On a sarcophagus in the Lateran Museum is a bas relief in which Our Lord, as the representative of the Eternal Father, is seen standing between Adam and Eve, and giving to the former a sheaf of grain, the symbol that by the sweat of his brow he should eat bread, and to the latter a lamb, that she may work diligently with her hands in the domestic employment of spinning—the allotted labour of woman in every age. Perhaps, also, as Dr. Northcote suggests, the lamb was a symbol and mute prophecy of “the Lamb of God whom the second Eve was to bring forth to atone for all the evil that the first Eve had brought upon mankind.”

One of the most frequently recurring figures in this series is that of Noah in the ark. This is always repeated in one unvarying phase of the most jejune and meagre character. There is no attempt at historical representation of the actual scenes of the deluge. Instead of a huge vessel riding upon the waves, with its vast and varied living freight, there is only a small pulpit-like enclosure,[481] in which Noah stands and receives in his hand the returning dove with the olive branch in its mouth. The following engraving, which, although apparently out of perspective, is an accurate copy of a painting in the Catacomb of Callixtus, is a characteristic example.

Occasionally the position of the patriarch is slightly altered, as in Fig. 65, from the Catacomb of St. Priscilla; but this is all the variety of treatment of which the artistic genius of the age seemed capable.

This rude representation, however, was regarded, in accordance with the exposition of St. Peter,[482] as a symbol of Christian baptism; while the ark was the figure of Christ’s church, in which believers “may so pass the waves of this troublesome world that finally they may come to the land of everlasting life.” The dove and olive branch may further imply, that the weary soul, being justified by faith, found peace with God and entered into endless rest.[483]

Another favourite subject of the early Christian artists was the sacrifice of Isaac, an appropriate type of the greater sacrifice to be offered up when, in the fulness of the time, God should provide himself a lamb for an offering. From this theme the persecuted Christians doubtless often derived spiritual comfort amid the fiery trials of their faith to which they were exposed. It taught also the duty of self-consecration. “May I, like the youthful Isaac,” says Paulinus, “be offered to God a living sacrifice, and, bearing my wood, follow my Holy Father beneath the cross.”[484] This subject is repeated, with considerable variety of treatment, both in frescoes and in sculpture. In Fig. 68, from the cemetery of St. Priscilla, Isaac is seen bearing the wood for the sacrifice. In Fig. 69, from the Catacomb of Marcellinus, he is already bound, and Abraham has stretched forth his hand to slay his son, while the divinely substituted lamb appears from behind the altar.

In several examples a hand stretched forth from on high seizes the knife to prevent the consummation of the sacrifice. (See Fig. 107.) It is recorded that Gregory of Nyssa frequently shed tears on reading this pathetic story.

Joseph, sold by his brethren and afterward saving them alive, was a striking type of Him who redeemed with his own blood the guilty race which caused his death. It is, therefore, a subject that appears with peculiar propriety among the tombs of the primitive Christians.

Several scenes from the life of Moses are delineated in this biblical cycle. One of these, as sometimes treated, for classic grace and dignity reminds one of some noble antique. It is Moses on Mount Horeb putting off his shoes from his feet. This act is interpreted by some of the Christian Fathers[485] as an emblem of the renunciation of the world, the flesh, and the devil demanded of the servants of Christ. The accompanying example, Fig. 70, is from the cemetery of Callixtus.

Fig. 71, from a sarcophagus in the Lateran, represents Moses on Mount Sinai receiving from the hand of God the law, which was to be the schoolmaster to bring men to Christ. Moses is sometimes exhibited, also, as breaking the tables of the law on his descent from the mount.

In the Catacomb of St. Cyriaca is a unique picture of the descent of the manna—the emblem of the “True Bread which came down from heaven.” It is seen falling in a copious shower, and gathered in the vestments of four Israelites. According to Martigny the accompanying engraving, Fig. 72, from the Catacomb of St. Priscilla, and another in the Callixtan Catacomb, represent Moses standing among the baskets of manna gathered in the wilderness. But for the severe and aged expression of countenance, so different from the youthful aspect of Our Lord in the frescoes of the Catacombs, they might be taken for pictures of Christ and the seven baskets of fragments left after feeding the multitude.

