The Lepers and the Kings
The 12th Century French Abbey of St. Pierre, Moissac
Essays
Table of Contents
The Tympanum : Vision in Stone 1 2 3
The Tympanum
Since DuMége reported the confusion of the local experts, (The
Abbey in Historical Records) scholars have spent much time worrying
about what exactly is going on in the tympanum. DuMége reported
a general, although apparently somewhat reluctant, consensus in favor
of a representation of King Clovis and his court. In a similar uneasy
way, present-day scholars have settled on the Second Coming. This they
base, just as DuMége's experts did, on a system of expectations
developed as much from other sources as from the representation here.
The so-called Christ in Majesty at Cluny, with its allusions to the Ascension,
is by scholarly argument, the direct ancestor of this monument –
if one accepts the controlling influence of Cluny at Moissac. The Ascension
theme at Vézelay confirms the Second Coming theme at Moissac –
if one accepts the Ascension/Second Coming theme art historians have identified
as pervasive throughout the major monuments of the period. The Last Judgments
at Autun and Beaulieu confirm a preoccupation with an apocalyptic moment
– if one accepts the inseparable link between judgment and reappearance.
This study accepts these assumptions only to the degree that they can be confirmed within the perception of the doorway itself. It is not so much the degree to these monuments can be linked (for the broader the category the weaker its defining limits) as how they differ that is important. The following description of how the tympanum works will not to use any labels at all that would suggest a particular theological interpretation. If the confusion DuMége reports is any indication, the theology of the tympanum is not necessarily inherent in its form, although it may be inherent in the experience of its form.
Space
Studies of the tympanum generally assume the plane of the wall, although
few scholars emphasize this plane as strongly as Meyer Schapiro does:
The Apocalyptic vision is rendered on the tympanum rather than in it. The space of the literary conception is compressed into the architectural limits defined by the enclosing arch of the relief and the impenetrable Romanesque wall. The sculptor does not attempt to suggest an expanse wider than the portal or deeper than the thickness of the stone. If the elders and symbols circle about Christ, it is in one plane; they can step neither behind or before him. They are on the stones placed above or beside, none more salient than the other, to form a sculptured wall. [ 1 ]
In the formal and stylistic sense Schapiro so eloquently speaks for, nothing about the tympanum destroys the wall, nor would it be appropriate that this should happen. The wall defines – and defends – the limits of the sacred precinct. At the doorway, its most vulnerable point, nothing must happen that would destroy its integrity. It is possible to see, however, that at the same time the tympanum contains the limitless space of a void out of which the figures emerge.
This paradoxical understanding of the depiction of space within the doorway hinges on the relationship of the Christ-God to the Elders. The twenty-four seated figures that surround the central grouping possess a prominence – and, therefore, a power – in this monument not found elsewhere. In other examples, repeated, seated figures appear in the archivolts (Cluny) or are confined beneath arches (Charlieu) or are contained within heavy box-like compartments (Carennac). Elders similar in many details to those at Moissac appear at Aulnay where they sit rigid and static, side by side. At Moissac the figures are free and interactive, almost conversational. Although the positions of their bodies vary elaborately from one another, an inventiveness commented upon by many writers, it is variation upon a single theme, for their body type, drapery and faces are so alike that Schapiro's description of the frieze could apply to them: “intense and sustained movement because of recurrent radiation.”
While the lower row of figures appears to turn progressively inward and upward the positions are not sequential. Each figure, like the rosettes below, rotates around a central point, the bodies forming individual spirals and interlaces, complex and repeated. The glance of the figures, moreover, indicates that that central point is located outside of themselves.
The glance of the figures provides confusing evidence, however, not only because the loss of paint makes that evidence only partial. If the understanding of this tympanum rests upon a belief that Romanesque composition was designed as if on one plane only, then these figures can have no glance in three-dimensional space but only along the line of the plane. [ 2 ]
The whole of the present study rests on the premise that the space in front of Christ exists. Without that space, and without an acceptance that the sculptor was working with that space, there can be no sense of wonder in all the follows. It is within this space that we connect across time to a sculpture that has what could be called a voice and a will endowed by the artist. In order to accept this reality, though, it is not necessary to choose between a solid and a dissolved wall. It is not one thing or another; it is both.
There is no reason to believe that sculpture that appears to be three-dimensional to us could have gotten that way without the knowledge of the sculptor, or that a person in the 12th century saw the sculpture any differently than we do today. Christ looks outward, into the space before him, yet, at the same time, he remains within the plane of the wall, the boundary, guarding the entranceway to the sacred space with a vigilance shared with the lions below, whose spiritual lineage can be traced to the guardian lions of Mycenae. He exists, simultaneously, on two conceptual planes. The viewer perceives both and the tension of that perception creates a kind of disorientation that increases the effect.
