Download PDF | Vasiliki Tsamakda - A Companion to Byzantine Illustrated Manuscripts -BRILL (2017)
644 Pages
Preface
Even if only a small percentage of the medieval Greeks could read and write, books occupied a central place in Byzantine civilization. First, Christianity is a religion of the book. Second, the historical importance of Byzantium lies not only in its original contributions to art and science but also – as it is well known – in its decisive role in preserving, studying and transmitting Graeco-Roman culture. In this context manuscripts played an important part, so that Classical science and literature are known primarily or in some cases only through Byzantine copies. For more than ten centuries Byzantium maintained this heritage for future generations and saved it from loss. The great majority of the books produced in Byzantium were not illustrated. Those that were deserve special notice.
Just like written texts, illustrations bear witness to Byzantine material culture, imperial ideology and religious beliefs, as well as to the development and spread of Byzantine art. In this sense illustrated books reflect the society that produced and used them. Being portable, they could serve as diplomatic gifts or could be acquired by foreigners. In such cases they became “emissaries” of Byzantine art and culture in Western Europe and the Arabic world. Most of them are kept today in libraries outside the former Byzantine territories; quite a few remain unpublished. This volume aims to provide an overview of Byzantine manuscript illustration. The kind of text accompanied by miniatures and the content of the illustrated books was chosen as the criterion for its presentation and consequently determined the structure of the volume. As a general rule only manuscripts written in Greek – the official language of the Byzantine Empire – will be discussed, but manuscripts written in other languages will be considered where necessary.
While chronological studies on the development of Byzantine book illumination already exist (e.g. the opulent publication of A. Džurova1), we lack a comprehensive overview of the material divided in text categories, which informs us about which texts were illustrated in Byzantium and how. Such studies were undertaken in extensive form only for certain groups of illustrated manuscripts, like the illustrated Homilies of Gregory of Nazianzus or the illuminated Psalters. There are, beside this, numerous investigations of single manuscripts or of particular aspects of Byzantine book illumination. The present volume aims thus to fill a gap and to provide experts and non-specialists alike with comprehensive, up-to-date guidance. It considers the illustration as a part of the book and not primarily or merely as art historical material. The volume begins with three introductory chapters: an overview on the state of research and current research problems as well as the perspectives for future research, followed by an introduction to Codicology and Palaeography, which are necessary methods and skills for the investigation of Byzantine book illumination.
The material is subsequently divided in two categories, secular and religious illustrated manuscripts, each encompassing several chapters. As readers will notice, only certain texts were illustrated in Byzantium and the reasons for their decoration varied: illustrations could serve purely aesthetic needs, they were useful for understanding or explaining the text, they offered visual comments on the basis of the text or independently from it, and some miniatures also added a layer of interpretation to the text. In general, the content of the text or the difference in content was decisive for the kind of illustration and had certainly some impact on the form they took. The chapters on the various groups of secular and theological illuminated manuscripts provide basic information on the following aspects: the content of each text and its author, if known; the possible role of the textual transmission for the assessment of its illumination; the illustration system(s), the relationship between text and images, the date and provenance of the manuscripts; the origins and development of the illustrations and the question of the overall “design”, which could vary from edition to edition; the function and importance of the miniatures; the variables which could affect the illumination; the commissioner(s) and users of the illustrated books. An important question is whether there was a distinct form of illustration for certain categories. Attention is also paid to the manifold relationship between the various groups of illustrated manuscripts.
The chapters also offer an overview on the various scientific approaches and methods regarding each manuscript group presented here and point to questions which still remain open. Although it was not possible to consider all extant kinds of illustrated manuscripts, we do hope to have created a useful instrument for interested readers and to inspire further scholarly discussion. It can serve as a point of reference for those who would like to become better acquainted with this particular branch of Byzantine culture.2
Acknowledgments
The editor would like to thank each one of the authors who contributed their time and expertise to this book. All authors would also like to thank the anonymous reviewers for their helpful comments and suggestions. We are also greatly indebted to Brill’s staff and editors, especially Julian Deahl, Kate Hammond, Ester Lels, Giulia Moriconi and Marcella Mulder, for their excellent work in the preparation of this book. Finally, the editor wishes to acknowledge the help of all people involved in this book project and especially Dr. Antje Bosselmann-Ruickbie, Dr. Leo Ruickbie and Mrs. Miriam Salzmann.
The Use and Function of Illustrated Books in Byzantine Society Jean-Michel Spieser The abundantly illustrated book developed in the late antique world when the codex replaced the scroll.1 Although the oldest preserved copies are Latin manuscripts, the illustrated book became an essential element in Byzantine civilization, in which the importance of books in general and the regard they enjoyed are well known.2 While the place of illustrated books, in comparison with the total number of manuscripts produced in the Byzantine world, is of relatively little importance from the standpoint of quantity, many pieces of evidence show how much they were appreciated. Few estimates of the proportion of these books relative to the entirety of manuscripts have been made.
