There
is no doubt that much classical culture survived with the
classical
languages, to be studied during the mediaeval
centuries.
Christians could not ignore the pagan past (Wilson
1983,
8ff., 18ff.), and it might be argued that they did not
understand
antique statues, that they considered them examples
of the
vainglory of the pagan world (cf. Origen on idols in
Con.
Celsum 8.17), or simply that they fould them less useful
than
aqueducts, baths, columns or capitals. Free-standing
sculpture
appears to have died a slow death through an
increasing
lack of interest in its nature or possible
applications
(an attitude common even before 400 AD) - so the
explanation
may have to do with the disinterest of the earlier
mediaeval
centuries in the techniques involved. But no one
explanation
for this decline is convincing: the Barbarians,
lacking
a taste for statuary, came well after the decline had
started;
and the Christians, theoretically averse to images, may
have
sustained the skill with orders (mostly for statuettes and
bas-reliefs)
rather than killing it. Roman prefects towards the
end of
the fifth century ordered damaged works (once dissociated
from
pagan cults) to be restored (Gregorovius 1972, 1.71f.), but
manufacture
was in decline: the latest recorded in Rome is that
of
Phocas in 608 (Stichel 1982, cat. 145). Whatever the cause,
the
result was a decline in technical proficiency, so that
eventually
the production of even a blocked out figure would
have
proved impossible (cf. Romanini 1976 for a discussion of
mediaeval
treatments of the classical répertoire). But how
one
accounts for the revival of classical techniques (such as
the
spectacular stucco-work at Cividale, Brescia, Rome and
elsewhere:
Peroni 1969) is another matter.
The
saddest example of this lack of interest in a once-great
art
form is the dismembering of what must have been large statue
groups
on the base of the Mausoleum of Hadrian, and their use as
missiles
by the Byzantine defenders against Vitiges' Goths in
537
(Cecchelli 1951, 37, 51); the monument was decorated,
according
to Procopius (De Bello Gothico 1.22), with
statues
and equestrian groups of fine marble (including, as we
now
know, parts of a replica of Myron's Discobolos).
This
preamble provides the essential background to any
consideration
of the survival of statues in the Middle Ages, for it
separates
their status from that of the greater bulk of
antique
sculpture, from theatre masks to sarcophagi, which were
avidly
re-used, and imitated in the Romanesque period
(Hamann-Maclean
1949-50, passim). And while it is conceivable
that
some traditions in the production of coins, gems,
manuscripts,
sarcophagi and perhaps even mosaics were unbroken,
this is
emphatically not the case with statues, which might have
appeared
to most of the Middle Ages as part of an alien
tradition,
without echoes in contemporary culture.
Statues
were certainly available to the earlier Middle Ages,
and
probably plentiful in later centuries, if the hypothesis of
rediscovery
following city expansion is accepted. They were
certainly
there for the taking on many of the islands of the
Mediterranean
- many of which featured in the pattern of trade
with
the East: the riches of Rhodes were available (Van der Vin
1980,
655f.); and Buondelmonti writes of trying to re-erect the
Naxian
colossus on Delos, and of seeing on the ground `a crowd
of
other statues executed with marvellous art, and yet others
buried
under little mounds' (ibid., 659f.). Furthermore, in
Italy
as elsewhere in the Empire, abandoned sites remained
intact
for hundreds of years with their monuments and statues,
as we
have seen. Aquileia and Luni were sparsely inhabited.
Velleia
may well have disappeared from history just as the
Tetrarchs
came to power in 284; but some statues
were indeed
toppled
or plundered, as Vermeule (1977, 76) notes; and `the
Julio-Claudian
statues were not disturbed by mediaeval builders
or
limeburners. Livia and her descendants lay peacefully on the
floor
in front of the long platform and tribunal of the basilica
until
1761, when they were found as they had fallen forward in
two
rows and were carried off by Don Filippo di Borbone, Duke of
Parma,
to his museum.' Why Velleia was not extensively plundered
is a
mystery, for it is near to a Roman road, and indeed to
Parma
itself. Some, such as Atina, were sparsely re-inhabited:
the Chronicon Atinense writes (RIS
7.905) of the
`road
which is called "of the Monuments", because it is full of
monuments
along its length;' and as late as 1702 a local
historian,
B. Tauleri (1702, 25), glosses this as `the road of
the
monuments, so called because along it were commonly buried
in
vessels of worked stone the Idolators; and here indeed we
currently
find those tombs, with the bones of those ancient
bodies'.
But for
populated centres, evidence is scarce. Even for Rome,
track
of the enormous population of statues (cf. Beutler 1982,
175f.)
is usually lost after the sixth century. A few certainly
went
earlier, as when Constantine carried off a large number to
furnish
Constantinople, or Genseric to embellish his African
palaces.
Bishop Zachary of Mytilene, in his Church History
(written
c. 491) noted the existence in the City, apart
from
twenty-four churches and two basilicas, of `324 great and
spacious
streets, two great Capitols, 80 golden gods, 64 ivory
gods.
It contains 46,603 dwelling houses and 1,797 houses of the
magnates.'
The Notitia state that, in the time of
Honorius,
there were still standing two colossi, twenty-two
equestrian
statues, eighty images of gold and seventy-four of
ivory
(Gregorovius 1972, 1.72). - and the poet Claudian
described
the city as full of shining metals which blinded the
sight
(Rodocanachi 1914, 7). Cassiodorus, writing early in the
sixth
century, refers to the `most plentiful population of
statues,
and indeed the most abundant herd of horses' of Rome
(Var.
7.13): some of these, such as the elephants on the
Via
Sacra (ibid., 10.30) were certainly of bronze, and that many
were
well maintained seems clear from the mention of some
statues
still retaining the signature of their makers (ibid.,
7.15).
Others were stolen for their base metal - a contradiction
of
Cassiodorus' and his master's desire `daily to increase the
embellishment
of the city' (ibid., 2.35; Della Valle 1959, 130).
Thus
the bronze bull was still standing in the Forum Pacis in
Totila's
day (died 552), for when a (doubly) misguided heifer
tried
to mount it this was taken as an augury (Llewellyn 1970,
76).
Religion
played a part in the destruction of statues, but the
details
of what the reforming Christians actually did to ancient
monuments
tend to be vague in the extreme (Mâle 1950, 33-4),
or
obvious topoi. Indeed, even within inhabited cities, it seems
doubtful
whether the enthusiastic tales of destruction told by
Christian
authors accord with what actually happened, for there
are
plenty of examples of pagan statues remaining in place, to
be
rediscovered by later excavation: others were erected to
embellish
cities and their mediaeval walls, as we have seen.