In supporting this perceptual effect, the Elders, too, play paradoxical roles. In spite of the similarity of their facial and body types, the seated figures differ from each other not only in their postures but in their costumes as well. Each wears a different robe, richly ornamented with jeweled bands, and a different crown. Similarly, the drapery folds have little to do with the positions of the bodies beneath but provide their own surface pattern that further complicates the interlacing pattern of limbs.
The effect of this surface patterning almost certainly was made more intense by the presence of color, whose nature we can today do no more than surmise. The intriguing possibility of gilded ornament and contrasting color in the mantles and undergarments, as well as, perhaps, a painted background would have greatly enhanced the visual impact of the whole. [ 3 ]
All formal elements point toward an effort on the part of the sculptors to set up and maintain a sense of movement, and movement that cannot be immediately and easily grasped. Although the lintel is the most obvious of the these elements, the meandering ribbon behind the Elders, which weaves in and out of itself and confuses the edges, plays a part as well. Similarly, the wavy lines between the rows of seated figures, interpreted by the literal-minded as the "sea of glass" separate the figures without isolating them (as they are in the tympanum at Carennac). Spatial positions have been deliberately obscured through the "decorative" patterns, which carry over even into the figures themselves. Indeed, Jean-Claude Bonne suggests that confusion such as exists between the interpretation of the wavy patterns may have been the intention of the sculptor who sought deliberate confusion in order to give to the work multiple levels of meaning.
The sculptors seem to intend that the viewer not be able fully to apprehend the nature of the composition, at least before they have, as Loerke says, "fully entered into its presence." In this they have succeeded, for to this day no one agrees on what is happening. The viewer cannot be sure what the seated figures are doing and what their feelings are. They turn toward the central figure, but they also move away from him, for presumably the sculptor could have represented them all turning toward him if he had wanted to. Their faces register nothing that can be securely identified, in spite of talk of terror and amazement, and it is hardly surprising that that should be so. They act in the tympanum as formal elements, banded, decorated, interlaced, and rotated.
More importantly, however, they register no emotion because they do not actually see anything that would amaze or frighten them. They do not witness the vision, as Peter and James witnessed the Transfiguration; they are elements in the vision experienced by the viewer of the tympanum. The vision, as described by John, includes the twenty-four Elders seated on twenty-four thrones as a part of what he saw when he was "in the Spirit." By implication, the viewer of the tympanum takes John's place and enters into the Spirit as well by entering into the experience of the tympanum.
Angels
That the presence of this viewer derives from more than implication but
may also have been taken into account in the original conception of the
tympanum may be deduced from the presence of the two angelic figures that
flank the central grouping. These figures have been the source of most
of the difficulties in relating the tympanum to the text of the Book of
Revelation as they do not appear there. (Other details in the tympanum
that vary from the text have for the most part simply been ignored.) Grodecki
recognized the "composite" nature of the iconography, and identified the
angelic figures as having been drawn from the vision of Isaiah. This solution
has met with universal satisfaction as it enables an interpretation of
the tympanum by subsequent scholars that has at the very least a gratifying
unity:
Taken together, the components of the image of Christ – throne, halo of glory, and the four Evangelists – comprise the image of Christ in Majesty, a theme of triumph. The seraphim signify that this appearance of Christ in Majesty is a vision. Grodecki concluded that the symbols of the Evangelists should be interpreted as symbolic representations of the Gospels; the Elders, of the Old Testament; and the whole as a vision of Christ in the midst of the Scriptures. As Yves Christe summarized this interpretation: 'The appearance of the Son is then conceived as a revelation of the Holy Mysteries and of the hidden realities of which Scripture is only an allegorical transposition.' (Christe, Portails, p. 26.)
What this interpretation does not have is the merit of simplicity. Too many different steps must be taken before attaining a sense of the unity of this tympanum and those steps remove the interpretation from the sculpture itself. The viewer sees two angelic figures; in what frame of mind must he or she be (and with what background) to see in these figures a reference to Isaiah 6:2 and, therefore, a sign that the tympanum should be regarded as a vision? Would not these two figures be redundent if the sculptor were capable of expanding the possibilities of his medium to include the experience of vision itself?
Furthermore, Grodecki's solution with regard to the angelic figures contains the same flaw that all previous attempts to locate a particular text have contained: the representation does not quite fit. The passage in Isaiah specifically describes the angelic figures of the vision, here specified as seraphim: "seraphim stood above Him, each having six wings; with two he covered his face, with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew." The angelic figures of the tympanum have a great confusion of wings - certainly more than two and almost certainly less than six - but the placement of these wings does not follow the description, creating an apparently deliberate confusion in the perception of the nature of these creatures. The effect is quite different from the clarity found in the tympanum of Clermont-Ferrand.
