Sacramental Theology and the Decoration of Baptismal Fonts : Incarnation, Initiation, Institution [1 ed.] 9781443878593, 9781443844925

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Sacramental Theology and the Decoration of Baptismal Fonts

Sacramental Theology and the Decoration of Baptismal Fonts: Incarnation, Initiation, Institution By

Frances Altvater

Sacramental Theology and the Decoration of Baptismal Fonts: Incarnation, Initiation, Institution By Frances Altvater This book first published 2017 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2017 by Frances Altvater All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-4492-6 ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-4492-5

Tolerabimus quod tolerare debemus.

CONTENTS

List of Illustrations ..................................................................................... ix Acknowledgments .................................................................................... xiii Introduction ................................................................................................. 1 Chapter One ................................................................................................. 7 Sacramental Theology and Liturgical Practice Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 33 Iconographies of Incarnation: Foundation and Restoration Case Study A ............................................................................................. 71 The Simris Font Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 85 Iconographies of Initiation: Baptism as Canon and Custom Case Study B ........................................................................................... 125 The Lenton Font Chapter Four ............................................................................................ 131 Iconographies of Institution: The Church Established, Triumphant Case Study C ........................................................................................... 183 The West Haddon Font Conclusion ............................................................................................... 191 Bibliography ............................................................................................ 203 Index ........................................................................................................ 223

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

1-1 Sacraments, book covers, ca. 870 (Paris, Louvre, MR 368 and 369)(RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource NY) 2-1 Adam and Eve, Oxhill (Warwickshire), twelfth century (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London) 2-2 Creation of Eve (RIGHT) and Temptation/Fall (LEFT), East Meon (Hampshire/Tournai), mid-twelfth century (Chris Gunns) 2-3 Expulsion (RIGHT) and Labors of Adam and Eve (LEFT), East Meon (Hampshire/Tournai), mid-twelfth century (Chris Gunns) 2-4 Eve, font at Hook Norton (Oxfordshire), late eleventh century-early twelfth century (BSI) 2-5 Full view of font, Freckenhorst (Germany) font, 1128 (BSI) 2-6 Annunciation, Freckenhort (Germany), 1128 (BSI) 2-7: Nativity, Freckenhorst (Germany), 1128 (BSI) 2-8 Adam and Eve, Cowlam, early to mid-twelfth century (author) 2-9 Herod, Cowlam, early to mid-twelfth century (author) 2-10 Adoration of the Magi, Cowlam, early to mid-twelfth century (author) 2-11 Standing Bishop, Cowlam, early to mid-twelfth century (author) 2-12 Wrestlers, Cowlam, early to mid-twelfth century (author) 2-13: Nativity, font at Fincham (Norfolk), early to mid-12th century (BSI) 2-14: Adoration of the Magi, font at Fincham (Norfolk), early to mid-12th century (BSI) A-1: Iconographic program of the Simris font (author) A-2: Simris Font showing Christ’s Baptism, twelfth century (BSI) A-3: Christ’s Baptism and Adoration of the Magi, Simris, twelfth century (BSI) A-4: Simris Font showing Last Supper, twelfth century (BSI) A-5: Last Supper, Simris, twelfth century (BSI) A-6: Incarnation, Simris, twelfth century (BSI) A-7: St. Stephen, Simris, twelfth century (BSI) 3-1: Baptism of Christ, font from Bridekirk (Cumbria), third quarter of the 12th century (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art) 3-2: Baptism of Christ, font at Wansford (Lincoln/Petersborough), ca. 1120 (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London) 3-3: Baptism of Christ, font at Furnaux (Liège), 1135-50 (EmDee)

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List of Illustrations

3-4: Baptism of Christ, Brighton (Sussex), 3rd quarter of the twelfth century (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London) 3-5: Baptism of Christ, Germigny-des-Près, twelfth century (C.S. Drake) 3-6: Baptism of Christ, Castle Frome (Herefordshire), mid-twelfth century (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London) 3-7: Baptism of Christ, Fincham (Norfolk), early to mid-twelfth century (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London) 3-8: Conflated baptism scene, Kirkburn (Yorkshire), ca. 1140 (author) 3-9: Baptism of Christ, Renier de Huy, Liège, 1107-1118 (Jean-Pol Grandmont) 3-10: Baptisms, Renier de Huy, font from Liège, 1107-1118 (Jean-Pol Grandmont) 3-11: Baptism, font from St. Esteban in Renedo de Valdavia, later-12th century (BSI) 3-12: Baptism scene, Darenth (Kent), ca. 1140 (BSI) 3-13: Baptism, Thorpe Salvin (Yorkshire), later-twelfth century (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London) 3-14: Baptism, San Fructuoso in Colmenares de Ojeda, second half of the twelfth century (GFreihalter) B-1: Baptism of Christ, Lenton, 1140-1160 (BSI) B-2: Crucifixion of Christ, Lenton, 1140-1160 (BSI) B-3: Resurrection, Lenton, 1140-1160 (BSI) 4-1: Apostles, baptismal font from Rendcomb (Gloucestershire), mid.-12th century (author) 4-2: St. Wulmer and convert, Samer (France), mid-12th century (BSI) 4-3: Ecclesiastics, Brenken (Germany), ca. 1170 (Dirk D.) 4-4: Virtues and Vices, Southrop (Gloucestershire), late-twelfth/earlythirteenth century (author) 4-5: St. Margaret, font from Cottam (Yorkshire), early to mid-twelfth century (author) 4-6: St. Lawrence, font from Cottam (Yorkshire), early to mid-twelfth century (author) 4-7: St. Andrew, font from Cottam (Yorkshire), early to mid-twelfth century (author) 4-8: St. Nicholas, font from Winchester (Hampshire), mid-twelfth century (C.S. Drake) 4-9: St. Nicholas panels, font from Brighton (Sussex), third quarter of the twelfth century (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London) 4-10: Last Supper, Brighton (Sussex), third quarter of the twelfth century (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London)

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4-11: Crucifixion, Coleshill (Warwickshire), later twelfth century (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London) 4-12: Base of font from Cottesmore (Rutland), later twelfth century (author) 4-13 Deposition, North Grimston (Yorkshire), twelfth century (author) 4-14: Harrowing of Hell, font from Eardisley (Herefordshire), ca. 1150 (BSI) 4-15: Harrowing of Hell, font from Calahorra de Boedo (Spain), twelfth century (Web oficial del ayuntamiento de Calahorra de Boedo) 4-16: Standing figures, font from Toller Fratrum (Dorset), twelfth century (C.S.Drake) 4-17: Hell gate, font from Toller Fratrum (Dorset), twelfth century (John Bedell) 4-18: Figure, font from Avebury (Wiltshire), twelfth century (Tony Grist) 4-19: Figures with serpents, font from Kirkby (Merseyside) (C.S. Drake) C-1: Nativity with Joseph, font from West Haddon (Northamptonshire), ca. 1120 (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London) C-2: Baptism of Christ, font from West Haddon (Northamptonshire), ca. 1120 (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London) C-3: Entry into Jerusalem, font from West Haddon (Northamptonshire), ca. 1120 (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London) C-4: Christ in Majesty, font from West Haddon (Northamptonshire), ca. 1120 (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute Of Art, London) 5-1: Baptism, font from Little Walsingham (Norfolk), fifteenth century (David Ross)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The kindness, generosity, and passion of scholars has been the greatest gift for me. Dr. Deborah Kahn first encouraged me to look into fonts as they were too often over-looked as “just furniture”; she guided the thesis this book derives from. The friendship, encouragement, and assistance of the late C.S. “Paddy” Drake, Rita Wood and others have made a community avid “fonters” for which I am very grateful. I would also like to thank the scholars at the Corpus of Romanesque Sculpture in Britain and Ireland, especially Dr. Ronald Baxter and Dr. Lindy Grant (back when the photographs of fonts were all in red boxes in the Courtauld’s Conway Library). None of this present book would have been possible without Dr. Harriet Sonne de Torrens and Miguel Torrens, and their work on the Baptisteria Sacra index; I am intensely grateful for all of their assistance and generosity. They have nurtured my explorations. No work comes together without a “room of one’s own”, for which I thank my colleagues at Hillyer College and at the University of Hartford who have provided good fellowship and good support. For edits both incisive and inspirational, I am forever indebted to Melissa Shaner and Edward Bernstein. For cheer and love, I thank especially my mother, Edith, and my children, Brynnen and Max Bernstein.

INTRODUCTION

“…between the realms of straight story-telling and learned exposition the frontiers were fascinatingly uncertain.”1

Were the Middle Ages “an age of faith?” There is no doubt that Christianity had permeated the general understanding of the culture in Western Europe. There was no monolithic entity that we can call the laity, however; medieval society was highly stratified by class and gender, which radically affected the levels of education, work, and social engagement. Nor was there a monolithic entity that can be identified as the “Church”; rather, it was a layered institution, running the gamut from elite and wealthy bishops to parish priests who lived scarcely differently from those they served, from monastics to canons regular to lay ecclesiastics. To a generalized extent these distinctions served to create broad oppositional characterizations: Christian vs. Non-Christian, orthodox vs. heretical, lay vs. organized. In medieval Christianity, the sacraments take shape from our very human desire to mark milestones in our life cycle. The number of sacraments—the outward signs of invisible grace—varied in number and function over time, though by the Romanesque period of the late-eleventh to early-thirteenth centuries, Western Christianity had leaned towards seven: baptism, Eucharist, confirmation, penance, unction, marriage and ordination. Baptism had long been one of the most important: a “necessary” sacrament, specifically taught by Jesus in the text of John 3:5, it was the first of sacraments, initiating a more complicated relationship with God through the Church. Being unbaptized revealed a clear moral lapse and created tremendous anxiety about one’s mortal condition. In a society that defined itself as Christian, in opposition to other religious identities, initiation into the Church led to social initiation, the lack of 1

George Henderson, “Narrative Illustration and Theological Exposition in Medieval Art” in ed. K. Robbins, Religion and Humanism (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1981).

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Introduction

Christianity to social exclusion. Baptism clearly had legal secular ramifications: it determined kinship through godparent sponsorship which affected marriage; it affected legitimacy as a legal witness; it could affect inheritance.2 During this period, as ecclesiastical courts were progressively solidifying their purview alongside and against civil courts, there was increased social pressure for transparency in the sacramental definition of the individual’s secular identity. Finally, the medieval period between 950 and 1250 has been described as a persecuting society, seeking to affirm certain values to the punitive exclusion of others.3 These social pressures—first, the laity recognizing spiritual occasions; second, the secular ramifications of these observances; third, the exclusionary bigotry of medieval society against Jews, Muslims, and Christian heretics who either did not observe the sacraments or kept them in a different way— combine with the intellectual trend of Scholasticism to push for sacramental delineation. The Scholastic method has been described as the “intellectual penetration of the faith, systematization of the texts upon which it is based, and dialogue with non-Christian thought”.4 These rational trends shaped the discussion of the sacraments, trying to take the confusion of beliefs and anxiety over correct observance and turn it into a regular and regulated response. Visual production and reception are a part of this push to define orthodoxy. The iconic presentation of Romanesque imagery, with its “strong dogmatic, even propagandistic, qualities,”5 often reinforces this sociological operation through the diagrammatic aspects of composition and the narrowed and repetitive range of subjects. This book examines the visual embodiment of sacramental theology and its

2

James Brundage, Medieval Canon Law (London and New York: Longman, 1995), 3, 41-2, 60-61, 70-97. Joseph H. Lynch, Godparents and kinship in early medieval Europe (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986) 3 See R.I. Moore, The Formation of a Persecuting Society (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1987). 4 Philipp W. Rosemann, Peter Lombard, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 11. 5 Robert Calkins, Monuments of Medieval Art (Ithaca: Cornell University, 1979), p. 80. Calkins is here asserting, in the broadest summary of a survey text, that Romanesque art in general is designed to combat heresy. While concurring with his position as far as it goes, I have tried to show the principle in greater specificity.

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reciprocal reinforcement of that particular theology in the decoration of twelfth-century baptismal fonts. The relationship of narrative and art in the Middle Ages was rich, vibrant, and changeable. Sometimes it was a matter of active debate— Pope Gregory (590-604) commends the zeal of Bishop Serenus of Marseilles for condemning idolatrous images but insists that the church must tolerate images for the sake of those who cannot read texts to learn and adore God. Four centuries later, Bernard of Clairvaux (1090-1153) focuses on monastic communities, condemning church decoration precisely because it beguiles the attention of the illiterate at the expense of the poor, “The church is resplendent in her walls, beggarly in her poor; she clothes her stones in gold and leaves her sons naked…The curious find their delight here, yet the needy find no relief.”6 Images exert their own influences—they entertain; they illustrate; they frame; they create mnemonic touchstones. Images are “active social agents in their own right.”7 Baptismal fonts, like capitals and tympana, display this twelfthcentury emphasis on using narrative decoration to delight and enlighten. The period also sees an increase in the production of vernacular literature, particularly troubadour poetry, chansons de geste like Beowulf, and mystery plays, like the Wakefield Cycle.8 The twelfth-century Renaissance is an intellectual burgeoning, expressed both textually and visually. Certainly, the narratives on these fonts can be seen simply: within a Christian society, with a largely illiterate populace, these images recall for the viewer key elements of Christian mythology. Unlike a stained glass panel high above the heads of the parishioners or an illumination seen only by an erudite few, the baptismal font is a piece of furniture too substantial in size and weight, too prominently positioned in most churches, and too often used to be ignored. Clearly a space ripe for 6

St. Bernard to William of St. Thierry letter, in Caecelia Davis Weyer, Early Medieval Art, 300-1150: Sources and Documents, 169-70. 7 Jeffrey F. Hamburger, “Introduction”, The Mind’s Eye: Art and Theological Argument in the Middle Ages, ed. Jeffrey F. Hamburger and Anne-Marie Bouché (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), 7. 8 For short introductory summaries of this production, see William R. Cook and Ronald B. Herzman, The Medieval World View (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983), pp. 286-293, and Clifford Backman, The Worlds of Medieval Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 255ff.

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Introduction

ornamentation (witness the enormous number of fonts decorated with leaves and arches), the font might indeed be seen as a good narrative forum for instruction. We must ask what the church is trying to teach the laity. Narrative images on twelfth-century baptismal fonts are limited to a few subjects, omitting scenes which might be considered useful for instruction or even integral to a represented story. Stories that appear fairly often in written theologies and liturgies as referring typologically to baptism, such as the Crossing of the Red Sea (Exodus 14: 21-31) and the Bath of Naaman (2 Kings 5:1-14), rarely appear in font decoration. Acknowledging the imprecision of images when compared with texts, medieval authors suggest that pictures function not to teach new material but to remind the viewer of what he or she already knows.9 “Reading” images has a necessary connection to memory. The images on twelfth-century baptismal fonts evoke this aspect of reading; the scenes are from the most common stories, such as the Temptation of Adam and Eve or the Adoration of the Magi. The modes of representation also reflect this idea of retelling rather than telling: the stories are seldom arranged as continuous narratives with sequential scenes but rather are most commonly arranged in forms that require active viewer engagement. Both the modes of representation and the material addressed suggest that the images are meant to evoke the remembered story, not to teach new ones. If we consider medieval society as integrally shaped by the political connections created by the context of the Christian church,10 then the liturgical function of the font begins to provide us with an answer regarding iconographic choices. The images chosen are appropriate because they refer directly to the Church’s teachings about the sacrament of baptism in particular and sacraments in general. These stories are related to the state of incarnation—human fall from grace through Adam 9

Lawrence Duggan, “Was Art Really the ‘Book of the Illiterate’?,” Word & Image, Vol. 5, 1989, particularly pp. 228-232. See also Michael Camille, “Some Visual Implications of Medieval Literacy and Illiteracy,” Art History, Vol. 8/1, 1985, pp. 26-49 and Mary Carruthers, The Book of Memory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990). 10 R.W. Southern, Western Society and the Church in the Middle Ages (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1970), particularly chapter 1, pp. 1523.

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and Eve’s actions, the promise of salvation through Jesus’ incarnation, the sacrifice of Christ’s incarnate body, and even the hope of bodily resurrection at the End of Time. This visualization of incarnation coincides with the sacramental ritual marking the body as belonging to Christ and opening the way to salvation through the Church. The history of sacramental theology shows that the theological debate is most pressing precisely at the time when these fonts are being made, suggesting that the themes presented on these fonts are at least the indirect result of this discussion. The venue of the font highlights the importance of the liturgy first to show the symbolic nature of certain narratives, thus inviting theological reflection on the stories, and then to create the authority of the Church as an institution. Rather than being an exhaustive catalog listing of fonts, this book examines these ideas across the Romanesque period, with some sample case studies of individual fonts. There is a visual methodology as strong as the textual scholarship on sacramental theology; indeed, this visual format is actually far more important as a distillation of the most critical elements of period theology for a much wider audience of the lay faithful. The Romanesque period may open with broad-spread anxiety over the sacraments but it closes with the clear codification and strong agency of the Fourth Lateran Council. The strategy for creating a statement of orthodoxy comes from sermons and sentences, from laws and cases, from the rituals performed, and—visually—from the sculptures that the laity saw with their own eyes. As the period theological concerns and perspectives changed, so too did the decoration of baptismal fonts: narrative scenes give way to ornamental decoration, copying Gothic tendencies in art. To borrow from the story of Thomas the Doubter— through these coactive programs in theology, liturgy, and art in the Romanesque period, we believe because we have seen. As the pressure of doubt reduces, shaped by the clarity gained by these coordinated approaches, in the Gothic period, we come to believe without seeing.

CHAPTER ONE SACRAMENTAL THEOLOGY AND LITURGICAL PRACTICE

The sacraments were certainly an issue in Christian definition throughout history, most notably in the late fourth and early fifth centuries as orthodox Catholicism struggled to define itself against heresies of men such as Arius and Pelagius, and these early discussions remained authoritative in the positions of twelfth-century sacramental theology. But the sacramental controversies of the Romanesque period are most directly the result of the discussions raised in the ninth century. These moments of sacramental definition are also moments of institutional definition—in the ninth century, reforms of the liturgy and the establishment of the parish system and in the twelfth century, the Gregorian reforms revisiting these Carolingian reforms relating to simony, clerical marriage, and priestly duties.1

The Roots of Controversy One visual example can help us clearly understand the Carolingian pressure to define the sacraments in relation to the Church as an institution. Made in France around 870, these two ivories were likely set into the covers of a book.2 The carving reflects the high quality of the Court School of Charles the Bald, with generally proportionate figures, naturalistic draperies, and sophisticated attention to detail. On one plaque, the lower level shows three tidy groups in an architectural setting; though the figure faces are worn smooth, the costume of shorter tunics clearly

1 James A. Coriden, The Parish in Catholic Tradition: History, Theology, and Canon Law (New York: Paulist Press, 1997), 30-31. 2 Provenance places these two ivories in the treasury of St. Denis. See B. de Montesquiou-Fezensac and D. Gaborit-Chopin, Trésor de Saint-Denis (Paris: A. & J. Picard, 1991), 112-115.

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Chapterr One

1-1 Sacrameents, book coveer, ca. 870 (Parris, Louvre, M MR 368 and 369 9) (RMNGrand Palaiss/Art Resourcee NY)

identifies thhem as laymenn. In the secon nd tier are ninne frontal figu ures in the center bay w with two standding figures in n the niches oon either side. Many of the figures once held objects o that are a now abraaded; a censo or is still discernable. In the top tieer of the plaqu ue, a priest perrforms the Maass before a draped andd set altar tablle under an elaaborate canoppy with hangin ng lamps; a deacon hoolds an openn book for him and there are four other clergy assisting. Thhe second plaaque similarly arranges threee groups of laymen in the lowest ssection. The second s tier has two distinctt scenes. On the t left, a figure is baaptized in a font fo by a prieest. Five other er figures are arranged around the ccandidate: twoo represent paarents or godpparents while the other three are cleerical attendannts. The carveer has added lliturgical elem ments of a candlestick, linen towel, and a ewer.. On the righht, a group of o figures attends whille a priest layys a hand on the head of a boy in celeb bration of confirmationn. In the top tier, the grou up of figures is tightly gro ouped but there are tw wo scenes of doonation here: on the left, a layman offerss a crown or a round pplatter to a cleergyman and on o the right, a layman offerrs a book to a clergym man. In theirr iconographiies and comppositions, these works

Sacramental Theology and Liturgical Practice

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reflect the level of erudition and deliberateness which mark ecclesiastic production of the Carolingian period. Together, these plaques present the sacraments of the Eucharist, baptism, and confirmation. These three sacraments were the rites that marked all Christians: baptism was necessary as a cleansing from Original Sin in initiation to the Church; confirmation was a sealing of those baptismal commitments, and the Eucharist was the holy mystery established by Christ that served to connect the faithful to Him. The other sacraments—penance, unction, marriage, and ordination—might all be forgone by particular segments of the Christian population, given their own personal spiritual histories. There is also a strong message of connection and cooperation between the laity and the clergy through images of attentive laity, clergy actively serving their spiritual needs, and lay donations for the church. As the covers of a sacramentary, these plaques were visual mnemonics for the liturgies inside and the role of the priest in those liturgies. Designed for an erudite viewer, it is certainly no surprise to see ivories that address the sacraments in the Carolingian period, given the concerns of that era towards clerical reform and sacramental definition. Carolingian sacramental theology centered on the nature of the Eucharist; these particular concerns about the Eucharist would resolve only with a more systematic approach to theology in the Romanesque period. The monk Pascasius Radbertus concluded that the bread and wine were the true body and blood of Christ, consonant with the historical body, and changed by the power and will of God. This interpretation was passed not only to the abbot of the daughter house of Corvey but later to the court of Charles the Bald.3 Against contemporaries such as Hrabanus Maurus, Ratramnus of Corbie upheld the idea that although the elements retain their physical perception, there was nonetheless a “true presence” simultaneously.4 Importantly, “[b]y the end of the tenth century, Heriger of Lobbes could assert that Ambrose, Augustine, Jerome, and Gregory all agreed that the bread and wine were the body and blood of Christ.”5 In only one hundred years, there developed an intellectual tradition, bolstered 3

Charles Radding and Francis Newton, Theology, Rhetoric, and Politics in the Eucharistic Controversy, 1078-1079: Alberic of Monte Cassino Against Berengar of Tours, 3-4. 4 Charles Radding and Francis Newton, Theology, Rhetoric, and Politics, 5. 5 Charles Radding and Francis Newton, Theology, Rhetoric, and Politics, 5.

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Chapter One

by the claim of orthodox authorities, on the sacramental nature of the Eucharist; writing around 1050, Berengar of Tours was part of an extended scholarly discussion of these issues. Berengar’s position was that the bread and wine elements were transformed into something of spiritual importance but that their physical nature was unchanged: “by consecration at the altar the bread and wine are made into religious sacraments, not so that they cease to be that which they were, but so that they are that which is changed into something else, as the blessed Ambrose says in his book On Sacraments.”6 Berengar appeared to refute a key tenet, resting on the very interpretation of Jesus’ own words at the Last Supper, that the liturgical pronouncement affected a change in state. Berengar, like his opposition, drew on the statement of Augustine that a sacrament is a holy sign, a sacrum signum.7 This interpretation relies on the idea that the sign is not the thing signified but rather directs the viewer/hearer to the idea of God’s grace; for Berengar, bread and wine remain bread and wine but point to Christ’s sacrifice for the faithful. Some of the refutations of Berengar’s position rest on precisely the issue of perception which made Berengar reach his conclusion that the elements do not become body and blood. Both Hugh, Bishop of Langres, and Ascelin assert that to deny the change was to constrain God; human perception is simply inadequate in terms of understanding the fullness of God’s power. “For just as you do not comprehend how the word was made flesh, so you cannot comprehend how this bread is changed into flesh, and the wine transformed into blood, if faith in omnipotence shall not have instructed you.”8 These issues of similitude versus “true presence” are at the core of the debate. As several scholars have noted, the position on the nature of the Eucharist was by no means uniform in the eleventh century and Berengar’s position was controversial primarily for the way in which he upset the ecclesiastical institution.9 Various churchmen—Theoduin of 6

Charles Radding and Francis Newton, Theology, Rhetoric, and Politics, 11. Augustine, De civitate dei, 10.5. 8 Hugh of Langres, De Corpore et Sanguine Christi contra Berengarium, in ed. J. P. Migne, Patrologia Latina 142: 1328C. 9 Gillian Rosemary Evans, “Berengar, Roscelin, and Peter Damian”, Medieval Theologians (Oxford: Blackwell, 2001), 86-89. 7

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Liège, Adalman of Liège, Lanfranc, and Alberic of Monte Cassino—were drawn into the controversy by Berengar’s attempts to define his own ideas. Berengar’s views attracted the attention of church councils in Rome and Vercelli in 1050, councils which were attended by Pope Leo IX; the 1054 council in Tours was attended by the future Pope Gregory VII, and the 1059 council in Rome forced a renunciation oath on Berengar.10 Church councils through the 1070s continue to be avenues for Berengar’s advocating for his position and for the church to assert its own counterposition. The attention that Berengar’s Eucharistic theology received is not an example of his own success at developing a following, although Bishop Hugh of Langres was clearly concerned about Berengar’s speaking ability; it is a measure of institutional anxiety over the way in which this theological position called into question ecclesiastical authority. If there was no transformation actuated by the priest in the course of the liturgy, then there might be no need for the priest himself to perform the ritual. Because Berengar stirred up of the issue of the Eucharist, a number of medieval writers addressed sacramental theology as a more coherent whole in response. Lanfranc of Bec, Archbishop of Canterbury (d. 1089) is perhaps best well known for his direct refutation, De Corpore et Sanguine Domini Adversus Berengarium Turonensem, written around 1063. Over the next century however, they included a wide spectrum of churchmen—canonists like Anselm of Lucca (later Pope Alexander II, d. 1086), Ivo of Chartres (1040-1116), Alger of Liège (d. 1131) and Gratian (ca. 1095-ca. 1160), and theologians like Abelard (1079-1142), Robert Pullens (ca. 1080-ca. 1150), Hugh of St. Victor (ca. 1078-1141), and, with the most lasting influence, Peter Lombard (d. 1160). There is already a trend in theology to systematize, creating a derivative structure of authorities to support a coherent line of reasoning.11 It is this energy 10

Charles Radding and Francis Newton, Theology, Rhetoric, and Politics, 6. Philipp W. Rosemann, Peter Lombard (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 21-33. Also Marcia Colish, “Systematic Theology and Theological Renewal in the Twelfth Century”, Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 18/2, fall 1988, 135-156 and Marcia Colish, Medieval Foundations of the Western Intellectual Tradition 400-1400 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997). For a coherent examination of the period’s sacramental doctrine, see Boyd Taylor Coolman, “The Christo-Pneumatic-Ecclesial Character of Twelfth-Century Sacramental Theology”, The Oxford Handbook of Sacramental Theology, edited by Hans Boersma and Matthew Levering, Ch. 14 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015). 11

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around the topic, rather than one specific work on the subject, which we must see as influential in the design of baptismal iconographies and font decoration. It suggests an anxiety around the sacraments in the institutional church which would have had repercussions for the laity as part of a didactic program. Looking for patristic, established doctrine, twelfth-century sacramental theology almost always derives directly from Augustine. Augustine, in his work On Christian Teaching as well as elsewhere, asserts a fundamental difference between things (res) and signs (signa).12 The elements of a sacrament were both res and res sacramenti: “Take away the word and what is water but water? Add the word to the element, and there results a sacrament, as if itself was also a kind of visible word.”13 While Augustine was sometimes loose with the application of these terms, including many other liturgical practices than what were considered by later twelfth-century theologians, this idea of elemental transformation through the liturgy in order to convey the grace of God made Augustine a foundation for discussing sacraments. Augustine’s discussion actually forestalled two of Berengar’s problematic interpretations: the elements were transformed from mere things to actual signs, and the process occurred through the liturgy, administered through the authority of the church.14 The push towards sacramental definition came from many quarters and is present even in works not specifically devoted to theology. However, for the purposes of this book, I will focus on works which attempted specifically to systematize the sacraments from a perspective of 12

Augustine, De doctrina Christiana, bk 3 nos 29-32, ed and trans RPH Green, Oxford Early Texts (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), 145-147. 13 Augustine, In Joannem, Tract LXXX. 14 Gratian, for instance, divides an almost unlimited range of ecclesiastical practices into sacraments of dignity and of necessity; when discussing sacraments of necessity, such as baptism, which are critically important, Gratian notes that the sacrament cannot be affected by the status or beliefs of the priest administering them. As a canonist, Gratian is trying to define the ways in which the sacrament works in conveying either mystical or earthly community or both and therefore is important to our understanding of how the institutional church addressed authority and the sacraments. See Stanley Chodorow, Christian Political Theory and Church Policies in the Mid-Twelfth Century: The Ecclesiology of Gratian’s Decretum (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972).

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divine operation within institutional practice. One of the first was Hugh of St. Victor’s De Sacramentis Christianae Fidei, written in the first quarter of the twelfth century, which takes an Augustinian definition of the sacraments and then embellishes it: “A sacrament is a corporeal or material element sensibly presented from without, representing from its likeness, signifying from its institution, and containing from sanctification some invisible and spiritual grace.”15 For Hugh, the sacrament must have a tangible presentation directly related to the spiritual element (i.e. physical cleansing and spiritual cleansing in baptism), be derived from an authority (imposition through Christ, ideally, as was directly traceable with baptism and the Eucharist), and have a ritual process (liturgy through the Church) that conveyed that grace. Hugh continues to admit a number of rituals not considered in the main to be sacraments, including aspersion of the community or the reception of ashes at Lent. One of the most influential of the early Sententiae was the Summa Sententiae, attributed to Hugh of St. Victor, a work focused on a mystical view of the sacraments, emphasizing the mystery of the sacramental ceremony. Similar to the definitions and usage of “sacramentum” in the earlier De Sacramentis Christianae Fidei, the author/Hugh relied heavily on the Augustinian distinction between sacramental elements and divine grace: ...A sacrament is the visible form of invisible grace gathered in it, which the sacrament itself confers. For it is not only the sign of a sacred thing, but also its efficacy. And this is what distinguishes between sign and sacrament; because for this that it be a sign it does not require anything save that it signify that of which it is held to be the sign, not that it confer it. But a sacrament not only signifies, but also confers that of which it is a sign or signification.16

Here the author clearly and without hesitation adopts Hugh’s idea of the sacramental sign as affecting a change in the soul of the receiver. This 15

Hugh of St. Victor, De Sacramentis Christianae Fidei, Book 1, Part 9, ch. ii; trans. Roy J. Deferrari, Hugh of St. Victor on the Sacraments of the Christian Faith (Cambridge: Medieval Academy of America, 1951), 154-155. 16 Hugh of St. Victor, Summa Sententiarum, 4th Tractate, c.i, translated in Elizabeth Rogers, Peter Lombard and the Sacramental System (Merrick: Richwood, 1976), 55-56.

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sacramental theology links the sacraments of baptism/confirmation and the Eucharist as necessary for salvation, while some (unction, marriage, penance) are required for sanctification, and some (ordination) for the preparation of the others; he focuses on but does not limit his assessment to these seven.17 The Summa Sententiarum, while clearly widely circulated, fails to set the standard for sacramental theology, perhaps because it lacked a precise order and format and because it failed to limit the sacraments in a useful fashion. Peter Lombard’s Libri quatuor sententiarum, compiled around 1150, represent the most successful medieval systematization of sacramental theology. Unlike previous Sentence collections, they are a coherently ordered and rubricated approach, organized appropriately around the model of res and signa, bolstered by accurately attributed and quoted statements from canonical authorities from various camps. Peter Lombard reconciles the idea which caused such contention for Berengar— that a sacrament is the visible form of invisible grace—with the orthodoxy taken directly from Hugh of St. Victor—“…a sacrament not only signifies, but also confers that of which it is the sign of signification”.18 For Peter Lombard, reflecting the anxieties of the Church Councils of the previous half-century, sacraments are both the human institution and the divine reality. Because all of these theologians, from Augustine to Peter Lombard, were interested in defining the form of the sacrament not to delimit God’s power but to better understand the ways in which the sacraments conveyed God’s grace to sinful mortals, there is a marked tendency within sacramental theology to connect one sacrament to another. Augustine often made allusions to sacramental parallels in sermons for the newly baptized: Unless wheat is ground, after all, and moistened with water, it can’t possibly get into this shape which is called bread. In the same way you too were being ground and pounded, as it were, by the humiliation of fasting and the sacrament of exorcism. Then came baptism, and you were, in a manner of speaking, moistened with water in order to be shaped into bread. But it’s not yet bread without fire to bake it...That’s the chrism, the 17

Elizabeth Rogers, Peter Lombard and the Sacramental System, 53-54. Hugh of St. Victor, Summa Sententiarum, 4th Tractate, c.i, in Elizabeth Rogers, Peter Lombard and the Sacramental System, 55-56. 18

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15

anointing. Oil, the fire-feeder, you see, is the sacrament of the Holy Spirit.19

The rhetorical foundation was laid for comparing the operation of one sacrament to the elements of another, riffing off the Pauline quotation from I Corinthians 10:17: “We, being many, are one bread, one body…”. For Peter Lombard, some of that is the result of the operation of sacramental grace on the mortal soul; for instance, those who have been baptized receive a grace which makes them better able to resist temptation and thus makes penance the more effective as a remedy.20 Visually, the fonts of the period underscore this verbal trope. The most closely connected sacraments that address mortal salvation—baptism, the Eucharist, and penance—are represented in the forum of the font. In addition to directly baptismal images from the life of Christ, iconographies which focus on Christ’s incarnation and reference the Eucharist through the Last Supper and Crucifixion tie baptism and the Eucharist together; elements of penance can be read from the inclusion of saints on these fonts. Again, the twelfth-century visual corresponds to the verbal in both the theology and its expression. All of this discussion of sacraments and their effectuation was clearly a matter of theological concern among the erudite elite of the medieval church. The interest in this theology was not geographically specific, nor was it limited to a single identifying group but was pervasive, involving canonists and theologians, monastics and bishops. The transmittal of ideas in the Middle Ages is often difficult to trace and there is frequently a modern assumption of intellectual isolation.21 The question becomes how these ideas were transmitted to the lay communities, given the importance of the sacraments in the life of the Christian laity. One place to begin that understanding is with the culminating document of the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215. As an institutional document, it reflects the deliberation of a massive number of churchmen, including 412 bishops who provide the link between the theoretical discussion and diocesan policy that affected practice in parishes. Canon 19

See Augustine, Sermon 9 and Sermon 227. Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1994), 540. 21 Charles Homer Haskins, “The Spread of Ideas in the Middle Ages”, Speculum i, 1926, 19-30. See also Leidulf Melve, “The Revolt of the Medievalists: Directions in Recent Research on the Twelfth-Century Renaissance”, 32 Journal of Medieval History, 2006, 231-252. 20

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1—the first statement that the Council felt it necessary to assert, before any other business of the Council—begins with an assertion of the nature of the Trinity that articulates the incarnation of Christ as both fully human and fully Divine. The discussion then proceeds to tie that nature of Christ to the role of the Church, connecting Second Coming and mortal resurrection, the nature of the Eucharist and transubstantiation, Christ’s authorizing of the disciples and the ecclesiastic role of the priest in expressing that sacrament. Canon 1 then concludes: But the sacrament of baptism, which by the invocation of each Person of the Trinity, namely of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, is effected in water, duly conferred on children and adults in the form prescribed by the Church by anyone whatsoever, leads to salvation. And should anyone after the reception of baptism have fallen into sin, by true repentance he can always be restored. Not only virgins and those practicing chastity, but also those united in marriage, through the right faith and through works pleasing to God, can merit eternal salvation.22

We must see this canon as a culmination of the debates around sacramental theology in the previous century and a half. Baptism is a necessary sacrament, at the root of salvific inclusion into the community of the faithful. Baptism is expressed in water and the Trinitarian statement in the liturgy, thus clearly requiring the sanction of the Church institution and excluding any other heterodox beliefs or practices. Baptism as a remedy for sin was not repeatable but was thus importantly tied to the sacrament of penance. The last sentence tied baptism to all of the Christian community, and therefore created a link to the selective sacraments of ordination and marriage. The Fourth Lateran Council of 1215 attempted to create a sacramental statement in this canon, endorsing key ideas of Scholastic sacramental theology such as divine institution, systematic function and operation of all sacraments, and the ecclesiastical authority of the orthodox Church in their performance. Church councils provided an important articulation of ecclesiastical policy. The Fourth Lateran Council also passed canons which stressed the importance of reaching the laity, no matter what their language (Canon 9), and direct episcopal involvement in the daily life of the faithful or the 22 H. J. Schroeder, Disciplinary Decrees of the General Councils: Text, Translation and Commentary (St. Louis: B. Herder, 1937), 237-238.

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necessary appointment of clerical assistants for the purposes of preaching, hearing confessions, imposing penance, “and other matters pertaining to the salvation of souls”.23 The Fourth Lateran Council also affirmed the earlier Lateran decree (Third Council, 1179) which stressed the importance of metropolitan churches appointing a master who could teach parish clergy, especially those who could not afford an education, all that was necessary for the care of souls (Canon 11). While not its only priority certainly, the Fourth Lateran Council made sacramental orthodoxy and the transmission of that orthodoxy from the clerical institution to the receiving laity a major concern of its discussions.

Baptismal Liturgies To better understand the way in which sacramental theology played out in artistic production for the laity, we need to understand the history of baptismal theology and practice up to the Romanesque period. Theologically, the sacrament of baptism was pivotal; as the initiation into the community of the faithful, it marks commitment and permits the Christian to join in the other mysteries of the faith, most notably the Eucharist. The rite itself, although established in the earliest days of the Jesus movement, evolves to meet the changes in the candidacy and proves flexible enough to cover a range of practices. The institutional Church is continually balancing the desired policies of broad inclusion into Christianity with the scalpel-focused exclusion of heresy, in a way that affords the most room for turning exclusion into inclusion. The baptismal rite itself has Scriptural roots; its direct connection to Jesus makes it, like the institution of the Eucharist, an important rite of the testamental period Church.24 The basic liturgical statement of baptism also has its roots in the Gospels; after Jesus’ resurrection, he appears to the disciples, adjuring them to “...make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit...”25 The 23

H. J. Schroeder, Disciplinary Decrees of the General Councils, 250-251. Interestingly, this statement of baptism’s sacramental importance because of its institution by Jesus is one which is downplayed by thirteenth century theologians who argued that all seven of the Church’s sacraments were instituted by Christ. See Elizabeth Rogers, Peter Lombard and the Sacramental System, 47. For the Scriptural accounts in Matthew chapter 3, Mark chapter 1, and John 1. 25 Matthew 28:19. 24

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earliest documents of the Catholic Church discuss the form of the baptismal service, focusing on the most important elements and allowing for some variation in the service. The Didache, an early second century document, outlines the rudimentary service. While preferring the rite to take this ideal form, it nevertheless makes provision for various forms of baptism. And as touching baptism, thus baptize ye: when ye have first recited all these things, baptize in the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, in running water. But if thou hast not running water, baptize in other water; and if thou canst not in cold, then in warm. And if thou has not either, pour forth water thrice upon the head, in the Name of the Father and Son and Holy Spirit.26

The Trinitarian formula established in the Gospels is important, as is the element of water in some form. In the third century, both Hippolytus and Tertullian wrote about the baptismal liturgy. In the Apostolic Tradition, Hippolytus goes into considerable detail about the baptismal process, beginning with the catechumenate instruction and proceeding step by step through the rite. He tends to focus on the ideal elements: a catechumenate period of three years, the use of pure flowing water and the assumption of the presence of the bishop so that the service can move directly from its conclusion with the kiss of peace into the Eucharist. Hippolytus does provide for the baptism of children who cannot answer for themselves.27 Tertullian makes provisions for the absence of a bishop, allowing even laymen a position, “...for what is equally received can be equally given”.28 Tertullian also allows for different times of the liturgical year, making baptism at Easter most solemn, at Pentecost most joyful, and acknowledging that “...every day is the Lord’s”, making any day

26

Edward Charles Whitaker, Documents of the Baptismal Liturgy (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1960), 1. 27 E.C. Whitaker, Documents of the Baptismal Liturgy, 5. 28 Hippolytus, De Baptismo, c.17. The Didascalia Apostolorum, a Syrian text of the third century, attests to the importance of women in performing the baptismal liturgy as only a female deacon should anoint a naked female candidate. See E.C. Whitaker, Documents of the Baptismal Liturgy, 10.

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appropriate.29 Tertullian may in fact be a better source than Hippolytus for understanding the baptismal rite of the early Church precisely because his imprecision suggests the actualities of practice rather than the symbolism of the ideal. From these and other early documents of the Church,30 the baptismal rite is revealed to have a number of variations in the instruction or sponsorship of candidates, the form of the elements, and their administration. That these variations in practice continue through the Middle Ages, with wide geographic latitude, is clear from just one passage of Hildephonsus of Toledo’s mid-seventh-century work, De Cognitione Baptismi: That he the catechumen is once immersed, he is sprinkled in the name of the one Deity. But if he were thrice immersed, the number of the three days of the Lord’s burial is shown forth. And therefore within the limits of our faith differing customs are not opposed to one another.31

While the catechism of adult candidates remained, after the sixth century public scrutinies of the candidate were more often made by sponsor’s proxy for infants; the rite for making an adult catechumen appears only in a special circumstances section in the Gelasian Sacramentary.32 29 Hippolytus, De Baptismo, c. 19. Although Augustine, in sermon 210, probably written between 391 and 396, more rigidly connects the baptismal and Easter celebrations, he too allows for baptism at any time: “...nobody is barred from baptism at any time throughout the year, as people may either need or desire, this being granted them by the one who ‘gave them the right to become children of God’.” See Augustine, Sermon 210, translated by Edmund Hill, Sermons III/6, in The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century, ed. by John E. Rotelle, 118-119. 30 See also Hugh M. Riley, Christian Initiation: A Comparative Study of the Interpretation of the Baptismal Liturgy in the Mystagogical Writings of Cyril of Jerusalem, John Chrysostom, Theodore of Mopsuestia, and Ambrose of Milan (Washington D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1974). 31 E.C. Whitaker, Documents of the Baptismal Liturgy, 105. Of course, Hildephonsus goes on to add that because the heretics do not understand the unity of a tripartite God, the Catholic Church in Spain is accustomed to sprinkle only once to emphasize this point. 32 Aidan Kavanagh, The Shape of Baptism: The Rite of Christian Initiation (New York: Pueblo Publishing Co., 1978), 55. See also Arthur McCormack, Christian Initiation (New York: Hawthorn Books, 1969), 70-74.

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Considerable regional variation marks the practices of post-baptismal anointing and confirmation, indicating the separation of sacraments as the liturgy was being less frequently said by bishops.33 The eighth-century Carolingian renaissance is critical in the study of the baptismal liturgy because the forms used in the later Middle Ages ultimately derive from these service books. During this period, the imperially-driven order for correcting service texts and standardizing them throughout the realm, Roman service books traveled to France for copying. Indeed, the anxiety the Carolingians experienced around heresies like the Eucharistic controversy specifically prompted an interest in developing a baptismal service to combat them, culminating in the 813 decree of the Council of Mayence that the full Roman rite be used throughout the realm.34 This decree accomplished two objectives: a rite with as much ceremony and authority as could be presented and the standardization of the rite. The Gelasian Sacramentary (compiled ca. 750) offers a good example of the basic Roman form for baptism. Held over several weeks, it begins with the admission to catechumenate (insufflation, crossing, salt). Scrutinies, commonly seven in number, weekly tested the candidates with the candidates leaving before the Mass. At the Easter vigil, the candidates received the exorcism, the ephephatha, were anointed, and pronounced the renunciato and confession of faith (redditio symboli).35 The baptismal service preceded the Easter Mass, beginning with the preparatory blessing of the font, signing the candidates with the cross and performing the insufflation, pouring chrism over water. Candidates then were asked the questions of the credo and immersed; the service concluded with the sealing with the chrism, laying on of hands in episcopal confirmation. The candidates then were permitted to participate in the Easter Mass, receiving 33

See Geoffrey Wainwright, Christian Initiation (Richmond: John Knox Press, 1969), 29-30. 34 O.B. Hardison, Jr., “The Lenton Agon: From Septuagesima to Good Friday”, Christian Rite and Christian Drama in the Middle Ages (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1965), 81. 35 Henry Barclay Sweete, rev. by Arthur John MacLean, Church Services and Service Books Before the Reformation (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1930), 103. For a thorough discussion of the shape of Mass books, see Andrew Hughes, Medieval Manuscripts for Mass and Office: a guide to their organization and terminology (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1982).

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21

as well milk and honey as a sign of their baptismal covenant.36 This provided the basic order of service elements. Differences were primarily expressed in individualized prayers, although the movement to infant baptism actually produced changes in the order of the service as the number of scrutinies was reduced and rewritten for proxy statement by godparents. Books presenting baptismal services tend to have regional identifications: Gaul (i.e. Missale Gothicum ca. 700), Milan (i.e. tenthcentury Ambrosian Manual) and Rome (i.e. Leonine Sacramentary, Gelasian Sacramentary, and Gregorian Sacramentary), Spain (Hildephonsis’ De Cognitione Baptismi). Variations occurred less in the order of the service and more in the prefaces and prayers included. England presents an interesting case because of its early adherence to the traditions of the Irish church and its shift to the Roman rites in the fifth century under Augustine of Canterbury.37 While in the main English rites reflected the order and service of the Roman rite, it was not without variation taken from the Gallican and the Celtic services. Besides special commemorations, missae, and rubrics, it possessed a wealth of proper prefaces unknown to the Gregorian Mass, and episcopal benedictions for which there was perhaps no Gregorian precedent. Such pre-Norman Service-books as the Leofric Missal, and the Missal of Robert of Jumièges, archbishop of Canterbury (1051-1052), bear witness to the presence of non-Roman elements in the English liturgy before the Conquest. But if the services of the Church of England were not purely Roman, they did not attain to the character of a national Use. In each diocese, there were local customs which grew into separate Uses.38

Even within England there was considerable variation with dioceses gaining in strength with the ecclesiastical reorganizations of the immediate

36 Henry Barclay Sweete, Church Services and Service Books Before the Reformation, 104. 37 See particularly Bede, A History of the English Church and People, translated by Leo Sherley-Price and revised by R.E. Latham, (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1968). 38 Henry Barclay Sweete, Church Services and Service Books Before the Reformation, 5.