More frequently recurring than any other scene in the history of Moses is that of his striking water from the rock, an emblem of the spiritual blessings flowing to the church through the sufferings of the Messiah, “For they drank of that spiritual Rock which followed them; and that Rock was Christ.”[486] The illustration in Fig. 73 is taken from a sarcophagus found in the cemetery of St. Agnes. That in Fig. 74 is from a fresco of earlier date in the Catacomb of Marcellinus.

In two or three of the gilded glasses to be hereafter mentioned, which are of comparatively late date, this scene is rudely indicated, and over the head or at the side of the figure is the word Petrvs or Peter. From this circumstance Roman Catholic writers have asserted that in many of the sarcophagal and other representations of this event it is no longer Moses but Peter, “the leader of the new Israel of God,” who is striking the rock with the emblem of divine power—a conclusion for which there is absolutely no evidence except the very trivial fact above mentioned.[487]

The sufferings of the patriarch Job form the subject of a few of these scriptural illustrations. In the accompanying illustration, taken from the cemetery of Marcellinus, he is seen sitting in his sorrow and bemoaning the day that gave him birth. Amid their fiery trials of persecution the primitive Christians doubtless often found comfort in contrasting their sufferings with the still more terrible afflictions of the patriarch of Uz.

The sarcophagus of Junius Bassus exhibits a bas relief of Job comforted by his friends. The complaint of the patriarch that even his wife had abhorred his breath—so reads the Vulgate translation of Jerome, which was in use at this period—is grotesquely illustrated by a female figure, who holds a handkerchief to her nose.[488]

The victory of the stripling David over the great champion of the enemies of Israel seemed strikingly to prefigure the triumph of primitive Christianity over the colossal paganism to which it was opposed. It was also the symbol of the victory of Our Lord over a mightier foe than the insolent Philistine; and by some of the Fathers the stones and sling of the Jewish shepherd-lad were likened to the cross of Christ, by which Satan is vanquished and his kingdom overthrown. The devout monarch of Israel was also a recognized type of Him who was the root and the offspring of David, who should inherit his throne, and reign over the house of Jacob forever.

The translation of Elijah was frequently depicted as being typical of the ascension of Our Lord, which was regarded as too sacred a theme for direct presentment in art. The chariot generally resembles the classic quadriga. In a sarcophagal example in the Lateran Museum Elisha is represented as reverently receiving the mantle of Elijah, the emblem of the double measure of his spirit that rested upon him. In the background two sons of the prophets gaze with apparent astonishment on the scene. Two bears, which are also indicated, are probably intended for those that devoured the children who mocked the prophet Elisha on his way to Bethel.

In Fig. 76, from a fresco of earlier date in the Catacomb of Callixtus, it will be seen that graves have been made in the back of the arcosolium, cutting off the head of Elijah and the feet of the two lower figures.

According to the strained mode of interpretation of Roman Catholic writers on this subject, the gift of the mantle of Elijah to his successor in office is a type of Christ’s bestowment of authority upon St. Peter as the “Prince of the Apostles,” and his especial representative on earth. “It would certainly,” says Dr. Northcote, “have reminded the Roman Christians of the pallium, the symbol of jurisdiction worn by the bishops of Rome, and given by them to metropolitans as from the very body of St. Peter—De Corpore Sancti Petri.”[489] A more improbable assumption it would be difficult to imagine. Nobler in conception, which, as well as more scriptural, is the interpretation of this type given by St. Chrysostom: “Elias, in ascending into heaven, let his mantle fall on Elisha: Jesus, when he, too, ascended thither, left the gift of his graces to his disciples—graces which constitute not merely a single prophet, but an infinite number of Elishas, much greater and more illustrious than that one.”[490]

The persecuted saints who dared to encounter death and danger in their most dreadful forms rather than deny their faith, found great consolation in the remembrance of God’s deliverance of his servants in the days of old. With the bloodthirsty cry of the ribald plebs of Rome—Christiani ad leones—still ringing in their ears, and, it may be, with the roar of the savage beasts of prey crashing on their shuddering nerves, they were sustained by the thought of the fidelity of those ancient worthies who, for their integrity to God, braved the flames of the fiery furnace and the perils of the lions’ den. The three Hebrew children are generally exhibited with the oriental tiara and tunics. In the foregoing example from the cemetery of St. Priscilla, a dove is shown bringing an olive branch, the pledge of victory and peace.