As formal elements within the composition of the tympanum, however, these two figures play a clearer role. Their elongated proportions, which carry them across two rows of seated figures and which approach the absolute height of the seated central figure, stabilize the central composition, with its essentially centric nature, and link it to the horizontal rows of Elders.
Through their gestures, however, the angelic figures mediate not just between the two parts of the formal composition, but between the tympanum and the viewer. The theological controversy over the meaning of the closed and open rolls (which cannot be considered settled) has obscured the deliberate and studied nature of these gestures: they are directed outward. The figure on the viewer's left looks toward the central figure but holds in the upraised right hand what has been identified as a closed scroll. The palm of the hand faces outward, and the fingers curl elegantly so that only the tips touch the roll and nothing obscures it. Indeed, the banding of what may be a wing springs away from the hand on either side, framing the hand and its scroll and setting off the scroll from the background. The position of the hand of this figure repeats, as closely as possible, that of the figure on the right, whose right hand is lifted in a gesture of greeting and acknowledgement that will be repeated throughout the doorway. This figure, moreover, gazes out of the tympanum and toward the viewer. The open scroll this figure carries no longer bears any words, but if any had been there, they would have been legible for the scroll faces the viewer directly, curling only slightly against the figure's thigh.
These two figures participate in the motion of the tympanum, their elegant contrapposto repeating, in simplified form, that of the Elders. Although stabilizing, framing elements in the composition, their somewhat ethereal presence prevents their being locked into a fixed position. They participate in the experience of Eternity, shared by the others, in which they are caught in the paradox of an unchanging motion, in which all times are present. At the same time, they act as heraldic figures, flanking a central more powerful figure, in a tradition that extends back to antiquity.
Within this heraldic tradition, the flanking figures are somewhat smaller than the central figure, symmetrical, and shown in profile. The angels at Moissac both conform to and vary from this pattern. They are smaller than the central figure but not completely symmetrical except in type. As we have seen, absolute symmetry does not exist at Moissac, although the expectation of symmetry does and can therefore be shown to play a significant, balancing role in the interpretation of the composition. The angelic figures, in their formal role as framing elements, as well as their angelic nature, are symmetrical. In their positions and gestures, however, they have been rotated around a central axis, that of the central figure. PUT INT O FOOTNOTE David Summers distinguishes between absolute symmetry and rotation around a central axis in his examination of the Ashurnasirpal relief at Nimrud (Fig. 81). Summers interprets the doubling of the figure of the king, as well as the rotation around the central axis which preserves rightness and leftness, as representing the king's identity. In much the same way, the angelic figures may by regarded as identical and therefore their gestures as two aspects of the same action. They address the viewer and draw the viewer toward the central figure at the same time. In representing that time in which all is present, they incorporate the present of the viewer into the Eternal Present. The closed and open scrolls, which have, rightly, been of concern to scholars, need not carry specific significance beyond that of opposition. Whatever the particular meaning of the scrolls, that meaning has been characterized within the composition as opposition within unity. The rotation around the central axis suggests that neither side takes precedence.
Beasts
Rotation of a different sort takes place within the four Beasts whose
extraordinarily expressive form outweighs even their symbolic nature.
These beasts express the visionary experience unlike any other example
of the tetramorph, either before or after. In each beast, the body has
been represented as moving simultaneously in opposite directions. Mme
Vidal describes this movement in terms of ecstasy: "The mouths bellow
and roar their praise; the necks extend, with an extraordinary twisting,
toward the knees of the Lord…" Her language recalls that of George
Henderson: "…stretching their necks and turning their heads to gaze
in compulsive rapture at the Author of their being, whom they cease not
to praise day and night..."
While these scholars convey both an ability to put into words the expressive quality of this vision and a profound sympathy for that vision, neither description of the vision conveys that the vision takes place through the medium of stone.
Meyer Schapiro acknowledges the sculptor, but in a slightly disparaging way: “The position of the eagle involves an extreme twisting of his head, for both head and body are in profile but turned in opposite directions. This fact is not admitted by the sculptor, who has represented the difficult movement without indication of strain or distortion.”
The question is not whether the sculptor is trying to hide anything, but what the sculptor is doing. No strain or distortion would be appropriate in these figures which, like the Elders, do not have an objective existence. They are not naturalistic animals that only happened to be caught facing the other way and had to twist around to get a good look . On the contrary, in a manner more intense than that of any other figure in the tympanum, and yet echoing every other, they represent movement both away from and toward the central figure.