One may draw upon an attempt made by J. Lowden based on the manuscripts preserved in Great Britain.3 An estimate for the Bodleian Library at Oxford permits us to think – allowing perhaps a considerable margin for error – that a little less than 18% of Byzantine manuscripts contains at least some decorative elements. If limited to what are more restrictively known as illustrated manuscripts, that is to say ones with human figures and not merely decoration, Lowden concludes that 3.7% of Byzantine manuscripts preserved in Great Britain are illustrated. These numbers are not yet compared with those of other collections, but whatever might be their degree of uncertainty, they suffice to show that such manuscripts represent a small minority of Byzantine production.
This proportion must be further diminished if one acknowledges that illustrated copies, especially those which are richly illustrated, were preserved in a greater proportion than those which contained only texts. In the preserved documents from Byzantine archives, many books are listed in inventories, wills, or other documents, but only three manuscripts explicitly mention miniatures.4 In his will, dated to 1059, Eustathios Boilas emphasizes the pleasure he took in having an illustrated gospel book in his library.5 One cannot, of course, draw precise conclusions from this small number: the inventories of monasteries did not necessarily specify that certain manuscripts had miniatures, and even less so that they contained geometric decoration. The sumptuousness of a great number of bindings which, for their part, are often described with great precision, suggests the presence of additional illuminated manuscripts.
Just as there are only a few systematic catalogues of illustrated manuscripts which would permit a general overview,6 the specific use of these manuscripts has elicited hardly an interest. One finds only a few suggestions that allow reflection on this question, apart from a few recent examples to which we shall return. It is striking to consider that K. Weitzmann, when he makes an assessment of the study of miniatures, attributes to it seven goals, which he calls seven circles. Its objectives, defined according to the methods of textual criticism, move from the publication of catalogues to the discovery of narrative illustration in Greco-Roman art, but he does not at all refer to the use of illustrated books or the impact they might have on the reader.7 The same old indifference is found in the contrast between two publications which touch on similar themes.
In 1969, when G. Galavaris, under the direction of Weitzmann, studied the illustrations of the liturgical homilies of Gregory of Nazianzus, his entire consideration bore on the miniatures themselves, on their origin, on their possible passage from one text to another, on the reconstruction of an archetype, even from a stylistic point of view.8 But one does not find there any reflection on the use of these manuscripts, any comparison between manuscripts with regard to that which, precisely from this point of view, could be implied by the quality and richness of the illustrations. A different approach was now used, 35 years later, i.e. in the study of the illustrations of the homilies of John Chrysostom.9 Insofar as the sources give hardly any direct indications, it is necessary to rely on function and the reason for the presence of illustrations in order to understand the use of these manuscripts.
It may seem obvious that illustrations in scientific manuscripts are always useful for the comprehension of the text, but this term “scientific manuscripts” covers very different realities. A priori, an illustration seems absolutely necessary at least in the majority of them, a fact which has engendered the idea that these texts were already illustrated from their first edition. To mathematical, geographical, or astronomical diagrams – simple line drawings which permit the visualization and better comprehension of the corresponding expositions – one can add treatises on tactics and siegecraft. This kind of illustration existed from an ancient date – from the Hellenistic period at least – but various testimonies suggest that indispensable illustrations were displayed during reading in a separate, independent form.10 Nevertheless some drawings found their place in papyri at a relatively early date. Philo of Byzantium, in the 3rd century bc, indicates that he placed drawings (σχήματα) “in the book itself” in order to facilitate comprehension.11 An allusion to Vitruvius evokes the figure that explains the doubling of the surface of a square in the manuscript itself,12 while several papyri contain figures of the same type.13 Didactic concern is evident in the case of the illustration of hippiatric treatises.14 The images in the two illustrated manuscripts of this type of treatise are placed between the title and the beginning of the chapter. They illustrate in a general way a passage of the text that follows, most often a symptom or a treatment, but these images cannot be understood without reading the text.