In Fig. 78, from the cemetery of Hermes, they are shown as standing in a “burning fiery furnace,” whose flames, though heated seven times hotter than their wont, play lambently around them without even singeing their garments.

In the following example from the Catacomb of St. Agnes the furnace is reduced to a shallow vessel in which the Hebrews stand unhurt. This has been incorrectly interpreted as a representation of martyrdom by boiling in oil. Its association, however, with the figure of Daniel in the lions’ den, and its general resemblance to other groups of the same subject, unquestionably indicate its true character.

Daniel in the den is generally represented by a nude figure standing between two lions, with his hands stretched out as if in supplication, and thereby, says St. Gregory, conquering the lions by prayer. While, generally, the type of the deliverance of God’s people, it may sometimes by association have been a memorial of the Christian martyrs devoured by wild beasts in the neighbouring Coliseum, whose sands were so often drenched with their gore. The following fresco from the Catacomb of St. Priscilla is a characteristic example. See Fig. 80.

Sometimes another figure, interpreted as “the prophet Habaccuc,” is depicted as borne by an angel by the hair of the head and offering food to Daniel, as described in the apocryphal story of Bel and the Dragon. Another fresco represents Daniel as giving to the monster the cake which he had prepared for its destruction. The story of Tobias and the fish, and of Susanna and the elders, are also illustrated in this remarkable series of paintings. These last are of interest as indicating a familiar acquaintance with the apocryphal books in the early centuries. Figures interpreted as Isaiah, who seems, like the Magi, to come from afar to lay his gifts at the feet of Christ, and as Ezekiel in the valley of dry bones, also occur in the Catacombs.

One of the most common, and, if we may judge from the style of execution, one of the favourite subjects of mural and sarcophagal presentation in this biblical cycle, is the history of Jonah. It is repeated over and over again with a high degree of picturesqueness, and with greater variety of treatment than, perhaps, any other. It appears also on lamps, vases, medals, gilt glasses, and funeral slabs. The story is generally represented in a series of four scenes: the storm, and the monster of the deep swallowing the prophet; his deliverance from its horrid jaws, and restoration to land; his reclining under the shadow of the gourd for refreshment and rest; and his gloom and anger when the gourd has withered away and he lies in his misery beneath the burning sun. Sometimes the four scenes occupy the four walls of the cubiculum, or the compartments of a vaulted ceiling; or only two may be exhibited, as in the engraving on the opposite page, from the cemetery of St. Priscilla, in which Jonah is portrayed as a child issuing from the mouth of the sea-monster, and afterward reclining under the booth.

Sometimes the whole history is compressed into one crowded scene, as in the following example. (Fig. 81.) The character of the little bark is much like that seen in pagan frescoes.

In some instances the “ship” is reduced to a mere boat, and the “mariners” to a single individual, as in Fig. 83, from the cemetery of St. Priscilla.

In the following sarcophagal example, (Fig. 84,) the somewhat startling anachronism of Noah receiving the dove from the prow of Jonah’s vessel appears in the background. The “sea” is here a narrow stream; and the “fish,” a monster with the head and paws of a quadruped, on one side of the boat is swallowing the disobedient prophet, and on the other is casting him forth upon the rocky shores. Such solecisms are by no means uncommon in these groups.

The “great fish” in these scenes bears no resemblance to any living thing. It is generally a monster with contorted body, a long neck and large head, sometimes armed with horns, (see Figs. 81, 82,) probably to distinguish it from the symbolical fish, the emblem of Our Lord, or as a type of “the old serpent, the devil.” The form may have been derived from the mythological representations of the marine monster from whose jaws Andromeda was rescued by Perseus. The latter story, like that of Deucalion and many others in the Greek mythology, probably had its origin in holy scripture.

