Wondrous hands. Saintly births and miraculous assistants

Two births, two mothers, the fate of their saintly children entwined from the moment of their growing in the womb. Two births, unfolding six months apart from each other, constituting family bonds and mystical meaning. These two births  —the birth of saint John the Baptist and the birth of Christ— bring to light the importance of cooperation and participation in this moment of the life cycle; a human necessity that seems all the more pertinent to bear in mind at this time of year, as many of us turn to celebrate the nascence of Christ.

Artemisia Gentileschi’s painting Birth of Saint John the Baptist, commissioned by the Spanish court, was hung in the Palacio del Buen Retiro in Madrid around the year 1635. Within this creation by a female hand, we find a lively depiction of the females toiling and cooperating that are typical for childbirth scenes of the time. Midwives take centre stage as the figures who form the first moments of Saint John’s life. They take care of the newborn, they prepare him for his first bath, and they hold ready dry linen for wrapping him. Their looks engage with each other, one hand helps another. This infant, John, appears no less attentive, his eyes are open, his arms and palms are spread wide. In the immediate proximity of this group, we find Elizabeth’s husband Zacharias. With his back to Elizabeth, his face and body slightly shift away from the buzz of postnatal care. In a dim intermediate layer, Saint Elizabeth recovers from the strains of her labor, her exhaustion plain to see by her facial expression and her hands covering her pelvis. A nearby woman, also in the shadow, directs her attention to her, she regards her with a cautious look and holds ready a towel to attend to post-partum needs. As we move to the very back of the composition, we reencounter the light. A portal in the top-right corner extends our view onto an outside landscape, a glimpse of a terrace, green hills, and a partially clouded sky. 

As we turn to the textual tradition, we can find notable divergences: two moments become one. Midwives take care of saint John while Elizabeth rests at the back; it is evident that the birth of saint John is recent. The presence of Zacharias writing John’s name on paper represents a glitch in chronology; it should take place eight days later. And even more telling are the social relations in the painting: the co-presence of the midwives and Zacharias, their subtle engagement with each other, contrasts with written accounts. In the Bible, it is the temple-community who accompanies Zacharias at the moment of name-giving. In the painting, we find a midwife in their place, directing her look towards the father as she prepares a shiny vessel for John’s bath.

This image emphasizes the significance of midwives in the first moments of life. Its meaning becomes even more perceptible as we consider that, at the time of the painting’s production, midwives are considered a necessity; a necessity for the emergence of life and the travails a woman undergoes in its process. This necessity is even preached upon, and hagiography strengthens this argument. Based on Jacobus Voragineʼs medieval Legenda aurea, the vernacular Flos Sanctorum editions of the Golden Age underline the significance of assistance in childbirth. As they describe the moment of Saint John’s birth, they even describe the Virgin serving as a midwife to her cousin. In the manner of midwives, she accompanies her during her pregnancy −a myriad of Visitation paintings and texts resonate with this idea. She stays with Elizabeth until the moment of parturition, she receives saint John in her hands, she bathes and swaddles him. Her saintly hands provide human care, and as she performs a midwife’s work, she provides heavenly favor to the new life. 

In Gentileschi’s painting, the Virgin does not appear as such —at least not explicitly. However, the two portals in the upper right corner may inspire us to perceive her presence at the time of Saint Elizabeth’s birth. In the Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary, a 16th century prayer that inspires not only chants but also paintings of the time, the portal serves as an attribute of the saintly mother Mary. Termed with porta clausa, porta coeli and ianua coeli, portals and gates remind the devote mind of the doors to heaven which the Virgin unseals, and they also recall her immaculate conception and birth —her sealed flesh; a quality which, not least, strengthens her position as a celestial birth helper.

Mary is Advocata Evae, she abolishes Eve’s error by conceiving, bearing, and giving birth to a child without sin, a popular notion in the Golden Age, rooted in medieval thought and echoed in works such as the Cantigas de Santa María by Alfonso X el Sabio or the Milagros de Nuestra Señora by Gonzalo de Berceo. In this concept, Mary’s painless birth is paramount. Berceo even goes so far as to compare and contrast her child, the «holy fruit», with the «fruit of evil», picked in the Garden of Eden. One mother caused her children —humans— to fall into perdition. Another mother corrects her error, and manifests redemption in effortlessly parturition. 

No wonder, thus, that Mary serves as a divine model for midwives in the 16th and 17th century; that miraculous accounts of the Virgin as a heavenly helper console pregnant women in despair; that Marian objects such as a birthing girdle (Cinta de la Virgen) or a Rose of Jericho (Mano de María) support the birthing process; that parturient women and birth assistants —daughters of Eve— appeal to the favors of the Virgin. Just like in Saint John’s birth, it is she who stands by the side of expectant mothers, it is she who allows for the miracle of a successful birth. 

In the canonical account of Mary’s own parturition, we do not find midwives. She gives birth without assistance and her child emerges into the world like a ray of light, leaving her flesh unharmed. Nonetheless, up until the 15th century, hagiography describes two midwives, Salome and Celomi, who come into play right after the birth of the saintly child. These midwives are astounded by the acclaimed virgin birth. One midwife trusts the miracle, one midwife remains incredulous. The latter —Salome— reaches out to examine Mary’s body, just like Celomi did before her, and upon touching the young mother’s flesh, her hand withers. An angelic voice commands her to touch the child and, as she does, she heals. Even though these midwives do not assist this birth in a practical sense, their presence is cardinal. Their hands manifest the miracle of Christ’s birth, they make tangible Divine providence.

The birth of Saint John, as depicted in Gentileschi’s work, signifies a prelude to the Nativity of Christ. It sets the stage for signifiers connected to childbirth, and these signifiers fall into place when Mary’s child sees the light of day. As with Saint John’s birth, a midwife’s touch in the Nativity of Christ alludes to the special role a child is to play in the future. This touch connects to the importance of female networks and cooperation in the historical moment, it reminds us of the social function of midwives in human communities, and of the significance of other hands in the first moments of life. 

Sabrina Grohsebner is a collaborator of the research project The Interpretation of Childbirth in Early Modern Spain. She is a doctoral candidate at the University of Vienna and is working on a thesis with the title Body and Culture in the Hands of Midwives. Scientific, Social and Religious Discourses on Birth Assistance in Early Modern Spain. Her recent publications include Manos y materia. Volver tangible la sociabilidad en el parto áureo.

This contribution to the VMHE is part of the research project The Interpretation of Childbirth in Early Modern Spain (FWF Austrian Science Fund P 32263-G30). The author would like to express her thanks to Wolfram Aichinger, Emilie Bergmann, Clara Bonet Ponce, Costanza Dopfel, Alice Dulmovits, Hannah Fischer-Monzón, Tamara H., Nina Kremmel, Simon Kroll, Marie-France Morel, Hannah Mühlparzer, Ignacio Navarrete, Fernando Sanz-Lázaro, Christian Standhartinger, Jesús María Usunáriz and Carlos Varea for their support and ideas. The text was edited by Sally Alexander.