They were completely useless from a practical point of view. It has been supposed that these figures served as a kind of “bookmark” allowing one to find a desired text. The simplicity of these images, sometimes interpreted as due to the clumsiness of the miniaturist, allowed them to play this role more easily. The same function should be attributed to certain images that depart from the ordinary and that set themselves apart by their strangeness.15 One could go further and surmise that they were also an aid to memory and that they facilitated memorization of the text, which is perhaps the aim of some details related to the affliction considered in the corresponding chapter or to its treatment.16 But didactic concern is not incompatible with aesthetic elaboration and, from when this concern appears, one observes a great variety in the implementation and the quality of the illustration. Certain manuscripts containing treatises on siegecraft have illustrations executed with great care and clarity, which go above and beyond a simple diagram and a concern for intelligibility. This is particular the case with a manuscript of the 11th century of an anonymous author, most probably from the middle of the 10th century, transmitted under the name of Hero of Byzantium.17
Analogous examples are found in many kinds of texts, for example the Zodiac painted on fol. 9r of the manuscript of the Geography of Ptolemy, preserved in the Vatican (Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. gr. 1291; Figs. 12-14). Its date was disputed and it was usually assigned to the years 741-775. But recent palaeographical examination convincingly suggests a date shortly after the reign of Nikephoros I (802-811).18 The necessity for medical and pharmaceutical manuscripts to be illustrated seems just as evident as in the preceding examples. In other words, from the moment that such books existed, images were an essential element. Their illustration also goes back at least to the Hellenistic period, as shown by a text of Pliny and some illustrated papyrus fragments that survive.19 The most celebrated example of this genre is the manuscript of Dioscorides (Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vind. med. gr. 1; Figs. 23, 28, 30-1)
made for Juliana Anicia at the beginning of the 6th century.20 It is particularly important, not only on its own, but also in comparison with later manuscripts that take up the same texts and which are sometimes copies of the Vienna manuscript. These pharmacological texts are a repertory particularly of medicines against poisoning and venoms obtained from plants, but also some from animals or from the mineral realm. The miniatures of the Vienna manuscript are of excellent quality and often allow one to recognize the element in question. But this book is not only a herbarium designed for the recognition of plants, whether at the moment of picking them or of preparing them. The recipient of the manuscript suggests another purpose for this high-quality illustration: perhaps an encyclopedic aim, meant to satisfy a taste – real or imagined – for knowledge that was attributed to her. But the desire to make of this tome a beautiful and precious object is also an essential motivation.
Nevertheless, whatever the initial aim of its production, around 1400 it was to be found in the monastery of St. John Prodromos in Petra and was being used in its hospital.21 For these texts, the quality of the illustration did not only fall within the field of aesthetic pleasure; it was necessary, for evident reasons, in order to usefully complement the text. The equilibrium between quality of illustration and the price paid for this purpose varies considerably from one manuscript to another. Sometimes purely decorative illustrations are added next to scientific images, as in the manuscript of the Theriaca of Nicander preserved in Paris, where several scenes inspired by antiquity enliven the text.22 In contrast, in a manuscript of Dioscorides dated to the end of the 8th or the beginning of the 9th century, the illustration, though very plentiful, is much less sophisticated than in the Vienna manuscript, while still allowing one to recognize the medicinal plants that are represented.23 In other pharmacological manuscripts the quality of illustration is very varied and, in some cases, the images could hardly have served as anything more than visual markers.24
Serving as a visual aid for reading and marking the beginning of texts also occurs in the ornamental decoration found in numerous manuscript types and, often, in a much more refined manner than the above-cited examples. That is the role of decorative bands as well as that of “gates” (πύλαι) at the beginning of an important break in the manuscript, and likewise of initials. The differences in the quality and richness of these decorative elements vary greatly and are tied to the price of the manuscript. Paradoxically, one realizes this role more easily in modest manuscripts: the most elaborate decorations can make one completely forget that they could also have a practical use, as in the cruciform lectionary of New York where images and text, arranged in the form of a cross, combine in creating the decorative effect (Fig. 100).25 While in a manuscript in Paris the titles of the epistles of Paul are highlighted by frame that is decorated but relatively sober, the frontispiece of the Apocalypse makes one forget the verses it contains due to the richness of the decoration.26
These examples confirm that, as soon as there is true illustration – that is to say, when it goes beyond simple diagrams – and whatever the more or less utilitarian character of the illustration, other considerations enter into play. Among the many sets of manuscripts where aesthetic concerns (never completely absent) and the bringing out of articulations of the content of the manuscript and of the sense of the text concur, those destined to be read during the liturgy are particularly numerous. Two sets, of the manuscripts of the homilies of Gregory of Nazianzus and of the homilies of John Chrysostom, may serve as examples, but other series with comparable content, such as the metaphrastic menologia, should also be taken into consideration.27 A rather significant number of the manuscripts of these two Church Fathers were more or less richly illustrated; they also allow us to highlight other points of interest. Among these homilies, the most homogeneous groupings – and the ones that seem to have been most often read – are also the ones most often illustrated, thus facilitating use and giving pleasure to readers’ eyes.
For John Chrysostom, these groupings consist of the homilies commenting on the Gospels of John and of Matthew and those on Genesis.28 To these groups, one should add a relatively standardized series that was often called by the title “Pearls of Chrysostom” in the Middle Byzantine period.29 In the case of Gregory of Nazianzus, the most heavily illustrated manuscripts are those containing a collection of 16 homilies intended for reading during the liturgy on certain feasts. The most frequently-occurring decoration of the homilies of John Chrysostom does not differ fundamentally from what has been remarked upon above: decorative bands or frames at the beginning of a homily and decorated initials at the beginning of a text, which often incorporate narrative scenes relevant to the text or sometimes are fantastical. It is also often the case that the illustration that introduces the first text or texts of a manuscript is more elaborate than the following ones, which stems from a different preoccupation. The same decorative procedures are used in manuscripts of these homilies destined for private use.