This subject was naturally dear to the early Christians, inasmuch as it was set forth by Our Lord himself as a type of his own resurrection and that of his disciples. Therefore as the persecuted believers met in those solemn and silent chambers of the dead, they inscribed on the sepulchral slabs which hid the mouldering dust of the departed from their view, or on the walls of the cubicula in which they worshipped, this symbol of faith and hope in the glorious resurrection. It also conveyed a lesson of sublimest meaning to the primitive Christians, called to be witnesses for God in a city greater and more wicked and idolatrous than even Nineveh. It was a potent incentive to fidelity even unto death. The storm-tossed bark, the ravening monster, and the prophet’s booth and gourd, were the types of life’s rough voyage, the yawning grave, and the speedy transit to the bowers of everlasting bliss and the refreshing fruits of the tree of life.

A long and acrimonious controversy was waged between Jerome and Augustine as to the nature of the plant which overshadowed the prophet. Jerome called it ivy; but Augustine retained the word gourd of the older Italic version, and excluded from his diocese of Hippo the Vulgate version of Jerome containing the obnoxious translation. It is a curious commentary on an ancient dispute in the church, and a proof of the antiquity of the Catacombs, that their frescoes seem to have followed the older version, and to have given their testimony against the innovation of Jerome. See Fig. 85, a copy of a broken sepulchral slab, in which the prophet’s booth is reduced to a single branch of a gourd.

Here ends this Old Testament cycle, so rich in holy teaching, all whose types and symbols point to the great Antitype of whom Moses and the prophets spake. The New Testament series will in like manner be found to cluster around the person and work of the Redeemer; to the exclusion, however, of the solemn scenes of the transfiguration, the passion, resurrection, and ascension, which are the principal themes of later religious art; and without the slightest indication of that idolatrous veneration of Mary which is the chief feature of modern Romanism, thus showing how far that church has departed from the usage of apostolic times.

The first subject of this New Testament cycle is the manifestation of Our Lord to the Magi by the star in the east, the sign that the Bright and Morning Star had risen upon the world.[491] Over twenty repetitions of this scene are found in the Catacombs.

The following sarcophagal example, from the Catacomb of Callixtus, represents the Magi bearing their gifts, and led by the star to the place where the young child lay. The babe is seen wrapped in swaddling-clothes and lying in a manger. An ox and an ass stand near the divine child, probably in fanciful allusion to that scripture, “The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib;” as well as in historical illustration of the scene. Joseph and Mary appear in the background as mere accessories of the group.

In the accompanying engraving of a fresco in the cemetery of St. Marcellinus the virgin mother is represented as seated in the calm attitude and dress of a Roman matron, holding the infant Christ in her arms, but not in the least suggesting the modern Madonna.[492] The Magi bring their offerings as the first-fruits of the homage of the world. Sometimes the number is increased to four or reduced to two, in which case they are arranged on either side of the Virgin, to preserve the balance and symmetry of the picture.[493] The figure of Joseph sometimes completes the group, but generally as a young and beardless man, in contradiction to the Romish tradition of his old age, derived from the apocryphal gospels. These legends supply the theme of much of the religious art of the fifth and following centuries; but Dr. Northcote admits that “before that time Christian artists seem strictly to have been kept within the limits of the canonical books of the holy scripture.”[494]

A fresco in the Catacomb of Nereus and Achilles, attributed to the second century, is supposed to be the oldest extant art-presentation of the Virgin Mary. In these early pictures she is generally exhibited as veiled, and expressing dignity and modesty in her attitude and dress, and only in her historical relation to the divine child. Not till later does she appear alone, or even as the principal figure. Dr. Northcote, indeed, cites one example apparently of Joseph,[495] Mary, and the infant Jesus, concerning which he says that the Virgin does not enter into the composition as a secondary personage, but herself supplies the motive to the whole painting.[496] In the engraving which he gives, this indeed appears to be the case; but in the original, and in the copy given by De Rossi,[497] which shows the entire painting, the figure of the Virgin is only a very small and subordinate portion of an elaborate decorative design, and its position is not upright, as if it were the principal object, but horizontal, as being only accessory to the main grouping. All these early presentations of the Virgin Mary, says Mr. Marriott,[498] occur only in such connexion as is directly suggested by holy scripture, and none of them would appear out of place in an illustrated English Bible, so different are they from the Madonnas of Roman Catholic art.

