FIGURE 16.1 Mosaic arch, Sta. Maria Maggiore, Rome (c.435). Photo: Author
ROBIN M. JENSEN
SOME of the earliest surviving visual representations of stories from the apocryphal documents can be seen in Rome’s oldest and largest Marian church, the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore (St Mary Major). Founded during the reign of Pope Celestine I (422–32) and completed by his successor Sixtus III (432–40), the basilica’s construction began shortly after the Council of Ephesus (431), which (among other things) declared Mary to be the Mother of God (Theotokos). As one of the major papal establishments, it was a monumental witness to the Marian cult in the West, particularly in Rome.
Sixtus’ dedication, preserved only in a medieval transcription, seemingly alludes to the church’s primary image of the Virgin, surrounded by martyrs. In this inscription, Sixtus records his understanding of the Virgin’s role in salvation and, in particular, his assertion of Mary’s physical virginity, not only before conception but also in the delivery itself (in partu).
VIRGO MARIA TIBI XYSTVS NOVA TECTA DICAVI
DIGNA SALVTIFERO MVNERA VENTRE TVO
TV GENITRIX IGNARA VIRI TE DENIQUE FAETA
VISCERIBVS SALVIS EDITA NOSTRA SALVS
ECCE TVI TESTES VTERI SIBI PRAEMIA PORTANT
SVB PEDIBVSQVE IACET PASSIO CVIQVE SVA
FERRVM FLAMMA FERAE FLVVIVS SAEVVMQVE VENENVM
TOT TAMEN HAS MORTES VNA CORONA MANET (Diehl, ILCV I.976)
Virgin Mary, to you Sixtus dedicates a new dwelling;
a worthy offering to your salvation-bearing womb.
You, a mother, having born a child, yet having known no man,
our salvation came forth from your intact womb.
Behold, the witnesses of your womb win crowns for themselves
and each one’s passion lies beneath his feet:
sword, fire, wild beast, river, and bitter poison.
So many kinds of death, yet one crown endures. (Trans., author)
Although Mary’s virginity in partu was not defined in the canons of the Council of Ephesus, it was asserted by Augustine of Hippo, who had been a correspondent of Sixtus’ (cf. Ep. 194). In a sermon for Christmas Day, probably delivered around 411, Augustine speaks of Mary’s virginity in conception, in delivery, and in perpetuity (Serm. 186.1). Prior to this, another western bishop, Zeno of Verona (300–71) also had preached on Mary’s threefold virginity (Tract. 2.8.2, 1.5.3) and, within a decade or so of the church’s construction, Sixtus’ successor, Leo I (pope from 440–61), had incorporated it into both preaching and theological argument (Ep. Flavian or Tome; Serm. 23.1). Thus, a tradition that may have had its origins in the apocryphal nativity story of the midwife’s test (Prot. Jas. 20) became an important aspect of the Virgin’s depiction in the very first major basilica dedicated to her, more than 250 years before the dogma was promulgated at an official ecclesial synod, the so-called Quinisext Council (692), Can. 79.
Sta. Maria Maggiore’s original image of the Ever-Virgin was lost at the end of the thirteenth century, when massive renovations to the church demolished the apse and changed much of basilica’s appearance (Spain 1983). Based on the surviving traces as well as later (thirteenth-century) monumental apse mosaic, which depicts the Coronation of the Virgin, scholars have concluded that the original apse depicted the enthroned Virgin holding the Christ Child (Henkels 1971; Cormack 2000; Brenk 2010). However, other than another long-destroyed apse from the Basilica Suricorum at Sta. Maria in Capua Vetere (also dated to the 430s), extant examples of this motif cannot be dated before the early sixth century (e.g. the Virgin and Child with saints from the Catacomb of Commodilla, 528–30). Thus, Sta. Maria Maggiore’s Virgin and Child may have been one of the earliest—if not the first—of these types. In nearly all her later representations, the Virgin wears what would become her most traditional garb: a fairly simple dark blue stola and veil (often embellished with gold details), a white coif, and red slippers, which suggests that she wore a similar costume here.