In each of the four figures, the movement extends out from the center in the lower half of the body and back toward the center in the upper half. It is as though they had each issued from the throne and each returned to it, simultaneously and throughout eternity. In their being, their symbolic being as well as their stony being, they convey the nature of the central figure: the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End.
The Still Point
This figure, which the entire perceptual experience focuses upon, sits
with absolute ease upon a throne, simultaneously a part of the pattern
that animates the surface and removed from it in a plane and space of
his own. His posture shares with the other figures an implied symmetry
enlived by an organic asymmetry it perfectly balances. He raises his right
hand in a gesture of blessing not unlike the gestures of the two flanking
angelic figures, whose right hands open outward toward the viewer. His
left hand, lowered upon a book that rests on his knee, follows the line
of the throne and is bound to the body by the bands of drapery.
The figure sits upon the throne yet simultaneously rises from it; he is compressed into the plane of the stone wall yet simultaneously dissolves it; he occupies the highest level of sculpture yet simultaneously gazes directly at the approaching viewer. He "reflects the purpose...of making the image truly present in the space upon which it faces, and by that very fact, making it at once transcendent and effective in the space of the viewer."
The face, which has inspired such conflicting and intense emotional responses could hardly be said to express emotion of any kind. In expression, it is absolutely impassive; in linear pattern it is symmetrical. Nowhere else in the tympanum can implied symmetry be discovered to be actual, except here. Here the surrounding movement stops, bound, but only just, by the unexpected unity of the pattern. The eloquently incised features, the decorative ornamentation of the curls that frame the face, the deep, elegant arches of the eyes and brows, the heavy block of a crown which keeps the head from floating visually up into the void, all partake of an absolute order around which all other elements turn.
The viewer sees this face directly, as though from a point of view on a level with it (one remembers Christe's insistence on this vision as taking place directly, facie ad faciem). Its lack of expression allows it, as it were, to encompass every expression which, in fact, it would do if it were actually judging the viewer. Furthermore, psychological studies of perception show that the tendency to see the human face where only the slightest clue suggests its presence and the associated tendency to ascribe emotion and even personality to these faces works in the sculptor's favor. Whether or not such perceptions can be connected experimentally to particular configurations of the face (and those who have conducted such studies tend to think they cannot be ), the viewer will insist on making the association. In E.H.Gombrich's words: "We tend to project life and expression onto the arrested image and supplement from our own experience what is not actually present." This effect, which Gombrich called the "beholder's share" works spiritually as well as perceptually. Indeed, if it does not work perceptually, it cannot work spiritually.
The sculptor has achieved the paradox of vision in stone, and stone set in a particular place, a doorway through which the viewer walks to enact the vision. The actual, or historical, time of the viewer - the viewer of the 21st century just as well as of the 12th - intersects with time of the Eternal in a time eternally present.
Notes
1. Meyer Shapiro, The Sculpture of Moissac (Braziller 1985) 91-92. Return.
2. Meyer Schapiro, in one of the only passages where he appears to attempt to force the evidence to fit his own interpretation, finds himself in the position of having to defend a most improbable system of projection in order to keep the work confined to the single plane he has insisted upon:
If the glance were prolonged as a line perpendicular to the horizontal axis of the eyeballs, it would fall in most cases, not on the figure of Christ, but outside the tympanum, far before him.
This apparent contradiction of the intended glance and the turn of the head is a modern reading foreign to the Romanesque sculptor. The composition was designed as if in one plane and the turn of the head represents a movement on the surface of the tympanum, and not in a depth unformulated and unimagined by the sculptor. The figures appear to us isolated, freely moving three-dimensional objects, but although they are such in substance, they were not entirely such in the conception of the artist. The glance was for him not a direction in three-dimensional space but, like other large movements, an implicit line on the plane surface of the image. A strictly frontal figure like Christ can therefore have no glance; it would presuppose a space outside the image. To determine the intended glance of the Romanesque figures of the tympanum, we should draw lines in the plane of the latter, prolonging the horizontal axis of the eyes. They would then converge approximately to the head of Christ. Shapiro 95. Return.
3. Studies of the perception of motion suggest that actual and apparent motion may be perceived in the same way, through the recognition of shifts in contrasting color fields. Nelson Goodman reports such studies with the summary: "...virtually every clear case of visual motion perception depends upon abrupt shift in color." Ways of Worldmaking (Indianapolis and Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Co., 1978) 88. Goodman says also: "The task of finding the facts does not become arbitrary or pointless when the facts are of 'apparent' rather than of 'real' or of physical motion. "Apparent" or "real" here are insidiously prejudicial labels for facts of different kinds." 89. Return.