Transcript
Hans Aurenhammer und Daniela Bohde (Hrsg.)
Räume der Passion Raumvisionen, Erinnerungsorte und Topographien des Leidens Christi in Mittelalter und Früher Neuzeit
Sonderdruck
PETER LANG
Bern • Berlin • Bruxelles • Frankfurt am Main • New York • Oxford • Wien ISBN 978-3-0343-1535-7 pb. © Peter Lang AG, International Academic Publishers, Bern 2015 Hochfeldstrasse 32, CH-3012 Bern, Switzerland
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Inhaltsverzeichnis
Hans Aurenhammer und Daniela Bohde Die Räume der Passion – eine übersehene Dimension?.................................. 1
1. ‚Loca sancta‘ Bruno Reudenbach Golgatha – Etablierung, Transfer und Transformation. Der Kreuzigungsort im frühen Christentum und im Mittelalter.................... 13 Yamit Rachman Schrire The Rock of Golgotha in Jerusalem and Western Imagination..................... 29 Birgit Ulrike Münch Körper und Karte. Historizität, Topographie und Vermessung medialer Wissensräume der Passion in der Frühen Neuzeit bei Christiaan van Adrichem und anderen..................................................... 49
2. Re-Inszenierungen Johann Schulz Ereignisraum Jerusalem. Zur Konstituierung eines Sakralraumes vor den Mauern der Stadt Nürnberg.............................................................. 83 Christian Freigang Bildskeptische Nachbildungsmodi der Passionstopographie Christi im Spätmittelalter: der Görlitzer Kalvarienberg.............................. 117 Achim Timmermann Golgatha, Now and Then: Image and Sacrificial Topography in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe................................................ 151
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3. Schauspiel, Liturgie, Prozession Margreth Egidi Theatralität und Bild im spätmittelalterlichen Passionsspiel. Zum Verhältnis von Gewaltdarstellung und compassio............................... 181 Anja Rathmann-Lutz Räume der Passion im spätmittelalterlichen Basel. Eine Lektüre des Ceremoniale Basiliensis Episcopatus.............................. 205 Heike Schlie Der bildmediale Parcours durch den Passionsraum. Immersive und operative Praktiken in dem Pariser Holzschnitt der Grande Passion und in Memlings Turiner Passion................................ 233
4. Das Buch als Andachtsraum Jeffrey F. Hamburger The Passion in Paradise: Liturgical Devotions for Holy Week at Helfta and Paradies bei Soest....................................................................... 271 Andreas Krass Räume des Mitleidens. Text-Bild-Beziehungen in einem spätmittelalterlichen Mariengebetbuch (Frankfurt, UB, Ms. germ. oct. 45)........................................................................................ 311
5. Bildräume der Imagination Hans Aurenhammer Schräge Blicke, innere Landschaften. Räume der Kreuzigung Christi bei Jacopo Bellini, Giovanni Bellini und Antonello da Messina................. 335 Daniela Bohde Blickräume. Der Raum des Betrachters in Passionsdarstellungen von Schongauer, Baldung und Altdorfer............................................................. 377
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6. Bilder im Raum Saskia Hennig von Lange Im Raum des Bildes. Die ‚fehlenden‘ Passionsszenen in der Karlsteiner Heilig-Kreuz-Kapelle................................................................ 415 Jason Di Resta Violent Spaces and Spatial Violence: Pordenone’s Passion frescoes at Cremona Cathedral.................................................................... 445 Die Autorinnen und Autoren des Bandes..................................................... 479
Yamit Rachman-Schrire*
The Rock of Golgotha in Jerusalem and Western Imagination
Many events of the Gospel story, especially events of the Passion, were identified with natural stones and rocks found in Jerusalem: Christ’s Prayer of Agony was associated with a rock in Gethsemane, the Crucifixion with the Rock of Golgotha, and the Ascension with a stone on the Mount of Olives. In the course of the Middle Ages, as the story of the passion was thickened, additional events were associated with concrete stones in Jerusalem like the place where Christ fell on his way to Golgotha, or the place where he was anointed after the crucifixion. Such rocks and stones were later integrated into the Way of the Cross in Jerusalem (the Via Dolorosa). In the following discussion I briefly introduce some of the inherent problems and challenges that a research of the stones of Jerusalem poses. I then focus on the Rock of Golgotha, the traditional site of the Crucifixion, which demonstrates some of these complexities. As I will show, the iconographical transformations to which the Rock of Golgotha was subjected over the centuries echo broader changes in Western medieval devotionalism, and their manifestations in Jerusalem. The sacred stones of Jerusalem could be discussed in relation to different frames of reference: one might think of them as places which mark in situ the spots where biblical events were believed to have taken place: the rock in Gethsemane stands for the biblical place of Gethsemane where Christ prayed in Agony (Matthew 26:36, Mark 14:32, Luke 22:43) (fig. 1).1 A rock linked to Christ’s Agony was shown within (or next to) the Byzantine church of *
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I would like to thank Gerhard Wolf and Bianca Kühnel for their valuable remarks and suggestions in different stages of the work. This paper was written when I was working in Berlin as a DAAD PhD scholar. Earlier versions of this paper were discussed at the “Visual Constructs of Jerusalem” conference, Jerusalem 14–20.11.2010, with support of the European Research Council under the European Union’s Seventh Framework Programme, (FP7/2007–2013) / ERC grant agreement n° 249466, and in the conference “Räume der Passion”, Frankfurt a. M., 8–10.7.2011. I would like to thank the organizers of both these conferences and the editors of this publication as well as Beatrice Kitzinger for her careful reading. This rock occupies the heart of the modern church of All Nations in Jerusalem (planned by the Italian architect Antonio Barluzzi in the 1920’s). The church, which was built over the ruins of the Byzantine and the Crusader churches, is laid at an angle over the latter basilica.
