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from Trois Primitifs
by J.-K. Huysmans
Translated by Robert Baldick
Phaidon Press Ltd., 1958
MATTHIAS GRÜNEWALD, the painter of the Cassel Crucifixion which I described in Là-bas and which is now in the Karlsruhe Museum, has fascinated me for many years. Whence did he come, what was his life, where and how did he die? Nobody knows for certain; his very name has been disputed, and the relevant documents are lacking; the pictures now accepted as his work were formerly attributed in turn to Albrecht Dürer, Martin Schongauer and Hans Baldung Grien, while others which he never painted are conceded to him by countless handbooks and museum catalogues...
It is not to Mainz, Aschaffenburg, Eisenach, or even to Isenheim, whose monastery is dead, that we must go to find Grünewald's works, but to Colmar, where the master displays his genius in a magnificent ensemble, a polyptych composed of nine pieces.
There, in the old Unterlinden convent, he seizes on you the moment you go in and promptly strikes you dumb with the fearsome nightmare of a Calvary. It is as if a typhoon of art had been let loose and was sweeping you away, and you need a few minutes to recover from the impact, to surmount the impression of awful horror made by the huge crucified Christ dominating the nave of this museum, which is installed in the old disaffected chapel of the convent.
The scene is arranged as follows:
In the centre of the picture a gigantic Christ, of disproportionate size if compared with the figures grouped around him, is nailed to a cross which has been roughly trimmed so that patches of bare wood are exposed here and there; the transverse branch, dragged down by the hands, is bent as in the Karlsruhe Crucifixion into the shape of a bow. The body looks much the same in the two works: pale and shiny, dotted with spots of blood, and bristling like a chestnut-burr with splinters that the rods have left in the wounds; at the ends of the unnaturally long arms the hands twist convulsively and claw the air; the knees are turned in so that the bulbous knee-caps almost touch; while the feet, nailed one on top of the other, are just a jumbled heap of muscles underneath rotting, discoloured flesh and blue toe-nails; as for the head, it lolls on the bulging, sack-like chest patterned with stripes by the cage of the ribs. This crucified Christ would be a faithful replica of the one at Karlsruhe if the facial expression were not entirely different. Here, in fact, Jesus no longer wears the fearful rictus of tetanus; the jaw is no longer contracted, but hangs loosely, with open mouth and slavering lips.
Christ is less frightening here, but more humanly vulgar, more obviously dead. In the Karlsruhe panel the terrifying effect of the trismus, of the strident laugh, served to conceal the brutishness of the features, now accentuated by this imbecile slackness of the mouth. The Man-God of Colmar is nothing but a common thief who has met his end on the gallows.
That is not the only difference to be noted between the two works, for here the grouping of the figures is also dissimilar. At Karlsruhe the Virgin stands, as usual, on one side of the cross and St. John on the other; at Colmar the traditional arrangement is flouted, and the astonishing visionary that was Grünewald asserts himself, at once ingenious and ingenuous, a barbarian and a theologian, unique among religious painters.
On the right of the cross there are three figures: the Virgin, St. John and Magdalen. St. John, looking rather like an old German student with his peaky, clean-shaven face and his fair hair falling in long, dry wisps over a red robe, is holding in his arms a quite extraordinary Virgin, clad and coifed in white, who has fallen into a swoon, her face white as a sheet, her eyes shut, her lips parted to reveal her teeth. Her features are fine and delicate, and entirely modern; if it were not for the dark green dress which can be glimpsed close to the tighdy clenched hands, you might take her for a dead nun; she is pitiable and charming, young and beautiful. Kneeling in front of her is a little woman who is leaning back with her hands clasped together and raised towards Christ. This oldish, fair-haired creature, wearing a pink dress with a myrtle-green lining, her face cut in half below the eyes by a veil on a level with the nose, is Magdalen. She is ugly and ungainly, but so obviously inconsolable that she grips your heart and moves it to compassion.
On the other side of the picture, to the left of the cross, there stands a tall, strange figure with a shock of sandy hair cut straight across the forehead, limpid eyes, a shaggy beard, and bare arms, legs and feet, holding an open book in one hand and pointing to Christ with the other.
This tough old soldier from Franconia, with his camel-hair fleece showing under a loosely draped cloak and a belt tied in a big knot, is St. John the Baptist. He has risen from the dead, and in order to explain the emphatic, dogmatic gesture of the long, curling forefinger pointed at the Redeemer, the following inscription has been set beside his arm: Illum oportet crescere, me autem minui. 'He must increase, but I must decrease.'
He who decreased to make way for the Messiah, who in turn died to ensure the predominance of the Word in the world, is alive here, while He who was alive when he was defunct, is dead. It seems as if, in coming to life again, he is foreshadowing the triumph of the Resurrection, and that after proclaiming the Nativity before Jesus was born on earth, he is now proclaiming that Christ is born in Heaven, and heralding Easter. He has come back to bear witness to the accomplishment of the prophecies, to reveal the truth of the Scriptures; he has come back to ratify, as it were, the exactness of those words of his which will later be recorded in the Gospel of that other St. John whose place he has taken on the left of Calvary--St. John the Apostle, who does not listen to him now, who does not even see him, so engrossed is he with the Mother of Christ, as if numbed and paralysed by the manchineel of sorrow that is the cross.
So, alone in the midst of the sobbing and the awful spasms of the sacrifice, this witness of the past and the future, standing stolidly upright, neither weeps nor laments: he certifies and promulgates, impassive and resolute. And at his feet is the Lamb of the World that he baptized, carrying a cross, with a stream of blood pouring into a chalice from its wounded breast.
Thus arranged, the figures stand out against a background of gathering darkness. Behind the gibbet, which is planted on a river bank, there flows a stream of sadness, swift-moving yet the colour of stagnant water; and the somewhat theatrical presentation of the drama seems justified, so completely does it harmonize with this dismal setting, this gloom which is more than twilight but not yet night. Repelled by the sombre hues of the background, the eye inevitably turns from the glossy fleshtints of the Redeemer, whose enormous proportions no longer hold the attention, and fastens instead upon the dazzling whiteness of the Virgin's cloak, which, seconded by the vermilion of the apostle's clothes, attracts notice at the expense of the other parts, and almost makes Mary the principal figure in the work.
That would spoil the whole picture, but the balance, about to be upset in favour of the group on the right, is maintained by the unexpected gesture of the Precursor, who in his turn seizes your attention, only to direct it towards the Son.
One might almost say that, coming to this Calvary, one goes from right to left before arriving at the centre.
This is undoubtedly what the artist intended, as is the effect produced by the disproportion between the various figures, for Grünewald is a master of pictorial equilibrium and in his other works keeps everything in proportion. When he exaggerated the stature of his Christ he was trying to create a striking impression of profound suffering and great strength; similarly he made this figure more than usually remarkable in order to keep it in the foreground and prevent it from being completely eclipsed by the great patch of white that is the Virgin.
As for her, it is easy to see why he gave her such prominence, easy to understand his predilection for her--because never before had he succeeded in painting a Madonna of such divine loveliness, such super-human sorrow. Indeed, it is astonishing that she should appear at all in the rebarbative work of this artist, so completely does she differ from the type of individual he has chosen to represent God and his saints.
His Jesus is a thief, his St. John a social outcast, his Precursor a common soldier. Even assuming that they are nothing more than German peasants, she is obviously of very different extraction; she is a queen who has taken the veil, a marvellous orchid growing among weeds.
Anyone who has seen both pictures--the one at Karlsruhe and the one at Colmar--will agree that there is a clear distinction between them. The Karlsruhe Calvary is better balanced and there is no danger of one's attention wandering from the principal subject. It is also less trivial, more awe-inspiring. You have only to compare the hideous rictus of its Christ and the possibly more plebeian but certainly less degraded face of its St. John with the coma of the Colmar Christ and the world-weary grimace of the disciple for the Karlsruhe panel to appear less conjectural, more penetrating, more effective, and, in its apparent simplicity, more powerful; on the other hand, it lacks the exquisite white Virgin and it is more conventional, less novel and unexpected. The Colmar Crucifixion introduces a new element into a scene treated in the same stereotyped fashion by every other painter; it dispenses with the old moulds and discards the traditional patterns. On reflexion, it seems to be the more imposing and profound of the two works, but it must be admitted that introducing the Precursor into the tragedy of Golgotha is more the idea of a theologian and a mystic than of an artist; here it is quite likely that there was some sort of collaboration between the painter and the purchaser, a commission described in the minutest detail by Guido Guersi, the Abbot of Isenheim, in whose chapel this picture was placed.