There are numerous frescoes in the Catacombs of persons, both male and female, in the attitude of prayer, hence called Oranti, (see Fig. 82,) and the accompanying simpler example from the cemetery of Sts. Peter and Marcellinus. These are frequently found on sepulchral slabs, the sex and apparent age of the Orante always corresponding with that of the person named in the inscription. They are generally regarded, therefore, as portraits of the departed, and as probably indicating that they lived a life of prayer, and died in the faith. Thus the oranti, in Fig. 82, are thought by Perret to be intended for Priscilla, in whose cemetery it is found, and her companion.[499] It is at least most likely that they represented the deceased and not another, in the same manner as modern sepulchral effigies, and as the pictures of fossors, vine-dressers, and handicraftsmen in the Catacombs. Dr. Northcote at one time admitted this explanation of these figures. “We can scarcely err,” he says, “in supposing them to be the persons, whoever they were, who were buried in these chambers.”[500] But in his later work on the Catacombs he says, “Possibly this conjecture may sometimes be correct, but in the majority of instances we feel certain that it is inadmissible;”[501] and he claims them as representations of the Virgin Mary, or as symbols of the Church, the Bride of Christ, whose life on earth is a life of prayer. This is manifestly the intention, he asserts, when, as is frequently the case, the figure is found as a companion to that of the Good Shepherd; and he gives an engraving from Bosio of one such, which is catalogued as the “Good Shepherd and the Blessed Virgin.”[502] But in referring to Bosio this figure is found to be not the Virgin Mary at all, but a Christian martyr, as is indicated by the attribute of a plumbata, or leaden scourge, painted beside her, which is omitted in Dr. Northcote’s engraving, (inadvertently, as he explains;) and she is designated by Bosio, Una Donna Orante—a woman in the act of prayer. And this figure is the only one out of all figured by Bosio and Aringhi which at all agrees with Dr. Northcote’s description. The others when associated with the Good Shepherd are either in groups of two or more, or are mixed with male oranti, the existence of which Dr. Northcote seems to ignore.

But even if the Virgin Mary were referred to in these paintings it would prove nothing in favour of modern Mariolatry. Indeed, nothing could be more striking than the contrast between these simple praying figures, undistinguished by any attribute from others of the pious dead, and the crowned Queen of Heaven receiving the homage of mankind, of later Roman Catholic art. But that they are such is an entirely gratuitous and unwarranted assumption; and with equal propriety, or rather lack of it, they have been interpreted by the monkish ciceroni of the Catacombs as symbols of martyrdom, as portraits of living persons praying to the dead, and as saints in heaven praying for men on earth.[503]

In the gilded glasses, to be hereafter described, which belong to a period of very degraded art, probably from the fourth to the sixth century, representations of the Virgin mother sometimes occur, recognized by her name written above her head after the Byzantine manner. She appears either alone, or between figures of the apostles Peter and Paul. This honour, however, is shared by other female saints, especially by Saint Agnes. In one example Mary wears a nimbus, a proof of comparatively late date.

One fresco in the Catacomb of Sts. Thraso and Saturninus has been supposed to have some reference to the Virgin Mary. It is figured in the lunette of the vault in the accompanying engraving. (Fig. 89.)[504] It is interpreted, however, by Bottari, a distinguished Romanist antiquary, as not a painting of the Madonna at all, but simply of a family group.

The first art-presentation of the Virgin Mary bearing any resemblance to the conventional Madonna, which has been so endlessly reproduced and so idolatrously honoured throughout Roman Catholic Christendom, is one in an arcosolium in the Catacomb of St. Agnes. (See Fig. 90.) The head of the Virgin is veiled, a necklace of pearls adorns her person, and her hands are extended in prayer. The infant Christ is not seated, but standing before her, as is common in a favourite type of the Greek church, especially in Russia—an indication that this was probably painted by a Byzantine artist, as was most of the later work at Rome. But even in this picture the early Christians, unprescient of the Mariolatry of the future, would see the expression only of a loving regard for her who was pronounced the “blessed among women.” The sacred monogram on either side assigns a date not earlier than the fourth century to this painting; and Martigny, an eminent Romanist authority, thinks it is later than the Council of Ephesus, in the fifth century,—A. D. 431.

