstable natural environment of New Spain, with its frequent floods, as well as the mythological origin of the Amerindian people in water— into the official emblematic apparatus.

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the creation of the Real Universidad de Mexico, in 1551; and the role played

by the Society of Jesus. As Minguez shows, emblem culture in New Spain emerged in the context of Habsburg imperial propaganda and was foremost “visual rhetoric in the service of the image of power” (59) that, nonetheless, “progressively became a vehicle of the incipient American Creolism and of its gradual political consciousness” (80). The two other essays in this section exemplify this dual character of emblematics in New Spain. Inmaculada

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In the section dedicated to Peru, José Julio Garcia Arranz’s prefatory essay

stresses the transposition of emblems into other artistic media, including painting, furniture, ceramics, architecture, and, especially, ephemeral compositions for festivals (as well as poetry, theater, and sermons), despite the lack ofemblem books published or created in the region (with the exception of Guaman Poma de Ayala’ assimilation of emblematic codes of representation in his Nueva Crénica y Buen Gobierno, a manuscript written between 1613 and 1616). The descriptions of emblems used in festivals suggest that the urban space was transformed through the addition of decorations in which European and autochthonous elements collided. This was especially the case in triumphal entries for the viceroys, such as the one recorded in Melchor Pérez de Holguin’s canvas representing the Entry of the Viceroy Archbishop Morcillo in the City of Potost (c. 1716-1718), and in the Corpus Christi ceremonies taking place in Cuzco, which coincided with a traditional Inca festival devoted

to the sun and which, in Garcia Arranz’s words, became “a syncretic festival par

excellence” (225). The next two essays exemplify the presence of emblematic culture outside of the printed media: the first, by Rocardo Estabridis Cardenas, focuses on the pictorial decorations in the first Jesuit house of spiritual exercises for women in Latin America (erected in 1752 in Lima); the second, by Carme Lépez Calderén, examines the frescoes decorating the cell of Father

Salamanca in the Convento de la Merced, in Cuzco, identifying connections between the path to Heaven and the Inca road. The final section, devoted to Portuguese America, is an important contribution considering that “no volume has been dedicated exclusively

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to the emblem tradition in Portuguese-speaking America” (7). A striking

difference between the viceroyalties of New Spain and Peru, on the one hand, and Portuguese America, on the other, was the prohibition of printing and universities in Brazil until 1808, imposed by Portuguese administration—a stark contrast to the thriving printing presses that developed in New Spain (as early as 1538) and Peru (established in 1584 in Lima) at the very early stages of colonization. The introductory essay, by Ruben Amaral Jr, is particularly useful, as it surveys these harder-to-trace “tangible evidences of the emblem

mentality in Brazil in the colonial period” (302), which, like in Peru, can be found mainly in decoration of religious buildings and ephemeral public ceremonies—the emblematic glazed tiles decorating the Convento de Sao Francisco in Salvador (Bahia), based on Otto Vaenius’s Emblemata Horatiana,

being one of the most important examples. The ensuing essay, by Renata Maria de Almeida Martins, explores the role of the Jesuits in the development of an emblematic culture in the Amazon Region, with focus on the emblematic paintings in the Jesuit missions of Grao Para. The final essay, by Filipa Aratijo, examines the emblems used in the 1816 acclamation of King Joao VI in Brazil,

when Rio de Janeiro became the capital of the United Kingdom of Portugal, Brazil, and Algarve. Although the case-study essays can at times feel overburdened with tedious descriptive detail and lack of interpretation, this volume is nonetheless an essential contribution not only to emblem studies but to the ever-expanding field of Ibero-American

colonial studies, filling an important gap in the

literature and opening up venues for future analysis.

CARMEN RIPOLLES

Portland State University

Reviews PETER M. DALY and G. RICHARD

367 DIMLER, S. J. The Jesuit Emblem

in the European Context. Early Modern Catholicism and the Visual Arts 14. Philadephia: Saint Joseph’s University Press, 2016. 468 pp., 23 b/w and color ill. ISBN 9780916101886. $70.00.

This extensive and comprehensive compendium, written by a pair of highly experienced researchers in the field of emblematics, is based on many years of collaborative research, which culminated in the opulent five-volume bibliography Corpus Librorum Emblematum: The Jesuit Series. An outgrowth of this massive bibliographic compendium, The Jesuit Emblem in the European Context is divided into two parts that differ significantly in form and content. The first part is an elaborate introduction to the topic of Jesuit emblems. The second part contains detailed appendices presenting a bibliographic overview of the key emblematic books of the six Jesuit assistancies (France, Germany, Italy, Poland, Portugal, and Spain), issued by individual authors or Jesuit institutions. The book also contains a selective bibliography on the theme of Jesuit emblems, an explanatory note on different types of Jesuit institutions and the terminology associated with them, and, finally, an index of names and places, The first part of the book, the more theoretical of the two, is divided into six chapters. In the introduction and the first chapter, “The European Emblem,” Daly and Dimler contextualize Jesuit emblematics within the broader scope of European emblem practices. In addition to laying out and answering a number of basic questions—What is an emblematic book? How does one categorize emblematic illustrations? What does the term

Jesuit mean?—they recall in this initial section the greatest achievements

of emblem studies, a field that has grown in the last fifty years, as well as outline the leading directions of recent research into Jesuit visual practices.

The second chapter, “The Ratio Studiorum.” examines curricular elements

of Jesuit educational institutions. Particular emphasis is placed here on the use of emblems in teaching practice, and also on their close connection with rhetoric. In addition to applying emblems for practical purposes, the Jesuits dealt extensively with emblem and symbol theory, and their works in this area are some of the most influential ever to have been written. Accordingly, chapter 3, “The Jesuit Theory of Symbology” provides a chronological list of the most influential Jesuit theorists (Possevino, Caussin, Pietrasanta, Masen,

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Menéstrier, Balbin, Bosch, and others) and analyzes their approaches to defining various types and genres of emblematic illustrations. This subtle yet sophisticated chapter was a pleasure to explore, and it is obviously the result of painstaking, meticulous preparation. The fourth chapter, “The Major Jesuit Emblematic Books,” alphabetically lists the most important and influencial Jesuit emblem books and books with emblems. Daly and Dimler rightly point out that making decisions about which works were more important or influential than others was very difficult. Many books, such as imprints dedicated to representatives of a particular church or secular institution, had only local impact but were very influential in the area in which they were read. The final selection was the result of a highly subjective decision-making process. The authors give special mention to important colleges (Antwerp Jesuit College), as well as authors (Herman Hugo) whose books were issued in the thousands of copies. Perhaps the largest points of focus are Andrés Mendo’s Principe perfecto and the emblematic works of Claude-François Ménestrier. These books and their authors undoubtedly belong to the most influential in the genre, but their choice could have been supported by moredetailed arguments. Emblem studies is often understood as a specific field of book-culture research. However, emblems were also applied in public spaces. The connection between emblems and material culure is discussed in the fifth chapter, “The Material Culture.” Here, the authors present a number of examples illustrating the use of emblems in ephemeral festival settings as well as applications in more permanent architectural structures. They also discuss the role of emblems in the applied arts. In the last chapter, “Purposes Served by Jesuits Using Emblematic Forms,’ Daly and Dimler return to the question of classifying emblematic books according to their content and function. This is the same classification system that governs their five-volume bibliography, Corpus Librorum Emblematum: The Jesuit Series. Part 1 of The Jesuit Emblem in the European Context is written in very readable language that displays deep knowledge of the subject. It can be read as a whole, but each of the six chapters also stands alone as an in-depth study of an aspect of Jesuit emblematics. Perhaps that is why some information is repeated verbatim from chapter to chapter, albeit in a different context and

from a slightly different point of view each time. Notes at the end of each chapter provide a number of references to specialized literature on subtopics that may be very useful for researchers.

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The second part of the book is conceived as a bibliographic dictionary, geographically divided among the six Jesuit assistancies. These are further divided into provinces and cities, including the colleges, residences, and seminaries located in each. Institutions are always listed with a foundation date, as established in earlier research conducted by the authors of the general Jesuit bibliography DBS and by Alfred Hamy. These sources often contradict each other, and the information they contain could certainly be refined through newer findings.' But I do not consider such minor inaccuracies in the data to be essential, because their function is to provide an approximate indication of time. For each of the Jesuit institutions, listed alphabetically, Daly and Dimler enumerate imprints that match their definition of an emblematic book or a book with emblems. They briefly comment on their content and function and, of course, note their placement in the Corpus Librorum Emblematum. At the end of each province’ overview is a list of important authors who worked there and the emblematic writings they produced. The third appendix, “The Assistancy of Germany? is the most extensive, occupying a full 116 pages, in contrast to “The Assistancy of Italy? which has 16 pages of text, “The Assistancy of Spain? which contains 11 pages, and “The Assistancy of Portugal,” which has only 2 pages. Does that mean that Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese Jesuits were much less active in making emblems, despite the society’s emphasis on universal education? If

this evident disproportion has some deeper historical or cultural cause, the authors should provide additional details to explain it. Although the number of emblematic imprints described in the book is admirable, evidence of a great deal of work by both authors, it is hardly to be expected that this book would provide an exhaustive overview of all emblem books and books with emblems created in Europe by the Jesuit order. It is certainly not in the power of one researcher, or of two, to provide a comprehenseive account of such multifarious and geographically fragmented material. Daly and Dimler note that they were not successful in finding

copies of many of the works they recorded, meaning that these must remain 1,

In the province of Bohemia, for example (The Jesuit Emblem in the European Context, 236-41), the following dates should apply to the founding of the col-

leges: Gitschin, 1623; Kéniggratz, 1629; Leutmeritz, 1630; Glattau, 1630;

Brzezniecz, 1637 (residence) and 1650 (college); Iglau, 1624 (Hradisch College

transferred to Iglau from Kremsier in 1644); Teltsch, 1651; Troppau, 16251629; Jenikau, 1657. See Cornejova, 112.

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unconfirmed. There is, undoubtedly, room for scholars specializing in a particular province, city, or author to add and refine missing data.’ The Jesuit Emblem in the European Context is something like a travel map that shows not only main routes but also little sidepaths leading to still-unexplored domains of Jesuit emblematics. This work promises an exciting journey through the world of European Jesuit emblems, where many discoveries, surprises, and findings await.

371

Works Cited Backer, Augustine

and Aloys de, S. J., and Carlos Sommervogel,

S. J.

Bibliothèque de la Compagnie de Jésus (DBS). Brussels, 1890-1932.

Cornejova, Ivana. Taurystvo Jefovo. Jezuité v @chäch

. Prague, 1995.

Daly, Peter M., and G. Richard Dimler. Corpus Liborum Emblematum: The Jesuit Series. 5 vols. Montreal/Toronto, 2000-2007. Hamy, Alfred, S. J. Documents Pour Servir A l'histoire des domiciles de la Compagnie de Jésus dans le Monde Entier de 1540 à 1773. Paris, 1892. https://archive.org/details/documentspourser00hamy.

2.

In Olomouc (Olmiitz), a university town in τῆς province of Moravia, Daly ἀπά

Dimler record only three emblematic works (238-39), one of which, Dramati-

cus emblematicus . .. Francisci Udalrici (1694), is unconfirmed. See also Corpus Librorum Emblematum: The Jesuit Series, J 830, J 1090, J 1091. Over the course

of several years of research, I have identified at least nine imprints that fulfill Daly

and Dimler’s criteria for inclusion in the corpus: 1. Divus Franciscus Xaverius... (1663), which includes a group of ten engraved emblems; 2. Portae Gloriae quas losepho ac Leopoldo Austriaco recens nato (1682), a description of a celebratory event, with sixteen unillustrated emblems and symbols; 3. Zodiacus Triumphalis (1690), a description of ephemeral decorations, with six unillustrated symbols;

4. Gloriae losephinae (1690), a description of a triumphal arch, with dozens of unillustrated symbols and emblems; 5. Trophaeum geminum (1699), a descrip-

tion of ephemeral architecture, with twenty-four unillustrated symbols (the

shape of the triumphal arch, including emblematic apparatus, is shown on a

separate copper engraving); 6. Colossus olim Soli Orienti (1705), castrum doloris

for Leopold I, with twenty-six unillustrated emblems; 7. Joannes Hillebrandr, S. J., Immortalitas Sapientis (1720), with twenty engraved emblems; 8. Josephus Dalbert, S. J., Hebdomas Gemino Sacratiori Luminari (1721), which includes

seven engraved emblems; 9. Josephus Gihl, S. J., Pulchra, ut Luna, Electa, ut Sol

(1742), with five emblematic illustrations; and 10. Dramaticus emblematicus [correctly, emblematismus] ... Francisci Udalrici (1694), which, though marked in the book as unconfirmed, is located in the National Library of the Czech Republic and is also available at https://books.google.cz/books?id=x8 1dAAAAc

AAJ &pg=PA6&lpg=PAG&dq=honoris+et+virtutis+francisci+udalricitkhin sky&source=bl&ots=H7OJ_GV Vmf&sig=3RCSgG-ZDCkvlkxyHzcxYASU UpQ&hl=cs&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwj A4YLsyevZAhXtKMAKHUIXDQM

QGAEIJzA A#v=onepage&q=honoris%20et% 20virtutis%20francisci%20udal-

rici%20khinsky&f=false. It is probably an emblematic declamation prepared

by the students of Olomouc University to celebrate the virtues of the Supreme

Chancellor of the Czech Kingdom Frantisek Oldiich Kinsky (1634-1699),

who was, among other things, a student and great supporter and protector of Bohuslav Balbin, S. J. (1621-1688). The imprint briefly describes eight emblematic scenes.

KATERINA DOLEJSI Institute of Art History, The Czech Academy of Sciences, Brno

KARL. A. E. ENENKEL

and PAUL J. SMITH, eds. Emblems and the

Natural World. Intersections—Interdisciplinary Studies in Early Modern Culture 50. Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2017. 666 pp., 80 b/w and 141 color ill. ISBN 978-90-04-34706-9. €219.00. The title page of the 1550 edition of Alciatos Emblemata (Lyon, Macé

Bonhomme) carries an image of the vigilant crane. The first emblem shows the Visconti serpent disgorging an infant, and the second describes a ram and boar, symbols of the city of Milan. After this, we meet with an elk, bearing Alciato’s family insignia, and then turn to a dog watching Ganymede soar

over the world on the back of Jove’s eagle. As the volume unfolds, emblem

after emblem presents moralia drawn from the characteristics, behaviors,

and properties of animals, such as the elephant, cicada, coot, stork, bat, viper,

lion, scarab, eel, or beaver, and mythological or hybrid creatures, such as the satyr, halcyon, siren, faun, sphinx, centaur, or Triton. We also find creatures

as integral elements of anecdotes and instances, such as the bees nesting in the helmet, Ocnuss donkey, the ass bearing the statue of Isis, Ajax butchering pigs, the wolf cub that suckles the she-goat, the backstage fox, or the wasps on

the tomb of Archilochus. After 1549, volumes of Alciatos emblems closed

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with his emblematic arboretum, epigrams rooted in the realm of plants. Throughout his emblems, it seems that Alciato was preoccupied at every turn with the morality, metaphorics, and admonitory power of exempla from the natural world. All of this more than justifies the present volume, an attractive and important collection of essays that had its beginnings in a conference entitled “Emblems and the Natural World? hosted by the Westfalische WilhelmsUniversitat, Miinster, in the winter of 2015 and organized by the editors,

Karl A. E. Enenkel and Paul J. Smith. Both men are eminently well placed to

orchestrate a volume on this theme, with their legacies of published work on emblemata, natural history writing, and fable books, and this current book may be considered to be a companion to two earlier titles they edited in the Intersections series: Early Modern Zoology: The Construction of Animals in Science, Literature and the Visual Arts (2007) and Zoology in Early Modern Culture: Intersections of Science, Theology, Philology, and Political and Religious Education (2014). What they offer here are essays specifically tied to the emblem and izmpresa, but with contributions drawn from subject areas as broad as zoology, ornithology, botany, and meteorology, there might have been a

danger of the volume running into diffuseness of focus. Fortunately, through good judgement in their initial selections, and through careful curation, the articles cohere into a cogent and complementary whole, making this book a valuable contribution to the contemporary discussion of the emblem. Not the least of the book’s merits is its pleasing balance of both well-established and early career scholars, ensuring a concert of old and new voices. The editors dispose of the contributions into four sections: part 1, “Emblematic ZoologyZoological Emblem Books”; part 2, “Emblem Books on Physical Phenomena’; part 3, “The Applied Use of Natural Emblems, Epecially in Monarchial and Courtly Contexts”; and part 4, “The Hermeneutic and Didactic Use of the Natural World.” The volume

opens with an excellent introduction, coauthored by the

editors, which seeks to provide a survey of “Emblems and the Natural World (ca.1530-1700).” In it, the authors highlight the sheer prevalence of animal and nature emblems in the iconographic repertoire of Alciato and those who followed him in the sixteenth century, and locate their dependency

upon conventions disseminated by Aesop, Pliny, Pausanius, Ovid, Plutarch, and a host of medieval encyclopaedists. They note a signal change in the