This is the case, for example, with regard to Athos, Pantokrator Monastery, cod. 22, which has a rich floral decoration and anthropomorphic initials, and in which the homilies are grouped in a manner more or less arbitrary, a fact that seems to exclude liturgical use.30 In Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Coislin 77, with purely ornamental decoration that is partly in gold, the homilies (which are, incidentally, in part inauthentic) are sometimes accompanied by indications of the day on which they are supposed to be read.31 But others are accompanied by the note, “Read whenever you wish” (ἀνάγνωσις ὅταν θέλεις), which seems to constitute solid evidence for intended private use of the manuscript. Seven of these manuscripts contain full-page miniatures.32 These miniatures are in general grouped at the head of their respective manuscripts and are author portraits, showing Chrysostom, most often in the company of St. Paul or other holy figures. They are obviously not meant to facilitate reading and we shall return later to their uses and purposes. The decoration that is added to these full-page miniatures does not differ fundamentally from that of manuscripts with purely ornamental decoration, although it may be more abundant, more elaborate, and richer. But this difference should not be overestimated. The aforementioned Pantokrator 22, by its luxurious character and by the abundance and quality of its decoration, confirms the closeness of the two series.
The quality and the quantity of the illustration hardly permit one to distinguish between those intended for liturgical use and those intended for private use. It is other criteria that allow their differentiation, even if a secure conclusion is not always possible. One sees it most clearly in the manuscripts containing the series of 16 homilies of Gregory of Nazianzus used in the liturgy, the only ones by this Father of the Church to have been systematically studied from the perspective of their illustrations.33 Even though the primary destination of this selection of homilies was to be read during the liturgy, some of the manuscripts that contain them were made for private use. This seems certain for Athos, Dionysiou Monastery, cod. 61 where one sees, on the verso of fol. 1, Gregory of Nazianzus offering the book to a person of high rank who however remains anonymous.34 Its decoration is relatively rich, in the form of miniatures at the head of each homily as well as illuminated initials and decorative bands, but its small size (21.2 by 15.4 cm) show that it could not be used in the context of the divine office. Its well-preserved state suggests that its use was not too intense, which corresponds better to a private than to a liturgical use. It is certainly also for private use that Moscow, State Historical Museum, Synod. gr. 61, itself also richly decorated, was destined.35 It has been used more than the preceding manuscript, but its small dimensions (19.4 × 14.9 cm) confirm that it was privately used.36 The reduced dimensions of a given manuscript almost certainly imply this, but those of a greater size do not permit a secure conclusion without other evidence. Some manifest traces of use, whereas others seem to have been carefully guarded.
The fact remains that, in the Byzantine world, texts intended for the divine offices could just as well be owned individually and thus be read outside the offices, even by laypeople, as demonstrated by the gospel book owned by Eustathios Boilas. Sinai, Monastery of Saint Catherine, Sin. gr. 339 is a particularly well-preserved manuscript of the homilies of Gregory of Nazianzus.37 It leads us on to other reflections. The colophon indicates that it was made in order to be donated to a monastery, suggesting that it was intended for liturgical use. But taking account of its state of preservation, one might ask whether it was in reality so used. We are thus dealing rather with a prestige gift, intended to honor the recipient person or institution, but which also glorified the donor who had commissioned it. The question of donors is important. It is not by chance that practically all the illustrated menologia date from the second half of the 11th century, a period when monasteries were founded by grandees and soon after the codification of the liturgy with the accompanying standardization of daily hagiographical readings.38 Illustrations underscore this double function of homage to the recipient and promotion of the donor.
The recipient might be represented. This seems to have been the case always, or very often, in the case of manuscripts offered to the emperor. Basil I is represented, after Christ, on one of the first folios of the homilies of Gregory of Nazianzus (*Par. gr. 510; Fig. 132), no doubt commissioned by patriarch Photios for Basil but perhaps also for the future Leo VI.39 The presence of the recipient is sometimes very strong, as in the homilies of John Chrysostom offered to Nikephoros III Botaniates (*Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Coislin 79; Fig. 140). The emperor is represented on the four miniatures that open the volume.40 But illustration could also represent the donor. The image of a given emperor figures often in manuscripts commissioned by him and of which he eventually made a gift. Basil II is depicted at the beginning of the Psalter (Venice, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, Marc. gr. Z. 17) that he had commissioned for himself.41 In Sinai, Monastery of Saint Catherine, Sin. gr. 364, which contains 45 homilies on the Gospel of Matthew by John Chrysostom, it is the donor, Constantine IX Monomachos, who has himself depicted with the empress Zoe and her sister Theodora. The manuscript is definitely a gift of the emperor to the monastery of St. George of Mangana which he founded.42 It is also as donor that Alexios I Komnenos is depicted twice at the beginning of the manuscript of the Dogmatic Panoply of Euthymios Zigabenos (*Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. gr. 666).43 In this case, he is more than a donor, since the text that it contains was written at his request, as we learn from Anna Comnena in the Alexias and from a laudation of the emperor in the manuscript itself.44 His depiction twice in the first few folios is meant to demonstrate his piety, but also to recall that he was the initiator of the text and of the manuscript.