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Gethsemane; in the crusaders Church of St Saviour in Gethsemane, there were shown three rocks “on which the Lord is said to have prayed, kneeling three times”.2 Whether attached to the ground or not, these rocks were detached from their immediate space by the architecture of the church. Pilgrims who visited the church throughout the Middle Ages recognized the traces of Christ’s knees imprinted on the surface of the rock/s as he bowed in prayer.3 Does that mean that the rock in Gethsemane was a relic which was in contact with the body of Christ and not a place? What about stones that were transferred from one location to another, like the Stone of the Unction? This stone is believed to be the object upon which Christ’s body was anointed by Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, after he was taken down from the cross and prior to his burial. According to the medieval legend, after the Crucifixion, Mary Magdalene brought the stone from Jerusalem to Ephesus; in 1169 it was transferred again from Ephesus to Constantinople by Emperor Manuel Comnenus I, who set the stone in the Pharos Chapel (fig. 2).4 Like the Rock of Gethsemane, the Stone of the Unction also marked the place of an event. Yet, as it was transferred from Jerusalem it was detached from its immediate surroundings. Here again, it was believed to have touched the body of Christ and even absorbed the tears of the grieving Virgin Mary.5 Does the fact that the stone was transportable mean that its function as a place was substituted by its role as a relic? This distinction is misleading, for it does not fit other examples, such as the stones which were believed to be transferred from Mount Sinai to Mount Zion
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John of Würzburg: Descriptio Locorum Terrae Sanctae, in: R. B. C. Huygens and John H. Pryor (eds.): Peregrinationes Tres. Saewulf, John of Würzburg, Theodericus. Turnholt 1994 (Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis; Vol. 139), pp. 114–115. English translation in: Denys Pringle: The Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, A Corpus; Vol. III, The City of Jerusalem, Cambridge 2007, p. 359. References in: Pringle: Ibid, p. 360. After the death of the Emperor, the Stone of the Unction was relocated at the Pantokrator monastery church next to the Emperor’s tomb. For the sources which tell of the arrival of the stone from Jerusalem to Constantinople see Mary Ann Graeve: The Stone of Unction in Caravaggio’s Painting for the Chiesa Nuova, in: The Art Bulletin XL (1958), pp. 223–238, here pp. 230–231. For a discussion of the Stone of the Unction in the Pantokrator monastery church: Robert Ousterhout: Architecture, Art and Komnenian Ideology at the Pantokrator Monastery, in: Nevra Necipog÷lu (ed.): Byzantine Constantinople. Monuments, Topography, and Everyday Life (Medieval Mediterranean; vol. 33), Leiden 2001, pp. 133–150, here: p. 149. Circa 1335 a stone, claimed to be the one upon which Christ’s body was anointed, emerged in the church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, where it is still shown today. Robert of Clari: The Conquest of Constantinople, transl. by Edgar Holmes McNeal, New York 1936, pp. 112–113.
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(fig. 3).6 According to the medieval tradition, these stones were transferred by angels on behalf of the Virgin Mary, so that she would not have to set out on an arduous pilgrimage to Sinai; instead, in these stones, she would venerate Mount Sinai without leaving Jerusalem. Being fragments which stand for the whole, similarly to Saints’ bones, these stones embody a sense of a relic. Yet, the small and portable Sinai stones serve as a theological allegory for the connection between the two mountains;7 moreover, the stones of Sinai could replace Mount Sinai on Mount Zion, acquiring their meaning not only from their place of origin, but also from the place to where they were transferred. Once again we see that the stones challenge both the categories of place and relic. Further complexities are raised by the group of imprinted stones found in Jerusalem, which were claimed to bear the traces of Christ’s body or his blood, like the Stone of the Ascension on the Mount of Olives, on which pilgrims saw the imprints of Christ’s feet (fig. 4). Such stones were discussed in relation to miraculous images of Christ believed to be made without human intervention.8 In such stones trace and image were merged in ways that may undermine a clear demarcation between the categories of relic and image. This blurring of categories is evident when one examines various devotional 6
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A stone which is claimed to be miraculously transferred from Mount Sinai to Mount Zion is shown today at the Cathedral of St. James in the Armenian quarter of Jerusalem (on Mount Zion); next to this stone are shown also a stone from Mount Tabor and a stone from the Jordan River. On Mount Zion King Solomon placed the Tablets of the Law that Moses received on Mount Sinai. In their new location the stone tablets embodied the spiritual essence of the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai. This connection is intensified in the New Testament, which describes the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the Apostles on Mount Zion on the same day that the Torah was given to the Israelites on Mount Sinai, and thus, just as the New Testament replaced the Old one, Mount Zion replaced Mount Sinai. For the spiritual connection between the two mountains see Edwin Bernbaum: Sacred Mountains of the World, Berkeley 1998, pp. 96–103; Yair Zakovitch: “Who Proclaims Peace, Who brings Good Tidings”. Seven Visions of Jerusalem’s Peace, Haifa 2004, pp. 145–166 (in Hebrew). On the later transfer of the name ‘Zion’ during the 1st century from the Temple Mount to the South-Western hill see Peter W. L. Walker: Holy City, Holy Places? Christian Attitudes to Jerusalem and the Holy Land in the fourth century, Oxford 1990, pp. 282–285. Ernst Kitzinger: The Cult of Images in the Age before Iconoclasm, in: Dumbarton Oaks Papers 8 (1954) pp. 83–150, here pp. 104–105, 113; Hans Belting: In Search of Christ’s Body, in: Herbert L. Kessler, Gerhard Wolf (eds.): The Holy Face and the Paradox of Representation. Papers from a colloquium held at the Bibliotheca Hertziana, Rome and the Villa Spelman, Florence 1996, pp. 1–11, here pp. 7–8; Gerhard Wolf: Laetare filia Sion. Ecce ego venio et habitabo in medio tui. Images of Christ Transferred to Rome from Jerusalem, in: Bianca Kühnel (ed.): The Real and Ideal Jerusalem in Jewish, Christian and Islamic Art. Studies in honor of Bezalel Narkiss on the occasion of his seventieth birthday, Jerusalem 1998 (Jewish Art; vol. 23–24), pp. 418–429, here pp. 418, 425–427.