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documentation of animals in the course of the sixteenth century, aconsequence of progressive, empirical approaches broached in the works of Conrad Gesner, Pierre Belon, and others, and a new determination to record the appearance and conduct of beasts through ad vivum illustrations. These works, animated by a new spirit of empirical enquiry, were in the vanguard of the scientific revolution, and their emergence at the same point as emblem publishing took hold resulted in a degree of cross-fertilization between the genres. The editors point out the ways in which the parallel formal and epistemological conventions of emblem books and fledgling natural histories appeared to be in dialogue, with emblems absorbing new information ofa scientific character from the findings of the natural historians while the publishers of scientific works appropriated the typographical and formatting templates of emblem books. This overview is followed by Alison Saunders’s masterful appraisal of sixteenth-century French emblem books and their treatment of naturalhistory themes. A key question issue here, and one that finds repeated echoes throughout the contributions that follow, is to what extent emblem authors perpetuated accounts of the conduct and habits of animals they knew to have been discredited or disproved. The particular moment of the emblem’s emergence as a prominent cultural form, falling at a liminal point between the late medieval world and onset of the modern, often resulted in emblem books betraying the tension between competing epistemological modes and canons of knowledge. One author whose work exemplifies this confluence of paradigms particularly well is Joachim Camerarius the Younger, the subject of several studies in the collection. The first of these, by Enenkel, reads that author’s Symbolorum et emblematum ex animalibus quadrupedibus desumptorum centuria altera (1595) as both an emblematized parallel to Pliny’s Historia naturalis and as a Fürstenspiegel aimed at drawing ethical lessons for society's

elite from the praiseworthy or vicious behavior manifest in nature. Justly

describing the work “as a milestone in the application of natural history in

emblematics because of the extent and systematic order of the collection” (91),

Enenkel argues that, unlike the fragmentary use of animal imagery in emblem books, Camerarius edges toward a scientific taxonomy by species and type, drawing upon new scientific evidence emerging from the expanding world. Thus, it is in emblems by the Nürnberg author that early modern readers had first access to information concerning creatures like the woolly opossum,

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from Central America, or the saiga, a rare antelope from the Eurasian Steppe. Camerarius followed the publication of his volume on quadrupeds with a second century of emblems devoted to birds and other creatures of the air,

such as bats, bees, grasshoppers, and wasps. This book, the Symbolorum ex volatibilibus et insectis desumptorum centuria tertia collecta (1596), is the subject of Paul J. Smith’s contribution, taking as its particular focus the opening emblem of the eagle, which Camerarius discusses from the authority of the usual learned witnesses; Smith demonstrates persuasively that Camerarius also depends upon an undeclared source, Ruscelli’s Le imprese illustri (1566). The fabled nobility of the eagle was thus endorsed by its adoption as impresa by the Holy Roman emperors Maximilian II and Charles V, and it is with this air of regal dignitas and imperial power that we find it still as the obverse of the Great Seal of the United States. Smith notes how the designer of the Seal, the classical scholar Charles Thomson, took his inspiration from Camerarius, and that the work was also much loved by Benjamin Franklin, who owned a copy of the 1702 edition. Sophia Hendrikx’s essay considers Camerarius’s emblematic centuria concerning fish and aquatic animals, observing that in this area of natural history, Camerarius had relatively few emblematic precedents to consult in the works of Alciato or Luca Contile, his favored emblem authors. This obliged him to look to the authority of ichthyological passages in Gesner, a source he underplays, but Hendrikx’s analysis persuasively uncovers his debt to the observational remarks of the Swiss scientist in instance after instance. Camerarius’s presence is also felt in the background of Bernhard Schirg’s article, “The Daphnic Fate of Camerarius: Sweden's First Printed Emblem Book Revealed in Olof Rudbeck the Younger’s Botanical Dissertation (1686) The dissertation in question is entitled Propagatio plantarum botanico-physica and has long been known to Swedish scholarship. In it, the divisions between chapters are marked by tipped-in emblems based upon exemplars derived from Camerarius, a fact noticed a century ago by Felix Bryk. Schirg’s insistent claim for the primacy of Rudbeck’s book among printed Swedish emblem books must be seen as misplaced: firstly, Rudbeck’s work is generically an academic dissertation on an aspect of arboriculture, not an emblem book; secondly, the emblematic images, sometimes germane to the arboricultural discussion, at other times loosely affiliated, are secondary

visual elements to the dissertation’s more numerous woodcuts illustrative of the methods of propagation; and thirdly (and puzzlingly), Schirg mentions in

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passing Daniel Wallenius’s De emblematis, and so should be conscious that this academic dissertation, similarly printed in Uppsala, also with emblems, and on the subject of emblems, was printed before Rudbeck’s botanical dissertation. Leaving these observations aside, there is much to admire in Schirg’s discussion of the emblems themselves, and he has done good service with his transcriptions and translations of Rudbeck’s emblematic interpolations, His case that Rudbeck sought to use emblematic elements within his work to catch the eye and patronly favor of the dissertation’s dedicatee, Queen Ulrika Eleonora the Elder, is problematized by the fact that when Rudbeck served up his dedication manuscript to the queen, he presented it denuded of its emblematic embellishments. This first section of the volume closes with Maren C. Biederbick’s survey of the confluence of traditional moral and scientific knowledge expressed in noble devices recorded and documented by Paolo Giovio and Gabriele Symeoni, taking as her evidence devices of the ostrich, crane, heron, palm tree, fig, peach, salamander, porcupine, ermine,

and beaver. This last-named creature formed the ikon of Giovio’s own device, and Beiderbick demonstrates how its fabled self-castration, to preserve itself from hunters intent on harvesting the medicinal virtues of its genitals, was known to be false since at least the time of Albertus Magnus; such was the resilience of tradition—and, perhaps, the value of the moral of selfpreservation in extremis—that the legend maintained its hold over the early modern imagination. The second section of the volume, on “physical phenomena,’ consists of just two articles. One, by Sabine Kalff, focuses on comets in emblems of the late

seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, specifically as encountered in the

Meteorologia philosophico-politica (1698), of Franz Reinzer, a Jesuit attached to the Jesuit College in Linz, Austria. This remarkable and attractive book

had its origins in a scientific dissertation, but took on its noble lineaments in

sumptuous editions that were more of a collective presentation by the Linz College than the work of Reinzer. Of interest to the author is the way Reinzer distances himself from earlier understanding of comets as portentous signs heralding disaster; in this, we discern a new rational sensibility. As Christian Peters argues in his article on the same work, the volume’s dedication to the future emperor Joseph I was certainly tactical, as the Jesuit brothers at Linz probably sensed a cooling of Habsburg favor toward the Order. Peters approaches the work through a consideration of its moralizing of

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meteorological phenomena such as winds, rain, storms, thunder, etc., all keyed to political counsel useful to the Habsburg regime. Here we find the cosmic symbolism harnessed in praise of Louis XIV at Versailles repurposed with considerable invention for courtly panegyric in Vienna. Appropriately, the third section of the book opens with Frederik Knegtel situating the exquisite tapisseries du Roy created for Louis, under the direction of André Félibien, as manifestations of the cult of the sublime, which had been promoted so successfully as a response to nature through the edition of Longinus’s Peri hyposus published by Nicolas Boileau at exactly the same time as the tapestries’ production. Knegtel traces the development of concepts of /e merveilleux and sublimité and subtly links them with the political dimensions of the term magnificence and its applicability to the king. Applied emblematics inspired by political hegemony is also the concern of Agnes Kusler in her description of emblematic décor displayed on the facade of the town hall of Sopron, in Hungary, by the noted lawyer and politician, but also skilled emblematist, Christoph Lackner. This program, executed around 1622, is long lost, but archival evidence allows Kusler to reconstruct the concetto Lackner provided in praise of the Habsburg monarchy, and which he saw as edificatory of the common people in the way of “the hieroglyphs of the ancient Egyptians and the moralising books or portrait-medals” (421). These emblematic statements culled ideas from the Bible, ancient authors, and legal texts, all infused with Lackner’s Neo-Stoic sensibilities. Kusler notes the resistance of the local people, not least the nobility, to overanxious deference to the Austrian emperor, qualms Lackner needed to dispel through a plenary oration, an anecdote that offers

rare evidence of the reception of absolutist emblems among early modern political subjects. Ann Rolet’s superb essay on leonine symbolism as found in Achille Bocchi’s Symbolicae quaestiones (1555) begins with the type of recondite allegoresis the Bolognese humanist favored—densely layered patterns of meaning, often of a highly personal pertinence, and opaque to the uninitiated. Rolet describes the lion imagery’s associations with Bocchiss famous palazzo in Bologna and the Academia Bocchiana that met there, not least the lion tamed by Eros and Hermathena, which he intended to mount

as a relief sculpture on the palace wall. She then moves to a discussion of a doorway—the Porta dei Leoni, at Bologna Cathedral, that still stood in Bocchi’s time—and finishes with the Venetian Lion of St. Mark, which may

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have implied Bocchi’s admiration for La Serenissima’s pragmatism in the Peace of Bologna, signed in 1530. Two of the contributions found in the latter section of the book offer studies of familiar emblematic themes in specific applications. One such is Aline Smeesters survey of the iconography of oysters—specifically, the virtuous and sexless generation of the pearl as a cipher for princely births. This interesting topic is approached through consideration of the panegyric performance of the Jesuit François Mangot on the occasion of the birth, in 1661, of Louis of France, eldest son of Louis XIV and Maria Theresa of Spain. Among the dozen emblems on the partus—a term, Smeesters tells us, expressive of both the birth process and the child itself—is one figuring the dauphin through the imagery of the pearl-oyster, even though scientific knowledge had disproved the notion that generation occurred through the reception of heavenly dew into the bivalve’s open shell. It was Mangot’s ambition, however, to promulgate a version of this spurious lore, in which the dew descended from the stars, signaling the special conditions of the royal birth. Also in this vein is Astrid Zenkert’s study of the trope of the owl mobbed in daylight hours by raucous and aggressive birds. With its origins in the Aesopian tradition, this motif was found widely in early modern print culture, not least in emblemata. Of particular interest in Zenkert’s account is her consideration of the theme as a cipher of the humanist rhetorician, praised in some quarters for his eloquence, reason, and persuasion but fleered and harried by the uncouth mob. These general observations give way to detailed discussion of an exemplum of the theme in “The Book of Writing Patterns,’ a beautiful manuscript by Joris Hoefnagel dating from the last years of the sixteenth century and preserved in the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna; an iteration of the theme is found in another work on parchment in the Plantin-Moretus Museum, Antwerp— and, intriguingly, on the so-called Owlet Fountain (Fontana della Civetta),

at Villa d’Este, outside Rome. This fountain, designed by Pirro Ligorio for Cardinal Ippolito II d’Este, between 1566 and 1572, dramatized the avian standoff through the play of its hydraulic organ, the first of the early modern era, wherein the birds twittered aggressively when the owls head looked away from them, but fell silent when it turned to its tormentors. Zenkert speculates ona possible application of the ancient fable to Ippolito, noting the cardinal’s vulnerability to critics censorious of his crime of simony and later dismissal by Pope Pius V. The volume is rounded out by Tobias Bulangs description

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of emblematic animals in a sixteenth-century translation of Rabelais by the Alsatian author and lawyer Johann Fischart, and Sonja Schreiner’s study of Friedrich Justin Bertuch’s Bilderbuch für Kinder, a pictorial dictionary and a manifestation of the sort of pedagogic publication exemplified by Johan Amos Comeniuss Orbis sensualium pictus. Between 1790 and 1830, the Bilderbuch ran to no fewer than twelve volumes of some 3,000 titles. Schreiner’s discussion includes consideration of some predecessors in Bertuch’s species of enterprise, but this might have been profitably enlarged to include the notinsignificant number of educational emblem collections that became a feature of publishing in various languages in the course of the eighteenth century. In all, Emblems and the Natural World is a handsomely produced volume, laid out clearly, sturdy in the hand, and generously illustrated throughout, often in color, and with a crisp quality that throws up a pleasing degree of detail. The downside of these high production values is the books high price, and one fears that the excellent fare on offer is going to remain above

the means of many. That aside, this is a volume to be highly commended,

full of interest, variety, depth of argument, and fresh insights into one of the defining territories of the early modern emblem: its dependence upon the rich abundance of the Liber naturae. Works Cited

Bryk, Felix. “Kopparsticken till Olof Rudbeck d. y:s Propagatio Plantarum.” Nordisk tidskrift for bok- och biblioteksvasen 6 (1919): 68-73.

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JORG ROBERTS, ed. Intermedialitét in der Frühen Neuzeit. Formen, Funktionen, Konzepte. Frühe Neuzeit 209. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017. vii + 395 pp. ISBN 978-3-11-048355-0. €99.95.

Intermedialitat in der Frühen Neuzeit presents a collection of seventeen articles in German addressing aspects of intermediality in the early modern period. The articles are based on conference papers presented at the 2012 conference “Diesseits des Laokoon — Funktionen literarischer Intermedialität in der Frühen Neuzeit (1450-1750),’ in Ingolstadt, Germany. The volume is divided into four thematic sections, treating intermedial performance, musical intermediality, art and print, and poetics of the image in literature. The articles, which are highly interdisciplinary in nature, explore connections between sound, image, text, and performance across different genres, with special emphasis on historical context. Although the volume deals with a number of different media, it stresses textual sources. The following review focuses on those articles that address or include emblems in their analyses. Jürgen Miiller’s “Cazzon da mulo’ — Sprach- und Bildwitz in Caravaggios Junge von der Eidechse gebissen” provides an analysis of Michelangelo Merisi

da Caravaggio’ portrait painting Boy Bitten by a Lizard (1594/95) and traces

Caravaggio’ use of iconographic references and literary topoi to obscure homosexual desire. The iconographic references focus on bodily posture and clothing, while the literary topoi emphasize the narrative background of the painting. Miiller points out that an image needs a narrative frame to establish aesthetic pleasure. He provides this frame in order to dissect the layers of irony that surround the painting. The lizard, as a symbol of male genitalia, represents

SIMON MCKEOWN

Marlborough College

the homoerotic act, while the flowers depicted in the scene reference religious motifs as well as the act of sexual deflowering. Miiller convincingly shows the painting’s connection to the Laocoon Group, the meaning of which, he contends, Caravaggio reverses. The giant, terrifying serpent is transformed into a small, nearly harmless lizard. Interestingly, though, Laocoon’s son and Caravaggio’s boy share the same facial expression. Müller reads this portrayal as a critique of established pictorial traditions. Stefanie Arend explores in her “Voriiberlegungen zum Entwurf einer intermedialen Rhetorik anhand von emblematischen Figurationen in der Frühen Neuzeit” the notion of an intermedial rhetoric as a possible lens for early modern emblematic images. By means of three examples from different

