Art in the time of plague (2)

It is too early to really know how artists will respond to the COVID-19 pandemic. The images which are already circulating come mainly from street art, memes and the humorous re-working of iconic artworks. Some of the street art works are didactic, while others depict the response of the community. There are also images of the virus which make it look alternately exotic and beautiful or alien and dangerous. Perhaps art from earlier days will indicate what we might expect.

In her book, ‘Images of Plague and Pestilence – Iconography and Iconology’ Christine Boeckl suggests that ‘plague art’ from the time of the Black Death can be organized into three categories. The first group is symbolic and allegorical and includes the ‘memento mori’ images discussed in a previous post.  The second group comprises works which depict the devastation of the plague and have a didactic and/or polemical function, for example the Raimondi engraving.  And the third group includes votive commissions which show the suffering of Christ, the distress of the Virgin Mary and the images of saints including Sebastian, Roch and Charles Borromeo. The creation of votive (devotional) works was to invoke healers and intercessors to assure health, give thanks and avert epidemics and is the subject of today’s post.

During the time of the Black Death, the Church’s influence was pervasive.  There was no division between ‘Church and State’ – the Church was part of every element of the medieval infrastructure.  So, when the plague struck in 1347, it was completely natural that people would turn to the Church for guidance, answers, deliverance and comfort (just as we look to the medical experts today).

The initial approach by Church leaders was to understand the event as due to the ‘grievous sins of humanity’ and consequently to preach to the population about the need to adopt virtuous and righteous behaviour. There were numerous sermons on how God had sent the pestilence to teach humankind a lesson. A corollary of this was to appeal to God for forgiveness and mercy through prayer, devout processions and special Masses. Not surprisingly this did not make a difference.

The inability of the Church to prove effective was also demonstrated by noting the effect of the plague on the clergy. Initially clergymen were active in comforting dying parishioners, but it soon became obvious that all levels of the clergy were not immune, and their numbers decreased significantly. If the plague found its way into the monastery of an enclosed order (Benedictines or Cistercians) then it decimated the community.  The mendicant orders (Franciscans and Dominicans) were no less susceptible due to their contact with diseased people but were more highly regarded due to their community involvement.

With the loss of so much ‘clergypower’ to minister to the dying and to perform the last rites, there needed to be something that could ensure that people could still have a proper death. This led to the development of a manual, the ‘Ars Moriendi’, or ‘Art of Dying’. These manuals, in a concise format, informed the dying about what to expect, and prescribed prayers, actions, and attitudes that would lead to a ‘good death’ and salvation. To be as accessible as possible, most were printed as cheap booklets in Europe’s vernaculars or as illustrated single sheets with text reduced to rhyming couplets.

The ‘Ars Moriendi’ emerged from the Council of Constance in the early 15^th century and became one of the most popular genres in literature from 1480 to 1650 – effectively a guidebook for the dying and those attending them with or without a clerical presence. Originating in the traditional Christian deathbed sacrament of Last Rites it included communion, confession, anointing, and prayers. The growing literacy rates and increased comfort with expressions of popular lay piety by the later 15^th made these ‘handbooks’ indispensable.  More information about the illuminated versions can be found at: https://www.funeralguide.co.uk/blog/ars-moriendi.

Despite disillusionment with the Church, people did not lose their faith, and, in fact, many became more devout. For example, in Italy more than 50 religious holidays were celebrated in the immediate aftermath of the first wave of plague and these came about through popular acclamation rather than by official ecclesiastical pronouncement.

The Black Death also decimated the creative population with the loss of huge numbers of artisans, craftsmen, and artists. This meant that major architectural projects, for example the cathedral in Sienna, although started with grand intentions, would never be completed. (It has been suggested that the perpendicular style of church which was subsequently to become popular, resulted from the lack of skilled masons and sculptors – although the economic devastation of the plague almost certainly contributed).  However, there was a burst of construction in the form of small chantry chapels whose purpose was to serve as dedicated spaces where Masses would be sung for the souls of the departed.