The quality of the latter, in particular of its illustrations, suggests that it is the original meant for the emperor, as opposed to a manuscript preserved in Moscow (Fig. 158) which is a copy of that of the Vatican.45 But its final destination, i.e. the library where it was supposed to be kept, remains uncertain. Is it necessary to ask oneself to whom or for what purpose was intended the double portrait of John VI Kantakouzenos (1347-53) which is one of the miniatures of *Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Par. gr. 1242, fol. 123v (Fig. 1), a luxury manuscript that contains four theological treatises of which he is the author.46 The manuscript was copied, under the supervision of John VI himself, at the monastery ton Hodegon at Constantinople, and doubtless was meant to remain there. In contrast to the preceding examples, this portrait is not placed at the beginning of the book. Here, the portrait of the donor is assimilated to the portrait of the author, as the scroll that the author-emperor, dressed in his monastic garb, holds in his hands, bears the words that begin the text “μέγας ὁ Θεός τῶν χριστιανῶν”. At the same time, the double portrait recalls the course of his life by showing him as both emperor and monk. It is not without importance that the title of the treatise is also preceded by his double identity.
It thus asserts his imperial past. The double portrait is placed underneath a depiction of the Trinity in the form of the three angels being hosted at the table of Abraham. In a subtle manner, this representation of the Trinity, where the angel in the middle is given a halo marked by the shape of the cross, alludes to the text that follows, an apologetic work against Islam where Kantakouzenos defends the doctrine of the divinity of Christ.47 But he also places himself under the protection of the Trinity. The image expresses equally the desire for and the expectation of this protection. Is its placement also supposed to suggest that the reader of the text that follows pray or at least spare a thought for the salvation of the one depicted? These images of imperial donors in the manuscripts participates in the same routine as the images of lower-ranked donors, whether found in manuscripts, on icons, or on the walls of churches. They recall the generosity of the donor toward the beneficiaries, they display his or her piety as well as wealth, and at the same time, they are the sign of a gift to God, to Christ, to the Theotokos, to a saint; a gift that offers the hope of salvation as recompense. This is what is expressed by the numerous images of donors at the feet of a holy figure to whom they offer a book.
The most famous is, without a doubt, the patrician Leo, donor of one of the rare complete Bibles (although only the first volume is preserved), *Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. Reg. gr. 1 (fol. 2v; Fig. 63), but it is far from being the only example.48 For all these donor images, we must once more emphasize the multiplication of levels of meaning, which constitute as many reasons for the images’ existence. This observation, namely that certain images in the manuscripts can play the same role as images on other surfaces, permits new conclusions. In the aforementioned manuscript of the theological works of John Kantakouzenos, the magnificent full-page Transfiguration on the verso of fol. 92v was certainly chosen by John VI himself, as an affirmation of his support for Hesychasm. But this image could concurrently be viewed by a reader of the manuscript as an icon, that is to say as an image serving to assist meditation and devotion. The same function of imagery can be discerned in the illustrations of the tetraevangelia (codices containing the complete text of all four Gospels), at least in one group of them, as well as in the illustration of psalters, or in any case of the psalters known as “aristocratic”.49 One group of tetraevangelia is illustrated by a relatively small number of miniatures that form veritable scenes.50 One particularly clear example, although exceptional, is provided by the tetraevangelion Istanbul, Patriarchal Library, cod. 3, where seven full-page miniatures, accompanied by epigrams, are placed at the beginning of the manuscript.51
The distribution of miniatures, frequently those of the great liturgical feasts, among the different gospels was most often based on the text read at the liturgy of the corresponding feast. But in the perspective adopted in the present analysis, it is necessary to insist on the fact that the number of feasts so illustrated and the choice of subjects vary considerably from manuscript to manuscript. These variations result from the choices of the commissioner. They reflect aspects of his personal devotion. It is necessary to recognize here the same process as that which pushed the founders of monasteries to privilege, in Typika, some feast or other or the prominence given to certain icons in the church by means of lighting.52 In the case of manuscripts intended for private use, the role of these images, and thus the contribution of the illustrations above and beyond the text, is as an aid for the devotions of the commissioner. In the case when the manuscript was offered to a monastery, the donor thereby expressed his piety, a message intended for the monks, who were obliged to commemorate the donor, or a message to Christ or to the saints in the hope of obtaining salvation.