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Chapter One

post-Conquest period, like those at York, Lincoln, and Salisbury, each having their own identifiable rite.39 Church councils give us an indication of repeated issues in institutional practice; two common aspects of baptismal practice raised by these documents are therefore crucial to understanding both baptism’s ecclesiastical position and its artistic consequences. Firstly, baptism was becoming increasingly a service administered by a priest (presbyter). Anxiety over the future of the soul led to the task of baptism being spread outward from the bishop’s responsibilities to the control of the priests. There were increasing numbers of baptismal churches in the Carolingian period, finally culminating on the presence of fonts in many, if not all, parish churches by the Romanesque period.40 This separation from its episcopal context and the service of confirmation meant a proliferation of celebrants and candidates and a focus on baptism at the parish level. Confirmation of the baptismal initiation was done only by a bishop, leading to a separation of the two rites. J.D.C. Fisher notes that the lack of bishops and the rite separations must have been particularly true in the early Middle Ages in England; he mentions rulings from the 747 Council of Clovesho regarding annual episcopal visitations of the whole parochia as an example.41 By the tenth century, an English service book, the Pontifical of Egbert, has two separate services for baptism and confirmation.42 The parish system developing from the end of the Carolingian period to the Romanesque period reflects the importance of baptism for the lay community. The second aspect of baptism that proved particularly resistant to institutional control was when the service was performed. The ideal theological emphasis dictated that the service should be performed only at the seasons of Easter and Pentecost, echoing larger themes of rebirth and the specific life of the Church. In the Gallic ca. 750-787 Ordo Romanus 39

Thomas Cranmer’s preface to the Book of Common Prayer in 1549 mentions several other distinct traditions developed over the course of the Middle Ages (St. Asaph, Ripon, Lichfield, Exeter, Wells, Winchester, and St. Paul’s London). See Henry Barclay Sweete, Church Services and Service Books Before the Reformation, 6. 40 J.D.C. Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West, (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1965), 75-77. 41 J.D.C. Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West, 80. 42 J.D.C. Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West, 82.

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XV, an order for baptism which may have been used at Epiphany was still included.43 Fisher even argues that the absence of time references in the Stowe Missal, the oldest English baptismal liturgy and one resting in Gallican traditions, reveals that the liturgy bent to the need to baptize at any time.44 Suggesting that the observation of the seasons was less honored than it should have been, the injunction to perform baptism only at these two seasons was repeated frequently in church councils: the Danube in 796, Aix-la-Chapelle in 802, Paris in 829, Meaux (845), Worms (868), Tribur (895); by the tenth century, canon law emphasized the preference for these two seasons. However, exceptions were always made in the possibility that the child should die before baptism. In extreme cases, usually if the health of the individual was at risk, baptism could be performed by deacons and even laity, including midwives. Robert Pullen gives a list of officiants in order of preference, from the pontiff/bishop, priest, deacon, layman, and finally the mother herself in cases of absolute emergency.45 A tradition of literature, particularly Gratian’s Decretum but also late twelfth-century French synods, also emphasizes priestly obligations to teach the laity themselves the correct formula.46 In such cases, the Trinitarian formula, plus aspersion with water was considered sufficient to secure the soul, particularly if the baptism were confirmed by a bishop should the individual survive.47 Canon law even legislated this ecclesiastic spiritual need; the late seventh century Ecclesiastical Laws of Ine, king of Wessex, imposed a fine on parents who did not have their child baptized within thirty days of birth.48 Similar laws were passed in the eleventh century Canons of King Edgar and the Laws of the Northumbrian 43

J.D.C. Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West, 62. J.D.C. Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West, 82. 45 Robert Pullen, De ceremoniis sacramentis officiis et observationibus ecclesiasticus 1-13 (ed. J.P. Migne, Patralogia Latina 177:389). 46 See Kathryn Ann Taglia, “The Cultural Construction of Childhood: Baptism, Communion, and Confirmation” in ed. Constance M. Rousseau and Joel T. Rosenthal, Women, Marriage and Family in Medieval Christendom (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 1998), 255-287 for a good introduction to these issues, although the emphasis of her article is on France in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. 47 “Baptism” entry, The New Schaff-Herzog Encyclopedia of Religious Knowledge, Vol. 2, 445. The condition placed on these baptisms in both the Catechismus Romanus and the Rituale Romanum is that it must use the proper Trinitarian formula. 48 J.D.C. Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West, 82. 44

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Presbyters, also an eleventh century document, levied a fine on parents if the child died before a baptism delayed more than nine days after birth.49 The Council of Rouen (1072) is perhaps the standard position: in general Easter and Pentecost should be observed as ideal but baptism should not be denied to infants at any time, rather than restricting this to an imminence of death.50 What we see in these laws is a lay anxiety about the disposition of the souls of children that countered the theological position of the institutional church. The considerable variation in practice can make it difficult to assess baptismal practices in small parishes where the service books used there are either no longer extant or in the holdings of the parish. However, the information available in extant service books and other accounts gives us a general idea of Romanesque period parish practice. The baptismal service basically followed the Roman rite. Contrary to the Roman emphasis on the seasons, baptismal practice frequently emphasized the doctrinal belief in the absolute requirement that the soul be joined to Christ in order to be saved. Baptism was too important a sacrament to wait for a particular season. This belief further results in the separation of baptism and confirmation. The English parish in the late eleventh and twelfth centuries, for instance, attended closely to the spiritual needs of its people and baptism was most important to basic salvation.

Parish Practice While the documentation of Lateran Councils is obviously more complete, it is nonetheless a history that focuses our attention at the upper echelon of the Church. The historical development of a parish structure is absolutely fundamental to our understanding of the sacraments in the Middle Ages. Administered at the episcopal level, the parish was the central unit of religious identity for the laity—it was local and focused on their spiritual needs specifically. In England, by the thirteenth century,

49 50

J.D.C. Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West, 86. J.D.C. Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West, 124.

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there were about 9500 parishes.51 The parish system was similarly active across France and the Scandinavian countries, especially Denmark and Gotland. Parishes therefore were the sites of local expression, distilled definitively for a less-educated, secular audience, of the ideas and practices of the contemporary Church. In the absence of written parish records, considerably rare in this period between ca.1050 and ca. 1220, art produced for these small local churches gives us insight into what theology was taught to the laity and how those ideas circulated within lay communities. Parishes in the Middle Ages could be formed in a number of different ways. Noting the correspondence between secular population centers and church locations, N.J.G. Pounds suggests that in the AngloSaxon period, creation of sees was a political act, requiring royal patronage.52 These cathedral minsters and their resultant daughter churches initially defined the parish (parochia) limits. Patronal churches, eigenkirche, were established as the benefaction of a lord (be he a secular lord or ecclesiastic landholder); these churches met the needs of manors and area villages not within the administrative bounds of the minsters or daughters.53 The establishment of a church was considered part of a patron’s duty to his tenants; “...Aethelstan could legislate that he who had four hides of land,..., a protected homestead, a seat at the king’s table and his own church, was henceforward...’worthy to be accounted a thegn’.”54 By the time of the Domesday Survey in 1086, the old minster system had 51

Robert N. Swanson, Church and Society in Late Medieval England (Oxford: Blackwell, 1989), 4. See also ed. John Blair and Richard Sharpe, Pastoral Care Before the Parish (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1992). For France, see Pierre Imbart de la Tour, Les Paroisses Rurales du 4e au 11e siècle: les origines religieusses de la France (Paris: Picard, 1900/1979). 52 N.J.G. Pounds, A History of the English Parish: From Augustine to Victoria, 17. 53 See G.W.O. Addleshaw, The Development of the Parochial System from Charlemagne (768-814) to Urban II (1088-1099), St. Anthony’s Hall Publications no. 6 (London: St. Anthony’s Press, 1954). See also N.J.G. Pounds, A History of the English Parish, 22-26. For a discussion of the difficulties of advowson as the secular gifting of something considered a spiritual element, see Christopher N.L. Brooke, “English Episcopal Acta of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries”, in ed. M.J. Franklin and Christopher Harper-Bill, Medieval Ecclesiastical Studies in honour of Dorothy M. Owen (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 1995), 47-48 particularly. 54 N.J.G. Pounds, A History of the English Parish, 29.

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largely been displaced by the patronal.55 These churches corresponded to population centers, attending to the spiritual necessities of a small community. Monasteries also interacted in the parish economy as lay benefactors gave churches as donations from religious piety.56 The monastery was then responsible for providing the priest in exchange for the church’s tithes, fees, and glebe.57 While considerable difficulties might arise around this practice, particularly when insufficient funds were provided to the vicar for his own use and the upkeep of his church,58 the monastery as patron or rector provides a different model of interaction between areas of the ecclesiastic institution.59 It suggests one area of possible contact between a population concerned with the abstractions of theology and a population concerned with the practicalities of curacy. The system of establishing these parish churches may also account for some contact between the upper and lower echelons of the ecclesiastical structure. Where the minster system is retained, there seems to have been considerable contact between the mother church and daughter houses.60 In the patronal model, at least some of the founding landowners were bishops or abbots, educated in keeping with their class

55

G.W.O. Addleshaw, The Development of the Parochial System, 11. On monastic acquisition of churches, see B.R. Kemp, “Monastic Possession of Parish Churches in the Twelfth Century”, 31/2 Journal of Ecclesiastical History, April 1980, 133-160. 57 Many different arrangements might be made; some deeds and wills only conferred the advowson on the monastery, for example. See R.A.R. Hartridge, A History of Vicarages in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1930), especially 24-29. 58 See N.J.G. Pounds, A History of the English Parish, 201 ff. and B.R. Kemp, “Monastic Possession of Parish Churches in the Twelfth Century”, 153-160. 59 One of the best short introductions to the make-up of parish clergy can be found in the M.Brett, “The Parish Clergy and their Churches”, in The English Church Under Henry I (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975), 216-233. Brett offers examples of all levels of ecclesiastic holding the office of vicar and the position of parish priest. 60 See for example P.H. Hase, “The Mother Churches of Hampshire”, in ed. John Blair, Minsters and Parish Churches: The Local Church in Transition 950-1200 (Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology, 1988), 45-66. 56

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and ecclesiastic roles.61 Even in cases where the lord disposed of the advowson of a patronal church by making a choice for priest, the choice was confirmed by the bishop; this was one of the key issues of investiture addressed at the First Lateran Council in 1123.62 In the institution of a medieval parish church, the upper and lower levels of the church might be brought together. Contact between bishops and parish priests must have occurred at other points, again with plenty of local variation. The 747 Council of Clovesho established the canon that the bishop should travel through his parish once a year and teach them.63 This canon was repeated elsewhere; the Lateran Council of 1179 expressly limits the costs of these visitations, for example. Size of a few dioceses, Lincoln for instance, might have prohibited a full episcopal visit but a shorter visit even here was undoubtedly possible.64 Consecrations were also an avenue for contact between parish priests and the upper ecclesiastical echelon.65 The sacrament of baptism required at least annual contact; the baptismal chrism, integral to the service, was obtained at Lent from the bishop at the

61 See for example the Chertsey Abbey churches (John Blair, Early Medieval Surrey: Landholding, Church and Settlement before 1300, Gloucester: A. Sutton and Surrey Archaeological Society, 1990). A more complete discussion is offered in M Deanesly, “The Late Old English Church: Bishops and Pastoral Care”, in Sidelights on the Anglo-Saxon Church (London: A. & C. Black, 1962), 104-136. 62 N.J.G. Pounds, A History of the English Parish, 49. 63 Anthea Jones, A Thousand Years of the English Parish, 42. See also C. Cubitt, “Pastoral Care and Conciliar Canons: the Provisions of the 747 Council of Clofesho”, in ed. J. Blair and R. Sharpe, Pastoral Care Before the Parish (Leicester:Leicester University Press, 1992). 64 John R.H. Moorman, Church Life in England in the Thirteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1955) amply demonstrates this for the thirteenth century, 185-187. 65 St. Cuthbert (635-687) is specifically mentioned by Bede as making church consecrations visits. St. Swithin, Bishop of Winchester (852-862), notably made trips on foot to consecrate village churches. See also G.W.O. Addleshaw, The Development of the Parochial System, 13.

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cathedral.66 The bishop was also supposed to make confirmation visits annually; the sacrament of baptism was incomplete without that of confirmation, which was solely the right and responsibility of the bishop. How much contact occurred on these occasions is unclear from the historical record; some bishops were more conscientious about these responsibilities than others.67 The institutional structure provided for periodic contact between groups. Particularly in the twelfth century, the position of archdeacon may further provide connection between the episcopal office and the churches of the parish, remembering that archdeacons’ power and presence varied widely from diocese to diocese. The archdeacon’s position was a post-Conquest adoption of the English parochial system.68 One important aspect of their constituency, determined from both council injunctions and clerical records, is that they were deacons, ordained priests.69 “With their territorial archdeaconries, and operating by episcopal appointment and authority, their duties extended over a wide range of ecclesiastical, spiritual and moral affairs touching the laity as well as the 66 G. W. O. Addleshaw, Rectors, Vicars and Patrons in Twelfth and Early Thirteenth Century Canon Law, 4-5 discusses the remittance of fees owed by the priest for that chrism even when fees for burial and marriage were still necessary. Tim Tatton-Brown, “The Churches of Canterbury Diocese in the 11th Century” in ed. Blair, John, Minsters and Parish Churches, 105 and 116-117, notes that in eleventh-century Kent, some churches received their chrism not from the cathedral but from their minster mother-church; he transcribes the c. 1200 transcript from the White Book of St. Augustine’s which lists these approximately twenty churches. The basic argument of contact between ecclesiastic levels is not weakened if the connection is only at the minster and not the cathedral level. 67 Bede, Vita Cuthberti, I:29, mentions how conscientious Cuthbert was in his episcopal visits; Bishop Wulfstan is mentioned as conducting mass confirmations on a single day. A Poenitentiale from the time of Theodore, Archbishop of Canterbury, (late seventh century) allowed that confirmations might occur in a field (John T. McNeill and Helena M. Gamer, Medieval Handbooks of Penance (New York: Columbia University Press, 1938). 68 Christopher N.L. Brooke, “The Archdeacon and the Norman Conquest”, collected in Churches and Churchmen in Medieval Europe (London: The Hambledon Press, 1999), 117-137. He notes that there are but a few references to the office before 1066 but by 1092 there is evidence of at least one archdeacon in almost every diocese (118-119). 69 Christopher N.L. Brooke, “The Archdeacon and the Norman Conquest”, p. 120. This is an interesting case where the evidence seems to support the councils’ injunctions—most followed the requirement rather than not being a deacon.

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clergy.”70 One of their primary tasks was the supervision of parish churches and their revenues, “...helping to ensure effective diocesan control over the patronage and possession of churches and over the appointments of incumbents.”71 Evidence suggests that in the arena of parochial revenues, the diocese was vigilant and assertive and that the position of archdeacon would provide critical connection between levels of the ecclesiastical administration. One other arena that should be considered in the circulation of ideas about sacraments is the education of the parish priest. No doubt it varied widely. The development of a university system in cities such as Paris and Bologna was clearly influential in some part for parish priests in nearby urban centers.72 Traditionally dismissed as generally ill-educated, even by their contemporaries, priestly education, like that of the medieval peasantry in general, is filled with lacunae and discrepancies. The roughest demographics of the priesthood reveal these differences; clergy might come from many different levels from the second sons of nobles to the upper peasantry.73 Levels of literacy fluctuate widely. Training seems to have been largely by rote and yet the formal organization of clerical education from minor orders like door-keeper or acolyte to major orders like deacon and priest suggests more than a modicum of training and learning.74 If the priest had passed through a monastery or cathedral school, he would likely have studied liturgy and plainsong, if nothing

70

Brian Kemp, “Informing the Archdeacon on Ecclesiastical Matters in TwelfthCentury England”, in ed. M.J. Franklin and Christopher Harper-Bill, Medieval Ecclesiastical Studies in honour of Dorothy M. Owen,132. 71 Brian Kemp, “Informing the Archdeacon on Ecclesiastical Matters in TwelfthCentury England”, 132. 72 See David Knowles, “The Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries” in ed. C.R. Dodwell, The English Church and the Continent (London: The Faith Press Ltd., 1959), 25-41, and Marcia Colish, Medieval Foundations of the Western Intellectual Tradition 400-1400, 265-273. 73 See Edward L. Cutts, Parish Priests and their People in the Middle Ages in England (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1914), 127-128. While Cutts is primarily concerned with the period from the thirteenth century to the Reformation, he occasionally provides useful information about these earlier periods. 74 Roger Bacon, Compendium Studii, quoted in Dorothy M. Meade, The Medieval Church in England (Worthing, West Sussex: Churchman Publishing, 1988), 3-7.

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else.75 Even this small bit of learning implies the ability to read and write. Most of the seven orders of clergy mentioned by Peter Lombard are explicitly described as requiring the ability to read.76 The requirement that every church have some service books certainly suggests an expectation that the priest be able to read them. Clerical education was specifically an issue connected with the sacraments. Peter Lombard addresses it when discussing the sacrament of baptism. He cites an example from Zacharias to Boniface about a priest whose knowledge of Latin was so broken as to say “Baptizo te in nomine Patria et Filia et Spiritu sancta” and Zacharias felt that as the priest errs only in the grammar but not in the spiritual sentiments, the baptism must be considered sound.77 In the wake of the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215, considerable emphasis is placed on teaching the parish priest more thoroughly in specific connection with the sacraments.78 By the thirteenth century, St. Thomas Aquinas asserts that the parish priest need only know how to administer the sacraments and no Scriptures are required.79 Licenses were granted for incumbents to leave their parish positions for study; sometimes this was even required.80 There is also evidence of education aimed specifically at improving the quality of parish ministry. With increased gifts of churches to monasteries, more monks were holding

75

N.J.G. Pounds, A History of the English Parish, 160. Useful in this discussion are also the seminal but somewhat out-dated Arthur F. Leach, The Schools of Medieval England (New York: Barnes and Noble, reprint 1969) and the more recent and progressive works of Nicholas Orme, English Schools in the Middle Ages (London: Methuen, 1973) and Education and Society in Medieval and Renaissance England (London: The Hambledon Press, 1989). 76 Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book IV: Distinction XXIV: 5-12. 77 Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book IV, Distinction VI: 4. 78 L.E. Boyle, “The Oculus Sacerdotis and Some Other Works of William of Pagula”, 5 Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th series, 1955, 81. 79 N.J.G. Pounds, A History of the English Parish, 161. 80 John R. H. Moorman, Church Life in England in the Thirteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1955), 96.

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presbyter positions within these parishes.81 Aelfric of Eynsham (ca. 9551020) wrote a collection of homilies to be used in preaching and teaching.82 Archbishop Wulfstan of Worcester, Aelfric’s contemporary (ca. 1008-1095), also focused on parochial duties. Honorius Augustodunensis’ 1125 Elucidarium is similarly part of a monastic-based catechesis program geared specifically to those in parish work. The connection between the ecclesiastical hierarchy and the parish serving the needs of the laity is therefore stronger than past studies have given it credit for being. There were ample opportunities—from the councils, from visitations, from economic administration—for the contemporary issues of the church to permeate to the local level. It does not guarantee that any individual theological issue was part of the consciousness of the average layperson, only that there were openings between these communities. Indeed, what trickles down to the parish lay community is not the debate about the sacraments but the distilled conclusion of these debates. If we consider clerical education as well, it seems clear that the education of parish priests likely required at least some rudimentary reading skills and focused almost exclusively on the understanding and administration of the sacraments. The clergy who oversaw the decoration of churches with architectural sculpture and liturgical furniture clearly created an influence of narratives and theologies which narrowed the iconographies on these works; they simplified the 81

As B.R. Kemp points out in “Monastic Possession of Parish Churches in England in the Twelfth Century”, the question of monks serving as parish priests is a thorny one. See also D.J.A. Matthew, The Norman Monasteries and their English Possessions (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1962) and Marjorie Chibnall, “Monks and Pastoral Work: a problem in Anglo-Norman history”, in 18 Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 1967, 165-172. While unclear exactly how monks served secular/lay communities, the practice was inveighed against in many twelfth-century councils, most notably in the First Lateran Council of 1123, suggesting that monastic vicars were both a practice (however widespread) and a concern. Certainly, as Kemp illustrates, canons regular such as the Augustinians and Premonstratensians could and did serve as parish priests (145-6). Even if, as R.A.R. Hartridge suggests, monastic incumbents are the exception rather than the rule (A History of Vicarages in the Middle Ages, 25), some were serving in parishes and creating a different environment than other parish incumbents. 82 Aelfric as well forbade the common practice of holding multiple parish positions, as “...he cannot discharge the full service in both places together.” F. M. Powicke and C.R. Cheney, Councils and Synods with Other Documents Relating to the English Church (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964), 301.

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discussion dramatically to those elements which taught orthodoxy and discouraged heterodoxy among the viewing population. Visual presentation is itself influenced by literacy and education on the parish level and is in part reinforcing a limited narrative for those with limited learning.

Conclusion These issues of theology, liturgy, and institution all have a direct influence on the art of objects made to enact the liturgy of baptism. The number of fonts and their placement even in the smallest of parishes shows their importance. The concern for what needed to be taught—to laity, to parish clergy—and the anxiety around the condition of the soul has a direct effect on the iconography of these fonts as well. Iconographies which limit the intricacies of the theological debate to the most basic discussion become the standard images on these fonts—sin, through Adam and Eve; salvation, through Christ assuming human nature; and structure, through the institution of baptism in Christ’s own baptism and the continuance through the Church’s liturgy.

CHAPTER TWO ICONOGRAPHIES OF INCARNATION: FOUNDATION AND RESTORATION

The brightness of your face [that is, the Son, Christ] by which your image is formed in us, by which our image is formed in us, by which image we are similar to you, this brightness is signed upon us, that is, it is impressed by our reason which is the highest part of the soul by which we are similar to God, the brightness is imprinted on our reason like a soul in wax —Peter Lombard

The power of incarnation in the spiritual imagination of Romanesque period Christians was strong, as expressed in two of the most common subjects: Adam and Eve and the incarnation stories of Jesus. At its heart, the baptismal sacrament is that combination of elements which cleanse the exterior body in order to clean the interior soul from the contamination of sin, particularly the sin of Origin, fundamentally a sin which affects the mortal being as a condition of biological descent. The primary message is the inheritance of mortality through disobedience and punishment as well as the potential for eternal life through obedience and grace. For period theologian Hugh of St. Victor, all existence, expressed in the narrative of the Scriptures from Creation to Eschaton, is structured by either foundation or restoration, and indeed, the dialectic between the two.1 Incarnation iconography is clearly part of this dynamic, coupling the Fall as the foundation for sin with Christ as the restoration from sin through the body of the candidate in the liturgical actions at the font. If Adam and Eve’s story were the sole focus of baptismal imagery, it would be enough—it is a didactic reminder that through 1

Hugh of St. Victor, De Sacramentis Christianae Fidei, Prologue of the First Book of Sacraments, ch. 2. trans. Roy J. Deferrari, Hugh of St. Victor on the Sacraments of the Christian Faith (Cambridge: Medieval Academy of America, 1951), 3.

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humanity’s sinful disobedience, we became mortal and separated from God. This chapter therefore begins with isolated discussions of each of these iconographies of incarnation. But as we see in the period theology of the sacraments and in the decorations which create a programmatic understanding on the fonts, each iconography does not fully express baptismal theology. Just as important as the fact of humanity’s Fall from God was the solution by which humanity was able to return to God. The subject of Christ’s incarnation takes a prominent place in the decoration of these narrative fonts as a reminder to their audience that human salvation comes through the suffering, human body of Christ. Both subjects are integral to the medieval Christian understanding of the baptismal miracle and, as such, are incomplete when shown alone. A complex sliding understanding of Christian history is presented. Adam and Eve are present in the past of their own historic disobedience, in the present of the candidate’s bodily inheritance of their condition, and in the future through their presence in the salvific scene of Harrowing of Hell which presages mortal resurrection. Christ’s incarnation is past, in the historical body killed in the Passion, present, in the memorializing act of the Eucharist, and future, in the references to his Second Coming and also in the body of the Church which receives the cleansed body of the candidate. All kinds of bodies are tied together: Adam’s and Eve’s, Christ’s, the candidate’s, the symbolic body of the Church, and the liturgical body of Christ in the Mass. Given the period preoccupations with sacramental definition and theology, these visual connections are highly desired. They express in tangible form the jointure of sacraments and their necessity within the institution of the Church. These images of Adam and Eve and of Christ’s incarnation provide strong visual statements about the human condition and its need for the sacramental remedies of baptism and the Eucharist. This tangible vision compliments the theological statements developed in period writings to create a unified position on the contested issues of the sacraments. The individual iconographies of incarnation, Adam and Eve and Christ’s infancy, suit the theological interpretation of image formation set by Peter Lombard. Looking at these iconographies can help us understand the ways each motif visually expressed the theological concerns of the period for the lay community. These are the distillation of the concerns of the educated ecclesiastics for “consumption” in the sacramental life of the

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parish. What is further compelling are the ways in which these iconographies are combined around the critical theme of incarnation. These Romanesque fonts, which run the artistic gamut from beautifully carved to rough approximations of the human form, fit into a simple program of critical ideas of incarnation, initiation, and institution at the heart of the period’s sacramental theology.

Emphasizing Mortality: Adam and Eve Imagery The Genesis story of Adam and Eve does occasionally appear in isolation, though it is far more common to place the scene in a programmatic conjunction with other iconographies of incarnation or initiation, as we will see. Whether a single scene or an extended sequence, the visual narratives are chosen to underscore contemporary baptismal theology around the story. Fundamentally, the themes of Adam and Eve’s story pivoted on the paradise of God lost through sin and its eternal consequence for humanity. The fonts discussed in this section all tend to be influenced strongly by cross-currents in different media or workshop productions made for wide markets which choose the story as a simplified condensation of twelfth-century baptismal theology. Elision is a common expression of this story for Romanesque fonts. The font at Oxhill (Warwickshire) places Adam and Eve as single figures, naked and covering their genitals while between them is a Tree of Knowledge with an entwined serpent. The snake is present, tempting Adam and Eve away, while simultaneously they stand naked and ashamed on either side. Adam and Eve are the only figures on the font; the other arches enclose leaves, vines, and flowers. The style of the font, with its interlaced arches and patterned geometric and foliate panels suggests a strong connection with other media, either metalwork or ivory that might

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explain the motif isolatioon and decorative repetitionn.2 Presented frontally, stiffly standding under theeir detailed arches, the vieewer sees theem as the icon of tempptation and coonsequence alll at once.

2-1 Adam an nd Eve, Oxhill (Warwickshirre), twelfth cen ntury (Conway y Library, The Courtau uld Institute off Art, London)

Sevveral fonts actually a expand the storyy of Adam and a Eve, choosing a full narrativee range from m the Creationn of Eve thrrough the Temptation//Fall to the Exxpulsion and Labors. L East M Meon (Hampsshire) has 2

See the leadd fonts such as Frampton-on-S Severn (Glouceestershire) in C.S. C Drake, The Romanessque Fonts of Northern N Europ pe and Scandinnavia (Woodbrridge: The Boydell Presss, 2002), pl. 368, Berneuil (France; Drakke pl. 369), an nd PaluelConteville (France, Drake pll. 379); in each of these cases,, the patterning is directly an effect of tthe facture butt copying in the different matterial of limesttone could account for tthe Oxhill desiign. George Zaarnecki, in his examination of the later twelfth-centuury font at Coleeshill (Warwick kshire) notes a cross-media treend in this work as well (Later Englissh Romanesquee Sculpture 11140-1210 (Lon ndon: Alec Tiranti, 1953)), 53.

IIconographies of o Incarnation: Foundation F andd Restoration

37

a font made in Tournai (B Belgium) whicch shows the eelaboration off the story on two sidess.

2-2 Creation n of Eve (RIIGHT) and Temptation/Fal T ll (LEFT), Ea ast Meon (Hampshire//Tournai), mid d-twelfth centu ury (Chris Gun nns)

2-3 Expulsioon (RIGHT) and a Labors of Adam and E Eve (LEFT), East E Meon (Hampshire//Tournai), mid d-twelfth centu ury (Chris Gun nns)

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At East Meon, the Genesis story of Adam and Eve is extended over both in several scenes. Some of the interest in the full Genesis Adam and Eve story, rather than in the condensed Temptation/Fall scene, might be explained by this font’s production in Tournai marble for the export trade. The East Meon font is something akin to “off the rack”— made completely and purchased as a standard form, rather than planned and created for a specific patron. The majority, if not all, of Tournai stone was carved before export. Objects left Tournai either via water along the Scheldt River to the North Sea or via the Roman roads to Boulogne; Boulogne also served as a channel crossing point for the importation of stone to England.3 This font was a purchase of Henry of Blois, Bishop of Winchester (1129-1171), and one of four Tournai fonts he imported to England (Winchester, East Meon, St. Mary Bourne, and St. Michael’s, Southampton); this likely was a part of the fashion trend that sparked an interest in Purbeck limestone as a material in the Gothic period.4 The font at Vänge (Gotland, Sweden) also shows this elaboration of the Adam and Eve story, explicable because it is a product of the productive and strongly identified workshop of Hegwaldr.5 That this was a familiar iconography in its extended form, considered suitable for baptismal fonts can be seen in its use on other Swedish fonts at Ekeby, Östra Vemmenhög, Ekeby, Östra Nöbbelöv, Östra Eneby (which extends to the Cain and Abel story) and on the German fonts from Lünen (which also includes Cain and Abel) and Burgdorf.

3

Paul Rolland (“Expansion tournaisienne au xie et xiie siecle: art et commerce de la pierre”, originally published in Annales de l’Academie Royale d’ArchŽologie de Belgique in 1924) and Elizabeth Schwartzbaum, “Three Tournai Tombslabs in England”, Gesta 20, 1981, 89-97. 4 For the discussion of Tournai marble font popularity in the twelfth-century, see particularly F.S. Drake, “Tournai Marble Baptismal Fonts of the Twelfth Century”, MA thesis, University of Essex, 1992; for discussion of the Purbeck industry, see Nicholas Penny The Materials of Sculpture (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993); L.F. Salzman, “Stone: Quarries”, in Building in England, down to 1540. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952). For Henry’s influence particularly, see George Zarnecki, “Henry of Blois as a Patron of Sculpture”, 385-398, reprinted in Further Studies in Romanesque Sculpture (London: Pindar Press, 1992), 386. 5 Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, 131-4.

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Even fonts like Hook Norton (Oxfordshire) where the figures are singularly isolated and specifically labeled on their chests have elements of the elision of the narrative: Eve holds one hand to her face while covering herself with the other; Adam holds tools. The key elements of the message—shame and acceptance of the consequent punishment—are present even if the narrative emphasis is lacking. It is tempting to dismiss the font at Hook Norton as local and untutored; because the carving style is rough, disproportionate, and unfinished, so too we assume the program must be unlettered.6 And indeed, the isolation of motifs may make it difficult to parse a coherent baptismal theology from the imagery. One possible reading may center on its two other recognizable figures—Sagittarius and Aquarius, parts of the zodiac as a calendar and suggestive of the connections between baptism and the secular passage of time.7 Despite the apparent disconnect between these iconographies, the vigorous discussion of the appropriate season for baptism which was occurring in the period may have resonated for the planner/viewer. Beyond the secular calendar and the idea of work suggested in the figures of Adam and Eve, there were texts which connected the zodiac and baptism. In a sermon by the fourthcentury theologian Zeno of Verona, the zodiac was explained as Christian virtues, with the water signs Aquarius and Pisces signaling baptism and

6

Hook Norton is near Banbury (Oxfordshire) which was under the control as an active manor for the Bishop of Lincoln in the later Romanesque period. ('Banbury: Manors', A History of the County of Oxford: Volume 10: Banbury hundred (1972), 42-49. http://www.british-history.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=63791&strquery= Hook Norton Date accessed: 02 July 2009.). In the late eleventh century, the priest Wulfric may have been connected to the church at Banbury (Pipe R. 1186 (P.R.S. xxxvi), 83; MS. Bodley 718, f. 179.; Banbury: Churches', A History of the County of Oxford: Volume 10: Banbury hundred (1972), 95-120. URL: http://www.british-history.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=63795&strquery=Hook Norton Date accessed: 02 July 2009.) Both are possible connections for the ideas in the Hook Norton font’s design. 7 Frances Altvater, Chores, “Computation and the Second Coming: Calendar Images and Romanesque Baptismal Fonts”, Harriet Sonne de Torrens, ed. Studies in the Visual Culture of Baptism (Ashgate, 2013). Also Mary Charles Murray, “The Christian Zodiac on a Font at Hook Norton: Theology, Church and Art”, ed. Diana Wood, The Church and the Arts: Papers Read at the 1990 Summer Meeting and the 1991 Winter Meeting of the Ecclesiastical History Society (Cambridge: Basil Blackwell for the Ecclesiastical History Society, 1992), 89-95.

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2-4 Eve, fon nt at Hook Norton N (Oxforrdshire), late eleventh centtury-early twelfth centu ury (BSI)

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Sagittarius as the armor of God in Ephesians 6:11-15.8 That the sermon was known in the Romanesque period has been demonstrated at San Isidore-de-Leon, and there is the suggestion that the symbols could have been read similarly at Hook Norton.9 The zodiac, in conjunction with Adam and Eve, could make a statement about baptism as a remedy for the 8 Trans. Kristin Solias, Zeno of Verona, PL v. 11, Tractatus XLIII: And so I say, brothers and sisters, such a natal star is yours. First, not Aries (the Ram) but the Lamb, who rejects none who believe in Him, rescued you: He who clothed your nakedness with the snowy radiance of His fleece, who tenderly poured His own blessed milk into your open lips to quench your thirst. Likewise, not Taurus (the Bull), swollen of neck, stern of brow, and menacing of horn, but the very calf who is best, sweet, pleasant, and mild counsels you, so that in any work, seeking no omens, submitting without malice to His yoke which tames your flesh, and fertilizing the earth, you may bring the joyful harvest of divine seeds to the celestial granaries. And He advises salvation through the companions Gemini (the Twins), that is, the two melodious testaments, so that you may escape immodesty, greed, and chiefly idolatry, which is the incurable Cancer. Our Leo (the Lion), moreover, is the lion’s cub of Genesis, as is testified, for whom we celebrate this pious sacrament, who for this, reclining, fell asleep so that he might conquer death, and for this awoke so that he might grant us the gift of the immortality of his blessed resurrection. Prophesying Virgo (the Virgin) is followed suitably by Libra (the Balance), so that we might know equality and justice across the land through the Son of God, who having been made flesh proceeded from the virgin, so that He should faithfully provide and firmly maintain this balance. Let me declare, just as the Lord affirms in the Gospels, that He will trample, entirely unharmed of foot, not only Scorpio (the Scorpion) but also every snake. And never shall He fear even the devil himself, who truly is that fiercest Sagittarius (the Archer), armed with diverse and fiery arrows, molesting at every moment the hearts of all the human race, on account of which the Apostle Paul thus affirms: Put on, all of you, the armor of God, that you may be able to stand together against the villainies of the devil; through this welcome shield of faith you will be able to extinguish all the fiery arrows of that evil (Ephes. 6:11/16). For this devil sometimes looses from the gallows Capricorn (the Horned Goat) deformed of visage, and bubbling up from frothing veins, he rages miserably with attenuated horn through every limb from the trembling ruin of captivity. He makes some men mad, others deranged, murderous, adulterous, impious, or blind with greed. It would take too long to list every single one, for he has innumerable and varied skills for causing harm: but our Aquarius (the Water-bearer), flowing from the healing stream, is wont, through no great labor, to counter these (skills). And so follows last in sign Pisces (the Two Fish), showing that, from Jews and Gentiles, by the living water of baptism, by one sign sealed, two peoples become one people in Christ. 9 Serafin Moralejo Alvarez, “Pour l’interpretation iconographique du portail de l’agneau a Saint-Isidore de Leon: Les Signes du Zodiaque”, Les Cahiers de SaintMichel de Cuxa, 1977, 137-174.

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human condition that not only is not bounded by secular temporal concerns but which brings virtues to the faithful. The idea that even a font as roughly executed as Hook Norton might present these ideas about the important theology of baptism as fully grounded in the period debates is important for our understanding of the Romanesque narrative imagery seen on fonts. Sacramental definition was so much a part of Romanesque theology that the visualization on the parish level was an integral part of this discussion. Fonts provided a forum for lay understanding of the didactic position of the church, distilled from the sacramental theology at issue in contemporary texts.

Original Sin and Baptismal Context The iconography of the Adam and Eve, whether the full story or the condensed Temptation and Fall is perhaps the most theologically straightforward of all the motives found on baptismal fonts. It is fundamentally about humanity’s incarnation, descended from Adam and Eve and marked by their sin. This story defines the concept of Original Sin, the primary theological reason for the sacrament of baptism. Baptism washes the stain of Original Sin from the soul. Conceptually, there is a connection between Adam and Christ in the theology of baptism: born tainted with the sin of the one, baptism in the name and faith of the other cleanses the soul. Understanding the roots of baptismal theology up to the Romanesque period is critical. These sources provided the critical authority for later interpretations. The ultimate foundation were the pronouncements of Jesus in the Gospels, particularly John 3, that “...unless one is born anew, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” Christ’s emphasis placed on the integral position of baptism raises the question of why it is so important; the Church needs to explain why faithful adherence to Jesus’ teachings must be accompanied by baptismal initiation. The earliest church texts, Paul’s letters from the first century, articulate orthodox belief of Original Sin explicitly “...as sin came into the world through one man and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all men sinned—sin indeed was in the world before the law was given...” Romans 5:12-13). In other letters to early Christian communities, Paul connected Adam (and Eve) and Christ: “For as by a man came death, by a man has

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come also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive” (I Corinthians 15:21-22, also I Timothy 2:13-15). Centered on the motif of baptism as a death and a rebirth, Paul’s writings to the early Church clearly established the idea that humankind is guilty and punished because of Adam and Eve’s sin and redeemed by Jesus Christ. In the second century, Justin Martyr also showed concern about the issue of Original Sin. Since at our birth we were born without our own knowledge or choice, from the moist seed at the union of our parents with each other, and have existed in bad habits and evil conduct; in order that we may not remain children of ignorance and necessity but become children of choice and knowledge, and might obtain the forgiveness of sins created in the past, there is called in the water upon the one who chooses to be regenerated and who repents of sins the name of God the Master and Father of all…This bath is called illumination, since those who learn these things are illuminated in their understanding…10

Justin Martyr’s interpretation of baptism is clearly tinged by ideas of Classical philosophy that will appear in other theologies of baptism. Though born innocent we are brought about through sin and raised necessarily as human and fallible. There is an element of choice which clearly appealed to the pagan demographic but also suggests a Platonic idea of mortal state and a will of the soul to be reunited with the Divine, a motif that obviously tinges Augustine’s theology as well. Baptism provides a remedy that remits not only the sins the individual has committed but cleanses the candidate of the sin of mortal embodiment which was committed upon him. Similarly, the rite confers “choice and knowledge”, a grace that comes from the sacrament that is a benefit to the soul. Baptism therefore changes not only present status but also inspires future action toward God. The issue of the sins remitted by baptism and how long one should wait before baptism begins to take shape in the third century and 10

Justin Martyr, First Apology, 61:10-12; translated in Everett Ferguson, Baptism in the Early Church: History, Theology, and Liturgy in the First Five Centuries, Wm. B. Eerdmans, 238.

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will be a matter of continued anxiety in the Middle Ages, with the broad range of at the end of one’s life to remit the greatest number of sins (Tertullian, and clearly a common practice still in the later fourth century as we see with Augustine’s own spiritual journey) to the symbolic and significant emphasis on only at Easter and Pentecost to the frantic expediency of as soon as the child may be said to be separated in any part from the mother. The base understanding, however, is not at issue: baptism remitted all sins from the one shared as a part of being human to those committed out of action or inaction. Origen of Alexandria wondered what sins a child could have committed; baptism seemed simultaneously unnecessary for those who have yet to sin and critical for those at the end of their lives who might be saved by baptismal forgiveness. Cyprian of Carthage argues that while the symbolism of waiting eight days for baptism mirrors the covenantal mark of circumcision which baptism was held to replace, better not to lose a single soul by waiting, since all souls are tainted: But again, if even to the greatest sinners, and to those who had sinned much against God, when they subsequently believed, remission of sins is granted—and nobody is hindered from baptism and from grace—how much rather ought we to shrink from hindering an infant, who, being lately born, has not sinned, except in that, being born after the flesh according to Adam, he has contracted the contagion of the ancient death at its earliest birth, who approaches the more easily on this very account to the reception of the forgiveness of sins—that to him are remitted, not his own sins, but the sins of another.11

It is Augustine who formulated most conclusively the theology of baptism, with regard to its sacramental standing, its constitution of grace, rite, and elements, and its remedial function. Augustine was working against the Pelagians who argued that Original Sin was simply the imitation of Adam and could be eliminated simply by imitation of Christ, no baptism necessary.12 Augustine’s certainty of the necessity for baptism is both scripturally and institutionally based and his explanation of it rests in the idea that the Fall produced a physical corruption that is passed on (in the only way possible, through physical procreation) to progeny. The 11

Cyprian, Epistle 58: To Fidus: On Baptism of Infants. Mary Clark, Augustine (Washington: D.C.: Georgetown University Press, 1994), 48.

12

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good soul joined to the corrupted body is therefore corrupted and necessitates cleansing. It is this “genetic” reasoning that leads Augustine to the conclusion that all children must be baptized in order to be saved. Baptism stands as a ceremony, instituted by Christ and transmitted through the orthodox authority of the Church, which uses the visible signs of a sacramental washing in order to convey an invisible grace which cleanses the soul. As a sacramental remedy, baptism remits the guilt and stain of Original Sin within the individual candidate but as that cleansed soul is still present in the tainted body, it continues to pass on lapsarian sin.13 In the late eleventh and twelfth centuries, prompted by the Scholastic methodologies and agendas, the authors of Sentence collections often addressed the Fall and the nature of the sins which it engendered in humanity.14 In a Scholastic enterprise of considering all of human history and its relationship with the Divine, the question of the nature of the Trinitarian God and His form before the creation of the world, and humanity’s condition before the Fall are an intense philosophical conjecture. The idea of what humanity might have been like before the Fall—possessed of free will with full grace and without the consequences of separation from God, sexual lust, physical maintenance of the body, even death—are all imagined by period theologians, from Abelard to Peter Lombard (Book 2, distinctions 19-20 particularly). The Augustineindebted theology of the pre-lapsarian state imagined by Peter Lombard creates a tension between a mortal body which is able to die and the grace conferred by God in its immortality; the Fall removes the grace of God to

13

Augustine uses the analogies of hulled wheat that when planted creates wheat with a hull, wild and domestic olive trees, or a circumcised man who has a son with a foreskin. See for example Augustine, Answer to Julian , Book 6, 18-21, part of the Anti-Pelagian series, translated by Roland Teske, I/24, in The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century, ed. by John E. Rotelle, Augustine Heritage Institute (Hyde Park: New City Press, 199-), 489-490. 14 Writers who address this material include the major thelogians of the period: Honorius Augustudensis, the author of the Sententiae Anselmi, Hugh of St. Victor, Roland of Bologna, William of Champeaux, Robert of Meulen, and Peter Lombard. See Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1994), 372-377 for a fuller discussion.

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put the primacy of human existence in the mortal, fallible body.15 “What is at stake in the discussion of the relationship between nature and grace is the extent to which the human being is able to give positive meaning to his or her own life, the role of God in creation, and, ultimately, the autonomy or heteronomy of the created world.”16 For twelfth-century theologians, the Fall is humankind’s pivotal point and the exploration of human nature before the event emphasized both the necessity for current (Christian, sacramental) action and the possibilities for the soul in a posteschatological state. As a pressure of both sacramental theology and canon law in the twelfth century, the theologians of the period are intensely interested in a psychology of sin. Abelard considers that there is no Original Sin, only intentional committed sins; he argues that humanity bears the punishment but not the guilt for Adam’s actions.17 This is clearly the logical extreme and was considered a heretical position at the time. In contrast, other theologians attempted to systematize sin, allowing for the various explanations of the kinds of Adam’s and Eve’s sins. “The School of Laon sets the tone for what would become a widely held view, derived from Jerome and Augustine, that distinguishes temptation (suggestio), whether inner or outer, from contemplation of the sin toward which the temptation points (delectatio), and from the voluntary capitulation to the temptation (consensus), in which the sin is seen to reside, whether or not the intention is expressed in external action.”18 Peter Lombard then takes these degrees defining the committing of sin and applies them to the Fall specifically. Like other authors, he is interested in creating a logical argument around whose sin, Adam’s or Eve’s, is greater, concluding that Eve’s presumption that makes her want to be the equal of God and Adam’s failure of wisdom in his actions are both mortal culpabilities.19 He thus reconciles the

15

Peter Lombard, The Sentences, Book 2, Distinction XIX, ch. 2-4. Translated by Guilio Silano, Peter Lombard: The Sentences V. 2: On Creation (Toronto: Pontifical Institute for Medieval Studies, 2008), 82-84. 16 Philipp W. Rosemann, Peter Lombard (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 111. 17 Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, 388. 18 Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, 373-374, working from the Sentence collections of Anselm of Laon, William of Champeaux, and the School of Laon. 19 Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, 378-380.

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schools of thought and emphasizes the varieties of sin brought into the world with the Fall. Original Sin was seen as having a variety of effects on humanity. Spiritually, the effect is ignorance, particularly of God’s will, and the corruption of our free will which, according to Peter Lombard, was weakened so that humanity now lacked the freedom from committing sin.20 The Fall created in mankind a condition in which the will can, all too easily, be tempted into concupiscence instead of always making the godly choice. Robert Pullen stresses that the body itself is tainted: subject to illness, decay, and mortality.21 Sexuality and its procreative result are debased by the sins of Adam and Eve. Fleshly incarnation creates a body tainted by sin even before the soul within might be capable of actively committing a sin. Though cleansed in soul, that body carries the physical effects of Original Sin; it still bears the punishment meted out to it through Adam and Eve in the Fall.

Incarnation in Transformation: Iconographies of Christ’s Incarnation Peter Cramer suggests that the appeal of baptism for medieval Christians is that it offers an immediate and complete remedy for the sinful condition into which humanity is born, claiming a “...deep conviction of the Middle Ages...that man is a victim with little to say in his own fate.”22 Baptism cleanses the soul of its Original Sin though the body must remain subject to the physical corruption and death it has engendered. But as Peter Lombard makes clear from his discussion of Original Sin, the very nature of the sin—temptation from without, by the devil—made it possible that humankind could be redeemed through God’s grace in Christ’s own embodiment and sacrifice.23 The discussion of human embodiment, however, is inextricable from that of Christ, in its miraculous account, unique substance, and transformative nature. 20

Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, 383-385. Robert Pullens, Sententiarum Libri Octo, Book V, c. XV, quoted in Elizabeth Rogers, Peter Lombard and the Sacramental System (Merrick: Richwood, 1976), 50. 22 Peter Cramer, Baptism and Change in the Early Middle Ages c. 200-c.1150, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 114. 23 Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book 2, Distinction XXI, 7; Silano, V. 2, 95-96. 21

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Romanesque sacramental theology and its visualization in the decorations on baptismal fonts are both attentive to the interrelationship of these embodiments within the sacrament of baptism. The emphasis on the embodiment of Christ can be again summed up in one statement by Peter Lombard: “In fact, the mission of the Son is the Incarnation itself: for he was sent so as to appear visibly to the world in the form of man.”24 Most sentence collections visited this question of the nature of Christ, showing the period concern for the question within the larger context of cosmology and sacramental theology. However, the presentation of physical matter in humanity created fundamental problems. If sin is fundamentally part of the flesh (“ipsum peccatum dicitur manere in carne”; Peter Lombard, Book 2, 31, 5), then Christ, in human form, must be sinful. The possibility of mortal redemption hinges on this simultaneous definition of Christ as fully human and fully divine. This question of the hypostatic union and the reconciliation of God and man in one form is a current in the theology which can be seen in the choices made in visual iconography as well. What has been under analyzed by most scholars is the way in which font decoration of the Romanesque period uses these iconographies of incarnation to create a program of baptismal theology. A number of fonts use scenes of Christ’s Incarnation, particularly the common, canonical motif of the Nativity. Others use the narrative of Christ’s life, condensing it into these motifs of incarnation, initiation, and institution; the exclusion of parables and miracles is very noticeable. Scandinavian fonts, the production of very strong workshops, also include a number of childhood stories which come from non-canonical texts like the Protoevangelium of James and the Gospel of Thomas;25 I have chosen to focus on the common stories of the Annunciation, Nativity, and the Massacre of the Innocents but it could be suggested that even the popular non-canonical stories have strong incarnation parallels. For example, as appears on the Hegwald workshop Stånga font from Gotland, Salome’s disbelief and the subsequent healing of her withered hand is both a 24

Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book 3, 1. Harriet Sonne de Torrens, “De Fontibus Salvatoris: A Survey of Twelfth and Thirteenth Century Fonts Ornamented with Events from the Life of Christ”, ed. Colum Hourihane, Objects, Images, and the Word: Art in the Service of the Liturgy (Princeton: Index of Christian Art, 2003), 112-114.

