Saint Longinus (1631–1638),
Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1598–1680).
A Roman soldier stood at the foot of a cross, tired, troubled, uncomfortable. His day had started many hours earlier with the arrest of a Jewish rabble-rouser named Jesus of Nazareth. Working for Pontius Pilate, he had seen his share of unrest and infighting during his time in Judea, but this was different: the prisoner was unlike anyone he had ever met. Between interrogations and being shunted back and forth between Pilate and King Herod, Jesus had remained preternaturally calm, so much so that the soldiers hoped to rile him. They scourged him with gusto and then went on to mock him with a crown of thorns before saddling him with wood to carry to the place of his crucifixion.
The soldier, whom apocryphal sources named Longinus (probably derived from the Greek word for “lance”), suffered, according to an 11th-century tradition, from poor eyesight. His moral vision was certainly clouded as he actively participated in the torment and death of the Lord that Friday.
But as the prisoner neared death, and Longinus heard his words of forgiveness, he must have questioned his perception. Finally, in haste to leave the site, he thrust his spear into Christ’s side and his vision was cleared by the blood and water. Seeing the truth for the first time, Longinus exclaimed: “This truly was the son of God.”
Precious Blood
Tradition has it that Longinus immediately gathered the soil below the cross soaked with the Precious Blood of Christ before being martyred for professing his belief. This Precious Blood was eventually brought to Mantua, where it is still kept today in two vials in the Basilica of Saint Andrew. Longinus’ lance, however, took a different path, and a fragment arrived in Saint Peter’s Basilica in 1492.
Despite his brief, anonymous Gospel appearance, Longinus became a popular image in art. He is featured above the altar in the 8th-century chapel of Theodotus in Santa Maria Antiqua (Rome), as well as in the frescoes of Fra Angelico in San Marco (Florence), serving as a stimulus to reflection on the offering of Christ’s blood.
Gian Lorenzo Bernini, however, saw Longinus’ story in a different light, underscoring the power of the Precious Blood to expand our vision. During the extensive rebuilding of the space under Michelangelo’s dome, four chapels were carved into the supporting piers to hold the basilica’s great relics: the True Cross, the veil of Veronica, Saint Andrew’s head (since returned to Greece), and the fragment of Longinus’ spear that drew the Precious Blood from Christ’s side.
Thirty-one-year-old Gian Lorenzo Bernini had just been named head architect of the basilica and was juggling the massive administrative responsibilities with producing art for the church. With four 15-foot statues to produce, it was best to delegate. Bernini assigned three statues to collaborators but kept Longinus for himself to showcase his unique artistic vision. Bernini prepared numerous models of the work: a visitor to his studio in 1635 wrote that he saw twenty-two preparatory versions of the figure, an indication of the planning that went into the statue.
Astonishment of revelation
The Longinus stands out among the other figures for its dramatic flourish. Bernini has captured the moment of the soldier’s illumination. While most of the other works stand in the asymmetrical contrapposto, calmly inviting the viewer to contemplate their relics, Longinus’ legs are straight, propelling the erect body upwards. Longinus’ arms are akimbo, stretched wide with elbows locked, unheard of in classical statuary, yet very effective for rendering the pure shock of the soldier’s realization. Made of four blocks of marble to accommodate the immense size, Longinus’ body communicates a kinetic energy. The flaps of his armor flutter over his arms; his helmet, fallen away, lies at his feet, its plumes still appearing to waft. While the armor pays homage to Renaissance tastes with its close fit, the drapery seems to have a life of its own. Its dense folds that conceal rather than reveal the body infuriated later critics, one of whom accused Bernini of carving his works with a spoon in almond jelly. But Bernini’s draperies were not meant to serve as an anatomical exercise, but as a means to reveal the internal state of the subject. The deep crevasses converge at Longinus’ side like shock waves—the tumultuous folds suggest an internal tsunami as this man realizes that all he has seen and understood has been wrong.
Bernini’s magnificent carving culminates in the face of the saint who gazes thunderstruck at the cross poised above the baldachin, with hair windswept and lips parted. Longinus appears youthful, ready to be renewed through the blood of the Savior.
Bernini produced this work during the height of the Age of Discovery, the era of empirical knowledge brought from new worlds, and as human sight was empowered by the telescope, it seemed as if man could harness all knowledge through experience. But Longinus, witness to the mystery of Christ’s Precious Blood, serves as a reminder of the awesome nature of revealed truth when our eyes are opened by the Lord.
Elizabeth Lev
Writer and professor of art history in Rome.
Saint Longinus (1631–1638), Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1598–1680), Saint Peter’s Basilica, Vatican. © Stefano Baldini / Bridgeman Images.
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