As the clergy were unable to help those afflicted by plague, people turned to other intercessors for assistance.  In particular, they began to pray to specific saints and to the Virgin Mary for help and protection against the plague. Depictions of the plague saints – Sebastian and Roch – and the Virgin proliferated from about 1400 to the end of the pandemic. Sebastian, Roch and the Virgin Mary appeared as household icons, accompanying prayers on broadsheets, as stand-alone altarpieces and as ensembles with other saints pleading with Christ on humanity’s behalf.

Sebastian was a Christian martyr from the 3^rd century CE. A member of the Roman military, he challenged the pagan polytheistic Roman world and was imprisoned and then shot with arrows when he refused to renounce his Christian faith. Although he survived this attempted execution with the help of St Irene, he would be ‘properly executed’ by being beaten to death at the behest of the emperor, Diocletian, and his body thrown into a sewer.

Sebastian had gained his ‘visual attribute’ of the arrow at least a century before the Black Death but images of him changed from being a modestly clothed older man to being depicted as a youth stripped to a loincloth like his saviour. His association with the Black Death was due in part to his survival of the first execution attempt, his connection with the arrow-bearing and disease-inflicting Greek god, Apollo, and to being believed responsible for the end of an earlier epidemic in 680CE.

Roch was a more recent saint. Born into a religious and noble French family in the 13^th century, when his parents died, he gave away his possessions and went to Rome. In Rome found the city ‘in extremis’ due to illness and while there he helped the plague-stricken, contracted the plague himself, recovered with the help of his dog, and then died falsely imprisoned. By the end of the 14^th century, Roch was the most important intercessor saint whenever and wherever plague appeared.

Praying to the Virgin Mary for protection also increased substantially in the period during and following the plague. The status of the Virgin had been growing in prominence during the Medieval period. One of the reasons for this was that as the Church had increasingly emphasised the role of Christ as judge, the Virgin was seen as a ‘counterweight’ and she became the important compassionate intercessor.  One of the images of the Virgin Mary which became especially prominent at this time, particularly in Germany, was ‘the Pietà’. Previously images of the Virgin were primarily ‘narrative images’ and drawn from scenes described in the Gospels. In contrast, the Pietà is a devotional image arising as a product of the religious imagination. Devotional images were important as a focus for meditation and prayer and this particular image focussed on the human suffering of the Virgin and her anguish at Christ’s death and His sacrifice to redeem humankind.

Another devotional image which also became popular was ‘The Man of Sorrows’ which emphasized the physical suffering of Christ during the passion. The wounds Christ received, and the instruments of his torture, were seen as analogous to the suffering inflicted by the plague and reminded communities of their own sin. Here the image is extracted from its historical setting and Christ is presented to arouse pure devotion around intimacy and compassion.  This depiction of Christ has been described as the most precise visual expression of medieval piety.

As the plague recurred over the centuries, the other phenomenon we see is the ‘recruitment’ of contemporary saints – especially those regarded as heroes. Rather than victims, paintings showed the glory that could come from the performance of good works.  After the Council of Trent (1545-1563) Catholic authorities and patrons commemorated heroic clergy.  Chief among these was Charles Borromeo (1538-1584) who came from an ancient noble family in Lombardy. As Archbishop of Milan during the epidemic of the mid-1570s he was the model leader: aiding the needy, self-sacrificing, providing the Eucharist, embracing humility and following the teachings of Jesus. Borromeo’s virtue and devotion were recognized with canonization in 1610 and he is now regarded as the patron saint of bishops, catechists and seminarians. In art he is usually represented in his robes, barefoot, carrying the cross as archbishop, a rope around his neck, one hand raised in blessing, recalling his work during the plague.

The coronavirus pandemic will doubtless be taken up as a theme by artists over the course of time. Will we see representational, didactic or allegorical works? And will new demons and heroes be portrayed?