Indeed,
at the Baths of Caracalla as at Hadrian's Villa, some
statues
were simply left standing (Vermeule 1977, 58ff.; 70ff.).
This
was also the case at Arles where, in the theatre, an
Augustus,
two goddesses, and the famous Venus were found. The
Venus
was lying `in front of the columns', and may therefore
simply
have fallen from its base (cf. Constans 1921, 288ff.).
Exactly
when this happened is difficult to say, but we do have
the
story in the Life of S. Hilaire (PL. 55.1235; Constans
1921,
295) of how an unfortunate fifth-century priest called
Cyril,
commissioned to build basilicas by his bishop, had his
foot
crushed by a tumbling block of marble in that same theatre;
so
perhaps the statues fell while he was despoiling the building.
Indifference
to the beauty of some antique works of art was the
first
stage in encouraging their destruction, and Gregory of Tours
provides
a case study. He mentions twelve churches in Rome, but says
nothing
of the ancient monuments (Vieillard-Troikouroff 1976,
391).
In Gaul, he does mention spectacular building
works,
such as the aqueduct at Vienne ( HF 2.33) and the
enceinte
at Dijon (ibid., 3.19), and even admires the mosaics in
the
Temple of Vasso Galate at Claremont (ibid., 1.32;
Vieillard-Troikouroff
1976, cats 96, 89); but even when he writes of
places
where we know there to have been important ancient ruins,
these
are usually ignored. Indeed, his only detectable enthusiasm
for
surviving pagan statues is when they are destroyed. He
praises
S. Martial for having effectively ended the cult of
idols
(Gloria Martyrum 27: and cf. Matthews 1975, 154ff.),
and has
nothing but scorn for statues of Mars and Mercury which
were on
a column at Brioude in the fourth century (Liber S.
Iuliani
martyris 5.6), for the idol Berecynthia at Autun,
destroyed
about 400 (GC 77), for the temple at Cologne,
which
had been razed by his great uncle, S. Gallus, along with
its
images (Liber Vitae Patrum 6.2), or for the statue of
Diana
at Ferté-sur-Chiers in the Ardennes, thrown down by S.
Walfry
(HF 8.15; Young 1975, 44). Such destruction was
often
systematic, and associated with the founding of a church,
as in
the case of S. Pierre `au mont Blandin' in West Flanders
(Knoegel
1936, no. 173), or S. Amandus' destruction of an idol
and
altar of Mercury, to build a church on the very same site
(ibid.,
no. 472, early seventh century: cf. no. 508). It could
therefore
be very thorough: the Venus now in the museum of
the
Maison Carrée, Nîmes, was found in no less than 103
pieces
(Mâle 1950, 43-4).
In many
cases, pagan statues were mutilated (presumably to wipe
out
their power) and left in place. This happened at the
sanctuary
of Mont-Martre, near Avallon, the site of a
Gallo-Roman
temple: all the statues were broken, and some were
partly
effaced by hammering, but they were not buried or reduced
to lime
- indeed, they can still be seen in the museum at
Avallon
(Espérandieu 3.242). At Sarrebourg, the mithraeum
was
violently destroyed in the last decade of the fourth
century,
and its statues mutilated; the body of a man near the
altar
may have been the priest (Young 1975, 37). Similar
destruction
was wrought outside Europe: the colossal statue of
Zeus at
Cyrene - on the same scale as the work by Pheidias - was
also
destroyed deliberately, in part by fire; but not enough of
it
remains for us to be clear about what exactly was done, or
when.
Sarcophagi could suffer a similar fate, sometimes for
religious
reasons: thus at Medinet al Zahra, near Cordoba, the
Moslems
either destroyed Christian sarcophagi (some of which
were
employed in the structure) or hammered the heads.
Other
statues were simply hidden, certainly on purpose, and
sometimes
at least by pagans no doubt apprehensive about the
safety
of their images. As is clear from Espérandieu's
monumental
work, blocked or dry wells were a very popular
depository
for statues, many of them carefully defaced
beforehand,
presumably by Christian. But sometimes works were
concealed
with care, surely in the hope that pagan cults could
be
resurrected when the destructive vigour of the Christians had
diminished.
Frantz (1965, 200) has estimated that the
cult-statues
of Athena Parthenos and Asklepios were removed from
the
relevant Athenian temples sometime before 485, but what
happened
to them is unknown. At Avignon, in the fourteenth
century,
Urban V ordered a recently found statue of Hercules to
be
re-buried, perhaps because he feared it; and the Archbishop
of
Arles, finding the tomb of Maximian in 1047, had it and its
rich
contents thrown into the sea (Müntz 1887, 44f.). In
1654,
the canons of Saint-Sauveur in Aix-en-Provence opened
trenches
in their choir to make tombs, and found fragments of
columns
and parts of an idol of the sun-god - the church may be
built
on a temple dedicated to Apollo (Clerc 1916, 373). And as
late as
the mid-eighteenth century, pagan statues from a
supposed
Temple of Diana were uncovered at Arles, but quickly
reburied
as `idols of the devil', having first been exorcised by
the
bishop (Benoit 1951, 34).
Their
rediscovery could provide a welcome surprise (cf. Gazda
1970,
246), as when Arechi II found a golden idol while building
S.
Pietro a Corte at Salerno in the 760s, and used its metal to
gild
the church (Chronicon Salernitanum 17.22; Delogu
1977,
50, and n. 133). Similarly, the well-known Minerva of
Poitiers
was discovered hidden underneath a floor of bricks
(Espérandieu
2.295-8). Concealment was apparently the
intention
behind the dismantling of at least one pagan funerary
monument
on the site of a necropolis near the Beaucaire road -
the Via
Domitiana - 1.5 km from the Porte d'Auguste at Nîmes
(Varène
1970): its seven first- or early second-century
statues
were placed in a heap within it, and then the whole
structure
buried. Very possibly, in view of the inscriptional
evidence,
the pit contained works from a whole set of monuments
(Gallet
de Santerre 1961). The finding of six bronze coins of
the
fourth century suggests destruction after the Peace of the
Church
and, since fragments of a great first century altar no
less
than 3.88m in length were found on the same site (ibid.,
102ff.),
this was probably the work of Christians. Another
example
is the great villa of Chiragan, near Martres Tolosanes,
where a
large number of very high quality statues and busts have
been
discovered, mostly in holes specially dug to hold material
from
the site, and of about three to four thousand cubic metres
capacity
in all; small sculptures were also found piled in the
basin
of the impluvium. Although the late nineteenth-century
excavators
believed the works to have been damaged deliberately,
the
only damage seems to be accidental, for although noses are
broken
off, there are no signs of hammering). The excavators do
not
estimate when the holes were dug, but the fact that plenty
of
walls remained standing on the site indicates that the area
was not
cleared for agriculture: perhaps it was wished to hide
`dangerous'
statues, or simply to tidy the site for
re-habitation.
