Fig. 406.—Jesus Christ descending into Hell, carrying with him the victorious Standard of the Cross and trampling under foot the spirit of Evil; the wall of separation reared by sin falls to the ground, and the saints of the Old Testament are set free.—Fresco by Simone di Martino, in the Church of Santa Maria Novella, Florence (Fourteenth Century). (For description, see text, p. [501.])
Fig. 407.—Mortuary Roll of the blessed Vital, founder of the Abbey of Savigny (in the diocese of Avranches), who died on the 16th of September, 1122; it measures twenty-nine feet nine inches in length by eight and a half inches in breadth. One of the words in this roll commences with a capital T, representing Death in the act of devouring men and animals, while he treads under foot the Cerberus of the pagans.—National Archives of France.
With respect to the corporations and brotherhoods, the usages varied in every district and in every town. Thus, for instance, when a member of the community of criers died, in Paris, all the others were present at his funeral in the dress of their order, the body being borne by four of his colleagues. Two others followed the coffin, one having a handsome goblet (hanap), the other a jar filled with wine. The remainder of the company walked in front, with little bells in their hands which they kept ringing as they went along. When they came to a cross-road the procession halted, and the coffin was placed upon trestles. The crier who carried the goblet held it out to be filled by the one who had the wine, and each of the four bearers took a draught. Any looker-on, or any one who happened to be passing, was asked to share in the libation. The obsequies of the ecclesiastical body have alone preserved down to our own day a remnant of the religious pomp with which they were conducted in the Middle Ages.
To form a correct idea of the pomp of these funeral rites, and of the strange fascination which caused to be maintained, in the heart of a city, cemeteries in which whole generations of the dead lay buried together, we must divest ourselves of the positivism of the present day, and revert to the poetic spiritualism of the Middle Ages, to the consoling mysticism which then prevailed. Faith at that time reigned supreme over men’s minds, and three articles of the Apostles’ Creed, “Christ died and was buried; he descended into hell; the third day he rose again from the dead,” diffused over the mystery of death an ineffable splendour.
Dante, theologian as well as poet, divides hell into successive zones, with the degree of punishment increasing in intensity as the circles become narrower. In the first he places “Limbo,” a happy resting-place for the good who have not been baptized. Virgil, his guide, tells him: “I had not long been here when I saw a mighty Being, crowned with all the tokens of victory, come down amongst us. He took back with him to the realms of bliss our first parent; Abel, his son; Noah; Moses, the faithful lawgiver; the patriarch Abraham; King David; Israel, his father and his children; Rachel, for whom Israel made so many sacrifices, and many others. And you must know that before them no man had been saved.”[14]
This imaginative idea was very much in accordance with the popular doctrine of the Middle Ages, based upon the teaching of the Church. Hell, or the infernal regions, was divided into four parts; the deepest, the abode of the damned; above that, Limbo, in which unbaptized children found a peaceful resting-place; the third region was Purgatory, or the place of expiation for the souls which, after having been purified by temporary punishment, are destined for Heaven; lastly, and nearest to the surface, came the Limbo of the elect, the temporary abode of the pious dead, from Abel to Christ. In this latter there was supposed to be no other punishment than that of expectant captivity. It was thither that the Redeemer descended, while his body was at rest beneath the stone of the sepulchre, awaiting the moment of His resurrection. The gracious Saviour hastened to gladden these beloved spirits with the news that his blood had washed out upon the cross the decree that had so long hung upon the children of Abraham, and that they would soon be permitted to follow Him to the skies, and at last enter into the heavenly Jerusalem.
The reader has before him the graceful composition in which the painter has transferred to canvas (Fig. 406) the poem attributed to Venancius Fortunatus, the Christian poet of the seventh century. The wall of separation reared by sin falls to the ground at the approach of the Saviour; the very doors which had held the elect captive serve as a bridge for them to cross the abyss, and the spirit of evil, trodden under foot by Jesus Christ, is convulsed with frenzy as he clutches in his grasp the once fatal but now useless key. The father of the human race rushes forward with respectful eagerness towards the new Adam, who bears the victorious standard of the cross; joy, love, and gratitude animate the majestic group of elect, amongst whom are to be distinguished Eve and St. Joseph upon their knees; while Abel, Noah, Moses, Aaron, David, Judas Maccabæus, St. John the Baptist, and others, are to be recognised either by their emblems or by their garb.
In the gloomy region hard by, whence flames are shooting up, the infernal spirits are trembling with wonder and awe. A figure in the shadow of an embrasure opening into purgatory, depicts the consolation and the relief which Christ’s visit imparts to those souls whose purification is accomplished.
That which the painter here typifies to the eye, the anniversary of Christ’s burial, in the last days of the Holy Week, was brought vividly to the Christian mind in each recurring year. When the long procession of the people and the clergy wended its way to the sepulchre as the resurrection morning drew nigh, a pious dialogue was exchanged between the chanters and the crowd. It was Fortunatus’ poem which furnished the faithful with the beautiful form in which they gave utterance to their sentiments of faith. Voices repeated:—