The Representation of the Late
|The Jerusalem vignette of the Madaba Map is precious for the explicitness of its topographic and architectural detail. No less significant are the more symbolic aspects of the image: its elliptical form, not quite a cosmic circle yet hardly the rectilinear city wall of Jerusalem;1 the absence of the Temple Mount in concurrence with New Testament prophecy (Rev 21.22); the centrality of the church complex at Golgotha attesting to its place as "salvation in the midst of the earth;"2 and Jerusalem's own position as "navel of the earth"3 echoed in the vignette's probable location in the centre of the map and the church at Madaba.4 These factors - abstractions, omissions, emphases, repetitions - are representative practices based in early Christian theology which assumes that concrete manifestations have symbolic meanings. In the fifth century John Cassian explained that "the one and the same Jerusalem" may be understood not only historically, but on three spiritual levels: allegorical, tropological, and anagogical.5 Thus Jerusalem embodied a vertical continuum of meanings from the earthly to the heavenly. Augustine also interpreted the world's order in terms of cities, the heavenly and the earthly, which only at the end of time will be separate; until then, he concluded, they will be intermingled.6 Following such an understanding, any representation of early Christian Jerusalem must contain aspects of both the celestial and the terrestrial; hence, the explicit concrete history of the Madaba Map will act as a shadow of eternity.
A further element of the Jerusalem vignette of the Madaba Map which is detailed yet at the same time abstracted, is the cardo maximus. Actually two cardines are depicted, but it is the straight central thoroughfare, with its roofed columns in elevation facing outward from either side of the road, which dominates the image. The cardo maximus extends from the piazza inside the northern gate to the old southern gate where it becomes enveloped by the cluster of buildings on Mount Sion. The street axially divides and structures the elliptical vignette: buildings and other elements stand either to the east or the west; two of the three major churches of sixth- century Jerusalem - the Martyrium and Anastasis Rotunda at Golgotha, today known in the West as the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and the Nea Church of the Theotokos - are oriented by the cardo, and the third, Hagia Sion, is situated just beyond its southern end. Indeed, the representation of the cardo maximus appears to be a key factor in the meaning of the Jerusalem vignette,7 yet why a street should be the focus of such interest in a Christian map is puzzling.
The porticoed "cardo maximus" of Byzantine Jerusalem.
|The Porticoed Street
In Rome and the Hellenistic East certain architectural conventions, namely the city wall and gate and the porticoed street,8 were used to represent cities.9 The porticoed street, reinterpreted from earlier precedents in the Greek stoa, was most typically the Roman cardo and decumanus. With the growth of Hellenistic cities, the more discreet and individual Greek urban institutions were sacrificed for widespread connections between centres of activity. The portico served as the primary means of doing so, and porticoed streets, "were considered the pinnacle of urban refinement."10 Such thoroughfares offered continuity, varying little as they cut through diverse areas of the urban fabric. At the same time, the porticoes also contributed to a cohesive vision of cities throughout the Roman Empire; these streets were the great unifying and leveling force. Taken to extremes they could become almost a caricature; at Diocletian's Palace in Split, the porticoed cardo and decumanus structure a rigid and minimalistic summary of the city as army camp and as palace.
Whereas the early Christian expectations of the city were ultimately eschatological, the portico was once again adopted and reinterpreted as a primary urban symbol: in funerary art, `columnar' or `city-gate' sarcophagi refer appropriately enough to the Heavenly Jerusalem to come.11 More literally, in a mosaic at the Roman Church of Santa Maria Maggiore a portico is visible inside the city gate; as the apostles are shown to be sheep and the walls are jewel-studded gold, this city is celestial. Although it would be fair to say that images of the Christian heavenly city were recognisable as a city because of certain earthly qualities, there are also representations of cities with few or no obvious transcendental elements; for example: the cities depicted in the mosaics in the Church of St. Stephen at Kastron Mefaa (Umm al-Rasas in Jordan), which are part of a local tradition of portraying prominent Christian cities.12 In the Jerusalem of the Madaba Map, the cartographic configuration of wall, gate, and porticoed street would have been immediately recognisable as a city to its audience. Like the Kastron Mefaa examples, this image is geographically specific. Moreover, in the Madaba Map, such a porticoed street is not restricted to Jerusalem; variations of it are used in a number of towns of a certain size and importance.13 Far from being a transcendent image, the porticoed street in the Madaba Map contributes to the standardisation of the representation of earthly cities.14
As already noted, in Roman/Hellenistic terms, the portico was indicative of a `proper' town; some insight into what this entailed in late antiquity can be gleaned from Libanius, the Sophist rhetorician who wrote in praise of his native Antioch in AD 360.15 Libanius includes a lengthy discussion of the porticoes:16 they are extensive,17 unbroken, and unchanged by either slope or stream (196-197); he likens them to "rivers which flow for the greatest distance through the city, while the side streets seem like canals drawn from them" (201). Most importantly, all the public buildings have their entrances on the porticoes (212). Libanius acknowledges the length of his own salutory discourse on the porticoes, and finally states his motive: the porticoes make a good city. In essence they accomplish this by providing a place for people to meet and mix, something that Libanius describes as "one of the most pleasing things in cities, and... one of the most useful" (213). He pities the people without porticoes by their houses who fall foe to inclement weather, and who "can be said to live in one city [but] are actually separated from one another not less than those who live in different cities" (215). The porticoes act as a stage set for everyday life, and in doing so they help to foster the ordinary aspects of that life which enhance associations and friendships within the city (217). This, Libanius affirms, is "of the greatest importance among men" (218). Thus, in Hellenistic terms, the urban portico may be regarded as a fundamental component of a proper city because of its ongoing contribution to civic praxis.