That, incidentally, was still the normal procedure long after the Middle Ages. All the archives of the period show that when contracting with image-carvers and painters--who regarded themselves as nothing more than craftsmen--the bishops or monks used to draw a plan of the proposed work, often even indicating the number of figures to be included and explaining their significance; there was accordingly only limited scope for the artist's own initiative, as he had to work to order within strictly defined bounds.
But to return to the picture, it takes up the whole of two wood panels which, in closing, cut one of Christ's arms in two, and, when closed, bring the two groups together. The back of the picture (for it has two faces on either side) has a separate scene on each panel: a Resurrection on one and an Annunciation on the other. Let me say straight away that the latter is bad, so that we can have done with it.
The scene is an oratory, where a book painted with deceptive realism lies open to reveal the prophecy of Isaiah, whose distorted figure, topped with a turban, is floating about in a corner of the picture, near the ceiling; on her knees in front of the book we see a fair-haired, puffy-faced woman, with a complexion reddened by the cooking-stove, pouting somewhat peevishly at a great lout with a no less ruddy complexion who is pointing two extremely long fingers at her in a truly comical attitude of reproach. It must be admitted that the Precursor's solemn gesture in the Crucifixion is utterly ridiculous in this unhappy imitation, where the two fingers are extended in what looks like insolent derision. As for the curly-wigged fellow himself, with that coarse, fat, red face you would take him for a grocer rather than an angel, if it were not for the sceptre he is holding in one hand and the green-and-red wings stuck to his back. And one can but wonder how the artist who created the little white Virgin could possibly represent Our Lord's Mother in the guise of this disagreeable slut with a smirk on her swollen lips, all rigged up in her Sunday best, a rich green dress set off by a bright vermilion lining.
But if this wing leaves you with a rather painful impression, the other one sends you into raptures, for it is a truly magnificent work--unique, I would say, among the world's paintings. In it Grünewald shows himself to be the boldest painter who has ever lived, the first artist who has tried to convey, through the wretched colours of this earth, a vision of the Godhead in abeyance on the cross and then renewed, visible to the naked eye, on rising from the tomb. With him we are, mystically speaking, in at the death, contemplating an art with its back to the wall and forced further into the beyond, this time, than any theologian could have instructed the artist to go. The scene is as follows:
As the sepulchre opens, some drunks in helmet and armour are knocked head over heels to lie sprawling in the foreground, sword in hand; one of them turns a somersault further off, behind the tomb, and lands on his head, while Christ surges upwards, stretching out his arms and displaying the bloody commas on his hands.
This is a strong and handsome Christ, fair-haired and brown-eyed, with nothing in common with the Goliath whom we watched decomposing a moment ago, fastened by nails to the still green wood of a gibbet. All round this soaring body are rays emanating from it which have begun to blur its outline; already the contours of the face are fluctuating, the features hazing over, the hair dissolving into a halo of melting gold. The light spreads out in immense curves ranging from bright yellow to purple, and finally shading off little by little into a pale blue which in turn merges with the dark blue of the night.
We witness here the revival of a Godhead ablaze with life: the formation of a glorified body gradually escaping from the carnal shell, which is disappearing in an apotheosis of flames of which it is itself the source and seat.
Christ, completely transfigured, rises aloft in smiling majesty; and one is tempted to regard the enormous halo which encircles him, shining brilliantly in the starry night like that star of the Magi in whose smaller orb Grünewald's contemporaries used to place the infant Jesus when painting the Bethlehem story--one is tempted to regard this halo as the morning star returning, like the Precursor in the Crucifixion, at night: as the Christmas star grown larger since its birth in the sky, like the Messiah's body since his Nativity on earth.
Having dared to attempt this tour de force, Grünewald has carried it out with wonderful skill. In clothing the Saviour he has tried to render the changing colours of the fabrics as they are volatilized with Christ. Thus the scarlet robe turns a bright yellow, the closer it gets to the light--source of the head and neck, while the material grows lighter, becoming almost diaphanous in this river of gold. As for the white shroud which Jesus is carrying off with him, it reminds one of those Japanese fabrics which by subtle gradations change from one colour to another, for as it rises it takes on a lilac tint first of all, then becomes pure violet, and finally, like the last blue circle of the nimbus, merges into the indigo-black of the night.
The triumphant nature of this ascension is admirably conveyed. For once the apparently meaningless phrase 'the contemplative life of painting' takes on a meaning, for with Grünewald we enter into the domain of the most exalted mysticism and glimpse, through the simulacra of colour and line, the well-nigh tangible emergence of the Godhead from its physical shell.
It is here, rather than in his horrific Calvaries, that the undeniable originality of this prodigious artist is to be seen.
This Crucifixion and this Resurrection are obviously the Colmar Museum's brightest jewels, but the amazing colourist that was Grünewald did not exhaust the resources of his art with these two pictures; we shall find more of his work, this time stranger yet less exalted, in another double-faced diptych which also stands in the middle of the old nave.
It depicts, on one side the Nativity and a concert of angels, on the other a visit from the Patriarch of the Cenobites to St. Paul the Hermit, and the temptation of St. Anthony.
In point of fact, this Nativity, which is rather an exaltation of the divine Motherhood, is one with the concert of angels, as is shown by the utensils, which overlap from one wing to the other and are cut in two when the panels are brought together.
The subject of this dual painting is admittedly obscure. In the left-hand wing the Virgin is seen against a distant, bluish landscape dominated by a monastery on a hill--doubtless Isenheim Abbey; on her left, beside a crib, a tub and a pot, a fig-tree is growing, and a rose-tree on her right. Fair-haired, with a florid complexion, thick lips, a high, bare brow and a straight nose, she is wearing a blue cloak over a carmine-coloured dress. She is not the servant-girl type, and has not come straight from the sheep-pen like her sister in the Annunciation, but for all that she is still just an honest German woman bred on beer and sausages: a farmer's wife, if you like, with servant-girls under her who look like the Mary of that other picture, but nothing more. As for the Child, who is very lifelike and very skilfully portrayed, he is a sturdy little Swabian peasant, with a snub nose, sharp eyes, and a pink, smiling face. And finally, in the sky above Jesus and Mary and below God the Father, who is smothered in clouds of orange and gold, swarms of angels are whirling about like scattered petals caught in a shower of saffron sunbeams.
All these figures are completely earthbound, and the artist seems to have realized this, for there is a radiance emanating from the Child's head and lighting up the Mother's fingers and face. Grünewald obviously wanted to convey the idea of divinity by means of these gleams of light filtering through the flesh, but this time he was not bold enough to achieve the desired effect: the luminous glow fails to conceal either the vulgarity of the face or the coarseness of the features.
So far, in any event, the subject is clear enough, but the same cannot be said of the complementary scene on the right-hand wing.
Here, in an ultra-Gothic chapel, with gold-scumbled pinnacles bristling with sinuous statues of prophets nestling among chicory, hop, knapweed and holly leaves, on top of slender pillars entwined by plants with singularly jagged leaves and twisted stems, are angels of every description, some in human form and others appearing simply as heads fitted into haloes shaped like funeral wreaths or collarettes: angels with pink or blue faces, angels with multicoloured or monochrome wings, angels playing the angelot or the theorbo or the viola d'amore, and all of them, like the pasty-faced, unhealthy-looking one in the foreground, gazing in adoration at the great Virgin in the other wing.
The effect is decidedly odd, but even odder is the appearance, beside these pure spirits and between two of the slender columns in the chapel, of another, smaller Virgin, this time crowned with a diadem of red-hot iron, who, her face suffused with a golden halo, her eyes cast down and her hands joined in prayer, is kneeling before the other Virgin and the Child.