By contrast to the apse mosaic, both the basilica’s fifth-century triumphal arch mosaics and forty-three nave panels have survived and, except for some later restorations, are largely intact. While many of the Old Testament scenes in the nave mosaics are the first of their kind, their identification has been more or less uncontroversial (Karpp 1966; Brenk 1975; Saxer 2001). The subjects of the arch’s compositional scheme, however, have puzzled historians and led to a number of conflicting interpretations (Figure 16.1). Most agree that the arch panels, arranged in four ascending horizontal zones, show scenes from the life of the Virgin Mary and Christ, and the majority of scholars perceive the influence of apocryphal writings, in particular the Protevangelium of James and the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew, on their composition. The presumed influence of these non-canonical documents on the arch mosaics makes them the earliest known monumental display of apocryphal Marian narratives.
FIGURE 16.1 Mosaic arch, Sta. Maria Maggiore, Rome (c.435). Photo: Author
Despite her role in earlier theological constructions, which defined Mary as the New Eve (the obedient one who overcame the disobedience of the first woman and was thus credited for her role in salvation), or her early recognition as a model for Christian ascetics, the Virgin Mary was not a popular subject for early Christian art. Most of her appearances in third- or fourth-century catacomb paintings and sarcophagus reliefs show her in profile, seated and holding the Christ Child in a depiction of the adoration of the magi. Sometimes these compositions include a scene of the ox and ass at the manger. Apart from these and some unique—and possibly misidentified—paintings from the Catacomb of Priscilla, most of the well-known Marian themes in visual art (e.g. the Annunciation, Madonna and Child) are virtually absent before the fifth century and remain rare until the sixth and later. (There are two paintings in the Catacomb of Priscilla that commonly are identified as the Madonna and Child and the Annunciation (Parlby 2008), but they are at least unique and—especially in the case of the latter—may simply be paintings of a mother and a child or a seated woman with an unidentified man.)
This limited scope of Marian motifs may seem surprising considering her importance in the gospels and the fact that apocryphal traditions about her had been circulating since at least the second century (cf. Origen, Comm. Matt. 9.2, 17.1). With some possible exceptions, including a late fourth-century sarcophagus from Le Puy that some scholars believe to show the betrothal of Mary and Joseph (Prot. Jas. 9; Cartlidge and Elliott 2001: 36) but could be a more ordinary marriage scene, the lid of Syracuse’s Adelphia sarcophagus that arguably depicts an unprecedented version of the annunciation to Mary at the spring (Prot. Jas. 11; Cartlidge and Elliott 2001: 78), and the suggestion that Mary—and not the Samaritan woman—is shown at the well in the mid-third-century Dura Europos baptistery (Peppard 2012: 554–6), little undisputed evidence of apocryphal influence can be found in artworks dated prior to the early fifth century. Only the depiction of the ox and ass at the stable (Ps.-Mt. 14—cf. Figure 16.2) clearly demonstrate that some non-canonical traditions had found their way into early Christian iconography.
FIGURE 16.2 Detail of sarcophagus, nativity with ox and ass, last quarter, fourth century. From Saint-Béat, now in the Musée departmental Arles antique. Photo: Author (used with permission)
Thus, while the Virgin Mary played a central and complex role in early Christian writings, it was not until she took centre stage in the fifth-century doctrinal debates that she emerged as a primary subject for visual art. Out of these debates, her human and fleshly body was affirmed as necessarily pure, since it conceived and gave birth to the Incarnate Son. At a popular level, the outcome was an almost sudden flowering of Marian devotion, which found an outlet in visual art. Along with the iconic portraits of her that appeared in wall paintings or monumental mosaics (Cormack 2000), this art also depicted the non-canonical stories about her conception and youth, her marriage to Joseph, and the annunciation and birth of Jesus. Although the triumphal arch mosaics of Sta. Maria Maggiore are the most prominent examples, surviving representations of these apocryphal stories are more frequently found on small ivory carvings dating to the next two centuries (Cutler 2000).
Most of these ivories show the Virgin Mary spinning at the Annunciation, a motif that continues to appear in Christian art until the Middle Ages and appears in a range of materials, including early Coptic textiles (Rutschowscaya 2000). Some variations arise, however, and several other apocryphal episodes appear as well. The fifth-century Milan Gospel covers, now in the Tresor del Duomo di Milano, show the annunciation at the spring and the trial of bitter water (Prot. Jas. 11, 16).
