The Profanation of Diocletian’s Grave According to Ammianus Marcellinus (XVI, VIII, 3-7)

U članku se analiziraju povijesne okolnosti bizarne priče Amijana Marcelina, čiji su se navodi uzimali samo kao dokaz da je Dioklecijan oktogonalni hram usred splitske građevine podigao kao mjesto svog trajnog počivališta i da je u njemu stvarno i pokopan. Amijan nam je, zapravo, opisao prvi sudski proces koji se 356. godine vodio u »Aspalatu«, koji je u to doba bio još uvijek neobična kombinacija imperijalne palače i državne tekstilne tvornice, te nam je dao izravan uvid u proces profanacije Dioklecijanovih uspomena u njegovoj palači i početke njene kristijanizacije.The article analyses the historical circumstances behind the story of Ammianus Marcellinus (XVI, VIII, 3-7), according to which a certain woman, in the year 356, during the reign of Constantius II, made a report to Rufinus, the chief steward of the praetorian prefecture of Illyricum, accusing her husband Danus and »a gang of plotters« of the theft of the purple robe (uelamen purpureum) from the sarcophagus of the emperor in his mausoleum in Split, of the crime, then, of lèse-majesté, of the most serious affront to the imperial majesty. In the subsequent inquiry, it later turned out that Rufinus had persuaded this woman by a tissue of lies to charge her guiltless husband. Always only in a passing comment, the story is taken as a proof that Diocletian built his octagonal temple as a place for his eternal resting place and that he was in fact entombed there. Ammianus, with his acute and impassioned evaluations of contemporary real politics and characters, described the trial that was conducted in the city, at that time still an uncommon combination of imperial palace and factory for army textiles (Gynaeceum Iovense Dalmatiae – Aspalatho as the place is called, in entirely official terms, in Notitia Dignitatum at the beginning of the 5th century). The Split episode is mentioned as the first in a series of proofs that Constantius II exceeded the severity of Caligula, Domitian and Commodus in the processes of interrogating accused persons who were in any way suspected of having threatened his rule or the attributes of his dignity. The many people put to torture during the investigation must have been working people and officials in Diocletian’s gynaeceum. The investigation was conducted, highly logically, by Ursulus, count of the largesses, that is, the head of the sacred state treasury, under whose direct jurisdiction the gynaeceum Io-vense in Aspalathos lay, and by Lollianus Mavortius – praefectus praetorio per Illyricum, known to us as the dedicatee of an important book about astrology by the Late Antique writer Julius Firmicius Maternus, lavishing on him numerous encomiums. It is worth pointing out at once that appointment of Lollianus Mavortius to the position of examining magistrate in the Split case was very logic, not only because he, like count Ursulus, belonged to the imperial consistory, but because at that time justice in the appeal court was carried out by the praetorian prefect, as it was on occasions in the court of first instance. Ursulus was appointed Mavortius’ collaborator; in fact, he is the central character in the whole story, one of the exceptionally rare positive characters in the world of Ammianus. He was count of the sacred largesses. A number of special financial bodies were underneath him: in Illyria, for example Rationalis summarum Pannoniae secundae, Dalmatiae et Saviae, as well as comes largitionum per Illyricum. (Not. dig., 188), in rank almost equal to the governor. Dependent on the counts largitionum per Illyricum were the prepositi (for example, Prepositus thesaurorum Salonitanorum), managers of the state workshops, procurators, of which there was a fair number in Illyria (for example, Procurator monetae Siscianae) and also the Comes metallorum per Illyricum (who controlled the gold mines in the interior). In Salona there was also a separate gynaecium, certainly connected with that in Aspalato; also there was a separate workshop for dyeing silk and wool with scarlet – bafium, as well as a weapons factory – fabrica Salonitana armorum, where helmets, gauntlets, breastplates and so on were produced, under the direct control of the magister officiorum. The real investigation into the theft of the purple from Diocletian’s tomb carried out precisely by the comes sacrararum largitionum; this shows, it should be underlined, not so much the emperor’s wish to get things into the open by a really righteous and strict person, as Ammianus would have it, rather the fact that the crime happened in the premises that were under the direct jurisdiction of the highest financial officer of the empire. The procedure was not conducted by anyone from the level of the provincial politburo, not by any of the officers in Salona, which at that time was the head of the diocese of western Illyria, the prefecture of Italia (composed of seven provinces). Ursulus’ authority in the case of this enquiry is thus extremely significant. The comes sacrarum largitionum directly oversaw the work of the gynaecea, like that called after Jupiter in Asapalto. Rufinus is a particularly picturesque character. He was princeps clarissimus, in the highest rank of state officials (agentes ducenarii), from whom the heads of the officia of the prefects and the most important civil governors for West