The Labours of the Months

The labours of the months (les travaux des mois) are a standard schema of medieval iconography. Many cathedrals and basilicas, many manuscripts, and even some stained glass windows, show the medieval peasant’s typical seasonal occupations – and sometimes, those of his masters – in a cycle that covers the whole year.

In a Gothic cathedral, which is an encyclopaedia of God's creation, the labours of the months show the human world – the world we inhabit from day to day and from which we enter the cathedral. The west facade often contains other symbols of the day to day world, and of human endeavour; for instance the Seven Liberal Arts are often shown, representing the world of knowledge. In Venice, we see the trades of the city, as well as the peasant’s labours, on the west door of San Marco. It’s only when you pass the doors into the cathedral that you enter a wholly sacred space, leaving the world behind.

Indeed, we find the labours of the months even inside the cathedral – as well as signs of the trade guilds who sponsored some of the buildings. For instance in Chartres, many of the windows contain pictures of tradesmen at work – clothiers, furriers, builders, carpenters. French art critic Emile Male pointed out that medieval society saw manual labour is shown as dignified and even sacred; it’s not chased out of church. (Indeed, Chartres cathedral’s nave and crypt were often used as a market.)

There’s also a theological way of reading the labours of the months. Manual labour began with the Fall of man - “when Adam delved and Eve span”. We quite often see Adam and Eve at the west end, too. So by showing us men at work, the medieval architect is reminding us of the Fall, and of original sin – and instructing us to enter the church where we can leave this sin behind through the work of divine grace.

The completeness of the labours of the months must have appealed to the medieval architect. The Gothic style emphasises logical thought, as did scholastic philosophy, and creates an encyclopaedia out of the cathedral. God, the medieval scholar thought, had created each thing in its place, and so Gothic architecture attempts to mimic this logical, ordered structure. By showing the twelve months, and often showing the zodiac alongside, the builder is creating an orderly, rational decoration, invoking the orderliness of the seasons. What we see is not ‘life’s rich tapestry’, in its modern sense - a random set of coincidences - but a planned hierarchy, the completeness of life. There is a finite set of events, or of arts, sciences, or trades, even of virtues and vices, and they are all shown, in sequence. It reminds me of the trading cards we used to collect when I was little – there’s the same feeling of completeness, of having “got the lot”.

Romanesque churches too included the imagery of time; they often had zodiacs, like the one on the floor of San Miniato al Monte in Florence. There were zodiacs at Aosta, Tournus, and Saint-Omer as well (according to Emile Male). But the labours of the months seem to be very much a Gothic feature. It’s bringing time into the human world, instead of leaving it to the stars.

Remember that though the labours of the months show the medieval peasant at work, the images would have been instantly accessible to everyone. Even for the great lords, or for merchants living in the city, the calendar was still dictated by the agricultural seasons. The great trade fairs were seasonal; and the town was still small enough for many of its inhabitants to have, or to work, land outside the walls.

The Romanesque zodiac often appears alongside the labours of the months. One stained glass window in Chartres shows the zodiac on one side, the months on the other; on the main portal of San Marco, Venice, the months are shown with little zodiac symbols in the background. At Amiens, the months and the zodiac signs occupy quatrefoils one on top of the other.

In both the zodiac and the labours of the months, what we see is cyclical time – events that come back again and again. Every year, the same cycle is reiterated. Again, there’s a theological message here if you want to look for it. Earthly time is cyclical; but the Biblical narrative, and particularly the Gospels, tell a story that has a definite beginning and a definite end, and that encompasses change through the sacrifice of Christ on the cross. So at the west end, we see earthly life, the daily grind, an unceasing cycle; but in the cruciform plan of the church, and the progression to the east end, we see historical time, time as experienced in divine grace, that leads towards the climactic sacrifice – and so, paradoxically, to eternity.

The disposition of the months at Chartres and Paris even mimics the course of the sun. January starts the year at the bottom left, so the months rise, as the sun rises in the sky, from January to June, and then descends from July to December. The labours of the months, then, are an enactment of cyclical time – a representation of astrological and solar time, the world in which we live, the world which God created. So in a way, they’re a celebration of God’s creation – but also, since they’re found at the threshold, a reminder that what lies inside the cathedral goes beyond the day-to-day world, a reminder that the worshipper has to put some things behind at the entrance.

Identification guide - what each month shows and how to recognise them

Image database - pictures of 'labours' series

Gazetteer - where to see the 'labours of the months'

More links on the labours of the months