In this important book, Shirin Fozi deftly synthesizes prior research and pursues new directions that result in a compelling history of the emergence of tomb effigies in western Europe during the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Her work spans a gap in the study of what became an important genre of medieval monument from the thirteenth century onward. While a few of the effigies Fozi examines are well-known, the development of the artform has previously slid between the cracks of scholarly frameworks. The study of Romanesque art, for instance, privileges architectural sculpture from southern France, northern Spain, and Italy, not the sculptures made for church interiors in Germany at the heart of Fozi’s research. Similarly, histories of tomb sculpture and decoration typically treat eleventh- and twelfth-century effigies teleologically as classical revivals that paved the way for the magnificent tombs of the later Middle Ages and early modern period. Romanesque Tomb Effigies escapes these constraints, weaves a history from scattered, fragmentary evidence, and navigates the pull of previous scholarship to examine the effigies afresh. The book offers two key claims. First, contrary to later norms, none of the effigies studied, based on extant evidence, were commissioned by the individuals they represent. Second, the earliest medieval effigies did not celebrate triumph, but ameliorated failure or attempted to remedy waning power through remembrance.

The first chapter focuses on three eleventh-century effigies that present tensions between “the physical presence and spiritual absence of the dead” (14): the sarcophagus and tomb slab of Bishop Bernward of Hildesheim, the tomb slab of Abbot Isarn at St.-Victor in Marseille, and the reliefs dedicated to Abbots Durand and Anquêtil from the cloister at Moissac. Bernward’s fascinating sarcophagus consists of a gabled lid with eschatological imagery framed by the text of Job 19:25-7. Interestingly, Bernward’s name and title was carved along the top edge of the receptacle, which is concealed by the lid. The tomb slab, which likely closed the burial shaft holding the sarcophagus, bears the incised image of a processional cross in a stand with a lengthy inscription that gives voice to the corpse, “Part of a man, Bernward, was I,” which then describes its miserable state and failings in life. Fozi brilliantly analyzes the epitaph of the slab, which expresses the fragmentation of person both through textual content and the split arrangement of the inscription around the cross. Notably, she draws attention to how the tang of the cross driven through the middle of the word “BE/NE” sunders the “good” in a visceral expression of the corpse’s admission of Bernward’s shortcomings as bishop. She also observes a contrast between the way Bernward emblazoned his name on artworks he commissioned and how his name is hidden on the sarcophagus, which leads her to posit “a tension between his memoria and the fate of his physical remains” (24). Fozi demonstrates that the relationships between corpse and soul as well as representation and body emerge as a guiding preoccupation for the representations of Isarn and Durand as well. For the former, tension manifests between the textual biography that overlays and obscures the body beneath. In the case of Durand, the relief asserts the Christ-like presence of Durand among the images of saints and the living monastic community in the cloister, while his body was probably buried in the church.

Chapter two examines effigies of rulers, beginning with the riveting bronze effigy of Rudolf of Swabia in Merseburg, made after his death in 1080 and likely before the crowning of his rival Henry IV as emperor in 1084. The striking appearance and unprecedented character of the effigy, combined with its tumultuous circumstances, has drawn ample attention from scholars. Fozi contributes significant insights into the way the organization of the inscription framing the figure invites viewers to circumambulate the effigy. This performative circling complements the division of the textual content to evoke Rudolf’s declining fortunes and his ultimate redemption, which resonates with contemporary visual representations of the wheel of fortune. Loss and triumph appear, too in the tension between Rudolf’s representation in noble material holding symbols of royal office, and his horizontal placement close to the floor in a position typically occupied by the abject and defeated.