and East were chosen, or for the military in the East. Via these principes, the court was able to keep a close eye on the working of the provincial governors, that is, they had official spies (if we can really say that). We recognise Rufinus from a second Ammianus story (XV, III, 7-11). Danus is usually considered to have been a slave, according to an actually rather arbitrary repair by Heraeus of a lacuna of some 11 to 14 letters in the firstsentence [Per id tempus fer………..num quendam nomine Danum → Per id tempus fere servum quendam nomine Danum]. But Pighi fills this same lacuna by venturing that Danus might have been some official – a palatinus or praefectianus (in his supplement: palatinum vel praefactianum), which does seem a more logical solution. He might, then, have had some official standing in Aspalathos, and Ammianus’ story could well be an indirect confirmation of the operations of the gynaeceum in Aspalathos. This new approach, in which we are no longer dealing with a slave, as has been commonly thought, but, probably, with one of the officials in the management of the imperial textile factory in Split, elegantly explains the apparent contradiction of the affair between Rufinus and Danus’ wife. We have no knowledge of how the cunning Rufinus became acquainted with this thoughtless woman. Perhaps he met her during an investigation into the theft in the Split mausoleum, which without any doubt really did happen. He seduced her (post nefandum concubitum) with fine words and promises (ut loquebatur iactantius). Ammianus’ account might have been a significant proof of the beginnings of Christianity’s squaring of accounts with the reliquaries of paganism within the Palace. It was in that same year, 356, that by the edict of Constantius all the pagan temples in Rome and elsewhere in major centres (which would have included Split, which was under direct imperial control) were closed down. This could well have emboldened the Split conspirators to take steps in squaring accounts with the irritating presence of the mortal remains of the emperor-persecutor in the midst of the Split palace-factory, which at that time was already certainly in the process of Christianisation. The sentences that Ammianus might have based on a direct inspection of the dossier of the Roman prefecture certainly demand to be analysed in detail and, as far as is possible, supplemented. The short Split story penned in 15 sentences of Ammianus’s masterly hand, in refined literary expression, sets forth a poignant sample of the harsh texture of life in later antiquity. It is also an important historical source, in the context of the great paucity of written sources about the life of the Palace in the century in which it was built, and provides us with some of the names of its first visitors after the death of Diocletian

NIKOLA BOŽIDAREVIĆ

Autor pokazuje kako se stil Božidarevićeva slikarstva može analizirati kao reprezentativna građa za povijest dubrovačkog društva1500-tih godina, premda se Nikola ustezao od prodornijeg promatranja svog unutarnjeg svijeta i onog vanjskog koji ga je okruživao, dočim se moglo očekivati (obzirom na njegov temperament i budući da je radio po narudžbi kapetana i trgovaca globe-trottera) da mu slike budu proviđene s više detalja onodobne vidljive stvarnosti.He signed himself in brush strokes only twice as: Nicolaus Rhagusinus, Nicolo Raguseo- Nikola of Dubrovnik - once in a marble medallion under the arm of Gabriel in the middle of the Annunciation, which he painted in 1513 forthe Đorđić family, the second time at the foot of the Virgin\u27s throne on the main altar retable in the Church of Our Lady of Dance, his last work (1517). This name, until the archival discovery of his Croatian family name, fired the imagination of those researching Dubrovnik Renaissance art and even became a kind of myth. To call himself Rhagusinus in the middle of Dubrovnik undoubtedly meant a self-confident declaration vis a vis his artistic contemporaries- especially Mihajlo Hamzić and Vicko, the son of Lovro Dobričević,and even perhaps in relation to his own father whose workshop he had just left. When we stand today in front of polyptychs of this kind (which, when preserved in full, amaze us by the perfect balance of their general composition) we rarely think that they were created as bricolage. Immediately after Nikola\u27s return from Italy he, and his father Božidar Vlatković received several very large orders. In 1495 they were given a contract for the retable of the main altar of the Franciscan church in Cavtat. The church authorities required that the central composition and figures on the left side should be composed according to the pattern of a polyptych executed almost half a century earlier by Matko Junčić in the church of the Minorite Friars in Dubrovnik, while figures on the right side were to be done according to the pattern of another altar in the same church. The saints in the upper part of the polyptych, shown down to the waist, were to be done after Junčić also, and only the central Pieta according to an earlier painting by Božidarević. The same is true of their style. Experts have very easily "reduced" Božidarević\u27s work into the style and themes found in the Crivelli brothers and Vittore Carpaccio. But Božidarević obviously also knew the fresco paintings of Perugino and Pinturichio in the Vatican palace (Appartamento Borgia)and