Indeed, it would seem that the porticoes not only enhance urban life, but themselves become symbolic of the city. Such a situation puts an unaccustomed onus on the architecture. Rather than functioning simply as the setting for the everyday, the porticoes become responsible for conveying the high levels of meaning in the city; although only street colonnades, they take on a role normally reserved for temples or important public institutions, and in doing so, attach a material form to the more elusive notion of civic virtue.18 There is a danger that ordinary architecture becomes, in a sense, over-valued and the city self-conscious. In the Madaba Map representation of Jerusalem some hint of this inversion is apparent. Due to the bird's eye perspective of the vignette, the viewer hovers above the city looking directly down into the open street which functions as the only open public space in the representation. The viewer has no sense of participation in the street;19 instead, his or her gaze is directed at it, observing it from a distance and reifying it.20
Although Libanius' Antiochikos champions pagan Antioch, Christianity was already established there when he wrote. It is difficult to imagine a Christian author approaching the city in the same way, finding such sustenance in the tangible and practically ordered existence of individuals in the cosmopolis. After all, the Christian was regarded as a pilgrim on earth, and a citizen only of the eschatological city.21 Yet, in the Jerusalem of the Madaba Map, the representation of the cardo maximus seems to carry the significance given to the street by Hellenistic pagans.22 Here we must ask if this is simply a lingering or revived Hellenistic tradition,23 or if the street has meaning in a Christian sense.
|The Christian Cardo
From the account of the late fourth century pilgrim Egeria it is clear that a major liturgical route existed between the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and Hagia Sion where the congregation met twice a week.24 At this time, the processions may have followed the cardo, or more likely the route slightly to the west in the old via praetoria;25 both these streets were along the upper ridge of the southwestern hill, known as Mount Sion. In its entirety, from the decumanus southward, including today's Armenian Quarter, to the slopes which descend into the Hinnom Valley, Mount Sion was an integral part of the early Christian city;26 this is made clear by Empress Eudocia's extension of the southern wall c. 460,27 in order to include it in the city.28 By the mid-sixth century the southern section of the cardo was complete, likely built as a liturgical circuit linking the newly constructed Nea Church with the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.29 Whilst the cardo maximus does not penetrate the southern portion of Mount Sion, it connects the Holy Sepulchre with the Nea, and the northern part of Jerusalem with the rest of the city. This is clearly depicted in the Madaba Map.
Libanius wrote that in Antioch the entrances of the public buildings abutted the porticoed streets (212), and in Jerusalem this is certainly the case with the Nea Church and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre which are entered from the cardo maximus. An imprint of the latter building on a seventh-century bread stamp, now in the Cleveland Museum of Art, depicts on the right side the Anastasis Rotunda and its arcaded courtyard and on the left, the basilica and its tripartite entrance; at the bottom is shown the porticoed street.30 The components are remarkably similar to those which make up the church on the Madaba Map; in both, the representations indicate the close relationship between church and portico. Architecturally, any section of the cardo would have resembled an open-air basilica; in form and liturgical function this wide, columned street acted as the nave of the city. Because it was also lined with shops and market stalls,31 what was one day a commercial thoroughfare would the next be a liturgical route; the cardo formed the stage set-like background for the pragmatic life - social, economic, liturgical - of Jerusalem; it was very much part of the `living city', and in this sense its significance can be likened to that of the Hellenistic porticoes. Yet, despite the importance of such a route for the station liturgy, the destinations of the Christian processions were the churches, and compared to them the street would have retained its everyday character.
