5. Constantine and the Duke of Berry 0 Introduction
5.3 The Constantine as a Component in a Larger System
The existing literature makes the very reasonable case that the medal of
Constantine was made in response to the visit of Manuel II, and in some way,
that it flatters the interests of both the visiting emperor and the Duke of Berry himself; however, with the exception of Tanja Jones’ recent work, attempts at reading the medal have focussed on trying to ascribe a particular fixed identity to the Constantine as though he has an analogue, either among the Byzantine retinue, or in the French court. These endeavours use the illuminated works of the Limbourg Brothers, and in particular the image of the Meeting of the Magi (figure 58) from their Très Riches Heures. This repeats the Constantine in the figure of the horseman on the left, and translates the scene of the meeting of the Wise Men from the Holy Land to just outside Paris: Sainte-Chapelle and other Parisian buildings can be seen above Constantine. There have, therefore,
been various attempts to work out which historical figure is being flattered by having their likeness repeated on the medal.
Although it is possible that the Meeting of the Magi records a real
encounter between King Charles VI (the Duke of Berry’s brother) and Manuel II that took place at Charenton, just outside Paris, on the 3rd June 1400 (Barker
1969:536), exactly which figure is which is extremely uncertain. Lavin sees the horseman on the left as Charles VI (1997:71-72); M. Jones M (1979b:39) argues that this must be Manuel II; but the art historian Lilian Schacherl thinks that this same figure is the Duke of Berry himself (1997:94). A more propitious line of enquiry is pursued by Tanja Jones, who draws our attention back to the medal, and to what we know from documentary evidence (2011:17-49).
The Duke of Berry was an active collector of art objects, and his collection was systematically inventoried, in 1401, 1413 and 1416. Guiffrey published these inventories in two volumes in 1894 and 1896. Each new entry begins with a number and then the word ‘Item’. For instance, the inventory for the
Constantine begins (Guiffrey 1894:72 #199):
199. Item, un autre joyau d’or roont, de haulte taille, ouquel est contrefait d’un des costez Constantin à cheval et a escript à l’environ: Constantinus in Christo deo fidelis imperator et moderator Romanorum et semper Augustus, et de l’autre costé a deux femmes, et ou milieu d’icelles un fontainne où il a un arbre, et dedens ledit arbre une croix…
The inventory descriptions generally give an indication of material and shape – ‘d’or roont’ (round gold), type of modelling – ‘de haulte taille’ (high relief), epigraphy, imagery, and sometimes provenance and value (Guiffrey 1894:72 #199):
…lequel joyau Monseigneur achata en sa ville de Bourges de Antoine Machin, marchant de Florence demourant à Paris, le IIe
jour de novembre l’an mil CCCC et deux, la somme de XIc frans
(…which jewel Monseigneur bought in his city of Bourges from Antoine Machin, merchant of Florence living in Paris, on the second day of November, year 1402, for the sum of 1100 francs.)
It is implicit in these ducal inventories that the Heraclius and Constantine form a pair. They are adjacent entries, and the first entry, the Constantine, gives provenance, purchased from ‘Antoine Machin’, and the second does not. It can be inferred that the two were obtained at the same time and from the same source. Immediately following are two further entries that describe the gold copies made after these objects, once they had entered the duke’s collection (73 #201-202). Of course, the idea that these two objects are intimately related is supported by the similarity of scale, appearance and subject matter of the two surviving objects.