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practices that were associated with these imprinted stones: pilgrims used to measure and copy Christ’s traces of the stones, lay their own bodies into them, and pour wine and drink it from the traces in the stone. Such practices call into question the object of devotion, whether it was the substance, the stone itself, which was venerated, or whether it was the imprint, the lack of the matter, which deserved the devotee’s attention. With these complexities in mind I would like to turn now to a discussion of the Rock of Golgotha, the traditional place of the crucifixion. This great rock was never transferred from its place in Jerusalem. Yet, its dimensions and stability are only an illusion, for its alterations in situ express deep transformations in Western devotion and thought that are reflected in relation to it. In the course of the fourth to the fifteenth centuries, the Rock of Golgotha, which stood in the church of Constantine as a natural geographical element of the landscape of Jerusalem, gradually disappeared from the eyes of the believers as it was covered and integrated into the architecture of the Church. From the twelfth century the rock became only partially accessible for pilgrims, mostly through two openings which were left uncovered: the hole, believed to be the hole of the True Cross, and the rupture, believed to have been formed at the time of the Crucifixion. These openings became the focus of pilgrims’ attention and devotional practices, which were tightly connected to the formal transformations visited upon the Rock of Golgotha. These practices – as they were reported in pilgrims’ accounts – will be discussed in relation to the devotion to the humanity of Christ, his sufferings and his wounds. In other words, this paper stresses the affinities between devotional trends in the Latin West and the formation of the sacred place in Jerusalem.
The Rock of Golgotha in the eye of the believer According to the biblical story, Christ was crucified outside the city of Jerusalem in a place called Golgotha: “So they took Jesus, and he went out, bearing his own cross, to the place called the place of a skull, which is called in Hebrew Golgotha” (John, 19:17). Nowhere in the biblical story is a rock mentioned. However, as early as the fourth century, the site of Christ’s Crucifixion was identified with a natural rock located in north-western Jerusalem.9 When Emperor Constantine I erected the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (dedicated in 335) he included the rock within its inner court, on the southwest 9
For the reduction of Golgotha from a broader area into a specific rock, see Joan E. Taylor: Christians and the Holy Places. The Myth of Jewish-Christian Origins, Oxford 1993, pp. 116–122.
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corner (fig. 5).10 The anonymous pilgrim of Bordeaux (333), walking northwards along the cardo, notes: “On the left hand is the little hill of Golgotha (monticulus Golgotha) where the Lord was crucified”.11 Cyril, who later became the bishop of Jerusalem, mentions the rock in a sermon given at the court of the church (circa. 350): “Golgotha, the holy hill standing above us here, bears witness to our sight”.12 Nevertheless, despite its formal prominence in the landscape of Jerusalem, later pilgrims do not mention the Rock of Golgotha, but only the cross on top of it. Egeria, in her detailed description of the daily liturgy in Jerusalem (380–384) describes the procession that was led by the bishop in the court of the church: “Then again the bishop and all the people go Behind the Cross, and do there what they did Before the Cross; and in both places they come to kiss the bishop’s hand as they did in the Anastasis.”13 Whether Egeria refers to a replica of the cross that surmounted the Rock of Golgotha or to a relic of the cross that was kept there, for her it is not the Rock of Golgotha but the cross on top of it that constitutes a spatial point of reference.14 Similarly, Jerome, in 10
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The Church of the Holy Sepulchre was built as a complex of buildings, distinctively separated from each other: (a) an atrium connecting the complex with the main street to the east, (b) the Martyrium (over the site where Helena was believed to discover the True Cross) built as a five aisled basilica with its apse in the west, (c) a porticoed courtyard consisting of a double row of columns enclosing the Rock of Golgotha, (d) the church of the Resurrection (Anastasis) over the rock-cut Tomb, built in the form of a colonnaded round central space, (e) numerous ancillary structures. See Robert Ousterhout: Rebuilding the Temple. Constantine Monomachus and the Holy Sepulchre, in: Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 48,1 (1989), pp. 66–78, here p. 67. Itinerarium Burdigalense, in: P. Geyer and O. Cuntz (eds.): Itineraria et Alia Geographica. Turnholt 1954 (Corpus Christianorum Series Latina; vol. 175), p. 17. See the English translation by Aubrey Stewart: Itinerary from Bordeaux to Jerusalem: The Bordeaux Pilgrim (333 A.D.), ed. by C. W. Wilson, London 1887 (Palestine Pilgrims’ Text Society; vol. 1), p. 23. As the Martyrium of the Constantinian church was dedicated two years after the account was written, it is not clear what the pilgrim saw. Following Wilkinson, it seems that what the Bordeaux pilgrim terms monticulus Golgotha is the same topographic form that was later included within the court of the Constantinian church: John Wilkinson: Jerusalem Pilgrims Before the Crusades, Warminster 1977, p. 117. Compare Taylor 1993 (as in note 9), pp. 120–121. For the path of the pilgrim within Jerusalem, see Michael Ehrlich and Doron Bar: Jerusalem according to the Description of the Bordeaux Pilgrim. Geographic and Theological Aspects, in: Cathedra 113 (2004), pp. 35–52 (in Hebrew). William Telfer: Cyril of Jerusalem and Nemesius of Emesa, Philadelphia 1955 (The Library of Christian Classics; vol. 4), p. 205. Itinerarium Egeriae, in: Geyer/Cuntz 1954 (as in note 11), pp. 68–69. See the English translation and edition by John Wilkinson: Egeria’s Travels to the Holy Land, newly transl. with supporting documents and notes, Jerusalem 1981, p. 124. According to Hunt, by the 380s the Rock of Golgotha was surmounted by a replica of the cross, and ‘ante crucem’ and ‘post crucem’ were stations in the liturgy of Jerusalem: E. D Hunt: Holy Land Pilgrimage in the Later Roman Empire, AD 312–460, Oxford 1982,