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specific birth narrative detail and a bodily manifestation of faith; the first bath, seen on Sighraf workshop fonts from the Romanesque period at Grötlingbo and Ellinge, among other Scandinavian works, was a parallel between Christ’s birth and His Baptism. To best understand the value placed on these iconographies as didactic expressions of basic sacramental theology, distilled from the textual sources for the laity, we’ll examine in detail one of the several fonts that uses the Christ story as a frame.26 While perhaps more skillfully carved than other sequences, with more emphasis on inscriptions indicative of an erudite planner/carver/audience, the 1128/9 font at Freckenhorst (NiederRhein, Westphalia, Germany) (FIG 2-5) is nonetheless typical of other Christological fonts in its choice of scenes. There, in chronological and spatial order, Christ’s life begins with the Annunciation to Mary, the Nativity, Baptism, Crucifixion, Harrowing of Hell, Ascension, and a Christ in Majesty (sometimes incorrectly identified as a Last Judgment). In the threefold themes of incarnation, initiation and institution, we see that the planner of the Freckenhorst font, and indeed of other fonts planned around the life of Christ, chose scenes which emphasized these key theological elements of the sacrament. Not only do the Annunciation and the Nativity address Christ’s complicated embodiment, especially in its difference from mortal bodies touched by Original Sin, but Christ’s mortal body suffering at the Crucifixion, the risen body at the Ascension, and the marked body shown at the Second Coming. The Harrowing of Hell is a scene which critically shows the difference between Christ’s body and Adam and Eve’s sinful mortality while stressing the salvific promise of baptism. Simultaneously, two scenes underscore the idea of the Church institution: in Christ’s own Baptism, the institution of the initiation sacrament, and in the Ascension, the institution of the Church through the disciples. These are programmatic and thematic choices that highlight the

26 Including the German fonts of Eschau, Dortmund, St. Gertrud Boschum, Stiftskirche Freckenhorst, St. Michael’s Cathedral Hildesheim, Sankt Georg und Maria Lippoldsberg, Marienkirche Rostok; San Isidoro in Leon Spain, as well as the numerous Scandinavian examples discussed in detail in Harriet Sonne de Torrens, 108-109.

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primary conncerns also seeen in twelfth h-century sacrramental theollogy, and which persisst in thirteenthh-century Germ man exampless as at Middells.

2-5 Full view w of font, Freck kenhorst (Germ many) font, 11 28 (BSI)

The Annunciation It w would certainnly be possiblle to see fontt decorations with the Virgin Maryy directly relaated to her rolee as the motheer of Christ, as a a result of twelfth-ceentury Mariollogy. The periiod’s increase d interest in th he Virgin in theology,, most notablyy from Bernaard of Clairvauux and the Victorines, V certainly maanifests elsewhhere in art, in collections off relics of the Virgin to her celebrattion in elaborrate portal programs as onn the Royal Portals P at

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Notre-Dame at Chartres.27 But the appearance of the Virgin on baptismal fonts is more completely enmeshed in the discussion of Christ’s incarnation than in celebration of the Virgin’s self. Marcia Colish attributes the late-eleventh, early twelfth-centuries’ interest in incarnation to the orthodox Church asserting itself against contemporary heresies which questioned the enfleshing of the Word and therefore the subsequent suffering of Christ on the cross.28 As I discuss throughout this book, the visual narratives of Christ’s life are chosen to emphasize three key ideas: embodiment, initiation, and authority. The Annunciation is scripturally inviolate but philosophically thorny for these theologians. The event itself illustrates Christ’s different nature: although he is “born of woman”, he is not conceived in the manner of mortal humankind. Anselm wrote of the connection between mortal incarnation and Christ’s incarnation in Cur Deus Homo: For, as death came upon the human race by disobedience of man, it is fitting that by man’s obedience life should be restored. And, as sin, the cause of our condemnation, had its origin from a woman, so ought the author of our righteousness and salvation to be born of a woman.29

27 Interestingly, the subjects which emphasize Incarnation and the Virgin Mary make few appearances on Norman tympana: the Annunciation and Nativity appear on south porch archivolts of Malmesbury Abbey as part of a full Christological narrative; the north doorway of St. Joseph’s Chapel at Glastonbury Abbey; perhaps on the lintel at Rochester Cathedral (C. Keyser, A List of Norman Lintels and Tympana (London: E. Stock, 1904/1927), liii). There are no appearances of the Massacre of the Innocents, the Flight into Egypt, or even the Baptism of Christ (Keyser, lv). Reused tympana, now dissociated from their original context, showing the iconic Throne of Wisdom pose, can be seen at both Fownhope and Inglesham and the sole Adoration of the Magi is at Bishop’s Teignton (Keyser, livlv). 28 Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, 398. Among those discussing the nature of Christ in depth are Abelard, Gilbert of Poitiers (and the members of the Porretan school), Roland of Bologna, William of Champeaux, and Hugh of Saint-Victor (and the Victorines). Peter Lombard addresses the issue as well because of its prominence in the contemporary discussion. See Colish 398-438 for an insightful analysis of the problems and the theological history. 29 Anselm of Canterbury, Cur Deus Homo, ch. 3; translated in S.N. Deane, Saint Anselm: Basic Writings, 2nd. ed. (LaSalle: Open Court Publishing Co., 1962), 183.

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Hugh of Saint-Victor’s position in De Sacramentis Christianae Fidei clarifies the majority approach to Mary’s role in the incarnation. He shares the consensus approach, derived from Augustine, and particularly from Augustine’s doctrine of the transmission of original sin by means of the lust accompanying sexual relations and/or the vitiated seeds with which such relations must operate, which says that the Virgin Mary was cleansed of her own original sin at the moment of Christ’s conception. She did not experience lust and she did not possess vitiated genetic materials. Thus, she did not pass original sin on to her child.30

Setting aside the medieval understandings of biological science, Hugh promotes the idea that Christ is conceived in divine love and preserves the idea that Christ is both mortal and divine. Peter Lombard refines the idea held by Porretans and Victorines both that Christ must be fully human both in body and soul in order to affect salvation and that the union of human and divine natures “...was integral, and permanent, once it was achieved.”31 Peter Lombard also broadens the position of Mary with regard to Original Sin. In his view, Mary was not only free from lust and its taint on human conception, but cleansed by the Holy Spirit so that she might be free of Original Sin and its ramifications, a kind of baptism in effect.32 Christ’s nature and, by extension, Mary’s part in it, are critically important in the twelfth century. The metaphor comparing Mary’s womb and the font as the womb of the Church stemmed from the idea of baptism as a rebirth, a Scriptural reference (John 3:3-5) further fixed by epistles (1 Peter 1:23) and writers such as Tertullian, Cyprian, and Augustine. Augustine even uses the metaphor in a sermon explaining the Lord’s Prayer to the catechumen, telling them that “...even now before you are born, you have been conceived of His seed, for you are about to be brought forth in the font, the womb of the Church.”33 The theological reasoning is perhaps best 30

Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, 414. Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, 420. 32 Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, 421. Peter Lombard, Sentences 3:3 ch. 1.2-3, Silano, V.3, 9-11. 33 Augustine, Sermon 56, translated by Walter Bedard, The Symbolism of the Baptismal Font in Early Christian Thought (Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 1951), 29. 31

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expressed by Pope Leo the Great. In at least two sermons, he touches on the nature of the Holy Spirit and ties mortal baptism and Christ tightly together: “To every one that is reborn the water of baptism is like the Virgin’s womb. The same Holy Spirit fills the font as filled the Virgin, so that the sin which was nullified there by that sacred conception may be removed here by the mystic washing.”34 This is the same idea expressed in the twelfth-century by the theologian Rupert of Deutz: “The fountain of elemental water, made living by the intervention of this Spirit, is made the womb of the Church, the womb of grace”.35 The holy event of Christ’s birth is repeatedly linked to the sacramental event of mortal baptism through the power of the res sacramenti, the Holy Spirit, invoked by the archangel Gabriel at Christ’s birth and in the liturgical formula at the font. On Romanesque fonts, the iconography of the Annunciation follows set visual models, some with Byzantine roots.36 The Freckenhorst scene is somewhat unusual because of the emphasis on the word banners, although we are reminded that this was a collegiate church with an audience that was more literate than many; most font presentations, such as the very abraded one at Finedon (Northamptonshire) present the figure of Gabriel extending his arm to Mary who inclines towards him. The Freckenhorst panel shows a very stiff frontal image of the Virgin, an elaborate seat behind her, and the angel crosses actively towards her. Their outstretched hands—Gabriel’s with an emphatic pointing finger and Mary’s flat and open palmed—further join the two figures together.

34

Pope Leo the Great, Sermon 24, translated by Walter Bedard, The Symbolism of the Baptismal Font in Early Christian Thought, 35. See also his Sermon 25. 35 Rupert of Deutz, De Trinitate et operibus ejus, cited in Folke Nordstrom, Medieval Baptismal Fonts: an iconographic study (Umeå:Almqvist & Wiksell, 1984), 89. 36 Harriet Sonne de Torrens, 112-113, 123-124.

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2-6 Annunciaation, Frecken nhort (German ny), 1128 (BSI))

The Nativity If we think off the iconogrraphy that m most clearly expresses e Christ’s Incarnation, it iss the Nativity.. While the A Annunciation addresses a the nature oof Christ, the Nativity N is ex xplicitly aboutt Christ’s emb bodiment, the entry off the divine as a a man into o the world oof humankind.. Christ’s body is physsically present. Petter Lombard suggested s a diistinction betw ween the Ann nunciation and the Naativity in efffect when hee stresses thee semantic difference d between Chhrist’s makingg (by the Holly Spirit, toldd in the Annu unciation) and Christ’ss being born (the taking on o of flesh inn the mode of o mortal humanity, ttold in the Nativity). N For Peter Lom mbard, this leeads into discussions of the hypostatic union; wh hile he states tthat “the Worrd of God took at oncce flesh and soul into th he unity of its person”, it is the elucidating— —deliberatelyy without resolution—o r of these co onflicting

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positions on whether “a person took on a person, or a nature a nature, or a person a nature, or a nature a person” that concerns him as a Scholastic writer.37 The Scriptural text provides for all positions in the narrative account and the explanation was a matter of serious theological wrangling, in works from both before (Hugh of St. Victor, De Sacramentis Christianae Fidei, between 1136-1141) and after (John of Cornwall, Eulogium ad Alexandrium Papam tertium, 1179) Peter Lombard’s Sentences.38 In these debates is an intense fascination with the degree to which the human body of Christ was subject to the defects of mortal bodies, such as the need for food and shelter, its suffering in the form of sadness and pain, and ultimately its mortality. If the body is a habitus— put on like a garment—then the nature of the divine is unchanged within it; the Adoptionist position held by Abelard preserved the pre-existence and separability of the two states.39 In the end, again in an attempt to reconcile these multiple positions on Christ’s nature to emphasize soteriological doctrine, Peter Lombard writes: And so, apart from sin, Christ took all our defects which were suitable for him to take and profitable for us. For there are several kinds of illness and defects of the body from which he was entirely free. As for the defects which he did have, he took them either to demonstrate his true humanity: such as fear and sadness; or to fulfill the work for which he had come: such as the capacity to suffer and die; or to raise our hope from our despair of immortality: such as death.40

There is little consensus in the period regarding the way in which the Son expressed both humanity and divinity but there is clear agreement that this is a matter of significance with ramifications for the salvation effected by Christ. The presentation of the Nativity on these fonts can be very plain—as on the West Haddon font where the three bays are individually occupied by two standing figures and the child in a boxy manger with 37

Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book 3, Distinction V, chapter 1ff; Silano 17-18ff. On the question of Peter Lombard’s deliberate avoiding of resolving the hypostatic union, see Colish, 222-3. 38 Colish explains the historic context in detail, 398-431. 39 Abelard, Theologica scholarium, 3.74-82, CCCM 11-13, 13: 531-35. 40 Peter Lombard, Sentences Book 3, Distinction 15, 7; Silano, V. 3, 59.

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animal headds and a star above a it. The Freckenhorst F Nativity scen ne is quite complete in its articulatioon of the story.

2-7: Nativityy, Freckenhorst (Germany), 1128 1 (BSI)

Mary reclinees in the frontt, paralleling the t body of thhe Christ child d wrapped in swaddlinng cloths and laid in the manger m whichh occupies th he middle ground. Twoo heads, an asss and an ox, create the stab able setting. At A the left, we see the sleeping figuure of Joseph, referencing the propheticc warning dream to folllow.

Adoration off the Magi Aggain appearingg primarily in sequences off the life of Christ, C the Adoration oof the Magi is i an iconogrraphy of incaarnation and authority. a While few S Sentence colleections address the Magi sp ecifically, thee question of adorationn is part of thhe discussion n of the attenntion due to Christ. C In exploring thhe relationshiip between hu umankind andd Christ, thro ough this similarity oof the humann form, was whether the human Chrisst should

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receive worship (latria) or veneration (dulia).41 Following again authorities such as Augustine and John of Damascus, Peter Lombard argues that both are proper, as a correct understanding of the hypostatic union. The Adoration of the Magi seems to be an iconography that corresponds particularly well with Peter Lombard’s reading of PseudoAugustine’s sermon on Psalm 98: “Adore his footstool, for it is holy” and Augustine’s commentary on this psalm; “This flesh, which is taken by the Word of God, is adored by us without impiety because no one eats of his flesh without first adoring it; but one who adores it gazes not upon the earth, but rather upon him whose foot-stool it is and for whose sake he adores it.”42 Without mentioning the Magi specifically, the texts manage to make clear that the united form of Christ is honored by them in both worship and veneration. It is this kind of justification which also meshes with lay piety which clearly focused more on the narrative of Christ than this complicated question of the hypostatic union. Part of the iconography of the Adoration of the Magi is the emphasis that it places on the Virgin and Child receiving the attention of the kings. The Adoration of the Magi appears on the English fonts at Cowlam, Fincham, both discussed in detail later, Ingleton, and Sculthorpe and on the Spanish fonts of Renedo de Valdavia and Valcobero; it appears on the frequently on Christological cycle fonts from Germany (Dortmund, Lippoldsberg, and Hildesheim, as well as in the later-thirteenth-century font at Nesse), Italy (Verona), and commonly throughout Scandinavia (Endre, Ganthem, Halla, När, Stenkyrka, Simris, Norra Lundby, Stöde, Brunflo, Nora, Sörup, Sönderjylland, Elling, Vinding Herred). It too is an iconography of Christ’s incarnation, emphasizing his divinity particularly. Especially at Cowlam, each magus wears a distinctive crown and holds a large bag to present to the Christ child. There is little question of both their earthly royal status and their loyal homage. Although the Sculthorpe font presents the magi more uniformly, their heads too are crowned. They also bend their knees, a clear gesture of their recognition of Christ’s divinity. The Fincham font is interesting because the kings, standing individually under arches but dressed without distinctions, all make a formalized gesture with one hand raised, as if they were swearing fealty to the Christ

41 42

Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book 3, Distinction 9, ch. 1-6; Silano 39-41. Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book 3, Distinction 9, 6; Silano 40-41.

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Child who appears in the nearest arch of the adjacent side.43 The composition of the Fincham font demands an active viewer, aware of panel juxtapositions. The inclusion of the Massacre of the Innocents is also a reminder of Christ’s mortal body and, as well, a prefiguration of Christ’s bodily sacrifice. The Massacre of the Innocents scene has a resonating connection with the period’s discussion of the necessity for baptism for salvation. While on the Cowlam font the scene is represented by a seated Herod and a soldier, on the font at Ingleton it is much more elaborately handled. The scene occupies three bays and two of the panels show dead children. The depiction elaborates the suffering and sacrifice of the Innocents, playing on the viewer’s sympathies for Christ as well. The scenes of the Massacre of the Innocents here at Ingleton are embedded in the Christ narrative, preceded by either four or five arches that show the Adoration of the Magi and followed by two arches which may show the Flight into Egypt. What these iconographies of the Annunciation, Nativity, Adoration of the Magi, and Massacre of the Innocents show is that even outside the context of programs centered on Christ’s life, the idea of incarnation is a theme which medieval theologians are grappling with. In the context of baptism, these issues of embodiment are part of a dialogue on the mortal condition—doomed by Adam’s Original Sin and redeemed by Christ’s sacrifice. This theological discussion in the material reality of the baptismal font parallels the discussion occurring in the sacramental discussion of the nature of the Eucharist sparked by Berengar of Tours in the eleventh century and seen in the many responses of the twelfth.44 Indeed, in the Christology of Bernard of Clairvaux (Sermones super Cantica Canticorum), the embodiment of God in Christ is about the

43

The gesture combines nicely with the tradition that the kings signified the three parts of the world (Africa, Asia, and Europe) to suggest the evangelical mission of the Church. See Honorius Augustodunensis, De Epiphania Domini, quoted in Folke Nordstom, Medieval Baptismal Fonts: an iconographic study, 115. 44 A small sample: Bishop Hugh of Langres, On the Body and Blood of Christ Against Berengar, Lanfranc, On the Body and Blood of Christ, as well as the collections De Sacramentis Christianae Fidei and Book IV of Peter Lombard’s Sententiae.

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fundamental love of God for human beings, related on a level of our humanity but meant to raise humanity to a spiritual level.45

“Sacramental” Cycles of Incarnation It is one thing to consider the ways in which these individual iconographies of Adam and Eve or Christ’s Incarnation function; they certainly can and did stand alone as visualizations of key issues of baptismal theology. But it would do a disservice to the complexity of the discussion of baptism and sacramental theology in the twelfth century not to consider the juxtaposition of these iconographies as a program of dogmatic belief presented in the tangible and public context of the liturgical furniture which served for effecting the soul’s change. As we have already seen, these iconographies are meant to be paired, to complement each other. While it is clear that the individual iconographies which emphasize incarnation are far more common in isolation, I would suggest that there is a significant attempt to fuse these ideas, not dissimilar to the connections we read in period Scholastic theology and its attention to sacraments. There are a number of fonts which present both the images of Adam and Eve and the childhood of Christ as a way of pairing these concepts of mortal incarnation bounded by Original Sin but freed by divine appropriation of the condition. The font at Cowlam (East Riding, Yorkshire) offers a fine example of the combination of images to express sacramental theology in the Anglo-Norman period. The font is cylindrical, made of local limestone, and probably dates to the early to mid-twelfth century.46 Measuring about three feet across and three feet high, it is would have been irregular even before the damage to the foot and rim. There is an articulated arch pattern of a simple roll moulding around the top of the font. The arches are neither consistent in span nor do supporting columns 45

Emero Stiegman, “Bernard of Clairvaux, William of St. Thierry, the Victorines”, in G.R. Evans, The Medieval Theologians (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 2001), 132134. 46 For more on the Cowlam font, see Faith Mann, Early Medieval Church Sculpture: A Study of 12th Century Fragments in East Yorkshire (Beverly: Hutton Press Ltd, 1985), 48 who places the Cowlam font about 1135-1145, based on drapery folds and the handling of the arcading. The font is probably not later than 1150 based on other regional carving examples.

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always appear, undoubtedly a compositional choice based on the narrative arrangement below because these arches serve to embrace and highlight the action below them. The Cowlam sculptor presents his figures in low to medium relief; there is no attempt to round them and separate them more completely from the font surface. Although the surface is worn, significant details such as costume details are still quite legible. The carving style was not particularly concerned with naturalistic depiction of figures—the heads are disproportionately large and rather blocky with triangular noses and bulbous chins; the arms are spindly; bodies are too long in the torso but too short in the legs. The carving style is typical for the Romanesque as a period, however, hoping to emphasize the narrative elements of gestures and emotions more than representational illusionism. The Cowlam font scenes work together to create a program of baptism. Typical of Romanesque parish art, the scenes are chosen for their individual theological significance but they do not seem to have planned as a cohesive or erudite baptismal statement. They symbolize key ideas about baptism for the laity who would have seen and used the font. The scenes are the Fall of Adam and Eve, the Adoration of the Magi, a seated king and soldier—likely Herod ordering the Massacre of the Innocents, and individual figures of a bishop, two wrestlers, and a man in elaborate dress. The Cowlam font presents a single synoptic distillation of the Adam and Eve story under a frame of a columned bay. The elaborately limbed Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil is introduced at the center; Adam stands on one side and reaches into the leaves of the Tree with one hand while his other hand covers his genitalia. On the other side, Eve reaches up to take the apple directly from the mouth of the large serpent coiled around the branches of the Tree. Her other hand also covers her pubic area. The whole story is condensed into this conflated scene; it contains the key details of both temptation and consequence.

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2-8 Adam an nd Eve, Cowlam m, early to mid d-twelfth centu ury (author)

Cerrtain elementts of the story y clearly preooccupied the Cowlam sculptor/patrron. The prom minence and twisted arranngement of th he serpent and the apple which it hoolds in its mouth are meantt to remind th he viewer that the wily serpent, a stand-in forr Satan, led Eve astray, sinuously s beguiling heer from God’ss will. There iss some genderr differentiatio on; Eve’s chest has sm mall circles carved c into th he surface to iindicate breassts. More important thhan gender distinctions, d however, h is thhe indication n that the bodies are nnaked. The sculptor has carved c visiblee ribs on both h figures, although thee surface of Eve’s E chest is now n quite abrraded, obscuriing much of this detaail. This conndensation off the whole story into on ne single image—creaated naked annd unashamed, after eatinng the forbidd den apple given them by the serpeent, they beco ome aware aand embarrasssed—is a formulaic prresentation seeen in other, more m polished artistic produ uctions of the period, ffrom the Tem mptation scenee on the sculpptural frieze att Modena Cathedral too a capital in thhe abbey at Cluny C to the sliightly later tru umeau on the west faççade of Notree-Dame, Paris. There is a ssense for the medieval

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Christian thaat time is alw ways eternally past, present, and future. This T scene contains thhe past befoore the even nt, the occurrring event, and the consequencees of the evennt; as we’ll seee—it is an arrticulation of Christian baptismal thheology in its most m condenssed form.

2-9 Herod, C Cowlam, early to mid-twelfth h century (auth hor)

To the right off the Adam and Eve sceene is a com mposition canopied byy two arches and set aparrt by columnss; it shows a standing figure holdiing a sword facing f a seated crowned figgure. The sceene likely represents H Herod (2-9), possibly p orderring the Masssacre of the In nnocents, based largelly on the crow wned figure and a the scene ’s position neext to the scene of thee Adoration off the Magi (2--10). Here agaain, the sculpttor shows his attentiveeness to details that define the scene in the elaboration of the hilt of the prrominently heeld sword, the finials on thee throne, the distinctive d points of thee crown. Herood and the narrrative connecttion to the Maassacre of the Innocennts was part of o the contemp poraneous texxtual discussio on of the

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necessity off baptism—coould martyrdo om be a “bapptism of blood d”?—and the consequences of not being b baptized d.

2-10 Adoratiion of the Maggi, Cowlam, earrly to mid-twellfth century (a author)

Next is the scenne of the Ado oration of thee Magi, focused in the image here but spread ovver several arcched panels. T There can be no doubt about the scculptor’s desire to define thiis scene: eachh king is identiified by a different croown and eachh holds a larg ge bag with hhis gift. The first two appear singgly defined within w an arch h; the last shaares the spacce of two arches with Mary and thee Christ child. Mary and Chhrist are enthrroned in a posture sim milar to the sedes sapientiae (Throne of Wisdom m) statues popular during the twelftth century. Th he disproportiionately largee Child is crowned and blesses the magus. Mary y steadies thee Christ with one hand while in herr other she hollds a flowering g staff, a comm mon identifying detail. The scene clearly presentts the story off the Magi com ming to pay homage h to the Christ, emphasizing key elementss such as the mortal royallty of the men, the divvinity and the mortal embod diment of the Christ. The Adoration A of the Maggi, particularlyy in the emp phasized detaiils here, repeeats these themes of ddivine and miraculous m inccarnation andd Christ’s ressurrection triumph.

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Seeen together, the carefully selected narrrative imagees on the Cowlam fonnt seem chossen to make an interconneected statemeent about incarnation as it relates to baptism: Adam and E Eve create a need for baptism beccause of their sin passed on n to all peoplee; Christ becom mes fully human and thus becomess a vehicle for human salvaation; the Maassacre of the Innocennts offers an alternative baaptism, by bllood, to redeeem those killed beforre they had the opportun nity to comm mit to Christ (and by extension, thhose righteouus under the Old O Covenant)). This is certtainly not the only waay to read thhese images; the two scennes of Herod d and the Adoration oof the Magi clearly c resonaate with issuees of earthly authority. a These connootations can exist e simultaneously, and a s we’ll see, th he figural panels on thhe Cowlam foont may be useed to further sstretch the con nnections between bapptismal theoloogy and the saccramental auth thority of the Church. C Theere are three other o figural panels p on the C Cowlam font. The first is a standinng bishop (2--11), holding g a crosier annd making a blessing gesture.

2-11 Standin ng Bishop, Cow wlam, early to mid-twelfth m ceentury (author)

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2-12 Wrestleers, Cowlam, early to mid-tw welfth century ((author)

Thee second is a scene of two men in short ttunics and hellmet caps entwined inn a wrestling maneuver m (2-1 12). The thirdd is a figure dressed d in long flowingg sleeves.47 These T scenes are a not primarrily narrative; even the two wrestlerrs, because off their static symmetry, takke on an iconic quality. It seems diffficult to connnect these paanels either too each other or to the narrative sceenes on the foont in an initial examinationn. Thee first figure is i obviously a bishop, evenn though the top t of the head is too ddamaged to reead the exact profile of thee headdress. The T figure is convincinng because off the details off the crosier w with its round ded shape and the chaasuble over his h robe. Thee image of a clergyman may m be a and authority generalized reference to the t institution y of the Churcch and its privileged pplace as conntinuing Chriist’s ministryy, particularly y in the 47

C.S. Drakee, in The Romannesque Fonts off Northern Euroope and Scandiinavia, 21, identifies the figure as seateed. While I lean n towards an iddentification off the figure t scene is dam maged, makingg it difficult to determine as standing, tthe bottom of the the feet of thhe figure. Furthher, the sculpto or took consideerable care with h chairs in other sectionss of the font, making m it seem less likely thaat he would sim mply make the chair so innconsequential as to be invisib ble here.

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sacraments. The emphasis on it as a bishop may in fact be a very pointed reference to confirmation, a practice which had by the twelfth century separated from the baptismal liturgy and which the Church was trying to emphasize as a required sacrament as a sealing of the baptismal covenant.48 This image can certainly be tied to a sacramental agenda which colors the narrative images on this font. More complicated, and possibly impossible, is placing the last two images into anything that might be read as programmatic of the sacraments. The image of two wrestlers appears in other places in English medieval art; it appears in various slight variations on the Romanesque font at Wansford (Northants), on the late-eleventh, early twelfth century font at Luppitt (Devon), on the c. 1150 font at Eardisley (Herefordshire). The visual trope appears elsewhere in Romanesque sculpture, in a variety of media and sources. C.S. Drake summarily discounts the wrestlers as a form of the Psychomachia;49 the motif does lack the form of a clear victor and loser seen in the Virtues and Vices of later-twelfth-century fonts like Southrop (Gloucestershire) and Stanton Fitzwarren (Wiltshire). Their appearance may have to be taken in the most generic of interpretations as a struggle. The concept of a struggle for the soul is certainly common in writings from Augustine to Anselm of Canterbury.50 The wrestlers may be best understood within this undercurrent. The last figure is now so generic as to lack all context; the figure is probably male as there is some suggestion of beard and the garment is a 48

See Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West (Chicago: Hillenbrand Books, 2004) 135-158. Baptism was increasingly separated from confirmation as evidenced by eighth century sacramentaries; the demand for infant baptism prompted the service to be performed most commonly by priests than by bishops. The bishop had the sole power to “confirm” the baptism, to seal it. 49 C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, 21. Folke Nordström, Medieval Baptismal Fonts: an iconographic study, 132, supports the reading that the fighters, along with motifs like a centaur and an asprider, are all symbols of the struggle between good and evil, which he imprecisely terms Psychomachia. 50 See for instance Peter Cramer’s discussion of the baptismal candidate as a “theatre of good and evil” in Baptism and Change in the Early Middle Ages c. 200c. 1150, 114ff. Anselm’s Cur Deus homo? preserves O.B. Hardison’s idea of the agon— “a dramatic conflict between Christ and Satan culminating in the triumph of the Resurrection” (O.B. Hardison, Christian Rite and Christian Drama in the Middle Ages (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1965), 82).

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tunic with elaborate sleeves and wide skirts, and was probably a secular tunic. It is tempting to read the three figural panels as expressions of medieval stratified society—those who preach, those who fight, and those who work. The figure in the elaborate tunic might be said to be secular but certainly we cannot be said to be more precise. The figure does have a raised right hand which produces a formal gesture. Any identifications of baptismal sponsor or patron of the font would be wishful speculation. In the few scenes of contemporary baptism produced in the period—fonts at Thorpe Salvin (Yorkshire) and Darenth (Kent), the sponsors are shown raising their right hands but their identities as sponsors are confirmed by the presence of the infant in the font being baptized by the priest. The lack of corroborating details here at Cowlam may keep us from uncovering the intended meaning or connotation. The Cowlam baptismal font is a perfect example of the circulation of sacramental theology on the parish level in the twelfth century. The font itself is large and fully carved, underscoring the importance of these objects and the connected expense devoted to these works. The sculptural style is local and untutored, pointing to the parochial centering of the artwork. But on some level, whether planned by the anonymous patron or the priest who served this church or the sculptor/workshop/“model book”, the key orthodox ideas of baptism were communicated to the audience. The key scenes focused on the importance of incarnation through two subjects: Adam and Eve, and Christ. In this way, the connotations of these narratives focus the viewing lay audience on the idea of the need for and the remedy of baptism. The other scenes work to elaborate the symbolic ideas of the mortal state, underscoring the main message. Nor is the Cowlam font an isolated example of this kind of pairing of Genesis and Christological narratives. For example, the earlyto-mid-twelfth-century basin of the font at Fincham (Norfolk)51 uses the Adam and Eve scene, substantially unchanged from the elements seen at Cowlam, but pairs it with the Nativity, the Adoration of the Magi, and the 51 For more on the Fincham font, see Alfred C. Fryer, “On Fonts with Representations of Baptism and the Holy Eucharist”, The Archaeological Journal, LX/Second Series X, 1903, 9, George Zarnecki, English Romanesque Sculpture 1066-1140 (London: Alec Tiranti, 1951), 29, Folke Nordstrom, Medieval Baptismal Fonts: an iconographic study, 105, 113.

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Baptism of Christ, an icoonography of initiation i whicch will be discussed in further detaail in the nextt chapter. At Fincham, thee scene of thee Fall has undergone rrenovation andd the Tree at the center is a modern con nstruction entirely, thoough likely faaithful to the original o schem me. But if we consider the scene ccarefully we see that the architectural framework separates Adam and E Eve and highlights that sen nse of post-Faall shame, ev ven as the event is sttill simultaneeously occurrring. On thhe left, a naaked but androgynouus figure raisees a hand in despair d to whhat might hav ve been a bearded facee while coverring the pubic area with thee other. On th he right, a similarly unndifferentiatedd naked figuree reaches up tto the springing of the arch where a serpent’s head h holds ou ut an apple. F Fincham’s prrogram is more important than itts unspectacu ular executionn. Like the fonts at Cowlam, it uses the Adam and Eve story as partt of an explan nation of incarnation and baptismall theology.

2-13: Nativiity, font at Fincham (No orfolk), earlyy to mid-12thh century (Courtauld IInstitute of Artt)

The Nativitty scene at Fincham F is roughly executeed but clearly y legible. Three arches define the siide, the figurees of Joseph inn the left bay and a Mary in the centerr. Just as withh the Adam an nd Eve scene oon the other siide of the

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Fincham fonnt, little is donne to define or o differentiatte their bodiess.52 In the right archwaay, a small boox form, not unlike u an altar table, holds the t Christ child. Abovve him are tw wo animal heaads and a largge starburst, sculptural s details used to delineate the t scene for the viewer. W While Joseph and a Mary are present, the visual em mphasis is on th he distinctivenness of the eleements in the Child’s panel and thherefore, on th he theologicaal message off Christ’s assumption of human forrm. The Nativ vity scene worrks with the Adam A and Eve scene too drive home key doctrinall points: humaanity needs baptism to cleanse its Original Sin; Christ whilee accepting hhuman form lacks l this taint which m makes salvation through him a Divine annd perfect posssibility.

2-14: Adoraation of the Magi, M font at Fincham F (Norffolk), early to o mid-12th century (Cou urtauld Institu ute of Art)

52

Folke Norddström, Medievaal Baptismal Fo onts: an iconoggraphic study, 113 1 argues that these figgures are not thhe figures of Mary M and Josephh in connection n with the Nativity but tthe shepherds, come to adoree the Christ chiild. This attribu ution is no more definitivve than the Naativity attributio on; the figures lack gender, co ostume, or animals which might solidify fy their identitiees. It does, howeever, form a paair with the Three Kings ppanel adjacent to t this side, discussed below. T The message off the panel is not changged by the diffference of icon nography: wheether the Nativ vity or the worshipping sshepherds, the emphasis e is on Christ’s earthlyy/human body.

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The Adoration of the Magi fills each of the three bays of the arcade with nearly identical standing figures, whose raised arm creates a rhythmic repetition across the panel. Given their frontality, they might be seen to be addressing their hailing gesture at the viewer save that the panel abuts the Nativity side at the corner. If we follow from the baby in the manger, the next side is the Adoration, creating a sequential narrative that emphasizes embodiment and veneration for that incarnation. The idea of interactivity and the viewing experience clearly informed the programmatic design of the Fincham font. The Fincham font program concludes with the scene of the Baptism of Christ (3-7, discussed in detail). The ambiguity of the scene— combining textual details such as the dove of the Holy Spirit with contemporary baptismal imagery such as the square font (almost identical to the Fincham shape) and the figure with the decorated dalmatic crosier, probably meant to imply a bishop—is deliberate. Narratively, Christ’s baptism begins his ministry; in the context of sacramental theology, as we will see in the next chapter, Christ’s baptism sets precedence for the sacrament. So taken together, the Fincham program focuses the viewer’s attention on a succinct statement of sacramental necessity: because your body is both marked by the sin of Adam and Eve and saved by Christ’s sacrificial body, you should in reverence follow Christ’s example in being baptized.

Conclusion For medieval Christians, incarnation was shaped by its biological descent from Adam and Eve, a condition which structured all of human existence into an inexorable state of sin, frailty, and death. The deficiencies of the soul’s container are countered only with the voluntary incarnation of God in the person of Jesus Christ, creating a redemptive expiation for that Original Sin. The sacrament of baptism exists within this fundamental dichotomy of self. The iconographies of Romanesque baptismal fonts respond formally, synthesizing the complex theologies of incarnation into the narratives of the Fall and the childhood of Christ. What is clear is that there is a vocabulary in these iconographies to reduce the material to the most salient points of baptismal sacramental theology. Baptism is a necessity because of Adam and Eve’s Sin and a possibility because of Christ’s Incarnation.

CASE STUDY A THE SIMRIS FONT

Simris church was important in the twelfth-century history of Skåne; this region was particularly active at the time with the election of the first archbishop of Lund (Asser, 1103/4-1137; bishop 1089-1103/4), seeing a number of new church constructions. This period of the mid-tolate-twelfth century has been described as having political stability as well as a strong alliance between the Church and State.1 The font here, from the mid-twelfth century, is from the very active Majestatis Tryde workshop, responsible for a large number of fonts in the area (Löderup, Östra Hoby, Valleberga and Simris, and possibly Östra Nöbbelöv, as well as some later on Gotland--Lokrume, Vall, Sproge, Stenkyrka, Väskinde and Gerum). Because so many Scandinavian fonts were made in this period of concentrated support and patronage, there are a number of active workshops, resulting in a standardized vocabulary for the decoration of baptismal fonts. I assert that this is critical: the Church’s focus created a homogenous approach to the decoration of fonts, utilizing a small set of subjects that feed directly into the institutional positions of sacramental instruction for the laity. The Scandinavian fonts often center on the life of Christ, using subjects that create links to other sacraments rather than presenting a wider recounting.

1 “Simris Church”, ed. Column Hourihane, The Grove Encyclopedia of Medieval Art and Architecture (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 596. This was not always the case in Skåne and the interaction between the ruling elite and the villagers on the physical and economic levels definitely affected Christianity’s incursions against paganism, Christian church building and patronage. See Anders Winroth, The Conversion of Scandinavia: Vikings, Merchants and Missionaries in the Remaking of Northern Europe (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012) and Tina L. Thurston, Landscapes of Power, Landscapes of Conflict: State Formation in the South Scandinavian Iron Age (New York: Kluwer, 2002) on the eleventh century.

Case Study A

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The font at Simris is made of sandstone and is chalice shaped; the shape itself is clearly deliberately a reference to the chalice of the Eucharist. The forms refer back and forth between the two most important sacraments of the Christian laity. Traces of red and blue pigment remain, reminding us of the brightness of medieval sculpture in general. Seen characteristically at Simris, the Majestatis workshop is well known for a distinct relief style, with figures having elongated heads with wide foreheads and pointed chins, regularly-shaped oval eyes, and sharply tidy linear lines for hair, water, and drapery folds. Finally, typical of Romanesque sculpture, the gestures are prominent so that story narration is clear. There is no question that the font at Simris was carefully planned out to create an iconographic program. There are three sections of decoration: the base, the underside of the bowl, and the band of the bowl itself. In my analysis, each band can be read individually, separate from its neighbors, or in conjunction with the other sections. The idea is to create a series of reinforced messages all on the same theme. Basin

Slope

Foot

Temptation Scenes/ Majesty Annunciation & Visitation

Baptism of Christ First Bath

Adoration of the Magi Nativity/ Joseph’s Dream

Washing of Disciples’ Feet Annunciation to Shepherds

Last Supper Massacre of Innocents/ Stoning of Stephen

Old Testament scenes and Supporting Heads

A-1: Iconographic program of the Simris font (author) The foot of the Simris font is the most worn and least clear now.

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A-2: Simris Font showing Christ’s Baptism, twelfth century (BSI)

While the baptismal iconography is less direct, it is not absent. Four supporters jut outward. Two are human—a long-haired, bearded man whose hands are raised to his face in an expression of despair, the other smooth-cheeked. Two are somewhat leonine, with creatures gripped in their teeth. The subject of monsters eating smaller creatures generally resonates with the idea of the demonic threatening the good, making an appropriate motif of the support for a font. On the foot, between the supporters, are carved low-relief scenes. A man wrestles with a lion. This may be the clue to interpreting these scenes. The subject of Samson breaking the lion’s jaw (Judges 14:5-6) is seen on some Scandinavian fonts, as well on a few isolated examples elsewhere.2 One shows a pair of people, likely a man and a woman, kneeling before an altar with a chalice on it; an angel (head and wing) seems to come down from the space above the altar. This panel seems 2

Gotland, Sweden: Ekeby, Eskelhem, Etelhem, Guldrupe, Hejde, Hogrän, Mästerby, Sanda, Vänge, and Väte. In Denmark: Graestad, Lille Lyngby, and at Malt. In Germany, at Bremen; Belgium, at Tirlemont. In Spain: Osorno. Nordström, Medieval Baptismal Fonts, 56-57.

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possibly to represent the Annunciation of Samson’s birth when his mother and father offer grain on an altar and the angel appears: “And when the flame went up toward heaven from the altar, the angel of the Lord ascended in the flame of the altar while Mano'ah and his wife looked on; and they fell on their faces to the ground.” (Judges 13:20) Another is a woman with a child in her arms. A mother and child image is multivalent: possibly Samson in the arms of his mother, it clearly references to the Virgin and Jesus, as well as the liturgy occurring here as a child is held before being baptized. In another panel, a figure holds a man by the upraised hair on his head. Identified by some sources as the murder of Abel by Cain, it is more likely Delilah weakening Samson by cutting his hair (Judges 16:17, 19). In the last panel, we see an asp-rider. This scene is not from Samson’s story but appears with the Samson lion story in most instances.3 The asp is a snake, thus creating its own visual link to the Eden serpent and Original Sin, and it is ridden, as the candidate should master his or her own sin through baptism. Placing Hebrew Testament scenes on the foot would have made sense as a composition for medieval designers. It is the visual equivalent of the rhetorical technique of typology—reading an older scene in light of the Christian stories. The Old Testament simply supported the New Testament in medieval theology. But Samson is an interesting choice that seems difficult to justify for a modern audience—we read Samson as a physical hero and wonder where the parallels to Christ are. But in the Middle Ages, Samson was a typological exemplar for Christ. By the seventh century, Isidore of Seville had collected and summarized the parallels between Samson and Christ; by the twelfth century, what had been circulating as a scholarly reading in Isidore’s Quaestiones in Vestus Testamentum, had percolated down to more accessible forms such as Abbot Gottfried’s sermon on the subject, the Pictor in Carmine

3

With Samson, Eskelhem, Guldrupe, Hejde, Hogrän, and Sanda are cited by Nordström, Medieval Baptismal Fonts, 135 n.22; he does not mention Simris in the discussion. But the asp-rider is part of the iconographic repertoire of these Scandinavian workshops, especially the Byzantios master’s production; it also appears on the Majestatis Workshop production at Östra Nöbbelöv.

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typological presentation, and others.4 Hildebert of Le Mans also wrote biblical epigrams that made clear that Samson was Christ, the temple destruction is the parallel destruction of Christ’s own body and those who died with Samson prefigure the faithful who die after Christ.5 “Samson rent the bones of the lion/Christ crushes the bonds of Death.”6 Honorius Augustodunensis wrote in his book of sermons, Speculum Ecclesiae, about both Samson and the asp-rider. Part of a bestiary account, Honorius describes the asp as sin and advised us not to listen but to obey the words of our salvation; he specifically offsets the asp against baptism, the Cross, and Christ’s sacramental body.7 Honorius’s works were well known in Scandinavia, appearing in Old Norse homily texts as well.8 Seen in the light of these theological writings, Samson’s appearance on the base of the Simris font is clear. The Old Testament prefigures the New Testament with miraculous births, miracles, and sacrificial death. The Samson cycle grounds the Christological scenes. The most visible section of the font is the wide bowl sides, at waist height; the underside of the bowl slopes into the chalice form and thus is more obscured. If we read the main bowl band, we see a series of scenes chosen for their succinct discussion of key elements of baptismal theology and the necessity of Christ’s Church in the life of the faithful. The scenes do not occur in straightforward chronological order however. The disruption indicates two things. The first is that the stories were familiar enough to be recognized out of order by an audience who would actively look at the visual elements. Secondly, there is some alignment 4

Greti Dinkova-Bruun, “Biblical Thematics: The Story of Samson in Medieval Literary Discourse”, ed. Ralph Hexter and David Townsend, The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Latin Literature (Oxford: Oxford Handbooks, 2012), DOI: 10.1093/oxfordhb/9780195394016.013.0017, unpaginated. 5 Dinkova-Bruun, “Biblical Thematics”, unpaginated. 6 Walafrid Strabo, cited in Nordström, Medieval Baptismal Fonts, 56. 7 Honorius Augustodunensis: “Haec aspis peccatum figurat, quae nobis aures cordis terrenis obdurat, ne monita Dei nostril audiamus et verbis ejus ad salute nostrum obediamus. Fontem baptismatis et arborem cruces inficit, dum in fide passionis Christi baptizmatos flagiciis polluit. Gustantes es eis interemit, quia verbum vitae et Christi corporis sacramenta gustantes criminale peccatum interimit.” Speculum Ecclesiae (Migne, PL CLXXII, 915). 8 Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, “Prose of Christian Instruction”, ed. Rory McTurk, A Companion to Old Norse-Icelandic Literature and Culture (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 342.

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thematically that suggests some stories were meant to be read vertically, connecting the scenes from Christ’s infancy on the underside of the bowl with the scenes from his later life on the main band. In this case study, we will address them both ways to show the strength of the programmatic design of this font. The bowl shows the Adoration of the Magi, a scene we discussed as emphasizing the preeminence of Christ’s mortal body. The Virgin Mary (who even has a cross etched into the fabric of her veil in the center of her forehead) is seated on a large throne and holds the haloed baby Christ who blesses the kings as they present gifts in raised hands. It is a scene from the Incarnation, part of a message of mortal embodiment that resonates with the difference between our lapsed bodies, tainted by Original Sin washed off in baptism, and Christ’s voluntary, divine, and sacrificial assumption of the mortal form.

A-3: Christ’s Baptism and Adoration of the Magi, Simris, twelfth century (BSI)

To the left, we see Christ’s baptism in the River Jordan. His initiation parallels the initiation ritual of baptism and the details show John the Baptist dressed in a robe, and an attendant figure with an elaborately collared vestment. While we’ve seen Christ more explicitly baptized in a font, the use of robes rather than John’s hair shirt and the inclusion of a figure not depicted as an attendant angel should suggest the rite occurring in the font with priest and deacon.

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The Simris artist was not necessarily concerned with reading in a linear band around the font. Relying on the audience’s knowledge may have made this a non-issue. The Adoration and the Baptism narratively cohere but then the scenes are less clearly ordered. Some of the scenes may relate to the Temptation, some to the Passion. The decoration vertically, from basin to underside, also matters so the disruption of the narrative may be done to emphasize the theological messages.