In order to understand this idea further, it is necessary to consider the wider ritual topography of Jerusalem. The establishment of the Constantinian churches, referred to by Eusebius as a triad of sites,32 may be understood to embody the Christian notion of time based on scriptural narrative:33 to the south of Jerusalem at Bethlehem, the Church of the Nativity represented the birth of Christ and the incarnation; at Golgotha the Hill of the Cross and the Anastasis Rotunda situated the crucifixion and resurrection, the regenerative moment between death and rebirth upon which Christianity depends; and east of the walled city on the Mount of Olives the Eleona Church, and some decades later, the Church of the Ascension, marked the site of Christ's ascension and the hope for the eschaton. The New Testament relates that after the ascension of Christ, the apostles returned to the city to wait for the Holy Spirit in the Upper Room (Acts 1.1-14). Theologically this act is fundamental for the beginning of Christianity as a religion. After having witnessed the ascension, the apostles could do nothing further at Olivet; it was incumbent upon them to leave this transcendent place, to return to the pragmatic world, to "the book of the living," in the words of Cyril of Jerusalem,34 where, through the Spirit, they would initiate Christianity as a religion by the preaching of the Word in all languages (Acts 2.1-12) and to all nations (Luke 24.47).35
Below Olivet, the living world was the city; the sixth century patriarch Sophronius describes this aspect of the topography where the pilgrim turns from Ascension Church once again to the city: "...let me go out [of the Church]... and regard the beauty of the Holy City lying over to the west. How sweet it is to see thy fair beauty, city of God, from the Mount of Olives."36
More specifically, the return to temporality through the descending of the Spirit, was from the mid-fourth century if not earlier, located at the southwestern hill of Jerusalem, that is, on Mount Sion.37 In confirmation of that belief and of the tradition of apostolic activity there, patristic writers refer to the Church of Sion as mater omnium ecclesiarum38
The descent of the Spirit, regarded as the baptism of the apostles, associated the baptismal sacrament at Sion along with the sacrament of eucharist, this being so situated by the locating of the Last Supper on Sion from at least the fourth century.39 Mount Sion is not alone in its early associations with the sacraments; but other sites, including Christ's place of baptism at the Jordan River and the site of his own sacrifice at the Hill of the Cross at Golgotha, recall the christological paradigms themselves, whereas at Sion the sacraments institute the sanctioning of the life of Christ to Christians and the Church. There, in keeping with the pragmatic nature of Mount Sion, baptism and eucharist symbolise ongoing human participation in Christ; this may be regarded as a matter of divine meaning practiced according to earthly needs.
Another of the `living' traditions of Mount Sion was the idea of Mary as mother of the world; she was, in the words of Sophronius on Sion, "handmaid of God, childbearing for all men."40 The Marian presence at Sion may have influenced the building of the Nea Church of the Theotokos, which unlike the other early Christian holy places, is not on the site of a theophany. Procopius tells of Justinian's insistence upon the site despite construction difficulties on the steep slope,41 which would suggest some significance to the location. The Madaba Map depicts the huge Nea Church on the east side of the cardo maximus standing like a `balance' to the Martyrium of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre on the west side. The former may have been regarded as a completion to the latter, for Justinian would have seen himself as a fitting successor to Constantine; certainly Procopius' description of the discovery of columns needed for construction as an act of God,42 echoes Eusebius' account of the miraculous uncovering of Christ's tomb over 200 years earlier.43 Just as the earlier emperor's churches reflected the major christological concerns of the fourth century, the construction of the Church of the Theotokos manifested the dominant place of mariology in the sixth.44 Undoubtedly reflecting such a trend, Cyril of Scythopolis wrote that the Nea Church was particularly appropriate to the piety of Justinian.45 Thus, rather than an incarnational event, the Nea Church embodies the developing mediative role of mariology. In doing so, it also marks the viability of the well-mediated earthly city. If distance characterised the physical remoteness and eschatological nature of Olivet, frequented by the stational liturgy only a few select times during the year, this was in strong contrast to the pragmatic traditions of Mount Sion and the quotidian processional routes inside the city between Golgotha and Sion. In this the cardo takes on its full significance as a street. The Hellenistic notion of the street as symbolising a proper city was appropriated and adapted by Christian Jerusalem in order to suit its own meanings and needs; in doing so the porticoed street embodied mundane and ongoing participation in the divine within the context of civic praxis.