After contextualizing Rudolf’s effigy in relation to the lost tomb of Charlemagne, the chapter shifts to France to discuss the large Limoges enamel plaque of Geoffrey of Anjou from the 1150s, the contemporary, badly damaged effigy of the Capetian queen Adelaide from the convent of Saint-Pierre on Montmartre, and the effigies of Merovingians made around 1160 for Saint-Germain-des-Prés in Paris. Fozi draws interesting connections between the gilt bronze effigy of Rudolf, the visual and technical brilliance of Geoffrey’s enamel effigy, and the use of colored stone and glass inlay for the effigies of the French queens. Otherwise, the analysis of these works seems cursory compared with the extended, insightful discussion of Rudolf’s effigy. Fozi’s claim, for example, that the assertion of Merovingian connections at Saint-Germain-des-Prés was possibly intended to best in age the Carolingian patronage claimed by Suger for St.-Denis, is not entirely correct (73). In his writings Suger does laud the Carolingian Charles the Bald, who was interred in the abbey church, but he reserves special praise for the monastery’s founder, Dagobert, who was a Merovingian. Suger actually understood the old abbey church as dating to Dagobert’s day. [1] Fozi also implicitly connects the effigies from Saint-Germain-des-Prés to the effigy of Rudolf of Swabia by characterizing the growing precarity of Capetian power under Louis VII in the 1150s and 1160s, citing the failed Second Crusade (the text mistakenly says the Third Crusade), the dramatic rise of Plantagenet power occasioned by Eleanor of Aquitaine’s marriage to Henry II in 1152, and the lack of a Capetian male heir until 1165 (74). The comparison appears overdrawn, however, since Rudolf’s effigy redeems a slain leader in an ongoing political struggle, whereas the Merovingian effigies only obliquely relate to Louis VII at best and have a far more salient nostalgic aspect aimed at advertising the long-standing royal patronage of Saint-Germain-des-Prés.

For chapter three, Fozi concentrates on three case studies from the first third of the twelfth century, beginning with effigies of the Nellenburg family located in the Allerheiligen monastery at Schaffhausen in northern Switzerland. The two surviving male effigies and the head of a female effigy come from a larger ensemble of five tomb sculptures that testified to the patronage of the family. A contemporary relief plaque of the Nellenburgs depicts a slightly different set of family members supporting the devotional expression of their parents who founded the monastery and convent. The original location of the plaque remains uncertain, but Fozi underscores how the relief glosses over deep divisions within the family during the Investiture Controversy and its aftermath. The tomb effigies and memorial plaque therefore present an image of unified Nellenburg support for the religious foundations that contradicts a more fraught reality.

The second effigy depicts Gottschalk of Diepholz, bishop of Osnabrück, in the nearby monastery at Bad Iburg. The elegant representation notably lacks the expected episcopal garb, but Fozi builds the case through a series of comparisons that in certain contexts bishops could be shown without the vestments of their high office to denote humility and deference toward more sacred persons. She also highlights how the effigy responded to the relationships between the abbey at Bad Iburg, the episcopal see of Osnabrück, and Gottschalk’s noble family in ways that broadly resemble the circumstances surrounding the Nellenburg effigies. The last effigy studied in the chapter is a stucco figure of Widukind of Saxony in the small church dedicated to St. Dionysius in Enger. Widukind had unsuccessfully led pagan forces opposing Charlemagne but retained his importance as an ancestor of Saxon dukes and imperial dynasties. The effigy was installed in the early twelfth century, probably to cement a dubious claim to Widukind as the founder of the collegiate church, much as the somewhat later effigies of Merovingian kings did for Saint-Germain-des-Prés. In addition, the effigy echoed the gilded bronze representation of Rudolf of Swabia in recasting a defeated ruler as the epitome of good kingship.

Chapter four, “Canonesses,” centers upon stucco effigies from the first half of the twelfth century produced for a group of convents in the Harz region of north central Germany. Fozi begins with three imposing plaster effigies of abbesses from the imperial family located in the powerful convent at Quedlinburg. She persuasively keys her interpretation to the psalm verses framing the figures, which emphasize the transience of worldly power and fortune. When coupled with the laconic inscriptions that name the women and identify them only as abbesses--eschewing mention of their imperial blood--Fozi argues convincingly that the effigies exemplify the psalm verses by embodying self-effacing humility. Consequently, the effigies celebrate a monastic ideal of surrendering secular power in favor of a new identity within the religious community, while also bodying forth the past in the present and foreshadowing resurrection. Such temporal and salvational concerns, Fozi suggests, may also inform a standing female figure, sometimes identified as a former abbess Hathui, that comprises part of the decorative ensemble for an imitation Holy Sepulcher installed at the nearby convent of Gernrode. The final sculpture from the region is a smaller, damaged plaster figure from the more modest convent at Drübeck, which may represent an alleged founding abbess or a locally venerated female recluse. Altogether, the Harz effigies comprise a close-knit group that demonstrates how representations of holy women connected the past to the present and shaped institutional identities. Furthermore, the Harz effigies were quite possibly installed vertically, echoing the relief of Durand at Moissac, thereby cautioning against easy assumptions about effigies during this formative period.