A-4: Simris Font showing Last Supper, twelfth century (BSI)

On one side (between the Last Supper scene and the Christ on the throne) is a scene of three men, one raising a round loaf to another’s lips; traditionally this has been seen as part of the Temptation scenes. Lacking the interesting demon, it is certainly possible but this scene makes more visual sense if placed with the Last Supper collection as the scene from Emmaus. Christ, unmistakable with a cross-marked halo, sits on a rocky hillside throne, raising his blessing hand against a crumpling demon. The demon is hairy and disproportionate; his three toed feet are beast-like. Between this scene and the Baptism, Christ sits frontally, in majesty,

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while the demon beside him gestures at him. A large round rock appears next to the demon as well in this scene. The Majesty depiction is typical of this workshop; it also appears as part of the depiction of the Ministry of the Angels that follows the Temptation, suggesting a source for the workshop’s depiction.9 Why the Temptation of Christ? It is an uncommon scene, also appearing in another Majestatis workshop production at Stenkyrka.10 At Stenkyrka, the bowl is decorated with the Adoration of the Magi, the Baptism of Christ, the Temptation, This is also an unusual interpretation: if it is three scenes, they do not follow the standard vocabularies; it seems to awkwardly elide the mountain and the temple seen in depictions of the second and third temptations.11 It is generally interpreted as a scene of Christ’s conquering of his mortal body in his refusal to assuage his hunger by making bread, Christ’s recognition of his sacrificial role by refusing to throw down his body to test God’s will, and Christ’s refusal of the secular throne in favor of the majesty of the heavenly kingdom at the Eschaton. The luring presence of Satan was clearly expressed in the baptismal liturgy; Christ’s Temptations certainly parallel the exorcism and renunciation elements in the rite. Augustine, connects the scenes of the Temptation to Psalm 90(91) in the Ennarationes in Psalmos; the sermon was known in the twelfth century and used in the liturgy of the first Sunday in Lent.12 The Christ in Majesty is an eschatological allusion both in Sentence collections and on baptismal fonts, the natural outcome of the baptismal process and a life in Christian faith. 9

As seen in the second-half of the eleventh-century Ripoll Bible, Vasanti Kupfer, “The Iconography of the Tympanum of the Temptation of Christ at the Cloisters”, Metropolitan Museum Journal, Vol. 12, (1977), 27. 10 As Lucy A. Adams notes in her analysis, “The Temptations of Christ: The Iconography of a Twelfth-Century Capital in the Metropolitan Museum of Art”, 28 Gesta 2 (1989), 132, the scenes of Christ’s Temptation were more common in the twelfth century than any other period, though they remained an unusual subject associated with Lent. Additional analysis of the scenes can be found throughout Kupfer, “The Iconography of the Tympanum of the Temptation of Christ at the Cloisters”, 21-31, who notes the well-known version on the Tympanum of the Goldsmiths at Santiago de Compostela. 11 Kupfer, “The Iconography of the Tympanum of the Temptation of Christ at the Cloisters”, 24-25. 12 Kupfer, “The Iconography of the Tympanum of the Temptation of Christ at the Cloisters”, 28-29.

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In chronological order the Washing of the Feet of the Disciples (John 13:1-17) should come next; it is displaced from the Temptation scenes by the Last Supper, a move that is likely deliberate. An unusual scene on a baptismal font, the Foot Washing scene appears only on the font from Stenkyrka, also by the Majestatis workshop.13 Obviously, the scene suggests baptism because of the water and basin elements. Some authorities, Clement of Alexandria for one, thought the scene referred to the disciples’ baptism.14 Early North African and Milanese rites of baptism also included the pedilavium as part of the baptismal liturgy or as part of a ritual for the newly baptized.15 Interestingly, however, the scene of Christ Washing the Feet of the Disciples can also be seen in the context of the institutional Church: as a scene of Christ’s humility and servanthood, it is part of Christ’s passing on his mission to the disciples. Drawing on very early works like the third-century-Didascalia, the Ordinals of Christ, writings that grounded the establishment of various grades or hierarchies within the Church, use foot washing rituals as part of the calling of the ranks of deacon and subdeacon.16 In the twelfth century, Peter Lombard references it in the sacrament of ordination for the subdeacons.17 This one scene is perhaps a reference to baptism and ordination, the two sacramental initiations.

13 Simris and Stenkyrka have the many of the same main band scenes: Adoration of the Magi, Baptism of Christ, Temptation of Christ, Washing of the Disciples’ Feet, Last Supper, and the Majestas Domini. Stenkyrka adds the Crucifixion. These two fonts reinforce the idea of planned programs disseminated by workshops. 14 Robin Jensen, Baptism Imagery in Early Christianity, 48-49. 15 Bryan D. Spinks, Early and Medieval Rituals and Theologies of Baptism (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), 12, 61. The pedilavium may also have been part of Spanish and Gallic rites in the period of the late-eighth and ninth centuries; Maxwell E. Johnson, The Rites of Christian Initiation: Their Evolution and Interpretation (Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 1999), 196, 198. 16 Roger E. Reynolds, The Ordinals of Christ from their Origins to the Twelfth Century (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1978). Reynolds notes that a gloss in the Colchester Ordinal reminds the reader that this is the Disciples’ baptism, clearly indicating that both interpretations coexisted. 17 Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book 4, XXIV:9(4); ed. Guilio Silano, The Sentences, Vol. 4: On the Doctrine of Signs, 144.

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A-5: Last Su upper, Simris, twelfth t century y (BSI)

Thiis small scenee of the Foott-Washing meerges with thee table of the Last Suppper. Christ iss in the centerr, feeding a soop to Judas isolated on the other sidde of the tablee. Prominently y carved on thhe table are fissh, crossmarked breaad, and chalicces: the bread d and chalicee are referencces to the Eucharist, as well as the fish f is a miraccle element annd symbol of Christ. If we read aroound the bow wl, we must see these two scenes as paart of the motif of Insstitution. Theyy can be read d sacramentallly as baptism m and the Eucharist. T They can also be read as th he ways in whhich Christ’s narrative sets up the innstitution of the t Church, th hrough the discciples and thee resultant liturgy. If w we return aroound the bow wl to the “Teemptation” sccenes, we could read tthem as concluding sceness of Christ’s P Passion. Righ ht next to the Last Suppper, three figures are stan nding. Iconoggraphically blaand, they have no halooes, no distinnctive featuress. One seems tto have a round object in hand, whiile another haas a hand on th he middle one ’s shoulder. Generally, G it has been suggested that this is partt of the Tempptations of Christ, C the round object being the exxhortation of the t devil to tuurn the stone in nto bread (Matthew 4::8-11). If so, the t sculptor ch hose not to deepict the devil as he did in the next scene. If the scene is the breaking of bread on thee Road to Emmaus, w which would make m it extrem mely uncommoon, then we co ould read it as a miraaculous, post--Crucifixion appearance. a T The Temptatio on throne scene then reads as a Revelation, Seccond Comingg reference. Itt may be

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coincidence that leads us to read them this way but given the symbolic layering on the font, it is not outlandish to suggest an intended double meaning. The bowl cycles around to move from infancy to Second Coming. Christ’s birth is honored by the secular nations, giving Christ authority; Christ’s baptism establishes the rite itself. Christ’s Temptations support the medieval conception of the devil as an active force luring the faithful away, with baptism a remedy and a fortification. The establishment of the Church (The Washing of the Feet) and ritual of the Eucharist (The Last Supper) connect the sacrament of baptism to the rest of the Church’s sacramental presence. The possible reading of the Majesty of the Eschaton reinforces the idea of salvation through Christ and the Church. In contrast, the less-visible underside of the baptismal font bowl has a straightforward narrative cycle of Christ’s Incarnation, pointing the viewer back to embodiment as the fundamental component of baptismal theology. But even here, the band is more complicated than at first glance. It is designed to be read both as a narrative sequence and as an ideological counterpoint to the elements on the wider band.

A-6: Incarnation, Simris, twelfth century (BSI)

The underside of the bowl begins chronologically with the Annunciation and Visitation, heralding Christ’s miraculous arrival. The figure of Mary is seated frontally, with a dove on the side of her throne, and the impregnating rays clearly visible. We move counterclockwise to

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the apocryphal story of the first bath,18 where a woman hold the Christ child in a chalice shaped basin and another figure raises a cloth for drying the child. Then on to a scene of the Nativity, Mary lying below a manger with the Christ Child, complete with ass and ox looking in, and with Joseph on the right, his head contemplatively resting on his hand. Directly over Joseph’s head, a celestial object shoots deeply-etched rays directly into the eyes of a shepherd in a pointed cap, thus joining the Nativity story with the Annunciation to the Shepherds. Finally, Herod then gives the order for the Massacre of the Innocents, seen there as a soldier raising his sword against the small figure he holds by the hair.19 Scenes are definitely balanced against each other where possible. Where an angel announces Mary’s pregnancy on the lower side, the upper side shows a demon confronting Christ. The First Bath appears directly below the scene of Christ’s baptism in the River Jordan on the main bowl. The two scenes are similarly structured with the active figure on the left, Christ in the center, and the cloth holding figure on the right. There is no question that they reinforce Christ’s bath as a baptism. Christ’s bath in a font-like basin also makes a visual connection to the Simris font itself and the lay baptism happening in. The Adoration of the Magi, where the nations acknowledge the reign of Christ, is placed over Christ’s appearance in the Nativity. The Last Supper—Christ’s sacrifice and the altar liturgy of sacrifice—is placed directly over the earlier sacrifice of the boy children in the Massacre of the Innocents. One scene on this underside of the bowl is not from the sequence of Christ’s Incarnation and thus stands out. With the Massacre of the Innocents wedged tightly on the left, we see two men with stones in their raised hands. At their feet amidst piles of more rocks, kneels a haloed man; he looks up at a half-circle just below the rim with a small head in it. 18

Taken from the apocrypha, De Nativitate Mariae et Infantia Salvatoris, also known as the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew, the event was well known in the Middle Ages and appears in many different media in the twelfth century. For background, see Ernst Kitzinger, “The Hellenistic Heritage in Byzantine Art”, Dumbarton Oaks 17 (1963), 95-115. 19 The Massacre of the Innocents, discussed earlier, appears on fonts from Endre, Ganthem, Halla, När, Stenkyrka, Norra Lundby, Stöde, Brunflo and Nora; on English fonts at Ingleton, Cowlam; on Danish fonts from Sörup, Sönderjylland, and Elling; in Germany on fonts from Aplerbeck, Bochum, and Hildesheim; in Italy at Veneto; in Spain on fonts from Renedo de Valdavia and Valcobero.

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A-7: St. Stephen, Simris, twelfth century (BSI)

The stoning of St. Stephen is unusual iconography, indeed; it appears only on a few other Scandinavian fonts, Stenkyrka, Stånga, När, and Vänge (Gotland), Hajom in Västergötland.20 But these martyrdoms of the Innocents and Stephen support the scene of the Last Supper on the main band, reinforcing two key ideas. Martyrdom was a “baptism by blood”, seen as an equivalent of the ritual, especially in the case of those early martyrs for whom baptism was not yet established for their salvation. Stephen was a deacon appointed by the disciples (Acts 6); his martyrdom is specifically the result of his disputation on behalf of Christianity against the teachings of the Hebrews (Acts 7). Stephen was a universally-known saint, celebrated from the fifth century onward for the strength of his faith, especially in the face of unconverted and resistant opposition.21 His feast day was December 26th, prominently placing his cult in close liturgical proximity to Christ’s Incarnation. How closely the text of Stephen’s diatribe in Acts would have been known to the laity is unclear, but the 20

Nordström, Medieval Baptismal Fonts, 117-118. Stenkyrka is also a production from this Majestatis workshop so not an unusual instance of the same scene. 21 François Bovon, “The Dossier on Stephen, the First Martyr”, The Harvard Theological Review, Vol. 96, No. 3 (Jul., 2003), pp. 279-315. Article Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4151873. The sermons on him in the writings of prominent theologians such as Augustine and John Chrysostom would have added to his importance beyond the Scriptural account; Stephen’s life and miracles also appear in Slavonic. An account of Stephen which circulated in Scandinavia and England made Stephen a servant of King Herod, creating a context for the placement of these two scenes together on the Simris font. Stephen appears in the earliest Old Norse vernacular hagiographies (1150-1250) as well; Jonas Wellendorf, “The Attraction of the Earliest Old Norse Vernacular Hagiography”, ed. Haki Antonsson and Ildar H. Garipzanov, Saints and their Lives on the Periphery: Veneration of Saints in Scandinavia and Eastern Europe (c. 10001200) (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), 241-258.

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educated reader could certainly have recognized the ways in which Stephen preaches against the old customs of circumcision, which Peter Lombard emphasized as being replaced by baptism, and the Temple of Solomon. In Old Norse accounts, it has been suggested that the choice of Stephen may be part of the attempt to draw attention to establishing Christianity against other beliefs: “[a] common feature of many of these texts is the public confrontation of the saint with those in power…The arrest is followed by an interrogation where the saint sometimes gives a lengthy exposé of the Christian doctrine and the falseness of the pagan belief.”22 Stephen is important because he dies for his faith, in a baptism of blood, but Stephen is also an embodiment of the institutional Church. Programmatically, the placement of this scene makes us read Stephen as a sacrifice in the model of Christ within the age of the Church. The Simris font is a strong example of an iconographic program designed to reach levels of understanding. We can read them independently or as they reinforce each other. The main band presents all we might need to understand baptism in the context of the Church: because of the conditions of incarnation and Satan’s attempts at temptation and sin, we receive baptism and celebrate the Eucharist. Christ is the example. The secondary band takes us through parallel experiences which point to these ideas. The foot presents comparable issues of incarnation and salvation as they appeared typologically. All three surfaces have strong pertinence to the role of the Church in the performance of all the sacraments, vividly creating a belief of orthodoxy and institutional importance in the life of the faithful.

22 Wellendorf, “The Attraction of the Earliest Old Norse Vernacular Hagiography”, 248.

CHAPTER THREE ICONOGRAPHIES OF INITIATION: BAPTISM AS CANON AND CUSTOM

Iconographies of Initiation: Precedence and Continuance Baptism, as a rite of initiation, had the most important ramifications of all the sacraments for lay Christians. As a theology, it is a necessary initiation dictated by Christ in the Scriptures: without it, no Christian can attain salvation. As a ceremony, it marks the change from one state—damned, excluded—to another—Christian, included. Baptism became a marker for a medieval culture obsessed with the ideas of social inclusion and exclusion. The rite of baptism joined the candidate to the spiritual body of Christ as a spiritual marker and the Christians together in community as a social marker. The baptism of Jesus Christ is the one of the most common single iconography on fonts from the Romanesque period, paralleling the prominence of the Adam and Eve imagery. Christ’s baptism posed logical questions in the theology of the period since Christ’s incarnation was not marred by the Original Sin cleansed in the sacrament of baptism. “The baptism and passion of Christ had been the means by which he had opened the gate of the kingdom of heaven and had restored the eternal life that had been lost in the fall of Adam.”1 Christ’s baptism is therefore a theological positioning, establishing Christ as completely human and completely divine. Christ’s baptism is also a sacramental positioning, establishing a form for mortal baptism. Christ’s act of being baptized is a spiritual positioning, establishing a form for submissive humility in contrast to 1 Jaroslav Pelikan, The Growth of Medieval Theology (600-1300), Vol. 3: The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1978), p. 30. Pelikan is citing three different works: Bede’s Commentary on Genesis, Bede’s Exposition of the Gospel of Luke, and Ambrose Autpert’s Commentary on the Apocalypse.

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Adam and Eve’s disobedience to God’s will. The medieval theology is that the mortal incarnation of the Christ is in itself insufficient without sacrifice. It is only in both the assumption of a body and the unselfish giving of that mortal body that allows the redemption of Adam’s sin. The iconography of Christ’s initiation presented on these fonts makes this connection tangible. Christ’s baptism is therefore a narrative which reveals Jesus as divine and a ritual which marks the beginning of Christ’s spiritual mission. It draws a sacramental connection between the mortal candidate and Christ. The visual image makes a tangible connection between the initiations, emphasizing the liturgical formula that one is baptized in the name of and into the body of Christ. Christ’s baptism is taken as precedent, establishing the sacrament for his followers. Indeed, Peter Lombard is very clear that John the Baptist’s form of baptism is incomplete; he draws the distinction between them: “In baptizing, John called men to penance; those whom he baptized, he also taught to do penance…But in John’s baptism no remission of sins was given; it is given in Christ’s baptism.”2 Christ himself brings the grace that is an essential, defining characteristic of a sacrament. While Christ’s baptism is clearly the most common form shown on these fonts, the repetition of the Christian rite is also seen on these Romanesque fonts. The artistic appearance of mortal baptisms on the font confirms the importance of the ritual by continuing the mission of the Church. Like the narratives which join Adam and Eve’s mortal bodies to Christ’s divine incarnation, these scenes draw mortal candidates together into the narratives of initiation and inclusion designed to create an extended history of baptism. The visual images reinforce the ritual as it occurs, creating a tangible statement of the importance of the baptismal rite seen even when the rite is not being administered. From the earliest analyses of what was accomplished at baptism, theologians saw it as a moral strengthening as well as a cleansing that restored us to our prelapsarian state; the candidate is healed: “This glorious spring contains the waters of health, and is able to cleanse human pestilence…whoever seeks this spring relinquishes earthly matters and

2

Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book 4: II, 3.

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tramples evil deeds underfoot.”3 Like Jerome who states that baptism’s water nourishes faith,4 Augustine emphasizes that something remains after the rite is performed, as a spiritual reality of the material elements. Augustine, in opposing the Donatists, marks the various distinctions of baptism received with faith, thus conveying grace, and baptism received falsely, in which the Holy Spirit flees from deceit. Peter Lombard will build on these clarifications of the soul’s responsiveness to argue that the “operating and coordinating grace is given to all children in baptism, but in gift, not in use, so that when they come to a later age, they may draw use from the gift, unless of their free will, they extinguish the use of the gift by sinning.”5 The driving concern of Pope Innocent III (1160/1-1216) and other twelfth-century theologians to reinforce orthodoxy over heresy is to emphasize the Augustinian idea that sacraments work “ex opere operato”—“on account of the work done”—not because on account of the minister. Theologically, baptism was important as establishing a Christian soul that would grow in faith as it participated in other rites within the Christian community.

Precedence and Practice: Images of Christ’s Baptism The Romanesque iconographies of Christ’s baptism follow two forms: those which emphasize precedence and those which emphasize practice. The iconographies reflect the concerns of the theology. Precedence is expressed in fonts that remain (largely) scripturally faithful; the image represents the text to emphasize Jesus’ position as the Christ. The second approach intends to make clear a connection between Christ’s baptism and that of the candidate, in order to emphasize the continuity of the Church through sacramental practices. Often these images show the baptism of Christ with unusual and contemporaneous touches such as depicting John the Baptist in the garb of a priest or using a font instead of the Jordan River as the setting. This jointure closes the gap between these images of Christ’s baptism, scripturally documented and theologically

3

Pope Damasus in Robin Jensen, Baptismal Imagery in Early Christianity: Ritual, Visual, and Theological Dimensions (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2012), 24. 4 Jerome, Epistola 69 (ad Oceanum), trans. By F.A. Wright (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1933). 5 Peter Lombard, The Sentences, Book IV, iv, 5. (Silano, 27)

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complicatedd, and those depicting mortal m baptissm, theologiccally and ecclesiasticaally necessaryy.

Scriptural Fidelity Thee font at Brideekirk, a late work w dated to the third quarrter of the twelfth cenntury, shows Christ’s bapttism in one of the lower panels, underneath a large serpenntine dragon with w two headss and a rosettee design.6

3-1: Baptism m of Christ, font from Brideekirk (Cumbriia), third quarrter of the 12th centuryy (Conway Library, Courtauld Institute of Art)

6

For more onn the Bridekirkk (Cumbria) fon nt, see Alfred C C. Fryer, “On Fonts F with Representatioons of Baptism and the Holy Eucharist,” E Thee Archaeologicaal Journal, LX/Second S Series X, 19003, pp. 3-4, which w summariizes much of the early scholarship oon the font, Geeorge Zarnecki, Later Englishh Romanesque Sculpture 1140-1210, pp. 59, Ann K.. Wagner, An Investigation of the Twelftth-Century Baptismal Foont in the Parish Church in Bridekirk, Cum mbria (MA theesis, 1996, University off Washington), and C.S. Drak ke, The Romannesque Fonts off Northern Europe and S Scandinavia, p. 10.

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On the left and right a vine motif frames the panel. These vines have large and deliberate bunches of grapes, suggesting a reference to the Eucharist. At the left, the figure of John the Baptist stands with a hand on Christ’s shoulder. The sculptor has carved him with a large, somewhat elongated head and pointed chin, perhaps indicating perhaps a painted beard. The robe the Baptist wears has been incised with lines to lend it a sense of animal hair or coarse weave, in reference to the camel’s hair garment described in Matthew 3:4. Jesus appears as a smaller figure, his torso naked, his lower body submerged in a round rippled pool of the Jordan River. There is a prominent cross-inscribed nimbus behind Christ’s head. Descending from the upper right, tucked in to the small space between the heads of the figures and the border of the upper panel, is the dove of the Holy Spirit. The bird’s head actually touches the head of Christ, making a direct connection between them. The Bridekirk sculptor offers a faithful account of Christ’s baptism based on the gospel of Matthew, maintaining key details such as John’s garment and the statement that the dove alighted upon Jesus.7 On the ca. 1120 Wansford baptismal font, the scene of Christ’s baptism is also faithful to the text, arranged under an arcade motif amidst figural non-narrative and vegetative decoration.8 John the Baptist stands to the left; the sculptor has somewhat highlighted John’s standing by giving him a detailed robe and halo. Christ, clearly represented by a cruciferous 7

Given the inscription on the other panel of the font, “Rikarth he me iworkte and to this merth gerner me brokte,” it is interesting that the sculptor, in his fidelity to the Matthew account, did not include the words spoken here, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased” (Matthew 3:17). This raises questions too numerous and knotty to be addressed here: Were the words omitted because they were assumed by active viewers of the scene? Was the inscription on the other side included because it distinctly referred to history not commonly understood? Was the inscription the work of the patron or the sculptor (a question raised repeatedly in Archaeologia XIV, 1824, p. 113, by W. Hamper, Archaeologia XIX, 1829, pp. 379-382, by M.D. Forbes and B. Dickins in Burlington Magazine, XXV, Jan 1982, pp. 24-9; by Ann K. Wagner, An Investigation of the Twelfth-Century Baptismal Font in the Parish Church in Bridekirk, Cumbria (MA thesis, 1996, University of Washington), among others.) 8 For more on the Wansford font, see Alfred C. Fryer, “On Fonts with Representations of Baptism and the Holy Eucharist,” The Archaeological Journal, LX/Second Series X, 1903, p. 7, George Zarnecki, English Romanesque Sculpture 1066-1140 (London: Alec Tiranti, 1951), pp. 31-32 and C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, pp. 16-17.

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3-2: Baptism m of Christ, fon nt at Wansford d (Lincoln/Peteersborough), ca a. 1120 (Courtauld IInstitute of Artt)

halo, is bapttized in the ripppling waves of o the River JJordan. The do ove of the Holy Spirit descends to touch the heead of Christt. A banner is i clearly carved to the right of the scene; it is eaasy to suggest this banner as a visual inclusion off the words spoken s by Go od, “This is m my beloved Son, S with 9 whom I am well pleasedd” even if any y paint is longg worn away. Despite some bowinng to medievaal conventionss regarding thhe presentation n of holy figures in thhe depiction of o John the Baaptist, the scuulptor of the Wansford W font was priimarily intereested in presen nting the scenne as in Matth hew. The

9

C.S. Drake makes this specculation in The Romanesque F Fonts of Northeern Europe t agree with hiim, noting furth her that the and Scandinaavia, pp. 16-17. I am inclined to inclusion of aan unfurled scrooll to indicate a prophet is a m medieval convention both geographicallly diverse—seee just two exam mples from Englland alone in th he ca. 1146 Sherborne Caartulary (reprodduced in Englissh Romanesquee Art 1066-120 00, p. 109) or the so-callled Bury crosss, second halff of the twelftth century (Meetropolitan Museum of Art, Cloisters collection, 19 963, 63, 127; reproduced in English Romanesque Sculpture 10666-1200, p. 225))— and seen inn many media— —sculpture as well as staiined glass and manuscript m pain nting.

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Christologiccal narrative itself is su ufficient for conveying baptismal b importance. If w we consider thhe baptism off Christ scenee on the Furnaaux stone font, made bbetween 11355 and 1150 in the same dio cese as the more m wellknown bronnze font in Lièège (1107-111 18), we have a scene that deepicts the scene with sscriptural integgrity.

3-3: Baptism m of Christ, fon nt at Furnaux (Liège), ( 1135-550 (EmDee)

John in his hairy robes blesses Christ’s head as he stands in the Jordan, a bird over his head, and two angels wait w alongsidee with a doub bled-over loop of clotth. The angelss, while not mentioned m in the baptism scenes s of the Synoptiic Gospels, apppear after th he temptationns (Matt. 4:1--11, Mar. 1:12-13). T The addition of the angelss creates an image which h is both faithful to tthe text and emphasizes e th he divine natuure of Christ; it is not uncommon in the depiction of Chrrist’s baptism m.10 What makes m the Furnaux fonnt notable is thhe programmaatic way in whhich it sets thee Baptism of Christ intto a larger coontext of perill and salvationn. It rests on four lion figures, one with a book,, one with a human h head annd another wiith a man 10

Also as sseen at Samer, France; St. Barthelemy at Liege, Kircheenkreis in Burgdorf, am mong others.

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between his front claws. Around the base of the bowl, two serpents intertwine, suggesting evil; around the rim, two prostrate figures are tucked in, clearly suggesting peril and hope for salvation. Other figures appear in groups on either side of the Baptism; the scenes have been interpreted as Abraham receiving a phylactery and the covenant (Gen. 17:4-5) and Lot, due to the veiling of the eyes of one of the figures in conversation with an angel.11 The figures are neither labeled nor do they have attributes. These subjects would be without precedent on baptismal fonts, though the idea that they might be a very careful interpretation of the idea of old covenants and salvation scenes being replaced with the New Testament sacrament of baptism and salvation through Jesus is certainly possible. This is not a new theology:12 present first in the writings of Augustine who parallels Jewish circumcision and Christian baptism, Christian sacraments superseding Jewish rituals is a common motif in the writings of Hugh of St. Victor, Peter Lombard, and Rupert of Deutz, who is also from the same region as this font. If indeed these scenes are Abraham and Lot, then the font at Furnaux programmatically states the idea of precedence: Christ’s baptism creates a new paradigm for faith, practice, and salvation. These scenes of Christ’s baptism also can be seen to uphold one part of the active discussion around the nature of Christ by emphasizing the divine aspect of his nature. Peter Lombard devotes Book One of his Sentences to the nature of the Trinity, reflecting concerns in the earlier works of theologians such as Hugh of Saint Victor, Peter Abelard, Anselm of Canterbury, and others. The twofold nature of Christ is divine and human but the way in which those natures were constituted and understood varied considerably even within orthodox theology. The three main concepts were that the divine Word had assumed human form in a 11

L. Tollenaere, L'iconographie des fonts baptismaux romans de Furnaux. Useful for this discussion of the possibility of the figure on the Furnaux font being Abraham, Augustine, in De nuptiis et concupiscentia, written around 420, compares circumcision and baptism using the patriarch as a focus: “From the time circumcision was instituted in the people of God, it had the power to signify the purification from the original and ancient sin even in little ones. So too, from the time that baptism was instituted, it began to have the power to renew human beings. It is not that prior to circumcision, there was no righteousness through faith. For when he was still uncircumcised, Abraham, the father of the nations, who were to follow him in faith, was justified on the basis of faith.” (2:11.24, in Augustine on Marriage and Desire, trans. Roland J Teske, vol 1/24; p. 68) 12

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unified and inseparable nature (assumptus homo), that both the divine and human natures were fully expressed in Christ (subsistence), or that Christ’s humanity was put on by the divine, much like a garment (habitus).13 Scholastic sentence collections like the Summa sententiarum and the Lombard’s often presented all three ideas without preference. Peter Lombard creates a complicated synthesis all three of these positions, concluding “...that we must say both that the person of the Son assumed human nature, and that the divine and human natures were united in the Son. ...the Word assumed human nature, that is a human body and a human soul, but not a human persona.”14 An interest in the perfect expression in one individual of both Christ’s divinity and Jesus’ humanity stems from all of these positions and we see that interest in approaches to Christ’s mortal body. Peter Lombard endorses the position that Mary herself is cleansed from her Original Sin by the Holy Spirit so although Christ was born of a human woman, he was considered free from the taint of Original Sin.15 As we have already investigated in the previous chapter, Christ’s incarnation is unique and his human nature different from the rest of mankind’s. Christ’s baptism must have a different theological meaning if it is not for the removal of the taint of Original Sin. .

Sentence collections of the period reveal additional concerns about the mortal nature of Christ, particularly around committed sin. They generally agreed that Christ voluntarily assumed some of the responsibilities of the lapsed mortal condition, such as mortality and weaknesses such as hunger and thirst.16 In any event, Peter [Lombard] adds that, while Christ took on some human weaknesses that were expedient for Him to have and that did not derogate from His dignity or the efficacy of 13

See Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, pp. 400-402. The full discussion continues in this chapter of Colish’s work, pp. 398-470. 14 Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, p. 423. 15 Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book III, distinction iii, chapter 1.2-chapter 3 (Patrologia Latina database, Vol. 192: 0760ff.). The position of Mary is unique therefore: she is given baptismal forgiveness and grace. According to the Lombard’s thinking, she does not pass on the taint of Original Sin to Christ having not only had her “vitiated seeds” cleansed but also because the Holy Spirit impregnates her without sinful thoughts; neither path can thus contaminate the resultant child. 16 Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, p. 443.

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These decisions about the nature of Christ raise questions about whether or not Christ was capable of sin; William of Champeaux and the School of Laon offered the idea that while Christ was capable of sin because of his human nature, his divine nature placed him in complete accordance with God’s will.18 Peter Lombard, agreeing with the author of the Summa Sententiarum and Hugh of St. Victor, supports the idea of Christ’s having free will but that Christ’s voluntary acceptance of certain consequences of Original Sin means that Christ is freed of others, such as concupiscence and ignorance, “...that impede or limit the exercise of the will in fallen man...”19 Christ does not seem to have been considered by the theologians of the period to have needed the strengthening grace conferred by the Holy Spirit during the rite of baptism on the soul of the mortal candidate. His divine nature already confers that grace. Christ’s humility to God’s will is frequently held up as a reason for his baptism.20 Aelfric’s sermon on the Lord’s Epiphany emphasizes this: “He [John the Baptist] then said to Christ, ‘O beloved, I should be baptized at thy hands, and thou comest to my baptism.’ Christ then answered him, ‘Suffer it now thus, and consent to this; so it befitteth us to fulfil all righteousness’.”21 Later in the same sermon, after comparing Christ to the Passover lamb meekly led off to slaughter, he makes the exchange explicit: Christ would be baptized, not because he needed any baptism, for he had never wrought any sin, but he would by his humility set the example, that no king nor powerful man should think it too degrading to submit to Christ’s baptism...Great was 17

Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, p. 443. Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, p. 445. 19 Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, p. 447. 20 Augustine several times emphasizes Christ’s obedience to the Jewish covenants as a sign of his humility to God’s will; see, for example, the discussion on circumcision in Sermon 196A, translated by Edmund Hill, Sermons III/6, in The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century, ed. by John E. Rotelle, pp. 64-66 (Original text not in Patrologia Latina). 21 Aelfric, Sermones Catholici, translated by Benjamin Thorpe, in The Homilies of the Anglo-Saxon Church, vol. II (London: The Aelfric Society, 1844), p. 39; again, the original text accompanies the translation. 18

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Christ’s humility, when he himself came to the Baptist; and great was the humility of John, when he durst not baptize Christ, ere he was commanded; but because no humility is perfect, unless its companion be obedience, he then performed humbly that which he had before refused from fear.22

Aelfric’s sermon expresses the fullness of the belief that Christ submits to baptism because it was the will of God the Father that it be done so. This issue of Christ’s nature is also at the root of the conflict around the orthodoxy of Peter Lombard’s Sentences argued by Joachim of Fiore and upheld by the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215.23 These iconographies make tangible Christ’s divinity within his mortal condition. Their presence on the font further connects the ideas to the sacrament and mortal need for cleansing. They present the orthodoxies of Christ’s nature and baptism as a key sacrament at the same time.

Conflated Iconographies Rather than being faithful to the text, the Brighton font, dated to the third quarter of the twelfth century, fuses Christological and contemporary imagery together to create a visually relevant theology.24

22

Aelfric, Sermones Catholici, translated by Benjamin Thorpe, in The Homilies of the Anglo-Saxon Church, vol. II, p. 41. 23 Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, p. 246. For the Council’s pronouncement regarding his orthodoxy, see Canon 2, H.J. Schroeder, Disciplinary Decrees of the General Councils: Text, Translation and Commentary (St. Louis: B. Herder, 1937). 24 For discussion on the Brighton font, see J. Lewis, André, “Fonts in Sussex Churches,” in Sussex Archaeological Collection, Vol. XLIV, 1901, pp. 28-41, Alfred C. Fryer, “On Fonts with Representations of Baptism and the Holy Eucharist,” The Archaeological Journal, LX/Second Series X, 1903, pp. 6, 14, George Zarnecki, Later English Romanesque Sculpture 1140-1210 (London: Alec Tiranti, 1953), p. 58, and C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, p. 21.

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3-4: Baptism of Christ, Brighton (Sussex), 3rd quarter of the twelfth century (Courtauld Institute of Art)

Here the scene of Jesus’ baptism is arranged under three plain, wellcomposed arches. Christ occupies the center; as at Bridekirk, the nude figure stands, concealed from the waist down, in a rippling pool. Unlike Bridekirk, the Jordan is shaped like a hill whose edges extend into the bays on either side and the sculptor has taken some pains to suggest the naturalism of objects seen through water by making both Christ’s legs and the columns of the arches dimly visible. Christ does not have a halo here; one hand is instead raised in a blessing gesture. The figure of Christ, as do the other figures on this font, reflects the sculptor’s sensitivity to naturalism: it is fairly well proportioned; the arms bend naturalistically; the hair falls in loose waves. The hands and heads are still somewhat oversized and the eyes are prominent in the faces. In the arch to the left is an angel with large feathery wings. He holds in both hands a piece of cloth, less obviously the tunic shown on the West Haddon font but still probably meant to be the garment received by the newly received candidate. In this respect, the Brighton sculptor has condensed the baptismal and temptation narratives. The ministering angel

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appears as a representative of divine presence; the dove of the Holy Spirit is absent in both. The angel fulfills the idea of God’s blessing expressed vocally in the Scriptural accounts. On the right of Christ, the figure of John the Baptist looks like neither the hair-shirted John from the Bridekirk font nor the haloed John of the West Haddon font. Both of those fonts chose depictions which in some way emphasize the historical figure from the narrative; John is divinely and scripturally marked. On the Brighton font, the figure who performs the baptismal ceremony is distinctly priestly in appearance.25 His long robes appear to have a stole hung over them. Over his arm is draped a maniple such as might be worn over the arm of a Catholic priest. In his left hand is a covered jar. Why the priestly John the Baptist should have such a container is an interesting question. Alfred C. Fryer states that the jar is “...doubtless a chrismatory.”26 If the container is a chrismatory, used for holding the consecrated oils for the baptismal service,27 then the sculptor has created another visual link between the historical past and the liturgical present. The form of this jar is very close to that of another priestly object, the ciboria, a covered box larger than a pyx which held consecrated Eucharist host. An excellent example of this kind of container, probably roughly contemporary in its mid- to third-quarter of the twelfth century date and also English in facture, is the Balfour and Warwick ciboria (Victoria and Albert Museum, London, M.1-1981 and M. 159-1919). The Balfour and Warwick ciboria is closer in shape to the rounded covered jar held by the Brighton font figure. The similarity in form of contemporary chrismatory and ciboria may make it impossible to tell which was intended.

25

C.S. Drake identifies this figure as female, connecting her to Mary with her embalming ointments (The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, p. 21). Drake gives no indication why he makes this attribution and it seems difficult to sustain, despite the nicely “sacramental” reading this gives to the scene, connecting Christ’s baptism and death. 26 Alfred C. Fryer, “On Fonts with Representations of Baptism and the Holy Eucharist,” The Archaeological Journal, LX/Second Series X, 1903, p. 6. 27 Based on a typical Limoges enamel example from the first quarter of the thirteenth century (Metropolitan Museum of Art 17.190.853), the chrismatory held a number of smaller vials of consecrated oils of various types for the catechumens, exorcisms, ordination, and church consecration (www.metmuseum.org; 1/23/03).

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On the most literal of levels, the object helps us to identify the figure as a priest. It may also have a specific reference to the liturgical events of Easter, the primary time during the ecclesiastical calendar for baptisms. The two objects share liturgical significance in the Easter week celebrations. The Missa chrismalis service would have prepared and distributed the baptismal chrism. One of the services on Maundy Thursday, following the Missa chrismalis, was the reservation of the host; because Christ was considered dead during the Good Friday liturgy, no consecration of the Eucharist elements could occur.28 The reserved host was used either in the Mass of the Presanctified, for those who received daily Mass on Good Friday, or in the first Mass of Easter, the vigil Mass. The vigil Mass would have occurred after the baptism of new candidates.29 Whether chrismatory or ciboria is depicted on the Brighton font, the object has special resonance with the important Easter season services,

28

O.B. Hardison, Christian Rite and Christian Drama, p. 125 (Patrologia Latina database, both Vol. 105: 1017Aff. and Vol. 74: 1099-1102 are relevant.) The reading advanced here makes specific connections between this image and the Easter services because of the connection to Easter as a baptismal season. A different sacramental connection entirely might be advanced, one that enhances the idea that sacraments as an interconnected system were a focus of twelfth-century theology and imagery. The reserved host was also used in cases of sudden illness or imminent death, tying it to the sacrament of extreme unction included in the sacramental systems of the twelfth century. We could stretch the discussion to the font as tomb metaphor, discussed at length in chapter 5. The initiation reading seems stronger in this case but the two readings are certainly not mutually exclusive. 29 See O.B. Hardison, Christian Rite and Christian Drama, pp. 156-162 for discussion of the conclusion of the baptismal service and its fit in the Easter vigil service.

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and creates another (visual) connection between baptism and the Eucharist.30 Like the Brighton font, the font at Germigny-des-Près, now known only as a reproduction of the medieval font, offers two simultaneous readings of Christ’s baptism. In a single panel of decoration, John is dressed more like a priest than in other depictions and holds a small dish to pour the water over Christ’s head while he kneels on the wavy lines of the Jordan River.31 Because of the Jordan, the blessing gesture of the candidate, and the ministering angel, the viewer is clearly supposed to see the scene as Christ’s baptism. It speaks theologically to a point where Jesus is acknowledged as the Christ and to an event which establishes the baptismal sacrament in the Church. That connection to the contemporary institution of baptism is emphasized by the other visual elements. At Germigny-des-Près, the small dish for immersion connects us to practical elements of the baptismal rite. At Brighton, the arches recall church architecture; John is dressed as a priest. These elements are meant to reinforce the scene of the candidate’s baptism, occurring in this very font. They stress that the candidate herself is baptized as Christ was baptized, that the church through sacraments maintains that connection between mortal and divine. The Brighton font depiction visually expresses the liturgical rhetoric of being baptized in Christ. 30 One possible counter-argument to this reading is O.B. Hardison’s statement that the host was carried in a capsa “which during the early centuries was regularly made in the shape of a tower...in imitation of the supposed shape of Christ’s tomb.” (Christian Rite and Christian Drama, p. 123). Because this is a more specialized container, one which not all congregations might have, the artist or patron might have substituted the more commonly recognizable ciboria. On the Balfour and Warwick ciboria, as well as on the form of other English ciboria, see Neil Stratford catalogue entries in English Romanesque Art 1066-1200, nos. 278 and 279, and Neil Stratford, “Three English Romanesque Enameled Ciboria,” Burlington Magazine, Vol. CXXVI, April 1984, pp. 204-216. Stratford’s work raises the connections between English and Mosan enamel and metal works; the connection between the two areas is also important for analysis of fonts. See C.S. Drake’s section on Tournai and Mosan fonts in The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, pp. 39-59 for an introduction to the issue. An initial examination of fonts like Dendermonde, St. Venant, and Neerhespen reveals similar iconographic concerns as the ones discussed herein for England; a more complete investigation would be useful. 31 Similar service ware used for Christ’s baptism can also be seen on the font at Bains (France) (C.S. Drake, pl. 145).

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3-5: Baptism of Christ, Germigny-des-Près, twelfth century (Jean-François Bradu)

These presentations of Christ’s baptism with the context of the twelfth-century liturgy are reasonably common. The chalice-shaped font from St. Michael’s, Castle Frome dates to around 1140, and is an outstanding example of the Herefordshire School of sculpture.32

32

For more information on the Castle Frome (Herefordshire) font, see Alfred C. Fryer, “On Fonts with Representations of Baptism and the Holy Eucharist,” The Archaeological Journal, LX/Second Series X, 1903, pp. 4-5 (referred to as Castle Froome font); Francis Bond, Fonts and Font Covers (1908), p. 52; E.S.Prior and A.Gardner, An Account of Medieval Figure-Sculpture in England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1912), p. 167; George Zarnecki, Later English Romanesque Sculpture 1140-1210 (London: Alec Tiranti, 1953), pp. 9-15, 55; Laurence Stone, Sculpture in Britain: The Middle Ages (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1955), pl. 47b; Nicholas Pevsner, Herefordshire (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1963), pp. 99-100; George Zarnecki, English Romanesque Art 1066-1200 (London: The Arts Council of Great Britain, 1984), entry 139; Malcom Thurlby, The Herefordshire School of Romanesque Sculpture (Little Logaston: Logaston Press, 1999), pp. 118-122; and C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2002), p. 19.

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3-6: Baptism m of Christ, Castle C Frome (Herefordshiree), mid-twelfth h century (Courtauld IInstitute of Artt)

Its base, wiith its prone human h supporrters, is perhaaps inspired by b Italian works whille the interllaced knots show clearlyy the local form of Scandinaviaan influencedd patterns.33 Most M of the sculpture’s surface s is filled with this looping knot pattern; around the rrim is a morre regular braid. The ffour evangelisst symbols aree carved on thhe surface off the font. The presencce of the evanngelists remin nds the vieweer of the sourrce of the Christ storiees, a referencee that has conn notations of thhe Catholic eccclesiastic institution as well. Onn one face of the Castle Frome font is the image off Christ’s baptism. A haloed Johnn the Baptistt stands on tthe right, thee twisted perspective showing his face frontally y but his boddy in profile. A cloth, meant to suuggest the manniple of later ecclesiasticall attire, is draaped over

33

George Zarrnecki, Later Ennglish Romanessque Sculpture 1140-1210, pp. 9-15.

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one arm.34 His other hand is stretched out over the head of Christ in a blessing gesture. Christ appears as a smaller nude figure without a halo. He stands in a circular pool, seen aerially, the water’s concentric ripples covering his lower body. Four fish, arranged symmetrically two on either side of Christ, refer explicitly to the living water of the Jordan River, and obliquely, through the Greek acrostic, to Christ himself. Above Christ, the dove of the Holy Spirit descends; the head of the bird is now missing but seems to have originally touched Christ’s head in order to indicate the divine connection. Also above Christ’s head is the hand of God, again marking Jesus as the Son of God in a tangible expression of the words of Matthew 3:17. George Zarnecki suggests that the addorsed doves next to this scene of Christ’s baptism may be a representation of baptismal purity, in contrast to the figures on the base who may represent sin.35 The Castle Frome font is clearly concerned with visual fidelity to the Matthew text in its representation of the Jordan and its repeated devices for identifying the baptismal candidate as Christ. It is also simultaneously interested in referring to the contemporary ecclesiastic position through its depiction of John as a priest and the use of evangelist symbols; its omission of Christ’s halo may also be intended to refer to the present candidate undergoing baptism. The Castle Frome font draws the Scriptural event together with the present to heighten the sacramental significance of the mortal baptism. The Fincham font (2-13, 2-14, 3-7) makes the fusion of Christ’s baptism and mortal baptism in visual imagery strikingly clear. Joined to incarnation iconography showing Adam and Eve, the Nativity, and the

34

George Zarnecki et. al., English Romanesque Art 1066-1200(London: Arts Council of Great Britain, 1984) notes that the maniple is worn incorrectly, over John’s right arm (p. 178). The issue of its incorrect placement and what this might say about the sculptor’s familiarity with rite and practice is far less important than its presence. The presence of a maniple shapes the visual image of John the Baptist into a Catholic priest, thus connecting Christ’s baptism with the candidate’s. 35 George Zarnecki, English Romanesque Art 1066-1200, p. 178; C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, p. 19, concurs.

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Three Magii, the Fincham m font’s icono ographic proggram suggestss that the 36 baptismal sccene is more thhan a simple representation r n of Christ’s baptism. b

3-7: Baptism m of Christ, Fincham (Norrfolk), early tto mid-twelfth h century (Courtauld IInstitute of Artt)

Certain detaails strongly suuggest a visuaal link betweeen Christ’s bap ptism and human bapttism. The arrcade design here forms a strong arch hitectural definition. T The three bayys are wide an nd spacious w with firm roll--moulded arches, cleaar abaci and capitals. c This design elemeent shows a sculptural s interest in eeliding Christt’s baptism with w the human an one occurriing in an ecclesiastic setting. Thee center bay is occupied by Christ. Although A attended by the dove of the t Holy Spirrit, the figure of Christ lack ks a halo; he is also baaptized in a square-sided tu ub font, quite like the Finccham font itself. In thee forms of a halo-less h Chriist and the “chhurch” and th he font in which that bbaptism occurs, the Fincham m artist has prresented a stro ong visual link to contemporary bapptismal practicce, elevating the importancce of that sacrament. 36

Alfred C. Fryer, “On Fonts with Representations off Baptism and the Holy Eucharist,” T The Archaeologiical Journal, LX/Second Seriees X, 1903, pp. 9-10, and Folke Nordsttröm in Medievval Baptismal Fonts: an iconnographic stud dy, p. 106, argue the connverse, that this is a baptism off a mortal candiidate.