When
population expanded, and building with it, the lime kiln
was the
ultimate destination of statues either disregarded or
feared,
just as it had been for `useless' works in earlier
centuries,
as we have read in the late antique Codes ;
hence
lime kilns are a common feature of antique sites. White
marble
produced the best lime (Müntz 1884; Lanciani 1902-12,
1.22ff.;
Rodocanachi 1914, 29ff.), and hence statues were
particularly
at risk (rather than architectural members, which
were
difficult to handle). Great destruction was involved
because,
in the burning process, one third of the original
weight
was lost: and the weights involved meant that most
lime-kilns
were established amid the ancient monuments. At
Arles,
for example, the baths installed outside the enceinte
were
partly demolished in the mid-fourth century, and the marble
veneer
then used by burners who squatted on the site - in an
area
which was, by 400, nothing but a field of ruins. Losses
were
increased by the upturn in building in the later Middle
Ages
when, as Esch remarks (1969, 31), the antique began to be
measured
by the cubic foot. It was now that so many antiquities
were
destroyed: as an account of mediaeval Brescia has it
(Brescia
1979, 2.73), `in the tenth and eleventh centuries the
by now
few remains of ancient splendour no longer struck any
chords
in the minds of the inhabitants who, in the extreme
poverty
of those times, considered statues, columns and marbles
solely
as raw material which could be liberally pillaged and
transformed
into lime.'
Luckily,
however, the voracity of the lime-kilns was matched
by
their choosiness: granite, porphyry and basalt were useless
for the
process - one reason for the survival of antiquities in
these
materials. In Rome, some works may have survived because
not all
the lime needed there came from the city, for the
obligation
of inhabitants of Tuscia and Campania to provide lime
for
Rome is documented from late antique times onward (Gibson
1979,
32 and n. 6). This is confirmed by the survival in the Largo
Argentina
(an area noted for its lime kilns in the Middle Ages)
of the
colossal acrolith of the head of Juno, presumably from a
cult
statue from one of the temples: it was found lying on the
site
earlier this century - not buried, built into a wall, or
otherwise
damaged (Marchetti-Longhi 1932/3, 202 and fig. 38).
The
building stock was, as we have seen, a valuable commodity -
temples
included. But the fight against paganism coloured
attitudes
toward statues, which were often considered to be
idols,
and to have magical powers, whether they were
cult-statues
or not. Campaigns for the destruction of `idols'
took
place all over the West and even in Byzantium (Mango 1963,
55f.);
thus Gregory the Great, in a letter to Mellitus (Eccl.
Hist.
1.xxx), asked that the temples themselves should not be
destroyed,
but only their idols, and that holy water should be
used to
purify such places. In dealing with the pagan past,
prudence
was important, but pagan feasts and ceremonies were
translated
into Christian ones wherever possible, just as
`sacred'
trees and springs were transmogrified (Young 1975, 41
for S.
Martin of Tour's actions). And the Virgin Mary
effortlessly
adopted some of the characteristics (and sometimes
the
form) of Athena herself (Lewis 1980, 81ff.; and cf. L-B
England
5.203ff.).
Indeed,
idolatry was a continuing problem, as pronouncements
in the
fifth, sixth and seventh centuries demonstrate (Young
1977,
6): we are reminded of this not only by the strictures
against
the excessive attention paid to Christian martyrs
(Dyggve
1952, 157), but also by Gregory of Tours' account of the
baptism
of Clovis by Saint Remigius with the words `Worship what
you
have burnt, burn what you have been wont to worship' (HF
2.31),
or by the account of the toppling (with the aid of
prayer)
of a cult statue of Diana and its destruction with
hammers
(HF 8.15). Gregory I wrote in 598 AD of the `gens
Anglorum'
with their cult of wood and stone (letter to Eulogius,
MGH
Epist. 2.30); and Gregory II's letters about Boniface's
mission
to Germany in the earlier eighth century make it clear
that
the practice was strong there, especially among `pagani'
who
were, presumably, largely unaffected by Christian control
(MGH
Epist. 3, e.g. 266ff.). But still some cults (and
statues?)
remained: in the early seventh century, at Lagnes, no
less
than twelve temples with their idols were broken (Knoegel
1936,
no.366); and Bishop Hugbert, operating in the Ardennes and
Brabant
at the same period, destroyed `idola plurima et
sculptilia'
(ibid., no. 643). Such idols still included, if we
are to
believe Boniface (died 754: Epistle 21), examples in
gold,
silver and brass. In 942/4 we find a cleric
complaining
of the persistent survival of the cult of Diana
(including
`dances and Bacchic orgies') at Sant' Angelo
in
Formis (De Franciscis 1956, 60); and a relief
on
Notre Dame, Paris (Wentzel 1953, 342 and pl. 48a) of a woman
adoring
an antique gem with a profile portrait is echoed in
charges
of heresy associated with the worship of idols as late
as 1328
(e.g. MGH Legum Sectio 4, 6.1, 372ff.). However, given
the
frequency with which gems and cameos were set in crosses
(the
Lothair Cross, Aachen) or reliquaries (the David Reliquary,
Basle),
such charges should not surprise us (Keller 1970, 63ff.).
But
what exactly was an `idol'? Mediaeval illustrations
suggest
(e.g. Buchthal 1971, pl. 50) that it was a statue (often
naked)
in a temple, and standing on a column. However, as the
Marforio
was also called an `idol' in the Mirabilia (Scaglia
1964,
147), it is clearly pointless to attempt a tight
definition.
Nudity per se must have caused the destruction
of many
works, for the naked body was consistently looked upon
as
sinful during the Middle Ages - hence the idea that a naked
statue
was a veritable heathen object (cf. Esch 1969, 33ff.;
Alsop
1982, 556, note 9 for further references). Bathing for
monks,
for example, was severely restricted except when ill; and
compare
the temptation of S. Gall, when `there appeared to him
two
demons in the form of nude women ... as if wishing to enter
the
bath, and displaying to him the baseness of their bodies'
(
MGH Script. rer. Merov. 4.263).