What is the significance of this strange creature, who evokes the same weird impression as the girl with the cock and the money-pouch in Rembrandt's Night Watch--a girl likewise nimbed with a gentle radiance? Is this phantom queen a diminutive St. Anne or some other saint? She looks just like a Madonna, and a Madonna is what she must be. In painting her Grünewald has clearly tried to reproduce the light effect which blurs the features of Christ in his Resurrection, but it is difficult to see why he should do so here. It may be, of course, that he wanted to represent the Virgin, crowned after her Assumption, returning to earth with her angelic retinue to pay homage to that Motherhood which was her supreme glory; or, on the other hand, she may still be in this world, foreseeing the celebration of her triumph after her painful life among us. But this last hypothesis is promptly demolished by Mary's unheeding attitude, for she appears to be completely unaware of the presence of the winged musicians, and intent only on amusing the Child. In fact, these are all unsupported theories, and it would be simpler to admit that we just do not understand. I need only add that these two pictures are painted in loud colours which are sometimes positively shrill to make it clear that this faery spectacle presented in a crazy Gothic setting leaves one feeling vaguely uncomfortable.
As a refreshing contrast, however, one can always linger in front of the panel showing St. Anthony talking with St. Paul; it is the only restful picture in the whole series, and one is already so accustomed to the vehemence of the others that one is almost tempted to find it too unexciting, to consider it too anodyne.
In a rural setting that is all bright blue and moss green, the two recluses are sitting face to face: St. Anthony curiously attired, for a man who has just crossed the desert, in a pearl-grey cloak, a blue robe and a pink cap; St. Paul dressed in his famous robe of palms, which has here become a mere robe of rushes, with a doe at his feet and the traditional raven flying through the trees to bring him the usual hermit's meal of a loaf of bread.
In this picture the colouring is quiet and delicate, the composition superb: the subject may have put a certain restraint upon Grünewald, but he has lost none of the qualities which make him a great painter. To anyone who prefers the cordial, expected welcome of a pleasing picture to the uncertainties of a visit to some more turbulent work of art, this wing will undoubtedly seem the nicest, soundest and sanest of them all. It constitutes a halt in the man's mad gallop--but only a brief halt, for he sets off again almost at once, and in the next wing we find him giving free rein to his fancy, caracolling along dangerous paths, and sounding a full fanfare of colours--as violent and tempestuous as he was in his other works.
The Temptation of St. Anthony must have given him enormous pleasure, for this picture of a demons' sabbath waging war on the good monk called for the most convulsive attitudes, the most extravagant forms and the most vehement colours. Nor was he slow to grasp this opportunity of exploiting the droller side of the supernatural. But if there is extraordinary life and colour in the Temptation, there is also utter confusion. Indeed, the picture is in such a tangle that it is impossible to distinguish between the limbs of the various devils, and one would be hard put to it to say which paw or wing beating or scratching the Saint belonged to which animal or bird.
The frantic hurly-burly in which these creatures are taking part is none the less captivating for that. It is true that Grünewald cannot match the ingenious variety and the very orderly disorder of a Bruegel or a Hieronymus Bosch, and that there is nothing here to compare with the diversity of clearly delineated and discreetly insane larvae which you find in the Fall of the Angels in the Brussels Museum: our painter has a more restricted fancy, a more limited imagination. He gives us a few demons' heads stuck with stags' antlers or straight horns, a shark's maw, and what appears to be the muzzle of a walrus or a calf; the rest of his superall belong to the bird family, and with arms in place of feet look like the offspring of empuses that have been covered by angry cocks.
All these escapees from an infernal aviary are clustered excitedly around the anchorite, who has been thrown on his back and is being dragged along by his hair. Looking rather like a Dutch version of Father Becker with his flowing beard, St. Anthony is screaming with fear, trying to protect his face with one hand, and in the other clutching his stick and his rosary, which are being pecked at furiously by a hen wearing a carapace in lieu of feathers. The monstrous creatures are all closing in for the kill; a sort of giant parrot, with a green head, crimson arms, yellow claws and grey-gold plumage, is on the point of clubbing the monk, while another demon is pulling off his grey cloak and chewing it up, and yet others are joining in, swinging rib-bones and frantically tearing his clothes to get at him.
Considered simply as a man, St. Anthony is wonderfully lifelike in gesture and expression; and once you have taken your fill of the whole dizzy scramble, you may notice two thought-provoking details which you overlooked at first, hidden as they seem to be in the bottom corners. One, in the right-hand corner, is a sheet of paper on which a few lines are written; the other is a weird, hooded creature, sitting quite naked beside the Saint, and writhing in agony.
The paper bears this inscription: Ubi eras Jhesu bone, ubi eras, quare non affuisti ut sanares vulnera mea?--which can be translated as: 'Where were you, good Jesus, where were you? And why did you not come and dress my wounds?'
This plaint, doubtless uttered by the hermit in his distress, is heard and answered, for if you look right at the top of the picture you will see a legion of angels coming down to release the captive and overpower the demons.
It may be asked whether this desperate appeal is not also being made by the monster lying in the opposite corner of the picture and raising his weary head heavenwards. And is this creature a larva or a man? Whatever it may be, one thing is certain: no painter has ever gone so far in the representation of putrefaction, nor does any medical textbook contain a more frightening illustration of skin disease. This bloated body, moulded in greasy white soap mottled with blue, and mamillated with boils and carbuncles, is the hosanna of gangrene, the song of triumph of decay!
Was Grünewald's intention to depict a demon in its most despicable form? I think not. On careful examination the figure in question is seen to be a decomposing, suffering human being. And if it is recalled that this picture, like the others, comes from the Anthonite Abbey of Isenheim, everything becomes clear. A brief account of the aims of this Order will, I think, suffice to explain the riddle. The Anthonite or Anthonine Order was founded in the Dauphiné in 1093 by a nobleman called Gaston whose son was cured of the burning sickness through the intercession of St. Anthony; its raison d'être was the care of people suffering from this type of disease. Placed under the Rule of St. Augustine, the Order spread rapidly across France and Germany, and became so popular in the latter country that during Grünewald's lifetime, in 1502, the Emperor Maximilian I granted it, as a mark of esteem, the right to bear the Imperial arms on its escutcheon, together with the blue tau which the monks themselves were to wear on their black habit.
Now there was at that time an Anthonite abbey at Isenheim which had already stood there for over a century. The burning sickness was still rife, so that the monastery was in fact a hospital. We know too that it was the Abbot of Isenheim, or rather, to use the terminology of this Order, the Preceptor, Guido Guersi, who commissioned this polyptych from Grünewald.
It is now easy to understand the inclusion of St. Anthony in this series of paintings. It is also easy to understand the terrifying realism and meticulous accuracy of Grünewald's Christ-figures, which he obviously modelled on the corpses in the hospital mortuary; the proof is that Dr. Richet, examining his Crucifixions from the medical point of view, states that 'attention to detail is carried to the point of indicating the inflammatory halo which develops around minor wounds'. Above all, it is easy to understand the picture--painted from life in the hospital ward--of that hideous, agonized figure in the Temptation, which is neither a larva nor a demon, but simply a poor wretch suffering from the burning sickness.
It should be added that the written descriptions of this scourge which have come down to us correspond in every respect with Grünewald's pictorial description, so that any doctor who wants to know what form this happily extinct disease took can go and study the sores and the affected tissues shown in the painting at Colmar.
Two doctors have given their attention to this figure: Charcot and Richet. The former, in Les Syphilitiques dans l'art, sees it above all as a picture of the so--called 'Neapolitan disease'; the latter, in L'Art et la Médecine, hesitates between a disease of that type and leprosy.
The burning sickness, also known as holy fire, hell fire and St. Anthony's fire, first appeared in Europe in the tenth century, and swept the whole continent. It partook of both gangrenous ergotism and the plague, showing itself in the form of apostems and abscesses, gradually spreading to the arms and legs, and after burning them up, detaching them little by little from the torso. That at least is how it was described in the fifteenth century by the biographers of St. Lydwine, who was afflicted with the disease. Dom Félibien likewise mentions it in his History of Paris, where he says of the epidemic which ravaged France in the twelfth century: 'The victims' blood was affected by a poisonous inflammation which consumed the whole body, producing tumours which developed into incurable ulcers and caused thousands of deaths.'