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The artist superimposes other visual aspects to strengthen the connection between Christ’s and mortal baptisms. The standing figure to the right, one arm held out in blessing, the other holding a book, may be intended to be John the Baptist. The robes of this figure are carved with a firm diagonal line to suggest texture; the Fincham sculptor often simplified his carving unless details seemed narratively significant, such as in Adam’s gender-differentiating beard. The figure of the Baptist is countered by the standing figure in the leftmost bay of this side. Here a figure holds a book in one hand and the crooked staff of a bishop’s crozier in the other. The figure has no Scriptural referent; the ecclesiastic hierarchy is established by Jesus’ appointment of Peter only later in Christ’s ministry. F. A. Paley suggests that the bishop may be intended to represent St. Augustine of Canterbury, thus making a connection between Christ’s baptism and the national history of Christianity in England; there is nothing that physically supports this nationalistic interpretation.37 The bishop is, however, a key figure in the Catholic practice of baptism; he confirms (more commonly in a service separate from the baptismal rite) the baptismal covenant. A bishop is also the only member of the ecclesiastical hierarchy with the power to perform this confirmation, completing the act of baptism.38 The bishop sculpted here references contemporary practices. An even greater intermingling of visual elements from Christ’s baptism and mortal baptism than seen in the Fincham font is found on the ca. 1140 baptismal font at Kirkburn.39 These fonts are geographically distant and stylistically dissimilar but their iconographic priorities are comparable. This font is particularly interesting because its mixed 37

F. A. Paley, Fincham entry, Illustrations of Baptismal Fonts (London: John van Voorst, 1844), unpaginated. 38 Confirmation and its visual representation on baptismal fonts from this period will be discussed in greater detail in the following chapter. 39 Regarding the Kirkburn (East Riding, Yorkshire) font, see Alfred C. Fryer, “On Fonts with Representations of Baptism and the Holy Eucharist,” The Archaeological Journal, LX/Second Series X, 1903, pp. 10-11, and entries in Francis Bond, Fonts and Font Covers, pp. 165 and 167 particularly; Faith Mann, Early Medieval Church Sculpture: A Study of 12th Century Fragments in East Yorkshire (Beverly: Hutton Press Ltd., 1985) pp. 30-31, 48. Wood advances a much stronger connection between the church and its Augustinian priory rector, discussed below, than is supportable from the evidence; I concur on the possibility but temper her discussion considerably.

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presentationn of elements may show a degree of eruudite understaanding of theology whhile the carvinng style is rou ugh with doll-llike simplified d figures. The Kirkburrn font, decoraated with an arcade a and knoot along the to op rim, is divided intoo two bands, separated by y a plait. Thee lower band contains figures of annimals, men and a geometricc designs isolaated on the su urface, as if they were applied ornam ments.

3-8: Conflateed baptism sceene, Kirkburn (Yorkshire), cca. 1140 (autho or)

Various sym mbolic readinggs have been attached to tthese figures, although only the cleaarly carved im mage of a quaadruped with a cross, the Ag gnus Dei,

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is really identifiable.40 Like the Fincham font decoration, the upper band of the Kirkburn font seems to be part of a Christological program but in all of the images there are considerable numbers of iconographic inconsistencies and additional figures who may bear no relationship to the primary narratives. The program suggested begins with Christ’s baptism, moves to Christ’s charge to Peter, and concludes with the standing Christ in a mandorla supported by angels in reference either to the Resurrection or the Second Coming.41 Narratively and theologically, there is a neat throughline: Christ’s ministry, the establishment of the Church to continue after Christ’s death, and the return of the Messiah at the end of time. All Christian time—historic past, visible present and hoped-for future—is presented on the Kirkburn font. What makes the baptismal scene on the Kirkburn font unusual is the way the details intend to continue the joining of Christological and mortal time but serve to confuse the viewer. The baptismal candidate lacks a halo and is baptized in a font.42 The dove of the Holy Spirit descends from the upper left. This seems a specific reference to the baptism of 40 The images on the lower band, beginning at the Agnus Dei and proceeding clockwise around the font, include a human being with a large hoe or axe on his shoulder, a bird with a serpentine tail sometimes described as a perdix, a quadruped with a long tail which is probably a cat, a small mouse like animal probably meant to be paired with the cat before it, a serpent with a knotted tail, a geometric design with a square with knotted corners and an inset interlaced lozenge, and a man leading another quadruped, variously described as a bear or a bull. First addressed in detail in three essays in The Journal of the British Archaeological Association 7 (1852) by George Milner, “Remarks on the Sculptured Font in Kirkburn Church, Near Driffield, Yorkshire”, 38-42, J. G. Waller, “Observations on the Kirkburn Font”, 43-45, and William Bell, “Observations on the Font at Kirkburn”, 45-52; these early texts all try to fit the lower band into a greater sense of narrative cohesion. Francis Bond suggests that the Agnus Dei is surrounded by savage and fearsome beasts or that these beasts are being brought to do homage to the Agnus Dei (Francis Bond, Fonts and Font Covers, p. 167). Rita Wood, "The Augustinians and the Romanesque Sculpture at Kirkburn Church", East Yorkshire Historian, Volume 4 (2003), 3-59, treats this lower band in more sound, art-historical detail. 41 The handling of the figure in the mandorla emphasizes the raised hands to show the stigmata but this could be a facet of either iconography. 42 J. Romilly Allen, Early Christian Symbolism in Great Britain and Ireland before the thirteenth century (London: Whiting & Co., 1887), p. 291, takes these details as definitive proof that the scene on the Kirkburn font represents the rite of baptism and not Christ’s own baptism.

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Christ.43 The baptism is presided over by a figure to the right who lays his hand on the head of the baptismal candidate and who holds a book in his other hand, which has precedents as John the Baptist, as on the West Haddon and Fincham fonts. But this figure has a cross behind his head. The figures seemingly intended to be Christ on the Kirkburn font have a cross behind their heads. If this is Christ, then it argues a sophisticated theological reading: Christ himself baptizes the mortal candidate. The candidate is initiated into the Church not just in the name of Christ.44 The idea of Christ as the baptizer has a long tradition in baptismal theology. Augustine, in espousing a tradition which would return as many as possible to the fold of orthodoxy, argued that the minister might be corrupt or heretical but the power of the rite came not from the minister but from Christ and the Holy Spirit.45 This idea is also summarized, with Augustine citations as authority, in the collection of Peter Lombard.46 It is possible that the iconographic details here are a deliberate blurring, in order to express a complicated theological idea.

43 In keeping with the reading that this is a sophisticated reading of divine presence at baptism, “Ambrose insists on a divine presence in the baptismal water..”; Paulinus of Nola (Epistula 32.5) and Leo the Great (Sermo 24 In Nativitate Domini, Patrologia Latina database, Vol. 54: 0203ff.) also suggest the descent of the Holy Spirit at baptism (Philip T. Weller, Selected Easter Sermons of Saint Augustine, p. 45, p. 241). 44 Peter Lombard, while not specifying that the minister is actually Christ or even Christ’s representative, lends support for this reading by stressing that a baptism is valid even if the formula is spoken incorrectly, as long as the intention is pure. This interpretation is far more lax than that of the canonists, especially Gratian. Peter Lombard holds that grace comes from God not from the human minister. It may be this direct expression of God conferring grace which we see here. See Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, p. 545. 45 “...the Lord retained for himself the power of baptism, but he gave the ministry to his servants. If therefore a servant says that he baptizes; he says it rightly, but he baptizes only as a minister, and therefore it makes no difference whether a good or an evil man baptizes.” Augustine, In Joannis Evangelium., (Patrologia Latina database, Vol. 35). This is in keeping with Augustine’s neoplatonism which posits a soul yearning to return to God and thus enacting its own faith through rituals and the desire for rites such as baptism. 46 Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book IV, Distinction V: 2. Translated by Elizabeth Frances Rogers, Peter Lombard and the Sacramental System (Merrick: Richwood Publishing Co., 1976), pp. 106-107 (Patrologia Latina database, Vol. 192: 0851ff.).

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That this Kirkburn scene is meant as a strong analog to the baptism occurring in the font than to Christ’s own (historical) baptism can be read from the inclusion of the four figures just to the left of this baptismal scene. The Kirkburn sculptor’s complete lack of compositional or gestural connection makes it somewhat difficult to either ascribe them in either of the bracketing scenes of the Maeiestas or the baptism. The nearest figure holds the simple square that the Kirkburn sculptor uses to delineate “book” but he also holds a small stick with curving branches, carved with considerable care. This may be an aspergillum, the implement used to shake holy water over the heads of the faithful at various services. The next figure is unremarkable, holding nothing in arms carved akimbo. The third figure along holds a bishop’s crozier staff, specifically referencing baptismal and confirmation rituals. Could the figure between these two ecclesiastics be intended to be the baptismal sponsor, the godparent? The fourth book-holding figure again has no particular visual elements that incline us to read him as part of either the baptismal scene or the Resurrection image just to the left. Perhaps the Kirkburn sculptor deliberately downplays their presence in his handling of gesture and pose in order not to detract from the primary reading of the scene as Christ’s baptism. However, using an inclusive reading strategy, these figures may indeed be connected to baptism so that the presence of ecclesiastically emphasized figures underscores contemporary ritual practices. Better than any other font from the period, the Kirkburn font expresses how audiences and concerns come together in visual form. The images on the font—baptism in both its Christological narrative and its theological significance, the charge to Peter establishing the Church after Christ’s death, and the Second Coming with the display of Christ’s wounded hands—are all sophisticated iconographies. Yet the carving style is decidedly the opposite: nothing more than simply-handled abstraction with little attention to naturalism. We might reconcile these two poles in what little we know about the church of Kirkburn itself. The church was part of the original endowment given by Robert de Brus in the foundation

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of Gisborough Priory in 1119.47 The connection to the Augustinian monastery was probably only that the church collected the tithes from this holding and confirmed a vicar in that holding; as argued earlier, even this distant connection bespeaks some connection between the more-learned monks of the Priory and the parish priests of Kirkburn. Stronger connections are the stuff of whole conjecture: because the Augustinian canons were known for their greater interaction with the laity through preaching and altar service, they might even have confirmed one of their own monks to the advowson,48 or the advowson might have been held by a monk between confirmation of other chaplains. Lacking contemporary records, we can do little more than suggest possibilities that might help to explain the Kirkburn font not as simply provincial production in style and in iconographic misunderstanding. Conflated iconographies visually suggest the traditional theology that Christ’s baptism prepared the way for mortal baptism as practiced by the Church. For example, Ambrose specifically parallels the mortal rite 47

R. Gilyard-Beer, Gisborough Priory, 2nd ed. (Edinburgh: Department of the Environment and HMSO Press, 1980), pp. 1-2. This booklet focuses on the Priory itself. For the Kirkburn church, see K.A. MacMahon, The Church of St. Mary Kirkburn (Severley: Wright and Hoggard Printers, 1953). These sources both note the two establishment dates of Gisborough Priory; I am inclined to agree with Gilyard-Beer that the earlier date of 1119 reflects the earliest charter but that the 1129 date is the charter which reflects the definitive establishment of the house. 48 The extent to which the Augustinians served local churches is a critical but incompletely answered question. See Rita Wood, "The Augustinians and the Romanesque Sculpture at Kirkburn Church", 11-14, who suggests the likelihood of their service though little remains architecturally or in written documentation. Wood argues that the priority of the canons to educate their communities led to their involvement outside the cloister, and perhaps the sculptural remnants at Kirkburn support this. There is some question about whether or not the tower architecture, extensively rebuilt, supports the idea of the canons as priests in residence (C. Brereton, “St. Mary’s Church, Kirkburn”, Association of Architectural Societies Reports and Papers, III.2 (1854-55), 222-34). On the general subject of the Augustinian canons and their involvement with parish churches, see Donald Matthew, The Norman Monasteries and their English Possessions (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1962), especially pp. 58-65 and the contrary position offered by Marjorie Chibnall, “Monks and Pastoral Work: A Problem in Anglo-Norman History,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History, Vol. xviii (1967), pp.165-172. See also Caroline Walker Bynum, “The Spirituality of Regular Canons in the Twelfth Century: a New Approach”, Medievalia et Humanistica, N.S. 4 (1973), 3-24.

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and Christ’s baptism when he notes that the sanctification of the water happens after the rite of exorcism, You have seen water but not all water cures, but the water cures which has the grace of Christ...Water does not cure unless the Holy Spirit should descend and consecrate that water...Why did Christ descend first, then the Holy Spirit afterwards, when the form and practice of baptism includes this: that first the font is consecrated, then the one to be baptized descends? For, when the priest first enters, he performs the exorcism corresponding to the creation of water; and afterwards delivers an invocation and prayer, that the font may be sanctified and that the presence of the eternal Trinity may appear.”49

The form of the liturgy practiced is held to have its roots in Christ’s own baptism. Peter Lombard, in creating the authority of the Sentence collection at the time of sacramental controversy, draws on that patristic tradition. He clearly prefers the authority of Christ’s baptism as the beginning of Christian ritual as the earliest precedent, rather than the postResurrection direction to the disciples to baptize in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit (Matthew 28:19). He writes: Accordingly it is more fitting to say that the institution was established, when Christ was baptized by John in the Jordan; which he arranged, not because he wished to be cleansed, since he was without sin, but because ‘by the contact of his pure flesh he bestowed regenerating power on the waters,’ so that whoever was afterwards immersed, with the invocation of the name of the Trinity, might be cleansed from sin.50

For the Lombard, Christ’s own baptism occurs as a sacramental act in itself; water was only an element until used in the service of Christ’s ministry to humanity. The act of Christ’s baptism is thus sacrament and it is followed by the liturgical direction from Christ to the disciples to create 49

Ambrose, De Sacramentis, Book 1, chapter 5, 15-18, translated by Robin Jensen, Living Water: Images, Settings and Symbols of Early Christian Baptism. PhD thesis, Columbia University, 1991. (Patrologia Latina database, Vol. 16: 0422A ff.). 50 Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book IV, Distinction II, part 3, (TRANS, 10)

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the ritual as understood by the Church. What is important is the combination of the two—precedent and practice. Peter Lombard, in discussing the form of baptism undertaken by John, tries to address the differences between mortal baptism and Christ’s baptism. “John’s baptism was for penance, not for remission; but Christ’s baptism was for remission.”51 John’s baptism of mortals (not of Christ) was held to be imperfect because it was not performed in the name of Christ and did not manifest the Holy Spirit; although sins were confessed, the washing of John’s baptism could not remit those sins, as baptism in the Christian tradition was held to do. Christ’s baptism becomes the form “...to call mankind to repentance, as a preparation for the true baptism that would remit sin...”52 The complicated theological ideas of baptism through Christ are seen in the variations in the basic iconography of the scene of Christ’s baptism.

Beyond Christ: Other Images of Baptism The examination of these images of Christ’s baptism on Romanesque fonts reveals that the visual vocabulary of this iconography is, as a whole, considerably less distinct and textually based than previously allowed. While narratively the scene is meant to be read as Christ’s baptism, symbolically the imagery also ties his baptism to contemporary practice. Christ’s baptism is not the only appropriate iconography for font decoration; while Christ’s baptism sets precedence, other scenes suggest practice. These fonts are decorated to emphasize the importance of the rite, within the larger institutional church. Indeed, the presence of the recognizable rite on the object of ecclesiastic furniture increases the stress placed on the rite—so important that it is represented on a holy object. These fonts put the occurring event into the context previously reserved for images of Christ, of Scriptural significance. One’s own baptism is elevated by the representation.

51 52

Peter Lombard, Sentences, IV: iii, 4; (TRANS., 10) Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, p. 533.

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Maade between 1107 and 1118 8 by Mosan arrtist Renier dee Huy, the well-knownn bronze font from St. Barrtholomew’s cchurch in Lièège fuses baptismal prrecedence andd baptismal prractice in its suubjects.53

3-9: Baptism m of Christ,, Renier de Huy, Liège,, 1107-1118 (Jean-Pol Grandmont))

The font ressts on bulls, a reference to o Solomon’s ttemple (1 Kin ngs 7:237:27), and certainly meannt to suggest th he way in whiich the New Testament T practice ressted on Old Testament T co ovenants. Thi s idea of Ch hristianity superseding Jewish practiice is seen thro oughout twelffth-century theeology as well, notablly in the workk of Rupert of o Deutz (d.11129) who liveed in this same regionn and applied the idea of historical h paralllels to his ex xegesis of

53

Two recentt catalogue entrries address thee Renier of Huyy font in some detail; see Suzanne Colllon-Gevaert, et al., Art Roman dans la vallée de la Meuse au ux XIe and XIIe siecles ((Bruxelles: L’A Arcade, 1962) and a ed. Anton L Legner, Rhein und u Maas: Kunst und K Kultur 800-14000 (Köln: Schnü ütgen-Museum, 1973). M. Lau urent, “La question des ffonts de St. Baarthélémy de Liège,” L Bulletinn Monumental, LXXXIII, 1924, pp. 3277-348, remains an important so ource on this fonnt.

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John, the Revelation, and the sacraments.54 Ranged around the bowl, we see John the Baptist first preaching to a group of figures, followed by the baptism of Christ. These two scenes establish the authority of John to baptize, an idea picked up elsewhere in twelfth-century theology, notably in Peter Lombard. While clear that John’s baptism was different, theologians nonetheless wanted to legitimize it: Because in John’s baptism there was only the visible work of one who washed outwardly, but not the invisible grace of God working inwardly. And yet even that work of John was from God, and that baptism was from God, not from man…Those who were baptized by John in ignorance of the existence of the Holy Spirit, and placing their hope in John’s baptism, were afterwards baptized by Christ’s baptism.—For John’s baptism was given in the name of the one who was to come.55

Immediately after, we see Peter baptizing Cornelius (Acts 10) and John baptizing the philosopher Craton.56

54 Rupert made an explicit connection along these lines that applies here: he saw the sea of glass referenced in Revelation 15:2 as both the Red Sea in Exodus and baptism in the New Testament. For more on Rupert’s style of exegesis as a mix of history, Christology, and sacramentology, see Abigail Ann Young, The Fourth Gospel In The Twelfth Century: Rupert Of Deutz On The Gospel Of John, 1998 web page based on her 1984 dissertation for the University of Toronto. 55 Peter Lombard, IV:II, 14, 16 (10-11) 56 Éric Junod and Jean-Daniel Kaestli, “L'histoire des Actes apocryphes des apôtres du IIIe au IXe siècle : le cas des Actes de Jean”, Cahiers de la revue de de Theologie et de Philosophie 7, Geneva/Lausanne/Neuchâtel, 1982.

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3-10: Baptissms, Renier de Huy, fontt from Liègee, 1107-1118 (Jean-Pol Grandmont))

These estabblish the prractice after Jesus’s deaath and resu urrection, continuing aas the disciplees continue Christ’s missioon; notably thee hand of God blessess the scenes, indicating visually the suppport for the depicted rites, and byy extension, thhe activity in the t Liège font nt itself. The Liège L font is fundamenntally about auuthority: given n to John to bbaptize Christ and then given to thee disciples too baptize new w believers annd then to thee Church established tthrough the diisciples. As discussed in the prev vious chapterr, baptism was the ritual/sacram mental practiice which removed r both th Original Sin and committed ssins; particulaarly in the case of infants, hheld to have no n willful inclination tto sin, the rem moval of the taint of origiin, through th he mortal ancestors off Adam and Eve, E was the primary p goal. Ultimately, it i rests in the Scripturaal injunction that t unless one is born of w water and the Spirit S (the sacramental elements off baptism), one o cannot eenter the kin ngdom of Heaven. Thhis emphasis on o cleansing from f Originall Sin was an orthodox position, helld by a numbeer of the perio od’s theologiccal Schools su uch as the

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School of Laon, the Porretans, the Victorines (both Hugh of St. Victor and the author of the Summa Sententiarum), and Peter Lombard.57 While the primary reasons for baptism were the removal of Original Sin and the salvation necessity, the other theological reason for baptism was the strength it gave to the baptized soul. Peter Lombard holds that baptism is not merely a remission of sin but a conferring of grace. Baptism, he holds, cleanses us of original sin and, in the case of adults, actual sin as well, removing the guilt and eternal punishment they bring upon fallen man. He agrees that baptized persons retain the inclination to sin and that this inclination involves concupiscence and ignorance. At the same time, and here he departs from Hugh and his followers, the inclination to sin is weakened in people who have received baptism. The operating and coordinating grace which they receive at the same time makes them better able to resist temptation, so that the inclination to sin is now no longer as automatic or as compelling as it would have been otherwise.58

This idea of a better person through the grace of baptism may indeed have its expression in the fusion of Christological and mortal narrative elements. Christ’s baptism is the narrative beginning of his ministry and life of sacrifice. Mortal baptism is the beginning of one’s life in faith with the encouragement to live in the example of Christ. The idea of mortal strengthening may be seen on a Spanish Romanesque font. In the church of St. Esteban in Renedo de Valdavia, the font shows the three magi honoring the Virgin and Child, as discussed earlier a motif of incarnation; in addition, under one arcade stands a priest by a baptismal font. He is flanked on one side by a man wrestling a lionlike beast and on the other by a soldier, armed with sword and shield, trampling a serpent. Additional figures, on the other side of the figure wrestling with the beast, have been read as baptismal sponsors because of 57 Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, pp. 539-540. Colish also mentions the contradictions which rest within Abelard’s view of baptism; although he holds baptism as unnecessary for those who have not sinned voluntarily, he also holds that the unbaptized share the consequences of Original Sin. The problems of Original Sin and its remission are present in the theology of even one so radical as Abelard. 58 Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, p. 540.

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their rigid ppostures and lack l of halos or clerical gaarb. Though unusually u spaced in thhe arcades, thhe font’s deco oration seemss to be parallleling the action portraayed on the font f with the liturgical l rite,, while makin ng it clear that the rite is a remedy aggainst the sin with which C Christians strug ggle.

3-11: Baptiism, font froom St. Esteba an in Renedoo de Valdavia, latertwelfth centtury (BSI) Loccated in the parish church of St. Marrgaret’s, the ca. 1140 baptismal foont at Darenthh is a round tub b font with ann arcade comp position.59 The figures under each arch a are primarily iconic, iincluding a leeopard or lion in a hheraldic posee; a man holding a raiseed cudgel, so ometimes wishfully iddentified as Stt. Margaret deespite the beaard, accompan nied by a human headded, winged beast; b a standing crowned figure wearin ng a cape 59

For more oon the font at Darenth (Kent)), see Alfred C C. Fryer, “On Fonts F with Representatioons of Baptism and the Holy Eucharist,” E Thee Archaeologica al Journal, LX/Second S Series X, 1903, p. 9, Rev. A. A H. Collins, ““The Iconograp phy of the Darenth Fontt,” Archaeologgia Cantiana, LVI, L 1943, pp. 6-10, George Zarnecki, Later Englishh Romanesque Sculpture 1140 0-1210 (Londonn: Alec Tiranti,, 1953), p. 53 and C.S. D Drake, The Rom manesque Fontts of Northern E Europe and Sca andinavia, p. 15.

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and holding a spear; another winged grotesque with a fish tail sometimes plausibly identified as two separate grotesques, and a seated crowned figure with a harp, usually identified as King David.60

3-12: Baptism scene, Darenth (Kent), ca. 1140 (BSI)

The baptismal scene shows a small font on a pedestal; an infant is submerged to the upper chest in it. The size of the figure, combined with its lack of halo and the pedestal font, argue against this as a baptism of Christ; C.S. Drake notes as well that the lack of other programmatic

60

Grotesques or masks with grotesque features make up a small but notable portion of font decoration in late-eleventh and twelfth centuries England. Francis Bond, in Fonts and Font Covers, reproduces some of the best, including those with grotesques at Curdworth (Warwickshire), Alphington (Devonshire), Bridekirk, Kirkburn, Topsham (Devonshire), Lullington (Somerset) (mask), Luppitt (Devonshire)(both masks and grotesques), Morville (North Riding Yorkshire)(masks), South Wooton (Norfolk)(masks), Toftrees (Norfolk)(masks), and the regional group of Cornish fonts such as Roche (masks) and Bodmin (angel masks at corners, grotesques on bowl).

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scenes discourages a Christological interpretation.61 Two full-size adults stand on either side of the font with their hands on the candidate. On the left, the figure is clearly a woman with long full skirt, slightly fuller sleeves, and plaited hair. The figure on the right is a man wearing a long robe, a cape over his shoulders. “He appears to be vested in an alb and cope or cloak fastened at the throat. The cope falls back over the shoulders. His ‘braccae’ or wide trousers can be seen below the thin material of the alb. No stole can be seen.”62 These clerical attributes seem difficult to read and while the cape may be intended to be a cope in order to indicate the ecclesiastic status of the figure, the lack of other attribute— book, maniple, or liturgical object—argues for the possibility that this figure is not a clergyman but laity. The two then may be identified as baptismal sponsors of the candidate. The Darenth font may very emphatically represent baptismal practice in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. The arcade and pedestal font give the scene an ecclesiastic setting. Writings of the period are quite clear that the baptismal rite should occur in the church if the health of the infant permits it; baptism by the midwife or other laity should be reserved for extreme situations. Baptismal sponsors were part of the earliest known baptismal practices, particularly involving infants.63 The Code of Justinian in the sixth century reveals a degree of anxiety about spiritual affinity; the prohibitions against marriage between sponsors, between sponsors and parents, or between the sponsors and candidate continue through the thirteenth century.64 The responsibility of the godparent was a solemn one as the liturgy asks them to renounce the devil and accept faith on behalf of the child; Carolingian sources stress that, because of this responsibility,

61

C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, p. 15. He skeptically suggests that the scene may present Christ’s first bath, an apocryphal story that has very few precedents in medieval art and which has no parallels elsewhere in baptismal imagery. I concur with his opinion that this is an unlikely reading of the scene. 62 Rev. A. H. Collins, “The Iconography of the Darenth Font,” p.6. 63 “Baptism” entry, The New Schaff-Herzog Encyclopedia of Religious Knowledge, Vol. 2 (New York: Funk & Wagnalls, Co., 1908), p. 446. Tertullian, writing in the third century, mentions the practice (De baptismo, xviii). 64 “Baptism” entry, The New Schaff-Herzog Encyclopedia of Religious Knowledge, Vol. 2, p. 446.

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the sponsorss must be surre to know thee Creed and tthe Lord’s Praayer.65 In showing the details of the church locale, the vvested priest, and the arenth and thee Thorpe observant ggodparents, thhe image on both the Dar Salvin fontts carefully reinforce thee important aspects of baptismal b practice.

3-13: Baptissm, Thorpe Salvin S (Yorksh hire), later-tweelfth century (Conway Library, Thee Courtauld In nstitute of Art, London)

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“Baptism” entry, The New w Schaff-Herzog g Encyclopediaa of Religious Knowledge, K Vol. 2, p. 446. R.W. Southeern, in Western n Society and thhe Church in the t Middle Ages (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. B Eerdmans Pu ublishing Co., 11970), p. 18, strresses that for the Midddle Ages, this religious cerem mony and its ssponsorship req quirements formed a poolitical commuunity as well as a spirituall community, being an involuntary contractual tie binding b the futurre of the individdual from birth onward.

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The baptism scene on the Thorpe Salvin font extends over two arcades. The chalice-shaped font is placed between them at the base of the shared column; the sculptor’s composition and technical handling make it appear that the column springs from the basin of the font itself. On the left is a large figure in elaborate layered robes; this priest holds a small dolllike infant in one hand, balancing him on the edge of the font. On the right side of the font are four distinct individuals who stand with their hands outstretched. They are arranged on separate groundlines to indicate their different perspectives. One figure is clearly female with her neatly hair contained within a coif; the abraded figure, highest and backmost in the composition, may also be female. The other two figures are probably male; one has a discernible beard. These two couples, with their hands touching the font or the church architecture around the font, witness this baptism, probably as parents and godparents sponsoring the child. The Thorpe Salvin sculptor has very clearly depicted the contemporary rite involving infant baptism. Baptism, as it occurs in the Thorpe Salvin font, is pictured on the Thorpe Salvin font. Both events reinforce the other: the picture lends authority to that which happens in the font; the rite expresses poetically and with spiritual effect that which is only awkwardly depicted by the forms on the font. The full Thorpe Salvin font is divided into seven arcades; the carving of the architectural features, as well as the ornate vegetation of the rim, is meticulously carved.66 Four of the arcades contain related scenes. In the first, a kneeling figure gathers wheat, tied sheaves arranged on their own ground line behind him. The second has a horseback rider crossing a bridge; there may be a hooded bird on his raised hand. In the third, a figure in a short tunic, or possibly with his skirts tied up, carries a basket. In the fourth, a figure in a heavy cloak, detailed with textured carving, sits with his feet on the open edge of a tall towered brazier or kiln. These scenes have been identified by their similarity to other calendar cycles; two calendar cycles even appear on other baptismal fonts at Brookland

66

For more on the Thorpe Salvin (West Riding, Yorkshire) font, see Alfred C. Fryer, “On Fonts with Representations of Baptism and the Holy Eucharist,” The Archaeological Journal, LX/Second Series X, 1903, p. 10.

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(Kent) and Burnham Deepdale (Norfolk).67 The harvester is probably August or September (Summer); the falconer is May (Spring). The basket holder is likely based on the Fall months’ grape gatherer and the figure toasting his feet is obviously a Winter month, commonly February. A fifth image, a mask with two zigzag lines coming from its mouth, may also be part of this calendar scene; it is reminiscent of images of the personified winds.68 The appearance of the calendar here, like its common appearance in architectural sculpture on church façades, may be a shorthand reminder of the significance of the church and its spiritual shepherding through the daily, secular life. Isolated symbols of Sagittarius and Aquarius, clearly labeled to indicate their calendar significance, also appear on the Hook Norton font.69 The calendar on a baptismal font could also be taken as a

67 Although he omits the Thorpe Salvin (West Riding, Yorkshire) images, the most complete discussion of these calendars can be found in James Carson Webster, The Labors of the Months in Antique and Mediaeval Art to the End of the Twelfth Century 2nd ed. (New York: AMS Press, 1970). For a full discussion of calendar scenes, see Frances Altvater, “Chores, Computation and the Second Coming: Calendar Images and Romanesque Baptismal Fonts”, ed. Harriet M. Sonne de Torrens and Miguel Torrens, The Visual Culture of Baptism in the Middle Ages: Essays on Medieval Fonts, Settings and Beliefs (Ashgate: 2013), 149-170. 68 A Classical convention of the same tradition as the more common personifications of sun and moon, personified winds are more commonly seen on maps. They form the upper corner marginalia on folio 2 verso of the Athelstan Psalter (British Library, Cotton MS Galba A.XVIII), ninth-tenth century; they also form the support under Christ in the upper center of Psalm 103 of the Harley Psalter (British Library, Harley MS 603, f. 51v.), early eleventh century. Both reproduced in Michelle P. Brown, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts (London: The British Library, 1991), pl. 25 and pl. 73 respectively. 69 The Hook Norton symbols’ calendar positions of November/December (Sagittarius) and February (Aquarius) are oddly out of sequence with other calendar examples and with the liturgical calendar for baptisms, suggesting that a third or even fourth figure should be present to flesh out the calendar year as we see at Thorpe Salvin (West Riding, Yorkshire). A centaur, unlabeled as Sagittarius, appears on the Darenth font as well. Seldom can these images be isolated to create a satisfactory statement either about the calendar year or about baptism specifically. In fact, Rev. A.H. Collins, in “The Iconography of the Darenth Font,” Archaeologia Cantiana, LVI, 1943, proposes that the centaur may in fact relate to the seal of King Stephen (9). Again this attribution is with only the most tenuous of connections. In the case of Thorpe Salvin (West Riding, Yorkshire), it seems more prudent, in the absence of specifics, to rest with the more vague explanation of spiritual presence during the secular year.

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more pointeed discussionn around bap ptismal practiice in twelfth h-century England. It was customaary, and is reeflected in law aws, to baptizze infants w for thee prescribed seeasons of within days of their birth rather than waiting Easter and Pentecost. Thhe full year expressed e in tthe calendar may m thus condone this practice. Suubstantial evid dence in the w written literature asserts however thaat baptisms should s be resserved for theese seasons whenever w possible. Noo imagery connfirms this position; perhapps because thee dates of Easter and tthus Pentecostt fluctuate, they cannot be boiled down to one or two months. Calendar im magery, with itts emphasis onn cyclical tim me, is also an interestinng choice giveen the consisttent temporal blurring that occurs in these initiatiion scenes. Hoow else couldd we draw atttention to thee theological need for baptism? Loocated just 25 miles away y from Reneddo de Valdav via in the church of Saan Fructuoso in i Colmenares de Ojeda annd also from th he second half of the twelfth century, anotherr font also sshows the baaptism of candidates, w with a cluster of adults and children.

13-14: Baptiism, San Frucctuoso in Colm menares de Oj eda, second half h of the twelfth centu ury (GFreihaltter)

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One child appears as a tiny head at the font, clearly backed by clergy; one man holds a processional cross. To one side, another man holds a child, perhaps as the next candidate. A small figure, perhaps a third child, stands between the men at the left of the depicted baptism. A woman stands on the other side of the font; all of the figures’ arms are intertwined, clearly connecting them in the ritual as parents or sponsors. Tangled in the vegetation on the side is a prominent griffin. Taken together, these scenes seem to suggest the importance of the sacrament itself; the visual decoration reinforces the liturgical action. While there is a group of embracing men not adequately identified, the remaining figures have been interpreted as the women coming to anoint the body of Christ after the Crucifixion; these male figures may possibly be the disciples in the anointing scene as described in John 20. The women’s robes are drilled with tiny detail holes and they carry round jars. On one side, a group of soldiers in armor represents the guards at the tomb; on the other, an angel with a thurifer censes the slab. The remaining scene therefore takes us beyond the act of baptism to the promise of salvation: like Christ, the baptized will rise again.70 The rite is joined with its theological end.

Conclusion These images of baptism help us to understand better much of the baptismal theology in the late eleventh and twelfth centuries in England. The images of Christ’s baptism emphasize its precedent within Christian history. At Bridekirk, Wansford and Lenton, there is an emphasis on Jesus’ divine status which reinforces the idea that Christ undergoes a baptism not to be cleansed of his sins but to begin his ministry and his sacrifice on Earth. At West Haddon, Brighton, Castle Frome, Fincham and Kirkburn, the iconography of Christ’s baptism stands on two levels. It maintains the idea of Christ’s divinity and its narrative moment in the Christ story. It also, and more importantly, visually reminds the viewer of Christian historical continuity and the link between the mortal individual 70

I would not also discount the suggestion that the tomb is meant to resemble an altar, thus also tying in the sacrament of the Eucharist. There is a notable emphasis on the women at the tomb in these fonts from Spanish Palencia. See Miguel Angel Garcia Guinea, El Arte Romanico en Palencia (Palencia: Ediciones de la Excma. Diputacion Provencial de Palencia, 1961). The scene also appears quite often on capitals in the area.

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and Christ. Christ’s baptism is expressed in mortal terms to draw this connection as tightly as possible. The baptismal iconography reminds viewers of Christ’s performance of baptism not out of his own necessity but out of mortal necessity, a pairing expressed in the Incarnation iconography as well. Similarly, just as the Adam and Eve imagery works to emphasize mortal incarnation and its need for baptism, the images of baptism on the fonts at Darenth and Thorpe Salvin stress the ecclesiastic and sacramental aspects of baptism. The Adam and Eve imagery is developed against images of Christ’s incarnation in order to create a more complete baptismal statement; Christ’s baptism is an iconography paired against mortal baptism. Both halves are necessary to express the complexities of the period’s theology.

CASE STUDY B THE LENTON FONT

The Lenton (Nottinghamshire) font, sometimes dated to the first half of the twelfth century but likely between 1140 and 1160, is an excellent example in which the emphasis on Jesus’ divinity is meant to underscore the theological messages of baptism for the Christian faithful.1 About 30 inches high, the sides of this font are rectangular and the irregular quatrilobe design of the basin has been frequently remarked on because of its rarity in English design.2 While some sides of the font are rather rough in execution, with hardly more sophisticated than stick figures for the ranks of angels, some of the figures are more carefully rendered, with clearly depicted limbs and drapery folds; the attention paid to the Holy Sepulchre tomb is startling and clearly reminiscent of other Classical-based round tombs. The East side is divided into two registers by a decorative band.

1

For more on the Lenton font, see Alfred C. Fryer, “On Fonts with Representations of Baptism and the Holy Eucharist,” The Archaeological Journal, LX/Second Series X, 1903, pp. 5-6, George Zarnecki, Later English Romanesque Sculpture 1140-1210 (London: Alec Tiranti, 1953), p. 58, pl. 69, George Zarnecki, “The Romanesque Font at Lenton,” in ed. Jennifer S. Alexander, Southwell and Nottinghamshire: Medieval Art, Architecture, and Industry (Leeds: British Archaeological Association Conference Transactions XXI, 1998), and C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, p. 10. 2 See George Zarnecki, “The Romanesque Font at Lenton,” especially pp. 136, 140; see also C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, p. 10.

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B-1: Baptism m of Christ, Leenton, 1140-116 60 (BSI)

The top reggister has six arched a bays; the lower hass only five, th he central bay enlargedd to the widthh of two. In th he central low wer bay is thee scene of Christ’s bapptism with Chhrist, identified d by a cross-sshape behind his head, both hands rraised in oranns prayer, imm mersed to the w waist in a ripp pling hillshaped riverr. John the Baaptist, dressed in a long robee, stands to the left and a dove descends from the t arch fram ming the scenne. In the baay to the immediate lleft of the ceentral baptism mal scene is aan angel who o holds a cloth, thus is a depicttion of the ministering angel seen in other representatioons. George Zarnecki Z sugg gests that the abraded surfaace of the angel in thee bay to the right of the scene also haas a ministeriing angel holding a roobe or cloth.3 All A of the otheer bays are oc cupied by ang gels; each bay contains a full lengthh form of an angel and a hhalf-length fo orm of an angel abovee it. The only angel a figure of some distincction is the serraphim at the upper lefftmost registeer, as shown by y its extra winngs.4 The stylee of these figures is ssimplified to show bell-shaped draperyy, rounded wiings, and generalized round headds with no facial distincctions. Despite these 3 4

George Zarnnecki, “The Rom manesque Fontt at Lenton,” p. 136. George Zarnnecki, “The Rom manesque Fontt at Lenton,” p. 136.

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abstractions, the emphasis of the Lenton sculptor is clear. The scene focuses attention on Christ’s divinity; marked by a halo, attended by the dove of the Holy Spirit, his baptism occurs with a heavenly host. The Lenton font’s image of baptism most emphatically depicts the divine nature of Christ’s baptism. It seems clear that the intention is also to stress that the candidate’s own baptism, done in sacramental emulation of Christ’s and in the name of Christ, takes on that holiness. Little attempt has been made on the font to visually link these two baptisms. In fact, any connection that might be drawn based on the arcades mimicking church architecture or even of the angels holding the baptismal robes is overwhelmingly muted by the repeated ranks of angels. These angels crowd the surface to emphasize the specialness of Christ’s baptism. It is all done by the choice of iconography and narrative emphasis. Two images of Christ’s Crucifixion appear on the Lenton font. The South side image is a narrative image of the Crucifixion narrative.

B-2: Crucifixion of Christ, Lenton, 1140-1160 (BSI)

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Christ is crucified on an immense centrally placed cross, and appears more alive in the unstrained sturdiness of his body than suffering or dead. To Christ’s immediate right is Longinus, armed with a long spear to pierce the side of Christ. To either side, much smaller, are the crosses hung with the bodies of the two thieves. Above Christ are two censing angels. Just as in the Baptism scene depicted on the East side of the font, the sculptor has here merged Scriptural fidelity with an emphasis on Christ’s divinity. The cross is depicted with looped ends, reminiscent of petals or leaves; the visual parallel to the lignum vitae motif is undoubtedly deliberate. Christ’s body emphasizes his victory over death; he is attended by triumphant angels. The sculptor depicts the message clearly in his handling of the thieves; the soul of the thief on Christ’s right rises to heaven while the soul of the condemned thief enters a Hell mouth. The representation of the narrative elements—Christ and the two thieves and Longinus—is right out of the Gospel descriptions but the embellishments indicate the theological emphasis on Christ’s special divine status. Indeed, the image of the Crucifixion on a baptismal font is itself a Biblical theology, expressed succinctly in Romans 6: 3-4: Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.

Baptism was a death to sin, a death that promised resurrected life. There was no need for more authoritative or more familiar source than St. Paul writing in Romans. The Lenton font projects a very clear theology of baptism in the choice of the Crucifixion. The Crucifixion narrative on the south side is balanced with its symbolic form on the north side with a lignum vitae cross. The cross is an iconic version of the Crucifixion and the form of the cross pictured here has the jagged edges, foliate ends, and vibrant flower center that signify the Christ’s victory over death. Here it can also be argued that the iconic image enacts a narrative of its own: the object of Christ’s ignominious death has itself blossomed with Christ’s Resurrection victory. It is no accident that they are placed on opposite sides of the font, with the bowl in between them. This is the very point of the ritual—death to sin through the

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sacrifice off Christ is redemption r in the blessin ing of the victorious v Resurrectionn cross. In the final, weest side of the Lenton fonnt, we see a four part design creatted by a rosettte-cross overlaay.

B-3: Resurreection, Lenton,, 1140-1160 (BSI)

The lower two panels without w questtion depict thhe three Marrys (left) approachingg the magnificcently depicteed empty tombb attended no ow by the angel (righht). The upper pairing is more ambbiguous, haviing been interpreted aas Christ greeted by Marthaa at Bethany ppaired with the Raising of Lazarus ((John 11: 1-44) by Georgee Zarnecki andd as scenes off Christ’s own Ascennsion and Resurrection by y C.S. Drakee. Both interp pretations could standd: the figure of o Christ is prominent p agaainst the grou up in the upper left ppanel and stannds beside a tomb with a shrouded figu ure in an open tomb.5 The Lentoon sculptor iss not actuallyy much interested in 5

Robin M. Jeensen has notedd the use of the Lazarus iconoggraphy on early y Christian sarcophagi aas a direct refe ference to deatth and rebirth that parallels the same reference madde as part of thhe baptismal theeology. Both G Gregory of Naziianzus and Cyril of Jeruusalem wrote sermons s on thee baptismal sym ymbolism of th he Lazarus story. See Baaptismal Imagery in Early Chrristianity, 150-1152.

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maintaining Scriptural fidelity; rather, he is concerned with joining story with message. Directly or typologically, the images on this side of the font express Christ’s bodily Resurrection. These scenes show the miracle of Christ’s sacrifice and the Christian doctrinal resurrection promise at the end time. By extension, these images are meant to convey the salvation of baptism. Seen across the font basin, Christ’s baptism is the exemplar and Christ’s Resurrection is the life beyond death promised for those who believe and participate in the ritual. The depiction of the sepulcher scene with visual parallels to contemporary liturgical practice is another indication that the Lenton font program is meant to resonate for the congregation. The sepulchre dome has a pricket candlestick on either side, suggesting a visual parallel with altar decoration, Easter Sepulchres and the liturgical drama of the Visitatio Sepulchri. The Visitatio Sepulchri involved the symbolic burial and resurrection of a cross and was commonly practiced in English monasteries, as seen by its inclusion in the ca. 970 Regularis Concordia. The detail thus joins Christological narrative to an active and vibrant contemporary history. The visual connection on the Lenton baptismal font to practices that could have occurred in Lenton Priory creates another historical continuity. Lenton Priory, as a richly-endowed Cluniac monastery established in the early twelfth century dedicated to the Holy Trinity, would undoubtedly have cultivated this kind of erudite program which referenced death and rebirth in both sacramental theologies and practices. The Lenton font uses the life of Christ to resonate with the medieval viewer. Christ’s initiation sets the pattern for the individual’s. Christ’s baptism makes visible the heavenly host, emphasizing the Divine presence at the candidate’s baptism even though unseen. Christ’s Crucifixion and Resurrection are depicted on the Lenton font to resonate with Church practices at the altar and at the Easter season. A life in faith— from baptism through the Eucharist—to a death in faith—with the promise of one’s own resurrection and salvation—are all part of this font’s message.

CHAPTER FOUR ICONOGRAPHIES OF INSTITUTION: THE CHURCH ESTABLISHED, TRIUMPHANT

In the preceding chapters, we have looked closely at the decoration of Romanesque fonts for their connection to the theology of incarnation and initiation, the two ideas central to the sacrament of baptism itself. It is not surprising that we should see this kind of direct correlation between these subjects and the furniture made for the liturgical practice. One final area of categorization seems to take shape in Romanesque font decorations: the role of the institution in liturgical practices. Even simple arcaded fonts, with no narrative decoration, connect to that theme in their decoration showing the arcaded architecture of the church. Just as some images of Christ’s baptism in a font or by a priest aim to connect the ideal and the real, this class of decorations tie the sacrament to the church. Although we simplify the discussion enormously by referring to the many regional manifestations of Christian practice by the umbrella term “the Church”, there is also an over-arching agenda that draws these groups together. The institution of the Latin Church is fundamentally conservative and protective, asserting certain beliefs, practices, and customs that continue their own prominent role. As beliefs and rituals change, the institutional apparatus controls the appearance of change for its audiences. Like so many other human institutions, the Church resists changes and attempts to control the new appearance and activity in a way which maintains their relevance in the practice. Decoration of fonts can be seen as part of this conventional propaganda. Scenes of mortal baptism emphasize apostolic authority and liturgical familiarity in the figures of priests and sponsors. One important element of institutional focus that has its roots in the twelfth-century theology is the connection between the sacraments.

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Baptism does not exist alone; it is the initiation into a life of faith marked at other times by other sacraments. The period theology is not interested in only defining what baptism means and how it operates; these writers are interested in a systematic definition of the sacraments which is applicable to a range of practices and yet is also exclusive enough to bear theological and institutional weight. The Sentence collections of the late eleventh and twelfth centuries are focused on delimiting the sacraments.1 Peter Lombard, synthesizing the divergent approaches to the sacraments and their number, listed seven: baptism, confirmation, the Eucharist, penance, extreme unction, ordination, and marriage.2 The sacraments exist as interrelated parts of the whole life of faith within the Church. This continuity of lay religious life has expression in the imagery on baptismal fonts. Confirmation, because of its strong sacramental and liturgical ties to baptism, is represented frequently by the image of a bishop, at the time the sole ecclesiastic permitted to perform the sacrament. Confirmation was also a sacrament of increasing importance as, unlike baptism, it was often omitted from lay practice; texts of the period begin to reinforce its sacramental necessity. Penance, described as a second baptism, was of increasing sacramental importance as witnessed by the increase of art of

1

The emphasis of sacramental theology is to use the authority of Augustine to standardize sacraments in operation and form from those things which are ‘sacramental’. Under Augustine, many elements, including Paschal candles, had the character of signs but did not convey the grace of sacraments. The anonymous 1145 Sentences of Divinity lists seven (Jaroslav Pelikan, The Growth of Medieval Theology (600-1300), Vol. 3: The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1978), p. 209) and commentaries on Gratian, influenced by the Lombard, also list seven (Jaroslav Pelikan, The Growth of Medieval Theology (600-1300), p. 210). Seven sacraments is standard and accepted by the theologians of the thirteenth century, especially Thomas Aquinas, whose works define sacramental theology for the Late Middle Ages. 2 For the Lombard’s organization, particularly in relationship to his contemporaries, see Elizabeth Rogers, Peter Lombard and the Sacramental System (Merrick: Richwood Publishing Co., 1976) and Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1994).