Statues
and bas-reliefs were sometimes feared and destroyed
because
they were considered inimical to the Christian religion,
but
also because the old myth of Prometheus taught that a man
was a
statue into which life had been breathed; the process
could
be associated with magic just as, in Christian story, it
was
associated with divine intervention (Raggio 1958). Statues
and
bas-reliefs might therefore be dangerous: their limbs might
move,
and they could probably think - hence the plentiful
legends
with which they were surrounded during the Middle Ages
(Müntz
1887, 162ff.; Graf 1915). The step from automata to
magic
in mediaeval imagination was a small one (e.g. Frankl
1960, 170f.):
Robert de Clari, for example, in his account of
Constantinople
and the terrible sack, writes of the statues on
the
spina of the hippodrome, `in years past these would by magic
stir
themselves to play games, but now they move no more'
(Patrone
1972, 224); to this account of the past might be added
the
Mirabilia stories of the moving statues on the Capitol in
Rome.
It was believed that Gregory the Great `caused all the
heads
and limbs of the statues of the demons to be broken, so
that
from the crushed roots of heresy, the palm of Christian
truth
might more fully manifest itself' (Buddensieg 1965, 47);
this
belief extended to all statues in Rome, until Platina
protested
(ibid., 51ff.). So presumably Gregory would not have
approved
of the legend of how the sarcophagus in which he was
buried
itself moved (Vendoyes 1925). The idea was still current
in the
High Renaissance, when the Sala di Costantino was
decorated
with frescoes whose theme was the triumph of the
Church
over paganism, including a scene of a pagan sculptor
destroying
his own works (ibid., 62ff. and pl.7a).
Magical
properties were, therefore, a constant excuse for
either
the destruction or the re-use of pagan work (Esch 1969,
44f.).
Magister Gregorius may have begun the Gregory legend
(Deér
1959, 42, n. 79), and there could be truth in it, for
Gregory
was the man who began a homily: `My brothers, do not
love
what you see; it will not long endure'; he never learned
Greek,
in spite of a stay of six years in Byzantium, and `his
intellectual
formation was not in the tradition of classical
antiquity'
(McNally 1978, 10ff.). The Temple at Philae, in use
as a
temple up to the sixth century (because of the guarantees
of
Diocletian, renewed in 451), was then turned into a church,
and
several teams of masons were used to damage systematically
the
pagan sculptures on the exterior. Sometimes only the
`moving'
parts were scored out - evidently an attempt to prevent
the
idols exercising their malign functions (Nantin 1967 and figs
13-14).
Inside, however, the reliefs were merely covered from
view -
hence their fine state of preservation. In c. 535-7
the
Duke of the Thebaiad came to tear down the statue of the god
inside;
again, we do not know what happened to it but, if of
good
metal, it was probably melted down for the mint, like that
at the
Alexandrian Serapaeum in c. 400-12 (ibid., 6-7; and
Gibbon
28).
We have
accounts of just how dangerous or alarming pagan
statues
could be. S. Benedict transformed the Temple of Apollo
on
Monte Cassino into an oratory, and found nearby a bronze idol
under a
heavy stone (placed there already by Christians to keep
it
down?); taken to the kitchen to be melted down, it caused a
fire
and broke down a wall the monks were building, but its
eventual
fate is unknown (Louis 1975, 241ff.). Indeed, the site
of
nearby Casinum may have been rich in such works, for Poggio
Bracciolini
acquired a female torso from there in 1429 (
Epist.
1.284). At Modena, in 711, the statue of Minerva
exuded
blood and then milk (Malmusi 1830, no. 57). The saints,
however,
always seem to win: thus the missing central figures
from
the then standing Temple of Neptune (or of the Dioscuri) in
Naples
were explained in the Middle Ages as being called down
from
their exalted position by S. Peter himself when he passed
through
the city (Bernabo Brea 1935, 67) - and must therefore
have
been visible on the ground below the pediment long enough
for the
legend to be born. The two statues of the Dioscuri which
are
preserved on the façade of the church now on that site are
identified
in inscriptions as those central figures, but are in
fact
too small to have filled the gap (ibid., 68f, pl. 3); but
since
they are draped male nudes, they were most suitable idols
for a
saint to bring low. The supposed maleficence
of the
colossal statue of Minerva in Constantinople caused its
destruction
at the hands of the Greeks themselves, after the
first
siege of 1204 (cf. Gibbon 60).
In the
treatment of their own statues, Christians appear to
have
been consistent for, apart from a few miraculous moving
images
(often figures of the crucified Christ), Christian
statues
do not move. Bernard of Angers, writing in the late
tenth
century about the image of S. Gerald on the altar at
Aurillac,
asked `What do you think, brother, of this idol? Would
Jove or
Mars have considered such a statue unworthy of him?'
(cf.
Hubert 1982, 257f.). He held a similar opinion of the image
of Ste
Foy, but later repented, for `it is not a filthy idol'
(Dahl
1978, 177); and when her image is insulted, the saint
herself
- and not her image - took steps to defend it (ibid.,
178ff.).
In other words, the distinction between revering such
images
and worshipping them appeared to be a clear one,
at
least to some; although the strong interest in statue
reliquaries
in France underlines the fragility of the divide
(Hubert
1982). Sometimes, indeed, saints would work miracles
against
pagan statues: thus a life of S. Gall explains how he
and
Columban miraculously put down three gilded bronze statues
into
the sea. On another occasion, S. Gall ripped three statues
off the
wall to which they were fixed and threw them into a lake
(MGH
Script. rer. Merov. 4.260, 289).
Stories
of talking statues are a strong and frequently
antique-oriented
part of the folklore of the Middle Ages (e.g.
Oldoni
1977/80, 2.585ff.). Superstition might therefore join
with
ignorance to promote admiration: even as late as the
twelfth
century, some antique statues were regarded as
possessing
magical properties, as various texts in the Mirabilia
tradition
make clear. A later example (the source of which
describes
the actions of statues of Provinces on the Capitol in
Rome)
is the early fourteenth-century derivation by Da Nono
dealing
with the history of Padua, which has a statue over the
first
city's east gate which points in the direction of any of
the
allies in need of help (Hyde 1965-6, 331f.). Stories of just
how
sumptuous such statues could be are common, as in that
purveyed
in the Spicilegium Ravennatis Historiae ( RIS
1.2,
575), about Julius Caesar at Ravenna, where `he had
statues
made, wishing to proclaim his importance. He ordered to
be
placed, over the Porta Aurea, ... a bronze statue of himself
seated
on a golden throne, ... his stomach full of golden coins,
his
head a precious stone, and holding a precious gem of
inestimable
value in his hand - all of which shone like the
morning
star; and before him were a thousand pounds of pure gold
...'