|The Column at the Northern Gate
The southern end of the cardo is replete with Christian content, but the northern end presents a different situation. On the Madaba Map just inside the northern St. Stephen's Gate, a piazza, shown as oval in plan, leads into the two cardines; in its centre a single column is rendered in elevation, presumably to depict it fully. Like the cardo, the piazza and its column are dominant features of the vignette. The column was Roman, perhaps Hadrianic, and seems to have marked the point at which road distances were measured from Jerusalem;46 it stood in the northern piazza throughout early Christianity and into the early Islamic period.47 In antique culture such monuments were not unusual: Constantine's porphyry column was placed in the emperor's new forum,48 a large oval (or possible round) space laid out in front of the old gate of the city. In Jerusalem the column stood not in a forum but in a gateway square, following the eastern custom where such spaces functioned in a civic capacity much like Roman fora.49 A mosaic of Kastron Mefaa shows a similar situation with the column, acting as an identifying feature for the city, just outside the gate in the square between castrum and city.50
When built, the Jerusalem column would have carried a statue of an emperor on top,51 which in the Christian city seems to have been replaced by an image of a head with a cross or perhaps a cross alone.52 The Madaba Map shows neither, but a drawing of Jerusalem, likely after Arculf, found in a twelfth century manuscript in the Munich Staatsbibliothek depicts the column supporting a cross and nimbed head.53 This image of a column and statue is similar to descriptions of Constantine's column at Constantinople, which speak of seven rays of light around the emperor's head.54 Of the latter, only an unadorned stump is extant; however the Tabula Peutingeriana depicts the column with a statue of Constantine carrying a lance and a globe.55 The classical precedents are clear in Constantine's depiction as Helios; as well, written sources state that Constantine marked the city's foundation there by performing a sacrifice and naming the Tyche.56 At the same time, Christian content is also apparent: the sacrifice was bloodless, and as Krautheimer points out, it was unlikely that the Tyche was a goddess but rather the city's Fortune.57 The column was transitional, its traditions to do with both pagan Rome and the new Christian capital. Clearly, the Jerusalem column had been set up earlier by pagan emperors yet, as the Madaba Map and Arculf suggest, it seems to have become a Christian landmark as well. As there are various gaps in our understanding of the Jerusalem monument, it is useful to look more closely at the one in Constantinople.
Long traditions of kingship and empire associated with Roman victory columns,58 were integral to the Constantinople example, causing some Christians confusion and perturbance, for it was not always clear whether it was the kingship of Christ or of Constantine that was being venerated at the emperor's column.59 From the start, relics which imply syncretism were said to be embedded in the structure: fragments of the true cross from Jerusalem were hidden away in Constantine's statue in order to assure the security of the Constantinople,60 and at the same time the archaic Palladium was understood to have been transferred from Rome and buried beneath the column base.61 And as both the Christian liturgy and personal supplications to Constantine's image took place at the column base,62 the waning tradition of the deified emperor appears to have been imbued with Christian meaning. After the new religion had taken hold, the column remained a symbol of the city. During an earthquake in 533 the residents of Constantinople fled to the forum to chant litanies all night and in the morning to invoke the "crucified one [to] save us and the city."63 It was a spontaneous gathering in what was clearly deemed to be the place of civic refuge and unity in times of trouble.
The porphyry column was known to mark "the very spot where Constantine ordered the city to be built,"64 the mundus of the new Constantinople; as it was also believed that the column would endure until the end of the world,65 all of history was summarised in this monument. In a similar sort of archetypical attribution, the Jerusalem column was reported by Arculf to stand in the place where the sun of the summer solstice casts no shadow, demonstrating that Jerusalem is at the centre of the earth.66 Arculf's comment is a curious one, for there is no doubt that Golgotha was believed by Christians to mark the sacred centre of the earth;67 this is clear in the Madaba Map. Yet, the column was also a centre, rooted in fundamental disclosures of geocentricity as well as Greco-Roman traditions associated with its milestone function and the widespread civic meanings of such a column in classical culture. In representing the light and longevity of the sun's rays, the column was not directly specific to Christian solar symbolism, yet it did signify the validating of Christian belief by natural phenomena. Eventually the column became associated with Christian content, accruing legends, often to do with miracles concerning the cross, which rendered it part of the Christian topography of the city.68 Philippe Verdier has interpreted the column and its nimbed bust as manifesting the continuity of the symbolic linking of the cross and Christ with the sun and Helios;69 for this he is particularly reliant upon the drawing of Jerusalem in the Munich manuscript. Verdier's research demonstrates the complexity of the transformation of pagan institutions by Christianity of which a reorientation of the column within the traditions of the cross at Golgotha is an example.70 Like many similar cases, some residue of Greco-Roman culture persists which in terms of the Jerusalem column, as with its counterpart in Constantinople, has to do with the basic and ancient practice of marking the centre of the city. As we know from Rome itself, new centres can be created, but the old ones are almost impossible to obliterate. In such a centre as that of the column at Jerusalem, associations of civic identity were also rooted and these too would not have been easily lost; like the porticoed streets, the column in the piazza of the Madaba Map symbolises long and tenacious traditions of what constituted a city.