What is certain is that not a single remedy proved successful in checking the disease, and that often it was cured only by the intercession of the Virgin and the saints.
The Virgin's intervention is still commemorated by the shrine of Notre-Dame des Ardents in Picardy, and there is a well-known cult of the holy candle of Arras. As for the saints, apart from St. Anthony, people invoked St. Martin, who had saved the lives of a number of victims gathered together in a church dedicated to him; prayers were also said to St. Israel, Canon of Le Dorat, to St. Gilbert, Bishop of Meaux, and finally to Geneviève. This was because, one day in the reign of Louis the Fat when her shrine was being carried in solemn procession around the Cathedral of Paris, she cured a crowd of people afflicted with the disease who had taken refuge in the basilica, and this miracle caused such a stir that, in order to preserve the memory of it, a church was built in the same city under the invocation of Sainte-Geneviève des Ardents; it no longer exists, but the Parisian Breviary still celebrates the Saint's feast-day under that name.
But to return to Grünewald, who, I repeat, has clearly left us a truthful picture of a victim of this type of gangrene, the Colmar Museum also contains a predella Entombment, with a livid Christ speckled with flecks of blood, a hard-faced St. John with pale ochre-coloured hair, a heavily veiled Virgin and a Magdalen disfigured by tears. However, this predella is merely a feeble echo of Grünewald's great Crucifixions: it would be astounding, seen on its own in a collection of canvases by other painters, but here it is not even astonishing.
Mention must be made as well of two rectangular wings: one depicting a little bandy-legged St. Sebastian larded with arrows; the other--a panel cited by Sandrart--St. Anthony holding the Tau, the crozier of his Order--a St. Anthony so solemn and so thoughtful that he can even ignore the demon busily breaking window-panes behind him. And that brings us to the end of our review of this master-painter's works. You take leave of him spellbound for ever. And if you look for his origins you will look in vain, for none of the painters who preceded him or who were his contemporaries resembles him.
One can perhaps discern a certain foreign influence in Grünewald's work; as Goutzwiller points out in his booklet on the Colmar Museum, it is possible to see a reminiscence or a vague imitation of the contemporary Italian landscape manner in the way in which he plans his settings and sprinkles his skies with blue. Had he travelled in Italy, or had he seen pictures by Italian masters in Germany--perhaps at Isenheim itself, since the Preceptor Guido Guersi, to judge by his name, hailed from beyond the Alps? No one knows; but in any event, the very existence of this influence is open to question. It is, in fact, by no means certain that this man who anticipates modern painting, reminding one sometimes of Renoir with his acid colours and of the Japanese with his skilful nuances, did not arrange his landscapes without benefit of memories or copies, painting them from nature as he found them in the countryside of Thuringia or Swabia; for he could easily have seen the bright bluish backcloth of his Nativity in those parts. Nor do I share Goutzwiller's opinion that there is an unmistakable 'Italian touch' in the inclusion of a cluster of palm-trees in the picture of the two anchorites. The introduction of this type of tree into an Oriental landscape is so natural and so clearly called for by the subject that it does not imply any outside suggestion or influence. In any event, if Grünewald did know the work of foreign artists, it is surprising that he should have confined himself to borrowing their method of arranging and depicting skies and woods, while refraining from copying their technique of composition and their way of painting Jesus and the Virgin, the angels and the saints.
His landscapes, I repeat, are definitely German, as is proved by certain details. These may strike many people as having been invented to create an effect, to add a note of pathos to the drama of Calvary, yet in fact they are strictly accurate. This is certainly true of the bloody soil in which the Karlsruhe cross is planted, and which is no product of the imagination. Grünewald did much of his painting in Thuringia, where the earth, saturated with iron oxide, is red; I myself have seen it sodden with rain and looking like the mud of a slaughter-house, a swamp of blood.
As for his human figures, they are all typically German, and he owes just as little to Italian art when it comes to the arrangement of dress fabrics. These he has really woven himself, and they are so distinctive that they would be sufficient in themselves to identify his pictures among those of all other painters. With him we are far removed from the little puffs, the sharp elbows and the short frills of the Primitives; he drapes his clothes magnificently in flowing movements and long folds, using materials that are closely woven and deeply dyed. In the Karlsruhe Crucifixion they have something about them suggestive of bark ripped from a tree: the same harsh quality as the picture itself. At Colmar this impression is not so pronounced, but they still reveal the multiplicity of layers, the slight stiffness of texture, the ridges and the hollows which are the hallmark of Grünewald's work; this is particularly true of Christ's loincloth and St. John the Baptist's cloak.
Here again he is nobody's pupil, and we have no alternative but to put him down in the history of painting as an exceptional artist, a barbarian of genius who bawls out coloured prayers in an original dialect, an outlandish tongue.
His tempestuous soul goes from one extreme to another, restless and storm-tossed even during moments of deliberate repose; but just as it is deeply moving when meditating on the episodes of the Passion, so it is erratic and well-nigh baroque when reflecting on the joys of the Nativity. The truth is that it simpers and stammers when there is no torturing to be done, for Gruenwald is the painter of tombs rather than cribs, and he can only depict the Virgin successfully when he makes her suffer. Otherwise he sees her as red-faced and vulgar, and there is such a difference between his Madonnas of the sorrowful mysteries and his Madonnas of the joyful mysteries that one wonders whether he was not following an aesthetic system, a scheme of intentional antitheses.
It is, indeed, quite likely that he decided that the quality of divine Motherhood would only come out clearly under the stress of the suffering endured at the foot of the cross. This theory would certainly fit in with the one he adopted whenever he wished to glorify the divine nature of the Son, for he always painted the living Christ as the Psalmist and Isaiah pictured him--as the poorest and ugliest of men--and only restored his divine appearance to him after his Passion and death. In other words, Grünewald made the ugliness of the crucified Messiah the symbol of all the sins of the world which Christ took upon himself, thus illustrating a doctrine which was expounded by Tertullian, St. Cyprian, St. Cyril, St. Justin and countless others, and which was current for a good part of the Middle Ages.
He may also have been the victim of a technique which Rembrandt was to use after him: the technique of suggesting the idea of divinity by means of the light emanating from the very face that is supposed to represent it. Admirable in his Resurrection of Christ, this secretion of light is less convincing when he applies it to the little Virgin in the Angelic Concert and completely ineffective when he uses it to portray the fundamentally vulgar Child in the Nativity.
He probably placed too much reliance on these devices, crediting them with an efficacy they could not possess. It should, indeed, be noted that, if the light spinning like an artificial sun around the risen Christ suggests to us a vision of a divine world, it is because Christ's face lends itself to that idea by its gentle beauty. It strengthens rather than weakens the significance and effect of that huge halo, which in turn softens and enhances the features, veiling them in a mist of gold.
Such is the complete Grünewald polyptych in the Colmar Museum. I do not intend to deal here with those paintings attributed to him which are scattered among other art-galleries and churches, and which for the most part are not his work. I shall also pass over the Munich St. Erasmus and St. Maurice, which, if it must be accepted as his work, is cold and uncharacteristic; I shall even set aside the Fall of Jesus, which like the famous Crucifixion has been transferred from Cassel to Karlsruhe, and which is undoubtedly genuine. It shows a blue-clad Christ on his knees, dragging his cross, in the midst of a group of soldiers dressed in red and executioners dressed in white with pistachio stripes. He is gritting his teeth and digging his fingernails into the wood, but his expression is less of suffering than of anger, and he looks like a damned soul. This, in short, is a bad Grünewald.
Confining myself therefore to the brilliant, awe-inspiring flower of his art, the Karlsruhe Crucifixion and the nine pieces at Colmar, I find that his work can only be defined by coupling together contradictory terms.
The man is, in fact, a mass of paradoxes and contrasts. This Orlando furioso of painting is forever leaping from one extravagance to another, but when necessary the frenzied demoniac turns into a highly skilled artist who is up to every trick of the trade. Though he loves nothing better than a startling clash of colours, he can also display, when in good form, an extremely delicate sense of light and shade--his Resurrection is proof of that--and he knows how to combine the most hostile hues by gently coaxing them together with adroit chromatic diplomacy.