The sixth-century cathedra of Ravenna’s Bishop Maximian has a series of panels depicting the Virgin’s story: one shows her spinning at the annunciation (Prot. Jas. 10), a second with Joseph at the trial of the bitter water, a third as pregnant and riding to Bethlehem on a donkey (Prot. Jas. 17) underneath an image of Joseph’s dream (Matt. 1.20). A fourth panel depicts Mary reclining after Christ’s birth and includes the ox and ass, as well as the midwife, seeking healing for her injured hand (Prot. Jas. 19–20; Ps.-Mt. 13–14; Figure 16.3). A single sixth-century ivory plaque, possibly originating in Syria and now in the Louvre Museum, also shows her spinning at the annunciation and with Joseph at the trial of the bitter water, but here perhaps astride a donkey in a scene of the flight into Egypt (Figure 16.4).
The story of Mary’s own miraculous conception (which appears to be present in some versions of the Prot. Jas. 4.4, or at least may be inferred from it, depending which textual witnesses are followed) seems to have emerged in visual art in the sixth century and appears initially in small ivory reliefs as well. For example, one panel of the St-Lupicin diptych, now in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, apparently shows Anna’s maid (holding a headband) mocking the future mother of the Virgin (Prot. Jas. 2–3). Directly above this small panel is an Annunciation (with Virgin spinning); on the other side of a central portrait of the Virgin and Child is the trial of the bitter water. Another ivory diptych, now in the Hermitage museum, has two scenes that scholars variously explained as showing the annunciation to Mary and the visit of Mary and Elizabeth, or as depicting the annunciation of Mary’s birth to Anna (the birds in the tree alluding to her lament) and Anna’s mockery (Prot. Jas. 2–4; cf. Cartlidge and Elliott 2001: 38–9).
FIGURE 16.3 Nativity of Jesus, ivory plaque from the Cathedra of Maximian, c.550, Ravenna (Museo Archiepiscopal). Photo: Holly Hayes, EdStock Photos
FIGURE 16.4 Sixth-century ivory plaque, probably from Syria, now in the Louvre Museum, Paris. Photo: Author (used with permission)
Although most scholars agree that the mosaics of Sta. Maria Maggiore’s triumphal arch display previously unknown scenes from apocryphal traditions regarding Mary’s life, they are far from in agreement about the identities of their precise subjects or the source narratives from which the scenes were chosen. The most controversial of the images are within the upper two registers; the images toward the bottom present little or no problems of analysis.
If one views the arch’s four zones from left to right and descending from top to bottom, the programme begins with a scene that most commentators identify as a double annunciation—to the Virgin on the left and to Joseph on the right (e.g. Brenk 1975: 11–12; Saxer 2001: 49–54). Two buildings frame the scene, one on the left and one on the right. Both of these rectangular edifices are constructed of masonry blocks and have simple pitched roofs, pediments, clearstory windows, and columned entrances. The door to the building to the left has an elaborate golden gate in front of a curtain, while the right-hand building’s entrance is only partially covered by a curtain and features a central hanging lamp.
Several figures fill the space between these buildings. A seated woman robed in a gold dalmatic and trabea draws the viewer’s attention. She is bedecked with a pearl-encrusted diadem, collar (or necklace), and a gem-studded girdle (Figure 16.5). She holds a skein of red yarn, drawn from a basket of wool at her feet. Two angels, wearing white tunics and pallia stand slightly behind her. On her right are three more angels, the one nearest to her makes a gesture indicating that he is addressing her. Above, hovering among some colourful clouds, are a descending dove and a horizontal, flying angel. This crowd of angels might be divided into two groups of three (the two on the left being joined by the one flying overhead).
On the other side of the central angel trio is a short, darkly bearded man who wears a short, belted tunic and white boots with red straps. A yellow-orange mantle covers his left shoulder and falls to his knees and he holds a staff in his left hand. The angel nearest him turns toward the man and makes a similar gesture of speech; the man appears to be pointing to himself in response.
FIGURE 16.5 Triumphal arch mosaic, Sta. Maria Maggiore, Rome (c.435), upper left. Photo: Author
At the apex of the apse is a medallion surrounding a gem-studded diadem and cross sitting on a jewelled throne (hetomasia), a symbol of divine presence and the sovereignty of Christ. This is the oldest known instance of this widely depicted motif: the throne of preparation. To the throne’s right and left stand Peter and Paul, behind them are the four beasts of Revelation. Underneath, the Pope’s dedicatory inscription reads: XYSTUS EPISCOPUS PLEBI DEI (‘Bishop Sixtus to the People of God’).
The upper-right panel displays a four-part composition. The first three scenes take place in front of an arched arcade, the fourth in front of another rectangular structure. The woman in gold reappears here. On the left two angels turn and gaze at her as she presents a baby to a small group to her right. A red cross surmounts the baby’s halo, indicating that he is the Christ Child (Figure 16.6).