Further than this, the evidence of the inventories suggests that they were part of a larger group of objects that were thought of as forming a contiguous set. The two medals are the third and fourth entries in a section titled: ‘PETIS
JOYAULX D’OR ACHATEZ PAR MONDIT SEIGNEUR’, (small gold jewels purchased
by Monseigneur). The final line of the Heraclius entry reads: ‘Ces IIII parties
acolées sont ainsi declairées ou CLIe et CLIIe fueillez dudit livre’ – (these four collected objects are thus described on the 51st and 52nd leaves of this book);
implicitly, this describes the Constantine and the Heraclius as well as the two preceding entries, in other words the four objects numbered in the inventories from #197 – 200. Unfortunately, the inventory descriptions are all that survive from the first two medals, of Tiberius (197) and Augustus (198), both of which were obtained from ‘Michiel de Paxi’ (71-72). Nevertheless, it is clear that the 1413 inventory describes a contiguous set of four images of Roman emperors, the Constantine and the Heraclius coming from one source, and the Tiberius and the Augustus coming from another. These objects are described as being
similarly wrought, being hollow gold objects ringed with stones and pearls. Also listed in this inventory are two other objects that are suggestively similar in description and subject, but that are not identified as being part of the same bracketed group, a ‘large coin’ of Julius Caesar, ringed with sapphires and pearls (70 #195), and ‘a large gold plaque’ with an image of Philip the Arab (the emperor Marcus Julius Philippus) with his hands in an attitude of prayer, looking up at the sky towards the face of God. On the others side of this object is ‘un…
ymaige de Nostre Dame enlevé, tenant son enfant’ (an image of Our Lady raised
up, holding her child) (28 #55).
That is the condition of the collection in 1413. However, in the later
inventory of 1416 the implicit grouping has changed. The image of Julius Caesar is listed contiguously with Augustus, the original Constantine, a copy of the
Constantine, and a gold copy of the Heraclius (Guiffrey 1896:227 #s 229-233),
the original Heraclius and the Tiberius medal being listed separately as among a number of objects intended for the heirs of Jean de Montaigu (T. Jones 2011:64, footnote 119).
In addition to these images of historical figures, the 1416 inventory
describes a further medal that we might consider alongside these objects. This shows the Duke’s own image on one face, and on the other, the image of the Virgin Mary holding her child under a canopy carried by four angels (Guiffrey 1896:227 #234). The obverse of this medal is the probable survival now in Germany (figure 52, Staatliche Museeun zu Berlin, Franco-Flemish copy c.1415).
An active collection changes over time. It is likely that the Duke was aware of Petrarch’s interest in the moral value of coin portraits. The Italian humanist visited Paris twice, once praising Jean’s grandfather, the first Valois king, as a ‘New Charlemagne’, making his second visit to Paris in 1360, to Jean’s father, as part of a diplomatic tour that was intended to instigate crusade (T. Jones
2011:42). Like the portraits of the Caesars given in Petrarch’s account in chapter two, this collection can be seen to have an aspirational quality. This reading is greatly strengthened by the presence of the Duke’s own image. The collection of images of the emperors appears to be a construction of an aspirational school of peers, for whom the Duke should make himself worthy, or in Petrarch’s words, ‘who ought to serve him as a model’. Thus the collection is not so much commemorative as it is prospective, more concerned with the Duke’s own future than with celebrating the Imperial past.
This is a speculative reading, made all the more speculative that none of the original objects survive – the best we have are the copies of the Constantine and the Heraclius, and – perhaps – the reverse of the Duke’s own medal; however it is supported by the evidence of the duke’s interest in a particular
class of devotional image called the Ara Coeli (Altar of Heaven). This depicts an apocryphal vision that occurred to the emperor Augustus on consulting the Tiburtine Sibyl on the day of Christ’s birth.
Limbourg Brothers, Ara Coeli, 1411-1416, in Très Riches Heures
In Ara Coeli, the sibyl (above, bottom left) is shown advising the Roman potentate (bottom right) of the arrival of a new king, more powerful than him; she gestures to the sky where the figures of the Virgin and Child appear in majesty, against a ring of flames, on top of a crescent moon. There are Ara Coeli in both of the Limbourg’s books of hours, the Très Riches Heures (figure 59 and above, f.22r) and Belles Heures (figure 60, f.26v). As the prominent art historian Millard Meiss describes, the Duke was the most prominent patron in Northern France of this rather rare image, which appears in several of his illuminated books. It is thought that the Duke’s fondness was partly stimulated by the opportunity that it presented to inveigle himself into the scene, by association. It was common practice for patrons to have the text of a prayer to the Virgin, O
Intemerata, illuminated with the figure of the kneeling donor. By having this
prayer illuminated with an image of Augustus’ vision, because the image of Augustus appears in the space that would normally be reserved for the patron, the kneeling Augustus becomes the Duke’s avatar (Meiss 1974:f26v; Meiss and Longnon 1969:19/f.22r).