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his description of Paula’s pilgrimage to the Holy Places (written 404) never mentions the Rock of the Crucifixion, but only the cross on top of it: “She fell down and worshipped before the Cross as if she could see the Lord hanging on it”.15 The fact that the rock was not mentioned in the descriptions of Egeria and Jerome might indicate its negligible importance for the pilgrims in the sacred place. It seems that the Rock of Golgotha, which stood at the courtyard of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, revealed under the skies, had a limited role in the pilgrims’ experience of the sacred place that was secondary to the role of the cross on top of it. The following centuries brought a tremendous change: pilgrims’ accounts testify to the dramatic formal transformations that the Rock of Golgotha underwent. The sixth century pilgrims Theodosius and Antoninus inform us of a staircase that was built beside the rock, leading pilgrims to its summit.16 The Breviarius de Hierosolyma (530) tells of silver screen (cancellae argenteae) that adorned the rock, as well as a relic of the true cross.17 Simultaneously, we witness the accumulation of new traditions associated with the rock: the place where Adam was formed, the place where Melchizedek brought out bread and wine and the place where Abraham offered God his son Isaac.18 These traditions bore typological connection to Christ’s Crucifixion, and constituted a physical translation of exegetical principles projected onto the Rock.19
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p. 12; Drijvers, however, who bases his argument on the descriptions of Cyril of Jerusalem, claims that it was not a replica of the cross, but rather a reliquary containing fragments of the true cross that surmounted the rock: Jan Willem Drijvers: Promoting Jerusalem. Cyril and the True Cross, in: Jan Willem Drijvers and J. W Watt (eds.): Portraits of Spiritual Authority. Religious Power in Early Christianity, Byzantium, and the Christian Orient, Boston 1999 (Religions in the Graeco-Roman World; vol. 137), p. 85. Hieronymus: Epistula CVIII epitaphium Sanctae Paulae, in: Isidorus Hilberg (ed.): Epistolae, Vienna 1996 (Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum; vol. 55.2), p. IX. English translation in Wilkinson 1977 (as in note 11), p. 49. Theodosius: De Situ Terrae Sanctae, in: Geyer/Cuntz 1954 (as in note 11), p. 118. Antoninus Placentinus, in: Geyer/Cuntz 1954 (as in note 11), p. 163. English translation in Wilkinson 1977 (as in note 11), pp. 65, 83. This staircase appears on sixth century Christian vessels from the Holy Land depicting the Cross on the Rock of Golgotha, see Bianca Kühnel: From the Earthly to the Heavenly Jerusalem. Representations of the Holy City in Christian Art of the First Millennium. Rom 1987 (Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und Kirchengeschichte. Supplementheft; 42), p. 100. Breviarius de hierosolyma, in: Geyer/Cuntz 1954 (as in note 11), p. 110. English translation in Wilkinson 1977 (as in note 11), p. 59. For the place where Adam was formed: Breviarius de hierosolyma, Ibid. For the altar of Abraham: Theodosii (as in note 16), pp. 117–118. English translation in Wilkinson 1977 (as in note 11), pp. 59–60, 65. Ora Limor notes that the transfer of such biblical events to the Rock of Golgotha is a spatial translation of exegetical principles which linked events from the Old Testament with
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Antoninus (570) writes: “You can see the place where he was crucified, and on the actual rock there is a bloodstain. Beside this is the altar of Abraham, which is where he intended to offer Isaac, and where Melchizedech offered sacrifice. Next to the altar is a crack, and if you put your ear to it you hear streams of water. If you throw an apple into it, or anything else that will float, and then go to Siloam, you can pick it up there”.20 For the first time a specific morphological feature of the rock is mentioned by a pilgrim to Jerusalem: the crack (creptura) that later on will be interpreted as the one formed at the time of the Crucifixion.21 Arculfus, who visited the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in the year 670, after its restoration by Patriarch Modestus,22 reveals further transformations in the setting and appearance of the rock: “a great silver cross (magna argentea crux) is infixed in the very same place where formerly the wooden cross, on which the Saviour of mankind suffered, was fixed and stood. In the same church there is a cave cut out of the rock beneath the place of the Lord’s cross, where the sacrifice is offered upon an altar for the souls of certain honoured persons”. 23 Hence, the Rock of Golgotha was divided along its height between the upper storey, where a replica of the cross stood, and the cave beneath it, containing an altar used for masses for the dead. In short, between the fourth and the seventh centuries, the rock of the Crucifixion went through remarkable transformations: it was roofed, detached from its surroundings and from the skies above, surrounded and framed within
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Christ’s Crucifixion. Ora Limor: Holy Land Travels. Christian Pilgrims in Late Antiquity, Jerusalem 1998, pp. 181–182, footnote no. 51 (in Hebrew). For the transfer of biblical traditions to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in general, and to the Rock of Golgotha in particular, see Bianca Kühnel: Jewish Symbolism of the Temple and the Tabernacle and Christian Symbolism of the Holy Sepulchre and the Heavenly Tabernacle. A Study of their Relationship in Late Antique and Early Medieval Art and Thought, in: Jewish Art 12/13 (1986/87), pp. 147–68, here p. 150ff.; see also Robert Ousterhout: The Temple, the Sepulchre, and the Martyrion of the Savior, in: Gesta 29,1 (1990), pp. 44–53. Antoninus Placentinus (as in note 16), p. 164. It will be noted that Antoninus does not refer to the formation of the rupture as the result of the cosmological occurrences at the time of the Crucifixion (Mathew, 27:51: “And, behold, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom; and the earth did quake, and the rocks rent”). Such association was made by pilgrims only in the twelfth century as we shall see in what follows. The only reference I have found prior to the twelfth century that associates the rupture with the biblical description was made by Cyril (circa. 350) as cited in: Philip Schaff (ed.): S. Cyril of Jerusalem, New York 1894 (A Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church; vol. 7), p. xlii. For Patriarch Modestus’ repairs of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre see Charles Coüasnon: The Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, London 1974, pp. 17–18, 50. Adamnani: De Locis Sanctis, in: Geyer/Cuntz 1954 (as in note 11), p. 190. English translation in Wilkinson 1977 (as in note 11), p. 97; Compare: Epiphanius the Monk, English translation in Wilkinson, Ibid., p. 117.
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the architecture of the church. It was fragmented into different parts, framed by altars, and divided along its height between the upper chapel of Calvary and the lower chapel of Golgotha. As a result, we witness a dramatic shift in the point of view of the believers: the rock became accessible to the pilgrims who could climb on top of it. The pilgrim’s gaze toward the cross on top of the rock was now substituted with a closer, downward gaze towards the surface of the rock. Simultaneously, the rock emerged as a more prominent and important element in the pilgrims’ experience of the sacred place. Surprisingly, while standing as a natural form in the space of Jerusalem, open to the skies and bearing the cross, the role of the rock was limited. Only after it was detached from its spatial context, covered and fragmented, did the stone become an important object of attention per se.