The act of making the book was thus just as important as its practical use. In contrast, certain tetraevangelia are illustrated with narrative cycles.53 The most abundantly illustrated, *Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Par. gr. 74 (Fig. 94) and *Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Laur. Plut. 6.23, present miniatures in unframed spaces, inserted into the text and thus forming illustrated bands, so to speak.54 They present a virtually complete narrative illustration. This system is thus very close to that used in the Madrid Skylitzes (*Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional, Vitr. 26-2, from the 3rd quarter of the 12th century, Fig. 40), with its bands of images that interrupt the text, and which is the only illustrated Byzantine historical manuscript.55 These two tetraevangelia are exceptional, and they have the most extensive illustration; the others, even though they have narrative images, are less richly illustrated. As with liturgical cycles, variations are numerous, and have to do with the number of images, their layout, their form (framed or not), the choice of scenes depicted and their placement.56 The more limited number of images rules out their systematic use as a guide and finding aid within the text. The choice was instead that of the commissioner, who had an attachment to certain passages of the gospel text, which he wished to be able to visualize, the image thus also being able to serve as a bookmark for the rereading of favorite texts, while the number of images would depend on the price.
These narrative images also draw our attention to the pleasure of visualizing the text, which will be evoked again below. Illustrated octateuchs – luxury books, but also scholarly ones, as shown by the exegetical catenas (commentaries) that they contain – are close, in terms of illustration, to gospels illustrated with narrative cycles.57 This type of narrative illustration, which punctuates the text according to a more or less even rhythm, is already attested in Late Antiquity, as shown by the Cotton Genesis (*London, British Library, Cotton Otho B. VI; Fig. 66) – in this respect different from the Vienna Genesis (Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vind. theol. gr. 31; Figs. 67-68)58 – as well as the two manuscripts of Vergil which have come down to us and the extant fragments of the Ambrosian Iliad (Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, F 205 inf.; Figs. 45-46).59 Among the six extant illustrated octateuchs, one is fundamentally different from the others, *Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Laur. Plut. 5.38 (Fig. 72), now assigned to the 13th century, which seems to have been intended for liturgical usage.
Its dimensions, the fact that the biblical text is not surrounded by catenae, that one finds in it indications of the days for the reading of certain passages, and that it is less abundantly illustrated, suggest this use.60 The other octateuchs, generally of large size, were, if we take into account their probable cost, doubtless commissioned by members of the Byzantine aristocracy, and can be considered as intended for reading. Illustrations are included without it being apparent what their use or function was.61 A comparison with the moralizing Bibles of the West, where the images seem to have served as a springboard for commentaries, evince the difference in the role of images. One can say that the moralizing Bibles were books of images that suggested commentaries.62
In the illustrated octateuchs, on the contrary, one has the impression that the images were content simply to be there. J. Lowden claims to be convinced that these illustrations did not have for their sole object the pleasure of the reader and thinks that further research will allow progress on this question.63 But can we be sure? For all of the genres of manuscripts examined up until now, the role of illustration, in other words the reason which led a commissioner to choose to have a text illustrated and the specific use which should have resulted, often remains hazy. Several directions offer themselves for reflection, without there always being a clear distinction between one or another purpose.
Yet several times already the notion of the pleasure of the reader, connected to the idea of the embellishment of the book by illustration, has presented itself. A few isolated examples and certain types of manuscripts are borderline cases, in different forms, of this singular role of images and of illustration. Let us first look at the gospel books (lectionaries).64 As with manuscripts as a whole, the number of illustrated gospels represents only a small percentage of known manuscripts. An estimate of about 5% has been proposed.65 This small number is easily understandable since these books contained the passages to be read during the liturgy and thus in principle had primarily a practical use. But at the same time, since it was considered a symbol of Christ, carried at the head of the procession of clergy during the “Small Entrance” and then placed on the altar, it could not be a prosaic object.
This explains the luxurious bindings that are known from rare preserved examples, such as the binding of the gospel of the Skevophylakion of the Great Lavra and from the descriptions found in wills and inventories.66 It is possible, yet remains debated, that the most luxurious of these gospels, at least, were not moved during the liturgy and that the lections were read out of another book.67 The presence of illustrations, including figural as well as purely ornamental decoration – to which was often added gilded script in order to reinforce the precious character of the text – seems thus completely paradoxical, even if some scholars have thought that, in their diversity, they were associated to readings made on the occasion of certain feasts.68 The choice of a beautiful book, of an exceptional object, for manuscripts which were intended for practical use, even if such use would be rendered difficult, appears in another very specific group, that of liturgical scrolls.69 About a hundred have been preserved, of which about 10% are illustrated. Most contain the complete text of the Liturgy of St. Basil or of St. John Chrysostom.