This, the gate previously called `Asiana', was dismantled
only in
the sixteenth century. Nor does the chronicler hold
Caesar
to have been the only potent commissioner of buildings
and art
for, on the same page, he relates how Tiberius had a
large
column built near the church of S. Agnese, and not far
from
the same gate, `and girded it around with magic art, so
that it
could not be destroyed without risk of fire.' There is
therefore
a world of difference between the re-use of antique
marble
blocks and the re-use of statues seen to be malevolent:
at
mediaeval sites such as Pisa, where both Roman and Arabic
spolia
(the latter from the Fatimid Mosque at Mahdiya) are in
evidence,
re-used antique statues are conspicuously absent.
As we
might expect, the more solid and bulky the object, and
the
further from habitation, the longer it survived, so large
monuments
survived better than free-standing statues, which were
more
fragile. There is evidence that some monuments now lost or
much
damaged, and their associated sculpture, including
bas-reliefs,
were in good condition throughout the Middle Ages -
especially
tomb structures, cippi and altars, most of which were
placed
along roads. Material within cities (unless they were
abandoned
or severely under-inhabited) went more quickly, for
obvious
reasons; this was particularly the case with Rome, the
source
of the majority of Roman relief sculpture surviving from
the
Peninsula (Koeppel 1982).
Outside
the walls of Rome, the long stretch of the Via Appia
is the
best surviving example of an antique road, with its
series
of tomb structures and sculptures. As in so many other
areas,
destruction of many of these is probably very recent, and
we may
perhaps be allowed to imagine the Magistri Aedificorum
Urbis
(probably established 1363, with certain statutes earlier)
keeping
up the roads around Rome up to the tenth milestone, as
was
their duty, and cutting back trees and bushes along the Via
Appia
(Schiaparelli 1902, 12, 18). Other documentary proof of
the
survival of cemeteries is plentiful, and an example from
Lucca
will suffice: there are references to tombs outside the
north and
south gates in 960 (`prope Tumbam'), 1006 (`a la
Tomba'),
and 1292 (`extra Moriconis de Tumba': Belli Barsali
1973,
470, and nn. 24-7). In addition, the church of S. Vincenzo
bore
the appellation `ad Tumbam', and S. Jacopo that of `de
Tumba'
or `alla Tomba'; the former is a seventh-century name,
and the
latter perhaps predates the twelfth century (ibid., 525,
541).
The antiquity of this tomb is made the more likely if we
assume
that the Roman road which certainly passed through the
relevant
gate went as far as S. Jacopo (cf Bindoli 1931, 330f.).
Larger
structures had an even longer life: the Trophy of the Alps,
at La
Turbie, the Mausoleum of Hadrian, and the Column of Trajan
are
good examples. The Trophy of the Alps latter was not finally
destroyed
until 1705, and Lassalle (1970, 116, n. 2) draws
attention
to a Life of Saint Honorat, written by Raimond Feraud
at the
end of the thirteenth century, which describes the
saint's
destruction at that site. But the account of the `idol
of
Apollo' (the crowning statue of Augustus) makes it clear that
the
design of the work was known well after its conversion into
a
castle in the twelfth century. By analogy with the conversion
of
arches at Rome into forts, the new work at La Turbie
incorporated
many of its inscriptions, marble revetments and
statuary
(on its biography, cf. CIL 5.ii, 904ff.).
Similarly,
some of the statues which once graced the Mausoleum
of
Hadrian (now the Castel Sant' Angelo) survived to be
discovered
in the nineteenth century, even if they were in
pieces;
yet others must have been unearthed in the late
Trecento,
in the course of the extensive building work carried
out in
the castle by Boniface IX. Mediaeval regard for the
structure
was so high that an eighth-century account states that
the
Mausoleum's quadriga was gigantic (Cecchelli 1951,
49)
and, in twelfth-century versions of the Mirabilia, we are
told
that statues on the monument were in bronze, although there
is no
evidence that this was the case (ibid., 63f.).
The
survival of Gallo-Roman funerary monuments and other
antiquities
into the later Middle Ages is apparent from elements
in
drawings by Villard de Honnecourt, the only mediaeval artist
we know
of who drew antiquities for artistic purposes: he
clearly
admired what he drew, and intended to study it. Most
puzzling
is his illustration of `the tomb of a Saracen that I
once
saw' (Hahnloser 1972, 26ff., 349), because of the
illogicality
of the architectural superstructure, and because
nothing
extant matches it: the common opinion that Villard
imitated
either a late Imperial diptych or a Carolingian
manuscript
may be correct, although Hahnloser's comparison with
the
Cerumnus stele from Rheims (ibid., fig. 36) has sufficient
points
of similarity to suggest he may have seen something
like
this. After all, his inscription is categorical: he `saw' the
tomb he
drew. An attractive theory by Talobre (1973) suggests
that
Villard was drawing the mosaic behind the Aix tomb of
Charlemagne,
whom he thought of as a Roman (hence the use of
`Saracen'
to describe such a foreigner). At least three of his
drawings
can be identified as pagan statues: one is seated, and
two are
standing (Hahnloser 1972, 130ff.; 159; 370). The
standing
one on his folio 43 has been compared with a bronze
statuette
of Alexander (ibid., fig. 139a), and the seated figure
on the
same sheet could perhaps be a Mercury, or a reposing
hero;
Mercury could also be the identity of the figure on folio
58 (cf.
Hamann-Maclean 1949-50, fig. 72). And although Villard
has not
inscribed where he saw any of these works (let alone
what
size they were), it may be that their appearance on a sheet
which
also bears a leaf-head comparable to bosses at Rheims
Cathedral
could indicate that he saw them there. By analogy with
the
picture we have of Ghiberti's use of antiquities, may we
imagine
the works as statuettes, circulating among the masons at
Rheims,
perhaps having been discovered in the area? Could this
help
explain the classicism of some of the sculptures there,
such as
the famous Visitation group? Possibly so, for other
works
at Rheims also have stylistic connections with antiquities
(Hamann-Maclean
1949-50, figs. 34f., 49-52, and 73f.).
Stylistic
analysis of mediaeval work can also suggest
prototypes.