These observations on the representation of the Jerusalem cardo maximus in the Madaba Map place it firmly within the Hellenistic/Roman culture of cities and civic praxis. This reinforces an understanding already indicated by the map's explicit and abundant geographic material and by its position on the floor: the Madaba Map is dominated by earthly concerns. The Jerusalem vignette portrays a Hellenistic city which by the sixth century had been reoriented in favour of Christianity. The dominance of the cardo and its bird's eye perspective are based on earlier representational devices which suggest a certain self-consciousness and distance from the city. In the Christian context this may be regarded as an ambivalence with the earthly city which can ultimately only be reconciled eschatologically in the Heavenly Jerusalem. The hope for the celestial domain would have been close at hand, either implicitly or explicitly, as the ideal image by which any earthly city was conceived; in this sense, the porticoed streets on earth must be regarded as a pragmatic counterpart to those in heavenly representations. Nonetheless, the vignette in the Madaba Map cannot be said to depict the Heavenly Jerusalem.
The portrayal of the Christian city as a mediative vehicle in which urban praxis is a prime issue would appear to pervade much of the urban imagery of the map as a whole. This recognition calls for some reassessment of the generally accepted role of the Madaba Map as a pilgrims' guide to the holy places, although the two interpretations are not necessarily incompatible, for certainly the notion of the pilgrim city - both terrestrial and celestial - was a major preoccupation of the time. It is, however, clear that far from being a road map with sacred sites, the cities and towns structure the Christian world that the map depicts. This is particularly evident in the Jerusalem vignette where holy places are abundant, yet the cardo with the column at one end are powerfully conspicuous representatives of civic praxis reinterpreted according to Christian needs. It is this concern for the authenticity of Christian life within a properly constituted earthly city that dominates the Madaba Map.
1 "The site of the city itself is almost made into a circular shape...." (Eucherius, De Situ Hierosolimae Epistula ad Faustum Presbyterum, 3, ed., I. Fraipont, CCSL, 175, p. 237). For the civic traditions of circle and square see: Rykwert 1988), pp. 45-50; 97-99; passim.
2 Cyril of Jerusalem, Catecheses, 13.28, PG, 33.805.
3 Jerome, Comm. in Ezech., 2.5.5-6, ed., Glorie, CCSL, 75, p. 56; Adomnan, De Locis Sanctis, 1.11.4, ed., Bieler, CCSL, 175, p. 195.
4 Avi-Yonah 1954), pp. 10-16; Piccirillo 1989, p. 87; Pauline Donceel-Voûte 1988, pp. 520-22. The vignette, 93 x 54 cm., is the largest of the extant representations of cities on the map.
5 John Cassian, Collationes, 14.8, ed., Petschenig, CSEL, 13, pp. 404-405.
6 Augustine, De Civitas Dei, 18.54, eds., Dombart and Kalb, CCSL, 48, p. 656. Also on the nature of Jerusalem as both earthly and heavenly city, and the ambiguities inherent, see: Jerome, Epist., 46.6-7, ed., Hilberg, CSEL, 54.
7 Meaning, not cartographical expediency, is at issue, contra Guthe 1905, p. 126. Guthe and others have suggested that the representational mode of the street is in order to include all of the geographic elements in the available space. However, the elongation and centrality of the street are abstracting factors, indicating a symbolic significance for which the representation is not a result but a conveyance.
8 Usually porticoes were depicted as an arcade in the West and a colonnade in the East.
9 Biebel 1938, pp. 341-51; Piccirillo 1993, p. 34ff.; Ehrensperger-Katz, 1969), pp. 1-27; Duval 1986), pp. 151-56; Donceel-Voûte, pp. 526-28.