elsewhere in Rome where his brush may, according to Vladimir Marković, have indeed been involved. The form of a polyptych (like the form of a sonnet) helps in the construction of a figural composition, in a rationally and symmetrically balanced composition. It equalizes lighting, concentrates sight and attention: even when its constructional elements are removed, which make the composition of a polyptych, it continues to make an invisible effect for a long time. By 1500 the form of the polyptych which the "Dubrovnik School of Painting" retained until the end had become a Procrustean bed. It did not allow figures to be shown in a natural context, to be enlivened by being shown with real appurtenances, nor for any relaxation of stiff postures, or any easier breathing. Thus in Božidarević\u27s paintings the representation of real life and the movement of the real world is only found in miniatures, on the borders of polypthychs, in "footnotes" on individual articles or when we study details "microscopically". In fact it is drapery which is the most convincing and arresting and almost tactile element of Božidarević\u27s painting. Just as we perceive the bustle of the harbour on the model of Dubrovnik held by St Blasius so too he was fully aware of the richness of the materials which were produced at this time in Dubrovnik. Cloth was as important as salt for the trade of Dubrovnik and was a very tangible asset in the consciousness of the city. It may be paradoxical but it is accurate to say that Božidarević did not paint portraits (using patterns of characters) but portrayed materials in which his saints were clothed. It is of significance in this context that the most outstanding assistant in his workshop for which in 1507 he rented a whole floor in one of the mansions on Placa, suitable because of its good light - was Marin Kriješić who is recorded in one of the archives as "pictor sive coltrarius", painter of pictures, curtains, covers and cloth. When we consider Božidarević\u27s landscapes we also notice a paradox. The endless journeys of the Dubrovnikians, constantly involving the sea, did not give rise to the desire to extend the picture to include real landscape even in those ordered by ship\u27s captains, merchants, or globe-trotters. But it would have been unrealistic to expect Nikola Božidarević to show the Annunciation in Kolendić\u27s Lopud landscape. Instead he presents the stereotyped picture of the humanists\u27 idea of Arcadia but omitting Bellini\u27s ploughmen and donkeys. This is no bucolic Virgilian landscape as created in the circle surrounding Giorgione - no mundane Utopia in which we might like to live. Behind Gabriel the landscape is wild and rough, behind Our Lady it is cultivated, these are more symbolic, antithetical rather than any true mise-en scene. When we first come to Božidarević\u27s paintings we may be surprised by the fact that in spite of the very real situation within which they developed, there is a lack of any penetrating observation of either inner or outer worlds. Where details appear they largely represent a sanctified aspect of reality: spiritualiasub metaphoris corporalium, as Thomas Aquinus would say. The political, diplomatic, commercial realism of the people of Dubrovnik was, surprisingly enough, very late reflected in an art which served symbolic ends. Considered from this angle the architectural presentation of the city has something in common with butterflies which have great black eyes on their wings in order to make an impression on their surroundings and themselves. Thus in Božidarević and his predecessors we shall find no dark allegory, as measured by today\u27s art critics, but a clear and balanced representation of the Bible message. These polyptychs provide a view of many kinds of fear (of heaven, of the sea, of plague, of Turks of all kinds, of oneself), and also of much hope. The four paintings by Božidarević which have come down to us are typologically different. This only shows us how impoverished we are not to have his entire opus. All four of Božidarević\u27 surviving paintings were private votive offerings. Their subject must therefore be read according to the wishes of the person who ordered them. It is often considered, taking into account their formal superioriy that the Sacra conversazione of the Đođic painting and the Annunciation done for Captain Marko Kolendić are the "measure" of Božidarević\u27s painting. If the former is his first example of a particularly popular Renaissance composition in Croatian art history, the second is his first independent central altar painting. Private orders in Dubrovnik of the time continued to demand the traditional religious, especially votive themes. But in the wider sphere new, more secular, opportunities presented themselves. A study by Vladimir Marković shows this programme to have arisen out of a combination between political intentions and the moral principles of the patrician oligarchy which coincided and were identified with the Renaissance view of Christian and especially with the classical Roman exempla. Božidarević was the contemporary of poets Džore Držić and ŠiškoMenčetić, of Mavro Vetranović. Marin Držić, the most successful writer of Dubrovnik\u27s "Golden Age" was born when Nikola was in prison for the ribald songs. But we cannot but feel that the painter\u27s temper remains hidden behind the porcelain surface and