By this time a sad departure from primitive orthodoxy of belief had already taken place. The blasphemous title Theotokos, Mother of God, since so unhappily familiar,[505] had been applied to the Virgin Mary, at first in protest against the Arian heresy which denied the divinity of Our Lord, and not in exaltation of his virgin mother. Nestorius strongly objected to the unwarranted and antiscriptural title, and suggested that of the mother of Christ. An angry controversy resulted, to appease which Theodosius the younger assembled the Council of Ephesus. Nestorius was judged without being heard, degraded from the episcopal dignity, and sent into exile; and the obnoxious epithet was confirmed through the exercise of fraud and violence. Flavianus, a member of the Council, actually died of wounds received in that turbulent assembly; and amid these disgraceful scenes was first formulated this dogma, which has been fraught with such perilous consequences to both Greek and Latin Christianity.

The artistic embodiment of this doctrine underwent a rapid decline. The sweet and tender grace of the virgin mother disappears, the modest veil gives place to a crown, she becomes vulgarized in expression, jewels bedizen her person, the attitude becomes stiff and lifeless, the countenance darkens and assumes an expression of pain rather than that of gentleness and peace, and the innocent smile of the Divine Infant gives place to an unnatural severity and gloom. The beginning of this decline is seen in the Madonna already described, (Fig. 90), in which the person of Mary is adorned with a showy necklace of jewels. This type passes by rapid gradations, during the gathering gloom of the dark ages, into the anguished pictures of the Mater Dolorosa, bowed down with sevenfold sorrows, and the gross images of Our Lady of the Bleeding Heart, her bosom transpierced with a naked sword.[506] But even in this is seen the striking moral contrast between the spirit of Christian and that of pagan art. The loftiest ideal of the latter is the expression of mere corporeal beauty, while the former exhibits the noblest type of purity, sorrow, and love the world has ever seen. With the Renaissance this ideal became the inspiration of art, and gave birth to those triumphs of genius which kindle admiration in the coldest nature, and invest with a spell of pathos and power a dogma which the judgment rejects.

The silence of the primitive Fathers concerning the worship of Mary is a striking evidence of its non-existence, and their language when they do speak of her still more strongly demonstrates that fact. Tertullian seems to infer her lack of faith in the mission of Our Lord, and compares her unfavourably with Martha and Mary.[507] Prudentius refuses to ascribe to her absolute sinlessness.[508] Augustine asserts the natural depravity of her flesh.[509] Chrysostom boldly accuses her of ambition and thoughtlessness,[510] and says, “She shall have no benefit from being the mother of Christ unless in all things she doeth what is right.”[511] Cyril of Alexandria, Basil of Cæsarea, and Hilary of Poitiers, speak in similar unequivocal terms, which Petavius, the Roman theologian, says are not fit to be uttered.[512] The Collyridian heretics, indeed, rendered idolatrous homage to Mary;[513] but Epiphanius vehemently denounces the practice as blasphemous and dangerous to the soul. “Let Mary be held in honour,” he says, “but let her not be worshipped.”[514] Irenæus first points out the fanciful antithesis between Mary and Eve, which was afterward so remarkably elaborated in Roman thought and diction.[515] Ephraem Syrus and Gregory Nazianzen, indeed, speak of her invocation in prayer, but this was an honour already bestowed on numerous other saints. The heathen writers, moreover, who accused the Christians of worshipping a mere man, as they considered Christ, would surely have brought a similar accusation on account of the worship of Mary if it were known; but we nowhere find that this was done. Indeed, it is probable that the contumely and opprobrium with which the heathen spoke of the mother of Our Lord may have intensified into superstitious veneration the loving reverence with which she was regarded in the primitive ages. Tertullian quotes the blasphemous pagan epithet, “the harlot’s son,” applied to Christ in allusion to his miraculous birth.[516] It has been reserved for a gifted modern poet, as pagan and skeptical in sentiment as Lucretius, to parallel, or even surpass, this revolting impiety.[517]