The final chapter, “Proliferation,” considers the more widespread adoption of carved effigies in northwestern Europe during the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. Proof of this growth comes from the tombs of Roger, bishop of Salisbury, and his two nephews, imported from Tournai. Along similar lines, a late twelfth-century effigy from Borghorst in northwest Germany carved from sandstone quarried in nearby Bentheim points to increased demand for effigies outside the very highest echelons of society. These two cases cogently reveal the consolidation and expansion of tomb effigies as an important sculptural genre.

Fozi closes by reconsidering the famed Plantagenet effigies at Fontevrault in light of conclusions drawn from her study of earlier effigies. Taking a cue from some scholars’ hesitations about an early thirteenth-century date for the sculptures, Fozi cautions against readily attributing the effigies to the patronage of Eleanor of Aquitaine, who died at Fontevrault in 1204. Despite the appeal of the idea that Eleanor commissioned her effigy along with those of her second husband, Henry II, and son Richard I (whose dates of birth and death are wrongly given as those of Isabelle of Angoulême [170]), commissioning one’s own tomb was not the norm in the late twelfth century, as Fozi’s preceding chapters establish. Instead, Fozi argues that the three effigies were likely made for Fontevrault in the 1220s and the fourth--a wooden effigy of Isabelle of Angoulême, wife of King John--was added to the group in the 1240s. The unusual presentation of the effigies on draped funeral beds, Fozi observes, creates a retrospective character that would belie a commission by Eleanor prior to her death. The effigies rather seem to perpetuate the funeral rites accorded the royal bodies, thereby permanently celebrating Fontevrault as the site for these royal burials and commemorations. This accords with the earlier uses of ruler effigies at Allerheiligen, St. Dionysius in Enger, and Saint-Germain-des-Prés to reify connections to powerful individuals. The chapter consequently demonstrates how tomb effigies spread as a sculptural type beyond their origins in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and how the careful study of the earliest effigies can significantly contribute to our understanding of later sepulchral monuments.

As a pioneering work on the emergence of medieval effigies in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, Fozi’s book necessarily grapples with historiography and established categorizations. The indeterminant position of the effigies within prior scholarship is succinctly demonstrated by the term “Romanesque” in the book’s title. Presumably, this is employed as a dating convention rather than reference to Roman revival, since Fozi asserts that the medieval tomb effigies are “only obliquely related to antiquity” (13). Oddly, therefore, the effigies do not sit comfortably in the category assigned them by the book’s title. The challenges incumbent with Fozi’s ground-breaking work also emerge in defining tomb effigies as a distinct sculptural category. She astutely avoids remaining bound by anachronistic art-historical categories and discusses pier reliefs, a bust reliquary, and jamb figures, but this situation begs a clear formulation of what distinguished tomb effigies from related forms of sculpture. In the final chapter Fozi clarifies, “As images of specific individuals rather than generalized representations of broad social categories, tomb effigies relied upon the implied presence of the body to create meaning” (156). The claim effectively draws together the preceding chapters, although readers would benefit from encountering the statement in the introduction to help them follow the book’s synthetic work. The claim also opens avenues for continued investigation. Reliquaries relied upon relationships to bodies, and so further research beckons on the links between effigies and reliquaries. Moreover, while the eleventh- and twelfth-century tomb effigies did depict individuals, they conveyed specific identity through images of generalized social types, rather than pictorial mimesis, combined with inscriptions. The earliest medieval effigies thus offer opportunities for further exploring conceptions and representations of personhood in the period.

Overall, Romanesque Tomb Effigies adds a rich and necessary chapter to the history of medieval tomb sculpture, while also laying promising groundwork for future research across an array of questions. Fozi’s book stands as a valuable contribution that will interest not only art historians, but also medievalists across a broad range of specialties.

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Note:

1. See chapter two of Suger’s “De Consecratione,” in Suger, Abbot Suger on the Abbey Church of St.-Denis and Its Art Treasures, ed. and trans. Erwin Panofsky, 2nd ed., ed. Gerda Panofsky-Soergel (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979), 86-7.