perfect outer symmetry of his compositions. The Dubrovnik context did not provide opportunities for the expression of strong passions. The demands for caution and order were unremitting. There might be considerable personal pride but there must never be bragging. It was not a setting for great philosophy or poetry, nor for tragedy, but for the natural sciences, economics and- along with them- comedies. Unfortunately Dubrovnik painting was fated to disappear almost unnoticed, with no fanfares or real apogee, to be drowned in the import of baroque art from the other side of the Adriatic. When we talk about Dubrovnik, the Renaissance is our first association, but the Renaissance in Croatian painting never managed fully to develop. Indeed Gothic was never fully relinquished but, rather, gradually disintegrated. Its place was taken by the counter Reformation, together with a whole packet of ready-made solutions, before the Renaissance had managed to achieve full definition. We cannot experience Nikola\u27s paintings as Renaissance building blocks cut out from the reality of their own day. We may rather consider them as tables bearing rich fabric. His saints, enveloped in brocade, standing before an azure sky, are sunk in timeless melancholy. They are depicted in an indeterminate context as they appeared to the eye of the painter - without any later addition of colour. They did not attain the position of an academic standard for the Dubrovnik painting of the period that followed. Božidarević went ad patraim paradisi the same time as Mihajlo Hamzić, son of the German immigrant Hans, a "bombardiere" from Cologne, and Vicko Lovrin, son of Dobričević. The sudden and complete change of generations coincided with a fundamental change in the taste of the rich commercial class when it began to turn to the artists of the Bellini and Titian circle. The colours of Božidarević\u27s painting are the most harmonious chords of Dubrovnik\u27s "Golden Age". Of the one hundred and fifty polyptychs registered at the time of Sormano\u27s apostolic visitation in 1573 less than one tenth remain. The Dubrovnik archives record seventeen works by Božidarević but only four have come down to us. In old cities such as Dubrovnik - colour, like everything else except stone, is recessive. What we have today is an idealized impression of what was once reality

The Rendić-Miočević Thesis Concerning the Contents of the Destroyed Central Motif of the Frieze in Diocletian’s Mausoleum

U nizu tekstova o ikonografiji i stilu friza u Dioklecijanovu mauzoleju studija Duje Rendića-Miočevića, premda se začudo ne citira često, ostaje temeljnom za razumijevanje sepulkralne tematike i promišljene simbolike njegove kompozicije. Autor u ovom prilogu pokazuje u čemu se sastojala inovativnost Rendić-Miočevićeve interpretacije. Uspoređuje je sa starijim i novijim pogledima na problem stila i sadržaja toga u mnogočemu jedinstvenoga friza, naznačujući pritom nekoliko problema koji još uvijek ostaju otvoreni.In a series of articles about the iconography and style of the frieze in Diocletian’s Mausoleum, the study of Duje Rendić-Miočević – although amazingly he is hardly ever quoted directly – is still fundamental to the understanding of the sepulchral themes and carefully considered symbols of the composition. Wherein lies the innovativeness of the Rendić-Miočević interpretation? In a number of arguments, he proved that indeed this is an »in essence unique funeral cortège dedicated to an emperor and his family«. The mandatory Erotes that run and play hide and seek, the garlands with theatrical masks, the laurel medallions with busts constitute the contents of the frieze, according to which, without any doubt, it is consistent with sepulchral themes, and in a discussion about the original purpose of the building, was always the most important proof that it was the imperial mausoleum. But Rendić-Miočević paid attention to a problem that nobody before had even raised, or if they did, had never attempted to come to the end of. He assumed then, that in the missing part of the frieze (destroyed by a new window being knocked through above the chancel of the cathedral), flanked by the portraits of Diocletian and Prisca, originally there should have been some supreme symbol of the divine emperor’s rule. He assumed that a depiction of eagle, symbol of Jupiter, might have been carved here, the deity being identified with the emperor himself – Jupiter’s son (Jovius). Consistently with this attractive hypothesis, the author produced a theoretical reconstruction of the original appearance of this part of the frieze in the shape of a triptych (with eagle as Jupiter between the imperial couple) that was supposed to represent the »announcement of the presumed, if not actually executed, apotheosis of the emperor who even during his lifetime was considered the son of Jupiter (Jovius)«. The question of whether this sepulchral frieze, like the Mausoleum itself, was created during Diocletian’s reign or after his abdication is still open to discussion; in addition, another dilemma appears, first raised by Rendić-Miočević. Was at least a part of this sculptural decoration produced and finished after his death? The coarseness of the sculptural working of these faces and, in general, the lack of details in the making of all the effigies, led S. McNally to assume that originally it had been intended to confide the finishing touch to plaster and colour, but during the recent cleaning, with a close look from the scaffolding, no trace of anything to confirm this hypothesis was found. It is still possible, however, that the whole unit of the frieze was unfinished in sculptural terms: various degrees of finish of the individual parts of the relief can be observed

