The Ivory Workers of the Middle Ages

by Anna Maria Elizabeth Cust

The scenes from Joseph’s life are more deeply carved than the others, the figures are wonderfully characterized, the oriental faces of the Egyptians are framed in long plaits, like the Egyptian hair dressing on the monuments, which is even now to be seen on the Upper Nile. All these reliefs are a curious mixture of close observation of nature and servile imitations of classical types. The woman present at the sale of Joseph, holds her hand in her veil like many a stately figure in Roman art, but the meeting of Joseph with his old father is quite modern in its emotional force, the old man tremblingly totters forward into the arms of his stalwart young son, and one cannot help feeling irritated at the bystanders’ conventional gestures as they gaze on such a touching scene. Jacob’s wild distress ([Fig. 13]) is terribly realistic, and the contrasted stony despair of the bereaved Rachel is most dramatic. Rachel appears in other presentments of this subject, but the Bible narrative mentions her death some time before.

The provenance of this great monument is a very thorny question,[12] many writers notice the strongly marked oriental characteristics, and some infer that it was imported from Alexandria, which then had a flourishing school of artists and craftsmen. St. Maximian certainly visited Alexandria before he was made bishop, and he may afterwards have ordered the Throne to be made there, or brought over Alexandrian workmen. There is every reason to believe the story that the Emperor Heraklius brought over a carved ivory throne from Alexandria in the beginning of the next century. The difficulty of adopting this Alexandrian theory lies in the existence of an Italo-Byzantine school in Italy, which is proved by the number of pyxes and book covers, which seem to show nearly every step between the old Latin and the almost entirely Byzantine art of the Ravenna Throne. Of course many of these may have been influenced by the carvings on the Throne, but many are undoubtedly of earlier date. Any way, with the acceptance or rejection of this theory stands or falls the European origin of several other most important ivories: first and most important, the much-discussed Berlin diptych, representing on one leaf Christ as a middle-aged man, very similar in type to the John Baptist ([Fig. 12]), and on the others the Virgin, attended by wingless angels; Schmirnoff, by close examination of the border, which has been partially cut away, believes he has discovered the remains of a monogram similar to that on the front panel of the Throne. Also the plaque with the Baptism of Christ, in the British Museum, the Tongres diptych, the “Bateman” diptych, and one or two others which are closely related in style.

Reference was made to an ivory throne brought from Alexandria to Constantinople by Heraklius (610-641). This throne was ultimately placed in the Cathedral at Grado, and the legend grew up that it was actually the episcopal throne of St. Mark, who was the first Bishop of Alexandria.

In the Castello at Milan there are a series of five plaques dealing with the subject of St. Mark’s mission to Alexandria and Cyrene, as told in the Acts of St. Mark; there is every probability that they belonged to the throne of St. Mark in Grado, which appears to have been more or less perfect in the sixteenth century, but is reported by a later writer to be entirely stripped of its decoration. The Milan reliefs are of a very distinctive technique, the drapery being marked by rib-like folds, usually in couples, and the type of face is refined, though over elaborated. They are earlier than the time of Heraklius, and probably date from the sixth century.

Three scattered plaques are unmistakably connected with this series; St. Peter dictating the Gospel of St. Mark, with a winged figure behind, in the Victoria and Albert Museum; The Raising of Lazarus in the British Museum, and The Annunciation, in the Trivulzio Collection at Milan. The two last are more delicately carved, but the striking similarities of pose and drapery, and the same violent perspective of the architecture, make it almost certain that they are from the same atelier, if not by the hand of the same craftsman.

Two ivories of a totally different style seem to belong to the next century, but their dates are still a matter of doubt. One is a plaque in the Treasury of Trèves Cathedral, deeply undercut and full of little figures and details. Westwood says it represents the arrival of the Holy Coat to that very Cathedral.[13] The relic is in a casket held by two ecclesiastics, who sit in a gorgeous car drawn by a pair of horses. The procession is led by the Emperor Constantine and received at the church doors by his mother, Helena, who holds a cross in memorial of her journey to Jerusalem to fetch the True Cross. In the background is the Porta Nigra, and the nave of a basilica showing an apse.

Unfortunately, there is no proof of this attractive theory, though the building in the background does resemble the Porta Nigra (still existing at Trèves) and the basilica there has a very similar apse; but all Roman architecture imperfectly depicted looks much alike, every basilica has an apse, and it is not recorded how long the ivory has been in the Treasury at Trèves. Thus we must be reconciled to call it by an indeterminate name. It is certainly Byzantine, and most probably about the seventh century.

If possible there is still greater uncertainty about the second ivory, which is also of an architectural character and has lately been acquired by the Louvre authorities. It is without doubt Byzantine, and represents the conventional type of St. Paul, preaching to a distinguished and eager crowd. The relief of the ivory is very deep, and there is a certain boldness in the treatment of the mass of the crowd, also the city which towers over head, is of a very real structure and seems intended for some actual city.

Comparing the round arched buildings with the types of architecture on the sixth and seventh century mosaics, Molinier and Saglio attribute this ivory to the same period, but Schlumberger cannot believe it to be more ancient than the tenth century. The deep red colour is the remnant of the purple stain, which was probably still further enriched by gilding.

With few exceptions, it has been the common practice to colour ivories as well as statues, and though much at variance with our modern taste (which is founded on a mistaken appreciation of the tint of marble from which the colour has faded), it must have greatly enhanced the effect, especially in the smaller objects which enter almost into the province of bijouterie.