Thus two of the great northern British crosses, at
Bewcastle
and Ruthwell, both of which sites are close to
Hadrian's
Wall, are compared by Saxl (1943, 7ff. and fig. 1ff.)
with
Mediterranean models, with which they agree in, for
example,
details of dress (cf. Cramp n.d.); if to these we add
his
convincing comparison between the S. John of the Lindisfarne
Gospels
and Romano-British reliefs (ibid., pl. 7), then a fair
conclusion
is that the artists of the crosses and of the Gospels
drew at
least some inspiration from relief sculpture, perhaps
funerary,
connected with the garrisons manning the Wall; this
interest
in a monumental style derived ultimately from Roman art
may
have been supported by contemporary imports, demonstrating
the
widely based trade in art-objects and influences in this
period.
Cramp (n.d., 264f.) points out that the first interest
in
Roman work in Northern England dates from the later seventh
century,
and suggests close parallels between such work at
Hexham,
and Roman work nearby. Similar comparisons may be made
between
provincial Roman funerary works, and Romanesque art, as
for
example for the Virgin of Essen which, it is suggested, is
modelled
on such antiquities (Bloch 1969; and cf. Hamann-MacLean
1940-50,
195ff.). And the study of mediaeval portraiture has led
Keller
(1970) and Ladner (1984, 321-69) to draw many antique
parallels.
`Idols'
were feared for their magic, but did this prevent
admiration
of other antiquities? One point of view (Bracco 1965,
286)
holds that it was impossible - even as late as Dante - for
the
mediaeval mind to understand the material expressions of
Roman
culture, because the language was irredeemably pagan, and
therefore
lacking in any Christian and spiritual values. But if
this
was always true, why did Hildebert of Lavardin lament the
statues
of the old gods which he saw being burnt for lime in
Rome
(Raby 1957, 1.324f.)? Certainly, confusion about alien
religious
practices was widespread: in the Chanson de
Roland,
for instance, the `Sarrazins' (who are usually
regarded
as honourable even if not Christian) are said to
worship
images, including Apollo (lines 8, 417, 3493; cf.
Scaglia
1964, 139 n. 7); and Charlemagne and his troops broke
up
idols when they sacked Saragossa (line 3664), just as the
Royal
Frankish Annals for 772 chronicle his destruction of
the
Irminsul idol and the temple which contained it.
However,
Charlemagne's artists seemed well able to
differentiate
the evil from the useful, as shown by the antiquarian
program
for Aachen. Not everyone was convinced: the statue of
Theodoric
brought from Ravenna in 801 - did Charlemagne know of
the
famous equestrian statue of Justinian? (Stichel 1982, cat.
132) -
clearly displeased Walafrid Strabo, who was puzzled by
its
nudity (`I believe he is nude solely so that his dark skin
might
be admired'), but repulsed by its subject, the Arian
emperor,
and by `the golden adornments' (MGH Poet. lat. aev.
Carol.
2.370ff.). On the other hand, about 839 the work was
described
in admiring terms by Abbot Agnel of Blachernes (Colin
1947,
89ff.). It must surely have been the personal choice of
the
Emperor, for Agnel writes of it as `an extremely beautiful
statue,
the like of which, as he himself testified, he had not
seen'
(cf. Müntz 1887, 41; Beutler 1982, 76ff.).
Christian
Beutler (1964) has studied survivals from the
Carolingian
period which indicate both an interest in full-scale
sculpture
and in the imitation of antique exemplars: he compares
most
convincingly the statue of Charlemagne in Müstair with
the
Julian the Apostate in the Louvre (for the head) and
the
porphyry Eastern Emperor in Ravenna. He shows that
other works
clearly echo fifth-century sarcophagi and statues as
well as
the ubiquitous consular diptychs (and now Beutler 1982).
And the
re-used antique wolf is well known (Beutler 1982, 76ff.).
Such
imitation bespeaks ready availability. If we believe the
Einsiedeln
Itinerary, statues were still on show in Rome in
Carolingian
times: there was an equestrian statue of
`Constantine'
in the Forum in the ninth century; this is almost
certainly
not the Marcus Aurelius, which was very probably at
the
Lateran by then, and is never recorded as being in the
Forum.
Indeed, at least one equestrian statue survived into the
tenth
century, when Gregorovius (1972, 2.208) notes that the
Crescenzio
family bore the name `dal cavallo di marmo'. The
picture
he paints (ibid., 278ff.) is of a city untouched by
predatory
hands since the time of Totila and therefore, in this
century,
with its antique monuments at least partly intact. He
notes
the name of `hortus mirabilis' given to the Forum of
Augustus,
for example. Certainly, the legends which surrounded
some of
the antique statues indicated just how many remained to
provoke
the imagination (ibid., 3.168ff.) - witness Gregorius'
statement
that in the Forum of Nerva `there is a great crowd of
broken
statues' (Rushforth 1919, ch. 16).
Charlemagne
and his court were exceptional in their use of
antiquities
(leaving aside any political messages these
invoked),
for other centres were much less sophisticated. Bishop
Henry
of Winchester's excuse, therefore, for removing statues
from
Rome to England in the twelfth century - namely to prevent
their
being worshipped by the Romans - is probably only partly
humbug
(L-B England no. 4760).
In the
later Middle Ages, some statues were re-used, for
portraits
or figure-types, perhaps because their qualities were
appreciated.
Re-use was miscellaneous: a late
Roman
military figure at Benevento was given a Longobard head
(perhaps
to represent a prince) and probably featured on a tomb,
being
removed to the cathedral campanile on its construction in
1280
(Rotili 1978, 5ff. and figs 4f.; Amelung 1897 for later
examples;
cf. Rebecchi 1984, figs. 295f.); the `uomo di pietra'
in
Milan, a togate figure whose head was reworked into that of a
tonsured
priest, supposedly to represent Bishop Adelmanno
Menelozzi
(died 956: Zoli 1975); at Conques a fourth century
parade
mask used as the head of Ste. Foy (Keller 1970, 68ff.);
or the
papal authorisation of 1360 to seek for `two or three
statues
of marble or travertine so as to make from them apostles
for the
niches of a church' (Rodocanachi 1914, 25).
Similar
are those cases where parts of statues were
completed
with modern sections, as with the antique heads set
into
fourteenth-century bodies, once on the façade of
Florence
Cathedral and now in the Louvre (Rathe 1910, 108ff.;
Jucker
1982). Sometimes antiquities were used for themselves, as
it
were: in Florence stood a famous statue of Mars, perhaps
unearthed
during that city's expansion: it was a landmark, and
much
prized by the inhabitants, until it was lost in the flood
of 1333
(Pegna 1974, 100ff.). And in Piazza Erbe, Verona, an
antique
statue was provided with a new head and, in 1368, placed
atop a
fountain: popularly known as `Madonna Verona', it may
well
have been near its present site since 379, the date of the
inscription
with which the work is often linked (Franzoni 1965,
111f.).