A CONTRIBUTION TO THE WORK OF THE PAINTER NIKOLA VLADANOV (1443) IN ŠIBENIK

Nikola Vladanov je bio dosad poznat po dva sačuvana djela – poliptihu šibenske Bratovštine sv. Jakova i po Gospi s Djetetom iz crkve Gospe van Grada. U članku mu se pripisuje i Gospa s Djetetom, danas u trogirskom dominikanskom samostanu, koja se ovdje povezuje s dva važna dokumenta. Iz prvoga (1443.) se vidi da je Vladanov zapravo trebao restaurirati raniju sliku (vjerojatno iz 1360-ih) iz šibenske dominikanske crkve: staro platno prenio je na novu podlogu »ne dirajući lica ni ruke likova«, doslikavši im pozadinu i odjeću. To je prvi poznati primjer takva restauratorskog zahvata opisanog dokumentom, uopće. U drugom dokumentu (1465.) protomajstor katedrale Juraj Dalmatinac i slikar Marinko Vučković procjenjuju materijalne vrijednosti iste slike.April 27 1443 in logia magna communis on the main square in Šibenik was uncommonly solemn: close to the place where for the sake of enlarging the sanctuary of the cathedral a stretch of the Rector’s Palace had been knocked down, and where the famous apses of George of Dalmatia were starting to be built, the whole of the city curia of some thirty nobles headed by the chief magistrate and the Šibenik captain, Fantin de cha de Pesaro, with two of the most distinguished citizens, Sir Radichio Sisgorich and Sir Michaele Simeonich, with the prior of the Dominican monastery Stephan Lipavic, the Trogir nobleman, and the procurator of the same monastery Dobroitus Johannis was assembled, in order to enter into a very unusual and exhaustive contract with the well-known Šibenik painter Nikola Vladanov, a contract that has to date escaped any detailed analysis from art historians. A good many of the people in the centre of the town must have for a moment stopped what they were doing in order to witness this important event and hear the city notary reading the contract aloud before the parties signed it. And what did Nikola Vladanov bind himself to do? He solemnly promised and bound himself to: laborare, depingere et ornare Anchoniam capellae sctae. Mariae…What stands out in this contract and makes it different from so many others relates to the precise technical demand that Nikola should glue the canvas to the anchona support. That this is concerned with the transfer of a canvas from an old, clearly damaged wooden support to a new one, shows us the precise demand in which the painter was required by the contract to undertake the whole of the operation described: non tangendo tamen facies neque manus figurarum / salvo in aliqua emendatione quae foret necessaria. The face and the hands were sacred and must not be touched, and what had to be done was in essence similar to the placing of a silver or gold cover over the painting, of which there are hundreds of examples. We could easily figure this to ourselves if we had this anchona in front of us; I believe that we can identify the central part of this unusual picture that is today kept in the Dominican monastery in Trogir. It has been written of several times already, yet criticism has stopped at attributing it to an unknown Venetian painter of the end of the 14th century. The documents cited and a more detailed analysis of the actual picture enable us to realise what this is really about. The whole posing of this Madonna dell’umilita is undoubtedly trecento in its manner, and the faces of the Virgin and Child refer us to the wide circle around Paolo Veneziano, probably some time after 1346, when the Dominican monastery in Šibenik was founded. During one century the picture was damaged (perhaps as a result of the damp that has to this day remained a problem in this monastery erected on the city walls on the coastline). Vladanov stripped the original canvas from the support, cut it out – as the X-ray image shows us, in which we can see the stitching with which the fragments of the original canvas were combined – and then pasted it onto a new wooden support. The only unusual thing is that he (in the first document in 1409 Vladanov is referred to as a woodcarver) composed the ground of the anchona of three soft, ripened fir planks, with a horizontal and not the expected and logical vertical grain. A more detailed inspection of the painting persuades us that it was designed as a real chest for previous items. Around the head of the Madonna, on the ultramarine background, there was a real fireworks display of gold stars, vortical pastilie, golden beams. All this must have shimmered with supernatural beauty under the light of the wax candles on the altar. The narrow strip of flowery meadow that we see looks like an illustration of some local Tacuinum sanitatis. Here we should not lose sight of the fact that in the continuation of the document there is detailed discussion of the tabernacle that Nikola Vladanov was to carve according to the drawing that he appended himself, and that magister Nicolaus debat inquarare auro this sumptuous wooden frame. What follows is equally as interesting. As well as the contract for the making of the anchona, and