The Rock, the rupture and the hole: synecdochal relations When the crusaders rebuilt the church of the Holy Sepulchre (dedicated on 15 July 1149) they introduced many changes into the complex: the preexisting rotunda and the eleventh century courtyard of Monomachus with its many chapels were unified into a single building with two domes, radiating chapels, and a bell tower.24 An external staircase was fixed to the east of the main entrance (in the southern façade), leading the pilgrims up directly to the place of the Crucifixion (the chapel of the Franks) (fig. 6). As it was prior to the Crusaders’ building, the rock of the Crucifixion remained a vertical element within the church, accessible to the pilgrims from two points: from the upper chapel of Calvary, where the hole of the cross and the upper part of the rupture were presented; and from the lower chapel of Adam, where the continuation of the rupture leading to the place of the skull was shown (fig. 7). Beginning in the twelfth century, as the number of pilgrims to the City under Latin rule increased, we have numerous depictions of the Rock of Golgotha and its traditions. Saewulf, who visited the Church of the Holy Sepulchre prior to the Crusaders’ reconstructions (1101–1103), tells: “Afterwards you go up to Mount Calvary where the Patriarch Abraham made an altar […] The crag of the rock of this mountain is itself a witness of the sufferings of our Lord, for next to the hole in which the Lord’s Cross was fixed, there is 24
See Ousterhout 1989 (as in note 10); Adrian J. Boas: Crusader Archaeology: The Material Culture of the Latin East, London and New York 1999, pp. 125–129; Jaroslav Folda: Art in the Latin East. 1098–1291, in: Jonathan Riley-Smith (ed.): The Oxford History of the Crusades, Oxford 1999, p. 145.
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a great rent, for without a rent the death of its Maker could not take place as it says in the Passion ‘the rocks were rent’. Below is the place called Golgotha, where it is said that by the streaming of the Lords’ blood, running over him Adam was raised from the dead, just as it says in the Passion of the Lord, ‘And many bodies of the saints were raised’.”25 A similar picture is portrayed in a later account, the so-called “Icelandic Guide” written in the middle of the twelfth century: “In Calvarie loco […] a chapel where the blood fell down from the Lord’s cross, and one can still see the blood. […] up to the rock […] there is a hole in the rock there, and there the blood came down into the chapel. South from that it is one fathom to the fissure in the rock where the rock cracked when the Lord pushed away from himself the wooden cross on which he was afterwards crucified.”26 Such accounts attest to a growing emphasis on the openings of the rock, i.e., the hole of the cross and the rupture believed to have been made at the time of the Crucifixion. Both the hole and the rupture were understood as the visible tokens of the sufferings of Christ impressed in the rock. Numerous accounts refer to the size of both the hole of the cross at the peak of the rock, and the rupture along its height. Belard of Ascoli (1155) notes that the hole sunk in the rock where the cross was fixed is “large and round. It is as large as the head of one man, and about three half (-spans) deep or four.”27 According to an anonymous depiction dated to the end of the twelfth century, “the place of the Crucifixion is a hole two palms deep and as many wide, which will take in a man’s head.”28 Burchard of Mount Sion (1280) depicts the blood stains of Christ on the rock; he adds that the rent in the rock “is as large as my head and extends lengthways eighteen feet”.29 Thus, measuring the hole and the rupture of the rock was described using an anthropomorphic language of 25
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Saewulf, in: Huygens/Pryor 1994 (as in note 2), p. 70. English translation in: John Wilkinson: Jerusalem Pilgrimage, 1099–1185, London 1988 (Works Issued by the Hakluyt Society 2nd ser., no. 167), p. 102. Icelandic Guide: English translation in: John Wilkinson, ibid., p. 220. Belard of Ascoli: Descriptio Terrae Sanctae (1112–1120), in: Sabino de Sandoli (ed.): Itinera Hierosolymitana Crucesignatorum. Tempore Regum Francorum (1100–1187) (Itinera Hierosolymitana Crucesignatorum; vol. 2), p. 44. English translation in: ibid., pp. 228–9. Anonymous pilgrim IV: Iter ad Terram Sanctum (circa 1270), in: Sabino de Sandoli (ed.): Itinera Hierosolymitana Crucesignatorum. Tempore Recuperationis Terrae Sanctae (1187–1244) (Itinera Hierosolymitana Crucesignatorum; vol. 3), p. 26. English translation in: ibid., p. 22. Burchardus de Monte Sion, Descriptio Terrae Sanctae (1285), in: Sabino de Sandoli (ed.): Itinera Hierosolymitana Crucesignatorum: Tempore Regni Latini Extremo (1245–1291) (Itinera Hierosolymitana Crucesignatorum; vol. 4), p. 186. English translation in Aubrey Stewart (ed.): Burchard of Mount Sion, A.D. 1280, London 1896 (Palestine Pilgrims’ Text Society; vol. 12.1), p. 76.
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bodily members, usually the head and the arm, to determine its size.30 While the practice of measuring the holes was common in many accounts31 some pilgrims go further, describing the concrete practices of devotion that involved the bodily organs of the believers themselves. The German pilgrim Theoderic (circa 1170) recounts: “The place where the Cross itself stood, on which the Saviour suffered death, is towards the east. It is mounted on a big step, made of excellent Parian marble on the left, and the hole (foramen) shown is deep and almost wide enough to put one’s head into. It is known that this is the hole in which the Cross was fixed, and in it the pilgrims press their head and forehead to show love and reverence for the crucified one”.32 Similarly, the Anonymous Englishman (1344–1345) notes: “The place where stood erect the cross of Jesus is visible, into which people put their heads to the shoulders”.33 In his continued description of this practice of devotion, the English pilgrim emphasizes Christ’s wounds and the blood shed on the rock: “There the wounded body of Jesus really bled blood, the stream of which descending upon the rock broke into the ground, and the onlooker can see how the rock burst in twain, receding before the blood of Christ”.34 Finally, by the late fifteenth century we find in Felix Fabri’s vivid description of his visit to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (1483/4) a description of the same devotional practice, which does not only involve sight or touch but also the senses of smell and perhaps also of taste: When we had finished our prayer we went one after another to the holy rock, which projects above the floor, and each one as best as he could crawled to the socket-hole of 30
31
32
33
34
For the importance of measuring rather than the actual measurements themselves see Zur Shalev: Christian Pilgrimage and Ritual Measurement in Jerusalem, in: Micrologus 19 (2011), pp. 131–150. See also: Wilhelm Tzewers: Itinerarius terre sancte (1477), trans. and ed. by Gritje Hartmann, Wiesbaden 2004 (Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins; vol. 33), p. 200; Randall Herz: Die ‚Reise ins gelobte Land‘ Hans Tuchers des Älteren (1479–1480. Untersuchungen zur Überlieferung und kritischen Edition eines spätmittelalterlichen Reiseberichts, Wiesbaden 2002 (Wissensliteratur im Mittelalter; vol. 38), p. 400. Theodericus: “Locus autem, ubi crux ipsa stetit, in qua Salvator mortem pertulit, versus orientem alto gradu elatus, Pario et nobilissimo marmore ex sinistra parte constratus, foramen profundum et adeo latum, quo caput fere posset intrude, ostenditur, in quo crux ipsa defixa fuisse dinoscitur, in quod peregrini caput et faciem ob ipsius crucifixi amorem et reverentiam solent imprimere”. Theodericus, in: Huygens/Pryor 1994 (as in note 2), p. 155. English translation: Wilkinson 1988 (as in note 25), pp. 285–286. Itinerary of a certain Englishman (1344–1345), in: Eugene Hoade (ed. and trans.): Western pilgrims. The Itineraries of Fr. Simon Fitzsimons (1322–23), a certain Englishman (1344–45), Thomas Brygg (1392), and notes on other Authors and Pilgrims, Jerusalem 1970 (Publications of the Studium Biblicum Franciscanum, vol. 18), p. 66. Ibid. See also the description of Nicolo of Poggibonsi (1346–1350) as it is cited below in note no. 46.