Perhaps its presence is reflected in the Laudes
Veronensis
of c. 796, which contrast the pagan remains
with
the Christian period (Hyde 1965-6, 313f.): `Behold, a city
founded
by evil men who knew not the law of our God, and
worshipped
old images of wood and stone.' The Romans frequently
decorated
fountains with statues, but perhaps the mediaeval
vogue
came from Constantinople, where both the Delphic serpent
tripod
and the Colossus of Constantine were fountains by 1420
(Majeska
1984, 256).
Perhaps
the vogue for the re-use of reliefs came from the
Romans:
some of the panels of the Arch of Constantine are in
re-use,
probably from earlier triumphal arches or gates which
had
been demolished; and it can be shown that, far from the
various
components being amalgamated in a meaningless if
decorative
manner, the iconographic program of the new arch is a
tight
and intelligent one. Again, the Antonine reliefs at the
Villa
Medici were re-cut in the third century into a more modern
style;
and perhaps the Cancelleria reliefs, found dismounted
from
their altar and their worked face protected (Magi 1945,
figs.
42, 47), were also candidates. Study of mediaeval reliefs
(as in
the Corpus della scultura altmedioevale in Italia)
shows a
large inspiration from classical motifs, paralleled by
the
re-use of Roman pieces. How and why were such pieces re-used?
If
antique statues could sometimes be too maleficent to be
allowed
to survive, or too easily transformed into lime,
decorative
reliefs usually fared better (e.g. Baum 1937),
especially
when they apparently had no overt pagan implications
and
were therefore potentially useful; and, in any case, they
were
usually difficult to break up. This led to the use of some,
like
inscriptions, face-down as paving slabs: the Spada reliefs,
in fine
Lunense marble (and conveniently sized at 1.75m x
1.10m),
were used in Sant' Agnese fuori le Mura, whence they
were
lifted during re-building work in 1620. Six of the eight
reliefs
contain nude or lightly draped males and, although
extensive
repairs were certainly made to them after discovery,
there
is no indication that they had been mutilated in any way
before
being laid in the church. But most decorative motifs are
either
neutral (cf. Buis 1973-4), or susceptible to
Christianisation.
`Neutral' ensembles were in the majority, one
example
being the propylea at Trieste which, incorporated into
the
façade of S. Giusto, included friezes with lotus
flowers,
arms, acanthus, and griffons (Mirabella Roberti 1975).
Krautheimer
has suggested (1971a, 231f.) that for Carolingian
writers
`the choice did not lie simply between acceptance or
refusal
of pagan elements; it lay between either rejection or
re-interpretation';
with the visual arts, perhaps, the choice
was
extended, because the work could be re-cut, as happened so
often
at Modena (Rebecchi 1984).
Indeed,
there are plentiful examples of relief sculptures
from
Antiquity which are re-used on Christian and secular
buildings,
as well as of mediaeval panels apparently in re-use on
later
structures (Hubert 1982, 256; Schmitt 1980, 133ff.,
138ff.,
for a list of some 290 occurrences from France and
Spain)
- so it is clear that re-use was a continuing rather than
an
isolated vogue. Antique reliefs were frequently displayed
without
reworking, and it is difficult to interpret the placing
of some
of them as other than an interest in their sculptural
qualities.
Thus a suovetaurilia relief was used as a lintel in
the
church at Beaujeu, and its placement may date from the
construction
of that church in 1076; at nearby Charlieu there is
a
relief which surely imitates it, of the second quarter of the
twelfth
century. Both have been interpreted as a defence of the
Eucharist
(Ternois 1965). The important point, however, is that
this
sacrificial scene survived whatever Christian assaults
there
might have been upon it, to emerge in a place of honour in
a
Christian church. Much the same happened to the bronze font at
Beaujeu,
now lost, which may well have been an antique krater
(ibid.,
252). A Christian reinterpretation must also
be the
reason for the display of antiquities in some Greek
churches
(Mango 1963, 63f.).
Re-integration
and re-interpretation may often have been the
aim,
but it is usually difficult to gloss the extent of any
mediaeval
interpretatio christiana, because we lack
contemporary
commentaries; it was certainly common (Parra 1983,
468f.).
What meaning, for example, has the antique gem once set
in the
crown of the Miraculous Virgin at Notre Dame du Puy
(Bachelier
1956)? And were fragments of antiquities displayed in
secular
locations - such as the piece of sarcophagus with the
Miracle
of the Quail at the Mas de Cascaveu, Trinquetaille,
immured
in a barn (Benoit 1954, no. 86) - any more than
good-luck
charms? Those periods and places where we find actual
antiquities
used alongside similar copied motifs may convince us
that
the interpretatio is more thoroughgoing, as is the
case in
twelfth-century Rome, which saw a revival of
paleochristian
motifs (Toubert 1970) as well as of parallel
pagan
ones. Some motifs, such as the vine, were very popular: a
relief
with vines was used on the papal throne in S. Lorenzo in
Lucina,
where the sections for the sides have been cut out in
order
to maintain some kind of symmetry (Gandolfo 1974-5,
214ff.,
figs 5,6); and the mosaic in S. Clemente has tendrils
which
sprout from the foot of the Cross (analogous to work on
the Ara
Pacis), and are are explicitly connected with the idea
of
redemption in the inscription underneath.
Another
popular motif was the dolphin. The
Pisans took at
least
one frieze from Rome to Pisa - namely the dolphin frieze
now on
the Camposanto, which came from the Basilica of Neptune
behind
the Pantheon. This was re-cut on the verso about 1130,
probably
because of the explicit Christian meaning of the
dolphin;
the new work was in a style analogous to that of the
panels
in the Baptistery, and the blocks probably served as
transennae
for the Cathedral - with both the antique and the
modern
sides visible (Grisanti 1980). Nor were the Pisans alone
in
their interest in such scenes, as can be seen from the
popularity
of the so-called `thrones' (of Diana, Neptune, Apollo
and
other gods), which were even located in churches (Ricci
1909),
a reference of 1525 showing their use as plutei or
transennae
(ibid., 258f.). Moreover, the esteem in which these
were
held meant that they were collected and prized (especially
by
Venetians: Hyde 1978), and were sometimes considered to be
the work
of Praxiteles himself (Chastel 1953). Here it was
presumably
the winged putti (and the dolphin in the case of the
Neptune
version) which ensured that they were interpreted as
Christian
(cf. Esch 1969, 46ff.).