One very rich example, of the Liturgy of St. Basil, is provided in Athos, Dionysiou Monastery, cod. 105.70 Its length of seven meters makes its handling difficult and renders it fragile. This scroll could not have been used on a daily basis. Others contain texts intended for recitation on certain specific days, for example the scroll Athos, Dionysiou Monastery, cod. 101, with texts for the liturgy of Pentecost and Epiphany.71 In another, there is the office for the eve of Pentecost and the Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts.72 These were perhaps used solely for the corresponding liturgy, hence very seldom.73 It is difficult to say whether those which contain a complete liturgy were in fact never used or only once or twice a year, on the occasion of a feast or event of particular importance. The choice to make the book a precious object was to the detriment of its practical use. Do these characteristics constitute a true contradiction?74 The illustrations contained in rarely used manuscripts of difficult access are, in a certain way, of just as low visibility as the friezes of the Parthenon or the highest parts of the Column of Trajan. But they arise from a similar approach. Despite their quality, they were not made to be seen; but they had to exist.
They were offered in homage; homage, in the ancient examples, to Athena and to the emperor, and in the case of the Byzantine manuscripts to God and Christ. But it was not only to Christ that one offered a magnificent volume. The offering was made in relation to an institution, a church or monastery that was being honored by the gift. Furthermore, this donation came from a person who, in principle, also drew honor and glory from it; his image, even if it was not necessarily present and the mention of his name sufficed, inspired prayers for his salvation and, at least, gave the sense of having escaped oblivion.75 The illustration rendered the manuscript more precious – which would seem necessary for its use as a symbol of Christ – and at the same time it strengthened the prestige and the memory of the donor. The image, and in a more general way the illustration – because we must unite in the same movement of thought both figural scenes and ornamental decoration – appear as the primary vectors of the quality and the prestige of a manuscript. But this quality did not have as its sole aim the desire for prestige. The donors of rich manuscripts knew that these would be pleasing, even if, by reason of their very quality, they were rarely opened and rarely viewed.
They knew it, for they belonged to the same culture and had probably commissioned other illustrated books for their own use and had drawn from them the same kind of pleasure. The same is also true for relatively modest books, modest at least in comparison to the rich lectionaries or the liturgical scrolls that we have just discussed. One need just recall the pleasure of Eustathios Boilas when he mentions in his will the gospel that he owned and which he had probably commissioned.76 This idea has already been mentioned, namely that the book in itself had a purpose first of all for the donor or commissioner, whatever may have been its final use. A very particular case is a good example of this: the manuscript of the homilies of St Gregory of Nazianzus in Paris (*Par. gr. 510; Figs. 132-135) is, in a certain way, a paradox. Whatever may have been the manuscript’s destination, it was conceived under the aegis of Photios, a highly cultured figure, but it was addressed to one who was hardly cultured at all, Basil I.
Next to images that were clearly intended to flatter the emperor,77 some of the subtle connections between the illustrations and the text could not but have brought great pleasure to the designer and donor while completely escaping the recipient.78 We should mention here, as an example of the psalters with marginal illustration, the Khludov Psalter (Moscow, State Historical Museum, Sobr. A.I. Khludova 129d), of which the subtle allusions have also been noted, but of which we ought also to note – stepping back for a moment from the grave tone which seems to impose itself when we discuss Byzantine art – the vigorous, even exuberant, imagination of some of the images it contains.79 The patriarch who had perhaps conceived its design, whether it was Methodios or Photios, and the scriptorium where it was executed did not make it as a propaganda tool, contrary to what one might think. Such a manuscript had no public circulation and would not have been commonly accessible even inside the monasteries where this specific manuscript or other related copies ended up.
Again, it is the fact itself of the creation of a manuscript responding to the expectations of the person who commissioned it that seems at least as important as its final use. It is necessary to return to the importance attributed to the image, to the concept of what, to use a contemporary term, one may call a “coffee-table book.” This aspect is revealed in all its breadth in several cases where the priority is very clearly accorded to the illustration. In a manuscript of Dioscorides from the 14th century, preserved at Padua, this goal is achieved through collaboration between the commissioner and the painter.80 How ought we otherwise to explain the layout of this manuscript, in which the illustrations were executed first and the text was later written in carefully around the images?
The initiative must have come from the commissioner and the painter was thus perhaps simply the one who executed the task. But, taking into account the final achievement, it seems possible to speak, at least, of a shared sensibility. The predominance given to images is even clearer in the “Joshua Roll” (Fig. 69).81 This manuscript, exceptional as regards its material form, is a scroll composed, in its present state, of 15 connected parchment sheets.