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contexts—a pamphlet depicting the allegorical personification of patience, an emblem contained in an instructional manual, and a frontispiece—Arend negotiates the relationship between text and image. She suspends the idea of a harmonic coexistence between text and image by analyzing the tension between the two media. This tension, she argues, can work as a productive force for emblems in instances where, for example, the addition of text helps to redesign a picture or provides a frame for an image whose meaning would otherwise be too broad, The latter circumstance can be found in Arend’s second example, where she analyzes an emblem from Julius Wilhelm Zincgref’s 1619 Emblematum ethico-politicorum centuria. The pictura shows a small number of inanimate objects in a sparsely furnished room, with an oil lamp in its center. Arend points out that the abstract composition of the picture denies an easy interpretation of its meaning. Thus, the subscriptio is essential to interpreting the emblem. By connecting the emblem to the instructional purpose of the manual and by including the manual’s commentary, Arend reveals that the inaccessible image asks the ruler to take care of his retired public servants. Jérg Roberts insightful contribution, “geschwiester Kinder’ — Bildtheorie and Paragone bei Martin Opitz,’ focuses on the role of the sister arts of poetry and painting in the writings of German poet and literary theorist Martin Opitz. His article opens by providing the historical context for two of the poet's portraits, one of which is an emblem portrait. Following this initial discussion, Robert transitions to an examination of Opitz’s position toward paintings. Although the poet praises the sister arts as equals, Robert’s close reading uncovers an ambivalence in Opitz’s writings. Because painting, as an

and entertaining literature. Harsdérffer avoided placing one form of art above another; rather, he saw both forms as incomplete. Stockhorst shows how the emblem, as an intermedial form, allowed Harsdérffer to combine sound and vision in what she calls “synesthetic animation”: while the pictura entertains the readers’ eyes the inscriptio entertains the ears. The combination of both enlivens the printed object in a way that neither art form could have done individually. While above contributions focus on the emblem or emblematic structures, three articles in Intermedialitat in der Frühen Neuzeit reference emblems. Seraina Plotke analyzes visual poetry in her article “Bildgestalt aus den Lettern — Die Intermedialität der visuellen Poesie im 17. Jahrhundert.” Although Plotke focuses on visual poetry, she compares its popularity in the seventeenth century to the related emblem genre. Astrid Drése’s “Paragonale Relationen? Das Verhiiltnis von Musik, Bild, Text und Titelkupfern barocker Liedersammlungen” explores the text-image relationship in four frontispieces of Baroque song compilations. Drôse considers two of them to be emblemlike because they are printed with additional commentaries. Joachim Hamm’s article on paratextuality, “Zu Paratextualität und Intermedialität in Sebastian

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imitation of nature, needs to be domesticated, and since nature itself is seen as

an untrustworthy entity that can be connected to magic and demons, Robert

shows how Opitz asks artists to reflect on and regulate their work. Thus, by

demanding artists to write their own rulebook, Opitz turns the equal sister

arts into teacher (poetry) and student (art). In her contribution, “Text und Bild bei Harsdôrffer: Vom Paragone zur synästhetischen Animation” Stefanie Stockhorst traces Georg Philipp Harsdòrffers dispersed statements on the role of art and poetry in his oeuvre and analyzes his take on the hierarchical relationship between image and word. While it is often put forward that the Nürnberg poet presents an incomplete set of rules and criteria for the production of art, Stockhorst notes

that most of his work was intended for an audience interested in educational

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Brants Vergilius Pictus (StraBburg, 1502)” interprets the 214 woodcuts in

Brant’s picture book as precursors to emblems. JOHANNES FROHLICH

University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign

382 ANJA

EMBLEMATICA WOLKENHAUER

and

BERNHARD

Reviews F

SCHOLZ,

eds.

Typographorum Emblemata: The Printer’s Mark in the Context of Early Modern Culture. Schriftmedien — Kommunikations- und buchwissenschaftliche Perspektiven / Written Media—Perspectives in Communications and Book Studies 4. Berlin/Boston: De Gruyter, 2018. 429pp., 190 b/w ill. ISBN 9783-11-043919-9. €99.95.

This timely and important volume is a collection of seventeen essays by sixteen scholars active in the spheres of emblem scholarship, book history, and bibliographical studies who take as their theme the printer's mark, a combination of word and image long recognized as cognate to the early modern emblem and device. It is a recurring strain throughout the volume that for all of the energy devoted to study of the emblem over recent years, comparatively little attention has been paid to the printer’s mark, which has often been relegated to a secondary position in considerations of word-image forms of the Renaissance and Baroque. The volume as a whole, therefore, serves as an appeal for a recalibration of scholarly thinking on the position of the printer's mark within our estimation of early modern symbolic forms. As the editors acknowledge in the preface, much work has been done to document instances of the printer’s mark in national bibliographical traditions, so that databases of such marks are now available for the principal European territories of early modern book production. But what has not been so successfully assayed is an evaluation of the generic status of printers’ marks within the family of wordimage configurations that came to prominence at the turn of the sixteenth century. This demands a serious and systematic iconographic analysis of the material presented in devices, both verbal and visual, but one that does

not lose sight of the salient point that printers’ marks were not conceived

of as literary or artistic enigmas alone: they had an active role to play in the authentication of publications and the promotion of corporate identities of publishing ventures with pan-European and even worldwide reach. The purpose of this volume, therefore, is to advance some theoretical frameworks

in which such discussions of form and function may be held, as well as to offer

some welcome surveys of the use of printers’ marks within national, regional, and civic traditions. To this end, the authors’ contributions are divided into three categories: part A, “Beginnings and Provenances”; part B, “Regions and

Places”; and part C, “Concepts, Historical and Systematic.” There is also a

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fourth section, part D, a “Research Bibliography” that provides documentary indices indices of scholarship within various national traditions, an important resource, and one likely to be of value to scholars interested in pursuing further the matters raised in this volume. Part A opens with Anja Wolkenhauer’s essay “Sisters, or Mother and Daughter? The Relationship between Printer’s Marks and Emblems during the First Hundred Years.” In it, the author takes issue with a tendency she identifies in twentieth-century scholarship to accord the printer’s mark a place subservient to the emblem, not least on the grounds that printers’ marks had been circulating in their many thousands for three decades before Heinrich Steyner published Alciatos Emblematum liber. In her metaphor, it is not proper to regard the printer's device as a daughter to the mater emblematica; rather, it should be seen as an elder sister. There is a danger here, perhaps, of misrepresenting the position of Mario Praz and William Heckscher, who are cited as promoting such distortions; in fact, Praz stressed that it was the rediscovery of the hieroglyphs of Horapollon in the early fifteenth century that spawned the diverse offspring of the reverse of the medal, the device, the printer’s mark, and the arcane symbols of the Hypernotomachia Poliphili. Indeed, it was through the process of printing this book that Aldus of Venice found his dolphin-and-anchor device, perhaps the most famous printer’s mark of them all, and it may be proper to regard both cognate forms, the printer's

device and the emblem, as genera born ofa common mater hieroglyphica. That

aside, it is Wolkenhauer’s contention that the typographical presentation of certain printers’ marks known to Alciato informed the appearance of the illustrated epigrams licensed by the author in the Wechel editions beginningin 1534. She follows this up with discussion of those printers’ marks that Alciato reconfigured as emblems, such as the weighted-palm device of Johann Bebel, of Basel, or the silent scholar of Thomas Wolff, from the same city. The reuse of preexisting signs is further explored in the essays of Andreas Bassler, who considers ekphrasis as part of the visual rhetoric of printers’ devices, which he exemplifies by reference to the use of Occasio and the Calumny of Apelles, and of Luuk Houwen, who traces lines of continuity between animal symbolism in printers’ marks and the medieval bestiary and heraldic traditions. Hubert Meeus introduces the first of the regional studies, with a broad survey of the development of printers’ marks across the Southern Netherlands up to the turn of the seventeenth century. In addition to noticing the wide variety of

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representative forms, many beyond the narrowly emblematic, he reminds us of the commercial and entrepreneurial function of such signs and their role in carving out brand identity within an increasingly crowded and competitive book market. Practices within various national, regional, and cultural territories constitute the next run of essays, in part B, and embrace the activities of Greek printers in fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Italy (Konstantinos Sp. Staikos), Jewish printers in Poland (Anna Jakimyszyn-Gadocha), the interdependency ofemblems and printers’ devices in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Poland (Joanna A. Tomicka), and the variety of printers’ marks found in Leiden up to the eighteenth century (Paul Hoftijzer) and in the printing houses of certain prominent printers in Munich (Dietmar Peil); this section is rounded out with an informative description of the genesis and development of printers’ marks within Sweden (Kristina Lundblad), and the lack of such marks in the publishing history of early modern Iceland (Silvia Hufnagel). Konstantinos Sp. Staikos’s essay emphasizes the prevalence of heraldic inspiration in printers’ marks among the Greek community in Italy, as well as their wide use of

monogrammatic signs, Anna Jakimyszyn-Gadocha’s survey of Jewish printers’ marks in Poland highlights how just three cities—Krakow, Lublin, and Zolkiew—were responsible for almost a quarter of Jewish books published worldwide in the latter part of the seventeenth century. A great number of these carried printers’ marks, although the use of such devices was often the preserve of religious texts, Like their Christian counterparts, the symbols often carried onomastic puns upon printers’ names, such as the deer device of Tzvi ben Abraham Kalonymos Jaffe, which depended upon the Hebrew name Zevi and its Yiddish variant Hirsch. Others depicted stories from the Talmud, such as the Sacrifice of Isaac, the device of Yitzhak ben Aharon of Prostejov in Moravia, which took care to avoid the depiction of God, in line with Judaic principles of aniconism. Joanna Tomicka traces the development of the printer’s mark more generally in Poland, following its course from

largely heraldic forms in early manifestations to increasingly iconographically sophisticated devices in the seventeenth century, often conscious of existing emblematic conventions; Tomicka thereby demonstrates that Polish practice followed wider evolutionary patterns evidenced across early modern Europe. Paul Hoftijzer’s case study of the situation in Leiden offers plenty of interest, as the development of printers’ devices in that city mapped the emergence

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of Leiden as a significant pan-European cultural center after the foundation of its university by William the Silent, in 1575—although, as he notes, the first humanistic device belonged to a Catholic printer, Jan Mathijszoon, and was in use already before the outbreak of the Dutch Revolt. Hoftijzer notes the importance of influences from beyond Leiden, particularly the presence there from 1583 onward of the Officinia Plantiniana, under the direction of Franciscus Raphelengius, and that the majority of woodblocks cut for Leiden printers’ marks were probably sourced from Amsterdam. It is interesting to read of those devices that incorporate views of the university environment as backgrounds to the central iconography, a practice carried on also at Oxford, although in one cited case, that of a printer’s mark for François Moeyaert depicting the academy building with a man falling from a tree, under the motto “Medio

tutissimus ibis,” it seems fairer to attribute the humorous

invention to Florentius Schoonhovius, whose Emblemata is surely the source, rather than to the ingenuity of the printer. Kristina Lundblad’s essay on Swedish printers’ devices is an admirable survey of a complex field, beginning with the comparatively bibliographically barren sixteenth century, during which Gustav Vasa maintained just one press for the whole of Sweden—in part as a measure of control over his unsettled state—and leading on to the flourishing of printing in Stockholm and the provinces in the seventeenth century. One feels that Lundblad’s discussion of the marks issuing from

Johannes

Rudbeckius’s diocesan printing house at Västeräs would have

been strengthened by knowledge of Allan Elleniuss two articles treating these devices’ emblematic character: the “Swedish flag” seen by Lundblad in one of the devices, for example, would have been perhaps more properly understood as the Banner of the Resurrection—admittedly an interpretation made difficult by the monochromatic limitations of woodblock printing. In addition, the discussion of Henric Curio’ mark of the serpent intertwined with the spade perhaps strives for over-ingenious parallels with the Rod of Aesculapius, Mercury's Caduceus, or Moses’s Brazen Serpent when it seems to be an oppositional pairing of the serpent of wisdom with the spade of labor, and therefore a Swedish variant of the devices of Aldus or Plantin, promising diligence allied with acuity, all performed with piety and industry under the watchful eye of God. The book’s third section moves away from these national or cultural surveys and treats the phenomenon of the printer's device from theoretical

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perspectives. The first of these, by the volume’s coeditor, Bernhard Scholz, takes a sustained look at the famous devices of Aldus and Froben cited by Alciato in his famous letter to Francesco Calvo dated 9 December 1522, as well as the fictional device of an elephant the author assigned to his addressee. Scholz explores the ways in which these devices reflected the personalities or qualities of the men who proceeded professionally under their aegis. Were the claims promoted about the conduct of the dolphin, dove, or elephant in some sense “true,” so that the attributes of excellence of each creature transferred inferentially to their bearers? In his assessment of these problems, Scholz plunders the lore and traditions surrounding these beasts in such storehouses as Pliny’s Historia naturalis and Erasmus Adagia, as well as medieval bestiaries and encyclopedias, but finds none that marries with the character of Calvo. He contends that we need to identify the “epistemic virtue” of the elephant as applicable to Calvo, concluding, “Our current tendency to sidestep epistemic issues in our study ofhumanist printer’s marks, and to be satisfied with semantic ones, is likely to blind us to realizing that the adoption of a printer's mark by a sixteenth century printer was not just a figuratively formulated statement of personal identity, but also, and perhaps more importantly so, a conscious attempt at finding a place for that identity in the natural order of things” (292). Order of another kind, the legal entitlement over intellectual property, forms the basis of Valérie Hayaert’s discussion of printers’ marks as forms of insignia with points of contact with heraldic achievement, including potential statements of intention. It is her contention that just as the impresa embodies a chivalric or ethical ambition, so printers’ marks could articulate the bearers’ desire to advance humanist learning and the “renovation of letters” (305). This argument is supported by instances drawn from the Polish context in an essay by Justyna Kiliariczyk-Zigba entitled “The Transition of the Printer’s Device from a Sign of Identification to a Symbol of Aspiration and Belief.” The author describes the progression in self-identity among printers in sixteenth-century Krakow, from the representational signs of Jan Haller or Florian Ungler, who used a Hausmarcke, or merchant's mark, little different from craft marks of the Middle Ages, to the growing humanistic ambitions of printers like Maciej Szarfenberg or Mateusz Siebeneicher, who began experimentations with rebus-like devices. This concentration on the verbal qualities of the marks prepares the ground for Judit Vizkelety-Ecsedy’s consideration of the role of the motto in the printers’ marks of early modern Hungary, where the material

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of the devices was heavily dependent upon biblical sources, a consequence of the strong Protestant bias, both Lutheran and Calvinist, in this publishing territory, not least in the town of Debrecen. Vizketeley-Ecsedy finishes her article with a useful table containing descriptions of all forty-two printers’ marks with mottoes issued in Hungary between 1488 and 1800. The final essay in this section, that by Melinda Simon, charts the deployment of printers’ devices in the eighteenth century, a period usually associated with the form's decline, and certainly the examples cited suggest a predominance of monogrammatic ciphers, or initials added to generalized plates of tutelary genii, and the like. The volume closes with an afterword by Scholz, entitled “Notes on Ordering the Corpus of the Early Modern Mark” in which he recaps some of the taxonomical problems surrounding the classification of printers’ marks in their diversity, and in their divergence from the lineaments of the emblem. It concludes a very worthy volume, and the editors are to be congratulated in bringing together so many fresh and authoritative voices in this common cause. Occasional spelling errors, typos, repetitions, and textual collisions in no way detract from the many pleasures to be found in this wellordered, coherent, and significant contribution to the scholarly literature on a specialized species of the early modern device. SIMON MCKEOWN Marlborough College

HANS WESTPHAL. Sehnsucht nach dem himmlischen Jerusalem. Das Emblemprogramm der Stettener Schlosskapelle (1682). Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer Verlag, 2017. xxxvii + 400 pp., 477 b/w ill. ISBN 978-3-1703357 1-4. € 44.00.

