Time to explore another fine example of medieval art from the Moravian Gallery in Brno (Czech: Moravská galerie v Brně), this time a bookish saint.
The “Female Saint with Book” by an anonymous Moravian carver stems from around 1500. The wooden sculpture is tall and narrow, suitable for a niche or other tight space. She is crowned, and there appear to be jewels carved into that crown. There may be a veil over her hair, though its waist-length tresses seem to be otherwise unbound, for one strand has snuck over her shoulder and nestles against the crook of her arm.
This youthful figure gazes out at us directly, her high forehead a sign of beauty, her straightforward gaze a signal of honesty, her rounded cheek a suggestion of affluence, her closed mouth with a hint of lift at the edge a gesture of inner repose.
Her robe boasts a modest scoop neck, and is cinched by a thin belt; yet below the waist, it flairs open in a dramatic upside-down V of imagined drapery to reveal her underkirtle. This is clearly secular garb, and may have had brocade with an elaborately textured surface, but with the insect damage we cannot tell for sure.
The right arm is lowered and has lost its hand – we have only the sleeve – but was bent at a 120-degree angle (pointing down but sort of aiming at the viewer).
The left hand is what interests me most. At that point where the outer garment flares, our figure holds a book. The position of that book is rather curious – she holds it sideways. The book’s back seems to be down; we see the top edge of the book, and if we were taller might see the front leaves as well. Moreover, the book is attached – perhaps by a bit of chain? – to her belt since she neither needs to cradle the book nor press it hard against her side. The book floats, in other words, and she merely rests her hand lightly upon it. The book may be wrapped – is that a hint of gauzy fabric at the top? That would be characteristic of the day. It is clearly a beloved possession as well as an attribute of her sainthood.
And then, following our trajectory downward, we come to her feet, tucked in behind the folds of cloth. She stands on a rounded cushion or low dome rather than directly on the floor or rocks, as many other saints are depicted. In late-medieval sculpture, this kind of grounding signals nobility or spiritual elevation. It gives a lift to the figure – both to align her with our sight and to move her figuratively above the ordinary world – emphasizing her courtly bearing and inner refinement. Combined with her crown, her serene expression, and the cherished book in her hand, the cushion suggests that this is a saint whose sanctity is tied less to dramatic martyrdom or miracles and more to elevated learning, piety, and noble grace.
These details give us clues, but they also leave us guessing about her identity. Saints we might consider as candidates, given the statue's Moravian origins, include the intellectual Catherine of Alexandria, the tower-bound Barbara, or community-activist Elizabeth, all of whom were imagined in late-Gothic Central Europe as dignified, courtly women of faith.
Of course, the other saintly attributes for these women would be the “tell.” If this is Catherine, where is her wheel or sword? Neither seems to fit the dimensions of the space, so even if the hand had survived, the statue would be thrown out of kilter if such “regular attribute” were added. Barbara is perhaps more plausible; imagine the missing right hand holding a tower, and we could imagine her replete and identifiable. But for this statue to work, that tower would need to be curiously small; otherwise it would obscure her face. Though I suppose one that was shoulder height would work. If it were Elizabeth, we would expect some sign of her charity such as loaves, roses, or a small figure of the poor, but none appear here. The sculptor seems to have focused instead on the figure’s nobility and inner devotion, giving us a serene, book-holding figure rather than a tableau of her famous acts. In other words, we can read her sanctity through posture, gaze, crown, and that treasured book, but the overt symbols that would let us give her name are no more.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we knew more about who she is, or about who did the carving? Some artwork tells us stories, and indeed we could talk here about insect damage and the ravages of time, or about the wonderful luck of preservation. But artwork unmoored from its origins also poses questions that the attentive viewer might consider. Who was this lass, and what did she represent to the community that commissioned her, or to the artist who carved her? We cannot know, but we can appreciate the combination of artistry and effort that went into creating this beauty.
Other posts on Brno art
- Cynthia Cyrus, "The 15thc Swabian Madonna of Brno" [blog post], Silences and Sounds, 15 Nov 2025, https://silencesandsounds.blogspot.com/2025/11/the-15thc-swabian-madonna-of-brno.html
- Cynthia Cyrus, "Brno’s Torso of Christ" [blog post], Silences and Sounds, 19 Nov 2025, https://silencesandsounds.blogspot.com/2025/11/brnos-torso-of-christ.html
- Cynthia Cyrus, "Carving the Nativity in 1520" [blog post], Silences and Sounds, 21 Nov 2025, https://silencesandsounds.blogspot.com/2025/11/carving-nativity-in-1520.html