This form is downright unusual, not to say bizarre, in the middle of the 10th century, the date to which it is attributed. There seems to be a scholarly consensus on the idea that it is a very faithful copy of a roll of papyrus that was in poor condition, dating to Late Antiquity, perhaps to the 6th century, a time when this form of manuscript was already unusual. Thus it has been claimed that there appears, in this undertaking, the desire to make a sort of facsimile, a faithful reproduction of a much older manuscript.82 Instead of the modern idea of facsimile, which may seem anachronistic, one can also suggest that of “bibliophilia”, which is certainly likewise anachronistic. This was an exceptional object that someone wished to make. The initiative, wholly original in the Byzantine world, is doubtless to be attributed to the entourage of Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos, if not to him directly. It is certainly not too rash to say that the book as such, i.e. its images, was more important than the story of Joshua or reflections and meditations on his story. But the 10th century did not discover this choice of making – to stay with the same terminology – a “coffee-table book” where the image was more important than the text. Already Late Antiquity, as is evident from the supposed model of the Joshua Roll, knew such arrangements which found their place among other deluxe manuscripts.
The most luxurious are those whose parchment was dyed purple. In the Vienna Genesis also, even if it is in a lesser degree than the Joshua Roll, the text is to a degree sacrificed to the benefit of the image: in order to keep a constant tempo of images, the biblical text was not copied in its entirety.83 Similar to these examples with respect to the importance given to the image, but with a different intention, in a different register, in a less luxurious size (measuring 12.6 × 9.5 cm), and at a much later date, we should mention the menologion without text which belonged to Demetrios I Palaiologos Angelos Doukas, despot of Thessaloniki (1322-1340).84 But here it is without a doubt the image as an aid to devotion that is at the root of this image which thus becomes the equivalent of a series of icons. Therefore, several reasons account for the existence of illustrations in manuscripts, corresponding to different uses one might make of them. It is necessary to emphasize that, in many situations, the use of illustrated manuscripts and that of non-illustrated manuscripts did not differ fundamentally.
For books that had to serve in the context of the liturgy or of private devotional reading such as, for example, the gospels or the homilies of John Chrysostom or Gregory of Nazianzus, the illustration itself was not of great import (if one leaves aside the idea of finding pages more easily which, in these manuscripts, was perhaps only an added bonus). The same is also true with regard to the possession of a tetraevangelion, of a psalter, or, on a different note, of a secular text. In the Byzantine world images in manuscripts played a more specific and important role as aids to devotion, prayer, and reflection, and as means of marking the sacred character of a book or a text. To this end, images capable of being used as icons are found in various manuscripts, and particularly in tetraevangelia, gospels, and psalters.85 Yet all these elements that explain the development of an illustration are not sufficient to require it. More economical means than costly decoration existed to mark the subdivisions of a book. Hence it is necessary to add some reflections on what caused or justified the commissioning of a “coffee-table book”, whether for the commissioner’s own use or to give as a gift.
We leave aside for a moment the promotion of the donor, inasmuch as the act of offering would have no meaning unless the recipient were to feel pleasure in having it and using it, including the situation in which its precious character – in the event, perhaps its fragility – causes the recipient to place it for safety in a library from which it emerges only rarely. In the first place comes, undoubtedly as a commonplace and expected factor, the aesthetic pleasure of the image. Its presence is obvious in all of the manuscripts where an illustration appears. We might almost say that this aesthetic factor is found in its pure state when the illustration is essentially narrative in content and does not seem to have any other purpose than itself, as in certain biblical manuscripts and in the rare secular illustrated texts, mentioned above.86 But it is necessary to add to this pleasure of narrating-by-image – completing, visualizing the text, maybe taking its place – the pleasure afforded by non-figural ornamentation, which plays a vital role in other manuscripts (in this case essentially of religious character) but whose purpose is different from that of devotional images which the same manuscripts may contain.
The sumptuousness of these ornamentations has nothing to do with the ancient tradition, even if a portion of the basic motifs originates in the ancient repertory. The precious character of these manuscripts, which owes at least as much to the ornamentation as to the figural images,87 enhances the sacred character of the books, which is also manifested by the prestige bindings of gospel books meant to be placed on the altar.88 Through these same characteristics, the books, or at least the most precious among them, became heirlooms, not exhausting this word in its current weak sense, but designating items, like those mentioned by M. Godelier in another context, which one does not use, but of which one cannot divest oneself.89
With these considerations, we pass beyond the immediate context of the Byzantine world; here is not the place to debate the connections between aesthetic pleasure, beauty, and sacred character. We must acknowledge that such pleasure of the reader exists and is meaningful even when it is accompanied by other aims, such as luxury display intended to bring pleasure to oneself or to honor the one to whom the book is offered, the intention to please God or Christ or a holy person through the institution to which one offers a book, or the goal of rendering homage to God directly by a book such as a deluxe gospel that would be placed on the altar. It would lead us too far afield to investigate what, in these illustrated manuscripts, stems from a universal human element tied to image and illustration and what is proper to the culture in which they developed. But it is good to recall that Byzantine illustrated manuscripts could not but be cultivated in a favorable milieu where the conditions of education and culture, of social prestige, and of economic means were combined, allowing them to be conceived, executed, and appreciated at once.
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