Three figures comprise the group in the centre (man, angel, woman). Their positions and posture parallel a typical Roman marriage depiction (dextrarum iuntio). A heavily bearded, grey-haired man, wearing a short tunic, yellow-orange mantle, and red and white boots extends his right hand to a woman who wears greenish-gold stola and palla drawn over her head as a veil. She points at the man with her right index finger. Behind them, another angel makes a gesture of blessing (acting as officiant?). Although its composition suggests that this might show the betrothal of Mary and Joseph (Prot. Jas. 9; cf. Brenk 1975: 19–24), or the betrothal of Christ or Joseph with the Church (Schubert 1995), many historians have identified it as the Presentation in the Temple with Simeon and Anna (Luke 2.36; cf. Oakeshott 1967: 76; Kitzinger 1980: 72; Warland 2003: 128–9).
The third scene in the composition depicts a group of bearded men, preceded by one who bows toward the central trio, covering his hands with his pallium. Behind him are eleven others (the back three merely shadowed heads). Those in front wear short white tunics and white and red boots; two also have dark blue mantles closed with large jewelled brooches. Their number suggests that they represent either the twelve apostles or twelve tribes of Israel.
FIGURE 16.6 Triumphal arch mosaic, Sta. Maria Maggiore, Rome (c.435), upper right. Photo: Wikimedia commons: RomaSantaMariaMaggioreArcoTrionfaleDxRegistro1MetàSx.jpg
On the far right another angel addresses a sleeping male who has his head propped in his left hand. He wears the now-familiar white tunic and a yellow-orange mantle. Scholarly consensus here sees the angel appearing to Joseph in a dream and warning him to flee with his family to Egypt. The building behind them looks much like the two to the left, although this one has doubled columns, decorative heads (or masks) along the cornice, and in the pediment an image of an enthroned deity holding an orb and a staff. The deity may be Roma, which would conflate the Jerusalem Temple with Rome’s own Temple of Venus and Roma (Warland 2003: 130–1, following Grabar 1936: 216–17 and Kitzinger 1980: 72). Two pairs of birds (pigeons and doves) perch on the steps of this temple-like structure, possibly a reference to Mary and Joseph’s offering at the time of the Presentation (Luke 2.24, and cf. Ps.-Mt. 15, which mentions two pairs of birds, both turtledoves and pigeons).
The scene on the left side of the arch in the next lower zone depicts the adoration of the magi (Figure 16.7). The Christ Child sits on a broad, jewelled, and high-backed throne. His gold nimbus includes a small gold cross. Four angels stand behind the throne, a bright star dividing them into two groups of two. To the left of the child’s throne are three figures: the same bearded man in a short tunic, yellow-orange mantle, and red and white boots; one of the magi pointing to the star, and the woman in gold, seated as before upon a small dais. The woman’s right hand touches her throat and she casts her eyes toward the child. To the throne’s right a different woman sits on a similarly raised throne. She wears a dark blue stola over a golden tunic and red slippers. She puts her right hand to her chin in an expression that implies either thoughtfulness or wonder. Her right hand holds a partially unrolled scroll (or, possibly, a white cloth or mappa). To her right are the other two magi, exotically dressed and holding their gifts. A walled city rises on the left to complete the scene.
FIGURE 16.7 Triumphal arch mosaic, Sta. Maria Maggiore, Rome (c.435), centre left. Photo: Author
Across the arch is a depiction of two groups of people encountering one another. Some of the figures to the right are familiar (angels, Christ Child, the man with the yellow-orange mantle, and the woman in gold). The group on the left is more puzzling. They emerge from a different walled city and are led by two striking figures, one dressed in a gold tunic, covered by a blue cape. He has a jewelled brooch at his shoulder and wears a diadem. To his right is a bearded and bare-chested figure—a type usually associated with philosophers in classical art. Almost all the characters in this panel extend their right hands as if indicating a wary greeting. Scholars have identified this scene as the Holy Family entering Egypt and being greeted by the governor of Sotinen, Aphrodisius (cf. Ps.-Mt. 24; cf. Oakeshott 1976: 74–6; Saxer 2001: 49; Brandenburg 2004: 188; Kessler 2007: 123; Brenk 2010: 73). If this is correct, it is the earliest known representation of this very rare non-canonical scene in Christian art.