This lavishly produced book is a labor of love on the part its author, Hans Westphal, who has spent the last years painstakingly reconstructing the emblematic program that decorated the Lutheran chapel at Stetten, in Baden-Württemberg, Stetten was the residence of the Dowager Duchess of Wiirttemberg, Magdalena Sibylla (1650-1712), one ofthe few women authors of the seventeenth century to be included in Gerhard Diinnhaupt’s standard

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bibliography of German Baroque literature. The duchess commissioned and planned the elaborate decoration of her chapel with eighty-three grisaille emblems, two colored altar paintings with ornate frames held by large stucco statues of angels, anda set of nine black-and-white ceiling paintings. The chapel in Stetten is a marvelous example of applied emblematics that has remained virtually intact over the centuries. The author bases his reconstruction of the genesis of the duchesss emblem program on an examination of the emblem books listed in her extant library catalogue, some of which are still in the Wiirttembergische Landesbibliothek, in Stuttgart. Alongside the actual visual evidence of the chapel itself, there are two further central sources: The first, a printed version of the sermon held at the consecration of the chapel, in 1682, by the duchesss collaborator, theologian Ehrenreich Weissmann, interprets and gives at least textual evidence of all eighty-three emblems, only sixty-two of which have survived. The second, a sketchbook discovered by Hans Westphal in the holdings of the Badisches Hausarchiv, in Karlsruhe, has brought to light hitherto unknown contemporary manuscript documentation with images of all eighty-three grisaille emblems and details of their exact location in the chapel. The first seventy-one pages of the work provide an introduction with generous illustrations, which is welcomely accessible to a general reader. This covers Stetten, the concept of emblems, each of the main sources, and Duchess Magdalena Sibyllas literary and personal preoccupation with the theme of ars moriendi, including her well-researched funeral publication. Attention is drawn to the zinc coffin commissioned by the duchess, which is decorated with her own emblems and texts. The authors exhaustive bibliography shows that he has studied the relevant secondary literature—not just on emblems, but also on devotional literature and, in particular, women authors. Drawing

on the work of Judith Aikin, he highlights the connections between the poetry of Magdalena Sibylla and that of Aemilia Juliane von SchwarzburgRudolstadt, and the visual links between the illustrations to Magdalena Sibylla’s devotional work “Das mit Jesu gecreutzigte Hertz” (1698) and Princess Antonia of Wiirttemberg’s kabbalistic triptychon in the church at Teinach (1673). In a second section, the visual and textual evidence for each surviving emblems is carefully examined. This is the element of “lavish production” referred to above. Each entry follows a standard layout pattern: On the left-

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hand page we find the emblem description from Ehrenreich Weissmann’s consecration sermon, the Bible verse to which the emblem refers, a reproduction of the actual emblem from the chapel at Stetten, with a transcription of its motto, next to which is a reproduction of the same emblem from the Karlsruhe sketchbook, with the motto text and the instructions for the location of the emblem within the chapel. On the right-hand page the author provides “related emblem motifs” showing sources from which the emblems are either clearly or possibly derived. In a small number of cases, this link is more than tenuous. As Westphal himself states, the more progress is made in the digitization of emblems, the more accurately direct sources for the Stetten images will be identifiable. The third section deals with the emblems that are no longer in the chapel at Stetten, for which the sketchbook is the only source. Ten appendices round off the volume. The author lists the printed emblem books in the duchess’s library and the Stetten emblems taken from them. Her favorite sources appear to have been Daniel Cramer, Hermann Hugo, and Merian’s “Icones Biblicae.” In attempting to identify the confession of certain authors (appendix 5), mistakes have crept in: surely both Adam Olearius and Ferdinand Albrecht of Braunschweig-Liineburg would have been surprised to learn that their confession was not known. Appendix 6 provides a useful list of all the female authors in the duchess’s library. Further indices of emblem motifs, Bible verses, and biblical themes provide varying paths of access to the material so comprehensively depicted here. This is certainly a standard work for the documentation of the Stetten chapel and its emblematic program. JILL BEPLER Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel

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HANNA PAHL, ed. Emblematic Strategies in Contemporary Art. Schriften aus dem Kunsthistorischen Institut der Christian-Albrechts-Universitàt zu Kiel 7. Miinster: LIT Verlag, 2015. 136 pp. €20.00. One of the most noteworthy aspects of the Kiel conference of the Society for Emblem Studies was the emphasis given to contemporary manifestations of the emblematic mentality. Particularly memorable was the exhibition Nets. Weaving Webs in Art, in the Kunsthalle. Another notable aspect was the role played in Kiel by younger scholars, supported by generous funding. This resulted in a workshop, organized by Hanna Pahl and Maren Biederbick, concerning “Emblematic Strategies.” The resulting volume, Emblematic Strategies in Contemporary Art, groups together a selection of papers addressing contemporary issues, some drawn from that strand of the conference and others stimulated by it. The volume opens with an exploration by Hanna Paul of the theoretical framework of the papers, in which emphasis is to be placed on the “process involved in emblematic strategies” (12) and the possibilities opened up to artists by the technical innovations of the twentieth century, permitting works of great complexity, such as three-dimensional works, digital manifestations, or photomontage. Attention is given to “processes of quotation, transformation

and appropriation” found in contemporary arts, which are closely reminiscent of emblematic strategies in the early modern period. Bettina Dunker examines and places in a wider perspective art installations by Wolfgang Tillmanns and by Peter Piller, treating each as a case study.

Whether consciously or not, the combination or codification of elements in an installation can be compared with the juxtaposition of inscriptio, pictura,

and subscriptio in an emblem. As for emblems, the viewer of an installation is

required to work actively to produce a reading, an understanding, although here it is interaction with the context rather than the object itself that provides the clues. The resulting reading, however, is more aesthetic and less overtly

didactic than in the case of emblems. The strategy considered by Johannes Frohlich is a much more conscious borrowing from the early modern emblematic tradition. He takes two of the emblems by Joan Krieger that are inserted into Murray Krieger’s Ekphrasis: The Illusion of the Natural Sign (1992). The frontispiece of the book and the headings for each chapter, a kind of illuminated initial, consist of tripartite

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“emblems” in which the title plays the role of the inscriptio and an epigraph that of the subscriptio. These emblems, though, are digitally produced, creating a new aesthetic, while still conveying a meaningful comment on the context. Christine Korte-Beuckers bases her considerations on the object art of the 1960s, which increasingly combined text/slogan and image in a manner reminiscent of emblems, while opening art to more everyday issues. Works by Hans Peter Alvermann, Timm Ulrichs, and Joseph Kosuth, as well as the more

recent Cerith Wyn Evans, are used as exempla. Like emblems, these works require an active reader/viewer, who sometimes has to search for explanations within a wider, spreading context. Susanne Schwertfeger’s analysis of Tary Simons An American Index

of the Hidden and the Unfamiliar (2007) reveals an emblem book for the

twenty-first century. Images of things normally hidden are presented, often alluding ironically to familiar works of art. The images are accompanied by an explanatory text, apparently presented quite neutrally, but, in fact, selected and composed to encourage the reader to pass moral comment on it in the manner of a traditional emblem. Laura Weber considers works of the ZERO group, analyzing works

by Heinz Mack, Giinther Uecker, Otto Piene, Dadamaino, Gerhard Von

Graevenitz, and Jan Schoonhoyen. These provide examples of serial structures that can be said to mimic the patterns of language, but without semantic content. Though they link word and image, the works Weber discusses are farther removed from traditional emblems. An active viewer, however, is still expected to respond to the challenge offered by each construct—namely, to supply the missing content. The final paper, by Maren Wienigk, selects memorable items from the Netz

exhibition that have a diagrammatic element. Diagrams, by definition, bring word and image together in a special, geometric way, inviting the viewer to observe and read them. To illustrate the variety of approaches the exhibition offered, she examines the works of Marcus Steinweg, Dan Perjovschi, William Engelen, and Jenny Michel. This book would have benefited from clearer illustration at times. More importantly, it raises an issue common to many publications. English may have become the lingua franca of academic discourse, and it is admirable to find scholars prepared and able to function at a high level in a language that is not their own. Nevertheless, when written versions of papers are compiled, it

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is essential to have recourse to a native speaker—not only to produce a more polished text, but to make sure that the sense is always clear. Nevertheless, it makes an interesting and worthwhile contribution to the way in which emblematic phenomena recur in different periods and contexts.

cultural understanding of the past, an attempt to detect enduring (ongoing) cultural themes, and, finally, a recognition of our current mindset as aetas emblematica. Accordingly, Graham's above-mentioned essay opens the first section, entitled “State of the Art, Collections and Digitization,’ with an overview of the history of the Society for Emblem Studies, an appraisal of the current state of research, and indications of where future lines of investigation might lead (27-36). This is followed by six essays concerning the major book collections at Illinois, Hamburg, Kiel, Glasgow, Wroclaw, and the Herzog August Bibliothek, presenting their histories and cataloging considerations and challenges. The final two articles in this section address digitization and future developments in online research and accessibility, exploring the potential of open-data portals such as Emblematica Online and Emblematica Online II. These articles offer valuable information for scholars intending to do field work, but also may be of value to those conducting historiographic research. They take on crucial issues such as the history of the collectors and collections, the cataloging of homogenous or heterogeneous collections,

ALISON ADAMS

University of Glasgow

INGRID

HOPEL

and SIMON

MCKEOWN,

eds. Emblems and Impact:

Von Zentrum und Peripherie der Emblematik. 2 vols. Newcastle upon Tyne:

Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2017. 1107 pp. ISBN (10) 1-4438-5184-1; ISBN (13) 978-1-4438-5184-8. £80.99.

This rich two-volume book, which contains selected proceedings of the Tenth International Conference of the Society for Emblem Studies, held in Kiel in 2014, is in fact the fourth publication produced from that meeting. After the thematically compiled first three books— Architektur als Ort fiir Embleme (2014), which appeared in advance of the conference, Emblematik im Ostseeraum / Emblems around the Baltic (2016), and Emblematic Strategies in Contemporary Art (2014)—this publication

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and the disassembly of collections into electronic databases (Glasgow), or reassembly into emblem collections (HAB). All of these processes, it seems, direct, or at least influence, the writings and investigations of the field.

impact. The term “impact,” despite belonging to “a hazy category of words”

The second section, “Selected Aspects,’ contains five articles, which are thematically aligned with the German title of this compendium, Peripherie der Emblematik [The periphery of emblematics]. These pieces bring the reader to our current time, presenting case studies of emblematic use in art, architecture, and film in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, or,

to be an appropriate description of the more than 1,000 pages of this

not only non-European but is also not of the early modern emblematic

aims, as stated in the introduction, at the overall concept of an emblems

(xx) and even putting “fear into the hearts of academics” (4), reveals itself

book.

Paraphrasing David Graham, who presented at the closing event

of the conference, the book’s six sections and forty-eight articles indeed

demonstrate the intellectual, technological, and demographic developments in the field (31). The nature of this impact is further conceptualized by Laurence Grove, who, after admitting that the impact of emblems probably

can’t be captured in any tangible form—not in economic, health, or even environmental developments—offers to examine and define the elusive

term according to emblems’ role and place in shifting learning schemes (3).

His proposed examination is three-pronged, including an exploration of our

as in the first article, by Ihediwa Nkemjika Chimee, of an emblem that is tradition. In many ways, this section challenges us to reconsider how we

define emblematic. Nkemjika Chimee, for example, analyzes a southeastern

Nigerian ritual-veneration object (the Ikenga) and its significance in the social, religious, political, and cosmological worldview of the Igbo, arguing

that this object not only incorporates the perspective of the Igbo people but also helped to shape it. Consequently, and especially since this article deals with a new subject-matter in our field, it might bring forth the question of if, and in what way, the term emblematic, which is rooted in early modern European traditions, may inform our understanding of tribally generated

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deity figures in Africa, which were developed independently, without any foreign intervention, until the British conquest in 1902. The margin and scope of what we may consider to be the emblematic periphery, this time in Europe, is the focus of contributions by Manfred Steingraber, who analyzes Moscow's metro, and Friederike Rückert, who

some guidelines concerning the length of mottoes, frequently used language, motifs, and other features. Ulrich Kuder’s article on Albrecht Dürer reveals Diirer’s interest in and use of hieroglyphics following his encounter with the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili (probably) during his second stay in Venice

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discusses Chris Marker’s film La Jetée (1962). Both articles apply emblematic

theories in order to analyze the text-image relationship, as does Klaus Gereon Beuckerss article, which examines the layout and production of printed emblems, using Alciato’s 1567 edition as a case study. Another aspect of the emblematic periphery is discussed by Beat Wyss, who, rightly, asserts that the emblem genre and the practice of collecting of curiosities arose from the same intellectual and cultural milieu. Paraphrasing Foucault, he claims that both share a mutual motivation to “link words and things together” (209).

The cabinets of curiosities (Wunderkammer), which contain enigmatic

treasure, and follow Camillo memory theater (Jdea del Teatro [1550]),

work in a platonically inductive manner, based on learned reasoning. The quest for meaning extends the function of the emblem from a literal to a spatial dimension, giving rise to Wyss’s definition of the curiosity cabinet as

“meta-emblem” (211). This concept, according to Wyss, changed in the early

1920s, when the surrealists, in their revolt against representation, began to separate words from their meanings in a search for ultimate “literalness” (Buchstablichkeit); an example can be found in Rene Magritte’s painted cabinet La clef des songes (1927). The third section of this collection is entitled “Proto-Emblematics to

Alciato” and contains seven articles, of which the first three are dedicated

to Alciato’s precedents. Christoph Jobst discusses symbols and devices in

fifteenth-century Italian and Netherlandish portraiture. He analyzes the

works of Rogier van der Weyden, Hans Memling, and Leonardo da Vinci, as well as a medal created by Giovanni di Candida, showcasing the exchange

of artistic features—particularly the use of devices—between Italy and Burgundy. Andrea Maceiras Lafuente’s article examines fourteen out of more than twenty unknown devices in Fernandez de Oviedo’s Batallas y Quinquagenas. Dealing with examples created before the establishment of any guidelines on the form, Lafuente endeavors to extract common theoretical elements from the cases she treats. Her work offers valuable new data for further research, but also, based on the analysis of these examples, establishes

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(1505-1507). Kuder traces the appearance of hieroglyphic motives and

elements in Diirer’s writings and work, from the small images he sketched in his letters (1506) to the woodcut of Maximilian I surrounded by hieroglyphs to his enigmatic Melencolia I engraving of 1514, showcasing the early response to and perception of Renaissance hieroglyphs. The last four articles of this section deal with different aspects of Alciato. Andreas Bassler examines the development of emblems from the ekphrastic genre, which was much relevant in the humanistic circles of the fifteenth century. Agnes Kustler, too, points out that in Alciato’s Emblematum liber there are “traces of the tradition of antique Ekphrasis” (330). Most interestingly, she then moves to show that, contrary to previous opinions (Hessel Miedema), Alciato had meant to add illustrations already in his first edition, which served

as the prototype for the 1534 edition.

The articles by Bassler and Kustler contribute a fresh and interesting viewpoint to the research of Alciato’s concept of the emblem, and, more generally, to the genre’s formation. Alciato’s sources and the inspiration he drew from the images seen on ancient coins are the subject of Bartlomie} Czarski’s article. Although it is not clear if Alciato himself was aware of the numismatic origin of his own work, it is nevertheless significant that his commentators

took notice of this, What is more, Czarski argues, the commentaries indicate the growing interest in numismatics in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. Contrary to the previous articles in this section, which are concerned with the formation, invention, and inspiration of Alciato’s

emblems, Denis L. Drysdall’s contribution takes on the topic of monasticism, and the Franciscans in particular. Analyzing the “Desideria” emblem of the 1545 edition in light of Alciato’s letter to Bernard Mattius (1517), he claims that this emblem showcases Alciato’s personal philosophical and religious position and criticism of the monks as “the hooded factions” (Alciato, Letter to Francesco Calvo, 10 December 1520) depicted in the pictura as lazy, idle, and ignorant. The first volume of Emblems and Impact ends with the fourth section, which contains ten articles examining various aspects of the printed book.