As with
sarcophagi, recutting could be an attractive option,
and
reliefs often had complicated histories once they were in
re-use
- like the three slabs in Luna marble of the fifth
century
(and possibly made in Ravenna) now in the church at
Limans
(Basses Alpes: Barruol 1964). One of these, displaying a
cross,
was re-used as the tympanum of the fourteenth-century
church
now on the site: it may once have been a paving slab, for
another
relief serves to this day to cover a tomb in front of
the
choir. The third is in use as part of the font. Indeed, the
very
size of architectural blocks could also provide a
temptation
for the mediaeval sculptor unwilling or unable to
quarry
a fresh block, and it is not unusual to find partly
reworked
decorated blocks when mediaeval structures are
dismantled.
One example is the tripartite cluster of capitals by
Rainaldo
from the façade of Pisa Cathedral (now Pisa, Museo
Nazionale
di S. Matteo): the centre block is indeed twelfth
century,
but that to one side is a fragment of Roman architrave
and, to
the other, a fragment of column (nos 5177-8).
Outside
Europe, the survivals of sculpture and architecture
were
greater in quantity, and sometimes spectacular,
because
pressure of population was generally less. However,
survival
could still be in doubt: at Athens, for
example,
decline began well before it did at Rome, for
excavations
on the Agora have revealed evidence not only of lime
kilns,
largely from the Byzantine period, but also of the
melting
down of bronze statues to provide material for
metalworkers,
probably in the slump after the invasion of the
267
(Thompson 1972, 210f.); and `it would be invidious to
attribute
to the Byzantine limemakers the destruction of ancient
marble
sculptures; at the time of their activity, alas, little
ancient
marble was to be found in the area of the Agora' (ibid.,
191):
presumably the Herulian invasions destroyed those which
the
Romans had not already exported.
In contrast,
Constantinople was an object of envy and
emulation
in Western courts - and, according to received views,
of
importance in the preservation of the art of Graeco-Roman
antiquity
for the Renaissance. Some antique statues did survive
into
the later Middle Ages (Gibbon, 60, lists some of them),
although
just how many, and of what age and type, is disputed
(cf.
Gazda 1970, 247ff.). Nicetas' account (PG
139.1041ff.)
of what was left at the time of the sack of 1204 is
well
known, and while both he and Robert de Clari wrote of
marvellous
automata (of which we find echoes in mediaeval
romances:
Polak 1982, 163f.), it is likely that at least some of
the
material described was of Hellenistic date, arguably
including
a Hercules of otherwise unknown type (Cutler 1968,
116f.;
Mathiopulu-Tornaritu 1980). Part of the account by Robert
de
Clari describes the spina of the hippodrome: `The length of
that
piazza there was a wall ten feet wide and a good fifteen
feet
high. On it were statues of men and women, horses and
bulls,
camels, bears and lions, and of many other kinds of
animals
in bronze. These were so well made, and so realistically
modelled,
that there is no artist pagan or Christian who would
know
how to portray and sculpt statues more beautiful than
these'
(Patrone 1972, 224). Although the account is written in
the
past tense, it is known that at least some works
survived
until the sack as public trophies, so to speak, and
therefore
received public protection.
Since
one of Nicetas' charges against the Latin barbarians was
that
they melted down statues to make coinage - he probably knew
Procopius'
account (3.5.4) of how the Vandals had done likewise
to
Roman bronzes (Cutler 1968, 116) - it is at least arguable
that de
Clari refers to some works destroyed in the sack.
However,
opinions on what was visible then are divided: Cutler,
stating
that `it is in the light of a Constantinople with public
places
filled with statues that the De signis must be
read'
(ibid., 115), clearly believes in a large population of
statues;
whereas, according to Mango (1963), the actual stock
was
never high, for few were imported after the time of
Constantine
(cf. the anonymous accounts in PG 122.1189ff.,
157.651ff.).
Later travellers mention little (e.g.
Majeska
1984, 250ff. for the Hippodrome). Many works had perhaps
been
destroyed quite early, such as the bronzes in the Baths of
Zeuxippus,
which probably went when the Baths burned down in
532.
Mango estimates that no more than a hundred existed in the
mid-Byzantine
period, and then states firmly (ibid., 71f.) that
`Byzantine
art does not exhibit a single instance of such
intimate
contact with specific antique models as we find, though
transposed
in subject matter, in the portal of Rheims cathedral,
or in
the work of Nicola Pisano'. We must therefore think, with
Kitzinger
(1982, 668), of no more than a vague Hellenistic
heritage
in Byzantine art, and one which was not fed by the free
availability
of antiquities: `In theory it is possible to assume
that
Byzantine painters and mosaicists were inspired by ancient
statues
and reliefs ... But the actual evidence is not
encouraging
and often suggests indirect rather than direct
contacts.'
Outside
inhabited centres, antiquities survived almost intact
for
centuries. One such was the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus
which,
according to Eustathius of Thessaloniki's twelfth-century
commentary
on the Iliad, was then intact (PW 24.374,
s.v.
Pytheos). Nicostratus (an author unknown except from
references
in a seventeenth-century text) must have visited
Samothrace
- or perhaps his source did - before the
sixth-century
earthquake left the sanctuary there in ruins: for
he
describes the Winged Victory, which is not even mentioned by
any
extant ancient author (Lewis 1959, 115ff. and n. 30).
Given
all the above considerations, we must conclude that
statues
and reliefs were, like sarcophagi, available during the
Middle
Ages to those who sought them out - although intolerance
and
fear took their toll. Certain works were even prized, as is
shown
by their veneration, decoration, or incorporation into
some
part of the life or buildings of the town or countryside
(Adhémar
1939, 76ff. for plentiful examples); others
probably
played an important part in the various revivals of
monumental
sculpture in the Middle Ages, as can be shown for
some
Carolingian work, or from comparisons between antique work
at
Aquileia and figures from S.M. in Valle, Cividale (Beutler
1982,
figs. 122f.). Nevertheless, in spite of the destruction
and
indignities outlined above, the important fact is the sheer
quantity
of statues deliberately preserved, or left alone
through
indifference, or indeed rediscovered along with
sarcophagi
and building materials during population expansion,
which
were therefore available to the artists of the later
Middle
Ages and hence to those of the Renaissance as well.