The subjects of the two scenes in the next lower zone are more certain. To the left of the arch Herod presides over the massacre of the innocents; on the right Herod instructs the magi to report back to him after they have seen the child. The fact that these two images seem out of order suggests that the composition probably was not designed to be read as a sequential narrative from right to left. One detail in the massacre scene could be important to an analysis of the influence of the Apocrypha on the iconography: the woman on the right turns away and appears to be escaping with her child. She may represent Elizabeth disappearing with John the Baptist (Prot. Jas. 22). Below these images are two cityscapes, their labels clearly marking them as representations of Jerusalem (left) and Bethlehem (right). Six sheep appear before their gates, possibly a reference to the church of the Gentiles (Bethlehem) and the church of the Jews (Jerusalem).
Most of the scholarly debate about the iconography has revolved around whether the woman in gold should be identified as Mary or as some other character. Scholars often simply describe her as an early Maria Regina, largely because her garments appear to be similar to those worn by women from the imperial family (e.g. Brenk 1975: 12–13; Kessler 2007: 123; Cormack 2000: 93). This identification has led several scholars to emphasize the Roman and imperial or even political associations of the mosaic over against the theological or ecclesial messages that others might see in it. For example, Rainer Warland boldly asserts that the iconography of the adoration scene, with its enthroned Christ, comes not from an ecclesial context but from an imperial one and thus ‘their interpretation can only succeed along imperial connotations’ (Warland 2003: 136–7). Warland, following Johannes Kollwitz, cites some of the sermons of Sixtus’ successor, Leo I (440–61), to support his argument for an imperial programme in the arch (cf. Kollwitz 1960). Joanne Deane Sieger similarly explains Mary’s imperial garb by noting that some of Leo’s Christmas sermons, which may have been preached at the Basilica itself, emphasized Mary’s royal descent through King David (Sieger 1987). To be sure, the Bible proclaims that Mary was from the House of David (Luke 1.27) and Jesus’ being from the ‘root of Jesse’ was part of his messianic identity. Although Pope Leo’s Christmas sermons may have been influenced by the iconography in the basilica, in those that have survived, Leo actually refers only once to Mary as ‘Virgo Regia’ (Serm. 21.1).
The woman in gold undoubtedly bears some similarity to the regal-looking Virgin Mary depicted in the remains of a sixth- or seventh-century palimpsest fresco found in Rome’s church of Sta. Maria Antiqua (Figure 16.8), a ninth-century painting of the Virgin and Child from the lower church of San Clemente, or the Madonna della Clemenza from Sta. Maria Trastevere, which is dated roughly anywhere from the sixth to the ninth century. Both of these works show the Virgin enthroned and arrayed in a (dark blue) jewel-encrusted robe and crown. Yet, these later images of a queenly Mary are still quite different from golden-robed woman on the triumphal arch who looks more like Pharaoh’s daughter in one of the nave mosaics. Her diadem and garments also resemble those of the processing women saints from Ravenna’s Basilica of Sant’Apollinare Nuovo (c.550—see Figure 16.9) or that of St Agnes from Rome’s Basilica of Sant’Agnese (c.625; cf. Rubery 2008). Despite their pearl collars, jewelled belts, gold trabeae, and diadems, these figures never were viewed as imperial figures, even though their garments—at least according to this common analysis of Sta. Maria Maggiore’s woman in gold—might indicate that they should also be so recognized. Moreover, since most depictions of Mary as an enthroned and crowned ‘Queen of Heaven’ are much later in date, it may be that representing Mary as a queen actually alludes to her apocryphal title, Regina Virginum—albeit assigned in mockery by her jealous sister-virgins in the Temple (cf. Ps.-Mt. 8).
Identifying the woman in gold as the Virgin leads to the related problem of the identity of the other women in the mosaic: the woman in the marriage (or presentation) scene and the second woman (in blue) in the adoration panel. As already noted, commentators have variously perceived the woman in the marriage/presentation scene as the Virgin (at her betrothal), as the Church, or as the Prophetess Anna at the Jesus’ presentation in the Temple (Luke 2.36). If, in the adoration panel, the woman in gold is Mary, she cannot also be the woman (in blue) sitting to the right of the enthroned Christ Child. One scholar has asserted this latter woman to be the personification of the Church of the Jews (Weis 1960), while others have identified her as the figure of Divine Wisdom (Cecchelli 1956: 214) or the Roman Sibyl (Thérel 1962: 153–71; Karpp 1966; Warland 2003: 134). This second woman might also be Anna (Mary’s mother), Mary’s cousin Elizabeth, or even the personification of the Church (Ecclesia), looking fondly at her spouse (Christ). One main difficulty with any of these alternatives is that this woman’s garb makes her look more like all later depictions of the Virgin Mary, even including her red slippers, ironically a symbol of imperium, that are given to this woman and not to the woman in gold. If the white object she holds is a mappa—a symbol of political authority and commonly depicted in consular diptychs—it would add an additional regal attribute to her image.