now its central part, we can find another important document. Some twenty years later, the painter, just a little before his death, had to square accounts with clients who clearly had not paid him what they had contracted to pay. They agreed to have two appraisers give their judgement about the quality of the material and work put in. The appraisers were none other than the most distinguished Dalmatian master of the 15th century, George of Dalmatia, sculptor and architect, master builder of the cathedral, and the Split man Marinello Vučković, who had attended Squarcione’s Paduan academy with Marco Zoppo, Carlo Crivelli and the Šibenik man Giorgeo Schiavone Čulinović, the son in law of George of Dalmatia. The two of them promised, in July 31, 1465, within eight days, or otherwise pay a penalty of 100 small pounds, to pronounce a judgement on the value of the work of Master Nikola in anchona gloriosa Virginis Marie. The document would be worth reading and analysing in its entirety, but it will be enough for us to excerpt just the part in which the two masters mentioned say: dicimus et declaramus dictum magistrum Nicolaum meruisse pro lignamine per ipsum posito in dictum laborerium ac pro intaleo tabernaculi ducatos decem auri. Item pro auro et argento, argentando, aurando toto tabernaculo predicto et figuras in quo furnit pecia circa mille, declaramus hoc debere ducatos decem. Item pro inzessando et ponendo in opus dictum aurum ducatos sex cum dimidio et pro azuro et aliis coloribus et pro ponendo in opus ipsos colores ducatos quinque. Et pro colorando tres figuras ducatos duos. Et pro lucro ipsius magistri Nicolai ducatos quatuor cum dimidio. Que omnia summe suprascripte capiunt in toto ducatos triginta octo. Their valuation says that the value of the wood, with all decorative carving, was 10 ducats; the value of the gold and silver was also 10 ducats; the value of the work with the gold and silver was 6 ducats. The pigments were worth 5 ducats and the painting 2 ducats. Finally the painter’s profit should be 4 ducats. We can find the anchona in the visitations of the 17th century already split up. The Madonna was now under a silver screen in the middle of a new pale portante on the main altar, and was in the early 20th century removed from it. Is it actually necessary to say that in the couple of restoration operations to which the painting was subjected it would have been desirable if someone – the prior, the mayor, the conservator – had had an agreement with the restorers like that of 1443, according to which the operation was to be carried out at least: non tangendo tamen facies neque manus figurarum

IL CICLO DEI MESI DEL PORTALE DI TROGIR

U članku se dokazuje da je ciklus mjeseci Radovanovog portala u Trogiru izvorno bio zamišljen u zaokruženoj sekvenci – od ožujka na desnoj, do veljače na lijevoj strani – izloženoj na dva pilastra sa svake strane vrata. Ikonografski program portala analizira se u odnosu između donje i gornje zone, i u sadržajnim kopčama njegovih pojedinih elemenata, pa se nudi rješenje za novo čitanje niza pojedinosti: donja polovina lijevog unutrašnjeg pilastra interpretira se kao cjelovit prikaz Veljače, a ne kao ponovljeni prikaz Ožujka; analizira se razlika između specifičnih prikaza trogirskog i venecijanskog Marta s »cornatorom«; ukazuje se na smisao nekih prizora na poluoblim stupcima uz vrata; tumače se razlozi promjene ikonografskog programa portala u fazi njegovog završetka od strane Radovanovih nastavljača. Otvara se pitanje mogućeg moralizatorskog karaktera kalendarskih prikaza i ostalih dijelova donje zone u kontekstu ikonografskog programa cjeline portala.Il ciclo incompleto della rappresentazione dei mesi sul portale principale della cattedrale a Trogir, ha attirato l’attenzione di molti storici dell’arte, in particolare riguardo al rapporto con il portale centrale della basilica di S. Marco a Venezia, per il quale l’opera datata e firmata di Radovan sarebbe l’unico punto di rifermento sicuro per stabilare la cronologia inziale di alcune sue parti. Con questo il problema della possibilità di ricostruire la concezione originaria del portale di Radovan, in senso architettonico ed iconografico, non ha fatto alcun passo avanti. L’autore dell’articolo spiega il motivo per cui la serie traurina dei mesi, sulla parte frontale dei pilastri interni, è rimasta incompiuta, quale doveva essere l’ordine compositivo del ciclo, in quale rapporto era dal punto di vista del contenuto con il complesso del portale, e la ragione dei cambiamenti nella concezione generale del programma iconografico dopo la partenza di Radovan, al tempo degli ultimi lavori al portale. Innanzitutto le due rappresentazioni di un seguace di Radovan sulla parte inferiore del pilastro sinistro si interpretano come un’unica rappresentazione del mese di febbraio. La scena della fanciulla che pone il Pesce nella pentola e del messaggero che annuncia il nome del mese rappresenta i significanti (l’abituale segno zodiacale e il cartellino), mentre il viticoltore nella zona sottostante rapprewsenta lättività caratteristica per la raffigurazione del mese di febbraio, particolarmente in numerosi cicli italiani. Si corregge cosi l’affermazione, finora ripetuta più volte nella letteratura sull’argomento, che sul portale Marzo sia rappresentato due volte sia a causa della mancate comprensione dei due differenti modelli, sia della incomprensione