The Ivory Workers of the Middle Ages

by Anna Maria Elizabeth Cust

In the eighth century the iconoclastic[14] troubles commenced; the movement was at first one of real reform, the charge of idolatry which had been brought against the Greek Christians by their Mahometan neighbours was not without foundation, but unfortunately the love of images was deeply rooted in the heart of the people, who transferred to these little pictures and images the same homage they had paid to their local protecting deities in pagan times.

A powerful party, always a minority, gained the ear of the Emperor Leo III., the Isaurian (717-741), a man of low birth, who had raised himself to his high station by sheer merit on the field of battle, and though he has been bitterly abused by his enemies, he appears to have been quite above the average of imperial character, which, it must be confessed, did not reach an overpoweringly high level.

This man, having subdued his country’s enemies in the East, turned his active mind to the annihilation of the unhappy artists and all their works. At first his measures were moderate, the removing of pictures out of reach of the lips of the worshippers; but superstition was so deeply rooted that an abortive revolt broke out, instigated by the monks, who, besides being the most strenuous advocates for images, were also the chief manufacturers.

This rebellion was easily suppressed, but it provoked severer measures, an edict was promulgated that all images were to be destroyed, and the painted walls of the churches to be covered with plaster. All opposition was punished by a rapid crescendo of penalties, by imprisonment, mutilation and excommunication. More revolts followed, Leo became still more angry, and the next thing we read of is the destruction by fire of the great Library of Constantinople, guards and all, by order of the Emperor. The guards were not a matter of importance, as a violent death one way or other was of small moment in those most unpleasant times; but the manuscripts were an irreparable loss, almost as terrible as the burning of the Alexandrian Library by the Mahometans, only a hundred years before, and for the same unreasonable reason.

These struggles continued, with less or more violence, for nearly 150 years; the choleric Leo was succeeded by his still more violent son, Constantine V. who, according to the opposite party (which contained all the chroniclers), was closely related to the Evil One, but he certainly had great energy, and was probably not so black as he was painted. He continued the work of his father with great vigour, and, it must be added, considerable cruelty.

Sometimes there was comparative calm, as when the Empress Irene seized the reins of government from her unhappy son, Constantine VI., in 797, and issued an edict of tolerance. She was a wonderful woman, and lived in imperial state for many years, against all law, human and divine; for she was many bad things, besides being a woman, and as such, debarred from government. Among her schemes was an alliance with Charlemagne, to whom she offered her hand; the offer was not accepted, and soon after she was exiled to Lesbos by another usurper, who, being a violent iconoclast, immediately restored all the oppressive laws. With delightful readiness the ecclesiastical General Councils promulgated decrees for, or against, the cult of images, according to the taste of the ruling power.

Theophilus, the last of the iconoclastic emperors, was a great builder of churches and palaces, and none of the iconoclasts went to the length of forbidding the introduction of the human form, and reducing decoration to geometrical motives and scroll work, as is the case of Arabian art.

Theophilus was succeeded by his widow, the Empress Theodora, who governing in the name of her infant son Michael III., promptly reversed all the edicts of her husband and his predecessors, and endeared herself to the Greeks, by the restoration of their beloved images, and the final defeat of the iconoclastic party, which was accomplished about 842.

Though there was a sensible difference after this movement, still it is easy to exaggerate its influence on Byzantine art. The edicts of the Emperor were not always carried out to the letter, except, perhaps, in the capital city, and even there the smaller objects were secreted, and women, always conservative, clung to their lares and penates, keeping up the old observances as much as possible. Many an obstinate monk took pride and pleasure in setting the law at defiance, carving little diptychs with the decoration on the inner side, so that they could be folded together and slipped away in safety.