FIGURE 16.8 Ninth-century fresco of the Virgin and Child, from Sta. Maria Antiqua, Rome. Photo: Author
Suzanne Spain proposed an alternative identification for the woman in gold. Basing her argument partly on the woman’s costume, which she saw as lacking the basic elements of imperial regalia—crown, pendilia, and red shoes—Spain claimed that she was meant to be Sarah, Abraham’s wife and Isaac’s mother, rather than an imperialized Mary (Spain 1979). Consequently, instead of an annunciation to Mary, Spain interpreted the upper-left panel as showing the three angelic visitors announcing the birth of Isaac (Gen. 18). This reading makes sense of all the angels appearing in this iconography; the three in the centre particularly representing the visitors at Mamre. Spain thus saw Sarah as Mary’s antetype, her promised, miraculous only child, Isaac, as prefiguring Jesus, and Abraham, thereby, as Joseph’s antetype.
FIGURE 16.9 Women martyrs, nave mosaic, Sant’Apollinare Nouvo, Ravenna (c.550). Photo: Author
By this logic, Sarah is the woman in gold in the next scene: the one who presents the child. Spain sees the next image as showing the betrothal of Joseph and Mary. By presenting a vision of their promised child, Jesus’ great-great-great grandmother reveals their destiny to Joseph and Mary. Abraham is the man on the right who bows down before them. Hence, Spain sees both Mary and Sarah in the adoration scene along with Abraham (standing behind Sarah—the woman in gold). Spain never explains why, in the annunciation scene, Sarah should be holding the red threads that Mary was given to weave for the Temple’s veil in the apocryphal tradition (cf. Prot. Jas. 10).
Spain actually introduces her theory with an analysis of the so-called Aphrodisius scene. At the outset, she asserts that the Aprocrypha are ‘implausible sources for the themes of the arch’ (Spain 1979: 519). Therefore she argues that that enigmatic panel depicts Sarah and her divine descendent as they meet his ancestor, King David and his prophet, Isaiah. In this respect, the image also represents the coming of Christ to the Nations and thus connects with the adoration of the magi image above. This concludes Spain’s theory, that the mosaic programme was based on the theme of promise and fulfilment, and a kind of merging of Old Testament types with their New Testament antetypes.
More problems with Spain’s theory revolve around the identity of the male figures. Spain sees most of the dark-bearded men as Abraham, and the grey-bearded man in the marriage/presentation scene as Joseph. She acknowledges that she also views the grey-haired man who bows to the betrothed couple (Mary and Joseph) as Abraham. To explain this discrepancy, she notes, as others have, the fact that some of the mosaics were changed during centuries of restoration, and then asserts that the only original head actually belongs to that bowing Abraham figure (Spain 1979: 536–7). Other scholars have challenged Spain’s reconstruction, however, seeing the only significant restoration as the face of the sleeping man on the far right of the upper zone (cf. Nordhagen 1983). One crucial detail that Spain seems to have overlooked is that the dark-bearded male holds a staff in most of his appearances. The staff, possibly a reference to Joseph’s miraculous and signifying staff (cf. Prot. Jas. 9) does not show up in the one place a viewer would most expect it: the betrothal scene.
Most scholars have rejected Spain’s analysis, choosing rather simply to identify all the women in the iconography as Mary and avoiding the problem of the duplication of the figures in the adoration scene. A more recent hypothesis offered by Eileen Rubery proposes that, in a composite sense, both the woman in blue and the woman in gold represent Mary; the one in gold refers to the Christ Child’s divine nature and the other in blue to his human nature (Rubery 2008: 164).