del significato del marzo di Radovan. Nella serie dei mesi traurini ha richiamato maggiormente l’attenzione il mese di Marzo che è sempre stato confrontato con la rappresentazione analoga sul portale principale della basilica di S. Marco, solitamente considerata il modello diretto di cui si servi Radovan. Nell’analisi dettegliata di entrambi i rilievi l’autore avverte che quello veneziano in base all’armatura nacque dall’imitazione diretta dell’»icona« marmorea di S. Giorgio, che si trova a due metri di distanza dall’arco dei mesi sul portale maggiore della basilica di S. Marco. Nel rapporto di Marzo e del genio dei venti egli vede una coppia antitetica, ma non ne individua il modello, com’ è stato proposto di recente, nella contrapposizione simbolica delle figure rappresentate nel noto salterio Chludov di Mosca (dove, secondo il parere dell’autore potrebbe trattarsi della rappresentazione del malocchio), ma in un significato moralizzante sul tipo della rapprezentazione della Psicomachia di Prudenzio – della guerra dei Vizi e delle Virtù. Oltre alla serie di differenze formali tra la rappresentazione traurina e veneziana, egli sottolinea in special modo le differenze tra i due »cornatori«. Quello di S. Marco è in posizione inginocchiata, piegata e del tutto passiva in confronto a quello traurino. La sua testa non è irsuta. Ma, la differenza più importante è nel fatto finora non notato che a Trogir non è rappresentato un fanciullo nudo, come si è sempre ripetuto, ma un vecchio – uno gnomo itifallico. Radovan insiste in maniera assolutamente veristica nella descrizione delle pieghe di carne sul suo collo e sul ventre, dello scroto senile e del membro, successivamente tolto, in erezione. Nella serie di suggestione con cui si chiarsce formalmente e iconograficamente l’origine di questa figura, è fondamentale la conclusione che il modello di Radovan doveva troversi molto probabilmente all’interno di qualche manoscritto miniato. Radovan ha rappresentato infatti anche la »fiammella« di vento che esce dal corno, in cui l’autore non vede solo ancora una prova del carattere diminutivo della scultura del maestro e della sua inclinazione per i dettagli pittorici. Una simile modellazione del vento, del soffio, dell’aria o del suono è innanzitutto caratteristica delle miniature sui manoscritti medievali e dei mosaici, e solo eccezionalmente della scultura. Di qui la convinzione che Radovan si fosse servito di un modello pittorico, andato perso, in ogni modo differente da quello utilizzato dal suo collega sull’Arco dei mesi a Venezia. La conoscenza di questo modello chiarirebbe gli elementi anticheggianti di tutta la scena – di Marte e ugualmente della figura antitetica soto di lui. Il »paesaggio« rappresentato sullo sfondo dei cicli veneziano e traurino parla ugulmente di modelli differenti. Mentre Radovan compone per ogni mese una »scenografia« specifica, a Venezia tutte le scene sono collegate da un viticcio continuo. Collocando le rappresentazioni in uno stesso »ambiente« il maestro veneziano ne diminuisce la naturalezza, aumentandone invece l’effetto decorativo. La macchia selvatica del marzo traurino ne è il logico attributo e non un semplice fondo decorativo com’è il caso di Venezia. In tutto ciò, tuttavia, la differenza più importante è la posizione che queste rappresentazioni occupano all’interno dell’intero ciclo. L’autore dimostra che la rappresentazione di Marzo di Radovan, diversamente da quella veneziana, era il putno iniziale di tutto il calendario che originariamente era stato pensato in una sequenza che doveva essere estesa su entrambi i pilastri su ciascun lato del portale, in base alla suddivisione in mesi »caldi« e »freddi«. Si analizzano dettagliatamente le analogie e le ragioni iconografiche di tale disposizione che dava risalto alla scena dell’Annunciazione nella zona superiore del portale. Il dotto vescovo Treguan, »ex urbe Floris« come egli stesso orgogliosamente sottolilnea nell’iscrizione dedicatoria sotto la lunetta del portale, poteva avere anche una sua ragione particolare di mettere in rilievo la rappresentazione del guerriero Marte al posto d’onore del ciclo di Traù, considedrando che la Firenze pagana, ma anche quella medievale lo ritenevano il loro patrono. L’autore si sofferma in modo particolare sulla questione del possibile significato iconografico della rappresentazione dei mesi all’interno del programma di tutto il portale, richiamendosi alle tesi finora note sul loro rapporto con gli atlanti che li sorreggono, con i pilastri tondi accanto al vano del portale, e in particolare con la zona superiore di quest’ultimo. La ripartizione della zona superiore e inferiore del portale mostra l’antitesi tra la Redenzione e il Peccato. Da una parte vi sono l’Eternità e la Grazia, dall’altra il Tempo e la Natura. Si tratta, in breve, del parallelo e dell’antitesi tra l’uomo e Cristo. Sembra che Radovan abbia trovato il modo di dare forma con un vocabolario iconografico molto semplice a un programma notevolmente complesso. Il significato teologico della zona superiore è fondato su un carattere sacramentale, propriamente sull’enfasi del significato eucaristico della nascita di Cristo. Parlando delle rappresentazioni dei mesi nel loro asserito didattico – secolare, oppure riducendole a pure forme di questa o quella origine, noi preferiremmo pensarle come fini a se stesse, e non al motivo per cui furono create. Com’è già