By John Donne

Salvation to all that will is nigh,
That All, which always is All everywhere,
Which cannot sin, and yet all sins must bear,
Which cannot die, yet cannot choose but die,
Loe, faithful Virgin, yields himself to lie
In prison, in thy womb; and though he there
Can take no sin, nor thou give, yet he'will wear
Taken from thence, flesh, which death's force may try
Ere by the spheres time was created, thou
Wast in his mind, who is thy Son, and Brother,
Whom thou conceiv'st, conceiv'd; yea thou art now
Thy maker's maker, and thy Father's mother,
Thou hast light in dark; and shutst in little room,
Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb.

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This used to be a generic word for "announcement," but since the Renaissance it has acquired a specialized meaning within religious studies, theology, and art history. Today the term is almost always a reference to the moment when the angel Gabriel appears to the Virgin Mary so that he can tell her that she is to bear the Son of God. The term "annunciation" is also used to refer to artworks that portray this scene.

The image of the annunciation to Mary has had a powerful effect on the Christian -- particularly the Catholic -- imagination, so it comes as a surprise to many people that only one of the gospels mentions it. Luke, who seemed to have a special affinity for his female characters, describes Mary's encounter with the angel in this way.

²⁶ In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, ²⁷ to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin's name was Mary. ²⁸And he came to her and said, "Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you." ²⁹ But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. ³⁰The angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. ³¹And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. ³² He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. ³³ He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end." ³⁴ Mary said to the angel, "How can this be, since I am a virgin?" ³⁵The angel said to her, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. ³⁶And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. ³⁷For nothing will be impossible with God." ³⁸Then Mary said, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word." Then the angel departed from her.

Matthew, being a more traditional sort, has the angel approach Joseph instead. The angel comes to him in a dream, but Joseph does not speak to it. He simply listens to its message and then, when he wakes up the next morning, prepares to do its will.

So to me it is no surprise that it is Luke's version of the story, not Matthew's, that served as the impetus for so much beautiful poetry, music, visual art, and theological reflection over the centuries. In fact, many of the phrases from Luke's narrative have made their way into Catholic music and prayer, and may be familiar even to those who have not formally studied religion: "the Lord is with thee," "My soul magnifies the Lord," "Here am I, the handmaid of the Lord," and "Blessed are you among women" (the phrase is present in the Vulgate in v. 28, and in all versions later on in v. 42).

Catholic tradition has had much to say about the confusion and hesitation that Mary experiences when the angel first makes its announcement. ("She was much perplexed and pondered what sort of greeting this might be ... 'How can this be, since I am a virgin?'") According to Catholic theologians, the birth of Jesus is utterly dependent on Mary's free will; it is not until she hears Gabriel's entire explanation that she agrees to go along with God's plan. Her consent is crucial to the completion of humanity's salvation.

As a result, Christian artists have tended to focus on Mary's surprise at the moment the angel approaches her. In many Renaissance Annunciations, Mary holds up her hand, palm outward, as if to tell the angel to slow down; in Botticelli's sublime Cestello Annunciation -- probably my favourite painting of all time -- Mary's knees buckle and her eyes drift closed, as if she is about to faint. In a Donatello sculpture from about 1430, Mary's body twists away from the angel even as she turns her face toward him. In an even more dramatic Ghiberti relief from 1407, the Virgin holds up an arm protectively, as if she expects the angel to strike her. A Memling Annunciation from the 1480's, like Botticelli's, portrays a fainting Virgin; however, in this one, she has a couple of smaller angels conveniently at hand to help keep her steady.

Occasionally the moment of perplexity is rendered in a manner that's slightly more stylized: Leonardo's Annunciation from 1470 has a serene Mary "lifting her hand in a gesture of somewhat patrician surprise," in the memorable words of Frederick Hartt. Orazio Gentileschi's virgin seems to me to be turning down an offer of hors d'oeuvres -- "I couldn't possibly have another" -- even as the angel points frantically upward. In one of the strangest Annunciations I know of, a Lorenzo Lotto canvas of 1520, Mary has her back to the angel and is turned entirely toward the viewer, her fingers spread in an odd game of peek-a-boo. Much later, in the nineteenth century, Dante Gabriel Rossetti would depict an awkward and vulnerable-looking virgin cowering in a peasant's bed that's jammed up against the wall. Where Rossetti's Mary is frightened and cornered, Simone Martini's is simply suspicious: she twists away from Gabriel, frowning.

There are a number of other motifs that appear in Renaissance and Baroque portrayals of the Annunciation. Not all of them are Biblical, but every one of them has made a profound impression on the Catholic imagination.

