Theology Today - Vol 34, No. 1 - April 1977 - BOOK REVIEW - The Hours of Catherine of Cleves & The Farnese Hours (The Pierpoint Morgan Library, New York)

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The Hours of Catherine of Cleves
Introduction and Commentary by John Plummer
New York: George Braziller. Second Printing, 1975. 359 pp. with 160 plates. $30.00

The Farnese Hours
(The Pierpoint Morgan Library, New York)
Introduction and Commentary by Webster Smith
New York: George Braziller. 1976. 167 pp. with numerous plates. $30.00

Books of Hours in modern facsimile editions have become a collector's item within reach of almost everyone. In addition to the two volumes reviewed here, the firm of George Braziller alone has published the Rohan Hours, the Grandes Heures and the Trés Riches Heures of Jean, Duke de Berry, the Hours of the Master of Mary of Burgundy, the Hours of Etienne Chevalier, and the Visconti Hours during the past few years. I know of a student who keeps Books of Hours as a standing item on her Christmas list and owns a fair number of them already. Once the unique gems of princely collections, these treasures are available today to most people. We can leaf through the luxurious volumes in the leisure of our homes inspecting every detail of

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the superbly reproduced pictures-a privilege hardly enjoyed even by the original owners. After all, they said their prayers from the books.

The impression the reviewer is left with after inspecting the volumes is one of awe and admiration for the enormous technical achievement both of their original production and their modern reproduction. The sheer quantity of pictures is overwhelming. The Hours of Catherine of Cleves, from the great period of Northern miniature painting (ca. 1440), contains over 150 full size miniatures. The Farnese Hours, the last of the magnificent manuscript Hours and produced one hundred years later, has 26 full page paintings not to mention the elaborately decorated borders on many of the pages throughout. But there is more to be admired: an infinitesimal wealth of detail, an exquisite blending of noble script and pictorial representation, an unmatched delicacy of line and color, and in the case of the Farnese Hours, a Michelangelesque mastery of human figure in mini-format. All of this combines to create an esthetic appeal which only the most snobbish or superficial taste should be able to resist. One has to admit that there is a special satisfaction in handling as one's own (albeit facsimile) what used to be the exclusive property of an elite. Some pride in our age, in the progress of humanity, in democracy and all the rest seems in order, even for a humble Christian.

But once we have gone through this ritual of self-congratulation, what else can we do with these volumes except simply own them? This question, of course, has broader ramifications. It concerns all the splendidly reproduced art which adorns our walls and coffee tables and which demonstrates how well we know how to take advantage of the cultural opportunities offered by our modern age. Books of Hours originally had a clearly defined purpose. They were the late medieval prayer books for private devotional use, the "breviary of the laity," who in this way were able to participate on a smaller scale in the monastic discipline of the daily "office." Thus, they were intended for regular use in ordering one's prayer life, concentrating on the great themes of late medieval theology and piety: the Triune God, Christ, the Cross, the Virgin Mary, the Saints, death, salvation, eternal life. The established pattern of these exercises provided the framework for the artists' efforts. It challenged them to apply their utmost skill in devising a pictorial program, the basic elements of which were laid down by convention and by the expectations of the users. This frame of reference no longer exists for us as a living reality. We can reconstruct it, and we can interpret what we see in the light of our reconstruction. But we cannot pray from a late medieval Book of Hours. The irony of the availability of such volumes today ties in the fact that we have no use for them if we are not art historians or liturgical scholars.

There is not much comfort in the thought that everyone at least can admire the beauty of these works of art. Books of Hours just for enjoyment or decoration? It seems to be the only option for most people. Strangely enough, nothing is wrong with this option. On the contrary,

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the other irony of the situation consists in the fact that our volumes come from a period when Books of Hours were indeed produced for their artistic and decorative effect. The Farnese Hours marks the end of the great age of illuminated religious manuscripts. Even more than the delight in secular luxury displayed in the details of the Cleves Hours, Clovio's Renaissance landscapes, heroes, and nudes demonstrate the turning away from an older, otherworldly piety. The artists were using the old compositional framework, including the hallowed tradition of typology, but they quite openly pursued their own agenda of expanding the artistic potential of miniature painting to new heights of perfection. They wanted their art to be admired as great art. Clovio's obsession with the painted microcosm is one expression of the Renaissance's love for grandeur, which means, for the ambitious exploration of a seemingly limitless human potential.

Today we have travelled along this road a good bit farther, and we may well have come close to the end of it. We are discovering that there is not much headroom left for the unlimited expansion in an outward direction which was the legacy left to modern history by the Renaissance. We have reached the limits of growth in this direction. But our generation is also discovering that there is much space left for growth in a depth dimension which we may have neglected too long. Self-awareness, inner growth, spirituality, meditation, mysticism are "in" words. If this emphasis is with us to stay, there may be a real function again for Books of Hours and late medieval art in general.

The late middle ages were still part of the era when time spent in devotional routine and contemplation was at the core of much of the Christian life. Yet its works of art already bear the stamp of individuality which we prize so highly in our modern attitude toward art. In their imaginative use of traditional iconography the artists put us in touch with a wealth of theological tradition that had developed over centuries and had marked with its symbols the meditative road into the depth dimension. Behind the pictures in these volumes we meet not only the theology of an individual Christian but also a theology expressive of the collective witness of many generations who drew their strength from the contemplation of the realities to which their symbols pointed. There is nothing that could prevent a miniature from the Hours of Catherine of Cleves from becoming an effective help of Christian meditation today. Meditation is time spent on the road into the depth, and it is time well spent. The first step may still center on the esthetic enjoyment of the picture. We will admire the intense realism of the scene at the poolside of Bethesda (see illustrations); we will notice the Brueghel-like figures of the wretched cripples and feel captivated by the bold color scheme. But we may also spend time thinking about the theological parallel between the pool scene and the footwashing portrayed in the lower border, or start inquiring about the log in the pool and discover the rich symbolism of the Tree of Mercy behind it. Or we might ponder the paradox of a Risen Christ stepping onto the ground with his bleeding foot from a cross whose bold lines cut

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through heaven and earth and every frame: Christ, victor and victim, his blood collected in the winepress as the drink of life for us (see illustration).

Christian theology finds many expressions. If the direction of our quest today is shifting from the limits of outward expansion to the infinite dimensions of inner space, we may be able to see one of its most powerful expressions, Christian art, in a new light. This may be the right time to start collecting Books of Hours and using them as they were intended.

Karlfried Froehlich
Princeton Theological Seminary
Princeton, New Jersey