stabilito in ambito letterario il tempo cristiano inizia con Adamo e termina con il Giudizio universale. Il tempo lineare (non più circolare) è suddiviso con l’Incarnazione di Cristo in tempo prima e dopo la nascita. La tradizionale concezione augustiniana non ha dato al Tempo una buona reputazione. Il Tempo rappresentava la fragilità del mondo, delle cose temporali e di tutte le occupazioni. Separato da una linea netta dall’Eternità il Tempo apparteneva a un livello inferiore, in cui tutto era basato sulla precarietà del momento. Il Tempo, sono solo le ore che separano la creazione del mondo dalla sua fine. Gli aggettivi temporale e secolare esprimono la caducità morale del tempo, la brevità della vita terrena e l’imminenza della sua fine. In questo articolo si cerca di spiegare anche la »svolta« contenutistica in rapporto al programma iconografico originario, al tempo della conclusione dei lavori e della collocazione del portale, avvenuta secondo l’autore negli anni sessanta del XIII secolo. La scena della Crocifissione con i due donatori inginocchiati ai piedi della croce, al verticale del secondo arco sopra la lunetta, rivela che il programma originario di Radovan è stato in certo qual modo privatizzato, ed ha assunto un carattera penitenziale nello spirito della nuova religiosità gotica. L’autore in particolare si sofferma sulle statue di Adamo ed Eva e sulle raffigurazioni degli apostoli sui pilastri esterni della zona inferiore, in cui alcuni studiosi hanno visto parti di un portale precedente quello di Radovan. In questo articolo si dimostra che Eva e gli apostoli accanto e lei, e Adamo e gli apostoli accanto a lui sono opera di due maestri di cui almeno il secondo, giudicando dai grafismi metallici dei suoi drappeggi nei quali si rifletteva l’influsso della lumeggiatura, poteva occuparsi di pittura. Le differenze di collocazione di queste due serie di tre apostoli ciascuna (chew hanno sostituito le rimanenti rappresentazioni dei mesi che in base alla concezione originaria avrebbero dovuto trovarsi al loro posto) sono attribuite dall’autore a motivi iconografici. Le figure sul pilastro sinistro sono di dimensioni più piccole per lasciare libero lo spezio destinato ai loro attributi: i minuti tabernacoli sopra le teste di S. Pietro e di S. Giovanni (?), e l’aureola inusualmente grande con la foglia di fico del tutto inconsueta sopra S. Bartolo. L’autore sottolinea la stretta vicinanza e il legame simbolico tra la foglia di fico di Eva e di S. Bartolo. Secondo la concezione mediavale i peccati corporali comprendono tutti gli altri. L’uomo ha peccato tramite il corpo, e tramite il corpo può redimersi. Dopo l’analisi dettagliata dei possibli riferimenti all’esegesi medievale chasica del Peccato originale, l’autore conclude che in questo esemplare traurino una completa concezione teologica è espressa in una forma iconografica semplice, un tipico exemplum gotico. L’uomo ha perso il Paradiso per la sensualità di Eva. Scrificando la carnalità può nuovamente ottenerlo. Eva ha sbagliato con la sua pelle ed ha perso il Paradiso, mentre S. Bartolo è l’apostolo che con la sua pelle lo ha letteralmente ottenuto. Di qui nacque nel maestro traurino l’impegno di narrare nel modo più chiaro possibile questa antitesi. La foglia del giardino dell’Eden con cui Eva copri la sua vergogna uscendo dal Paradiso, è impressa sull’aureola di Bartolo. Nel momento del peccato la miseria del corpo umano nei confronti dello spirito è diventata evidente (Gen. 3, 21) e Dio lo avvolge con la famosa »tunica di pelle«. La »tunica di pelle« di cui si è spogliato S. Bartolo (in ognimodo una delle prime rappresentazioni di tal genere nell’arte medievale) è simbolo del trionfo della sua anima. Lo stesso maestro eseguì anche il noto rilievo della lavanda dei piedi, intorno al quale nella lettaratura sono sorte parecchie discussioni. Tutti gli interpreti hanno notato il fatto che Cristo non lava i piedi a Pietro, ma ad un apostolo che non ha la barba. In verità, bisogna dire che anche tutti gli altri apostoli sono sbarbati, e questo forse per richiamare l’attenzione sull’unico personaggio barbuto: S. Pietro. Mentre tutti gli apostoli sono concentrati sull’azione di Cristo, Pietro si è girato con un gesto violento verso l’apostolo è praticamente l’unica figura del portale a cui sia stata completamente staccata la testa, rende possibile avanzare l’ipotesi che si tratti di Giuda. Ci sembra, infatti, che i gesti degli apostoli all’estrema destra, e l’assenza del motivo dell’Ultima Cena da tutto il ciclo sul secondo arco del portale, suggeriscano la possibilità che si tratti della rappresentazione unica di due avvenimenti che di solito sono presentati in successione e vengono spesso collegati tra loro. A questa spiegazione potrebbe opporsi il dato di fatto che nella lavanda dei piedi di Trogir vi sono solo undici apostoli, che suggerisce una rappresentazione da cui Giuda era già stato escluso. In questo modo, infatti, vengono interpretati una serie di modelli iconografici occidentali. L’ipotesi che si propone potrebbe essere sostenuta anche da un’altra supposizione, e cioè che il maestro a un consueto modello occidentale con udnici apostoli interecciò una narazione complementare, sempre con un forte accento sul Peccato e sulla Redenzione (come è stato in particolare notato nell’ analisi della zona inferiore del portale), trascurando di completare numericamente il modello