10 MacDonald 1986), p. 43, and his discussion of porticoed streets, pp. 33-51; see also: Onians 1979), pp. 169-78; Lassus 1976), pp. 175-89.
11 On the iconography of such sarcophagi, see: Kühnel 1987), p. 64ff.; on the stylistic typologies, see: Lawrence1927), pp. 1-45.
12 Biebel, The Walled Cities of the Gerasa Mosaics, p. 341; Piccirillo, , p. 34.
13 These include: Eleutheropolis, Neapolis, Pelusium, Charach Muba, Askelon, Gaza; for further illustrations: Piccirillo, The Mosaics of Jordan, pls. 65-67, 70.
14 The mosaics from the Gerasa churches of St. John the Baptist and Saints Peter and Paul show walled Egyptian cities; each one depicts a portico inside the gate (Biebel, The Walled Cities, pls. 67b & c; 68; 75a; 86b). Biebel distinguishes stylistically between the "cartographic" tradition of the Madaba representations and the "landscape" tradition of the Gerasa mosaics (p. 351); however it is worth noting that the porticoed street is used irregardless of style. On the graphic standardisation of the Madaba Map, see: Avi-Yonah, The Madaba Mosaic Map, pp. 21-23.
15 Libanius, Antiochikos, Oratio 11, ed., Foerster, Libanii Opera, 1/2, (Stuttgart, 1963); translation, except as noted, by: Glanville Downey 1959), pp. 652-86. References will appear in parentheses in the text.
16 Libanius calls them stoai; I have translated this as `porticoes' to convey the Hellenistic meaning which is quite different than that of the classical Greek stoai. On this aspect of Antioch, see: Lassus, 1972).
17 If linked together they would "occupy the space of a day's journey" (211).
18 The Hellenistic tendency to define a city in almost exclusively material terms is commented upon by Mitchell 1993), vol.1, pp. 80-81.
19 Doro Levi suggests that "a spectator is imagined as in the centre of the street successively turning his head toward the four cardinal points..." Antioch Mosaic Pavements (Princeton, 1947), vol.1, pp. 619-20). Besides the impossibility of the human head rotating 360 degrees, the bird's eye perpective of the map means that the viewer hovers above the city and does not `stand' within it.
20 Such a technique as the bird's eye view, which transforms the everyday into the bizaare, is not uncommon in Hellenistic thought; for example, cf.: Lucian, Icaromenippus, 19, where Menippus, or the Sky-Man, sees the city turn into an ant-hill when he sees it from heaven (ed. and tr., Harmon, Lucian 2, Loeb Classical Library, p. 300). Martin Heidegger's comments on the role of representation in the separation of the viewer or subject from the World are most apt here; see: The Age of the World Picture, 1977), pp. 115-54; esp. pp. 128-36; 143-47.
21 Sentiments expressed often, from the New Testament Hebrews onward, which culminate in Augustine's City of God.
22 Donceel-Voûte, La carte de Madaba, pp. 533-34, argues that the Antioch porticoes were directly copied by the Madaba mosaicist.
24 Egeria; Itinerarium, 27.5-6, eds., A. Franceschini and R. Weber, CCSL, 175, pp. 73-74. On Jerusalem's stational liturgy see: Baldovin, 1987), who suggests that this practice may have been long-standing (p. 86).
25 Whilst it is possible that some sort of path along what would be the southern portion of the cardo existed from an early date, the cardo as a porticoed street appears to have been built later; see: n. 28, below.
26 This, despite the difference between the relatively orthogonal streets of the upper part of Mount Sion and the more irregular topography in descending the southern slope, as pointed out by: Tsafrir, 1975), ch. 3.
27 Eucherius, De Situ Hierosolimae, 3, CCSL, 175, p. 237; Chronicon Paschale, 444 (Olym. 306), PG, 92.805.
28 The southern boundary of the Roman castrum had divided Mount Sion from east to west, excluding the southern portion. For a cartographic history of Mount Sion's status within the city, see: Bahat, 1990), esp. pp. 35, 55, 59, 68.
29 Avigad, 1983), pp. 225-28. North of the decumanus, the street is Hadrianic; no excavations have been carried out, although a few columns are visible in situ. South of the decumanus, the cardo is generally considered to be Byzantine, as excavations (Avigad, ch. 5) have revealed little evidence of an earlier Roman street. For a summary of some of the arguments concerning dating, see: Reich, 1987), pp. 164-67.