• There is almost always a lily somewhere in the scene. Usually Gabriel is holding it, but sometimes it is in a vase on the table or growing in a pot somewhere in the background. Lilies are a popular Christian symbol for purity. The Simone Martini panel that I mentioned, painted in 1333, has some cut lilies in a vase -- but unusually, Gabriel himself holds an olive branch instead.
• The Virgin Mary is frequently depicted reading a book when she is interrupted by the angel. The tradition goes that, just before Gabriel's arrival, she has happened upon a prophecy in Isaiah 7:14, which the KJV has famously rendered "Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son." Sometimes she is holding a small book to her chest or at her side; sometimes it lies open in front of her; sometimes it rests on an elaborate lectern.
• A walled garden often, but not always, appears somewhere in the scene. Sometimes, as in the Leonardo painting, the Annunciation itself takes place in a garden. More often the garden can be glimpsed through an archway or window, as in Domenico Venziano's 1445 predella. This motif serves as an allusion to a verse from The Song of Songs 4:12, which reads, "A garden locked is my sister, my bride, a garden locked, a fountain sealed." The "walled garden" or "locked garden" -- hortus conclusus in Latin -- is used to represent Mary's virginity. Occasionally the "fountain sealed" makes an appearance in paintings too, as in Andrea del Sarto's 1512 Annunciation (unusual in that it is set in front of the Jerusalem Temple rather than in a house or monastic cell, with Mary and Gabriel surrounded by politely interested witnesses). Piero della Francesca's Annunciation fresco from the 1450's uses a locked door rather than a garden or fountain to represent virginity, perhaps indirectly alluding to Matthew 7:14.
• A dove is usually portrayed descending from a window, or behind the shoulder of the angel, sometimes "riding" a shaft of light. The dove is a well-known Christian symbol for the Holy Spirit, since Luke describes the Spirit as taking that form in 3:22. Some artists preferred to play with patterns of light rather than portraying the bird directly: a particularly intriguing example is Piero della Francesca's fresco mentioned above, in which a sunbeam cuts through the clouds (through which God the Father peers) and illuminates Mary's belly.

Not only do different artists rearrange and reinterpret standard motifs in creative (or, sometimes not so creative) ways, but sometimes they add images that have local or idiosyncratic meanings. The Merode Altarpiece by the Flemish master Robert Campin, dated between 1425 and 1430, includes a number of significant but unusual symbols: a tallit hangs on a closet door, a mousetrap rests on a windowsill, and a candle on the table has just mysteriously been snuffed out, a plume of smoke rising from its blackened wick. Perhaps the angel has not spoken yet, since the Virgin has not even looked up from her book. In Jan van Eyck's Annunciation of 1425 (he painted a number of Annunciations, but I am thinking of the one with the alien-looking rainbow-winged angel), every single floor tile portrays a scene from the Old Testament, driving home the point that this moment is the fulfillment of innumerable prophecies.

Very occasionally the term "annunciation" is used to describe the moment when angels appear to the shepherds "watching their flocks by night" -- another story that appears only in Luke, as it happens. This is not nearly as popular a theme in art as the Annunciation to Mary, but it does turn up from time to time: Taddeo Gaddi did a fresco with that motif around 1328, and Jacopo Bassano painted the scene again three centuries later.

In the Orthodox and Roman Catholic churches, the Feast of the Annunciation takes place on March 25, exactly nine months before Christmas, and the same day (more or less) as the Crucifixion. Most Protestant sects, uneasy with the veneration that Catholics grant to the Virgin Mary, do not celebrate these festivals and tend not to represent these scenes in art. However, "high church" Protestants sometimes incorporate the Annunciation and other Marian feasts into their liturgies.

Further Information:

All Biblical quotations are drawn from the NRSV unless otherwise noted.

I took most of my examples of artworks from Frederick Hartt's History of Italian Renaissance Art, which is still in print but which costs an enormous amount of money. For the interpretations I've used notes from graduate courses in Renaissance art that I took long ago.

A Google image search on any of the artists I've named will turn up pictures so that you can study them yourself. I highly recommend doing this; it's great fun to hunt for symbols. Make sure to find big, good quality scans: a Leonardo or a van Eyck won't be done justice by anything less than a thousand pixels on a side.

If you don't mind trudging through some old-fashioned pious Catholic writing, the public domain Catholic Encyclopedia has interesting articles on the Annunciation (http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/01541c.htm) and the liturgical feast associated with it (http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/01542a.htm).

Oh. And the mousetrap, in case you were wondering, is a reference to Augustine's theory of the Incarnation, according to which Jesus baits the devil with his own blood in order to save humanity.

An*nun`ci*a"tion [L. annuntiatio: cf. F. annonciation.]

1.

The act of announcing; announcement; proclamation; as, the annunciation of peace.

2. Eccl. (a)

The announcement of the incarnation, made by the angel Gabriel to the Virgin Mary.

(b)

The festival celebrated (March 25th) by the Church of England, of Rome, etc., in memory of the angel's announcement, on that day; Lady Day.

 

© Webster 1913.