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As perhaps indicated by the somewhat generic title, “Emblem Books and Emblems in Books” this section presents a looser link between its various articles. The first article, by Walther Ludwig, argues that Otto Vaeniuss Emblemata Horatiana (1607), which was the first to present a classical author as the source for its emblems, was innovative also in its inner structure. As Ludwig shows, it was in fact organized thematically and symbolically. That is, not only are its emblems arranged in groups according to various themes, but the number of emblems contained within each group (10, 12, 13, and 7) carries symbolic meaning. The second essay, by Christine McCall Probes, also deals with Vaenius. Though treating a different example and an entirely different aspect, McCall Probes shows that perception of an emblem book, as a whole, is not static and can even change or shift between two editions of the same book. Comparing the original Antwerp edition of Amoris divini emblemata to Pierre Landry’s Paris edition (Emblemes de L'Amour Divin [ς. 1690]), she concludes that in their presentation of divine love, the latter

addresses the senses and seeks to elicit an emotive response, while the former emphasizes the theological concept. Anna Christina Schütz approaches the inner logic and production of books from an entirely different and challenging perspective. Using Gabriel Rollenhagen’s Nucleus emblematum (illustrated by Cripijn de Passe the Elder) as a case study, she follows the “iconic/pictorial turn” theory advocated by Gottfried Boehm and W.J.T. Mitchell (respectively) to analyze the emblems’ picturae not only in their symbolic role as allegories that carry further meaning to the text but “as description and depiction of the visible world” (451) in

their own right. Accordingly, Schiitz distinguishes between the allegorical motif in the front and the landscape in the back in Cripijn de Passe’s picturae. She recognizes in these images a variety of pictorial elements through which the viewer is invited to discover multiple reciprocal relations with the text. Following Schiitz is Rudolf Drux’s essay on the diamond in the symbolic and emblematic traditions, where it is seen to represent virtue, constancy,

and loyalty vis-a-vis new findings in natural history. Ulf Schiitte deals with the inherent semiotic problem of expressing immanent phenomena. If “the signified [phenomena] is not ‘a thing’ but a mental representation of the ‘thing” (Roland Barthes), it can be neither “said” nor depicted (484). Accordingly, this article investigates the text-image relations in Catherina Regina von Greiffenberg’s poems. Using the emblem of the telescope (in

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Geistliche Sonette, Lieder und Gedichte [1662]), Schiitte demonstrates the

development of strategies to tackle this void (“Strategie der Leerstelle”). The following essay presents a forthcoming project by Stefan Kiedron and Joanna Skubisz: the first complete translation into Polish of Roemer Visscher and Anna Roemers Visscher’s Dutch “Zinne-Poppen,’ found at the University Library in Wroclaw. This, when finished, will certainly be of use to Polish scholars. Gabriele Ball moves next to the Tugendliche Gesellschaft, the female counterpart to the Fruchtbringende Gesellschaft literary society. At the beginning of the seventeenth century, the Tugendliche Gesellschaft was the largest female society in Germany. By examining the printed books of societal emblems for both the Fruchtbringende Gesellschaft and the Tugendliche Gesellschaft manuscript, Ball determines that in addition to producing a feminine emblematic book, the upper- and middle-nobility members of the society were actively engaged in the emblematic cultural life of the time. Zoltan Erdëss article takes the reader to a lesser-known example, showcasing the political thought of Johann Weber, a Hungarian magistrate and physician from Preschau (Pre$ov), during the 1660s. During this decade of relative autonomy, before the Hungarian Diet of 1687—which ratified the male-line succession of the Habsburgs—and Leopold I’s absolutist policy, and before he himself was arrested and obliged to renounce his faith, Weber published three books in which he presents his political theory as well as his own political “self-portrait.” According to Erdés, Weber’s emblematic picturae and motifs are inspired both by Western European precedents (such as Saavedra Fajardo’s Idea principis christiano-politici [1640 (first edition)]) and Hungarian authors

(such as Christoph Lackner or Péter Révay), using them as illustrations, in a

sense, to the more pragmatic text. Next, Thorsten Burkard investigates Jacob Masen’s influential Speculum imaginum Veritatis occultae (1650) in light of the authors own poetics. Using the third edition, published in 1681, Burkard follows and analyzes the books

structure and examines Masen’ pictorial theory. Burkard demonstrates that Masen emphasized the emblems’ pictorial components in order to achieve religious persuasion. Nevertheless, he regards the Speculum as offering a poetological theory of painting, whose aim is first and foremost to form

man’s spirit ad sapientiae leges [according to the laws of wisdom], with no regard to its aesthetic value. Closing this section is Walter Kroll’s essay on the development of heraldic poetry and the emblematic theory and practice

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among the literary circles at the Kievo-Mahylianian Academy, which he sees as a new cultural “Semiosphere” Using Stefan Javorskijs panegyric works as a case study, he shows the emblematically structured “transfiguration” of heraldic signs into complex allegorical images. The second volume of Emblems and Impact is dedicated to applied emblems in architecture and festivals. Thus, the fifth section contains eight essays, of which the first four deal with the integration and use of emblems in

secular/civic architectural settings. The fifth explores emblems in gardens, and the remaining four discuss emblem use in churches and monasteries. The façade of Munich’s Maximilian Residenz, with its Patrona Boiariae (the virgin patron of Bavaria), the personifications of the four cardinal virtues, and, specifically, the four lioncels holding emblematic shields, is the subject of Doris Gerstl’s essay. Next is Dietmar Peil’s treatment of the Fable Ceiling at the Schonberg Court, in Freiberg (Saxony), with its fifty-four emblems. Peil reconstructs the lost emblematic cycle (the ceiling was destroyed in a fire in 1925) and argues for the mutual influence of the genres of fable and emblem

on its design. The subject of Matthias Donath’s article is another emblematic ceiling in Saxony—specifically, the French Room of Niederjahna Manor, near Meissen, which had been concealed beneath a suspended ceiling since the eighteenth century and was discovered during a restoration in 2012-2013. Donath identifies its twenty emblems as taken from the Emblematischen Gemiits-Vergniigungen (Augsburg, 1693), from which Hans Dietrich von Miltitz, the owner and creator of the ceiling, made an unusual selection of only the French mottoes (as Donath explains, the mottoes of all known emblematic image cycles in the area are either in German or Latin). Looking

at the ceiling in situ, Donath suggest that, although the house was used by the

owner for his social and business affairs, the room location in the attic area probably implies that it was intended for private use by the owner and his wife. Another emblematic cycle, in the Sommersaal of the Stetten im Remstal castle, the house of Landgravine Magdalena Sibylla of Hessen-Darmstadt,

widow of Duke Wilhelm Ludwig of Wiirttemberg, is examined by Michael La

Corte. Interestingly, this hall represents, according to La Corte, a pedagogical disagreement between Magdalena Sibylla and the duke-administrator Friedrich Carl of Wiirttemberg-Winnethal concerning the education of the hereditary prince Eberhard Ludwig. The mythological themes depicted on the walls, for example, represent the mother as the higher authority—both

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as protectress of the prince and the duchy—over the duke-administrator, who was, at that time, in French captivity, leaving the Duchy of Württemberg without leadership. The eleven emblems (of which only four are legible today) work as a kind of a commentary to the frescos and underline the family’s legitimacy to rule Wiirttemberg. With Simone Maria Kaiser we turn to the investigation of garden architecture in Italy, which is a parallel phenomenon to the genres of impresa and emblem and, according to Kaiser,

closely intertwined with them. Concentrating on the Villa d’Este, in Tivoli, she demonstrates the use of gardens as a place both to display and invent imprese. Thus, for example, Ippolito’s II d’Este impresa of the two branches of the quince tree with the motto referring to Ladon (the dragon who failed to guard the golden apples of the garden of the Hesperides) is materialized, so to speak, in the Villa’s Fountain of the Dragon. Yet this fountain is also evidence

of the garden’s function as inspiration for new imprese by Agostino Carracci. Finally, Kaiser argues that the garden, even in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, still produces examples of the emblematic text-image relation. The three remaining articles in this section deal, as already mentioned, with church and monastic settings. Alexandra Ida Maria Miitel discusses the Cappella della Purità located in the church of San Paolo Maggiore (Naples)— in which sculptured allegories of the four virtues are accompanied by emblems. These, in relation to the liturgy, and, specifically, to the concetto homilies, are analyzed as examples of the didactic use of emblematic works as “petrified preaching.” Andreas Beck addresses the methodology associated with Architekturemblematik. His exploration of the monastery of Wettenhausen looks at emblems in a spatial context, taking into consideration the viewer's position and consequential perception. This all-encompassing approach is also apparent in Nicolas Potysch’s article on the Munich Trinity Church. Potysch considers the viewer's awareness of the political situation at the time of the creation of the emblems, and its influence on the viewer's perception. Both essays, in the words of Potysch’s concluding comment, promote the importance of analyzing Architekturemblematik not only in terms of “what and where” but also through the consideration of “in what way?” and “with what?” (842). Judging by this section, many researchers of architectural emblems have already taken this advice to heart. The same approach seems also to underlie the last section, “Emblems and Festive Culture” Here, the interpretation of festival imagery is shown to be

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highly dependent upon political, cultural, civic, and even anthropological contexts. The first article, by Rosa De Marco, highlights the use of emblems in Jesuit festivals in the first half of the seventeenth century. De Marco examines the eight-day solemnities of the canonization of St. Ignatius of Loyola and St. Francis Xavier in France (1622-1623) based on fourteen festival booklets. She emphasizes the position of inventio in the Jesuit pedagogical agenda as a stirring concept for the students’ emblematic enterprise (evident, for example,

in a students notebook from Bordeaux from the eighteenth century), as well as the importance of studying emblems in their sequential order, as interconnected sets. The following two essays, by Barbara Milewska-Wazbinska and, again, by Andreas Beck, discuss funeral ceremonies. Milewska-Wazbiriska describes three such funerals in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth during the seventeenth century. She emphasizes the use of Latin as part of the emblematic design, and argues that the meaning of the emblems and symbols decorating the church could only be clear to those able to read them—namely, noblemen, educated mostly in Jesuit colleges. However, she also refers to the spoken sermon as a kind of commentary on these emblems, and it would be interesting to consider the crowd’s perception of the emblems in this light. Andreas Beck’s essay on the funeral ceremony of Emperor Karl VII, at the Theatiner Church in Munich (1745), takes up this very question. Arguing against the notion that funeral emblems serve as mere decorative or banal elements, Beck draws attention to their themes and to the contexts from which they arose. Such an interpretation—which reveals even erotic allusions—could only be appreciated by a knowledgeable viewer. Remaining in eighteenth-century Bavaria, Tim Meier’s essay considers the procession panels fixed today to poles on either side of the nave in the church of the former monastery of the Augustinerchorherren, in Bernried, on the Starnberger Lake. The panels had emblems on both sides, derived from the Lauretanische Litaney (first published in 1749) of Franz Xaver Dornn, the dean of Friedberg. The panels also had Latin mottoes and Latin short phrases (likened to “speech bubbles” [922]) commenting on the illustrated images within the picture, but only the reverse had a long subscriptio in German. Meier suggests that during the liturgical ceremonies, the front (only Latin) side of the panel was turned to face the altar, meaning that the back side (with

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the German subscriptio) faced the congregation, helping to illuminate the scriptural themes and morals for the crowd. In festive contexts, emblems were also used on medals commemorating coronations. Tomas Kleisner describes two such medals, housed in the National Museum of Prague. The first, cast in honor of Queen Eleonora II

Gonzaga’ coronation (1656), depicts a sunflower following the sun, and the

second, designed by Carl Gustav Heraetus for Count Leopold Josef Schlick in 1719, depicts a lion holding a sword and a seal. In both cases well-known emblems were reinterpreted to suit the figures they addressed and honored. Another case of emblems in material culture is presented by Michaela Wilk, who examines the intertwined serpents used for the design of Venetian glass goblets. These, she argues, were probably used north of the Alps in the

context of nuptial festivities, functioning as “communication pieces” (957).

A contribution by Dorothea Scholl ends this rich compendium on a musical note. Her essay on early modern keyboard instruments presents the reader with musical emblematic imagery and its interpretation in the context of sensitivity discourse in early modern musical culture. This two-volume record of the proceedings of the Tenth International Conference of the Society for Emblem Studies is undoubtedly a tangible demonstration of the impact of emblem studies and of the growing scope of the field. It presents a great variety and richness of research topics, information, and novel and fresh approaches, including new methodological implications. This great variety, however, comes at a price. It does not favor a clear and cohesive presentation, and although some contributions are very strong, others are either less mature or less connected to the volume’s, or their section’s, theme. A more crystallized choice of articles would have probably also allowed for a more comfortable layout (larger font or even less-compacted pagination), better unification of style, and maybe also more and better illustrations (it is indeed sometimes difficult to follow the articles, as the images they refer to are at times of poor quality). These concerns aside, Ingrid Hoepel and Simon McKeown have produced a comprehensive treasure box that would certainly be of value for any emblem scholar. TAMAR CHOLCMAN Tel Aviv University

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GREGORY EMS. L’Emblématique au service du pouvoir: la symbolique du prince chrétien dans les expositions emblématiques du collège des Jésuites de Bruxelles sous le gouvernorat de Léopold-Guillaume (1647-1656). Vol. 1. “L'Atelier d'Érasme” Collection. Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2016. 363

pp. ISBN 978-2-87558-460-1. €45.00.

This work, which arose from the publication of a Catholic University of Leuven doctoral thesis, is part of a more general research movement that, ever since Karel Porteman’s pioneering studies, has sought to elucidate the pedagogical, literary, and political stakes in the highly abundant Jesuit emblematic works that spread throughout Europe from the second half of the sixteenth century onward and that reached their apogee in the seventeenth century. While the starting point for this study comprises a voluminous and coherent corpus of previously unpublished materials produced by the students of the Brussels Jesuit College at the moment when the Archduke of Austria,

Leopold-William of Habsburg, took up the governorship of the Spanish Netherlands (1647-1656), it is clear that the significance of this book is much broader, encompassing the history of political ideologies, sociocultural studies, rhetorico-poetic analysis, and the hermeneutics of symbolic imagery. The students’ compositions, or affixiones, which took emblematic form, were part of the famous Jesuit tradition of rhetorico-poetic “exercises” (exercitationes), whose aim was perfect mastery of eloquence to serve the Order and diffuse its principles. But, more ambitiously, these works were

also specifically destined to appear in public displays organized to celebrate liturgical feastdays (in particular the famous celebration of the Blessed Sacrament)

or to welcome

the arrival of high-ranking ecclesiastical or

political dignitaries. As essential elements of these “Baroque” religious or civic festivals—on the same level of importance as the temporary architectural structures, the theatrical productions, or the formal banquets to which these

important events gave rise—the students’ emblems demonstrate a sometimes surprisingly sophisticated degree of taste for ornament and ephemeral art, examples of which can be seen in floral arrangements, stage sets, paintings on canvas or wood, or table arrangements for a feast. As Anne-Elisabeth Spica reminds us in her elegant preface to this work, “today’s readers flip through a static work, whose emblems they can only read in isolation, suspended in time and space, but it is down to them to weigh up all the dynamics within which

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they operate.” In the case of the students’ manuscripts, it is striking to see the breadth and consistency in the various celebrations dedicated to the governor, his device, and his piety, or, more generally, to Habsburg foreign policy, which can thus justify the central thesis put forth in the work: emblematic language appears to be the form best suited to the staging of political power. To support his analysis, Grégory Ems follows a rigorous four-part plan. A highly useful introductory study is devoted to the historical context behind the production of the emblems under scrutiny, focused on the figure of Léopold-Guillaume, who, after promising beginnings in the service of the King of Spain, Philippe IV, went through a period of decline, setbacks, and defeats, starting in 1653. Next, the first chapter of the work sheds light on the rich cultural and intellectual milieu that gave rise to the production of emblems in the college. Grégory Ems recalls in particular the important status held by the displays in successive versions of the Ratio Studiorum, which defined the course of studies in the Company of Jesuits and underlined the essential role played by emulation and selection. This somewhat elitist practice actually took on a real advertising role and contributed to the prestige of the institutions. Production and interpretation of emblems—an onerous activity that is both intellectually and materially demanding—took place under the authority of the priests and in collaboration with artists, whose degree of input remains nonetheless difficult to measure. In effect, emblem thetoric, which relies on the principle of similarity between two compared items (protasis and apodosis), brings up the complex dialogue between a visual image and one constructed linguistically. The themes selected for celebration, such as the battle against heresy and sedition, the critique of war, or the praise of peace, faith, or the immaculate conception, are often rooted directly in a turbulent political reality, framed broadly by the Franco-Spanish wars or internal conflicts in the (Calvinist and Republican) United Provinces and the (Catholic and Royalist) Spanish Netherlands. Within this perspective, Grégory Ems concentrates on the importance for European sovereigns of Jesuit confessors, who contributed to the diffusion of the princeps Christianus ideal, as theorized in numerous “princely mirrors,’ but especially in Saavedra Fajardo’s Idea Principis. Any reference in the college’ works to justice and the sovereign’s piety was therefore directly inscribed in this movement. Deciphering sometimes extremely tenuous allusions to historical context constitutes one of the major difficulties that any hermeneut must face when