The testimony of the early Christian inscriptions is not less strikingly opposed to the modern Mariolatry of the church of Rome. “In the Lapidarian Gallery,” says Maitland, “the name of the Virgin Mary does not once occur. Nor is it to be found in any truly ancient inscription contained in the works of Aringhi, Boldetti, or Bottari.”[518] No Ave Maria or Ora pro nobis, no Theotokos or Mater Dei, occurs in any of the subterranean crypts or corridors of the Catacombs. Even the name Maria, now so commonly applied in varying forms to both males and females throughout Roman Catholic countries, does not occur till the year 381, and only twice afterward, in 536 and 538—an evidence of the entire absence of that devotional regard now lavished upon the Virgin Mary.[519]

This religious homage was only gradually developed to its present full-blown idolatry. Its traces in early Christian art are extremely infrequent and obscure. In the numerous mosaics of the fifth and sixth century at Rome and Ravenna, the figure of Mary very rarely occurs, and never but as accessory to the Divine Child in the Nativity or Adoration of the Magi. In these there was no attempt at literal portraiture, but only the expression of the virtues that adorned her character; “that,” as Ambrose expresses it, “the face might be the image of her mind, the model of uprightness.”[520] Indeed, Augustine expressly asserts that we are ignorant of her appearance.[521]

During the seventh century, along with a progressive barbarism of treatment may be observed a gradual exaltation of Mary in the Roman mosaics to those places previously devoted to the image of Christ.[522] In the eighth century, according to D’Agincourt, “the homage paid to her was no longer distinguished from that rendered to the Lord of all;”[523] and the Council of Constantinople decreed, “that whoever would not avail himself of the intercession of Mary should be accursed.”[524] In extant pictures of the ninth century she is exhibited in bejewelled purple robes as the crowned Queen of Heaven, receiving the homage of the four and twenty elders and of the celestial hosts.[525] In this century also the legend of her bodily assumption to the skies, which has since become such a prominent theme in Roman Catholic art and doctrine, is first represented in the crypts of St. Clement’s at Rome.[526]

In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries the apotheosis of Mary is complete. In a fresco at Rome, of date 1154 A. D., Popes Callixtus II. and Anastasius IV. are shown embracing her feet in adoration, and transferring to the human mother the homage due alone to the Divine Son. She is now worshipped co-ordinately with Christ, or, indeed, almost to his exclusion, her name being substituted for his in many of the collects of the church. Much of the language of Scripture was also blasphemously perverted from its proper application to her. The glowing images of the Song of Songs, addressed to the church as the spouse of Christ, were also applied to Mary as her right; and one of Rome’s most common and popular books of devotion of this period, the psalter of her “Seraphic Doctor,” St. Bonaventura, has a shocking parody on the book of Psalms, in which the name of God was every-where expunged and that of Mary substituted instead.[527] The Ave Maria, with its human additions, was regarded as of equal importance and value with the Lord’s Prayer, and was made the basis of the vain repetitions of the rosary. Mary now shares the government of heaven and earth, “raised higher than cherubim and seraphim,”[528] throned in glory, sitting on a rainbow, enveloped in an aureole, clothed with the sun, the moon beneath her feet, a crown of stars upon her head,[529] and radiating from her person beams of light, the proper attribute of deity.[530] She is frequently represented, even in heaven, with the infant Christ in her arms, a mere accessory to indicate her personality, as if to show his relative inferiority.[531] She becomes, too, herself the object of prayer, having a special litany and numerous offices in the liturgy of the church; while her praises are chanted in some of its noblest lyrics. She is addressed as the gate of heaven,[532] the morning star,[533] and the refuge of sinners;[534] and is exhorted to succor the wretched,[535] protect from enemies, receive in the hour of death,[536] and intercede with God for men.[537] She is endowed with the faculty of omniscience and ubiquity, and is made almost to thrust the Eternal from his throne by her usurpation of his divine prerogatives.[538]

