I do love the Book of Revelation, which figures large in our Eastertide liturgy. CS Lewis cautions that an allegory does not have to be decoded to discover what the author “means”. There may be rich allegorical significance to lamp stands, scrolls and horned beasts, but one does not have to decipher every allegorical detail to benefit from the spiritual impact of this revelation.
St John’s thesis is that the risen Jesus is at the heart of human history and through this Lordship he can reveal in visions and journeys and epiphanies the secrets of the cosmos. Included are the sun, the moon and the stars, the activities of beings angelic and diabolical, as well as understandings of present and future events political and cosmological to come.
What emerges is the sense of a battle between good and evil played out on a cosmic scale, of which the outcome is certain, even if the individual conflicts in its course could be terrifying. Perhaps it’s good to be reminded of this in an age when many certainties are disappearing, when there is great persecution and even secularists anticipate disasters and famines – though they would attribute them to our having offended some cosmic harmony, while simultaneously denying the existence of any innate meaning in human interactions. No more good and evil now, only “appropriate” or “inappropriate”.
Now I can’t think of the Apocalypse without picturing France’s longest and oldest tapestry, the Tenture de l’Apocalypse. Revelation was apparently a popular book in the Middle Ages. I imagine it was imaginatively satisfying in the way that Tolkien and Game of Thrones are now, and 14th-century readers would have been very familiar with war and pestilence. In 1380, Louis I, the Duke of Anjou, commissioned the Tenture, which depicted 90 scenes and is a treasure of France’s cultural heritage. Woven in six sections measuring 90ft by 20ft, it took 80 years of collective weaving hours condensed into four years.
Seventy of the original scenes were looted from Angers Cathedral during the Revolution, but were recovered and restored in the 19th century. Since the mid 20th century it has been hung in a huge climate-controlled hall in the Castle of Angers, home to the Angevin and Plantagenet dynasties. The tapestry has the same wonderful combination of joie de vivre and reverence as a Book of Hours, the same rich palette as a stained-glass window, but with the added beauty of a rich texture. There are so many striking images: vivid-looking beasts brought to life in gold on backgrounds of red; polycephalic dragons; a lion’s body with seven crowned heads.
The Whore of Babylon is on a rich blue panel, combing her long hair as she admires her naked self in a hand-held mirror. She is oblivious to the fact that her reflection is cadaverous and grey, a reproach to the emptiness of her sensuality. John’s Holy City is a typical medieval city with bailey, donjons and barbicans. He records all in his book sheltered under a vaulted gothic canopy which looks not unlike the Albert Memorial.
The expressions and body language of the peasants who are fleeing a plague or drowning in the lake of fire have a psychological veracity that makes you marvel at the makers’ skills. The Angels and the Elders and the gentle face of the One who sits on the throne truly bring the vision alive. A visit to Angers should be on any spiritual bucket list. And for all we know, time is short.
Areas of Catholic Herald business are still recovering post-pandemic.
However, we are reaching out to the Catholic community and readership, that has been so loyal to the Catholic Herald. Please join us on our 135 year mission by supporting us.
We are raising £250,000 to safeguard the Herald as a world-leading voice in Catholic journalism and teaching.
We have been a bold and influential voice in the church since 1888, standing up for traditional Catholic culture and values. Please consider donating.