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the pilgrimage routes.3 Penitential imagery is probably best expressed in hagiographic scenes; the decoration of baptismal fonts maintains the period’s connection to the authority and intercessory powers of the holy figure. Two sacraments almost completely without visual representation are marriage and ordination.4 The reason for this omission is probably simple and direct. The sacraments represented are those that are common to all people. Only certain people are called to the sacrament of marriage; certain others are called to serve God through the Church. Neither sacrament is required of all people in order to be saved. Baptism, confirmation, penance, and the Eucharist (and to a lesser extent, unction) 3 Penance as the second baptism is seen in several sources, including Ildefonsus of Toledo’s De cognitione baptismi (Patrologia Latina database, Vol. 96: 0111A ff.), Ambrose Autpert’s Commentary on the Apocalypse, and the very popular Beatus of Liébana’s Commentary on the Apocalypse. Pilgrimage and its sacramental connection will be discussed later in this chapter. 4 Ordination may possibly be seen in the unique scene of Christ’s charge to Peter seen on the Kirkburn font and the unusual handling of different church orders seen on the Belton (Lincolnshire) and Kirkby fonts. The Kirkby font presents seven standing figures in various ecclesiastical garb, thought to represent each of the seven orders of ordination; see F. Charles Larkin, “The Kirkby Font,” Transactions of the Historical Society of Lancashire and Cheshire, Vol. 73, 1921, pp. 44-99, 229-30. While narrative scenes addressing ordination are rare, it could easily be argued that apostle fonts, a common type seen in England (such as Hereford Cathedral (Herefordshire), Orleton (Herefordshire), Rendcombe (Gloucestershire), Newnham (Gloucestershire), Stonleigh (Warwickshire), to name a few), express the importance of the ecclesiastic institution. The apostles, accepting Jesus’ charge to go forth and preach and baptize, engage with the sacramental duties of the church. The sacrament of ordination may then be funneled into its own representational form. Marriage has no similar expression; it is not seen in font decoration in either in narrative or figural images. Textually, the rhetorical phenomenon linking sacraments together applies to these sacraments as strongly as it does for the others; see for example Aelfric’s sermon on the Nativity in which he links baptism to Christ’s marriage to the Church (translated in Benjamin Thorpe, The Homilies of the Anglo-Saxon Church, vol. II (London: The Aelfric Society, 1844), p. 11). Further, while it might be argued that, in the minds of contemporary theologians, marriage was a sacramental remedy for sinful concupiscence, and that Adam and Eve provided both a pre- and post- lapsarian model for the sacrament, the resultant visual presentation is a circular discussion. As a model for marriage, Adam and Eve are inextricable from the taint of Original Sin passed on through procreation, assuaged in the font. The incarnation aspects overpower the corresponding marriage imagery.

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are all remedies for humanity’s mortal condition and both its tendency towards sin and the taint of that sin. On baptismal fonts, imagery associated with the other sacraments is most strongly weighted towards the Eucharist. This should be expected, given the theological priorities of the time; baptism and the Eucharist both carry the weight of Biblical authority and Christ’s institution of the practices. Furthermore, both are open to all members: baptism as the initiation into the Christian faith and community, the Eucharist as the continued observance of that commitment. “Baptism as a means of grace and the suffering of Christ as a means of redemption were ‘so mutually connected that neither of them can grant us salvation without the other’.”5 From the earlier hetoric of Augustine, we see that the connection between these two sacraments has long been in place and, given the period concerns of orthodox definition, it is easy to understand the stress placed on the Eucharist in the imagery of Romanesque baptismal fonts. Finally, imagery on these fonts frequently focuses on the Eschaton—the Harrowing of Hell, Christ in Majesty, Revelation scenes. These images can be seen in the primary baptismal connection that only through baptism may one be saved. There is corresponding pressure from the sacramental discussion to define unction, especially in cases of imminent death, as a sacrament. Sentence collections similarly emphasize eschatology as “Last Things”; it is the return to union with God. Where baptism begins mortal practice, death within the Church eventually ends with the Second Coming. There is a consistent pressure, in imagery and texts, to define and delimit the sacraments. The Church’s priority is to link these rites together, to create orthodoxy in practice and effect. As the Church sees itself under attack from various heterodoxies in the twelfth century, the agenda to solidify a consistent vocabulary of connected sacraments places them at the center of the lives of the faithful, from birth until death.

5

Citing the Venerable Bede’s Exposition of I Peter, Jaroslav Pelikan, The Growth of Medieval Theology (600-1300), Vol. 3: The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1978), p. 30. It need hardly be stressed that as an English theologian, this source has particular weight for our understanding of later English medieval images.

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Confirmation and Romanesque Font Imagery The imagery around confirmation is not clear. While Roland of Bologna places the institution of confirmation beginning directly with Christ’s imparting of the Holy Spirit to the apostles at Pentecost, that scene is largely absent from Romanesque font decoration, appearing on the now-damaged font from Eschau as part of a full twelve-scene cycle of Christ’s life.6 Apostle fonts are quite common in England,7 such as this lead font from Rendcomb from the mid-twelfth century, showing a circle of figures under arches; the figures generally lack identifying attributes that specify which apostle is shown. They are important as a collection of figures. I have argued elsewhere for their importance as hagiographic representations, as part of the cult of saints in the twelfth century, but what I note here is their importance as the men chosen by Jesus to continue his ministry, as the foundation of the Church.

6 On Roland’s statement, see Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, p. 548. More on the Eschau font now in the Strasbourg Cathedral Museum, see C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, p. 62; on the Alsace ateliers that the Eschau font is a part of, see Jean-Philippe Meyer, “Deux sculpteurs du XIIe siècle en Alsace : les Maîtres d’Eschau et d’Andlau”, In Situ [En ligne], 17 | 2011, mis en ligne le 07 mai 2012, consulté le 28 février 2016. URL : http://insitu.revues.org/7601 ; DOI : 10.4000/insitu.7601. 7 Including Stoneleigh (Warwickshire), Rendcomb (Gloucestershire), Wareham (Dorset), Ashover (Derbyshire), Walton-on-the-Hill (Surrey), and the many from Gloucestershire—Frampton-on-Severn, Oxenhall, Siston, Tidenham, Sandurst, and Lancaut. Continental examples include Cayuela (Burgos, Spain), German fonts from Westphalian workshops such as Bakum, Beckum, Boke, Elsen, Lippborg, Ostinghausen, Rastede, and the later fonts from Beckum and the paired prophets and apostles design on the font now in Merseburg Cathedral.

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4-1: Apostlees, baptismal font f from Ren ndcomb (Glou ucestershire), mid.-12th century (auth hor)

Thee presence off an isolated bishop figure ccan be seen on n English and Contineental fonts.8 Too T often thesse simple imaages lack the narrative context whiich would alloow them to be b identified aas a particulaar bishop, like St. Niccholas. On the Winchesterr (Hampshire)) font or the Brighton font, there aare several stoories in sequeence which m make the identiity of the saint clear. The generall lack of speecificity of thhe bishop fig gure also complicates the possible reading of theese images ass patrons; the inclusion of patron ppictures or insscriptions is neither comm mon nor conssistent on

8 England: Dunkeswell (Devonshire), ( Overbury (Woorcestershire), Avington C (Berkshire), North Grimstoon (East Riding, Yorkshire)), Cowlam, Cottesmore (Rutland), Kiirkby, repeatedlly stamped on the lead font frrom Childrey (B Berkshire) and possiblyy on the Beltton font, Roxeel (Germany), Vjeby (Denm mark), Os (Norway), Vääxtorp (Swedenn).

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fonts of the period.9 Their presence on several very different examples of Romanesque fonts cannot be ignored, however, and logically serves to emphasize the role of bishops generally in connection to baptism, and thus to underscore specifically the related sacrament of confirmation. A mid- to late-twelfth century font now in the Church of St. Martin in Samer,10 France, despite its damage, suggests the importance of linking sacramental authority to Christ’s exemplar. One side presents a rather standard view of Christ’s Baptism; a young haloed Christ stands in the Jordan with John the Baptist on one side and an angel on another. On the other side, the iconography is unusual. A figure with a crosier stands before three men, one clearly half nude, who link arms together.

9

Uncertainty surrounds these identities in other Romanesque venues as well; witness the questions Linda Seidel raised with the famous Gislebertus inscription on the St. Lazare, Autun tympanum as just how complex the issue can be. Inscriptions like that on the Bridekirk font are rare in the Romanesque period and scholars often dispute whether the subject was a patron or the sculptor. Clear donor inscriptions are more common from the fifteenth century onward; see Francis Bond, Fonts and Font Covers, pp. 113-117. It would be tempting to identify these bishops as patrons since we know that fonts were sometimes the gift of prominent bishops. Portrayed on these fonts similar to the way bishops are seen on seals of office, [see T.A. Heslop, “Seals,” in English Romanesque Art 1066-1200 (London: Arts Council of Great Britain, 1984), pp. 298-319]; one might extrapolate from these highly personal items to connect them to the patronage of a font. Conversely, they lack the ideographic elements associated with patron portraits, particularly the pious kneeling posture, seen in other Romanesque works. No Romanesque English fonts employ this vocabulary. The iconographic elements may be read either in support of or against the idea that these bishops are patron portraits. If this was their original meaning, it has been subsumed, through lack of textual or visual distinction, by the more general current of sacramental theology within the ecclesiastic institution. 10 Camille, Enlart. Manuel d'archéologie française depuis les temps mérovingiens jusqu'à la Renaissance. (Paris: Alphonse Picard & fils, 1902.) p. 771, 772 and fn2, 780. Hervé Oursel, Nord roman: Flandre, Artois, Picardie, Laonnois. (La-Pierrequi-Vire: Zodiaque, 1994.) p. 231-232. A similar font in nearby Airaines also shows these intertwined figures, though without a cleric; here too they are interpreted as converts.

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4-2: St. Wulm mer and conveert, Samer (Fra ance), mid-12tth century (BSII)

Locally, thee figure with the t crosier is identified i as S St. Wulmer, a seventhcentury sainnt who was prrimarily know wn for his life as a hermit th hough he also establisshed a monasstery. Whetheer the figure iis indeed Wu ulmer, the man is portrrayed as a clerrical authority y, perhaps as aan abbot, and we w might suggest thatt the adult figgures are cateechumen convverts. Even th hough we cannot interrpret this definnitively as con nversion (bapptism) or conffirmation, the image iss deliberately linking l the au uthority for bap aptism (Christ)) with the continued innvolvement off the Church. Theere is a stunnning font fro om Brenken, in the churcch of St. Kilian, datedd to around 11170.

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4-3: Ecclesiaastics, Brenken n (Germany), ca. 1170 (Dirk D D.)

Of the eightt arcades on thhe bowl, five show ecclesiaastic saints wiith haloes behind theirr heads. Theyy hold crosierrs and books , and are wearing the pallium andd mitre. One may m be Saint Kilian, the Irrish missionarry bishop who converrted this area of Bavaria in i the seventhh century. On ne of the figures is shhown as a martyred m saint,, his head sepparated from his stillstanding boody; he is often identiffied as Saint nt Dionysius, without attributing ccharacteristicss.11 As Saint Kilian was aalso beheaded d, there is the possibillity that the standing figu ure is him; thhe beheaded figure is placed next to a figure with w a sword, suggesting thhat the two arrcades go together. Thhe artist does not n label or id dentify clearlyy the figures, except to depict them m as ecclesiasttic figures (bishops or abbbots, possibly y even as Pope) of hiigh rank andd authority. The T remainingg two panelss show a Romanesquee church withh apse, nave, and a tower and a strange imaage of the nimbed Agnnus Dei lamb, climbing a hiill from whichh a stream pou urs. These panels folloow the themee of sacramen ntal institutionn. Even if we w cannot delineate alll of the figurres, we can seense the impoortance of thee Church,

11

Drake, Rom manesque Fontss, 97.

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with especial focus on the sacrament of baptism and perhaps extending, through the presence of the bishops, to the sacrament of confirmation. There was clear Biblical precedent for a confirmation ritual: an imposition of hands is referred to in Acts (8:12-14, 19:1-6) and is repeated as “sealing” in John’s letters (2 Corinthians 1: 20-22, Ephesians 1:13, 4:30). Confirmation was once part of the baptismal rite itself; the bishop, at the end of the service, preceding the Eucharist, seals the forehead of the candidate. Tertullian makes it clear when the steps of baptism, confirmation, and Eucharist occurred and what purpose they served: The flesh is washed that the soul may be made stainless. The flesh is anointed [ungitur] that the soul may be consecrated. The flesh is sealed [signatur] that the soul may be fortified. The flesh is overshadowed by the imposition of hands that the soul may be illuminated by the Spirit. The flesh is fed by the Body and Blood of Christ that the soul may be fattened of God.12

In Augustine’s time, the confirmation of baptism’s sacramental seal likely followed the ceremony immediately.13 As Christianity grows in the late Patristic period and fewer baptisms are performed by the bishop directly, the need to separate this part of the rite, explicitly performed by the

12

Tertullian, On the Resurrection of the Flesh, 8. Philip T. Weller, Selected Easter Sermons of Saint Augustine (St. Louis: B. Herder Book Co., 1959), pp. 22-23; 47-48. 13

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bishop, becomes clear.14 Isidore of Seville, writing in the early seventh century, discusses the baptismal rite and the episcopal laying on of hands separately.15 By the ninth century, the imposition of hands as confirmation of baptism was an episcopal right insisted upon.16 Isidore’s False Decretals become part of the orthodox institution and Peter Lombard drew heavily on them in this section of his Sentences, and insists on the sacrament being the exclusive right of the “highest priests”.17 Indeed, by the thirteenth century, the Pontifical of the Roman Curia contains only the confirmation service, assuming that confirmation was done by the bishop and that baptisms would be done by a priest.18

14 Cyprian of Carthage in the mid-third century apparently allowed chrismal sealing by a priest in cases where the baptized was in danger of death but by the fourth century, bishops at Elvira in Spain decreed that those baptized by a priest or deacon must go afterward to be “perfected” by a bishop’s laying on of hands. See Joseph Martos, Doors to the Sacred (Garden City: Image Books, 1982), p.212. By the time Pope Innocent I wrote to Decentius, in the late fourth or early fifth century: "As regards the sealing of infants, it is clear that it is not lawful for it to be done by anyone but a bishop [non ab aliis quam ab episcopo fieri licere]. For presbyters, though they be priests of the second rank (second priests), have not attained to the summit of the pontificate. That this pontificate is the right of bishops only--to wit: that they may seal or deliver the Spirit, the Paraclete is demonstrated not merely by ecclesiastical usage, but also by that portion of the Acts of the Apostles wherein it is declared that Peter and John were sent to give the Holy Ghost to those who had already been baptized. For when presbyters baptize, whether with or without the presence of the bishop, they may anoint the baptized with chrism, provided it be previously consecrated by a bishop, but not sign the forehead with that oil, which is a right reserved to bishops [episcopis] only, when they give the Spirit, the Paraclete. The words, however, I cannot name, for fear of seeming to betray rather than to reply to the point on which you have consulted me." (translation by Thomas Scannell. "Confirmation." The Catholic Encyclopedia. Vol. 4. New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1908. 11 Jun. 2014 .) 15 Joseph Martos, Doors to the Sacred, p.215. 16 Joseph Martos, Doors to the Sacred, pp. 215-216. 17 See notes in Elizabeth Rogers translation of Book IV of the Sentences, in Elizabeth Rogers, Peter Lombard and the Sacramental System (Merrick: Richwood Publishing Co., 1976), p. 117. Also Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book 4, VII:44, translated by Guilio Silano, p. 39. 18 Robert Cabié, “Christian Initiation,” in ed. Robert Cabié, et. al, translated by Matthew J. O’Connell, The Church at Prayer, Volume III: The Sacraments (Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 1987), p. 73.

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The issue of confirmation as a sacrament seems to have elicited little theological discussion prior to the twelfth century and even then there is little controversy among the authors.19 Peter Lombard’s writings on the subject may be taken as typical; in the context of sacraments in the Sentences, this section is even remarkably brief. He concerns himself with two main questions: who is entitled to perform the confirmation rite and of what use it serves as a sacrament. Bishops alone are permitted to perform it as the precedent was set by the apostles directly.20 Peter Lombard is cursory in his discussion of the rite’s liturgical precedents, giving the reader the impression that the discussion of confirmation as a sacrament lacks the weight of historical argument that other sacraments have. Similarly, while he spends a good deal of time on the baptismal practices of immersion, he is concise about what act constitutes confirmation; it is exclusively the bishop’s sealing with chrism on the candidate’s forehead. As for the effect, the Lombard concurs with the ninth-century theologian Rabanus that confirmation grants the grace of the Holy Spirit for strength in one’s Christian calling whereas the Holy Spirit in baptism remits the sins of the individual.21 He quotes Rabanus several times, again suggesting a dearth of theological authority on which to rest his discussion: “in the anointing of baptism the Holy Spirit descends to consecrate his habitation to God. But in this sacrament [confirmation] his seven-fold grace, with all fullness of sanctity and virtue comes upon man.”22 The Lombard’s contemporaries who address the function of 19

Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, p. 548. The authors mainly seem to flip-flop from Gratian’s position that without confirmation, the individual will never be a Christian and Honorius Augustodunensis’ position that those who are baptized but die without confirmation are saved but do not receive the full grace of the Holy Spirit. Peter Lombard and his disciples eventually stress its necessity; this is the position that Thomas Aquinas will adopt as well. See J.D.C. Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West, pp. 126-130. 20 Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book IV: Distinction VII, 2. Translated by Elizabeth Rogers, Peter Lombard and the Sacramental System, p. 116 (Patrologia Latina database, Vol. 192: 0855 ff.). 21 Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book IV: Distinction VII, 3. Translated by Elizabeth Rogers, Peter Lombard and the Sacramental System, p. 116 (Patrologia Latina database, Vol. 192: 0855 ff.). 22 Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book IV: Distinction VII, 4. Translated by Elizabeth Rogers, Peter Lombard and the Sacramental System, p. 117 (Patrologia Latina database, Vol. 192: 0855 ff.).

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confirmation, notably Roland of Bologna and Hugh of St. Victor, all concur with confirmation as the gift of the Holy Spirit strengthening the individual against sin. It is this conclusion that confirmation strengthens the individual against sin, coupled with the fact that it may be performed only by the highest ecclesiastic position, that leads some twelfth-century theologians, Peter Lombard included, to see it as higher in spiritual value (and therefore spiritual necessity) even than baptism, although there is no question that baptism is a necessary sacrament.23 If confirmation was less a theologically debated matter, it was clearly becoming a matter of some practical concern during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. When confirmation should occur was often discussed. Robert Pullen’s Sentences suggests confirmation for infants, with delay being punishable in the event of the child’s death.24 The English emphasis on confirmation seems to follow the same trend as the English emphasis on baptism; Continental councils are seen to be less exacting in the age of the confirmand and in the punishments for failure to have a child confirmed.25 Confirmation becomes permissible at any age but should be received before the “age of discretion,” which varied from around five to around thirteen; the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215 stressed the requirement of confirmation, especially as celebration of the first communion and profession of confessions were often correspondingly delayed.26 Since the practice could only be performed by a bishop, however, there was delay in its celebration and misunderstanding about its importance. There are several examples, from the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries, of clerical constitutions stating that clergy should

23 Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, p. 550 notes concurring positions in the Sententiae Parisiensis, among the Porretans, and Robert Pullen. 24 J.D.C. Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1965), p. 120 (Patrologia Latina database, Vol. 186: 0847A-B). 25 J.D.C. Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West, pp. 123-124. 26 Theodore R. Jungkuntz, Confirmation and the Charismata, p. 32. Constitutions of Richard Poore (1217) stressed by age five under penalty of parental exclusion from the church; the Council of Worcester (1240), as well as several other English Councils, stressed by age one if a bishop was known to have passed through the area. See J.D.C. Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West, pp. 122-123.

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emphasize to their parish laity the necessity of confirmation.27 In order to perform confirmations, annual episcopal visits throughout a diocese were stressed but probably occurred with much less regularity given the requirements of the bishop’s office.28 Just as the twelfth-century theologians are trying to define confirmation as a sacrament, the contemporary ecclesiastic institution is trying to establish its ritual practice. Confirmation was becoming a sacrament of increased importance as a sacrament—the twelfth-century Church is just beginning to define its doctrinal positions towards it. That there should begin to be some associated imagery seems logical; it should also reflect the initial beliefs about the sacrament. Confirmation seals the baptismal covenant; it is theologically appropriate to picture it on a baptismal font. Confirmation must be performed by a bishop; it is therefore appropriate to represent the episcopal authority on the font.

Penance and Romanesque Font Imagery Like confirmation, penance has a complicated history within the sacramental life of the Church. Necessitated by the shift from adult baptism and a catechumenate who had already committed sins to infants who could not even profess their sins or faith, penance as a repeatable remedy existed certainly by the fourth century. Ambrose finds it necessary to refute circulating heresies that only Christ could forgive sins, arguing for the power of the priest to reconcile the individual to the Church. “How 27 In the Constitutions of Odo of Paris (1193), Constitutions of Edmund of Canterbury (thirteenth century), Council of Oxford (1242). See J.D.C. Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West, pp. 121-122. 28 The 845 Council of Meaux denounced the “damnable negligence” of bishops who failed to make frequent enough confirmation visits. This example is from a time when confirmation was expected to follow shortly after baptism but contemporary with the earliest movement to separate the sacraments of confirmation and baptism. See Theodore R. Jungkuntz, Confirmation and the Charismata (Lanham: University Press of America, 1983), p. 31. Jungkuntz does not address the idea that this emphasis is much easier when the baptismal services take place only at Easter and Pentecost. J.D.C. Fisher, Christian Initiation: Baptism in the Medieval West, pp. 133-134, shows by examples like Amalarius, sent by Charlemagne for a year to Constantinople, that these episcopal visits must have not occurred yearly in many cases.

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unfit were it, since with men credit is given for endurance in a struggle, that one should assert that it had no value with God! For often in this world's athletic contests the public crown together with the victors even the vanquished whose conduct has been approved, especially if perchance they have seen that they lost the victory by some trick or fraud. And shall Christ suffer His athletes, whom He has seen to yield for a moment to severe torments, to remain without forgiveness?”29 Penitential books, listing suggested remedies for sins in a more rigorous accounting were a vibrant part of Christian culture in the British Isles in the sixth through ninth centuries; this has long been argued as an artifact of the local traditions, out of line with Roman Catholic traditions and Celtic monasticism.30 A swing from public-tariff systems of penance to privateconfessional restoratives shapes the main idea of penance in the tenth and eleventh centuries.31 Peter Lombard shows little concern for the orthodoxy of penance. Rather, Peter Lombard is particularly interested in explanation and enumeration: Baptism is a sacrament only but penance is called both a sacrament and a virtue of the mind. For there is an inner penance, and an outward one. The exterior one is the sacrament; the interior one is the virtue of the mind; and each one of these is a cause of justification and salvation.32

and

29

Ambrose, Concerning Penance, I, 4:19. Translated by H. de Romestin, E. de Romestin and H.T.F. Duckworth. From Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, Vol. 10. Edited by Philip Schaff and Henry Wace. (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1896.) Revised and edited for New Advent by Kevin Knight. . 30 One of the main resources on Celtic Penitentials is Medieval Handbooks of Penance, translated by John Thomas McNeil and Helena Margaret Gamer (New York: Columbia University Press, 1990). See also Hugh Connolly, The Irish Penitentials (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1999) and Thomas O’Laughlin, Celtic Theology: Humanity, World and God (London: Continuum, 2000). 31 Sarah Hamilton, The Practice of Penance: 900-1050, Royal Historical Society Studies in History (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2001) is an interesting resource on the subject, tracing the connection between monastic practice and lay practice through the ordination and training of priests. 32 Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book 4, Distinction xiv:2, translated by Guilio Silano, p. 70.

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By the twelfth-century, penance had a substantial role in the life of the Church, such that the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215 pronounced the need for a confession once a year by the faithful. The key was to emphasize the possibility for reconciliation to the Church and thus the possibility for salvation. The functional parallels between baptism and penance are clear. Baptism was considered a single sacrament; even if performed by a heretic, it could only be performed once.34 Ambrose was frequently quoted on the function of baptism: “just as water washes away uncleanness from the body and the garments, so baptism by purifying removes the stains of the soul and the uncleanness of vices.”35 Penance restores the individual after sinning again; it is a repeatable sacrament. Jerome uses the metaphor of penance as “the second plank after baptism” and, citing this, the Lombard adds, “The first plank is baptism, where the old man is laid aside and the new put on; the second, penance, by which after a fall we rise again, while the old state which had returned is disdained, and the new one which had been lost is resumed.”36 33 Peter Lombard, citing incorrectly John Chrysostom, Sentences, Book 4, Distinction xvi:1, translated by Guilio Silano, p. 88. 34 Cited in various sources, see for example Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book IV, Distinction v:1 or Distinction vii: 5 on Confirmation (Elizabeth Rogers, pp. 106, 118; Patrologia Latina, Vol. 192: 0850ff., 0855ff.). Discussion of penance as a sacrament and the change in the penitential system can also be found in John T. McNeill and Helena M. Gamer, Medieval Handbooks of Penance (New York: Columbia University Press, 1938) An excellent summary of the theological positions of the later medieval period with respect to the operations of penance is Rev. Joseph A. Spitzig, Sacramental Penance in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, published dissertation in Studies in Sacred Theology, 2nd. Series, no. 6 (Washington D.C.: Catholic University of America, 1947). 35 Ambrose’s statement comes from his Commentary on Romans 6, 4 and is cited here from Elizabeth Rogers’ translation of Peter Lombard’s Sentences, p. 92 (Book IV, distinction iii, 8; Patrologia Latina database Vol 192: 0845ff.). 36 Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book IV, Distinction xiv:1; translated by Elizabeth Rogers, p. 151 (Patrologia Latina database Vol 192: 0868ff.).

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The sacrament of penance has few explicit visual expressions on Romanesque medieval font imagery. The two late-twelfth or earlythirteenth-century fonts of Southrop (Gloucestershire) and Stanton Fitzwarren (Wiltshire) show a composition that expresses penance.

4-4: Virtues and Vices, Southrop (Gloucestershire), late-twelfth/earlythirteenth century (author)

These two fonts show an elaborate arched composition with Virtues, presented as armed warriors, trample Vices underfoot.37 These images are part of a standardized visual iconography; they stand iconically, rather than creating a story. Forming the iconographic basis of these images, the Psychomachia of Prudentius, a late fourth or early fifth century Christian battle epic relating the struggle between the Virtues and Vices for the soul, was a popular manuscript during the early Middle Ages.38 The element of exorcism which makes up the baptismal ceremony—from the ephephatha 37 For fuller description of these two fonts, see C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, p. 18. 38 Michael Kauffmann, in English Romanesque Art 1066-1200, p. 93, accounts for some 20 illuminated copies of the text, among them the (English) St. Albans version, ca. 1120 (British Library MS Cotton Titus D).

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(opening) too the renunciaation of Satan n, suggests thhat this struggle is also part of the bbaptismal theoology. Hoow might we expand e the imagery of penaance beyond th he formal vocabulary of Virtues paaired with Vicces? One narrrative possibiility is to consider thee images of saints, such ass is seen on th the font at Co ottam. By joining the scene of Addam and Eve’s Temptationn and Fall with w three focused sceenes of martyyrdoms, the Cottam C progrram connects baptism, penance, annd salvation. The T first show ws a massive dragon/serpeent which has devoureed a female figgure; her feet show in its eenormous maw w but her body can bee seen unharm med on the bacck of the beastt’s neck. Thiss figure is commonly iidentified as St. S Margaret.399

4-5: St. Marggaret, font from m Cottam (Yo orkshire), earlyy to mid-twelftth century (author)

39

The Margaaret discussed here h is the early Christian saiint who was said to have been swallow wed by Satan inn the form of a dragon but thhat the cross she s carried caused the drragon to spit heer back up. Seee John J. Delanney, Dictionaryy of Saints (Garden City: Doubleday & Co., 1980), pp. 380-381.

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40 In the next sscene, a man, probably St. Lawrence, L iss martyred on n a grill; a second figuure stands on top of the grrill to hold thhe figure dow wn with a crooked pole.

4-6: St. Law wrence, font from Cottam m (Yorkshire),, early to mid-twelfth century (auth hor)

Finally, the last scene is St. S Andrew’s martyrdom, ddistinguishablee from its saltire cross. Tw wo persecutorss are seen attaaching the saiints arms to the t cross. The figures are roughly finished f with a few key dettail flourishess, like the depiction off bared chestt in the figurre of St. Anddrew, the plaiits of St. Margaret, oor the scales of the dragon n, typical of the Cottam sculptor’s s style.

40

The figure could be St. Victor V as the two o are martyred in similar fashiion but St. Lawrence waas far more com mmonly depicted d.

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4-7: St. Andrew, font from m Cottam (Yorrkshire), earlyy to mid-twelfth century (author)

Thee message of this iconography on the Coottam font can n be read on a numbeer of levels, all a associated with sacrameental definitio on. In the most direct fashion, the Cottam C sculptor/patron has focused on th he mortal body: humaanity sins at the t Fall and taints t the pre--lapsarian bod dy; saints demonstratee their faith thhrough their saacrifice of theeir bodies. Theese saints act as a reccollection of Christ’s C sacriffice as well. Their presencce on the baptismal foont unites the imagery of taaintedness andd perfection, sinfulness s and grace w with the theollogy of the baaptismal rite. The mortal candidate c moves from m a state of sin to a state of grace g during thhe process of the rite. Theese motifs allso carry thee idea of deaath that is present in baptismal thheology. Ambbrose makes them t specificcally with refe ference to baptism in his discussioon of the liffe-giving and life-taking nature n of water.41 Poppe Leo in a leetter to the biishops of Siciily in ca. 447 suggests “For in the rite of baptissm, death com mes from the slaying of sin n and the

41

See Ambroose, De Sacram mentis, 3.1 (Pattrologia Latinaa database, Vol. 16: 0417 ff.)

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triple immersion imitates the three days of burial, and rising out of the water is like His rising from the tomb.”42 John Chrysostom also uses this imagery, suggesting that “When we submerge our heads in the water; as in a type of tomb, the old self is buried and, while submerged, it is hidden below and thence we rise again to a new self.”43 Discussed here in detail already because of the connection to the imagery of Christ’s death and the Pauline idea of burial in Christ, baptismal theology is steeped in a mystical idea of death and rebirth. Martyrdom was understood as a type of baptism as well.44 Patristic period theologians such as Augustine and Cyprian were clear that martyrdom for one’s faith could affect salvation even if one were unbaptized.45 Examples such as the children killed by Herod’s order and the thief crucified with Christ were offered as evidence of this salvation. Ultimately the distinction is one of faith, required by the adult catechumen but not of the infant unable to express such emotions/beliefs. Peter Lombard, writing in an age where infant baptism is the overwhelming norm, expresses the opinion therefore that baptism is absolutely required for infants, and preferable for adults because of Christ’s dictum requiring birth by water and the Spirit, but also concedes that faith is also a sacrament.46 While the positive baptismal status of these saints is either expressed in their legends or understood by tradition, they prove their baptisms by their deaths. 42

Robin Jensen, Living Water: Images, Settings and Symbols of Early Christian Baptism (PhD dissertation, Columbia University, 1991), p. 215. 43 Robin Jensen, Living Water: Images, Settings and Symbols of Early Christian Baptism, p. 216. 44 For a lengthy textual analysis of the idea of “baptism is in a sense a martyrdom put into ritual, and, conversely, that martyrdom is a sacrament,” see Peter Cramer’s discussion of the third-century Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas, in Baptism and Change in the Early Middle Ages c. 200-c. 1150 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), pp. 48, 73-86. 45 Augustine writes: “Whoever die for the confession of Christ, even though they have not received the washing of regeneration, yet it suffices to remit their sins, as much as if they were washed in the sacred font of baptism.” Book XIII of De Civitate Dei c. 7 [For original text, see Sancti Aurelii Augustini De Civitate Dei, Corpus Christianorum Series Latina, Vols. 47 and 48 (Turnholti: Brepols, 1955)]. Peter Lombard merely continues this tradition in Book IV, Distinction iv (Patrologia Latina, Vol. 192: 0846ff.). 46 Peter Lombard, Book IV, Distinction iv; translated by Elizabeth Rogers, p. 101 (Patrologia Latina, Vol. 192: 0846ff.).

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Sometimes the imagery of the saints as a baptism in blood is not nearly as clear as it is on the Cottam font. The Cottam font imagery suggests an unusual example of the expression of martyrdom, “the baptism of blood,” and the baptismal covenant. Martyrdom is not the only role for saints, who are more general behavioral exemplars and intercessors. Romanesque fonts have a robust imagery of saint figures, similar to the appearance of saints in other areas of medieval artistic production. Two fonts are clearly decorated with imagery of St. Nicholas; the best known is the Tournai font at Winchester but the font at Brighton also has the St. Nicholas elements.47 The Winchester font, like the East Meon (Hampshire) font to which it is a stylistically similar Tournai production, has narrative imagery on two sides and decorative elements on the other faces of its square basin. Saint Nicholas was one of the most widely popular saints in England and the Continent.48 The narrative clearly relates the story of St. Nicholas giving dowries to the daughters of a destitute noble, complete with Golden Legend details such as the man at the feet of the saint, shown standing before a magnificently carved Romanesque style church which, 47 The Winchester Cathedral font is complicated by its history—a Tournai, Belgium piece made for a wealthy and well-educated English ecclesiastic, Bishop Henry of Winchester. Because of this background, it receives less attention here than the works which are more natively English. For more on the Winchester font, see Cecil Eden, Black Tournai Fonts in England (London: Elliot Stock, 1909). The Brighton font has likewise been argued as a Continental production, given the rarity of such accomplished figural sculpture in Sussex. The precise area has not been determined, though Clermont, St. Benoit-sur-Loire, and Fecamp have all been suggested. See Victoria County History: Sussex. 3 (City of Chichester). 1935, 259; Edward Prior and Arthur Gardner, An Account of Medieval FigureSculpture in England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1912), 203-4; Corpus of Romanesque Sculpture in Britain and Ireland entry for Brighton font. 48 Veronica Ortenberg, The English Church and the Continent in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries: Cultural, Spiritual and Artistic Exchanges (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1992), pp. 71-73, accounts for it with the active dedications of Empress Theophano and her connections in the Ottonian-Salian Empire, the translation of Nicholas’ relics in 1087, and the connections between England and Lotharingia in the eleventh century. To this we should probably add Norman connection to the saint through Italian holdings which would have strengthened an already present devotion. J. Romilly Allen, cited in Cecil Eden, Black Tournai Fonts in England, p. 10, adds that the mystery play by Hilary and the poems of Wace would have been another exposure to the saint for English audiences.

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while narratively the episcopal seat at Myra, must also remind the viewer of the Heavenly city.49 On the other face of the Winchester font are two other Nicholas tales, one where he saves a child holding a cup which was to have been pledged to the saint and one in which the saint raises murdered boys to life.50 Saint Nicholas is always clearly distinguishable by his ecclesiastical garb and his crosier.

4-8: St. Nicholas, font from Winchester (Hampshire), mid-twelfth century (C.S. Drake)

The Brighton font, in addition to its images of Christ’s baptism and of the Last Supper previously discussed, has a scene traditionally identified with St. Nicholas.

49

Jacobus de Voragine, The Golden Legend, translated by William Granger Ryan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), pp. 21-22. 50 Cecil Eden, Black Tournai Fonts in England, pp. 12-13.

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4-9: St. Nicholas panels, font from Brighton (Sussex), third quarter of the twelfth century (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London)

On the left, just beyond the sculpted divider, the saint in full regalia points his finger toward the two men balanced in a boat. The leftmost man holds up a jar. On the far right stands another male figure. It is difficult to determine which of the saint’s stories this might refer to. While often referred to as the story where Nicholas prevents the seamen from unwittingly using a jar of oil given to them by the devil and thus saving the church from destruction, it could alternately be the story of seamen who are saved from a violent storm because they pray to Nicholas who appears to them and who is recognized by them when they land safely.51 These two fonts are the only ones to offer figures in episcopal garb who can be clearly identified with a particular saint; as we saw in the 51

C.S. Drake, in The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, p. 21, follows the earlier suggestion by E. Tyrrell-Green, Baptismal Fonts (London: Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge, 1928), p. 61, that the scene represents the story of jealous Diana or the devil seeks revenge on the saint by giving sailors some oil designed to kill them and the saint then rescues them The details of the stories are not a matter of sculptural concern, making precise identifications difficult.

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discussion of confirmation, other bishop images are iconographically vague. The connection to saints expressed on these fonts is strengthened by considering their iconography in the context of other twelfth-century cultural phenomena, particularly that of pilgrimage. Saints, through their relics, could powerfully intercede on behalf of the faithful.52 In addition, pilgrimage to sacred shrines formed part of the complicated system of penance and indulgences.53 The resonance of the saints in the lives of medieval Christians is strongest in pilgrimage; it has its most explicit representation in the objects associated with pilgrimage—shrines, reliquaries, tombs.54 Pilgrimage and penance, part of the complicated fabric of the Romanesque church, may be expressed in the images on these baptismal fonts. The struggle between good and evil which forms an integral part of the medieval Christian’s sense of self may find its expression in the Southrop and Stanton Fitzwarren fonts. The Cottam font creates an iconography of baptism based on a conception of baptism as bodily focused. The taint of Original Sin on the body necessitates baptism; it is pictured in the synthetic scene of the Temptation and Fall. The other images remind the viewer of the sacrificial example of the saints, giving their bodies in faith and emulation of Christ’s salvific act; the mortal 52

The literature on pilgrimage as an activity of the Middle Ages is vast; for good introductory material to the general purposes of pilgrimage, see Simon Coleman and John Elsner, Pilgrimage: Past and Present (London: British Museum Press, 1995), Richard Barber, “Rome and the shrines of Europe: pilgrimage and miracles” in Richard Barber, Pilgrimages (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1991), and Jonathan Sumption, Pilgrimage (Totowa: Rowman and Littlefield, 1975) For material specifically on England, see Diana Webb, Pilgrimage in Medieval England (London: Hambledon and London, 2000). 53 Simon Coleman and Jonathan Elsner, Pilgrimage: Past and Present, pp. 109110. 54 Again, amidst a vast bibliography, see David Freedberg, The Power of Images: Studies in the History and Theory of Response (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989) which provides a compelling general picture of the exchanges which make up the medieval valuation of these objects, and specific works like Marie Madeleine Gauthier, Highways of the Faith: Relics and Reliquaries From Jerusalem to Compostela, translated by J.A. Underwood (Seacaucus: Wellfleet, 1986), and the Gesta volume 36, no. 1, 1997, devoted to the form and function of reliquaries.

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candidate is visually urged towards that perfection. Because of the religious culture of the Middle Ages, with its emphasis on the intercessory power of the saints and the phenomenon of pilgrimage, the images also connect to the sacrament of penance. The Cottam images thus imply a referential chain linking bodies through Christian history through the sacraments enacted and visualized here. The St. Nicholas fonts at Winchester (Hampshire) and Brighton are more difficult to contextualize. They undoubtedly stand, like the Cottam font, as testament to the Romanesque Christian’s belief in the intercessory power of the saint in the everyday lives of the powerless but faithful individuals.

Eucharistic Imagery There are many non-narrative examples of Eucharistic reference in the imagery of English baptismal fonts. The Agnus Dei, the lamb symbolizing Christ and shown with a staff topped with a cross, can be seen on the fonts at Belton, Curdworth (Warwickshire), Ilam (Staffordshire), Kirkburn, Stottesdon (Salop), Thames Ditton (Surrey), and Tissington (Derbyshire). The cross itself is also an occasional motif, like that on the font at Thames Ditton or at Thorpe Arnold (Leicestershire). Winchester uses a motif of addorsed doves and grapes on the side and grapes on the top of the basin to make a direct reference to the Eucharist. The Tournai font at St. Mary Bourne (Hampshire, England) has two sides with grape vines and on the south side and top are drinking doves.55 These fonts are evidence of commercial trade in stone-working and the reliance on acceptable imagery, read within these sacramental concerns of the Church. The image of Christ’s sacrifice is both ornamentally and narratively represented on the fonts of this period. The sacrament of the Eucharist is expressed through the narratives of the Last Supper and the Crucifixion. The Last Supper appears only on the English fonts of North Grimston and Brighton and on a few other European Romanesque fonts.56 It is not commonly found on major 55

For a description of the St. Mary Bourne font, see catalogue entry in Cecil Eden, Black Tournai Fonts in England (London: Elliot Stock, 1909). 56 C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2002), p. 54 lists the French font of St. Venant, the Belgian font at Dendermonde, and the Swedish fonts of Simris, Stenkyrka (both the work of the Anonymous Majestatis), and Skogstibble.

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architectural sculpture of the period.57 While Folke Nordström is right to argue that the Last Supper represented on a font is a means of pointing out “...that the Sacrifice of Christ instituted the Sacrament of the Altar,”58 this statement reduces the complexity of that representation and its site. It is a reference to the liturgical body in the context of a liturgical object fundamentally concerned about issues of the mortal body. It carries a connection of ecclesiastic practice important to the period idea of connected sacraments. The Crucifixion is the narrative event that best expresses Christ’s bodily suffering and sacrifice. Found in a few works of architectural sculpture, the Crucifixion can also be seen on four other fonts: Lenton, Coleshill, Cottesmore (Rutland) and Brundall (Norfolk).59 The Deposition, seen on the font of North Grimston, should be related to these images of the Crucifixion in iconographic import. These scenes, like 57 Charles E. Keyser, Norman Tympana and Lintels in the Churches of Great Britain (London: Eliot Stock, 1927), p. 72. Keyser adds that it is found on a minor capital at Southwell Minster (Nottinghamshire) and on the south doorway at Foston (Yorkshire) (lvi). Notably, it appears in the friezes on the west façade at Notre-Dame at Chartres and at Notre-Dame at Etampes, both mid-twelfth century. At Etampes it has been discussed as one part of the extended life of Christ imagery that is situated in the apostolic concerns of the community; Kathleen Nolan, “Narrative in the Capital Frieze at Notre-Dame at Etampes”, The Art Bulletin, Vol. 71, No. 2 (Jun., 1989), pp. 166-184. One could certainly situate this within the planning of a very complicated iconographic program that also presents the incarnation, resurrection, Second Coming and the church study of the Liberal Arts (institution). It is my contention that these program of frieze decoration present in concentrated, erudite, and expensively executed form the exact same trends that are being presented in a less focused fashion on these baptismal fonts. 58 Folke Nordstrom, Medieval Baptismal Fonts: an iconographic study (Umeå:Almqvist & Wiksell, 1984), p. 123. 59 For architectural works, Charles E. Keyser, Norman Tympana and Lintels in the Churches of Great Britain, p. 72, lists Bolsover (Derbyshire), Chumleigh (Devonshire), Croxdale (Durham), Hawksworth (West Riding, Yorkshire), and Normanton (Derbyshire). He also adds a stone fragment at Kniveton (Derbyshire), a capital at Seaford (Sussex), in the arch on the south porch at Malmesbury Abbey (Wiltshire), a gable stone at Daglingworth church (Gloucestershire), and south transept exterior at Romsey Abbey (Hampshire). In stone sculpture, the Crucifixion appears notably on the Barking rood; see Fritz Saxl, English Sculptures of the Twelfth Century, edited by Hanns Swarzenski (Boston: Boston Book & Art Shop, 1952), pls. XXX and XXXI. The subject is commonly found on ivories of the period; see, for example, the ivory pectoral cross portion from the early twelfth century, Victoria and Albert Museum A.3-1961, reproduced in English Romanesque Art 1066-1200, entry 196.

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the liturgy and theology of the Eucharist during this period, emphasize the sacrificial death of Christ. The baptismal font at North Grimston has four decorative panels, including a geometric filler panel, an image of a bishop traditionally identified as Saint Nicholas, the Last Supper, and the Deposition.60 It dedicates most of its compositional space to the Last Supper (Figs. 29 and 30). Christ, with a large cruciferous halo, is seated on an elaborate scroll topped chair under a canopy. He is the central figure, in a bay to himself, and the disciples flank him on either side. Rather than a representative sample of six, all of the disciples are shown. All the participants are arranged on one side of a long table which has been tipped in perspective to reveal both table top and bodies below the table. The figures on this baptismal font show the sculptor’s low priority on anatomical description. The heads of all of the figures are broad circles at the forehead, tapering to a thinner rounded chin. Noses are created by simple triangles and the regularized eyes are thinly inscribed. Christ’s raised hands are disproportionately large. Each disciple is shown with a halo; the sculptor’s form of depicting haloes limits them to half discs, like roll mouldings, truncated at the ears. While the North Grimston sculptor was little interested in systematic attributes or labels to differentiate the figures, he was clearly interested in decorative elements. Some of the disciples hold books, signaling their basic identity, while some hold knives, signaling their setting. There is considerable variation in the robes under the table and Christ’s robes are very elaborately layered materials. The table surface is set with dishes, fish and bread. The inclusion of the detail of a cross on the top of the bread makes explicit the reference between this (historic) meal and its sacramental partner.

60

For more about the North Grimston (East Riding, Yorkshire) font, see Alfred C. Fryer, “On Fonts with Representations of Baptism and the Holy Eucharist,” The Archaeological Journal, LX/Second Series X, 1903, pp. 12-13, C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, primarily p. 30.

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4-10: Last Supper, Brighton (Sussex), third quarter of the twelfth century (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London)

The font at Brighton has already been addressed because of its initiation imagery. In addition to the baptism of Christ, the sculptor has created two other large compositions: the Last Supper and the other of events from the Saint Nicholas legend. Throughout, the sculptor has depicted the saint’s connection to the life of the Church. Christ’s baptism takes place under arcades with John the Baptist in clerical robes. The Last Supper has the cruciferousnimbus wearing Christ centrally positioned between three disciples on either hand. Here the sculptor emphasized the liturgical connection between Christ’s meal and the contemporary Eucharist. Christ rests his left hand directly on the bread while raising his right hand in blessing over a chalice. Even St. Nicholas is shown with his crosier prominently placed and his outstretched hand commanding the scene. Indeed, the Brighton font is a prime example of my reading strategy: the scenes mark (Christ’s) initiation, (Christ’s) practice, and (Nicholas’s) continuation of the Church. The sacramental life of the Church is played out ON and IN the baptismal font.

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Equally uncommon on baptismal fonts, Christ’s Crucifixion appears on the fonts of Lenton, as already discussed in detail, Coleshill, Cottesmore, and Brundall. The Coleshill font, a tall cylinder supported on a base, probably dates to around 1150.61

4-11: Crucifixion, Coleshill (Warwickshire), later twelfth century (Conway Library, The Courtauld Institute of Art, London)

Here, the figures of Christ on the cross, Mary and John are encircled by a large decorative ring, a design element seen in the similar Crucifixion handling from contemporary stained glass from Châlons-sûr-Marne. The elements here again show the substantial artistic connection between

61 For further discussion of the Coleshill (Warwickshire) font, see George Zarnecki, Later English Romanesque Sculpture 1140-1210, p. 53, pl. 6 and English Romanesque Lead Sculpture (New York: Philosophical Society, 1957), p. 34, pl. 38; C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, p. 16. The Crucifixion does also appear on a Scottish font, the only extant Romanesque one with narrative iconography, from Loch Eynort, Skye (C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, p. 34).

