The Crowning and Robing

Anthony Van Dyck (1599–1641) vividly illustrates the cruelty during the crowning and robing in the common hall, as it is described in Matthew 27:27–31. In this interpretation of the narrative, a wearied, seated Christ occupies the central composition, surrounded by the soldiers of Pontius Pilate. An armour-clad figure sets a thorny crown on Christ’s head, while another man places a reed as a sceptre in his left hand. Christ is naked to the waist and turns his head to his left in humble resignation. His wrists are bound with a rope that falls loosely in his lap and coils on the floor beneath. As described in the biblical passage, the captors taunt him with the words, ‘Hail, King of the Jews!’

The drama of the episode is enhanced by the curious onlookers, who strain to view the scene through the barred window at left. Technical evidence reveals that Van Dyck added these figures in a later stage of the painting’s production. An earlier version of this painting (destroyed, Berlin, 1945), included a more imposing Roman soldier. Pentimenti in the Prado version indicate it originally had two soldiers at left, but Van Dyck painted them out, instead adding the barking spaniel in the lower corner, distinctly similar to the animal in Peter Paul Rubens’s Raising of the Cross (Cathedral of Our Lady, Antwerp).

Below the window, a beastly looking torturer lunges toward Christ, but seems to hesitate before striking him (John 19:3). The figure at the far right of the composition stretches his arms apart in a gesture of astonishment. These two figures, as well as the individuals peering through the window, suggest an element of hesitation and even wonderment not always seen in visual representations of Christ’s mocking. Is it possible that these men sense something of Jesus’s words to Pilate, ‘My kingship is not of this world; if my kingship were of this world, my servants would fight, that I might not be handed over to the Jews; but my kingship is not from the world’ (John 19:36)? By incorporating these ambiguous gestures, might Van Dyck be suggesting a moment of dawning revelation on the part of the Roman soldiers?

References

Barnes, Susan J., et al. 2004. Van Dyck: A Complete Catalogue of the Paintings (New Haven: Yale University Press), pp. 39–40

Martin, John Rupert, and Gail Feigenbaum. 1979. Van Dyck as Religious Artist (Princeton: Princeton University Press), pp. 20–35, 60–73

Vergara, Alejandro, and Friso Lammertse (eds). 2012. The Young Van Dyck (Madrid: Museo Nacional del Prado), pp. 224–27

This sculpted crown of thorns represents the importance that Christ’s Passion took on when the Spanish transmitted the story to the New World. Yet, as is often the case with cultural confrontation, the Christian episode of the crowning was thoughtfully reimagined when received by local peoples. By the time of the creation of this work in the mid-eighteenth century, Hispanic American society was already highly pluralistic, bringing many European traditions together with native cultural currents. As such, we find the tradition of Christ’s crown of thorns developed in a richly unique way.

The Viceroyalty of Peru had a strong tradition of metalwork, perhaps due to the abundance of gold and silver in the region. The highly skilled metalsmith who made this crown crafted it out of gold repoussé. He worked the beaten gold into four parallel cords, which intertwine to form braided volutes that he then embellished with florets and flame-shaped leaves. This cylindrical structure was then covered with sharply projected thorns, while emeralds, topaz, and other precious stones adorn its glimmering surface.

An 1817 inventory of the Cathedral of Arequipa includes a description of this crown and indicates that it once accompanied an image of the Christ of Charity (Señor de la Caridad), a figure particularly venerated in this community (Esternas Martín 2006: 217). Similar objects have been located in Arequipa’s Mercedarian monastery and the Cathedral of Cuzco. Such crowns are notable for their striking inclusion of the spiky thorns that serve as a dramatic reminder of Christ’s suffering, and even more specifically to the blood that poured forth from his open wounds. Such forms reinforced Counter Reformation teachings in which the Church emphasized celebrations of Corpus Christi, and at times encouraged elaborate processions celebrating the presence of Christ’s blood in the Holy Eucharist.

The contrast of the jagged thorns with the brilliant jewels further suggests something of the complexity of Christ’s crucifixion, which for Christians is at once gory, but also magnificent. 

References

Esternas Martín, Cristina. 2006. ‘Silver and Silverwork, Wealth and Art in Viceregal America’, in The Arts in Latin America: 1492–1820 (Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of Art), pp. 178–189; cat. no. III-28, p. 217

_____. 2004. ‘Acculturation and Innovation in Peruvian Viceregal Silverwork’, in The Colonial Andes: Tapestries and Silverwork: 1530–1830, ed. by Elena Phipps, et al (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art), pp. 59–71; cat. no. 91, p. 278

Andrea Solario (1460–1524) excelled in the production of half-length images of the suffering Christ, as seen here in his Christ Bound and Crowned with Thorns. Solario was one of the Lombard followers of Leonardo da Vinci, usually referred to as the ‘Leonardeschi’. Although artistically he drew on Leonardo’s soft sfumato effects and delicate facial types, Solario also looked to the work of painters from Venice, Rome, and Northern Europe. Eventually he transformed his knowledge of these artists into his own distinctive style. His devotional work seeks an intensely emotional response from its audience. His half-length images of Christ enjoyed a particular popularity in Northern Italy around 1500. Small in scale, they were likely intended for individual contemplation and devotion in a domestic context.   

In this vein, Solario’s Christ Bound and Crowned with Thorns adopts a distinctly intimate register. The tortured Christ appears close to the picture plane, allowing the viewers to contemplate the bloody wounds intently. Christ’s carefully modelled torso appears profoundly pale in contrast to the deeply shadowed background. His head bows gently to his right in resignation to his capture. His pronounced crown of thorns punctures his brow, releasing streams of blood onto his sallow face. His eyes appear darkened as tears gently roll down his gaunt cheeks. A thick rope surrounds his neck and joins in a large knot at the centre of the chest. Christ’s wrists are bound, with his right hand struggling to hold the reed staff upright.

As described in the biblical passages, the Roman executioners have placed a purple robe around Christ’s shoulders in reference to his claim to be ‘King of the Jews’ (Mark 15:17; John 19:2). They then strike him and kneel down ‘in homage to him’ (Mark 15: 19). In doing so, the mocking soldiers not only deride Christ, but (with inadvertent prophetic insight) point forward to his future enthronement at the right hand of the Father (see Mark 16:19; Luke 22:69; Matthew 22:44; 25:34; 26:64).

Together, the thorny crown, reed sceptre, and royal robe interject a notion of ambiguity into the image. They point to Christ’s true role, which will ultimately allow for the possibility of eternal salvation, even for the sinners who mercilessly persecute him.

References

Brown, David Alan. 1987. Andrea Solario (Milan: Electa)

———. 1998. ‘Andrea Solario’, in The Legacy of Leonardo: Painters in Lombardy 1490–1530, ed. by Giulio Bora, et al (Milan: Skira), pp. 231–50