30 On the iconography and dating of the stamp see: Galavaris, 1970), pp. 153-61. Crescent moons shown on the rooftops may indicate the Muslim presence in Jerusalem, ie. after 638. I am grateful to Yannis Meimaris for this reference.
31 Avigad, Discovering Jerusalem, pp. 221-25.
32 Eusebius, De Laudibus Constantini, 9.17, ed., I. A. Heikel, GCS, 1, p. 221; also: De Vita Constantini, 3.40-41; 43, GCS, 1, pp. 94-96.
33 On the understanding of the early Christian ritual topography as an embodiment of time, see: Pullan, 1993), pp. 23-40; I discuss this further in: The Transformation of the Urban Order in Early Christian Jerusalem (in preparation).
34 Catecheses, 14.30, PG, 33.864.
35 Ibid., 16.4, PG, 33.924; Augustine, De Civitas Dei, 18.54, CCSL, 48, p. 654.
36 Anacreontica, 19, PG, 87.3811, tr., Wilkinson, 1981), p. 92.
37 Cyril, Cat., 16.4, PG, 33.924; Jerome, Epist., 53.8. CSEL, 54, p. 457; 108.9, CSEL, 55, p. 315; Epiphanius of Salamis, De Mensuris et Ponderibus, 14, ed. and tr., Dean, 1935), p. 30. At mid-fourth century, Cyril mentions the Upper Church of the Apostles (Cat., 16.4); this was replaced by the end of the century by Hagia Sion. In the late fourth century Egeria reports that Ascension and Pentecost were celebrated on the same day (on this confusion see: Baldovin, Urban Character, pp. 88-90) and that worshippers proceeded from the Mount of Olives down to Mount Sion via the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (Itinerarium, 43.5-9, CCSL, 175, pp. 85-86). By the fifth century the two feast days were separate, the Ascension commemorated at Olivet (Armenian Lectionary, 57, ed. and tr., A. Renoux, PO, 36), and on Pentecost congregants descended from Olivet to Sion (Ibid., 58.2-58.3).
38 The Liturgy of St. James, 1.53, quoted in: Enchiridion Locorum Sanctorum, ed., D. Baldi (Jerusalem, 1982), p. 482; Cyril of Scythopolis, Vita Sabae, 57, ed., E. Schwartz, TU, 49.2, p. 153. Earlier, Eusebius writes of Sion as mother of the Church (Demonstratio Evangelica, 6.17.283, ed., I. A. Heikel, GCS, 6, p. 273).
39 Didascalia Addai, quoted in: Enchiridion Locorum Sanctorum, ed., D. Baldi, (Jerusalem, 1982), p. 478,n.1; Armenian Lectionary, 39, PO, 36.
40 Sophronius, Anacreontica, 20, PG, 87.3821, tr., Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, p. 91; cf.: Epiphanius, Panarion, 78.18, ed., K. Holl, GCS, 3, pp. 468-69.
41 Procopius, Buildings, 5.6, ed. and tr., H. B. Dewing and G. Downey, Procopius 7: Buildings, Loeb Classical Library, pp. 342-44.
42 Ibid., 5.6, p. 346.
43 Eusebius, V.Const., 3.28, GCS, 1, pp. 90-91.
44 On Marian devotion in Justinian's Constantinople see: Averil Cameron, The Theotokos in Sixth-Century Constantinople, Journal of Theological Studies, n.s. 29 (1978), pp. 79-108.
45 V. Sabae, 72, TU, 49.2, p. 175.
46 Avi-Yonah, The Madaba Mosaic Map, p. 30; Verdier 1974), p. 28.
47 In the 8th century Arculf refers to it (Adomnan, De Locis Sanctis, 1.11.1, CCSL, 175, p. 194). In 985, Muqaddasi calls the northern gate Bab al-'Amud, Gate of the Column, (quoted in: Le Strange, 1890), p. 213); the Arabic name is still used today.
48 Chronicon Paschale, 328 (Olym. 277), PG, 92.709; John Malalas, Chronographia, 13.320, PG 97.480.
49 Smith, 1956), p. 11; Krautheimer, 1983), p. 55
50 For another similar mosaic, in the Church of the Lions, Umm al-Rasas, see: Piccirillo, The Mosaics of Jordan, pl. 337.
