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An illuminated manuscript called for a whole team of craftsmen:
the parchment maker, the gold-beater, the pigment maker, the scribes and miniaturists. |
In the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, a book was truly a labor of love. Many books, especially
illuminated manuscripts, could be years in the making. An illuminated manuscript called for the
tremendous skills and painstaking labors of a whole team of craftsmen: the parchment maker who
turned calf pelts into sheets of vellum, the gold-beater who hammered ducats into microscopically
thin leaves of gold, the pigment maker who ground plants and stones into beautiful colors, and
finally the scribes and miniaturists who covered the parchment with exquisite lettering and
resplendent illustrations.
Private ownership of this type of manuscript was obviously somewhat limited. But if you were
prosperous enough, chances are that you owned a Book of Hours, the most numerous and popular
of all manuscripts from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Intended for private worship
in the home, Books of Hours were collections of prayers to be recited at prescribed times
throughout the day, the eight canonical “hours” that ran from Matins at daybreak to
Compline at bedtime. Strictly speaking, only the clergy was required to observe the hours,
but many lay people, especially women, likewise made it their custom to pray eight times a day.
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The monthly calendar
was helpful for determining major feast days, which were usually inscribed in red ink—hence
our term “red-letter day.”
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Besides performing their private devotions, people also, of course, went to church. The celebration
of the Catholic Mass required another, similar prayer book, known as a breviary. This service book
had the same composition as a Book of Hours but contained even more prayers and readings, giving
the miniaturist a wider scope for illustration. Like a Book of Hours, the breviary included a
monthly calendar, which was helpful for determining the dates of Easter and the major feast days.
The calendars were illustrated with scenes appropriate to the months, such as a marriage celebration
in April or the grape harvest in September. The feast days were usually inscribed in red ink—hence
our term “red-letter day.”
Some of the wealthiest
and most powerful rulers in Europe commissioned breviaries for themselves, including King Philip IV
of France and Queen Isabella of Castile. One of the masters who completed the Isabella Breviary in
the 1490s was the Flemish painter Gerard Horenbout. Around the same time, Horenbout and his collaborators
were working on another manuscript, equally spectacular: the masterpiece known as the Grimani Breviary.
It is not known who commissioned it, although Pope Sixtus IV, who reigned from 1471 until 1484, is
sometimes mentioned as a candidate. The attribution is not far-fetched, considering that Sixtus was
not only a Franciscan scholar (the Breviary follows the Franciscan Office, or daily prayers, of 1477)
but also a great patron of the arts.
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The Grimani
Breviary begins the calendar year with a nobleman enjoying a sumptuous dinner as his team of
servants hover helpfully. His expression is so lifelike and the details so exact that the picture
cannot be anything other than a portrait from life. |
Perhaps the best clue about
the original patron of the Grimani Breviary comes at the beginning of the manuscript. Miniaturists often
inserted portraits of their patrons into Breviaries and Books of Hours. The Grimani Breviary begins the
calendar year with a nobleman enjoying a sumptuous dinner as his team of servants hover helpfully.
His expression is so lifelike and the details so exact that the picture cannot be anything other than
a portrait from life.
Such scenes of everyday life
show how breviaries and Books of Hours could be appreciated on a secular as well as a religious level.
Their illustrations possessed, of course, an important devotional function. Yet there was also a more
whimsical side to manuscript illustration. Illuminated manuscripts often included in their margins what
were known as drôleries, humorous and sometimes grotesque images seemingly at odds with the rest of the text.
One of the greatest pleasures of the Grimani Breviary is the wonderful range and variety of this kind of
decorative marginalia. These images display, like the wealth of incredibly rich detail throughout the
Breviary, an unmistakable delight in the natural world and a joy in the artist’s ability to create.
The officials of the Basilica
of San Marco, who ultimately took possession of the Grimani Breviary on behalf of the Republic of Venice,
were in no doubt about its beauty and worth: “It is a thing of inestimable value and its like is nowhere
to be found.” Five hundred years after its creation, it is still every bit as priceless.
© 2007 Ross King. Excerpted
from the foreword to the Levenger Press edition of The Grimani Breviary, published in 2007.