He is at once naturalistic and mystical, savage and sophisticated, ingenuous and deceitful. One might say that he personifies the fierce and pettifogging spirit of the Germany of his time, a Germany excited by the ideas of the Reformation. Was he involved, like Cranach and Dürer, in that emotional religious movement which was to end in the most austere coldness of the heart, once the Protestant swamp had frozen over? I cannot say-- though he certainly lacks nothing of the harsh fervour and vulgar faith which characterized the illusory springtide of the early sixteenth century. For me, however, he personifies still more the religious piety of the sick and the poor. That awful Christ who hung dying over the altar of the Isenheim hospital would seem to have been made in the image of the ergotics who prayed to him; they must surely have found consolation in the thought that this God they invoked had suffered the same torments as themselves, and had become flesh in a form as repulsive as their own; and they must have felt less forsaken, less contemptible. It is easy to see why Grünewald's name, unlike the names of Holbein, Cranach and Dürer, is not to be found in the account-books or the records of commissions left by emperors and princes. His pestiferous Christ would have offended the taste of the courts; he could only be understood by the sick, the unhappy and the monks, by the suffering members of Christ.
Mega Spileo monastery
"One of the most important and wonderful places of Greek Orthodoxy in Peloponnese is the Holy Monastery of Mega Spileo (Grand Cave) which is located under the shadow of great rock at 940 m height. The Monastery was established in 4th century by two monks. During its history it was destroyed five times by fires, Turks and in the last one in 1943 by German invaders. The name of the Monastery derivates from rocky complex of Chelmos mountain on which it is built above. Today, the renovated 8 floors built in rock monastery is rising on the mountains amazing the visitors."
Source: www.https//:megaspileo.gr/en
Sumela Monastery, founded in honour of the Virgin Mary, stands 300 metres high overlooking the Altindere Valley near Trabzon in Eastern Turkey. The monastery was founded in the 4th century AD, but reached its current form in the 13th century.
October 2019
St Barnabas' Monastery and Museum, Famagusta, Cyprus
Saint Barnabas Monastery & Museum
The Monastery of St. Barnabas is at the opposite side of the Salamis-Famagusta road, by the Royal Tombs. You can easily tell it by its two fairly large domes. It was built to commemorate the foremost saint of Cyprus, whose life was so intertwined with the spread of the Christian message in the years immediately following the death of Christ.
Barnabas was a native of the ancient city Salamis, and was a Jew, though his family had been settled for some time in Cyprus. His real name was in fact Joses, or Joseph; Barnabas was the name given to him by the early Christian apostles because he was recognised as `a son of Prophecy', or as Luke puts it `a son of consolation'. There is no contradiction here. Luke is merely emphasising that one of the great historic functions of prophecy was to console the believer and keep him in the faith.
He was reputed to be an inspired teacher of Christianity, but more than that he played a very great role in the development of early Christianity. He was also the man to acknowledge that Paul's conversion to Christianity was absolutely sincere, and above all he recognised the genius of Paul, whom he introduced to the Christian fellowship in Jerusalem. When Barnabas was later sent to Antioch to supervise the work of the early Church there, he had Paul as his assistant. Later still, of course, he undertook his great missionary journey with Paul, visiting among other places, his own country of Cyprus.
Finally, of course, we know certainly that Paul and Barnabas had a strong diffrence of opinion about Barnabas' nephew, John Mark, and the two friends parted company. Paul wrote later that the rift was healed but by that time Barnabas was probably already back in Cyprus.
The monastery which bears Barnabas' name was originally built in the last part of the fifth century, to commemorate the discovery of his body, and the dignity and the seniority it brought to the early Christian Church of Cyprus. Parts of the early building have been preserved in the more recent churh which was built by Archbishop Philotheos in 1756. The money for the purchase of the land on which the monastery was built, is supposed to have been provided by the Byzantine Emperor at the time Barnabas' body was found.
When you look carefully at the church you will notice the traces of the original fifth century building and also places it seems to have been enlarged and changed, probably in the very late mediaeval period. But in the main it is fairly conventional Greek Orthodox architecture of the eighteen century.
On one of the walls, the story of how Barnabas' body was shown to the Archbishop in a dream, is rendered in small pictures. These were done in the present century, but some of the icons and statues are a good deal older.
On another wall, somewhat incongruously, hang wax replicas of limbs in a gesture of gratitude for the ailing limbs which the Apostle Barnabas is supposed to have miraculously cured. Close by, the image of st. Heraklion stares at you from every angle you choose. All these items, ancient and modern have been very well looked after and are shown with great oride by the curator of the church.
The marble columns supporting the domes are conspicuous and rather spectacular. It is impossible to be certain, but these may well have come from Salamis. In one sense, the little rock tomb in which Barnabas is supposed to have been found gives the authentic flavour of the Christian evangelist and martyr much more effectively.
The church of St Barnabas is exactly as it was when its last three monks left it in 1976. The church apparatus ; pulpits, wooden lectern, and pews are still in place. It houses a rich collection of painted and gilt icons mostly dating from the 18th century.
The carved blocks and capital blocks in the garden and cloister courtyard come from Salamis. The black basalt grinding mill come from Enkomi.
The cloister of the monastery have recently been restored and at present serve as the archaeological museum. This section houses an exquisite collection of ancient pottery displayed chronologically, representing the changes in morphology and decoration of pottery in Cyprus from the Neolithic to the Roman times. The rest of the collection covers bronze and marble art objects.
Sumela Monastery, founded in honour of the Virgin Mary, stands 300 metres high overlooking the Altindere Valley near Trabzon in Eastern Turkey. The monastery was founded in the 4th century AD, but reached its current form in the 13th century.
Jvari Monastery stands on the rocky mountaintop at the confluence of the Mtkvari and Aragvi rivers, overlooking the town of Mtskheta, which was formerly the capital of the Kingdom of Iberia.
According to traditional accounts, on this location in the early 4th century Saint Nino, a female evangelist, comming from Cappadocia (Turkey) credited with converting King Mirian III of Iberia to Christianity, erected a large wooden cross on the site of a pagan temple. The cross was reportedly able to work miracles and therefore drew pilgrims from all over the Caucasus. A small church was erected over the remnants of the wooden cross in c.545 named the "Small Church of Jvari".
The present building, or "Great Church of Jvari", is generally held to have been built between 590 and 605 by Erismtavari Stepanoz I.
Deurmotief. Granaatappel staat voor vruchtbaarheid, druiven symbool voor het bloed van Christus en het kruis, symbool van de Kristenen.
We hadden het geluk om een namiddagdienst bij te wonen. Priesters werken en studeren ter plaatse. Voor de lokale en heel devote bevolking is er steeds een priester in de dichte nabijheid.
The monastery of Tatev (Armenian : Տաթեվ, Russian: Татев) - established in 895 - is located in the Tatev village. The term "Tatev" usually refers to the monastery. The monastery always performed an important role in the history of the region, becoming its political, spiritual and cultural center.
The Monastery of Saint Ivan of Rila, better known as the Rila Monastery is the largest and most famous Eastern Orthodox monastery in Bulgaria. It is situated in the southwestern Rila Mountains, 117 km (73 mi) south of the capital Sofia in the deep valley of the Rilska River at an elevation of 1,147 m (3,763 ft) above sea level, inside of the Rila Monastery Nature Park. The monastery is named after its founder, the hermit Ivan of Rila (876 - 946 AD).
North Macedonia.
Lake Ohrid.
The Monastery of Saint Naum (Macedonian: Манастир „Свети Наум“) is an Eastern Orthodox monastery in North Macedonia, named after the medieval Bulgarian writer and enlightener Saint Naum who founded it. It is situated along Lake Ohrid, 29 kilometres (18 mi) south of the city of Ohrid, within the boundary of the village of Ljubaništa.
The Lake Ohrid area, including St Naum, is one of the most popular tourist destinations in North Macedonia.