But this impious blasphemy seems to have culminated in the Italian frescoes of the fifteenth century, in which the infamous Giulia Farnese is exhibited in the character of the Madonna, and Pope Alexander VI., the execrable Borgia, kneeling as a votary at her feet. The Florentine churches, too, were desecrated by portraits of well-known harlots, flaunting their meretricious beauty as the personations of the mother of Our Lord. For his denunciation of these profanations and of other impieties Savonarola perished at the stake.[539]

The rapid development of Mariolatry, the great corruption of Christianity, as Hallam has justly called it, may to some extent be regarded as a reaction against the harsh and austere character which was given to Our Lord both in art and dogma. He was enthroned in awful majesty as the dreadful Judge of mankind. Removed from human sympathy, inspiring only terror to the soul, he was no longer Christ the Consoler, but Christ the Avenger.[540] Religion was darkened by dismal bodings of endless doom, and embittered by the fierceness of polemic strife; and the moral atmosphere seemed lurid with the hurtling anathemas of rival sects. To the yearning hearts of mankind; to the multitude of the weary and the heavy laden, to whom the Saviour’s voice, “Come unto me, and I will give you rest,” was inaudible amid the conflicts of the times; and especially to those bowed down with a sense of sin and sorrow, and trembling at the thought of the severe, inexorable Judge, the gentle gospel of Mary came with a sweet and winning grace that found its way into their inmost souls. All images of tenderness and ruth surrounded her. The blending

Of mother’s love with maiden purity[541]

touched the hidden springs of feeling which exist in the rudest natures, and made the worship of Mary a religion of hope and consolation. She became the new Mediatrix between the sinful human soul and the Father in heaven. Those who shrank from God fled for succour to the virgin mother. The pitifulness of her human nature was esteemed a stronger ground of confidence than that infinite compassion and everlasting love which was manifested in the agony and bloody sweat of Gethsemane and the cross and passion of Calvary. Hence Mary has often been regarded as a sort of tutelar divinity by the ferocious brigand who stained with blood the scapular which he wore as a sacred talisman; and by the daughter of shame who, in strange blending profligacy and devotion, cherished her image in the very lair of vice.

But, as there is a soul of goodness in things evil, so even the antiscriptural perversions of Mariolatry were not without some moral benefit to mankind. In a coarse, rude age a new ideal of excellence was developed. A morose asceticism was spreading on every side, denouncing the sweet and gentle charities of hearth and home, and forbidding the love of wife and child to those who would attain to the heights of holiness. Woman was degraded as a being of inferior nature, regarded as “a necessary evil,” and forbidden, as unworthy, to touch with her hand the sacred emblems of the passion of Christ. But this cultus of Mary raised woman to a loftier plane of being, invested her with a moral dignity and power infinitely superior to any thing known to pagan times, and called forth a deeper reverence and more chivalrous regard.

 This example of all womanhood,
So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good,
So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure,[542]

ennobled and dignified the entire sex, and therefore raised and purified the whole of society. The worship of sorrow softened savage natures to more human gentleness, and ameliorated the horrors of long dark centuries of cruelty and blood.

We have dwelt thus long on this development of Romanism on account of the remarkable prominence and enhanced dignity it has received by the bull of the Immaculate Conception, issued on the individual authority of the present pontiff,[543] and by the decree of his personal infallibility imposed on all Roman Catholic Christendom. We have seen how alien it is to the entire spirit and teachings, both in art and literature, of the primitive church, and have traced its growth with the decline of Christianity, like a fungus on a dying tree, till it has sapped its very life, and concealed its early beauty and strength beneath deformity and decay.

The other groups of the New Testament cycle are chiefly scenes in the life of Our Lord, together with representations of some of his principal miracles and two or three illustrations of the parables. This series, it must be confessed, is of exceedingly meagre character and limited range, being remarkable as much for what it omits as for what it contains. Out of the vast number of subjects which have been treated in later religious art, a comparatively few have been selected, which are over and over repeated with unvarying iteration of type.