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England and the Mosan region.62 The sculptor seems to be emphasizing Christ’s bodily presence in his careful handling of the ribs of Christ’s naked torso. There is also a tension here between the victorious Christ motif and the suffering Christ motif: Christ’s body is supported vigorously in contrast to the strain of the Crucifixion yet his head slumps as if in death. The Coleshill font, with its image of the Annunciation on one side, and its Crucifixion on the other, creates a program around incarnation and the sacraments. The Annunciation emphasizes Christ’s unique birth without Original Sin in contrast to humanity’s mortal birth which requires the cleansing bath of baptism. The Crucifixion enacts Christ’s mortal sacrifice, a sacrifice reenacted in the Eucharist and which carries the baptismal promise of entrance into the kingdom of heaven. The Cottesmore font is a late Romanesque work, likely a combination of a fourteenth-century basin on a later twelfth-century base.63

62

Again, the connections between England and the Mosan region apply to fonts as well. The majority of work has been done on metalwork but even this connection can be revealing about stone sculpture. See the earlier discussion on the Brighton font, pp. 148-152. Other relevant work about the Mosan-England connections can be found in C. C. Oman, “Influences mosanes dans les émaux anglais,” in ed. Pierre Francastel, L’Art mosan (Paris: A Colin, 1953); George Zarnecki, English Romanesque Lead Sculpture, pp. 12-14, discusses metalwork traditions, connecting Mosan production with English lead font production. Neil Stratford, “Metalwork,” English Romanesque Art 1066-1200, especially entries 277 a and b, 278-280, as well as “Three English Romanesque Enamelled Ciboria,” Burlington Magazine, Vol. CXXVI, April 1984, pp. 204-216. 63 I am indebted to C.S. Drake for his e-mail correspondence (January 15, 2003) with information and image of this font.

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4-12: Base of font, Cottesmore (Rutland), later twelfth century (author)

It has a plain capital-based design with no decoration on two of its faces. The other two arrange their compositions under arches on adjoining faces. On one side is the figure of the crucified Christ, his body typically handled for the period with elongated limbs and abstracted features. While the cross is clearly described in shallow carving, Christ is shown as if alive and victorious over death. On the other face is the image of a bishop, depicted with prominent crosier. The pairing of these two images suggests again a sacramental focus within the theology of baptism. Christ’s body is emphasized by his vigor despite death, reminding the viewer of Christ’s special body and the viewer’s own mortal one. The connection to the Eucharist—Christ’s body and blood present again on the altar—remains a suggestion. The presence of the bishop, with his power to confirm and seal the baptism, pairs with this image as a reminder of Christ’s passing his ministry into the hands of the Church and the Church’s responsibility for the sacramental life of its faithful. A plain font with roughly carved figures, the Cottesmore font nonetheless carries the current of the contemporary discussion of baptismal theology.

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The Brundall font, dated by G.C. Druce to the fourteenth century, is more probably an example of a late-twelfth-century English lead font.64 These lead fonts are particularly associated with English Romanesque production and the designs are generally the repetitive variety developed from the mould process.65 The image repeated here alternates a fleur-de-lis sort of foliate panel with the crucified Christ shown as a corpus, without a cross. The image vividly conveys the Crucifixion with an emphasis on Christ’s body, making for a visual connection to the ritual corpus received in the sacrament of the Eucharist. In the same narrative sequence is the image of the Deposition that appears on the North Grimston font.

64

See C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, p. 174 for a fuller discussion of the dating attribution. Francis Bond, Fonts and Font Covers (1908, reprint ed. London: Waterstone, 1985), p. 79, places Brundall (Norfolk) as thirteenth-century. George Zarnecki does not include the Brundall font in his 1957 text on English lead fonts. 65 For the production process, see George Zarnecki, English Romanesque Lead Sculpture (New York: Philosophical Society, 1957), particularly pp. 3-4 and C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, particularly p. 170.

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4-13 Deposittion, North Griimston (Yorkshire), twelfth ccentury (autho or)

Like the Lasst Supper imaage, the figurees are awkwarrd and abstraccted; their heads are roough ovals wiith simply insscribed geomeetricized featu ures. Two men stand oon either sidee of the cross to ease the bbody of Christ from it. Once again,, the North Grimston G scullptor is inclinned to depict narrative details withhout particularr interest in naturalism. n Thhe body of Christ C has been clearlyy detached froom at least on ne arm of the cross yet maiintains its crucified staance. The maan on the leftt tilts his heaad back as hee receives Christ’s weiight but the body of Christt is not yet in his arms. Thee man on the right w wraps his imppossibly long arms aroundd Christ’s weeight but Christ’s boddy seems weiightless in th hose arms. Thhe scene preserves the iconic substance of Chrrist’s sacrificiial death on the cross while w also depicting the pathos and care c of the narrrative. Inddeed, certainlly in both th he cases of North Grimston and Brighton, iff we read theese images to ogether, a prrogrammatic statement s emerges. Att North Grimsston, the passage of the miission of the Church C is shown at thhe Last Suppeer, followed by b Christ’s Deeposition (a shorthand s for Christ’s Resurrectionn, and by exteension, the ennd of the Firstt Coming and a reminnder of the Second Comin ng), and a saiint who continues that

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teaching for the Church. At Brighton, Christ begins his mission with baptism, passes to the disciples, and then passes from the disciples to the Church. With baptisms of the members of the congregation, the font itself shows that the mission of the Church continues unbroken.

Liturgical and Theological Connections between Baptism and the Eucharist The connection between baptism and the Eucharist as sacraments begins for medieval theologians with the idea that both are directly instituted by Christ and spoken of in the Gospels.66 They share a privileged status. Liturgically, they are also linked from earliest days. The baptismal service creates a new Christian of the catechumen; the newly received candidates then are invited to receive the Eucharist.67 An Easter hymn, Ad coenam agni, taken from the tenth-century Analecta hymnica but probably Ambrosian (fourth-century) in origin, expresses poetically the durability of the liturgical link: “Prepared for the supper of the Lamb,/ Radiant in our white robes,/ Having passed through the Red Sea,/ Let us sing to Christ the Lord.”68 From their very foundations, baptism and the Eucharist are drawn together. Metaphorically, the two sacraments are also connected throughout Christian writings. Augustine makes a complicated analogy

66

The history of Eucharistic theology is more detailed and complex than can be elaborated on here. For the most complete introduction to the history of Eucharistic theology through the Middle Ages, see D. Devlin, “Corpus Christi: A Study in Medieval Eucharistic Theory,” PhD dissertation, University of Chicago, 1975 or Gary Macy, The Theologies of the Eucharist in the Early Scholastic Period (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984). 67 See for example the second century writing of Justin Martyr, as discussed in Elizabeth Rogers, Peter Lombard and the Sacramental System, p. 4. The Apostolic Tradition also emphasized the first Eucharist, on Easter, for the newly baptized; see Joseph Martos, Doors to the Sacred, pp. 170-171. As Martos correctly points out (p. 182), the reception of the Eucharist even for the newly baptized continued for infants until the High Middle Ages; the practice ends with the Eucharistic controversies and the corresponding heightened, mystical approach to the Eucharist during this period. 68 O.B. Hardison, Christian Rite and Christian Drama in the Middle Ages (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1965), p. 95.

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between the two sacraments and the spiritual status of the newly received Christians. Unless wheat is ground, after all, and moistened with water, it can’t possibly get into this shape which is called bread. In the same way you too were being ground and pounded, as it were, by the humiliation of fasting and the sacrament of exorcism. Then came baptism, and you were, in a manner of speaking, moistened with water in order to be shaped into bread. But it’s not yet bread without fire to bake it...That’s the chrism, the anointing. Oil, the fire-feeder, you see, is the sacrament of the Holy Spirit.69

Augustine is playing on the idea that all baptized Christians become members of Christ and the idea that the bread of the Eucharist is the body of Christ; there is a layered effect of presence in these sacraments. Elsewhere, Augustine preaches to the newly baptized on the Eucharist, moving directly from his analogy that the baptized are all buried with Christ to the Pauline statement that “We, being many, are one bread, one body.”70 This sermon also continues the idea that the catechumen is wheat threshed by the fasting and exorcisms of Lent, and the water of baptism purifies the wheat so that it can be baked from the fires of temptation to form a loaf worthy of Christ. The presence of Eucharistic themes in baptismal font imagery is completely understandable from Augustine’s rhetorical tradition. The language that expresses these sacramental connections is fluid. John’s Gospel account states the soldiers pierced Christ’s side and from it flowed blood and water.71 Aelfric’s Midlent Sunday sermon builds from the explanation of the stone struck by Moses as a type of Christ to state, “His side was wounded on the rood, and there flowed out blood and water together; the blood for our redemption, and the water for our baptism.”72 Baptism thus is again narratively tied to the sacrifice of 69

Augustine, Sermon 227, p. 254 (Patrologia Latina database, Vol. 38: 1099 ff.). Augustine, Sermon 9; in Philip T. Weller, Selected Easter Sermons of Saint Augustine (St. Louis: B. Herder Book Co., 1959), p. 101 (Patrologia Latina database, Vol.38, 0075ff). 71 John 19:34. 72 Aelfric, Sermones Catholici, translated by Benjamin Thorpe, in The Homilies of the Anglo-Saxon Church, vol. II (London: The Aelfric Society, 1844), p. 203 (Original text accompanies the translation). 70

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Christ’s body and liturgically to the reenacted sacrifice in the sacrament of the Eucharist. Eucharistic motifs and narratives may also be understood from the theological contexts of the period. Bede’s sentiment of baptism and the Eucharist being mutually necessary for salvation is picked up in many other sources. Peter Lombard opens his discussion of the sacrament of the Eucharist first quoting the Summa Sententiarum and then adding his own gloss: “‘After the sacrament of baptism and of confirmation, follows the sacrament of the Eucharist. Through baptism we are cleansed, through the Eucharist, we are perfected in what is good.’ Baptism extinguishes the fire of sins, the Eucharist restores us spiritually.”73 The Lombard maintains the liturgical connection and Bede’s sense of the interconnected necessity of these sacraments. The examination of sacramental theology reveals that individual sacraments were of differing import at different points in the ecclesiastic history. Baptism, discussed much by Augustine and the patristic theologians, reflects the concerns of that period, particularly around the conversion of adults and heretical movements and the necessity of baptizing infants. In the later Middle Ages, particularly around the eleventh and twelfth centuries, the Scholastic emphasis for creating a formal definition of sacraments is a direct result of the detailed discussion of the nature of the Eucharist. Marcia Colish even argues that the “...fascination with the Eucharist is a genuine case of how the convergence between religious devotion and theological speculation helped to direct the course of twelfth-century Christian thought.”74 The pressure for sacramental definition and clarification comes from a variety of sources. Theologically, the debate centers around the Berengarian heresy that the Eucharistic elements do not contain the real presence of Christ’s body and blood, a belief contrary to the two beliefs of concomitance and

73

Peter Lombard, Sentences Book IV, Distinction VIII, 1. Translated by Elizabeth Rogers, Peter Lombard and the Sacramental System, p. 119 (Patrologia Latina database, Vol.192: 0856ff). 74 Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, pp. 551-552.

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transubstantiation held by orthodox authorities.75 As noted by several authors, the pressure of Eucharistic heresies and responses would be expressed in spiritual devotion to the Host, a belief in miraculous Hosts, and a change in the Mass liturgy to emphasize its elevation.76 I also argue that these pressures also had visual outlet on the sacramental fixture of the baptismal font. Within the ecclesiastic institution, the Gregorian reform movement (roughly ca. 1050-1150) also effected pressure; its focus was primarily on the worthiness of priests to administer the sacraments.77 Consonant with the Gregorian reform movement within the institution of the Church, there were a number of heterodox movements outside of the ecclesiastic institution whose focus was antisacramental in nature. These heretical movements, combined with the earnest but inadequate

75

The details of the Berengarian heresy are intricate and need not be discussed in detail here. See Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, pp. 552-583 for a recent discussion of the theological issues and their espousal by various thinkers. The subject is also addressed thoroughly by Gary Macy, The Theologies of the Eucharist in the Early Scholastic Period, pp. 35-43 and in N.M. Haring, “Berengar’s Definitions of Sacramentum and Their Influence on Medieval Sacramentology,” Medieval Studies, Vol. 10, 1948, pp. 109-146. 76 See Gary Macy, The Theologies of the Eucharist in the Early Scholastic Period, especially pp. 86-95. An older but relevant study is Gerard G. Grant, “The Elevation of the Host: A reaction to Twelfth Century Heresy,” Theological Studies, Vol. 1, 1940, pp. 228-250. 77 See Gerhard B. Ladner, The Idea of Reform: Its Impact on Christian Thought and Action in the Age of the Fathers, rev. ed. (New York: Harper & Row, 1967); Giles Constable, “Renewal and Reform in Religious Life,” in ed. Robert L. Benson and Giles Constable with Carol D. Lanham, Renaissance and Renewal in the Twelfth Century (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982), pp. 37-67; and Giles Constable, Reformation of the Twelfth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996).

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understanding of the laity,78 contributed to the sacramental emphasis within the orthodox institution.

Eschatology There is a high incidence of imagery on English baptismal fonts addressing the Christian eschaton either directly or referentially. It is perhaps most directly a function of Scriptural teaching. Jesus specifically states in John’s Gospel that unless reborn by water and the Holy Spirit, no person can enter the Kingdom of Heaven.79 While some scenes, like the Adam and Eve images or Christ’s incarnation and baptism, have a theological message emphasizing the mortal necessity of baptism, there are scenes which function as visual reminders of the consequences of failure to be baptized. The images sometimes have a Christological emphasis, such as in the Harrowing of Hell seen on the Eardisley font or the Christ in Majesty imagery seen on the fonts at West Haddon and Kirkburn. Other images focus on elements of the Revelation narrative. The imagery related to the Christian eschaton is common enough on Romanesque baptismal fonts that it must be addressed here. The ca. 1150 font at Eardisley, part of a group of fonts and other sculptural decoration from Herefordshire characterized by its Scandinavian-

78 Jaroslav Pelikan, in The Growth of Medieval Theology (600-1300), p. 229, presents convincing evidence that twelfth-century ecclesiastics themselves made a distinction between heretics (labeled so because of their persistent defense of errors) and those who fall into unorthodox ideas because of being ill-informed. I argue with confidence that the laity’s lack of education on sacramental matters must have been a motivating factor in the later Middle Ages particularly. Catechismal manuals begin to make their appearance in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries; John Myrc’s vernacular clerical manual appears later, in 1400. These handbooks were created to ensure not only the parish priest’s familiarity with the subject of the sacraments but also that he pass along correct knowledge to his parishioners. 79 John 3:3-5.

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influenced innterlace and motifs, m has a representatioon of Christ harrowing h 80 Hell.

4-14: Harroowing of Hell, font f from Eard disley (Hereforrdshire), ca. 11 150 (BSI)

The surface of the font is filled with curling c vines;; they invade any nonfigural space. The bowl is i also decoraated with a lioon, two fightin ng men,81

80

For entries solely on Earddisley, see George Zarnecki, Laater English Ro omanesque Sculpture 11440-1210 (Londdon: Alec Tiran nti, 1953), p. 555; Malcom Thu urlby, The Herefordshiree School of Romanesque Sculp lpture (Little Loogaston: Logasston Press, 1999), pp. 1223-126; and C.S S. Drake, The Romanesque R F Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinaavia, p. 19. Thee group of fontts, including C Castle Frome, Chaddesley C Corbett, and Stottesdon, is also addressed in material byy George Zarneecki, Later English Romaanesque Sculptture 1140-1210 0, pp. 9-15, in E English Roman nesque Art 1066-1200 (L London: The Arts A Council of Great Britainn, 1984) and in n Malcom Thurlby, Thee Herefordshiree School of Ro omanesque Scuulpture (Little Logaston: Logaston Press, 1999). 81 These twoo fighters lack a textual refeerent which miight identify th hem more completely. T The motif of armed a knights in i struggle may ay be meant to make the viewer conssider the metaaphysical strug ggle between good and evil; other c representaations of this idea, with Romanesque sculptures aree often more clear grotesque dem mons battling human h opponentts.

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and a figure with a halo holding a book. The scene of Christ harrowing Hell appears next to the single holy figure. Christ’s halo is cruciferous and he holds a cross-topped staff; the sculptor is attentive to identifying details. Christ’s other hand grasps the wrist of a haloed figure; their bodies incline to the left and Christ’s lunging posture emphasizes the sense of pulling the other man free from the tendrils. The subject is distinctive in (extant) English Romanesque font iconography but appears on Romanesque fonts from Eschau (Alsace), Brives-sur-Charente (France), Freckenhorst (Germany), Middels (Germany), Lokrume (Sweden), and Läderup (Sweden).82 The subject seems to have been particularly popular in the Herefordshire region from which this font comes; it appears on an early twelfth-century capital from Hereford Cathedral as well.83 The Eardisley font is clearly stylistically similar and thematically related to the allegorical tympanum from All Saints Church, Billesley, Warwickshire.84 The Harrowing of Hell also appears elsewhere in English sculpture, such as in the eleventh-century sarcophagus relief panel from Bristol Cathedral,85 or in the frieze on Lincoln Cathedral.86 One Spanish font, late for the Romanesque period as it is likely thirteenth century, shows how the Christ stories might be interwoven specifically to put an emphasis on death and resurrection, with the implication that it might happen for any baptized Christian. On one side of the font at Calahorra de Boedo, we see the three Marys arranged at the side of the tomb; an angel stands at the head and the foot of the sarcophagus. As well, the Roman soldiers are piled up on either side of the 82

See C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia for further information on these fonts’ representation of the Harrowing of Hell iconography. 83 See English Romanesque Sculpture 1066-1200, p. 157. 84 See George Zarnecki, English Romanesque Art 1066-1200 (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1984), entry 137, pp. 68, 177. 85 See English Romanesque Sculpture 1066-1200, p. 150. 86 See Fritz Saxl, English Sculptures of the Twelfth Century, edited by Hanns Swarzenski (Boston: Boston Book & Art Shop, 1952) pl. XLIX; George Zarnecki, “Romanesque Sculpture at Lincoln Cathedral,” reprinted in Studies in Romanesque Sculpture (London: The Dorian Press, 1979), pp. 1-225; ed. Deborah Kahn, The Romanesque Frieze and its Spectator: the Lincoln symposium papers (London: H. Miller Publishers and Oxford University Press, 1992). The Lincoln frieze makes a good iconographic comparison with Eardisley (Herefordshire) as it shows Christ standing on a bound Satan, reaching in to a Hell Mouth.

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scene. Chrisst’s narrative of death and d resurrectionn is very cleaar. As we move arounnd the font, we w see a scenee of Christ resscuing Adam m and Eve from Hell.

4-15: Harroowing of Hell,, font from Calahorra C de Boedo (Spain n), twelfth century (Web oficial del ayyuntamiento dee Calahorra dee Boedo)

Eve folds heer hands in front of her, staanding behindd Christ as he pulls the arm of Adam m from the doorway of Heell. We see a small group of o people and demonss inside the arcchitecture, com mpleting the sscene. In choo osing this scene, the pprogrammaticc point is cleear: Adam annd Eve, the cause of Original Sinn, are saved froom torment, just as the bapptized candidaate will be saved. The scene referennces the textu ual narrative iin Christ’s hiistory but also the poppular eschatoloogical ideas off salvation thrrough the sacrraments. Thee Harrowing of o Hell is an apocryphal a acccount coming g from the second or thhird century Gospel G of Nico odemus.87 Thee account is extremely e popular in English mediieval sources,, appearing inn the works of Bede, Aelfric, andd in Old Engliish poetry.88 The T scene is ssignificant paarticularly 87

Ed. H.C. K Kim, The Gosppel of Nicodem mus (Gesta Salvvatoris): edited d from the Codex Einsiddlensis, Einsieedeln Stiftsbibliothek MS 3266, (Toronto: Centre C for Medieval Stuudies, 1973). 88 “Harrowingg of Hell,” Cathholic Encyclopeedia, www.newadvvent.org/cathen//07143d.htm, Jaanuary 11, 20033.

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as it was Christ’s descent into Hell which was held as saving those holy figures who died before His coming, and thus before the sacrament of baptism. Adam is accounted one of the figures saved by Christ’s descent into Hell, thus also making the theological connection between Christ’s salvific death and Adam’s sin. Again, as we have discussed elsewhere, the connection between baptism and Christ’s death has ample textual precedent. Cyril of Jerusalem, writing in the mid-fourth century, delivers a catechesis on the font in which he emphasizes this symbolic jointure: “And you made the saving confession, and descended three times into the water and came up again, here also recalling by a symbol the three-day burial of Christ.”89 This iconography visually expresses the baptismal covenant. The West Haddon font will be discussed in detail as a case study but here I want to at least mention the image of Christ in Majesty. This font has a linear Christological narrative, beginning with the Nativity, the Baptism, the Entry into Jerusalem and ending with the Majestas. On the Kirkburn font, the Christ in Majesty shows Christ without a halo but with a cross behind his head. He stands, arms raised and with enlarged hands as if displaying his wounds; two angels, their wings appearing as small triangles, hold the mandorla with grotesquely enlarged and twisted arms. There is no question that the scene is meant to represent the resurrected and victorious Christ. The popular imagery of Christ in Majesty appears elsewhere in contemporary English art. It appears in a specifically apocalyptic form, with candlesticks from the text of Revelation 1:12, in a fresco from the ca. 1120 church at Kempley, Gloucestershire.90 As Keyser indexes, the subject is extremely popular for tympana, appearing on some twenty-one churches and the bishop’s palace at Gloucester.91 The west door tympanum of Rochester Cathedral, ca. 1160-1170, offers a similarly detailed view of the Revelation Maiestas. A common Romanesque subject both in England and on the Continent, the subject as a recollection of the 89

Cyril of Jerusalem, Catecheses mystagogicae 2:4, translated by Walter Bedard, in The Symbolism of the Baptismal Font in Early Christian Thought, p. 7. 90 See Anne Marshall’s web site, “Medieval Wall Painting in the English Parish Church,” www.paintedchurch.org, 10/8/02. 91 Charles Keyser, Norman Tympana and Lintels in the Churches of Great Britain, p. 73.

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Second Coming and Christ’s salvific role is particularly appropriate to the doorway of the church. The motif of Christ in Majesty comes primarily from the text of Revelation and is commonly shown as the enthroned Christ flanked by the symbols of the four evangelists and, often, with the twenty-four elders. Again, the Maiestas motif makes explicit a baptismal covenant that without baptism, one cannot enter the kingdom of Heaven. By referring visually to the end time, the necessity for baptism is emphasized. The font at Toller Fratrum (Dorset) is again an unique interpretation of an eschatological narrative.

4-16: Standing figures, font from Toller Fratrum (Dorset), twelfth century (C.S. Drake)

George Zarnecki dates the font to the first half of the twelfth century;92 it is certainly not later than 1150. The font is tub shaped, without a pedestal; around the upper rim is a wide plait border and a smaller cable which separates this border from the figural band. The lower band of the font is also decorated with a wide cable. Described by some authors as the Harrowing of Hell, it nevertheless lacks any compositional or sculptural 92 George Zarnecki, English Romanesque Sculpture 1066-1140 (London: Alec Tiranti, 1951), 28.

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detail which would identify any of the many figures on the surface of the basin as Christ.93 Even lacking the presence of Christ, the iconography actually more accurately suggests the Last Judgment separation of the blessed and the damned. On one side are three full length standing figures. The center figure, nondescript in gender and costume, raises its two arms in an orant pose; it can easily also be read as an atalid figure as the hands appear to wrap around the upper decorative cable. The standing figures on either side of this center figure raise one arm similarly; the other stretches down to the head of the interspersed figures. Tellingly, these figures appear only from the waist, with one hand raised to touch the arm of the standing figure next to them. The sculptor has tried to emphasize the submerged and rising nature of their bodies in order to indicate their rise from the grave. The atalids lack wings or haloes which might identify them as heavenly company; the interpretation could be that either they are angels assisting the rising dead or that they are themselves risen. The Hell imagery is somewhat clearer: on the side opposite, an arcade is topped with a grotesque made of two addorsed bodies attached to a single head. It creates a gate or Hell mouth architecture.94 Below this grotesque is an arrangement of heads and limbs; the placement of the heads on their sides makes them appear as if they are either part of a hideous four-legged beast or that they are condemned in the company of this beast. The font at Toller Fratrum recalls other Last Judgment imagery from the Romanesque period, most notably the tympana of St. Lazare at Autun and of Ste. Foy at Conques. The scene of the dead rising from their graves to the trumpet’s call is vividly seen on the font at Neerhespen (Mosan, Belgium) and on the font at Chalons-sur-Marne (Tournai, Belgium); in both cases, the Belgian sculptors were more concerned with

93

W.B. Yapp, “The Iconography of the Font at Toller Fratrum,” Dorset Natural History and Architectural Society, CIX, 1987, pp. 1-4; C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, pp. 21-22 places most credence on the Harrowing of Hell motif, correctly dismissing the more outlandish interpretations, such as Moses versus the Amelkites, which have been ventured. 94 On the Hell Mouth, see Gary D. Schmidt, The Iconography of the Mouth of Hell (Selinsgrove: Susquehanna University Press, 1995). The Hell Mouth was vibrantly depicted in a number of English Romanesque textual, visual, and performative sources.

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representative details such as the angels’ oliphants and the sarcophagi representations.95

4-17: Hell gate, font from Toller Fratrum (Dorset), twelfth century (John Bedell)

The suitability of decorating a font with the raising of the dead at Judgment Day can be seen by looking at a roughly contemporary text, written in England between the first quarter and middle of the eleventh century. Aelfric, in a homily presented for the Nativity of St. Paul the Apostle, instructed Christians that they were actually born three times: “...the first birth is fleshly, of father and of mother; the second birth is ghostly, when we are regenerated at the holy baptism, in which all our sins will be forgiven us, through the grace of the Holy Ghost. The third birth is at the common resurrection, at which our bodies will be regenerated to incorruptible bodies.”96 The two mortal births so much the focus of

95

For images of these two fonts, see C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, pls. 95 and 115. 96 Aelfric, Sermones Catholici, translated by Benjamin Thorpe, The Homilies of the Anglo-Saxon Church, vol. I (London: The Aelfric Society, 1844), p. 395.

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baptismal theology and liturgical rhetoric are linked to the future mortal body raised at the End Time. Perhaps one last motif presented on baptismal fonts has connections to Revelation iconography. On the fonts of Thorpe Arnold (Leicestershire), Avebury (Wiltshire), East Haddon (Northamptonshire), and Stone (Buckinghamshire), a figure is shown battling with a dragon.

4-18: Figure, font from Avebury (Wiltshire), twelfth century (Tony Grist)

None of the figures are specifically detailed to suggest an angel; the closest identification may be the East Haddon figure where the sculptor has arranged two of the large leaves which make up the upper band of the font so that they appear to sprout directly from his shoulders, not unlike wings. The figure on the Thorpe Arnold font has a helmet and a shield

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marked with a cross, suggesting an alternate reading of St. George.97 The Avebury figure carries a staff with which he stabs the head of the dragon.98 The Stone font has two figures battling a host of dragon and quadruped beasts; in this respect it is the most textually faithful to Revelation 12. Despite small differences, these images should be seen in the same iconographic tradition as contemporary images like the tympana of St. Michael’s church, Ipswich (Suffolk) or of Southwell Minster (Nottinghamshire) which more distinctly depicts the archangel Michael battling the dragon.99 They represent the final struggle as envisioned by John’s text and their presence on a baptismal font is a suitable reminder of things to come and sacramental necessity. The most expressive of these images touching on Revelation themes is the font at Kirkby (St. Chad’s, Merseyside).

97

The multiple heads of the dragon are more in keeping with the Revelation narrative; the composition lacks other notable elements of the St. George narrative. Finally, the other decoration on this font is an elaborate cross, also suggesting a Christological focus. This iconography is wrongly attributed to the East Haddon (Northamptonshire) font by E. Tyrrell-Green, Baptismal Fonts (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1928), p. 58. The St. Michael reading is confirmed in George Zarnecki, English Romanesque Sculpture 1066-1140 (London: Alec Tiranti, 1951), p. 33. 98 George Zarnecki, Later English Romanesque Sculpture 1140-1210 (London: Alec Tiranti, 1953), p. 53, offers a contrary reading suggesting that the font actually illustrates Psalm 90 “Thou shalt tread upon the lion and the adder”; the physical evidence for two separate beasts similar to a lion and an adder is difficult to read. The choice of a Psalm as iconography is also unusual. However, should Zarnecki’s identification be correct, it does not necessarily invalidate the eschatological reading offered here because of the Psalm’s typological resonance with the Revelation text. The Avebury font is also addressed by A.G. Randle Buck, “Some Wiltshire Fonts,” The Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine, LIII, 1950, pp. 463-4. 99 For St. Michael’s Church, Ipswich (Suffolk), see English Romanesque Sculpture 1066-1200, pp. 164-165. For Southwell Minster (Nottinghamshire), see English Romanesque Sculpture 1066-1200, p. 165.

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4-19: Figures with serpents, font from Kirkby (Merseyside) (C.S. Drake)

The cable molding here is actually two entwined serpents and an additional, third serpent’s head can be found. In addition to the Adam and Eve Temptation and Fall on the bowl are seven figures dressed in clerical garments. One of the figures has a staff which he thrusts into the mouth of the serpent directly below. The Church, embodied in the forms of the tonsured figures with books and the figures wearing mitres, takes action against the monsters of the Eschaton. The locus for this fight is the baptismal font, tying the baptismal act to salvation. We might suggest a sacramental connection here for all of these eschatologically themed images. While appearing as early as the eighth century, it is not until the twelfth that Peter Lombard counts as a sacrament the anointing of the sick, which he understands as ‘extreme unction’ administered at the end of life.100 The penance associated with it and the emphasis placed on it as a final sacramental act of the Christian

100

Peter Lombard, Sentences, Book IV, Distinction XXIII, translated by Elizabeth Rogers, in Peter Lombard and the Sacramental System, p. 221 (Patrologia Latina database, Vol. 192: 0899ff.).

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are clear. The sacramental definitions being developed during the Scholastic period create an institutional framework shaping Christian spiritual life from birth (baptism) to death (unction). These apocalyptic motifs are part of a strategy of presentation— seen in texts and images—that connect the sacraments to the End Times. Sentence collections that present much of the sacramental theology of the period also concluded with a view of “Last Things.” As Marcia Colish insightfully states, “...since they are systematic theologians, they seek to show the connection between their doctrine of Last Things and the main themes that animate their summae and sentence collections.”101 The sacramental theology of baptism is intimately concerned with the same issues of body which activate eschatological theology. The questions of how one will be embodied discussed in these sections of the Sentences reflect concerns about the nature of a fetus and when it becomes ensouled; while all will be resurrected, according to these authors, baptism and life in faith are key aspects of salvation.102 Peter Lombard goes to the additional effort of emphasizing that Christ at the Second Coming will assume his resurrected body; “...since this is the form in which He communicates Himself to believers in the Eucharist, Christ’s resurrection is also the cause of our own salvation.”103 Peter Lombard, in a rhetorical tradition we have discussed elsewhere, draws together bodies; he links the liturgical body of Christ as the Eucharist, the body of Christ as victoriously resurrected, the mortal body on Judgment Day, and the mortal body as it exists in its present (before Judgment Day). There is a melding here meant to draw attention to the categorical and temporal connections achieved by sacramental theology and practice.104 The visual elements emphasize the future issues of salvation, presented in font imagery as Christ’s Harrowing of Hell, the Maiestas, the raising of the dead, and the battle against the dragon. In this, these images correspond to the 101

Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, p. 699. In this statement, Colish also draws a necessary distinction between these authors and the current of apocalyptic and visionary writing which also characterizes the period. 102 See Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, pp. 704-717. 103 Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, p. 713. 104 “Rather, what he [Peter Lombard] wants to emphasize, along with Gregory, is the doctrine of the communion of the saints and the connections uniting all Christians, living and dead, in the bond of love that is the church.” Marcia Colish, Peter Lombard, p. 715.

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theological concerns of contemporary writers, presented as a sacramental existence in anticipation of salvation.

Conclusion These images reveal a greater structure to the baptismal theology in the late eleventh and twelfth centuries in England. They are images which reflect the other sacraments common to all Christians: confirmation, penance, and the Eucharist. The repeated figures of bishops emphasize the ecclesiastic hierarchy in the performance of the sacrament. Penance, sacramentally cleansing the soul after the body has received its irrepeatable baptism, is connected particularly to saints, making these images consonant with the contemporary culture of pilgrimage. Iconographies like the Last Supper, Crucifixion, and Deposition, creates a many layered sacramental connection between Christ’s sacrificed body (and the baptismal candidate’s salvation through that body) and the narratives reenacted in the Eucharist. The images on these twelfth-century fonts also manifest the Scholastic emphasis on the sacraments as integral to salvation. Rather than stressing the single sacrament of baptism, these images present other iconographies to express the depth of medieval linking of sacraments, the strength of the Scholastic systematic and uniform definition of the sacrament.

CASE STUDY C THE WEST HADDON FONT

All Saints Church in West Haddon (Northamptonshire) has a square basin font, only the bowl of which is original, dating to around 1120.1 Possibly during the thirteenth-century renovations to the nave or in the later remodeling, the font was built into the wall; the edges are heavily damaged and it sits on modern supports. A bead design follows the top rim. Faces, like grotesques or masks, are carved on the corners, with large tongues or leaves extending from their mouths. The figures are all distinct, clearly raised in relief from the background surface. They have enlarged hands and heads, drawing attention to gestures. The sculptor’s carving style offers stocky figures with roughly finished edges. The scenes on the West Haddon font all relate to the life of Christ in a way that refers specifically to the sacraments. On the first side is a scene of the Nativity. The scene of the Nativity occupies the bays of two arches, topped by pointed-roof towers in the spandrels.2 In the leftmost bay, Mary reclines on an architecturally detailed bed; there seems to have been a similar form, now quite damaged, for Christ’s crib. Just above the figure 1

For discussion of the West Haddon (Northamptonshire) font, see Alfred C. Fryer, “On Fonts with Representations of Baptism and the Holy Eucharist,” The Archaeological Journal, LX/Second Series X, 1903, pp. 7-8, George Zarnecki, English Romanesque Sculpture 1066-1140 (London: Alec Tiranti, 1951), p. 33, Folke Nordstrom, Medieval Baptismal Fonts: an iconographic study (Umeå:Almqvist & Wiksell, 1984), p. 102. 2 C.S. Drake in The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia identifies this feature differently: “In the Nativity scene the face is divided in two equal parts by two beaded arches with an off-set supporting column which doubles as the foot of the Virgin’s bed and the end of the crib; the spandrel is filled by a human mask wearing a pointed hat, the attribute of the Jew.” (p.17) I find this reading difficult to support; there are masks at the corners but the spandrel feature seems to me to be architectural.

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of the sleepping, haloed figure f of Chrrist are two ssmall animal heads to indicate the stable settingg. On the farr right of the panel, a seatted figure T West with an incllined head proobably represents the sleepping Joseph. The Haddon scuulptor has not broken with traditional deepictions of th he scene; we can tracce the details,, including th he ox and asss (Isaiah 1:3), back to Byzantine im mages of the sixth century.. The sculptorr has carved th he bodies of Mary annd Christ to form one viisual line; thee connection of their physical boddies is emphaasized, just as the separatenness of Joseph h is noted in his differrent posture and a placementt. It offers a sscene of Mary y and the Christ child each lying unnder arches, with w a seated JJoseph to the right. r The Nativity is fully approprriate to thesee baptismal fo fonts. These scenes s of Christ’s incarnation, freeed from the taaint of Originnal Sin, remin nd mortal viewers of thhe carnal statee which requirres baptism.

C-1: Nativitty with Josep ph, West Had ddon (Northaamptonshire), ca. 1120 (Conway Lib brary, The Cou urtauld Institu ute of Art, Lon ndon)

Josseph’s prominnence is som mewhat unusuual. While Joseph J is prominent inn the Gospel narratives, n thee cult of St. Jooseph is still minor m but increasing iin the twelftth century. Joseph J was ccertainly disccussed in Patristic perriod and earlyy medieval writing. w It willl receive a grreat boost under the Frranciscans in the thirteenth h century, and will similarly y become 3 a focus of thhe Spanish Em mpire in the Americas. A If w we consider th his scene, 3

See J. Duseerre Foster, “Lees origins de laa devotion à Saaint Joseph”, Cahiers C de Josephologie, I, 1953, pp. 23-54 and 169-9 96 especially; E E. Longpré, “Saaint Joseph et l’école Fraanciscaine du XIIIe X siècle”, Le Patronage de Saint Joseph: Actes du

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then, Josephh’s inclusionn moves the Nativity from m a story just of the Incarnation to a story off the sacramen nt of marriagge. Further, Bernard of Clairvaux eemphasized Jooseph’s lineage from the House of Daavid, and when joinedd with Mary’s own lineage, makes Joseeph a protecttor of the secret of God’s plans inn Christ.4 Bernard certainlyy carries the idea that Joseph is a member of a priesthood, the t institutionn of the Churcch. There are sacramenntal readings that are assocciated with Josseph that resonate with the concernss of the twelftth century. Across from the Nativity is the scene of Chhrist’s baptism m.

C-2: Baptism m of Christ, West W Haddon (N Northamptonsh hire), ca. 1120 (Conway Library, Thee Courtauld In nstitute of Art, London)

Christ is reppresented centtrally, in a halloed, half-lenggth figure in a font. On the left, a hhaloed figuree of John thee Baptist raisses a large book over 5 Christ’s heaad and makees a blessing gesture withh his other hand. h A ministering angel stands on the other side s of the fonnt, holding a tunic t out.

Congrés d’Ettudes tenu à l’O Oratoire Saint Joseph Aôut 19955 (Montreal and Paris, 1956). 4 Bernard of C Clairvaux, Lauddes Mariae, 2, 13-16. 5 C.S. Drake refers to this leftmost figure as an angel buut the wings wh hich are so pronounced iin the figure on o the right aree absent on thee figure on thee left. The fullness seem ms more an elaaboration of thee figure’s robees. See The Ro omanesque Fonts of Norrthern Europe and Scandina avia (Woodbriddge: The Boyd dell Press, 2002), p. 17.

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It does not follow a particular Scriptural account, lacking the dove of the Holy Spirit which appears in all of the gospel accounts, including John’s, and showing an angel, the ministering figure who appears only after the devil’s temptations in the synoptic gospels and John’s gospel. The figures are large and monumental, their enormous hands dramatic against the background. The sculptor has carved the drapery folds deeply. The outstretched wings of the angel are also incised with strong lines. Christ’s baptism is clearly referential to the baptism of the candidate as it occurs in this font. The West Haddon font sculptor has emphasized this connection visually. First, the baptism does not take place in the geography of the Jordan River, specified in the Scriptural account. It takes place in a baptismal font. Secondly, the visual connection is emphasized by accenting the round tub in which Christ receives his baptism with a beaded rim, identical to the rim of the square-basined West Haddon font. Further emphasizing the baptismal link is the angel with the tunic held out for Christ; it visually reinforces the liturgical rite that dresses the newly received individual in white robes. Christ’s baptism, like that of the mortal candidate, shapes his identity. The Scriptural narrative includes the descent of the dove of the Holy Spirit and the announcement of Jesus as the son of God. In this account, it is a definitive claiming of Jesus as the Son of God, just as the baptismal ceremony will become a claiming of the candidate for Christ. Christ’s baptism, like that of the candidate, marks a new beginning. It is the start of his ministry. It begins the connection between Christ and humanity which will make meaningful his bodily sacrifice. A third scene appearing on the West Haddon baptismal font is Christ’s entry into Jerusalem. This is an unusual narrative scene, unique on English fonts but appearing on a font from Eschau (Alsace), one by the Byzantios Master at Guldrupe (Sweden), and one from San Isidoro (Seville, Spain).6 The scene 6

See C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia; for extensive discussion of the San Isidoro font, see Harriet M. Sonne de Torrens, “Reconsidering the Date of the Baptismal Font in San Isidoro”, in ed. Harriet Sonne de Torrens and Miguel Torrens, The Visual Culture of Baptism in the Middle Ages (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013), 49-76. In England, the iconography of Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem is seen on the tympanum at Aston Eyre (Shropshire),

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is very legibbly the entry into i Jerusalem m with large looop-leaved paalm trees, a figure astrride a donkeyy, and a figurre facing the rider, holding g smaller branches. Thhe figure on thhe horse is no ot nimbed whiich might lead d to some confusion, hhowever, as Drake D suggestts, the star att left may ind dicate the presence off Christ.”7 Thhe riding Chrrist raises a hhand in blesssing. The figure style again emphassizes the prom minence and siize of hands an nd heads; the over-sizeed heads evenn break into th he border.

C-3: Entry into Jerusaleem, West Haddon (Northaamptonshire), ca. 1120 (Conway Lib brary, The Cou urtauld Institu ute of Art, Lon ndon)

Altthough unusuaal as a choicee, the iconogrraphy of the Entry E into Jerusalem caan be seen wiithin the narraative program of the font. Ju ust as the Nativity beegins Christ’ss human life and the Bapptism begins Christ’s salvific ministry, the Entrry into Jerusallem begins Chhrist’s mortal sacrifice. In all three oof these repreesented iconog graphies, Chriist has moved to a new state of hiss being, a poowerful statem ment on a baaptismal font where a candidate iss beginning a new spiritual state. Jesus’ss entry is elab borated in

where a hugee Christ is centrrally placed, wiith the finding oof colt/ass on th he left and garments laidd in street on the t right. The subject s may alsso be representted on the worn tympannum at Calcot (G Gloucestershire). See Charles K Keyser, plates 90 9 and 91. 7 C.S. Drake,, The Romanesqque Fonts of Northern No Europee and Scandina avia, p. 17. In the Courtaauld archives, this scene is id dentified, with a question maark, as the Flight into E Egypt, an attribuution difficult to t support giveen the number of figures present and thhe conspicuous emphasis on th hese trees.

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both the synnoptic gospelss of Mark and d Luke; Markk’s and John’s gospels mention eithher leafy brannches or palm m leaves.8 In John’s text, the t scene comes imm mediately beetween the anointing oof Jesus with nard, foreshadowiing his burial,, and the scen ne where Chrisst concludes his h public ministry. Thhe Entry proviides a definitiv ve ending to JJesus’s teachin ngs and a beginning tto the Passionn. It leads to o the Last Suupper and thu us to the sacramental supper of thhe Eucharist. A narrative oof transition, it i mirrors the baptism mal transitionn while referrencing otherr Church saccraments. Furthermoree, just as the Entry marks the beginninng of the Easster week events, its ppresence on this t font is litturgically signnificant as Eaaster was considered tthe prime timee for baptism. Thee final side onn the font is Christ in Majessty.9

C-4: Christ iin Majesty, West W Haddon (N Northamptonsh hire), ca. 1120 (Conway Library, Thee Courtauld In nstitute of Art, London)

8

See Mark, 111: 1-10, Luke 19:28-38 1 and Jo ohn 12: 12-19. This iconoggraphy will bee discussed in greater detail in chapter 5 with w other eschatologicaal imagery. 9

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A nimbed Christ appears centrally in a mandorla. His right hand is raised in blessing. In the two interlocked circular mandorlas, an angel appears on the left-hand side and a bird on the right-hand. An initial view might suggest that this is a representation of the Trinity, with the bird meant to represent the dove of the Holy Spirit. An alternate reading is that they are meant to represent the evangelists Matthew and Luke.10 The Biblical source material for the Maiestas comes primarily from the Revelation of John which places all of the evangelists in symbolic form in the company of the risen Christ. They perhaps should be understood as a shorthand for the presence of all the evangelists. However, a visual representation of the Trinity, with the Christ in mandorla commonly associated with Second Coming or Last Judgment imagery, makes a powerful combined statement about the nature of Christ and the end of time, all with locational reference to the necessary sacrament of baptism. Taken together, the four sides of the West Haddon font suggest a program of Christ’s life that is chronological and progressive. The scenes move chronologically through the evangelist accounts of Christ’s life from birth to (immediately preceding) death and to the visionary account of Christ’s Second Coming. The progression moves from divine incarnation to commencement of mission to conclusion of earthly tasks to the divine conclusion to this earthly world. The decoration is successful in presenting a contained message directly relating to Jesus Christ. Arranged on a baptismal font, the successive theology should also be read in connection to its sacramental function. The incarnation of Christ reminds the viewer of her own mortal condition; the baptism of Christ reminds the candidate and witnesses of their initiation into the larger community of Christians. The Entry into Jerusalem begins a reflection on the Passion and the sacrificial Crucifixion. It has immediate recollections therefore to the Eucharistic meal in which newly baptized candidates may now partake and to the Eucharist as a sacrament within the Catholic Church. The 10

C.S. Drake, The Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, p. 17. Why the sculptor or patron might have chosen to represent these two evangelists as opposed to all four or any other particular combination is unclear. An examination of the textual roots of these iconographies suggests that the textual source is not the likely reason. Although the sculptor/patron has specifically chosen the Nativity scene from Luke, the Entry scene might be from either Mark or John, and the Baptism is a synthetic construction based on accounts in all of the synoptic gospels.

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Maiestas, in reminding the viewer of both Christ’s Resurrection and the Second Coming, brings to mind the resultant benefit of the baptismal sacrament: without it, one cannot be saved. These scenes are sacramental mementos, connecting the Christian viewer through images of Christ to the larger spiritual context of the Church/faith. These iconographies are interactive as well. Their reading frequently requires an audience familiar with the details of the story in order to complete the narrative sequences from their synoptic and incomplete presentation. However, their overall arrangement on the font is here significant. The composition of the images on the West Haddon font is designed so that this reading progresses from one side of the font to the other. The Nativity is across from the Baptism; the Entry is across from the Majesty. To read linearly, one reads through the bowl of the font, including its very presence in the theological reading. The font lends itself to this reading because its very nature is as a performative object. Indeed, one might argue that the completion of the theology is not the font itself but rather the candidate in the font. It is the faithful who complete the ideas sacramental theology, who enact it in their persons.

CONCLUSION

“Levels of engagement and commitment vary not only from person to person but from moment to moment in a person’s life, depending on one’s circumstances and one’s mood.”1

The images on Romanesque baptismal fonts link theology and thought with practice and performance. The institutional ideas about baptism are part of the larger context of sacraments, at a moment when their enumeration, definition, and practice are of direct concern. In my examination, fonts are complexly performative objects. The font is identifiable as the spot where salvation begins. The imagery conveys that liturgical use; the iconographies express visually the Church’s beliefs about the sacrament performed. In this aspect, the images are pedagogic, creating a theological statement. The nature of that statement is necessarily a declaration, not a discussion, unified and orthodox, teaching a particular position to the laity. The viewing process, though, is a layered and interactive interchange among the form of the image, its textual context, and its internalized message. The lay viewer connects the visual elements, already elided and condensed, to the text. A naked man and woman standing by a tree become Adam and Eve. Their identification sets them into the fuller story from Genesis of Temptation and Expulsion that then resonates with the lay viewer’s own mortal incarnation and the teachings of the Church. So many years later, John Donne would express it thusly: The church is Catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that body which is my head too, and ingrafted into that body whereof I am a member.2

1 2

Daniel Bornstein, Medieval Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2009), 17. John Donne, Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, XVII.