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the cross, kissed the place with exceeding great devotion, and placed his face, eyes, and mouth over the socket-hole, from whence in very truth there breathes forth an exceeding sweet scent, whereby men are visibly refreshed. We put our arms and our hands into the hole down to the very bottom: and by these acts we received plenary indulgences.35
Such practice of devotion reflects a process of a reduction of the rock to its openings – the rupture and the hole – these being the only parts accessible to the pilgrims’ touch and sight. The openings of the rock became a container for the limbs of the devotees whose experience of the Rock of Golgotha was shaped by the apertures. Eventually the hole and the rupture stood for the whole rock, constituting synecdocal relations with it. Such relations were accompanied by a further shift in the point of view of the pilgrim. The pilgrims’ view upwards towards the rocky hill was first exchanged for a closer gaze down to its surface to the stains of blood found there. In this final stage, literally following the apple of Antoninus, the sight of the believer was augmented by the movements of his own body, delving deeper into the rock through its hole and rupture and involving other senses as part of the pilgrim’s devotion.
The Rock of Golgotha and the clefts of the rock How can we interpret the formal transformations to which the Rock of Golgotha was subjected? Above all, how can we explain the emphasis of its openings? Stated provocatively, how can we explain the pilgrims’ growing attraction to the absence of the rock? At this stage it may be fruitful to turn our gaze from Jerusalem and the Rock of Golgotha to the Latin West and to common practices of devotion there
35
Felix Fabri: Evagatorium in Terrae Sanctae, Arabiae et Aegypti peregrinationem, ed. by Konrad Dietrich Hassler, Stuttgart 1843–1849; vol. II, p. 299. English translation in: The Book of Wanderings of Brother Felix Fabri, trans. by Aubrey Stewart, London 1896 (Palestine Pilgrims’ Text Society; vol. 8), p. 365. See also: “Voyage de Venise au Saint-Sépulcre” (1518), in: Jean-Luc Nardone (ed.): La représentation de Jérusalem et de la Terre Sainte dans les récits de pèlerins euorpéens au XVIe siècle, Paris 2007, p. 75; for Christ as the source of all pleasant smells, see Constance Classen: The Breath of God: Sacred Histories of Scent, in: Jim Drobnick (ed.): The Smell Culture Reader, Oxford 2006, pp. 375–390; Suzanne Evans: The Scent of a Martyr, in: Numen 49,2 (2002), pp. 193–211, here pp. 193–194, 199. For the role of gestures, motions and touch in medieval devotionalism, and the believers’ longing for a concrete access to the sacred: Donna Spivey Ellington: From sacred body to angelic soul. Understanding Mary in late medieval and early modern Europe, Washington, D.C 2001, pp. 124–126.
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that focused on the human body of Christ, his sufferings and his wounds.36 I suggest contextualizing the changes in the devotion to the Rock of Golgotha in relation to the devotion to Christ’s wounds, which involved meditations connected to the measurement of the side-wound, quantification of the total number of the wounds, and a mystical aspiration to enter them.37 Furthermore, in late medieval images and texts, the isolated side wound of Christ substituted for the whole crucified body, based on the principle of pars pro toto.38 When one relates to the practices of devotion that took place on the Rock of Golgotha in the context of the devotion to Christ’s wounds, one is immediately struck by the identification of the wounds with the biblical image of the clefts of the rock (Song of Songs, 2:14) as it appeared in Bernard of Clairvaux’s famous introduction to the Song of Songs: And really where is there safe sure rest for the weak except in the Savior’s wounds? […] They pierced his hands and feet, they gored his side with a lance, and through these fissures I can suck honey from the rock and oil from the hardest stone – that is, to ‘taste and see that the Lord is good’ […]. The secret of his heart is laid open through the clefts of his body; that mighty mystery of devotion is laid open, […] surely his heart is laid open through his wounds!39
In Bernard’s interpretation, the image of the dove in the clefts of the rock was associated with the torn and wounded body of Christ. This interpretation was 36
37
38
39
Richard Kieckhefer: Major Currents in Late Medieval Devotion, in: Jill Raitt and Bernard McGinn and John Meyendorff (eds.): Christian Spirituality. High Middle Ages and Reformation, New York 1987 (World Spirituality; vol. 17), pp. 75–108. H. W. van Os et al.: Exh. cat. The Art of Devotion in the Late Middle Ages in Europe, 1300–1500, Rijksmuseum Amsterdam, Princeton 1994. For a general review of scholarly works on the devotion to Christ’s wounds, see Caroline W. Bynum: Violence Occluded. The Wound in Christ’s Side in Late Medieval Devotion, in: Belle S. Tuten, Stephen D. White, Tracey L. Billado (eds.): Feud, Violence and Practice. Essays in Medieval Studies in Honor of Stephen D. White, Burlington 2010, pp. 95–116, here pp. 95–98. For the devotional focus of the isolated side-wound, see David S. Areford: The Viewer and the Printed Image in Late Medieval Europe, Burlington 2010, Chapter 5. For the aspiration to enter the wounds of Christ see Frank Graziano: Wounds of love: The mystical marriage of Saint Rose of Lima, Oxford 2004, pp. 205–206. For a discussion of crucifixion piety and the categories of ‘outside’ and ‘inside’ the body of Christ, see Sarah Beckwith: Christ’s Body. Identity, Culture, and Society in Late Medieval Writings, London and New York 1993, pp. 55–63. See Caroline W. Bynum: Violent Imagery in Late Medieval Piety, in: Bulletin of the German Historical Institute 30 (2002); pp. 3–36, here pp. 18–23. As from 1300, Christ’s wounds, as the essence of his humanity, were addressed in the Eucharistic Mass – see Miri Rubin: Corpus Christi: The Eucharist in Late Medieval Culture, Cambridge 1991, pp. 303–305. Supra Cantica, Sermo LXI.3, LXI.4. English translation: E. Ann Matter: The Voice of My Beloved: The Song of Songs in Western Medieval Christianity, Philadelphia 1990 (Middle Ages Series), pp. 137–138.