The monastery was established in the Bulgarian Empire in 905 by St Naum of Ohrid himself. St Naum is also buried in the church.
Since the 16th century, a Greek school had functioned in the monastery. The monastery had close ties with the printing house of Moscopole, a former prosperous Aromanian city now in Albania. The area where the monastery of St Naum lies belonged to Albania for a short period from 1912 until June 28, 1925, when Zog of Albania ceded it to Yugoslavia as a result of negotiations between Albania and Yugoslavia and as a gesture of goodwill.
The last monastery in Bukovina we visited. We got there just before a large group of tourists arrived, so for a few minutes at least if was very peaceful.
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The Songzanlin Monastery was built between 1681 and 1697 as a copy of the Potala Palace in Lhasa. It is one of the biggest Monastery of Tibetan Buddhism in the Yunan province.
Arrábida Monastery, Arrábida, Portugal
This Monastery was built in the 16 th century and consists of the Old Monastery (located on the uppermost part of the hillside), the New Monastery (halfway down), the Garden and the Bom Jesus Shrine, set in the property’s 25 hectares. In addition, there are the adjacent but separate quarters of the Duke of Aveiro and the houses where the pilgrims stayed.
The Monastery was founded in 1542 by Brother Martinho da Santa Maria, a Castillan Franciscan.
Wall paintings.
Stakna Monastery.
Stakna Gompa of Ladakh is situated on the right bank of the Indus River, at a distance of approximately 25 km from the town of Leh. The name, 'Stakna' literally means 'tiger's nose'. The monastery was so named because it was built on a hill, which is shaped just like a tiger's nose.
Stakna Monastery of Leh Ladakh owes its inception to Chosje Jamyang Palkar, the great scholar saint of Bhutan. It formed a part of the many religious estates offered by the Dharmaraja Jamyang Namgial to the saint, around 1580 AD.
The central image inside the monastery is that of the sacred Arya Avalokitesvara from Kamrup (Assam). Stakna belongs to the Dugpa order and serves as the residence of approximately 30 monks. The successive reincarnations of the Stakna Tulku continue to serve as the incumbents of the monastery, preserving the teachings of the Dugpa order. Stakna Gompa also has a number of monasteries attached to it, namely Mud and Kharu and those of Stakrimo, Bardan and Sani in Zanskar.
On entering the central courtyard, one comes across the Dukhang (main assembly hall). The head lama got seven feet high, silver gilted chorten erected inside the Dukhang, in the 1950s. The chorten comprises of a statue of the Buddha as well as numerous Buddhist texts. The left wall of the Dukhang is adorned with three new paintings, those of the Tsephakmad (a Buddhist deity), Sakyamni (the Historical Buddha) and Amchi (the Medical Buddha).
The wall opposite to the Dukhang entrance is also painted with three images, those of a Bodhisattva, Padma Sambhava (8th century Indian Buddhist scholar and translator of Buddhist texts into Tibetan) and Tshong-san-gompo (an early king of Tibet). To the right of the hall are the statues of Sakyamuni (Past Buddha), the Present Buddha and Maitreya (Future Buddha). And, the throne of the head lama of Stakna lies on the left side of the Dukhang
Maulbronn Monastery was founded in 1147. The church, built in a style transitional from Romanesque to Gothic, was consecrated in 1178. Most other buildings followed within the 13th century. The complex is believed to be one of the the best-preserved medieval Cistercian monastery complex north of the Alpes (some claim "in Europe"). Since 1993 Maulbronn is part of the Unesco World Heritage.
After the consecration, the construction of the abbey continued. Around 1200 the narthex was added and the cloister was started. Some buildings are done in a really remarkable architectural, early gothic style. The person, who built that must have had experiences from Northern France and Burgundy. With all the cistercian connections, it was probably easy to find a medieval "top architect". His name is not known. The name given to him by art historians is "Meister des Maulbronner Paradieses" (Master of Maulbronn Paradise).
He created not only the narthex ("Paradies"), but as well parts of the cloister and the refectorium. After completing his job in Maulbronn he turned northeast. His typical works can be found as well in Halberstadt and in Magdeburg, but here is, where he started his career in Germany..
Within the cloister, it is visible, where "Meister des Maulbronner Paradieses" planned and built, as there (near the church) is a very early gothic style. Walking from there the style of the arches changes to high gothic.
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Just a connecting alley between the cloister and the "Infirmatorium", where the sick members of the convent were kept and cared for. This may have been used as well as a chapel and parlatory. The Gothic style reticulated vaulting is just incredible. It looks like a geometrical function.
Po Lin Monastery is a Buddhist monastery, located on Ngong Ping Plateau, on Lantau Island, in Ngong Ping, Hong Kong.
The Ngong Ping 360, consisting of the Ngong Ping village and a gondola lift running between Tung Chung and Ngong Ping, was built near to the Po Lin Monastery.The monastery has boasting many prominent architectural structures, such as the Main Shrine Hall of Buddha, the Hall of Bodhisattva Skanda.
The monastery was founded in 1906 by three Zen masters of Jin Shan Monastery of Zhenjiang, Jiangsu Province in China who had travelled south to Lantau Island to spread the Buddhist doctrine. The monastery was originally simply a stone thatched house without a name (Sometimes referred to as "The Big Hut") but as more and more monks gathered there a large hut was built to accommodate them. At the invitation of the three Zen masters, Monk Jixiu of Jin Shan Monastery became the first abbot in 1924 changed the name of the hut to “Po Lin Monastery”, Po Lin meaning “Precious Lotus”.
One of the monastery's former abbots was the eminent monk Venerable Fat Hot (1893-1972), who was appointed in 1930 and expanded the monastery greatly. In December 1941, when Hong Kong was under Japanese occupation and the monastery was desperately short of food, Venerable Fat Hot travelled to Guangzhou to publicise Buddhism and beg for alms and during this time founded the Hong Kong Buddhist Association and established a charitable school and Buddhist hospital. He resigned as abbot in 1952 but resumed the post again one year later. Venerable Fat Hot died in 1972 and is buried in the mountain at the back of the monastery. Since then, the monastery has further and been a major draw for tourists and locals since its main hall opened in 1972.
Construction of the Tian Tan Buddha statue, which was completed in 1993 and the opening of the Ngong Ping 360 cable car system and Ngong Ping Village in 2006 have made it one of Hong Kong's busiest attractions and a further major expansion, due for completion in 2014, has been under way since 2007. The monastery is currently home to about 100 monks and nuns.
The main temple houses three bronze statues of the Buddha – representing his past, present and future lives – as well as many Buddhist scriptures.
The area consists of the Po Lin Monastery main temple, Po Lin Monastery interiorTian Tan Buddha, a giant Buddha statue completed in 1993, is an extension of the monastery.
This monastery is also famous for making wooden bracelets that are only sold near the Tian Tan Buddha statue.
Canon EOS 5D, 24-70L
2013
_MG_2762
Rizong Monastery (Ladakh).
Ladakh at a height of 9,800 feet surrounded by the Himalayas and Karakoram Range houses incredible monasteries in its folds. On your tour to Ladakh you can spot monks in maroon robes silently plodding their ways to the monasteries. Rizong Monastery is situated at a distance of about 73 kilometers from the Leh town. Founded by the great Lama, Tsultim Nima in the year 1831, the Rizong Monastery belongs to the Gelukpa order. Monasteries, which are the centers of worship for the monks, are also great seats of learning. Where 40 monks reside, Rizong Monastery educates monks who have chosen the path to God as their goal on life. Strict rules are adhered to and monks follow a daily course of life following the Buddhist principles and learning the scriptures and texts. A number of shrines are located within the premises of the Rizdong Monastery and a rich collection of scriptures, texts and biographies of great Lamas like Tsultim Nima are preserved here. Books composed by first Sras Rinpoche are also kept here.