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dealing with these emblems: how far should interpretation go? This “rhetoric of ambiguity” based on Ronald Landher's theoretical approach, is the subject of Ems’ second chapter. Whether intrinsic or contextual, deliberate or through chance, lexical or syntactic, present in the image or in the text, implicating both writer and reader, ambiguity is the keyword in emblematic practice, which plays marvelously with polysemia. Grégory Ems engages in highly meticulous analyses of vocabulary—for example, of the visual possibilities opened up by the term arcus, meaning “bow” or “arch” or, elsewhere, by the term fides, with the double meaning “string” (of a musical instrument) or “faith? which,

when linked with the term tremor, meaning both “tremor” and “fear” allows statements with double meanings. The phrase “Fides tentanda tremore est,’ for example, can mean “The string must be tested by vibration” or “Faith must be tested by fear.” By successively examining three expositions, those of 1647, 1648, and 1651, Ems focuses on certain series in which the image of the prince is constructed through subtle networks of historical allusions, reuses, and textual or iconographical variations, where ambiguity opens up extended interpretative possibilities—for example, series that highlight the governor by including his device (“Timore Domini”), celebrating one of his qualities (“Fiducia in Deo”), or referencing his shooting victory at the Brussels Guild

of Crossbowmen meeting of 1651, or even series that promote the Austrian Habsburgs as a model of harmony, despite their distinct dynastic branches and assorted territories. Attentive to the fundamental role played by theatrical staging in Jesuit decorative projects, Ems returns in his third chapter to the apparatus at the heart of the displays of affixiones occasioned by popular or religious festivals. Painted on panels, attached to wall hangings, or affixed to buildings, some permanent, some ephemeral, these emblems could be seen in the street or inside the college, before they were included in commemorative volumes. While the litterae annuae constitute irreplaceable archival sources for obtainingan idea of the arrangement of the displays and festivities around them (for example, the display of 1647 for the procession of the Blessed Sacrament, or that of 1651 for the governor's crossbowmanship victory), these commemorative collections can sometimes yield information—irrevocably fragmentary but nonetheless very valuable—on the configuration of the initial display and the precise place that the students’ emblematic productions occupied in them. The title pages propose, often explicitly, a model of dispositio for the different emblems in a

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series (forma emblematum): in this way, sculpted bases with cartouches on

which stand allegories, banners, medallions decorated with plant matter, and molded frames supported by divine figures, putti, or heraldic attendants create

separate segments to contain the constituant parts of each piece: title, motto,

image, poem, and signature. Certain allegorical scenes, constructed in a more elaborate manner and with more complex organizing principles, produced by the more gifted students, occupied prominent positions. Take, for example, the four allegorical scenes of the collected volume from the 1651 display, which celebrated the strength, speed, good fortune, and prudence of the governor, victor of the crossbowman competition at the Brussels Guild of St. George: the bow motif is omnipresent in the piece and is skillfully enunciated through arrows or the crossbow, the very instruments of a victory that echoed the Infanta Isabella's in 1615. These compositions figured on the temporary triumphal arch erected in honor of the victor, and the title page of the volume clearly reproduces its general appearance for the reader. Similarly, the nautical compositions from the 1652 exhibition can only be understood in the very precise context of the seizure of the port cities of Gravelines and Dunkirk by the governor that same year. Grégory Ems often rather dense study demonstrates a fine level of analysis and interpretation, assisted by translations that are for the most part fluid and precise, of a neo-Latin that is often unpolished or even unclear. A few careless mistakes, however, can sometimes compromise his comprehension of how an emblem functions. On page 5 of volume 2, for example, the translation

proposed falsifies the meaning of the original. Line 2, “Hinc commissa signa timoris habet” is translated as “This is why he [=Jupiter] entrusted him [the

eagle] with the possesion of his terrifying attributes.’ The subject, however, as in the preceding line, is clearly “Aquila” to which the reflexive pronoun “sibi” refers, meaning that the resulting present tense must be preserved. Thus, a more accurate rendering would read, “This is why the bird possesses the symbols of fear which have been entrusted to him” The translation of the phrase “Austriades aquilae,’ in line 3, as “Austrian eagles” (translator's note:

in French, “aigles autrichiens”) is also inaccurate. In the tradition of Roman

ensigns (aquilae), the emblem probably refers to the Habsburg standard,

which traditionally showed a sable (black) two-headed eagle: the eagle's two heads undoubtedly justify the Latin plural and, since in French the heraldic noun “aigle” [ensign] is feminine, whereas the bird “aigle” [eagle] is masculine,

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“Austriades aquilae” must be translated into French as “aigles autrichiennes” (translator’s note: “Austrian ensigns,” shown by the feminine adjectival ending) in order to preserve the full set of references. Much appreciated, though, are the studies of thematic series, which allow the contemplation of the art of uariatio on a single motif in its full polysemic variations such as a Parthian shot, lettuce under a cloche, a watchdog surrounded by puppies, wringing out laundry, a dog tricked by his own reflection dropping his piece of meat, a line of stags, or a rope knotted by opposing hands. Though it is obvious that Grégory Ems has taken great care in producing this edition, it is missing a more critical section, which would have allowed him, in a more synthetic manner, to gather together his highly lucid but scattered observations. He regularly highlights the clumsiness and errors that the pieces unavoidably contain, but this reader would have also liked to get a complete idea of the classical sources used and to understand the working methods employed by the students in their adaptations. Similarly, the volume could have benefited from a systematic explanation of the rhetorico-poetic craft used to produce the texts, especially meter choice, lexical characteristics, syntactic frameworks, and tropological effects (with reference to Erasmus’s Parabolae siue similitudines, a real handbook of analogies and festiuitas, as well suited to delectare as to docere). Finally, while the images’ symbolic content and their dispositio are regularly mentioned, few truly visual analyses are undertaken, even though some illustrations demonstrate real talent on the part of the artists who made them; they could have been presented alongside the pictorial tendencies of the era. A good example would be the remarkable garden landscape on page 229, or the effects of combining frame/framing,

mirror, and reflection as seen in the medallion on page 177, clearly following

the tradition of Northern European painters, as shown by Victor Stoichita. Grégory Ems’ fineand highly useful work is poorly served by the publishing company that took on his manuscript (University Press of Leuven), despite the high-quality image reproductions in volume 1: the reader will look in vain on the cover or inside the book for any reference to the work’s second volume, which comprises the indispensable critical edition of the Latin texts, with translations and annotations. To acquire it, I had to contact the author himself, who was more than willing to pass along the electronic links giving access to the works, which are otherwise impossible to find. I have included these links at the end of this review.

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But the curious reader’ frustrations will not end there. Not only has the second volume not been slated for full online publication (and the invaluable explanatory notes are found at the end, forcing the reader to scroll through

the entire document to access them), but, moreover, not a single image is

included, which is inexcusable in an emblem collection. Grégory Ems has done his best to overcome this drawback by includinga brief description of the image for each emblem, for which the reader will be grateful. In fact it is the prohibitive costs of reproduction imposed by the Royal Library of Belgium that have severed this valuable study from the vast majority of its illustrated materials and from the possibility of any related iconological analysis. The very experience of an emblematic object is thus transformed, even while the solid analyses of volume 1 luckily allow the reader to reconstruct certain complex and subtle processes governing the interaction between text and image. This aberrant and purely financial practice, which seems to have been adopted by many presses, museums, and libraries, actually deprives the international research community of privileged, well-documented, and exciting access to essential works from Europe’s cultural heritage which remain unpublished even today, and which, in light of current trends, risk remaining unpublished for a long time to come. Links to Volume 2

Bibliographic Information https://bib.uclouvain.be/opac/ucl/fr/visualizer/ uclouyain.be%3Aboreal%3A 175706?i=2

DIAL.pr%3Aoai%3Adial.

Downloadable PDF

https://dial.uclouvain.be/pr/boreal/en/object/boreal%3A175706/ datastream/PDF_01/view ANNE

ROLET

Université de Nantes / Institut Universitaire de France

ELIZABETH BLACK, trans. Old Dominion University, USA

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OTTO VAN VEEN. Physica et Theologice Conclusiones (1621) Conclusions de Physique et de Théologie. Ed. Aline Smeesters, Agnés Guiderdoni, and Ralph Dekoninck. Trans. Aline Smeesters. Jmago figurata , Studies and Editions 8.

Turnhout: Brepols, 2017. iv+ 108 pp. ISBN 978-2-503-56966-6.€65.00.

This edition is long awaited. Agnés Guiderdoni, Ralph Dekoninck, and Andrea Catellani had already spoken on this lesser-known text by Otto Vaenius at the Eighth International Conference of the Society for Emblem Studies, held in Winchester, in 2008. These scholars are joined here by Emilie Granjon and Aline Smeesters to introduce this challenging work to a wider public. Aline Smeesters has undertaken a full translation of the Latin. One of the reasons for the relative unfamiliarity of Physice et Theologice Conclusiones is perhaps that it was condemned as heretical in 1629 and theoretically was to be burned. Nevertheless, fifteen or so copies survive—but this hardly accounts for the lack of attention paid to the work. I think, rather, that it is in part because it does not fit neatly into any generic category and in part because, quite simply, it is difficult. Mimicking the original, this volume is in quarto format. It begins with an introductory letter to the reader and spectator before proceeding to its twenty “chapters,” each of which contains a full-page image, on the recto, and accompanying explanatory text, on the facing verso, supplemented by occasional brief quotations, biblical or classical—conventional commonplaces of the kind found in compilations such as Langius. The Brepols edition reproduces the copy in the British Library, with the recto image in full facsimile—that is, actual size—but the facing text reduced (though still legible) to allow space for Aline Smeeters’s translation into French. This is a reasonably satisfactory compromise, which greatly assists a modern reader. It is certainly important that facsimile editions respect the format of the original, even when it means an awkward print size for a modern edition, or, indeed, variability in size within a series. This is certainly an unusual format for Imago figurata, and were it to become standard (the series has lain inexplicably dormant for many years), it would be advisable to consider publishing the introduction in two columns. The line length makes it difficult to read. The

Conclusiones

close interdependence more

diagrammatic

is not a conventional

emblem

of its text and images. The

than

emblematic,

consisting

book,

despite

the

images are much

of completely

stylized

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representations of God's intervention in the universe and in man, and of man’s role in the creative process. The function of these diagrams is fully and helpfully analyzed in the introduction—the use of key letters, of interlocking circles, and of lines, both dotted (often implying movement and direction) and continuous (often separating). The work was condemned, along with a work by Jean-Baptiste Van Helmont, because it was considered heretical. It is probable that such disapproval was not unexpected: the place of publication given on the title page (Orsellis) does not exist. In this book, Vaenius set out a theory of predestination and presented it ostensibly within the framework of orthodox Roman Catholic belief. Predestination, of course, was one of the topics hotly debated in connection with the relative importance of faith and works in Catholic and Protestant circles during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Vaenius argued for a second, new predestination, one that would allow a kind of compromise. But his arguments were imbued with the influence of Stoic and Paracelsian thinking, and this in particular led to the charge of heresy. The introduction, rather than providing a detailed guide to the reading

of individual chapters, outlines the philosophical context in which Vaenius

combines theological and scientific observations (Physicae et Theologicae Conclusiones . . .). Vaenius’s life and confessional background are also explored, including his relationship with his many siblings, and the influences that may have informed his beliefs (for instance Lipsius, Ernest of Bavaria). The research team argues, however, that the most important and interesting element of the work is the importance it attaches to imagination. Man is created in the image of God, and, thus, is himself a creator of images. This claim of a god-like creative quality was held against Vaenius in the condemnation of the work for heresy. The research team, however, maintains that this theory of the image in fact informs the reading of Vaenius’s other, better-known emblematic works. ALISON ADAMS

University of Glasgow

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FLORENCE

VUILLEUMIER

LAURENS.

L’Université,

la robe

et la

librairie à Paris. Claude Mignault et le Syntagma De Symbolis (1571-1602).

Travaux d’Humanisme et Renaissance 577. Geneva: Droz, 2017. 336 pp. ISBN 978-2-600-05789-9. $69.60.

This book is a richly documented study of the ways in which Claude Mignault (1536-1606) contributed to the elucidation and dissemination of Alciato’s emblems. But more importantly, this ambitious and stunning account of Mignault’s numerous achievements, as a teacher and as a lawyer, reveals profound links between early modern academic circles and the milieu of French magistrates during the troubled reigns of Henri III and Henri IV. The scope of the book is breathtaking. Pairing concise and elegant translations of Latin and Greek sources with monumental research into book history, it presents a vivid picture of Mignault’s career, framing it in new and significant ways. Vuilleumier Laurens ascribes the continuing resonance of humanist teachingto its impacton the dissemination of emblems in university programs. The author's explication of the care with which Mignault approached his commentaries on Alciato, the evidence provided from textbooks, and the close examination of manuscript notes about his teaching method all offer convincing insights about the value of emblems and their link to moral philosophy in general. In this erudite and meticulously prepared book, Mignault’s biography emphasizes his success both as an inventive teacher and as a learned lawyer. After his early career in Paris as a humanist editor, translator, and propagator of bonae litterae, he began a second career as doctor in utroque jure (1580-1587). He fulfilled new ambitions when he was admitted as a magistrate into the circle of great Parisian and Gallican lawyers, such as Augustin II de Thou, Jean de La Guesle, and Barnabé Brisson. With her focus on Mignault’s learned networks, Vuilleumier Laurens re-creates the Parisian “robe” milieu for modern readers. During his late years (1588-1597), the magistrate Claude Mignault continued to publish schoolbooks, philological works, and erudite editions of classical works, as well as theoretical reflections on teaching methods. Mignault is the best commentator of Alciato’s emblems, an activity that

must be seen within the wider picture ofhis tireless commitment to philological scholarship. But his engagement with the impact of new philological methods

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on university institutions also constitutes a strong component of his legacy. In 1597, Mignault was chosen to officiate in the competition for the first Parisian Chair of Canon Law. Testimonies and manuscripts evidencing Mignault’s teaching of civil and canon law at the turn of the century attest to the existence of an interpretative community of lawyers who used emblems as well as commentaries in their daily practice. Mignault’s intellectual life and scholarly achievements are impressive, although his equally impressive efforts at educational reform are perhaps less well recognized. By drafting new statutes, Mignault and his circle played an influential role in the implementation of the new rules for universities under Henri IV. His more than thirty-five years of strenuous work toward the betterment of education earned him a high degree of moral authority. Emblems in this context can be seen as moral teachings that resonate with daily institutional life. For instance, Vuilleumier Laurens explains that Alciato’s emblem XXXIII, “Vinum prudentiam augeri,’ echoes ritual feasts, such as carnival-like banquets organized by students in homage to their professors, where “the cult of Bacchus mingled with the cult of Minerva” (55), a goliardic tradition to be enacted and revived every Monday after Saint Barnabé’s Day. Convinced that only an encyclopedic knowledge of humanities can reinforce the teaching of serious disciplines, he embodied a challenging ideal of demanding scholarship. Owing to the recent scholarship developed around the nature of Ramus’s reform of the genre of the commentary, Mignault’s commentary practice has been returned to the context of the time (Kees Meerhoff, Jean-Claude Moisan, Michel Magnien, Peter Mack, Marie-Dominique Couzinet, and

Jean-Marc Mandosio). In the historical context of the Ligue, Mignault’s use of

this much-debated genre is instructive: he articulates the audacity of Ramist reforms for the humanist teaching tradition and lays down a basis for a new technique of reading. The analysis of Mignault’s commentary on Alciato’s emblems, as the point of departure of a university course, gains perspective in the wider landscape of the Ramist influence on pedagogy during this troubled period. Instead of putting forward the logico-rhetorical explanation of the text, Alciato’ emblems are elucidated by a distinctive method: the search for sources, the definition of the author's intention (i.e., his moral teaching through sententia), and the clarification of difficult loci. The commentary on Alciato’s epigrams is

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above all a work of humanist erudition, the author concludes, only very lightly influenced by the Ramist approach to the genre. Vuilleumier Laurens then turns to the further nuancing of an earlier study (La Raison des figures symboliques . . .) to reconstruct with great scholarly care the evolution of Mignault’s commentary on Alciato’s Emblemata (1571, 1577, the pirate edition of 1583, the vernacular edition provided by Jean Richer in 1584, the editio compendiosa of 1587, and the editio ultima of 1602). The extraordinary number of notes and references always maintain a close connection to the comprehension of the emblem and its readerships. The author delves deeply into investigations of many threads of humanist scholarship so as to bring to the fore the fascinating pathways of Alciato’ exegesis. Everyone interested in the infinite project of understanding emblems in their humanist contexts and comparing them with other humanist endeavors of the time will undoubtedly be enriched by reading this impressive book. Moreover, it certainly advocates for a new approach to teaching visual studies in France and in French, unmasking the demanding task of taking erudition for what it is. Vuilleumier Laurenss book is a timely publication. By documenting and analyzing the rigorous humanistic scholarship of both Alciato and his commentator Mignault, she advances the argument for the merits of a solid education in the arts and humanities today. Emblems are a serious game.