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based on two analogies that are connected to each other: the first analogy is between the body of Christ and a rock; the second analogy is between the wounds of Christ and the clefts of the rock.40 Such interpretation continued a long exegetical tradition that offered metaphorical connections between Christ and biblical stones and rocks.41 This tradition originated already in the New Testament where Christ was referred to as the “spiritual rock” (1 Cor. 10: 4) and the stone that the builders rejected, which became the cornerstone (Matthew 21:42, Mark 12:10; Acts 4:11). Respectively, Christian exegetes interpreted various biblical stones and rocks as metaphorical expressions pointing to Christ.42 In the same manner the biblical image of the clefts of the rock was related to Christ: Origen wrote of Christ the rock, and the clefts of the rock that are places of mystical insight.43 Though he did not relate the clefts of the rock to the wounds of Christ, such a link was made later on by Bede, who claimed that the clefts of the rock – that is, the wounds of Christ – were the place for the soul (sponsa) to mediate upon the fruits of the Passion.44 Yet it was Bernard who made popular this traditional identification of the clefts of the rock with the wounds of Christ the rock.45 Furthermore, it was Bernard who related it explicitly to the scene of the Crucifixion (“They pierced his hands and feet; they gored his side with a lance”). This interpretation had an impact on Christian spiritual imagination for several centuries: it appeared in Richard Rolle’s Meditations on the Passion, where he presented an extended image of Christ as a dovecote,46 as well as in Thomas à Kempis’ Meditations on the Life of Christ, where this image appears
40 41
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43 44
45 46
Ibid., 137. Several Christian exegetes explicitly discuss the affinities between biblical stones and Christ. See for example Iulius Firmicus Maternus: De Errore Profanarum Religionum; ed. by Konrat Ziegler, Leipzig 1907, pp. 50–52; Augustine: In Iohannis Evangelium, ed. by D. Radbodus Willems, Turnholt 1954 (Corpus Christianorum Series Latina; vol. 36), pp. 175, 528. For example, Tertulian (160–225) states that Christ, who was brought to this world in humility as lapidem offensionis and petram scandali (Stone of Stumbling and Rock of Offence) would be brought again as the lapis angularis (cornerstone) of his church. Tertullian: Adversus Marcionem, ed. by Eligius Dekkers, Turnholt 1954 (Corpus Christianorum Series Latina; vol. 1), p. 516. Augustine (354–430) asserts that “lapis angularis factus est Christus” who mediates between the Jews and the Christians. Augustine-Willems 1954 (as in note 41), p. 99. Cited in James I. Wimsatt: The Canticle of Canticles, Two Latin Poems, and ‘In a Valey of Pis Restles Mynde’, in: Modern Philology 75,4 (1978), pp. 327–345, here p. 338. Cited in ibid. The link between the clefts of the rock and Christ’s wounds was made already by Gregory the Great: Super Cantica Canticorum Expositio. Cap. II, in: J-P. Migne (ed.): Sancti Gregorii Papaei Cognomento Magni, Opera Omnia. Paris 1849 (Patrologia Latina; vol. 79), p. 499. Bynum 2010 (as in note 37), p. 106; Matter 1990 (as in note 39), p. 138. Richard Rolle: English Writings of Richard Rolle, Hermit of Hampole, Oxford 1931, p. 35.
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in several instances.47 The use of the image of the soul as a dove nestling in the wounds of Christ the Rock in such works is an indication of the influence the commentary of the Song of Songs had upon other types of Christian literature.48 It is not surprising, then, to find this well established image in Margery Kempe’s text, where she depicts the intense emotional experience she endured at the place of the Crucifixion in Jerusalem: She had as true contemplation in the sight of her soul as if Christ had hung before her bodily eye in his manhood […] I was granted to this creature to behold so truly his precious tender body all rent and torn with scourges, more full of wounds than a dove-cote ever was of holes.49
In this description, Margery uses the image of the dove in the clefts of the rock to visualize the crucified body of Christ at the actual place of the Crucifixion in Jerusalem – on the Rock of Golgotha itself. As opposed to Paula who stood before the cross on the summit of the naked rock, and adored it “as if she could see the Lord hanging on it,”50 for Margery, the allegorical image of Bernard in situ was sufficient to produce the vision of the human body of Christ. Margery’s vision culminates in her actual touch of the rock upon which she stood: “then she fell down and cried with a loud voice, twisting and turning her body amazingly on every side, spreading her arms out wide as if she would have died”.51 We see that the association between the clefts of the rock and the wounds of Christ was also reconstructed in the actual place of the crucifixion – on the Rock of Golgotha. This is not surprising if one considers that in the course of the twelfth century, Christ’s wounded body was also related to another figure of a pierced rock: the stone smitten by Moses in the desert (Exodus, 17: 1–8; Numbers, 20: 1–13). Christian exegetes explained that the water gushing from the rock in the desert prefigured the blood and water gushing from Christ’s 47
48
49 50 51
See for example in the following quotation: “Go in, go in, my soul, into the right side of the crucified Lord! Enter through that Glorious wound into the most loving Heart of Jesus, Pierced with the lance for love of thee that so in the cleft of that rock thou mayest take refuge from the tempest of the world”. Thomas à Kempis, Prayers and Meditations on the Life of Christ, W. Duthoit (ed. and trans.), London 1908, p. 182. Compare pp. 115, 278. See Matter 1990 (as in note 39), p. 138. For further texts which make use of this image, see Bynum 2010 (as in note 37), p. 106. For the late medieval form that this image took in the notion of the heart as a house, see Jeffrey F Hamburger: Nuns as Artists. The Visual Culture of a Medieval Convent, Berkeley 1997, pp. 137–175. Margery Kempe: The Book of Margery Kempe, trans. by B.A. Windeatt, Harmondsworth 1985, pp. 104–105. Paula (as in note 15). Margery Kempe (as in note 49), pp. 104–105. Naoë Kukita Yoshikawa suggested that this graphic description of Margery Kempe was inspired by Richard Rolle’s image, see Naoë Kukita Yoshikawa: Margery Kempe’s Meditations. The Context of Medieval Devotional Literature, Liturgy, and Iconography, Cardiff 2007, p. 51.