Germany 2017 - Maulbronn Monastery (German: Kloster Maulbronn) is a former Roman Catholic Cistercian Abbey and Protestant seminary located at Maulbronn in the German state of Baden-Württemberg.[2] The 850 year old, mostly Romanesque monastery complex, one of the best preserved examples of its kind in Europe,[3] is one of the very first buildings in Germany to use the Gothic style.[4] In 1993, the abbey was declared a UNESCO World Heritage The complex, surrounded by turreted walls and a tower gate, today houses the Maulbronn
Under the auspices of the abbot Bernard of Clairvaux, the Cistercians began major expansion into southern Germany. A knight named Walter von Lomersheim became very enthused in the spread of this order of monks and donated a stretch of land between to the Cistercian order. So it was that, in 1147, the monastery was founded by 12 monks who traveled from Alsace.[2] The main church, built in a style transitional from Romanesque to Gothic, was consecrated in 1178 by Arnold, Bishop of Speyer. A number of other buildings — infirmary, refectory, cellar, auditorium, porch, south cloister, hall, another refectory, forge, inn, cooperage, mill, and chapel — followed in the course of the 13th century. The west, east and north cloisters date back to the 14th century, as do most fortifications and the fountain house or lavatorium.
After the Reformation began in the year 1517, Ulrich, Duke of Württemberg, seized the monastery in 1504,[dubious – discuss] later building his hunting lodge and stables there. The monastery was pillaged repeatedly: first by the knights under Franz von Sickingen in 1519, then again during the German Peasants' War six years later. In 1534, Duke Ulrich secularised the monastery, but the Cistercians regained control — and Imperial recognition — under Charles V's Augsburg Interim. In 1556, Christoph, Duke of Württemberg, built a Protestant seminary, with Valentin Vannius becoming the first abbot two years later, odd, because the Reformation banned religious orders and abbots; Johannes Kepler studied there 1586–89.
In 1630, the abbey was returned to the Cistercians by force of arms, with Christoph Schaller von Sennheim becoming abbot. This restoration was short-lived, however, as Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden forced the monks to leave again two years later, with a Protestant abbot returning in 1633; the seminary reopened the following year, however the Cistercians under Schaller also returned in 1634. Under the Peace of Westphalia, in 1648, the confession of the monastery was settled in favour of Protestantism; with abbot Buchinger withdrawing in process. A Protestant abbacy was re-established in 1651, with the seminary reopening five years later. In 1692, the seminarians were removed to safety when Ezéchiel du Mas, Comte de Mélac, torched the school, which remained closed for a decade.
The monastery was secularised by Frederick I, King of Württemberg, in the course of the German Mediatisation in 1807, forever removing its political quasi-independence; the seminary merged with that of Bebenhausen the following year, now known as the Evangelical Seminaries of Maulbronn and Blaubeuren.
The monastery, which features prominently in Hermann Hesse's novel Beneath the Wheel, was inscribed on the World Heritage List in 1993. The justification for the inscription was as follows: "The Maulbronn complex is the most complete survival of a Cistercian monastic establishment in Europe, in particular because of the survival of its extensive water-management system of reservoirs and channels". Hesse himself attended the seminary before fleeing in 1891 after a suicide attempt, and a failed attempt to save Hesse from his personal religious crisis by a well-known theologian and faith healer.[6]
To represent Baden-Württemberg, an image of the Abbey appears on the obverse of the German 2013 €2 commemorative coin.
Maulbronn Monastery was founded in 1147. The church, built in a style transitional from Romanesque to Gothic, was consecrated in 1178. Most other buildings followed within the 13th century. The complex is believed to be one of the the best-preserved medieval Cistercian monastery complex north of the Alpes (some claim "in Europe"). Since 1993 Maulbronn is part of the Unesco World Heritage.
After the consecration, the construction of the abbey continued. Around 1200 the narthex was added and the cloister was started. Some buildings are done in a really remarkable architectural, early gothic style. The person, who built that must have had experiences from Northern France and Burgundy. With all the cistercian connections, it was probably easy to find a medieval "top architect". His name is not known. The name given to him by art historians is "Meister des Maulbronner Paradieses" (Master of Maulbronn Paradise).
He created not only the narthex ("Paradies"), but as well parts of the cloister and the refectorium. After completing his job in Maulbronn he turned northeast. His typical works can be found as well in Halberstadt and in Magdeburg, but here is, where he started his career in Germany..
It is visible, where "Meister des Maulbronner Paradieses" planned and built the cloister, as there (near the church) is a very early gothic style. Walking around the cloister, the style of the arches changes to high gothic.
There is no Cistercian cloister without a fountain. The fountain is inside a gothic fountain house, that was built within the 14th century. The fountain is probably the most photographed piece of art in Maulbrunn.
Cozia Monastery - Romania
Cozia Monastery, erected close to Călimănești by Mircea cel Bătrân in 1388 and housing his tomb, is one of the most valuable monuments of national medieval art and architecture in Romania.
Cozia features a museum of exhibiting old art: old manuscripts and prints, embroideries and objects of worship.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cozia_Monastery
Interesting te read:
www.romanianmonasteries.org/other-monasteries/cozia-monas...
This church at Sucevița (Soo-che-veetsa) is renowned for this 'Ladder of Virtue', as well as for its 'Tree of Jesse'. It was built in 1585 by Ieremia Movilă (voivode of Moldavia, r 1595-May 1600, and Sept. 1600-1606), Gheorghe Movilă and Simion Movilă (prince of Wallachia r Nov. 1600-June 1601 and Oct. 1601-July 1602; and prince of Moldavia r July 1606 until his death in Sept. 1607). The church contains both Byzantine and Gothic elements, and some elements typical to other painted churches of northern Moldavia. Both interior and exterior walls were painted with murals in @ 1601 (wikipedia) in "brilliant reds and blues with an undercoat of emerald green." (RG)
- In this 'Ladder of Virtue' "flights of angels assist the righteous to paradise, while sinners fall through the rungs into the arms of a grinning demon. The message is reiterated in the 'Last Judgement' in the porch (reputedly left unfinished b/c the artist fell to his death from the scaffolding), where angels sound the trumpet and smite heathens with swords. Turks and Jews can be seen lamenting, and the devil gloats at the bottom-right." The Beast of the Apocalypse has 2 heads, and "angels pour rivers of fire and tread the grapes of wrath." (RG)
- "The 'Tree of Jesse' is a lush composition on a dark blue background. ... 'The Veil' represents Mary as a Byzantine empress beneath a red veil held by angels, while the 'Hymn to the Virgin' is illustrated with Italianate bldg.s and people in oriental dress. In a mural with ancient philosophers clad in Byzantine cloaks, Plato bears a coffin and a pile of bones on his head, in tribute to his meditations on life and death." In the narthex, "the lives of the saints end in burning, boiling, spit-roasting, dismemberment or decapitation - a gory catalogue relieved somewhat by images of rams, suns and other zodiacal symbols." (RG)
- Ieremia and Simion lie in marble tombs carved with floral motifs.
- There's a votive image of Doamna Elisabeta Movilă in the nave, princess consort of Moldavia by marriage to Ieremia and regent from 1607 to 1611 on behalf of her son Constantin I, and her son Alexandru from 1615 to 1616. Described as proud, ambitious and beautiful, she supported her husband against his brother Simion, and after his death her sons against their rivals, often with Polish military help. Political instability caused by the Moldavian succession crisis resulted in Ottoman attack in 1616. She and her sons led an army against the Turks, but were captured in battle and taken to Constantinople. Her sons were forced to convert, while she was held and later died in the sultan's harem, "by God's will" according to the chronicles. (Wikipedia) See her at the 1.25:00 min. pt. and see the frescoes in the opening credits in Neamul Șoimăreștilor, 'The Family of the Falcons' (1965) in this link. www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLSy4hzncK0 www.youtube.com/watch?v=ev61f8wclag
- The interior court of the ensemble (100 x 104 m.s2) is surrounded by 6 m. high, 3 m. thick white-washed walls with a tower at each corner. Sucevița had been a princely residence as well as a fortified monastery, and was a centre for the production of manuscripts, and then for printing. I climbed a hill behind the monastery to get a view of the compound from above.
- There's a museum today in what was once the council chamber, which displays tapestries, the tomb covers of Ieremia and Simion Movilă, illuminated manuscripts, etc. (I would've toured it, unless it wasn't open in 2000, I don't recall).