WILLIAM E. ENGEL, RORY LOUGHNANE, and GRANT WILLIAMS. The Memory Arts in Renaissance England: A Critical Anthology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016. xviii + 378 pp.; 24 ill. ISBN

412

413

14. $28.29. 978-11070868

The close connections between the Renaissance emblem tradition and the traditional art (or arts) of memory have long been recognized, although, to the best of my knowledge, this is a subject which has not yet received the kind of thoroughgoing study it manifestly deserves. One of the merits of this Critical Anthology is that, particularly in the opening general introduction, it pays due regard to this relationship. The art of the emblem was, we might think, already anticipated in the way the early classical sources such, as Cicero and Quintilian, described the art of memory as a technique that involved associating ideas with images, and the more vivid and striking the image the better. The technique of placing such imagines in a fixed scheme of architectural loci is likely to have influenced the way emblems were used in the decorative arts, and it was already deeply embedded in rhetoric, where the mastery of /oci communes in copious expression sanctioned such schemes long before Alciato’s invention of the emblem. The territory covered in this anthology may help us to situate the emblem tradition within those wider cultural and intellectual contexts, which include rhetoric, allegory, religious meditation, architecture, education, and the occult or hermetic arts, at least

VALERIE HAYAERT

Kate Hamburger Center “Recht als Kultur? University of Bonn

in England. This inclusiveness is reflected in the six successive parts, each with its own separate introduction, into which this anthology marshals its extracts from English writers, dealing successively with “The art of memory; “Rhetoric and poetics,’ “Education and science,’ “History and philosophy,’ “Religion and devotion,” and “Literature.” Although, therefore, it is not focused on emblems as such, and no section is devoted specifically to them, they crop up repeatedly in what these anthologized writers of the early modern period have to say about the art of memory in these various contexts. The extracts from English writers that are assembled here are extremely diverse, and only a few of them offer any kind of systematic guide to the art of memory itself. They offer instead a documentary record of its historical reception in England at a time of some epistemological change. Few of the actual guidebooks were written in English, and the earliest, William Fulwood’s The Castle of Memory (London, 1562), was a translation of Guglielmo

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Gratarolos De memoria reparanda, published in Basel in 1553. Hugh Plat at least includes a chapter on memory in his Jewel House of Art and Nature (London, 1594), but for what is described as virtually the only “thoroughly developed English treatise on the memory arts that is not directly indebted to continental sources” (73) we have to await John Willis’s The Art of Memory, in 1621, itself a translation of Williss own Latin treatise, published a few years earlier. Indeed, one of the limitations of anthologies that restrict themselves to writings in English is that sixteenth-century students necessarily also read Latin, and (unlike modern students, for whom this anthology is inevitably designed and marketed) their access to the subject was not restricted to works written in English, The context in which the art of memory found its way into English grammar schools is exemplified by such works as John Brinsley’s Ludus literarius: or the Grammar School (1612) or Obadiah Walker’s Of Education (1673). In these it is identified above all as the technique for memorizing the students stock of /oci communes, which include, as Walker says, “remarkable histories, fables, apologues . .. adages . . . hieroglyphics, emblems, symbols...” (178-79). Charles Hoole, in 4 New Discovery of the Old Art of Teaching School (1660), recommends that students should be exercised in collecting material

for the composition of themes out of their reading, which includes “apologues and fables out of Aesop,’ “adages from Erasmus” “Hieroglyphics” from Valeriano and Caussin, and “emblems and symbols” out of emblem books, of which he names specifically those by Alciato, Théodore de Béze, Reusner, Cartari, and Quarles. This is a passage that has already attracted the attention of emblem studies as evidence of English readers’ knowledge of continental emblem books at this period; however, it also suggests the way emblems were assimilated into the wider context of commonplace rhetoric, in which the art of memory often played its part.! Obadiah Walker has reservations about the complexity of the traditional memory schemes, which he describes as “obscurely delivered by many authors? and in place of the classical architectural /oci he recommends using London

street names, or the signs on a single street, as memory places. He was not

alone in recommending this, for Quintilian had already suggested that “what [have spoken of as being done in a house can also be done in public buildings, 1.

For more on Brinsley and Walker in this context, see Bath 1994, 36-41.

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or on a long journey, or in going through a city”? There is one remarkable record of street signs being used as memory places at this period in England, and although it is not identified or included in this anthology, it is of such interest as a record of the actual practice of the art that I take the liberty of quoting it at some length at the end of this review. The fact that it is recorded in a source that remains little known to students of English literature accounts for and may well excuse the editors’ neglect of it in this anthology. In 1857 the Duke of Norfolk published a biography—or, rather, a hagiography—of his sixteenth-century Catholic ancestor Philip Howard, 13th Earl of Arundel, who had been arrested for attempting to sail into exile after having been accused of treason; in 1595, he was executed in the Tower of London. In 1857, a book on The Lives of Philip Howard, Earl of Arundel and of Anne Dacres, his Wife was edited from manuscripts written by Lady Anne's Catholic priest and preserved amongst the family papers that record the sufferings of the earl and his wife. Its publication, in the nineteenth century, confirmed the historical reputation of both Philip and Anne as recusant martyrs, and in 1970, the Earl was indeed canonized. It is in the chapter

devoted to “A Description of his Person, and Natural Gifts” that we are told of Arundel’s mastery of the art of memory, with a description of how, going one day from the Cathedral Church of St Paul in London to his own house without Temple Bar, he observed the signs of all the houses that were on the left side of the street, which are some hundreds questionless, and being come into his house he caused one of his servants to write them down in a paper as he named them and another being sent with the paper to try thereby if the signs of the houses did agree both in name number, and order with those written in the paper, found them exactly to do so. (127-28)

The description goes on to tell how the earl used this technique to memorize a speech he had delivered concerning some “present affairs of the Kingdome.” As a historical record of the art of memory in actual use, this account seems particularly noteworthy, and although it makes no use of emblems it is worth recalling that both the earl and his wife had notable emblematic interests. These were in evidence, for instance, when Mary Queen of Scots sent Lady Anne a piece of her own embroidery, sewn with emblems showing trees, doves, and Latin mottoes expressing her identification with the marital issues they 2.

Institutio oratoria, XI, ii, 17-22, cited in Yates, 22.

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both faced in relations with their respective husbands (Bath 2008, 56, citing

he was a native of Erroll, in Scotland, where he served as secretary to the

evidence was piece” found contra nos?” side a version

Bruno was in England in 1580s, Dickson had been recruited by Sir Francis Walsingham to act as a spy, and he may well therefore have known another Scottish immigrant and double agent whose connections with both the art of memory and the art of the emblem deserve notice they do not get in this anthology. William Fowler—Scottish courtier, poet, and uncle of William Drummond of Hawthornden—not only wrote “An art of memory,’ which, unlike Dickson's, was never published, but also records that he actually instructed King James VI/I in the art: “Whilst I was teaching your majestie the art of memorye yow instructred me in poesie and imprese for so was yours” (Bath 2008, 47). Such a direct linkage of the art of memory with both the art of poetry and the art of the emblem by a practitioner in all three is clearly of some historical importance. Moreover, the more we learn about Fowler’s connections in this context, the more significant they will seem to be—although this is a Scottish context that remains sadly unfamiliar to students of the culture of “Renaissance England” despite the weakening of national borders following the 1603 Union of Crowns. If “England” in the seventeenth century had any significant relations with (or is assumed to include) Scotland, then documentation of the place of the art of memory in Renaissance Britain surely needs to include the evidence that David Stevenson has discovered about the Scottish origins of modern freemasonry, for we now know that when, in 1598, architect William Schaw reformed the statutes of the Scottish masons, they included a new rule that masons should have mastered the art of memory, with lodge officials who should “tak tryall of the art of memorie and science thairof, of everie fallowe

Howard, 266-67). In the course of his trial, according to the State Papers,

produced by the prosecution consisting of an “emblematical in the earl’s cabinet. This showed a version of Paradin’s “Quis with St. Paul shaking a serpent into the fire, and on the other of Horapollo’s treatment of the fable of the lion and the fox,

with the motto “Tamen leo” (Bath 2008, 57-58). This use of incriminating

emblems in Elizabethan treason trials had been anticipated by a much more famous example, when, in 1569, the “Virescit vulnere virtus” emblem embroidered by Mary Queen of Scots herself had been produced at the trial of Philip Howard's father, the Duke of Norfolk. This piece of embroidery, which actually survives, apparently helped to secure his conviction and execution, frustrating his intended marriage to the Queen of Scots (Bath 2008, 58-60). The Earl of Arundel’s proficiency in the art of memory is therefore of some interest for those of us who are aware of his and Lady Anne’s involvement in the personal and political application of emblems in Renaissance England. Readers looking for a fuller documentation of the reception and practice of the art(s) of memory in England might also require stronger reminders than they will find in this anthology of what Frances Yates taught us concerning the importance of Giordano Bruno, following his visit in the 1580s, to the use

of the memory arts in England. In his Jewel House of Art and Nature (1594),

Hugh Plat reports that it was “Master Dickson the Scot” who “did teach of

late years [the Art of Memory] in England, and our editors do well to inform

us that this refers to Alexander Dickson (1558-1604), who was a follower of Bruno. Dickson's activities in England are more fully recounted by Frances Yates, who describes how his pamphlet De umbris rationis followed Bruno’s teaching on artificial memory, arousing the opposition of William Perkins, whose Antidicsonus (1584) attacked the occult associations of Bruno art (Yates, 266-67). We know that Dickson’s attempts to earn money by teaching clients in England also aroused criticism. However, it is the Scottish context for Dickson's role in such “English” responses to Bruno influence on the art

of memory that all too often gets overlooked, but that, I suggest, needs to be

identified as a significant gap in this anthology’s coverage of the memory arts in Renaissance England. The writer to whom Plat refers as “Dickson the Scot” was indeed described by Bruno as his “faithful friend” and referred to as “Dicksono Arelio” because

Catholic Earl of Erroll (Yates, 266n2). Like other Scottish immigrants while

of craft and everie prenteiss, according to ather [‘either’] of chair vocationis” (Stevenson, 45). One does not have to be any kind of follower of the Da Vinci

Code to recognize the significance of this, for the fact that large numbers of those who either practiced architecture in seventeenth-century Britain or the non-practicing fellow crafts who shared their lodges and their masonic beliefs, were taught the art of memory is surely a development that ought to receive at least a mention in any study of the memory arts in Renaissance England. William Schaw was a member of the Scottish court circle surrounding King James that included William Fowler and Alexander Seton, Earl of Dunfermline, all three of whom had accompanied the king on his voyage to

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Denmark to marry Queen Anna, and all of whom shared the king's interest

in emblems (Bath 2008). Their tastes, and the development of freemasonry,

played a part in seventeenth-century culture in England and certainly deserves further research. The fact that its later practioners include Sir Robert Moray, who played a major role in the founding of The Royal Society and the building of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, suggests that these developments were by no means restricted to Scotland. This is, therefore, an anthology that includes a range of interesting sources on the use of the memory arts in Renaissance England with some helpful editorial guidance on their authors, and on the contexts within which they were writing. Students certainly need to continue reading what remain the standard works by Frances Yates or Mary Carruthers on the art of memory more generally, but for the reception of the memory arts in England, this anthology has much to offer. There will always be more, and I append one such example, describing St. Philip Howard, 13th Earl of Arundel, that seems particularly notable. His memory was excellent, his wit more than ordinary. He was naturally eloquent, and of a ready speech, Whilst he was a Protestant, he once out of

merriment disguised himself in the habit of a Minister of the better sort, and

going upon a Sunday to the church of a certain country town there preached in such a manner, that some of good understanding and judgement who were present affirmed they seldom had heard a better sermon nor so well delivered. And this may be an argument of the greatness of his memory, that if he had but once heared out of any English, Latin, or Italian history so much read as is contained in a leaf, he would forthwith have repeated it. Some for a trial have invented twenty long strange and difficult words, which he had never seen nor heared before, yet did he recite them readily, every one in the same order as they were written, haveing only once read them over. Going one day from the Cathedral Church of St Paul in London to his own house without Temple Bar, he observed the signs of all the houses that were on the left side of the street, which are some hundreds questionless, and being come into his house he caused one of his servants to write them down in a paper as he named them and another being sent with the paper to try thereby if the signs of the houses did agree both in name number, and order with those written in the paper, found them exactly to do so. Being at the sessions held at Chichester whilst he was a Protestant, and in authority in ye country, he made a very wise and ordered speech of an hour long concerning some then present affairs of the Kingdome in the presence of the

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Earl of Northumberland the Lord Viscount Montague, and many principal knights and gentlemen of the Shire. The day following he took his journey towards London, and neither in his journey, nor in the space of ten dayes after did he make any mention of the speech, nor indeed scarce had time so much as to think of it, being hindered by many other businesses then ocurring, and at the end of those ten dayes he called his secretary Mr Keeper who was present when he pronounced it (from whose relation I came to have notice of it) and

commanding him to write, he dictated the chief and greatest part of the said speech in the same words and sentences, as he had recited it at Chichester, never haveing before that hour written one word of it, but only as he first conceived it in his mind, had till then conserved it in his memory. (Howard, 266-67)

Works Cited Bath, Michael. Speaking Pictures: English Emblem Books and Renaissance Culture. London, 1994.

. Emblems for a Queen: The Needlework of Mary Queen of Scots. London, 2008.

. Emblems in Scotland: Motifs and Meanings. Leiden, 2018.

Carruthers, Mary. The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval

Culture. Cambridge, 1992.

Howard, H. Fitzalan, Duke of Norfolk, ed. Lives of Philip Howard, Earl of Arundel, and of Anne Dacres, his Wife. London, 1857. Schuchard,

Marsha

Keith.

Restoring

the

Temple

Freemasonry and Stuart Culture. Leiden, 2002.

of Vision:

Cabalistic

Stevenson, David. The Origins of Freemasonry: Scotlands Century 1590-1710. Cambridge, 1988. Yates, Frances. The Art of Memory. Chicago, 1966. MICHAEL BATH

University of Glasgow

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MICHAEL BATH. Emblems in Scotland. Motifs and Meanings. Scottish Cultural Review of Language and Literature 28. Leiden: Brill, Rodopi, 2018.

346 pp. ISBN 978-90-36405-9. $134.00.

In his magisterial new book, Emblems in Scotland, Michael Bath applies a tight geographic focus to a rich topic spanning six centuries and multiple media. His broad-ranging volume is incisively argued and treats the symbolic and pictorial motifs of Scottish emblems in their material, historical, and political contexts. Bath interrogates the political background of these artifacts, which range from paintings and gravestones to documented performances and decorative painted programs. The political contexts range from dynastic alliances and princely baptisms to the Reformation and the Union of the Crowns. Like few others, Bath knows the emblematic fabric—in some cases quite literally—of Scotland’s material culture, and he puts this knowledge on full view here. In eight chapters Bath presents a wide survey of emblematic culture in Scotland, from proto-emblematic strategies at work in a fifteenth-century crucifixion scene at St. Marnock’s Church at Fowlis Easter to the twentiethcentury printed emblems of Ian Hamilton Finlay’s garden Little Sparta, outside of Edinburgh. Spanning those six centuries, Bath is on scholarly turf he knows exceedingly well. This book is full of fresh insights and new perspectives. It collects together materials about which he has published over an entire career, and all of it is expanded, deepened, and freshly presented. For readers who

know his many book and article publications the topics are familiar. However, these chapters are not merely offprints collected between book covers. The research has been supplemented with new material and original connections. The cross-fertilizations that can only occur in the work of a mature scholar are here in abundance. The introduction organizes the various strands of this disparate research into a series of linked arguments, laid out chronologically over the eight chapters that follow, that connect the emblems from the rich materials culture of Scotland. Chapter 1, “A Jester at the Crucifixion? discusses a fifteenth-century painting of the crucifixion at St. Marnock’s Church at Fowlis Easter, a socalled conversion narrative, with the righteous aligned on Christs right and the unbelievers on his left. Among the many figures in this picture are

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two closely associated with disbelief. One is the thief who died without recognizing Christ’s divinity, and whose soul the devil receives to take to hell. The other figure is the object of Bath’s full analysis in the chapter: a jester peering out from behind a figure who might be Herod, and looking directly at the viewer. After a thorough review of representations of Folly in the period, Bath explores the cognitive strategy that is most pertinent to the following chapters: the work of the viewer in creating the meaning of this picture, crammed with figures and with texts. Bath understands this as a portrayal of the proverb “We Three” as known also in Shakespeare’s Tivelfth Night, where a foolish reader confronted with two fools asks, “Where is the third?” The answer is, of course, “you, too!” The unbelieving, cheeky jester, staring out at the viewer, is telling impious viewers that they, too, are fools. Working with common knowledge that an informed viewer might bring to the picture— knowledge of biblical stories and figures, proverbial wisdom, and pictorial literacy—the painting demands the same mental processes involved in decoding emblems. This chapter foregrounds the development of emblematic

strategies in a sophisticated fashion.