Turning our attention back to the medals in the Duke’s collection, the
inventory description of the Augustus medal gives the legend on the obverse as: ‘Manus ab integro seculorum nascitur ordo’ (The great order of the ages is born afresh’).8 This is the fifth verse of Virgil’s Fourth Ecologue, recording the
utterance of the Tiburtine Sibyl at the time of Augustus’ meeting, which was understood throughout the medieval period as a prophecy of the coming of Christ and the Golden Age of Christianity (T. Jones 2011:39-40).
It will be remembered that the surviving obverse of his own portrait medal shows the Virgin and Child under a canopy supported by four angels, (Guiffrey 1896:227, figure 52). The scene lacks the radiant sun and the crescent moon, but the position of the group on top of a crenelated architectural dais implies an elevated position.
I want to conclude by imagining this collection of objects as though they are laid out before the viewer, no longer inventory descriptions but material things. We can imagine how they could be moved around, turned over and handled. In this way, the Virgin and Child could be paired with the image of Augustus on one of the other medallions to create an Ara Coeli; and then, were the
devotional medal turned over, the ‘ymage, fait à la semblance de Monseigneur’, the Duke himself, would become paired with the Emperor. This possibility, which is proposed by Tanja Jones (2011:47-48), achieves exactly the same layered pairing as can be seen in Ara Coeli of the Très Riches Heures (figure 59, f.22r) and Belles Heures (figure 60, f.26v). Therefore, the books of hours that the Duke commissioned provide a precedent for his association with Augustus, and support the idea that the medals are intended as a Petrarchan education, a wardrobe of worthy souls for the Duke’s assumption. More importantly to the present argument, this speculation supports the idea that the Constantine is intended to be a device for making rather than conveying meaning: in other words, it is not intended to have one denoted meaning: it is an open object from which, as it is handled and paired with other things, new meanings cleave, as though from its centre, from within.
8 As Guiffrey observes in a footnote, ‘Il faut évidemment lire: Magnus’
Although the image of the Duke no longer survives, the inventories make plain that the Duke’s own image really is a portrait: to borrow from the
language of Baldwin’s letter, this direct correspondence causes the Duke ‘to be perpetually present’. By contrast, the other images are available for imaginative investment.
5.4 Conclusion
The broader findings of this chapter are built on the discovery that the iconography of the Constantine is dependent on the seal imagery of Baldwin II. This makes it possible to understand the iconography of the medal not as a rational and denoted correspondence between sign and referent, but rather as a more open and prospective layering of different identities: the historical figures of Baldwin and Constantine, and a broader sense of martial sanctity. These are brought into the same frame and are made present through the material iconicity of the seal-like object.
It seems significant that this object derives from a seal, as it was so
influential on the early Italian medal and sealing was the dominant technology for asserting presence and ascent. In sealing, an event of synchronic identity is sutured to an essential identity, to render its subject, in the language of Baldwin’s letter, ‘perpetually present’: the seal binds soul and body, like the movement between the two faces of a portrait medal. It is a benign trap for the self. Its movement of inwardness draws the act of depiction and ascent into a diachronic temporal frame. We can see this inwardness built into the
composition of the medal, which folds in on itself, drawing identities into a contiguous space in a new and constructive act.
This chapter has been rather speculative in several ways. Like all attempts to understand the medals of the Duke of Berry, it relies on imagining what the original objects would be like, and then imagining them in the ecology of their original collection. In this way the surviving fragments present a particularly fraught interpretative problem. Nevertheless, there are material traces that survive and that we can see and hold. Considered together with the inventories and the Limbourg’s Books of Hours, we can defend the broader idea that the
medal was intended to function as part of a larger speculative system, a collection of surfaces from which content is actively constructed through practice and play. In this way, the medal is a tool for thinking with, and the mental and the material can be seen to interpenetrate, just as the seal draws body and soul together.
The penultimate chapter takes us back to more concrete territory, and the present day.
6. Craft in Practice: David Pye and Making