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Conclusion

This requirement of associative interpretation is typical of medieval religious art; the combination of hierarchical pedagogy with active reception demands a complicated artistic response. This analysis stands in conjunction with other interpretations of Romanesque art; it is only one part of a full understanding of the rich traditions which shape English Romanesque sculptural production. My focus is narrative and iconographical. It cooperates with the vast amount of scholarly material which examines the varied stylistic influences on English sculpture during the twelfth century: Anglo-Saxon ornament, colored by cultural interaction with Scandinavian elements, which shapes the interlace and designs seen on fonts as varied as Chaddesley Corbett and Curdworth;3 the importation of markedly Norman motifs, such as the chevrons on the Winterbourne Monkton font or the chip carving design on the Reighton font;4 and the later Continental designs, seen particularly in foliate patterns such as on the font at Southrop.5 My work develops from these stylistic analyses, which make it possible to question why narrative images suddenly appear as part of the vocabulary of font decoration in the 3

For introductions to Anglo-Saxon ornament, see, among others, A.W. Clapham, English Romanesque Sculpture Before the Conquest (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1930), T.D. Kendrick, Late Saxon and Viking Art (London: Methuen, 1949), and Rosemary Cramp, Grammar of Anglo-Saxon Ornament (Oxford: Oxford University Press and The British Academy, 1984) as well as volumes in Corpus of Anglo-Saxon Stone Sculpture (The British Academy, 1984-). An article useful for all three of these examples is George Zarnecki, “The Sources of Romanesque Sculpture,” originally published in Actes du XVIIme Congrés Internationale d’Histoire de l’Art, 1955 (reprinted in Further Studies in Romanesque Sculpture (London: The Pindar Press, 1992), pp. 249-256. 4 For a useful introduction to English interaction with Norman sculpture, see George Zarnecki, “Romanesque Sculpture in Normandy and England in the Eleventh Century,” originally published in Proceedings of the Battle Conference on Anglo-Norman Studies, I, 1978 (reprinted in Further Studies in Romanesque Sculpture, London: The Pindar Press, 1992), pp. 200-222; comparative material on sculptural ornament in Normandy can be found in Maylis Baylé, Les origines et les premiers developpements de la sculpture romane en Normandie (Caen: J. Pougheol, 1991). 5 Although the literature here is again extensive, a useful essay on the topic is M. Dickens Whinney’s, The Interrelation of the Fine Arts in England in the Early Middle Ages (London: Ernest Benn, Ltd., 1930). A useful introduction to the discussion at large can be found in Deborah Kahn, “La Sculpture Romane en Angleterre: État des Questions,” Bulletin Monumental, Vol. 146, no. 4, 1988, pp.307-340.

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Romanesque period and why they fade in importance just as suddenly with the rise of the Gothic. Further, this narrative analysis partners with other scholarly investigations which begin to examine the expressive symbolic motifs which decorate these fonts. The presence of the grotesque, as on the fonts at Bridekirk or Darenth, along with many others so decorated, or the mask, in its varied traditions on the fonts at Morville or the Cornish fonts like Altarnun, are also aspects of Anglo-Norman font decoration. Rather than focus on stylistic antecedents or workshop connections, I argue for the possibility of considering these ornaments in the context of larger theological ideas current at the time. For instance, symbolic motifs like the common decoration of an interlace arcade, seen on fonts like Coleby (Lincolnshire), Claverly (Shropshire), and Merstham (Surrey), are, in current scholarship, understood as the small-scale visual repetition of Saxon, Norman, Angevin and other architectural styles. These arcades also express a visual connection, seen in textual sources of the period as well, eliding the church building, the Church (theologically and spiritually expressed), and the Heavenly architecture (of which all the ecclesiastic

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institution and art is a complex but earthly reflection).6 We might then reconsider the potential for design elements to carry a iconographic weight long dismissed because they are non-narrative, non-textual. Although these objects may not have a kind of one-to-one source correspondence with a single text, still they reflect a current of theological thought. Images are static only in material form; in operation, they are signifiers, weighted by connotations and subtexts, always in flux. The cultural investment of these images means that they carry different messages for the various audiences who approach them. The image of Christ’s Nativity on a font, for example, may not have functioned beyond a direct level of narrative recognition for the poorly-educated laity. That the ecclesiastical institution at large invested the image with theological meaning and considered it an appropriate image for font decoration is clear. There are two questions at work: What is important theologically

6

I am indebted to Dr. Fred Kleiner for his comments regarding this issue of arcading which is indeed more complex than I have even suggested here. The forms of the arcades which appear on the fonts are often extremely detailed and faithful architecturally. Jeanne Thiebot, “Fonts Baptismaux et Symbolisme a l’Epoque Romane: les Fonts de Couville, Magneville et Breuville,” Cahiers Léopold Delisle, Vol. 37, no. 3-4, 1988. p. 9, notes the arcades as symbolic of church architecture. I have here extended the discussion to include the temporal distortion and sacramental allusions building on the visual representation of the church. Dr. Kleiner also noted their visual connection to Roman sarcophagi, a link which heightens the theological idea of death and rebirth present in the font. Roman sarcophagi of the Asiatic type, with their columniation and architectural features, most dated after 150 C.E. and most common in the third and fourth centuries C.E., are the best comparisons (for example, the Nine Muses sarcophagus in the British Museum GR 1805.7-3120 pictured in Susan Walker, Catalogue of Roman Sarcophagi in the British Museum (London: British Museum Publications, 1990), p. 27 or the 380-400 C.E. four apostles sarcophagus fragment in the Krakow Muzeum Narodowe, MNK XI-1218, pictured in Anna Sadurska, Les Sarcophages et les Fragments de Sarcophages dans les Collections Polonaises (Warsaw: Académie Polonaise des Sciences Centre d’Archéologie Méditerranéenne, 1992), pp. 82-83). The best example, complete with discussion of the ways in which the Asiatic sarcophagus style “parallels the dogmatic and liturgical systematization of the church in the post-Constantinan period” is the Junius Bassus sarcophagus; see Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, The Iconography of the Sarcophagus of Junius Bassus (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990). The layered connections, between arcades on fonts, sarcophagi, and in church decoration resonate with the layers of theological meanings associated with these objects.

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about the scene? and What is appropriate about the font as a site for depicting that scene? The imagery on these fonts is not simply a reproduction of the words of the baptismal liturgy. There is a whole range of images we might expect to see, given their importance in the baptismal prayers, which do not appear; if common visual repetition were all that was required, typological references to Moses crossing the Red Sea, Daniel in the lions’ den, or Hebrew Testament well scenes would have a prominent place in baptismal iconography. Yet as we have seen, the image of the Red Sea is not included on any of the many Romanesque English fonts. Textual imagery suits the verbal form of the homily or prayer but the images on the font are not mere illustrations of a text. Similarly, one could creatively argue that any scene can be made to fit this rubric of sacramental theology. Indeed, one might expect the scene of Christ’s division of the loaves and fishes, a scene that might be taken to refer to the miraculous sacramental table of the Eucharist, to be part of the imagery seen on these fonts. One might expect the scene of Christ casting out demons to appear; it certainly fits with the idea of baptismal exorcism. Yet, with the exception of the raising of Lazarus, which may appear on the Lenton font,7 these scenes from Christ’s ministry do not appear. Arguing from the extant archaeological record, we must consider what the depicted iconographies share. The images on these fonts make theological connections from the baptismal ritual to the sacraments within the Church. Fundamentally, while the sacrament of baptism is depicted, it is depicted with reference to other sacraments. It is textually and visually part of a theological structure. Christ’s incarnation becomes a suitable iconography precisely because it reminds the viewer not only of her own mortal condition but also of the salvific purity of Christ’s body. Christ’s baptism reminds the viewer of her own baptismal covenant in a way which underscores Christ’s divine 7

As argued earlier, the Lazarus miracle has a special set of connotations which other miracle stories lack: it fits as a type scene of Christ’s own resurrection. Its connotations of Christ and his human body divinely saved make it a more appropriate iconography. We must also consider that it fits well into the particular program of Lenton and, more significantly, is not found elsewhere, maintaining this scene as anomalous.

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identity and the beginning of a ministry carried on by the Church. These iconographies and images weave with the institutional commemoration of Christ’s bodily sacrifice in the Eucharist, liturgically proceeding from the baptismal ceremony for new candidates and visually expressed on the fonts. The motifs of Last Supper, Crucifixion, and Deposition make explicitly tangible Christ’s gift, again with reference to institutional expression in the sacraments. The importance of the sacraments in the life and life everlasting of the faithful is summarized in the eschatological imagery of the Harrowing of Hell and Revelation motifs. As we have also seen, these iconographies may have been intended as interactive as well. In some scenes, details are omitted; in others, several stories or versions appear in the same composition. To create understanding, the viewer must recognize the individual elements of the presentation and know the story to complete it. The viewer’s interaction could stop on this level of story-telling but the choice of images and their programmatic agenda suggests further commitment from the viewer may be necessary. Their overall arrangement on the font is frequently, although not always, significant. In the case studies of Simris and Lenton. the placement of the images show just two examples designed so that reading progresses from one side of the font to the other. To see the compositions themselves as sacramental is to some extent to require the font to be the unspoken presence in this scenic reconstruction. The font, and the liturgy enacted in it, become performances of the theological ideas. The composition is part of the larger narrative of baptism’s place in the sacraments of the Church, and in the collapsed history of Christianity, with its culmination in the events of the eschaton. This performative outcome and the spiritual investment that medieval Christians placed on the baptismal ceremony limit the scope of decoration. Iconographies which might be acceptable in architectural details or panels of stained glass, seen at a remove, are less appropriate for the decoration of a liturgical object. Bound by convention, they cannot be part of the active discussion, the theological hair-splitting, which takes place in the written theology of the rarified, educated upper echelons of the Church. These images, limited to a few significant scenes, do not debate the theological questions; they state the current position without equivocation.

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In most cases, these objects have lost the specifics of their production history; documents no longer exist, if they ever did, to indicate who planned their programs. The images can be read backwards, however, to suggest overall, broad programmatic concerns: for instance, the image of Christ’s baptism has visual parallels with the baptism of the candidate. What validates these interpretations is that they coincide with the sacramental concerns seen in textual sources of the period. After the Eucharistic controversies of the late eleventh century, brewing since the Carolingian period, the Scholastic theologians of the twelfth century turned their attention to the definition and delineation of the sacraments. At root, the sacramental theology of the twelfth century is an attempt to counter heterodoxy and exemplify orthodoxy. The Scholastic methods of analysis led theologians of the period to reason out an ordered and logical system of the sacraments, describing the essential nature applicable to all of the sacraments recognized by the institution of the Church. Because of this systematization, there is a tendency, mirrored in the choices of images on fonts, to link sacraments together. This is particularly true of the two primary sacraments of baptism and the Eucharist. Because of the depth of Christian commitment these Scholastics share, we also see an emphasis on the salvific nature of the sacraments: a life led in the sacraments of the Church leads to the conclusion of blessedness at the End Time. The focus of theological writing in the twelfth-century is systematic and salvific; the narrative iconographies on these fonts show the same pressing concerns. There are other pressures which encouraged the decoration of these fonts in concert with these sacramental ideas, particularly in England. The parish system was particularly well developed by the eleventh and twelfth centuries; the stratification of the English ecclesiastical institution favored the establishment of small churches serving local communities. These parish churches emphasized the ministry of the sacraments for their constituents, and accordingly acquired a font for baptisms and a cemetery for burials. The administration of sacraments was a primary duty and an important right. English Christianity also emphasized infant baptism from early on, adding additional pressure on a community church. Given these drives, it is not surprising that England should have a greater number of extant fonts of all shapes and decorative elements than anywhere in Continental Europe.

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But as we’ve seen, while there is a tremendous legacy of fonts from twelfth-century England, there are a number of fonts from all over Continental Europe that show similar narrative concerns. Each area shows individual particular concerns, especially Spain, given its complicated 8 medieval political and ecclesiastic histories. Fonts outside England show similar narrative designs, though sometimes the relative paucity of examples makes it difficult to apply these ideas thoroughly. The tight range of acceptable images, primarily focused on Christological narratives, in order to frame the discussion of sacramental theology crosses geographic boundaries because there is a trade economy in these objects. Just as the literature focused on baptism and the sacraments was grounded in a small group of Patristic writings, repeated as orthodoxy in the early Middle Ages and finally codified under Scholastics, the decoration of fonts rests on a tight array of stories that resonated on direct and indirect levels with their lay audiences.

Afterward: The Continued Connection of Sacramental Theology and Baptismal Font Decoration The production of baptismal fonts in the later thirteenth and fourteenth centuries in England is marked by an interest in material surface, as seen in Purbeck and other regional “marbles,” and ornamental decoration in keeping with the architectural motifs of the Gothic.9 In 8

Spanish baptismal fonts, like other areas of Romanesque Spanish artistic production, are ripe for an analysis which examines in detail the participation in and simultaneous exclusion from the mainstream trends in art and theology. Its significant Moslem population during the earlier Middle Ages isolates much of the region yet in the Christian kingdoms along the pilgrimage route, Spain participates in the cultural and artistic production of the West. Spanish theologians like Isidore of Seville and Ildefonse of Toledo, both active in the seventh century, participated in the earlier discussion of baptism and are frequently cited authorities; later Spanish theologians are noticeably less active in the sacramental question. Spanish liturgy has ties to the Gallican tradition but is significantly different in its Visigothic expression. For a more complete analysis, see T.C. Akeley, Christian Initiation in Spain, ca. 300-1100 (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1967). Analysis of the few extant baptismal fonts from Romanesque Spain is examined in Garbiñe Bilbao, Iconografía de las pilas bautismales del románico castellano: Burgos y Palencia (Burgos: Olmeda, 1996). 9 Francis Bond, Fonts and Font Covers, pp. 206-226 for the earlier Gothic style, pp. 227-240.

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fifteenth-cenntury Englandd, a series of fonts explicittly depicting the t seven sacraments w were created; they stretch in time from around 1440 to as late as 1544, witth most fallinng in the mid to t later fifteennth century. As A Alfred C. Fryer deescribes them, “All these fonts f had octtagonal bowlss and the sacraments aare representeed on seven paanels, while thhe eighth com mpartment has either the Crucifixiion of the Saviour or soome other ap ppropriate subject.”10 H He cites as many m as twenty-nine of thiss type, limited in area almost entirely to the couunties of Norfo olk and Suffollk.11

5-1: Baptism m, font from Little Walsingha am (Norfolk), ffifteenth centu ury (David Ross) 10

Alfred C. F Fryer, “On Fontts with Represeentations of thee Seven Sacram ments,” The Archaeologiccal Journal, LIX/Second L Series IX, 19002, p. 17. That T other appropriate suubject was ofteen the Baptism of Christ and,, in a few casess, the Last Judgment (344). 11 Alfred C. F Fryer, “On Fonnts with Repressentations of thhe Seven Sacraments,” p. 18. Norfolk:: Binham Abbbey, Brooke, Burgh-next-too-Aylesham, Cley, C East Dereham, Grreat Witchinghaam, Gresham, Little Walsinghham, Loddon, Marsham, Martham, Noorwich Cathedrral, Sall, Sloley y, Walsoken, aand West Lynn n. Suffolk: Badingham, B Blythburgh, Crratfield, Gorlesston, Great Gleenham, Laxfield d, Melton, Southwold, W Westhall, Westoon, and Woodb bridge. One fonnt is in Farningh ham, Kent and another inn Nettlecombe,, Somersetshire.

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The panels have standardized vocabulary for depicting the sacraments: for example, the Eucharist is almost universally a priest raising the Host before an altar; extreme unction a figure lying on a bed in the company of a priest.12 In addition to their geographic clustering, there is little iconographic variation in these panels, making it clear that the fonts were intended to form a coherent group. Fryer is interested in enumerating these designs and in answering the question of stylistic influence, seeing similarities between Flemish art and the painted rood-screens and parcloses of the area.13 But what if we consider the theological and cultural concerns that might have prompted a focus on the seven sacraments as a decorative motif? It is this question that drives Ann Eljenholm Nichols in her work, Seeable Signs: The 14 Iconography of the Seven Sacraments 1350-1544. Certain elements like the depiction of the raised chalice or Host in the scene for the Eucharist bespeak later medieval liturgical practices.15 The concern may again be an issue of the Church visually asserting its orthodoxy: the late fourteenth century marks the beginning of John Wyclif’s heretical movement, eventually termed the Lollards.16 The movement was emphatically anti-clerical and anti-sacramental, as evidenced by their 1395

12

See Alfred C. Fryer, “On Fonts with Representations of the Seven Sacraments” for discussion of all the fonts of this group in detail; Francis Bond, Fonts and Font Covers, pp. 257-264, discusses Gresham as an exemplar of these objects. 13 Alfred C. Fryer, “On Fonts with Representations of the Seven Sacraments,” p. 18. 14 The discussion in Ann Eljenholm Nichols, Seeable Signs: The Iconography of the Seven Sacraments 1350-1544 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1994) delves into precisely this question of Lollardy and font iconography in far greater depth than I have been able to do here. 15 Joseph Martos, Doors to the Sacred (Garden City: Image Books, 1982), pp. 277278, notes the thirteenth century establishment of the Corpus Christi feast, the increased superstition and mysticism around the Host, the fourteenth century’s practice of rushing from church to church to see the elevation, and the large number of priests ordained in the fifteenth century to say Masses for souls in purgatory. 16 F. F. Urquhart, “Lollards,” Catholic Encyclopedia, www.newadvent.org/cathen/09333a.htm, 1/23/03. The visual connection which Fryer mentions between the Flemish and English art works can be extended to a theological/intellectual current that encompassed both the English Lollard movement and the Continental Hussite movement.

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“Conclusions.”17 The fifteenth century sees a backlash against the Lollards, including trial of heretics “...who thought damnably of the sacraments and usurped the office of preaching.”18 Punishment for those who failed to recant their position was burning, with eleven Lollard heretics burned in the years between 1401 and 1485.19 Persecution of the Lollard heretics by both the English state (kings and Parliament) and Church, on the grounds of sedition in addition to heresy, was particularly strong between the years of 1410 and the 1430s.20 While Lollardy is most active in England in the earlier part of the fifteenth century, the bishops were also dynamic in their repression of heretics from the 1485 accession of Henry VII into the sixteenth century.21 In light of Lombard opposition to images, a visual response from the orthodox church seems appropriate.22 Wyclif himself seems to have taken the orthodox position of concern for idolatry of images but acceptance of their value as tools for teaching the laity; he nonetheless tends to images for private devotion rather than public display, a facet of his anti-clericalism and focus on individual spirituality. Teaching that images should not be venerated because they violated both the first and second commandments came later and was a frequent accusation of heresy 17

F. F. Urquhart, “Lollards,” Catholic Encyclopedia, www.newadvent.org/cathen/09333a.htm, 1/23/03. For an introduction to the writing of Wyclif, see Anthony Kenny, Wyclif (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). For an introduction to and source material from the Wycliffite movement, see Anne Hudson, English Wycliffite Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978). 18 quoted from the preamble of De Haeretico Comburendo, in F. F. Urquhart, “Lollards,” Catholic Encyclopedia, www.newadvent.org/cathen/09333a.htm, 1/23/03. The text can be found in full in Henry Gee and William John Hardy, Documents Illustrative of English Church History (New York: Klaus Reprint, 1972), pp.133-137. 19 F. F. Urquhart, “Lollards,” Catholic Encyclopedia, www.newadvent.org/cathen/09333a.htm, 1/23/03. 20 Anne Hudson, English Wycliffite Writings, pp. ix-x. For an excellent introduction to the political aspects of Lollardy, see Margaret Aston, “Lollardy and Sedition, 1381-1431,” collected in Lollards and Reformers: Images and Literacy in Late Medieval Religion (London: The Hambledon Press, 1984), pp. 1-47. 21 F. F. Urquhart, “Lollards,” Catholic Encyclopedia, www.newadvent.org/cathen/09333a.htm, 1/23/03. 22 See Margaret Aston, “Lollards and Images,” collected in Lollards and Reformers: Images and Literacy in Late Medieval Religion, pp. 135-192.

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or misconception at trials in the sixteenth century.23 The anti-clericalism and idea that the Church’s riches should be devoted to the poor rather than to the dressing of the church was an important aspect of John Claydon’s heretical text The Lantern of Light in 1415.24 Margaret Aston’s article on Lollards and images includes fascinating accounts of Lollard image destruction and the corresponding penance imposed, which involved public procession and veneration of images of a saint and crucifixes.25 The compositional rigor of these fonts, as well as their numbers, suggests they are an orthodox response to Lollard iconoclasm as well as to Lollard theology. Looked at against this backdrop of heresy, this large group of fonts asserts visually the primacy of the sacraments, their position in the life of the Church, and the Church’s unified front against heterodoxy. The intellectual currents contributed to the decoration of one of the most important liturgical objects of the Romanesque period. The tangible representations on the baptismal font express simultaneously both the narratives of Christian mythology and the period understanding of Christian theology. The twelfth-century images are as much a part of the trend towards sacramental definition as the theological writings, more so perhaps in that they permit less of the rhetorical flexibility of the written positions. I have used the brief example of late medieval sacramental fonts to suggest that, just as in the twelfth century, the tenor of ideas and anxieties which are part of the operations between the Church and its oppositional groups again finds its visual expression on a contested object. The Church is again using the public forum of the font to assert its orthodoxy of sacramental beliefs. Medieval studies has built on its positivist, stylistic roots to argue for a closer examination of the complex, perceptually-weighted dialectic between verbal/textual expression and its visual manifestation. In its very makeup and critical use, the Romanesque font reflects the overlapping concerns of salvific beliefs, institutional orthodoxy, and social culture at the heart of medieval society.

23

Margaret Aston, “Lollards and Images,” p. 148. Margaret Aston, “Lollards and Images,” pp. 149-152. 25 Margaret Aston, “Lollards and Images,” pp. 168-169. 24

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INDEX Italic page numbers indicate photographs. Abelard, 46, 55 Abraham, 92 Acts 8:12-14, 140 Acts 19:1-6, 140 Ad coenam agni, 165 Adam, connection with Christ in theology of baptism, 42–43 Adam and Eve. See also Fall and baptismal theology, 124 Calahorra de Boedo font, 172 Cowlam font, 60–62, 61 East Meon font, 36–38, 37 Fincham font, 67–68 as focus of baptismal imagery, 33– 42 Hook Norton font, 39 and Original Sin, 42–47 Oxhill font, 35–36, 36 Adoptionism, 55 Adoration of the Magi, 56–59 Cowlam font, 63, 63–64 Fincham font, 57–58, 69, 70 St. Esteban font, 115 Simris font, 76, 76, 77, 77, 82 Aelfric of Eynsham, 31, 94–95, 166, 172, 176 Agnus Dei lamb, 105–106, 139, 156 Ambrose on consecration of bread and wine, 9, 10 on penance, 144–145 on sanctification of water, 109– 110, 150 Andrew, Saint, 149–150, 150 angels Brighton font, 96, 96–97 Furnaux font, 91, 91 Lenton font, 126–127

Samer font, 137 West Haddon font, 186 Annunciation, 50–54 Coleshill font, 161 Freckenhorst font, 49–50, 50, 53, 54 Simris font, 81–82 Anselm of Canterbury, 51, 66 apostle fonts, 135–136, 136 Apostolic Tradition (Hippolytus), 19 Aquarius, 39, 121 archdeacon, 28–29 art, narrative and, 3 Ascelin, 10 asp, 74, 75 aspergillum, 108 associative interpretation, 191–192 Aston, Margaret, 202 Augustine on baptism, 14–15, 87 on baptism–Eucharist connection, 165–166 on Christian sacraments superseding Jewish rituals, 92 on confirmation, 140 on font as womb of the church, 52 on martyrdom, 151 on Mary's role in the incarnation, 52 and Original Sin, 43 res vs. signa, 12 sacramental theology, 12 on sacrum signum, 10 on source of power for baptism, 107 and standardization of sacraments, 132n1 and Temptation, 78

224 theology of baptism, 44–45 Augustine of Canterbury, 21, 104 Avebury font (Wiltshire, England), 177, 177, 178 Balfour and Warwick ciboria, 97 banner, 90 baptism (mortal) confirmation and, 142–143 conflation of images from Christ's baptism with (See conflated iconographies) Darenth font, 117–118 depiction with reference to other sacraments, 195–196 and Eucharist, 165–169 images of, 111–123 links with Christ's baptism, 103 liturgies of, 17–24 martyrdom as, 151–152 as "necessary" sacrament, 1–2 and Original Sin, 42–47 parallels with penance, 146 Renier de Huy font, 114, 114 as rite of initiation, 85–87 as sacramental remedy, 45 San Fructuoso font, 122, 122–123 Baptism of Christ and baptismal theology, 123–124 Bridekirk font, 88, 88–89 Brighton font, 96, 96–99 Castle Frome font, 100–102, 101 and Christ's divinity, 92–93 and Christ's humility, 94–95 conflation of images from mortal baptism with (See conflated iconographies) Fincham font, 70, 102–104, 103 Freckenhorst font, 50 Furnaux font, 91, 91–92 Germigny-des-Près font, 99, 100 and grace, 86 as iconography, 85–86 Kirkburn font, 106–107 Lenton font, 125–127, 126

Index parallels with candidate's baptism, 197 precedence vs. practice in iconographies, 87–88 as precedent, 110–111 Renier de Huy font, 112, 112–114, 114 Samer font, 137–138 and sanctification of water, 109– 110 Simris font, 73, 76, 76–77, 82 Wansford font, 89–91, 90 West Haddon font, 185, 185–186 baptismal chrism. See chrism baptismal liturgies, 17–24 baptismal sponsors. See sponsors Bede the Venerable, 167, 172 Belgium Furnaux font, 91, 91–92 Mosan, 112, 161, 175 Renier de Huy font, 112, 112–114, 114 Tournai marble (See Tournai marble) Berengar of Tours, 10–11, 58 Berengarian heresy, 167–168 Bernard of Clairvaux on church decoration, 3 on incarnation, 58–59 on Joseph's lineage, 185 bishops, 136–137 and confirmation, 142 Cowlam font, 64, 64, 65 Fincham font, 104 visits to parishes, 27–28 body, the Fall and, 47 Brenken font (Germany), 138–140, 139 Bridekirk font (Cumbria, England), 88, 88–89, 96–97 Brighton font (Sussex, England), 95– 99, 96, 123, 136, 152–156, 154, 159, 159, 164, 165 Brookland font (Kent, England), 120– 121

Sacramental Theology and the Decoration of Baptismal Fonts Brundall font (Norfolk, England), 157, 160, 163 bulls, 112, 112 Burnham Deepdale font (Norfolk, England), 121 Calahorra de Boedo font (Spain), 171– 172, 172 calendar cycles, 120–122 Canon 1 (Fourth Lateran Council), 16 Canons of King Edgar, 23 Carolingian renaissance, 20 Castle Frome font (Herefordshire, England), 100–102, 101 catechumen, 19–20, 166 chalice, 72, 73, 80, 159 chalice-shaped font, 100, 120 Charles the Bald, 9 chrism, 14–15, 20, 27–28, 98, 141n14, 142, 166 chrismatory, 97–99 Christ and Adoration of the Magi, 56–59 baptism of (See Baptism of Christ) as baptizer, 107–108 as both mortal and divine, 52 and Christian history in baptismal imagery, 34 connection with Adam in theology of baptism, 42–43 Cottesmore font, 162 Cowlam font, 63 Eardisley font, 171 entry into Jerusalem, 186–188, 187 iconographies of incarnation, 47– 50 incarnation stories, 33 life story as frame on Freckenhorst font, 49–50, 50 North Grimston font, 158, 164, 164 Samson's parallels with, 74–75 twofold nature of, 92–95 Christ in Majesty, 78, 173–174, 188, 188–189 church, as institution. See institution

225

ciboria, 97–99 circumcision, 84 Classical philosophy, 43 Claydon, John, 202 Clement of Alexandria, 79 clergyman, 65–66 Coleshill font (Warwickshire, England), 157, 159–161, 160 Colish, Marcia, 51, 115n57, 167, 180 confirmation, 135–144 Cowlam font, 66 ivories (France, circa 870), 9 as sacrament, 132 confirmation visits, 28 conflated iconographies, 95–111 Brighton font, 95–99, 96, 123 Castle Frome font, 100–102, 101 Fincham font, 102–104, 103 Kirkburn font, 104–109, 105 consensus, 46 1 Corinthians 10:17, 15 1 Corinthians 15:21-22, 43 2 Corinthians 1:20-22, 140 Cornelius, 113 Cottam font, 148–150, 152, 155–156 Cottesmore font (Rutland, England), 157, 160–162, 162 Council of Clovesho (747), 22, 27 Council of Mayence (813), 20 Council of Meaux (845), 144n28 Council of Rome (1050), 11 Council of Rome (1059), 11 Council of Rouen (1072), 24 Council of Tours (1054), 11 Council of Vercelli (1050), 11 Court School of Charles the Bald, 7 Cowlam font (East Riding, Yorkshire, England), 57–67, 61–66, 148–150 Cramer, Peter, 47 Craton, 113 crosier (crozier) Brenken font, 139 Brighton font, 159 Cottesmore font, 162 Cowlam font, 64, 65 Fincham font, 70, 104

226

Index

Kirkburn font, 108 Samer font, 137 Winchester font, 153 cross, 156, 162 Crucifixion Coleshill font, 160, 160–161 Cottesmore font, 162 and Eucharist, 156, 157 Lenton font, 127, 127–129 Cur Deus Homo (Anselm), 51 Cyprian of Carthage, 44, 141n14, 151 Cyril of Jerusalem, 173 Darenth font (Kent, England), 67, 116–119, 117 David, King, 117 De Cognitione Baptism (Hildephonsus of Toledo), 19 De Corpore et Sanguine Domini Adversus Berengarium Turonensem (Lanfranc of Bec), 11 De Sacramentis Christianae Fidei (Hugh of St. Victor's), 13, 52 delectatio, 46 Delilah, 74 Deposition, 163–165, 164 Didache, 18 divine grace, sacramental elements vs., 13–14 Domesday Survey, 25 Donne, John, 191 Donysius, Saint, 138 dove of the Holy Spirit Bridekirk font, 89 Fincham font, 103 Kirkburn font, 106–107 Lenton font, 127 Simris font, 81 Wansford font, 90 West Haddon font, 186 Winchester font, 156 dragon, 177–178 Drake, C. S. on banner images, 90n9 on Darenth font, 117–118

on West Haddon font Nativity scene, 183n2 on wrestler images, 66 dulia, 57 Eardisley font (Herefordshire, England) Harrowing of Hell on, 169–171, 170 wrestlers on, 66 East Haddon font (Northamptonshire, England), 177 East Meon font (Hampshire, England), 36–38 Easter, 20–22, 24, 98 Easter Mass, 20–21 Easter vigil, 20 ecclesiastic saints, 139, 139 Ecclesiastical Laws of Ine, king of Wessex, 23 eigenkirche, 25 elision, 35 End Times, 180, 197 England. See also specific English fonts baptismal liturgies, 21–22 parish practice, 24–32 Ennarationes in Psalmos (Augustine), 78 Ephesians 1:13, 140 Ephesians 4:30, 140 Ephesians 6:11-15, 41 Epiphany, 23 eschatology, 169–181 Eschaton, 134, 179 Eucharist, 17, 58, 156–165 and baptism, 165–169 as central to Carolingian sacramental theology, 9–10 Cottesmore font, 162 on ivories (France, circa 870), 9 Romanesque font imagery, 156– 165 as sacrament, 134 and sacramental theology, 11

Sacramental Theology and the Decoration of Baptismal Fonts Scholastic linkage of baptism to, 197 Simris font, 72 Eve. See also Adam and Eve Cowlam font, 60, 61 Hook Norton font, 40 exorcism, 147–148 extreme unction, 179–180 Fall, the, 45–47, 68 False Decretals (Isidore of Seville), 141 Fincham font (Norfolk, England), 57– 58, 67–70, 68, 69, 102–104, 103 Finedon font (Northamptonshire, England), 53 First Bath, 82 fish, 102 Fisher, J. C. C., 22 Foot Washing, 79–81 France ivories (circa 870), 7–9, 8 Royal Portals (Notre-Dame), 50– 51 Samer font, 137–138, 138 Freckenhorst font (Nieder-Rhein, Westphalia, Germany), 49–50, 50, 53, 54 free will, 47, 94 Fryer, Alfred C., 97, 199–200 Furnaux font (Liège, Belgium), 91, 91–92 Gabriel, 53 Gelasian Sacramentary, 19, 20 Genesis, 35. See also Adam and Eve Germigny-des-Près font, 99, 100 Gisborough Priory, 109 godparents, 118–119 Gotland, Sweden Stånga font, 48–49 Stenkyrka font, 78, 79 Vänge font, 38 grace baptism as conferring of, 115 confirmation and, 142

227

grapes, 156 Gratian, 12n13 Gregorian reform, 168–169 Gregory I, Pope, 3 Gregory VII, Pope, 11 grotesques, 117, 175, 183, 193 Grötlingbo, Sweden, 49 Harrowing of Hell Adam and Eve's presence in, 34 Calahorra de Boedo font, 171–172, 172 Eardisley font, 169–171, 170 Freckenhorst font, 50 and Gospel of Nicodemus, 172– 173 healing, baptism and, 86–87 Hegwaldr, 38 Hell, 175 Hell gate, 176 Hell mouth, 128 Henry of Blois, Bishop of Winchester, 38 Heriger of Lobbes, 9 Herod, King, 62, 62–63, 82 Hildebert of Le Mans, 75 Hippolytus, 19 Holy Spirit, 142–143 Hook Norton font (Oxfordshire, England), 39–42, 40, 121 Hugh, Bishop of Langres, 10, 11 Hugh of St. Victor on confirmation, 143 on foundation/restoration dialect, 33 on Mary's role in the incarnation, 52 and sacramental definition, 13–14 hypostatic union, 48, 54, 57 iconographies conflated, 95–111 of incarnation, 47–50 of initiation, 85–124 as interactive, 190, 191, 196 scriptural fidelity, 88–95

228 ignorance, Original Sin and, 47 images church's attitude towards, 3 idolatry of, 201–202 as signifiers, 194–195 Incarnation, 4–5, 58 Cowlam font, 64 iconographies of, 33–70 and Original Sin, 42 "sacramental" cycles of, 59–70 Simris font, 81, 81 infant baptism, 21 Darenth font, 117–118 San Fructuoso font, 122, 122–123 Thorpe Salvin font, 120 Ingleton font, 58 initiation iconographies of, 85–124 precedence and continuance, 85– 87 Innocent I, Pope, 141n14 Innocent III, Pope, 87 Institution Freckenhorst font, 50 iconographies of, 131–181 Simris font, 80 Isidore of Seville, 74–75, 141 ivories (France, circa 870), 7–9, 8 Jensen, Robin M., 129n5 Jerome, 146 Jerusalem, Christ's entry into, 186– 189, 187 Joachim of Fiore, 95 John, Gospel of, 166, 169, 188 John 3, 42 John 3:3-5, 52 John Chrysostom, 151 John the Baptist Bridekirk font, 88, 89 Brighton font, 97, 159 Castle Frome font, 100–102, 101 Fincham font, 104 Furnaux font, 91, 91 Germigny-des-Près font, 99

Index imperfection of baptism of mortals, 111 incompleteness of baptism, 86 Lenton font, 126 Renier de Huy font, 113 Simris font, 76, 76 Jordan River. See River Jordan Joseph Fincham font, 68 Simris font, 82 West Haddon font, 184, 184–185 Judas, 80, 80 Judgment Day. See Last Judgment Justin Martyr, 43 Kempley, Gloucestershire fresco, 173 Kilian, Saint, 138 Kirkburn font (East Riding, Yorkshire), 104–109, 105, 173 Kirkby font (St. Chad's, Merseyside, England), 133n4, 178–179, 179 Kleiner, Fred, 194n6 Lanfranc of Bec, Archbishop of Canterbury, 11 The Lantern of Light (Claydon), 202 Last Judgment, 175, 176, 180, 189 Last Supper Brighton font, 159 Eucharist, 156–157 North Grimston font, 158, 164, 164 Simris font, 80, 80, 82 Last Things, 180 Lateran Council, First (1123), 27 Lateran Council, Third (1179), 27 Lateran Council, Fourth (1215), 15– 16, 30, 95, 143, 146 Latin language, 30 latria, 57 Lawrence, Saint, 149, 149 Laws of the Northumbrian Presbyters, 23–24 Lazarus miracle, 129, 195 Lenton font (Nottinghamshire, England), 125–130, 126, 127, 129

Sacramental Theology and the Decoration of Baptismal Fonts Crucifixion on, 157 placement of images, 196 Lenton Priory, 130 Leo I the Great, Pope, 53, 150–151 Leo IX, Pope, 11 Libri quatuor sententiarum (Peter Lombard), 14 lion, 91, 91 literacy, 29–31 Little Walsingham font (Norfolk, England), 199 Lollards, 200–202 Longinus, 128 Lot, 92 Luppitt font (Devon, England), 66 Magi. See Adoration of the Magi Majestatis Tryde workshop Simris font, 71, 72 Stenkyrka font, 78, 79 Majesty of the Eschaton, 81 Malmesbury Abbey, 51n27 maniple, 97 Margaret, Saint Cowlam font, 148, 148 Darenth font, 116 Mariology, 50–51 Mark, Gospel of, 188 marriage, as sacrament, 133 Martha, 129 martyrdom as baptism, 151–152 stoning of St. Stephen, 83–84 Mary baptismal fonts, 50–51 Calahorra de Boedo font, 171 Coleshill font, 160, 160 Cowlam font, 63 Fincham font, 68 Freckenhorst font, 53, 56 and Original Sin, 93 role in the incarnation, 52 Simris font, 81, 82 West Haddon font, 184 masks, 117n60, 121, 183, 193 Mass of the Presanctified, 98

229

Massacre of the Innocents, 58, 62–63, 82 Matthew, Gospel of Castle Frome font, 102 Wansford font, 90 Matthew 3:4, 89 Matthew 4:8-11, 80 Maundy Thursday, 98 minster system, 25–26 Missa chrismalis, 98 monasteries, 26 monks, persbyter positions held by, 30–31 Mosan, Belgium, 112, 161, 175 narrative decoration/imagery, 3–5 Nativity, 54–56 Annunciation and, 54–55 Fincham font, 68, 68–69 Freckenhorst font, 56, 56 Simris font, 82 West Haddon font, 183–185, 184 Nicholas, Saint, 152–154, 156, 158, 159 Nichols, Ann Eljenholm, 200 Nicodemus, Gospel of, 172–173 non-canonical texts, 48–49 Nordström, Folke, 69n52, 157 Norman tympana, 51n27 North Grimston font (East Riding, Yorkshire, England), 157–158, 163–165, 164 Old Testament, 74–75, 112 On Christian Teaching (Augustine), 12 ordination, 133 Ordo Romanus XV, 22–23 Origen of Alexandria, 44 Original Sin baptism as removal of, 114–115 baptismal context, 42–47 free will and, 94 Mary and, 52, 93 psychology of sin, 46 orthodoxy, 5

230 Oxhill font (Warwickshire, England), 35–36 Paley, F. A., 104 parish churches, 22, 26–29, 197–198 parish practice, 24–32 parish priests, education of, 29–30 Pascasius Radbertus, 9 Passion of Christ, 80 patronal churches, 25–27 Paul, 42–43 Pelagians, 44 penance Romanesque font imagery, 144– 156 as sacrament, 132–133 and saints on fonts, 15 Southrop font, 147, 147 Pentecost, 22, 24 performative object, font as, 191 Peter Lombard on Adoration of the Magi, 57 on Annunciation--Nativity distinction, 54–55 on authority of Christ's baptism, 110–111 on baptism as conferring of grace, 115 on baptism–Eucharist connection, 167 on Christ as both mortal and divine, 52 on Christ's free will, 94 on circumcision, 84 on confirmation, 142 on differences between Christ's baptism and mortal baptism, 111 on extreme unction, 179–180 on faith as sacrament, 151 on Foot Washing, 79 on Incarnation, 48 on John's baptism vs. Christ's baptism, 86, 113 on literacy for clergy, 30

Index on operating/coordinating grace, 87 on penance, 145–146 on redemption, 47–48 on sacramental grace, 15 sacramental theology, 11, 14 on Second Coming, 180 on seven sacraments, 132 on sin and the Fall, 46–47 on source of power for baptism, 107 theology of pre-lapsarian state, 45–46 on twofold nature of Christ, 93–95 pilgrimage, 155 Platonism, 43 Pontifical of Egbert, 22 Pontifical of the Roman Curia, 141 Pounds, N. J. G., 25 practice, in iconographies, 87–88 pre-lapsarian state, 45–46 precedence, in iconographies, 87–88 priest (presbyter), baptism administered by, 22 Prudentius, 147 Psalm 98, 57 Pseudo-Augustine, 57 psychology of sin, 46 Psychomachia, 66 Psychomachia (Prudentius), 147–148 Pullen, Robert, 11, 23, 47, 143 Purbeck limestone, 38 Quaestiones in Vestus Testamentum (Isidore of Seville), 74–75 Rabanus, 142 Ratramnus of Corbie, 9 rebirth, baptism as, 52–53 Rendcomb font (Gloucestershire, England), 135–136, 136 Renier de Huy, 112 Renier de Huy font (Liège, Belgium), 112, 112–114, 114 Resurrection Kirkburn font, 106, 108

Sacramental Theology and the Decoration of Baptismal Fonts Lenton font, 128–130, 129 North Grimston font, 164 Revelation Kirkby font, 178–179, 179 West Haddon font, 189 Revelation 12, 178 River Jordan Bridekirk font, 89 Brighton font, 96, 96 Castle Frome font, 102 Furnaux font, 91, 91 Germigny-des-Près font, 99 Lenton font, 126 St. Mary Samer font, 137 Simris font, 76, 82 Wansford font, 90 West Haddon font, 186 Robert de Brus, 108–109 Rochester Cathedral, 51n27, 173 Roland of Bologna, 135, 143 Romans 5:12-13, 42 Romans 6:3-4, 128 Royal Portals (Notre-Dame, Chartres, France), 50–51 Rupert of Deutz, 53, 112–113 sacrament(s) ivories (France, circa 870), 7–9, 8 in medieval Christianity, 1–2 roots of controversy, 7–17 signs vs., 13–14 sacramental definition, 7, 12, 42, 150, 167–168, 180, 202 sacramentary cover ivories (France, circa 870), 7–9, 8 sacraments of dignity, sacraments of necessity vs., 12n13 Sagittarius, 39, 41n8, 121 St. Esteban font (Renedo de Valdavia, Spain), 115–116, 116 St. Joseph's Chapel (Glastonbury Abbey, England), 51n27 St. Mary Bourne font (Hampshire, England), 156 Salome, 48–49 salvation, 5, 85, 91–92

231

Samer font (France), 137–138, 138 Samson, 73–75 San Fructuoso font (Colmenares de Ojeda, Spain), 122, 122–123 sarcophagi, 129n5, 171, 195n6 Satan, 61, 78, 84 Scandinavia Simris font, 71–84, 73, 76, 77, 80, 81, 83 Stånga font, 48–49 Stenkyrka font, 78, 79 Vänge font, 38 Scholasticism defined, 2 and Christ’s nature, 93 and idea of pre-lapsarian humanity, 45 and linkage of sacraments, 59, 167, 197 School of Laon, 46, 94 season for baptism, 39 Second Coming Eschaton and, 134 Eucharist and, 180 Fourth Lateran Council assertion, 16 Harrowing of Hell and, 34, 49 Simris font, 80–81 Temptation and, 80 Sentences (Pullen), 143 sepulcher, 130 Serenus of Marseilles, Bishop, 3 Sermones super Cantica Canticorum (Bernard of Clairvaux), 58–59 serpent Cowlam font, 60, 61 Furnaux font, 92 Kirkby font, 179 Oxhill font, 35 sexuality, the Fall and, 47 Sighraf workshop fonts (Sweden), 79 signifiers, images as, 194–195 signs (signa), 10-14 Simris font (Skåne, Sweden), 71– 84, 73, 76, 77, 80, 81, 83

Index

232 Adoration of the Magi, 76, 76 Christ's baptism on, 73, 76, 76 iconographic program, 72 placement of images, 196 sin

baptism as removal of, 114–115 psychology of, 46 Southrop font (Gloucestershire, England), 66, 147, 147, 155 Spain, 21, 57, 186, 198 Calahorra de Boedo font, 171–172, 172 St. Esteban font, 115–116, 116 Speculum Ecclesiae (Honorius), 75 spiritual positioning, Christ's baptism as, 85–86 sponsors, 67, 115–116, 118–119 Stånga font (Hegwald, Gotland, Sweden), 48–49 Stanton Fitzwarren font (Wiltshire, England), 66, 147, 155 Stenkyrka font (Gotland, Sweden), 78, 79 Stephen, Saint, 83, 83–84 Stone font (Buckinghamshire, England), 177-178 suggestio, 46 Summa sententiarum (Hugh of St. Victor), 13–14 Sweden Simris font, 71–84, 73, 76, 77, 80, 81, 83 Stånga font, 48–49 Stenkyrka font, 78, 79 Vänge font, 38 Temptation of Christ, 77–78, 80–81 temptation (suggestio), 46 Tertullian, 18–19, 140 Thames Ditton font (Surrey, England), 156 things (res), signs (signa) vs., 12 Thomas Aquinas, Saint, 30 Thorpe Arnold font (Leicestershire, England), 156, 177–178

Thorpe Salvin font (Yorkshire, England), 67, 118, 119–121 1 Timothy 2:13-15, 43 Toller Fratrum font (Dorset, England), 173–176, 174, 176 Tournai marble (Belgium) East Meon, 36–38, 37 St. Mary Bourne, 156 Winchester, 136, 152–153, 153, 156 Tree of Knowledge, 35, 60 Trinitarian formula, 18, 23 Trinity Fourth Lateran Council assertion on nature of, 16 Peter Lombard and, 92 West Haddon font, 189 tympana, 3, 173, 175, 178 university system, 29–30 Vänge font (Gotland, Sweden), 38 veneration, worship vs., 57 viewing process, 191 Virgin Mary. See Mary Virtues and Vices, 66, 147, 147–148 Visitatio Sepulchri, 130 Visitation, 81–82 visual repetition, 36, 70, 163, 193 Wansford font (Lincoln/Peterborough, England), 66, 89–91, 90 Washing of the Feet of the Disciples, 79–81 water of baptism, 53 and sacrament of baptism, 16 sanctification of, 109–110 West Haddon font (Northamptonshire, England), 173, 183–190, 184, 185, 187, 188 Baptism of Christ, 185, 185–186 Christ in Majesty, 188, 188–189 Christ's entry into Jerusalem, 186– 188, 187 Nativity, 55–56, 183–185, 184

Sacramental Theology and the Decoration of Baptismal Fonts William of Champeaux, 94 Winchester font (Hampshire, England), 136, 152–153, 153, 156 womb of the church, 52–53 worship, veneration vs., 57 wrestlers, 65, 65–66 Wulmer, Saint, 138, 138

Wyclif, John, 200–202 Zacharias, 30 Zarnecki, George, 102, 126, 174 Zeno of Verona, 39–42, 41n8 zodiac, 39–42

233