51 Avi-Yonah, The Madaba Mosaic Map, p. 52; a statue of Hadrian according to: O'Callaghan, 1957), col. 659.
52 It is not clear when this was done. In the seventh century Arculf associates the column with a miracle of the cross (Adomnan, De Locis Sanctis, 1.11.2, CCSL, 175, p. 194), and an eighth century account refers to a great column with a cross at the city gate (Hugeburc, Hodoeporicon S. Willibaldi, 20, eds., Tobler and Molinier, 1879), p. 265. It is unclear whether the column with a cross seen by the Piacenza Pilgrim in the sixth century was at St. Stephen's Gate or further north of the city (Itinerarium, 25, ed., P. Geyer, CCSL, 175, p. 142).
53 The drawing is accompanied by part of Bede's description of Jerusalem from his Liber de Locis Sanctis.
54 Malalas, Chronographia, 13.320, PG, 97.480; Chronicon Paschale, 328 (Olym.277), PG, 92.709, offers a similar observation without enumerating the rays. On Constantine's column at Constantinople, now known as the Burned Column, see: Dagron, 1974), pp. 36-40; 58; 98-99; Mango, 1965), pp. 306-313; idem, Constantine's Porphyry column and the Chapel of St. Constantine, Deltion tes christianikes archaiologikes, 10 (1980-81), pp. 103-10; Krautheimer, Three Christian Capitals, pp. 55-57; 60-64; passim.
55 A second century map revised in the fifth century and existing in a thirteenth-century copy. For the Constantinople Tyche, see: Weber, 1976), segment 8; also: Levi, 1967), p. 169ff.; Dagron, Naissance d'une capitale, pp. 57-58; Krautheimer, Three Christian Capitals, pp. 56-57.
56 Malalas, Chron., 13.320, PG, 97.480; Chron. Pasch., 328 (Olym. 277); PG, 92.709.
57 Three Christian Capitals, p. 56.
58 On victory columns see: Vogel, 1973), esp. pp. 23-25.
59 Photias' Epitome of Philostorgius' late fourth century Historia Ecclesiastica reports that Constantine's statue, as if to God, was honoured with sacrifices, illuminations, and incense (2.17; PG, 65.480); in the fifth century, these remarks are referred to by Theodoret, Historia Ecclesiastica, 1.32; PG, 82.989. Further sources are reviewed by: Krautheimer, Three Christian Capitals, pp. 62; 139, n.38; also: Dagron, Naissance, p. 36ff.
60 This was common knowledge according to Socrates, Historia Ecclesiastica, 1.17, PG, 67.420. See also: Dagron, Naissance, p. 40, on other relics believed to have been hidden in the statue.
61 Malalas, Chron., 13.320, PG, 97.480; Chron. Pasch., 328 (Olym. 277), PG, 92.709.
62 Krautheimer, Three Christian Capitals, p. 62.
63 Chron. Pasch., 533 (Olym. 328); PG, 92.889; cf. Malalas, Chron., 18.478, PG, 97.693.
64 Theophanes, Chronographia 5816, quoted in Krautheimer, Three Christian Capitals, p. 62; as already noted, both Chron. Pasch. and Malalas describe the city's founding ceremonies there (n. 55, above).
65 Vita S. Andreae Sali, noted in: Mango: Constantinopolitana, p. 307.
66 Adomnan, De Locis Sanctis, 1.11.2-4, CCSL, 175, pp. 194-95; repeated in: Bede, Liber de Locis Sanctis, ed., I. Fraipont, CCSL, 175, p. 258.
67 As already noted, Cyril, Cat., 13.28, PG, 33.805. Many Christian sources attest to this; the double centre of cross and tomb is discussed at length in Pullan, The Transformation of the Urban Order.
68 Arculf describes the column as marking the place "where the Lord's cross was placed on a dead young man, and he came to life" (Adomnan, De Locis Sanctis, 1.11.2, CCSL, 175, p. 194); Bede's account follows Adomnan. Willibald notes that the column at the city gate was "to remind people of the place where the Jews wanted to take away the body of St. Mary" (Hugeburc, Hodoeporicon, 20, eds., Tobler and Molinier, Itinera, 1, p. 265). Kühnel rightly points out that Arculf's resurrection legend differs little from the miracles related to the discovery of the True Cross at Golgotha (From the Earthly, p. 92).
69 Verdier, La colonne de colonia Aelia Capitolina, pp. 17-40.
70 Ibid., pp. 32-33; 37-40; passim. In the Munich drawing, the column is shown not at St. Stephen's Gate but rather in the area of what had been the Roman forum next to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (p. 26).
|This article was first published in: The Madaba Map Centenary 1897-1997, Jerusalem 1999, 165-171.|