Chapter 2, “A City of Famous Women, further develops the paraemblematics that deepen our knowledge of a given subject, and complicate and expand our understanding of it. The authors portrait, the trope of the wise woman, and The City of Ladies are all pertinent to emblematic strategies, as Bath lays out here with his analysis of the calligrapher Esther Ingliss manuscript of Georgette de Montenay’s Emblemes Chrestiens. Inglis’s beautifully scripted works were treasured, and the one dedicated to King Charles as Prince of Wales is preserved today in the British Library. The volume was created at Edinburgh, and thus has claim to being the first emblem book in Scotland. Esther LAnglois became Esther Anglois, and then, finally, Esther Inglis, the Scottish form, in 1601. The calligrapher’s changes of name reflect issues of gender and identity that Bath analyzes as part of his work of interpretation. Having copied the author's self-portrait of Montenay for the manuscript, in a striking move Inglis then copies it with a variation, inserting her own self-portrait in a broad rimmed hat, thus creating an equivalency between the female author of the emblems and the female calligrapher. A Huguenot refugee, Inglis strongly identified with Montenays Calvinist

emblems. With his analysis of the emblem “Sapiens mulier domum” [The wise woman builds the house], Bath offers a veritable feast for the scholar in his

422

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sustained exploration of the abundant self-reflexivity and the recursive forms observable in Ingliss manuscript. The chapter provides a wealth of materials and new insights, including about the James V’s tapestries on the theme of the City of Ladies, women building the church (the temple?), and material exchanged—tapestries and embroidered emblems, literally pictures made of fabric—between Mary Queen of Scots and Elizabeth I. In so doing, Bath records the persistent employment of emblematic motifs in Scottish textiles and manuscripts made by women. Chapter 3, “Protestant Emblems,’ reviews and expands well-known areas for Bath—emblems in Scottish manor houses, beginning with Huntingtower Castle, formerly Castle Ruthven, and extending to Skelmorlie Aisle and Rossend Castle, Fife. He traces such well-known emblems from Guilaumme de la Perrière as “Veritas filia temprois” [Truth the Daughter of Time] in his exploration of emblems at the nexus of politics and religious change, documenting the reading habits of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Scots by identifying copies of La Perrières Moroshophie. As in the case of Esther Inglis, Bath traces the mindset of steadfast Protestants who signaled their faith through emblems and includes the intersection of portraits and emblems in the work of Calvin's successor Théodore de Bèze in Geneva and the reception in Scotland of his Jcones, forty-nine portraits of Reformers followed by fortyfour original emblems. He follows the images and texts through the emblem

of “In utrumque paratus” [Ready for both], where the image depicts one hand

holding a trowel, the other a sword, thus indicating that the “speaker” of the emblem is ready for both war and work, or either. Chapter 4, “Rare shewes amd singular inventions,’ confirms the interplay of emblems and politics in court festivities as documented in the celebrations held for the baptism of James VI/I at Stirling Castle in 1566, which offended

the English when satyrs put their hands behind their backs and wagged their “tails” at the guests, constituting a French slander of the English. The festivities also featured Scottish Highlanders in “national” garb. The chapter offers a fresh interpretation of the 1594 baptism festivities for Prince Henry, on whom the hopes of the Protestant Union later rested. Bath explores here the continuities from the earlier baptism of James and the French roots of these festivities in the celebrations for Prince Henry. The key document is William Fowler's True Reportarie of the Baptism of the Prince of Scotland, which offers a much fuller report of this event in comparison to the earlier one. Bath

423

documents the performance of blackness in Scottish masques, which predates, of course, Queen Anna% royal performance in The Masque of Blackness at the English court. The Danish court of her birth also had a tradition of blackness in the mummings for court festivals. In chapter 5, “Alexander Seton’s Suburban Villa” Bath advances the argument of Seton’s Neo-Stoic gallery at Pinkie House as a celebration of the golden age, embodied in the newly united kingdoms of England and Scotland. He revisits territory he knows well and about which he has published before, while also offering new connections and fresh ideas. When Alexander Seton situated his house at Pinkie Cleugh, at the site of the last battle ever between England and Scotland, in 1547, he knew the history of those hills and that river, The architecture of the house, with its triple rows of windows and eight chimneys, suggests in Bath’s interpretation “pacifist battlements.” The inscribed panel, once above the gateway to his garden and now on the garden wall, attests to Seton’s rejection of militarism, especially in his relationships to England and James I/VI and in his capacity as Chancellor of Scotland. Bath links the house and its inscriptions to Seton’s historical grasp of Scotland's great antiquity—it once was part of the Roman Empire—and to the nearby inscribed Roman altar stones, the earliest ever to be found in Scotland. The classic revival evidenced at Seton Hall was to be interpreted as affirmation of the newly united kingdoms. Bath’s interpretation of the emblems in Setons Neo-Stoic gallery incorporates the insights of painterly perspective, addressing the ideal single position from which to view the anamorphic image in its cupola. Bath positions the emblems of Seton’s decorative program within the context of the books known to have circulated at the time in Scotland and the early Scottish book trade, Ben Jonson’: travels to Scotland, the bed

of state of Mary Queen of Scots, and the writings of William Drummond of

Hawthorndon.

Chapter 6, “Presbyterian Preaching,” opens with the deathbed descriptions

by Church of Scotland minister Patrick Simson, a remarkable text describing and explicating the emblematic meanings of paintings on the dying man's walls by the owner himself. The analysis takes the reader through the reception of the Hor Apollo, Valeriano’s Hieroglyphica, and various bestiaries

in sixteenth-century Scotland, including his brother Archibald Simson'’s later work Hieroglyphica Animalium (1622-1624). The chapter then segues

EE PP E a

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into the broader topic of Presbyterianism in Scotland and the endeavor to establish the pantheon of church leaders along the lines of Theodore de Beze’s Icones (1580). Bath explores the complex relationships among Scottish civic and ecclesiastical leaders, noting, for example, that Archibald Simson’s volume was dedicated to Seton, who was a Roman Catholic. The subsection “Presbyterian Hieroglyphics” contextualizes “Egyptian Learning” in the early modern Scottish social imaginary, ranging from dynastic and national identity to Vitruvian architecture, mathematics, freemasonry, and the arts of memory. This detailed account allows Bath to make the connection to the ceiling at Culross, with its “combination of antiquarianism and innovative technology” (224). The chapter concludes with a discussion of two Scottish emblem books from the 1630s by Robert Farley, who is called on the title page “authore Roberto Farlzo, Scoto Britanio . . . ἢ a naming that supports Bath’s arguments, Chapter 7, “Quarles Comes North” presents a fascinating review of Quarless emblems on gravestones, with examples from the stone of John

Service at Holy Rood kirkyard at Stirling. The detailed analysis of each of the stone emblems and its literary source represents the kind of careful scholarship readers have come to expect from Bath. His presentation attests to the curiosity of mind of a true scholar, and he explains that while the upper part of the headstone dramatizes the departure of the soul heavenward, at the appropriate points the niches in its base reveal in masonry the skull, hands, and feet of the departed, further dramatizing the early modern theater of death and resurrection. A number of Scottish gravestones continued the practice of using Quarles as a model for funerary art: the Victane stone at the Howff in Dundee; Judith Nairn’s stone at St. Andrew’s Cathedral, Fife; and Gilbert

Coupar stone at the Old Scone Graveyard in Perth. Bath also includes here Robert Maxwell, Earl of Nithsdale’s use of emblems from Quarles (first floor) and Alciato (second floor) on windows with carved stone lintels at Castle I.

Both of Farley’s books are available as digital facsimiles from Duke University through Emblematica Online: Kalendarium humane vite. The Kalendar of

Mans Life (http://emblematica.library.illinois.edu/detail/book/kalendarium-

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Caerlaverock, Drumfriesshire. He determines the source and analyzes each of the emblems used there. The crowned cartouche for the neoclassical range on the east contains an emblem directly from Quarles, yet the date given, 1634, poses a striking problem: Quarless Emblemes was not published until 1635. Confirming the hypothesis set out by the late Karl Josef Héltgen concerning the actual printing of Quarless work in 1634, despite the date of 1635 on the title page, Bath concludes that the Scottish windows were designed and carved within months of the book’s 1634 publication in London, attesting to the speed of emblem reception in early modern Scottish material culture. The investigation continues with a study of Gardyne’s House, Dundee, which copied not the engravings but the verses from Quarles. Taking a line of argumentation suggested by Peter Davidson, that the despoiling of Eden and the fall of the Three Kingdoms had become a political commonplace of this period, Bath asserts that at Gardyne’s House, the emblems had a primarily political, and not a religious, meaning. The author returns to the topic of gravestones in his concluding discussion of the tombstone for Elizabeth McCrakes, Girvan, Ayrshire from 1714. Chapter 8, “Mobilising the Gap} confirms that, although the great age of emblems had faded with the Enlightenment, emblems have persisted into the present day. Bath takes as his example the printed and sculptural emblems of lan Hamilton Finlay. Emblems are particularly associated with monumental epigraphy—as demonstrated by Laurens and Vuilleumier in their archeology of the emblem (1993)*—a fact borne out in Finlay’s garden, known as “Little Sparta,” south of Edinburgh. In true emblematic tradition, his Heroic Emblems, from 1977, are also the work of an ensemble: Finlay’s collaborators for this collection included Ron Costley, his artist, and Stephen Bann, the author of the epigrams and the introduction. Echoing the title of the sixteenth-century author Claude Paradin’s Devises heroiques, the modern volume focuses on twentieth-century military weapons and transport: aircraft carriers, fighter jets, battleships, and tanks. A modern minesweeper appears in a variant of the famous Renaissance motto “Semper festina lente” [Hasten slowly]. The author of the epigrams terms the simultaneous disjuncture and continuity

human00farl) and Lychnocausiasive Moralia Facum Emblemata: Lights, Morall

between the Renaissance and the twentieth century as “mobilising the gap,’

sive00farl).

7.

Emblems

(hetp://emblematica.library.illinois.edu/detail/book/lychnocausia-

See Laurens and Vuilleumier, See also the review in this volume of Emblematica.

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which Bath employs as the title of this final chapter. Bath rightly points out that the meaning is twofold: exploiting the gap between modern and early modern while also bridging this gap. Finlay’s images of the means of industrial warfare also “mobilize” the emblems in specifically military terms. As a genre the emblem is capacious and accommodates modernity with its recombinatory textual and pictorial DNA. In this final chapter Bath discussions range in a highly illuminating fashion from poetic silvae to the emblem of the lion and the bees in advertising logos. The displacement of emblematic topoi in modern use is shown as highly productive. The interplay between military and pastoral themes in Jan Hamilton Finlay’s printed emblems finds full expression in the garden, with its many lapidary and sculptural emblems. The readers of this journal, particularly those working on cross-disciplinary emblematic practices of a comparative nature, will find much useful material. The time span reaches from the fifteenth to the late twentieth century. The focus on the materiality of emblems and their multimedial expression receives close attention and is described in detail, and the sources for the emblems Bath examines are painstakingly documented. This volume is sumptuously produced, including all the illustrations one could want, and with many of them in color. Michael Bath has done much to raise the awareness of a vibrant emblem culture in a region where few emblem books were ever published, and therefore often overlooked in the early years of modern emblem study. Owing to his determined efforts, the emblematic culture of Scotland is now on the radar. The broad contextualization of emblematic practices in Scotland is a service to the discipline and confirms the broad reach of emblematica beyond the book. Emblems in Scotland. Motifs and Meanings is a fine book and will be the defining book for emblems in Scotland for many years to come. Works Cited Laurens, Pierre, and Florence Vuilleumier. “De larcheologie de l'emblème: La

genese du Liber Alciat.” Revue delart 1031 (1993): 85-95.

Gabriel Rollenhagen, “Non uno sternitur ictu,” from Nucleus emblematum (Coloniae: E musaeo coelatorio Crispiani Passaei, 1611). (Image courtesy of Emblematica

Online.) MARA R. WADE

University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign

Volume Index

Articles and Notices by Author Caracciolo, Daniela. “The Images and Similitudes of Things”: The Symbolic 47s in the Works of Giulio Cesare Capaccio Cholcman,

Tamar. Three

Parts

Divided: The

221

Construction,

Reconstruction, and Deconstruction of Festival Emblems Dolejsi, Katetina. The Pearl of the Orient: Xaverian Emblems in a

Jesuit Book of 1663 from Olomouc

Drysdall, Denis L. Andrea Alciato: The Law and the Emblems Fletcher,

Christopher

Politica in Context:

D.,

and

Krc.

Matthew

Emblemata

The

A New Approach to Digital Facsimiles of

Emblem Books Melion,

Walter

S.

Hendrick

Goltziuss

Method

Allegory in His Scriptural Prints of the 1570s

of Exegetical

Mercado, Leticia. Sepulchral Space in Villamediana and Vaenius

Moore, Cornelia Niekus. Emblematic Schools of Virtue and Vice:

Lucas Martini’s Ehrenkrantzlein (1580) and Lasterspiegel (1592)

Schéntube, Ulrich. Church Emblems and Their Literary Sources in Brandenburg and Upper Lusatia

Articles and Notices by Title Andrea Alciato: The Law and the Emblems, by Denis L. Drysdall

429

297

430

Volume Index

EMBLEMATICA

Church Emblems and Their Literary Sources in Brandenburg and Upper Lusatia, by Ulrich Schéntube The Emblemata Politica in Context: A New Approach to Digital Facsimiles of Emblem Books, by Christopher D. Fletcher and Matthew Kre Emblematic

Schools

of

Virtue

and

Vice:

Lucas

297

347

Martinis

Ehrenkrantzlein (1580) and Lasterspiegel (1592), by Cornelia Niekus

37

Moore

Hendrick Goltziuss Method of Exegetical Allegory in His Scriptural Prints of the 1570s, by Walter S. Melion “The Images and Similitudes of Things”: The Symbolic Ars in the Works of Giulio Cesare Capaccio, by Daniela Caracciolo

69 221 247

Sepulchral Space in Villamediana and Vaenius, by Leticia Mercado

185

Three Parts Divided: The Construction, Reconstruction, Deconstruction of Festival Emblems, by Tamar Choleman

and

Engel, William E., Rory Loughnane, and Grant Williams. The Memory Arts in Renaissance England: A Critical Anthology, by Michael Bath

413

Hôpel, Ingrid, and Simon McKeown, eds. Emblems and Impact: Von Zentrum und Peripherie der Emblematik, by Tamar Cholcman

392

Leal, Pedro Germano, and Rubem Amaral Jr., eds. Emblems in Colonial Ibero-America: To the New World on the Ship of Theseus, by Carmen Ripollés

363

Pahl, Hanna, ed. Emblematic Strategies in Contemporary Art, by Alison Adams

390

Roberts, Jorg, ed. Intermedialitat in der Frühen Neuzeit. Formen, Funktionen, Konzepte, by Johannes Frohlich

379

Veen, Otto van. Physice et Theologice Conclusiones (1621) Conclusions

The Pearl of the Orient: Xaverian Emblems in a Jesuit Book of 1663 from Olomouc, by Kateïina Dolejsi

153

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Bath, Michael. Emblems in Scotland. Motifs and Meanings, by MaraR. Wade

420

Daly, Peter M., and G. Richard Dimler, S. J. The Jesuit Emblem in the European Context, by Katetina Dolejii

367

Ems, Grégory. L’Emblématique au service du pouvoir: la symbolique

du prince chrétien dans les expositions emblématiques du collège des Jésuites de Bruxelles sous le gouvernorat de Léopold-Guillaume (16471656), by Anne Rolet and Elizabeth Black (trans.)

402

Enenkel, Karl A. E., and Paul J. Smith, eds. Emblems and the Natural World, by Simon McKeown

371

431

de Physique et de Théologie, by Alison Adams

408

Vuilleumier Laurens, Florence. L'Université, la robe et la librairie a

Paris. Claude Mignault et le Syntagma De Symbolis (1571-1602), by Valérie Hayaert

410

Westphal, Hans. Sehnsucht nach dem himmlischen Jerusalem. Das Emblemprogramm der Stettener Schlosskapelle (1682), by Jill Bepler

387

Wolkenhauer, Anja, and Bernhard F. Scholz, eds. Typographorum Emblemata: The Printers Mark in the Context of Early Modern Culture, by Simon McKeown

382