The complicated composition may never be explained satisfactorily. Perhaps the original apse iconography would have made it all clear. Nevertheless, Spain’s statement, ‘that the apocrypha are implausible sources for the themes of the arch’ is worth revisiting in this context. Most of the other explanations assume the influence of the Apocrypha on the iconography but avoid engaging some of the problems that Spain sees with doing so. She bases her objection to citing the Apocrypha as source texts on three grounds: first that the composition of the so-called ‘Aphrodisius’ panel bears little resemblance to Pseudo-Matthew’s account of the Holy Family’s arrival in Egypt. For example, ‘The ground is not littered with idols, nor does Mary hold the Christ Child in her arms’ (Spain 1979: 521). Nor, she adds, is Aphrodisius’ imperial costume appropriate for a mere governor. She also argues that the eight or nine men standing behind him hardly constitute the army mentioned in the text.
Yet, at the same time, the upper-left scene bears very little similarity to the Genesis narrative of Abraham and his three visitors that Spain perceived as its source. While certain details allude to it (e.g. the three central angels), other details conflict (e.g. Sarah was in the family tent, not on a throne and spinning red thread). Thus, no existing canonical or apocryphal document is a clear or exact match for the iconography.
Second, Spain sweepingly claims that the influence of the apocryphal gospels on early Christian art was limited in general but especially for a monumental arch in a major basilica. She claims this is the case because, ‘the presence of apocryphal elements in an Infancy cycle in a church sponsored by the Papacy is inconceivable, given the caution with which the popes treated the canonical corpus of biblical writings’ (Spain 1979: 521). Yet, she never offers any support for such a claim and appears to apply this perceived papal repudiation only to the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew, since there could be no other way to account for the golden-robed woman’s spinning other than an apocryphal source (e.g. Prot. Jas. 10). She gives no reason for the Bishop of Rome to tolerate one apocryphal tradition over another. Furthermore, a good part of her own argument relies on the identification of the next scene as the marriage of Mary and Joseph, which was certainly based on a non-canonical document (e.g. Prot. Jas. 9).
Third, Spain offers what she deems her most serious objection: that the availability of Pseudo-Matthew in the fifth century was highly unlikely (Spain 1979: 521). As at the very earliest a sixth-century compilation, she insists that it could not have been a source for fifth-century iconography. While this argument seems to have some logic, it is a simple fact that some details from that apocryphal gospel are well established in fourth-century Christian art (e.g. the ox and the ass at the manger).
While the controversial compositional scheme of the arch mosaics of the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore may never be fully resolved, a final question is whether they should be understood as primarily integrated with dogmatic developments or reflect more on the spread of popular traditions and the dissemination of non-canonical legends. Although most commentators have aligned the basilica’s iconography with the Council of Ephesus’ declaration of Mary’s status as Mother of God, the original depiction of her in that particular role—presumably in the apse mosaic—no longer exists. A general assumption that the apse showed the enthroned Virgin and Child, facing forward and surrounded by angels or saints, makes sense, particularly considering subsequent iconography of the kind. It might even have been the prototype for that later iconic imagery. If Sixtus’ dedicatory inscription was addressed to that image, it may have included some allusion to Mary’s status as Virgin both after conception and after giving birth, a dogma that was not officially defined at the Council, although it was asserted by western theologians at the time (e.g. Augustine of Hippo and Leo I).
Yet, what we see on the arch is narrative, not dogmatic, iconography. Whatever it depicts, it appears to display the Virgin’s role in the economy of salvation through a cycle of stories rather than in a single, monumental portrait. Arguably, it began by showing her as the one chosen to weave the purple and scarlet threads of the Temple veil—possibly a symbol of the divine child who would bear her own human flesh and blood. While she is at this task, angels visit her, one of them bearing the news that she will conceive the Son of the Most High. The Holy Spirit comes down upon her and she gives birth to the child whom she sets upon a broad throne. She presents him in the Temple, where she was earlier betrothed to Joseph and he is, in turn, warned in a dream to take his family and flee. She is not a figure of adoration in these images; rather she is the featured player in a drama that has a rather large cast. This cast includes Joseph, the magi, the wicked King Herod, and (maybe) even a delegation of Egyptians.
In other words, while the declarations of the Council of Ephesus regarding the Virgin Mary may have prompted the building of the basilica, they did not guide the iconography of its triumphal arch. Here the scenes were drawn from well-known canonical and non-canonical texts, possibly many of them long since lost. The document we know as the Protevangelium of James seems to have been among them, and there is every reason to assume that an early version of the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew was as well. Their incorporation shows that narrative no less than doctrinal debate both shaped and reinforced the faith and piety of early Christians.
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