- I met western tourists rarely in my travels in Romania, even here at these world-famous, albeit remote, monasteries. I was here in April and May, not high season. But I recall an American couple that I met here at this church, the result of one of those May-Dec. 31st romances. twitter.com/beberexha/status/1454569430243938309 She was a lovely, gracious young blonde, quietly confident in how beautiful she was, but very religious. Her husband, a portly, much older man, was a preacher, Pentecostal or Baptist I think, who wore a very concerned or disapproving expression throughout the duration of my fairly brief discussion with his young wife (who wasn't being flirtatious in any way). He must have worn that expression often.
- From Sucevița I hitched or walked less than 10 clicks further up the 17A to the 2E and then north to the historic Putna (Poot-nah) monastery. Soon after I arrived and while touring @, I met and befriended a young monk (Putna's a home for monks, not nuns) whose English was quite good, and who showed me @ some. At one point, after supper, he and I and his friend, another monk with a long black beard in a black robe (all the monks are robed), briefly left the enclosed monastic complex just after dark to walk into the town of Putna to see the famous, ancient wooden church of Dragoș Vodă, aka 'Dragoș the Founder', said to be the oldest church in Moldavia (1346). Built by its namesake, the founder of Moldovia, it was relocated to Putna by Ștefan cel Mare out of harm's way in 1468, as the Turks were on the rampage at that time. www.flickr.com/photos/tudorseulean/2763165162 Again, it was late and I don't recall if it was open. The 2nd monk, my friend's friend, was stooping some as we were walking and was looking @ and back over his shoulder a fair bit. He said he hadn't seen that church before as he wasn't supposed to leave the compound where he'd been living as an initiate for at least a few years, and was a bit concerned that he might get caught. ! (But he and his friend were laughing too.) That moment was the first time he'd left the compound in @ 3 years! (See what a trippy trip I was having in Romania?)
- I slept at the monastery that night (again, as a 'pilgrim'), and the next morning before I left, my new, very kind and generous friend gave me a little bottle of Myrrh from Jerusalem to take with me, and which I still have and value today.
- "Putna Monastery lacks the external murals of the painted monasteries, but as the first of the great religious monuments of southern Bukovina and the burial place of Ștefan cel Mare (Stephen III, 'the Great'), it's rich in historical associations and is as important to Romanian patriots as to the Orthodox faithful. Following his conquest of the Kilia citadel, Stephen chose the site of the monastery by firing an arrow from the steep hill which now bears a white cross. Construction of the church began on July 10, 1466; it was completed w/in 3 yr.s, consecrated w/in 4 on Sept. 3, 1470, burnt down and rebuilt in 1484, 1536, [destroyed in 1653 by the Cossack army of Timuş Hmelniţchi, son-in-law of Prince Vasile Lupu, rebuilt again /b/ 1653 and 1662 by Vasile Lupu and co. {wikipedia}] and in 1691, ravaged by war 3 x in the 17th cent., repaired in the 18th, damaged by an earthquake and restored again in 1902 and from 1955 to 1988. The Treasury tower is the only bldg. surviving intact from Stephen's time. "The first superior was Archimandrite Ioasaf from Neamt, the first important monastic centre in Moldavia, who arrived accompanied by calligraphers, the first teachers of the new monastic school which followed the example of that in Neamţ", but which soon became one of the most significant cultural centres in the country. There's a bust of Romania's national poet Eminescu inside the entrance [which I don't recall]. He gave a speech here in Aug. 1871, "on the occasion of the monastery's quadricentennial.: "Let us make Putna the Jerusalem of the Romanian people, and let us also make Stephen's grave the altar of our national conscience." (RG)
- The church "is plain and strong, its facade defined by cable mouldings, [intricately carved stone tracery], blind arcades and trefoil windows." (RG) It "houses the tombs of Stephen the Great [which I'm sure I saw but don't recall] and of several of his family members, and is today a place of pilgrimage. The icon veils and tombstones are held as fine examples of Moldavian art in Stephen's time." (wikipedia)
- "Outside the church stand 3 bells, the largest of which, cast in 1484, was only used to herald events such as royal deaths, and was last rung in 1918, when it was heard as far away as Suceava [37 km.s away?]. Hidden from the communists for almost 50 yr.s, it only reappeared after the revolution of 1989." (RG)
- www.youtube.com/watch?v=XGjrXB2-mII
- The monastery has a museum which I would've toured but don't recall, which displays "one of the world's most impt. collections of 'Byzantine embroidery'" (RG), many icons, illuminated manuscripts, etc.
- This region's a great one for anyone who loves horses.: www.youtube.com/watch?v=px7YTLtuwI4
- From Putna monastery I walked or hitched up to the 2E and then hitched @ 40 clicks SE to the city of Suceava.
Cozia Monastery - Romania
Cozia Monastery, erected close to Călimănești by Mircea cel Bătrân in 1388 and housing his tomb, is one of the most valuable monuments of national medieval art and architecture in Romania.
Cozia features a museum of exhibiting old art: old manuscripts and prints, embroideries and objects of worship.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cozia_Monastery
Interesting te read:
www.romanianmonasteries.org/other-monasteries/cozia-monas...
The Govora Monastery is an active monastery of the Romanian Orthodox Church , which was of primary importance for the existence of Slavic writing in the Danubian Principalities in the pre- Enlightenment era.
The Chrysobull of September 27, 1485, is the oldest surviving written text attesting to the monastery's existence. This means it was built during the reign of Vlad Dracula . However, there is archaeological evidence that an older building from the time of Mircea the Old may have existed here .
The name of the monastery is not disputed even among Romanian linguists, and it means what is understood in Russian.
In 1637, Matei Basarab established the second printing press in the history of Wallachia in the monastery (after the one brought from Montenegro to Targovishte in the early 16th century ), which was brought from Kiev (a gift from Peter Mogila ). In 1640, the monks Miletiy Macedonian and Stefan Ohridski printed the " Rules of Dialogue " in the monastery printing house, which are actually the Kormchaya Kniga ( The Kormchaya Book ).
Current painting dates from the restoration of the church by abbot Paisie, late 17th or early 18th century.
source: ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%93%D0%BE%D0%B2%D0%BE%D1%80%D0%B0
This is the largest monastery at Sanchi. There are many other smaller monasteries in this place. All the others are worse than this though. This is the most well preserved one. Pretty good view the monks must have woken up to every day.
Sera Monastery (Tibetan: སེ་ར་, Wylie: Se-ra; Chinese: 色拉寺; pinyin: Sèlā Sì) is one of the 'great three' Gelukpa university monasteries of Tibet, located 1.25 miles (2.01 km) north of Lhasa. The other two are Ganden Monastery and Drepung Monastery. The origin of the name 'Sera' is attributed to a fact that the site where the monastery was built was surrounded by wild roses (se ra in Tibetan language) in bloom. The original Sera monastery is located in Lhasa, Tibet, about 5 kilometres (3.1 mi) north of the Jokang and is responsible for some 19 hermitages, including four nunneries, which are all located in the foot hills north of Lhasa. The Sera Monastery, as a complex of structures with the Great Assembly Hall and three colleges, was founded in 1419 by Jamchen Chojey of Sakya Yeshe of Zel Gungtang (1355–1435), a disciple of Tsongkhapa.
During the 1959 revolt in Lhasa, Sera monastery suffered severe damage, with its colleges destroyed and hundreds of monks killed. After the Dalai Lama took asylum in India, many of the monks of the Sera Monastery who survived the attack moved to Bylakuppe in Mysore, India. After initial tribulations, they established a parallel Sera Monastery with Sera Me and Sera Je colleges and a Great Assembly Hall on similar lines to the original monastery, with help from the Government of India. There are now 3,000 or more monks living in Sera, India and this community has also spread its missionary activities to several countries by establishing Dharma centres, propagating knowledge of Buddhism.
The Sera Monastery in Tibet and its counterpart in Mysore, India are noted for their "Monk Debates" on the teachings of Buddha and the philosophy of Buddhism. Sera Monastery developed over the centuries as a renowned place of scholarly learning, training hundreds of scholars, many of whom have attained fame in the Buddhist nations.