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wound during the Crucifixion.52 Once again we find the comparison between the Rock and the Body (as well as between the liquid that gushes from the rock and the liquid that flows from the body of Christ). Though this analogy appears already in the literature of the Fathers, it is only in the twelfth century that we find a visual translation of this typology.53 It is important to note that the Latin wording of the Vulgate, in foraminibus petrae, is the same wording used by Pilgrims to depict the hole of the Cross. Thus, according to the Franciscan monk Niccolò of Poggibonsi (1346–1350): “where was fixed the holy Cross of Christ there is a marble slab, four and a half feet long, and it is pierced (ed è forata), and there is the hole where was planted the holy Cross: and in the said hole one puts one’s hand and arm, that is for devotion”.54 Felix Fabri names the hole in the rock where the Cross was fixed foramen crucis.55 Hence the Latin wording makes a much closer link between the biblical image of the clefts of the rock (in foraminibus petrae) and the actual hole in the Rock of Golgotha (foramen crucis) than the English semantics imply. Taking all this into consideration I suggest that during the Middle Ages the Rock of Golgotha, the actual place of the Crucifixion in Jerusalem, was treated as an extension of the body of Christ. The pierced and rent rock, which was marked with the traces of the blood of Christ and with a sweet smell – both among the most important properties of the Flesh of Christ – was associated with the rent body of Christ through the image of the dove nestling in the clefts of the rock. In entering the rock, pilgrims followed the prototypical figures of Moses entering the clefts of the rock to see God (Exodus, 33:21–22), 52
53
54
55
See for example Cyprian (3rd century): “If they (the Jews) shall thirst […] He shall lead them through the deserts, shall bring forth water for them out of the rock; the rock shall be cloven, and the water shall flow, and my people shall drink; which is fulfilled in the Gospel, when Christ, who is the Rock, is cloven by a stroke of the spear in His passion”. Cyprian: The Epistle to Caecilius, on the Sacrament of the Cup of the Lord, in: Philip Schaff (ed.): Fathers of the Third Century: Hippolytus, Cyprian, Caius, Novatian, Edinburgh 1885 (Christian Classics Ethereal Library; vol. 5), p. 873. For additional references see Margaret Jensen Robin: Understanding early Christian art, New York 2000, p. 87 and footnote 50. According to the Glossa ordinaria, the spring that gushed from the rock is the water and the blood that flowed from the side of Christ when pierced by the centurion’s lance. This typology is visualized in the 12th century window in the church of Le Mans, showing the Crucifixion in the center, with Moses striking the rock next to it, see Emile Mâle: Religious Art in France of the Thirteenth Century, Mineola 2000, p. 143. The same typology is found in the Biblia Pauperum where the scenes of the Crucifixion and Moses striking the Rock are juxtaposed. Fra Niccolo da Poggibonsi: Libro d’Oltramare, ed. by Alberto Bacchi della Lega, Bologna 1881, p. 81. English translation by T. Bellorini and E. Hoade: Niccolo da Poggibonsi: A Voyage beyond the Seas, 1346–1350, Jerusalem 1945, p. 19. Felix Fabri: Evagatorium in Terrae Sanctae, Arabiae et Aegypti peregrinationem (as in note 35), vol. II, p. 299. Compare Theoderich (as in note 32), p. 155: “foramen profundum et adeo latum”.
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and Thomas who refused to believe in the Resurrection unless he inserted his fingers into the wounds of Christ (John, 20). This way, the medieval spiritual aspiration to enter the wounds of Christ could be fulfilled in the rock of the Crucifixion.
Illustration credits Fig. 1, 3, 4: author; Fig. 2: Ousterhout 2001 (as in note 4), pp. 133–150, here: p. 141; Fig. 5: Ousterhout 1989 (as in note 10), pp. 66–78, here p. 68; Fig. 6: Bernhard von Breidenbach, Peregrinatio in terram sanctam, 1486; Fig. 7: Jean Zuallart, Il devotissimo viaggio di Gerusalemme, 1595, p. 203.
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Fig. 1: Jerusalem, Church of All Nations, Gethsemane: the Rock of Agony.
Fig. 2: Istanbul, Zeyrek Camii (former Pantokrator monastery): the setting for the Stone of the Unction.
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Fig. 3: Jerusalem, Cathedral of St James, Armenian quarter (Mount Zion): a window with three stones (a stone from Mount Sinai, a stone from Mount Tabor and a stone from the Jordan River).
Fig. 4: Jerusalem, Church of the Ascension, Mount of Olives: the Stone of the Ascension.
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Fig. 5: Jerusalem, Church of the Holy Sepulchre, reconstructed plan of fourth century complex.
Fig. 6: Stairs leading up to Calvary as shown in the illustration of the southern façade of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, woodcut by Erhard Reuwich, 1483/4 (taken from Bernhard von Breidenbach ‘Peregrinatio in terram sanctam’).
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Fig. 7: The upper chapel of Calvary and the lower chapel of Adam, woodcut, 1595 (taken from Jean Zuallart, ‘Il devotissimo viaggio di Gerusalemme’).
