Vera, Nadezhda, Lyubov

Earlier, when discussing Hagia Sophia as church title, we specifically mentioned its depiction in Russian iconography.

In Russia, Saint Sophia has three main iconographic types. All three first appear in  Novgorod, whose cathedral – Russia’s oldest, built between 1045 and 1050 – was dedicated to Hagia Sophia following the Byzantine model.

The first type shows Wisdom as a fiery-winged – огнекрылой – angel seated on a throne, flanked by the Virgin Mary and John the Baptist in supplication. These two saints usually appear beside the Pantokrator in a similar pose, indicating that this depiction of Wisdom corresponds, in the patristic tradition, to Christ (1 Cor 1:24, "Christ, the Wisdom of God"). You can see this on the 16th-century Novgorod cathedral icon, or even earlier on the 15th-century icon from the Moscow Annunciation Cathedral, which is a copy of a now-lost Novgorod original. Hungarian researcher Ágnes Kriza recently published an excellent monograph on this type, * which I plan to write about in more detail.

The second type interprets Proverbs 9:1 ("Wisdom has built herself a house") as an incarnation of Christ, with the “house” represented by the Virgin Mary. The best-known early example of this type is the 1548 icon from the Kirillov Monastery in Yaroslavl (now in the Russian Museum, St. Petersburg), which inspired numerous variations up to the late 18th century.

The third and most widespread type stems from a devout misunderstanding, depicting Hagia Sophia as “Saint Sophia” accompanied by her three daughters, Vera, Nadezhda, and Lyubov, that is, Faith, Hope, and Love, which, as the so-called 'divine virtues,' truly originate from Divine Wisdom according to theology. According to Orthodox tradition, they lived and suffered martyrdom in 3rd-century Rome. Their veneration is first mentioned in 6th-century Rome. They entered the Roman martyrology in the 16th century, and were later removed from it as historically unverifiable. The Orthodox Church still honors them, celebrating their feast on September 30. Their earliest known Russian depiction is a 16th-century Novgorod icon now in the Tretyakov Gallery.

These three saintly daughters became extremely popular from the 17th century on, forming a fundamental motif in Russian imagery. Their triad stands behind Chekhov’s Three Sisters and appears as references in Silver Age poetry, including Bunin, Blok, and Akhmatova, as well as in socialist works like Arbuzov’s The House in Cherkizovo.

But their most famous modern incarnation was staged by the great heir of Silver Age poetry, Okudzhava, in his song Three Sisters, where, awakening on a hospital bed and taking stock of his life, he realizes how indebted he remains to these three virtues.


Bulat Okudzsava: Три сестры (Three Sisters, 1959)

Опустите, пожалуйста, синие шторы.
Медсестра, всяких снадобий мне не готовь.
Вот стоят у постели моей кредиторы:
молчаливые Вера, Надежда, Любовь.

Раскошелиться б сыну недолгого века,
да пусты кошельки упадают с руки…
Не грусти, не печалуйся, о моя Вера, —
остаются еще у тебя должники!

И еще я скажу и бессильно и нежно,
две руки виновато губами ловя:
— Не грусти, не печалуйся, матерь Надежда,
есть еще на земле у тебя сыновья!

Протяну я Любови ладони пустые,
покаянный услышу я голос ее:
— Не грусти, не печалуйся, память не стынет,
я себя раздарила во имя твое.

Но какие бы руки тебя ни ласкали,
как бы пламень тебя ни сжигал неземной,
в троекратном размере болтливость людская
за тебя расплатилась… Ты чист предо мной!

Чистый-чистый лежу я в наплывах рассветных,
белым флагом струится на пол простыня…
Три сестры, три жены, три судьи милосердных
открывают бессрочный кредит для меня.

 

Please draw down the blue curtains.
Nurse, don’t prepare any medicines for me.
Here stand my creditors at my bedside:
the silent Faith, Hope, and Love.

The short-lived son would try to shell out some money,
but the empty purse slips from his hands.
Don’t be sad, don’t despair, oh my Faith, —
you still have other debtors!

Then I say, powerless and tenderly,
catching my lips with my two guilty hands:
— Don’t be sad, don’t despair, Mother Hope,
you still have sons on the earth!

I stretch my empty hand toward Love,
and, penitently, hear her voice:
— Don’t be sad, don’t despair, the memory does not fade,
I have given myself away in your name.

And whatever hands caressed you,
whatever flames of unearthly fire burned you,
human chatter has paid for you threefold… You are pure before me!

Spotlessly I lie in the dawn’s tide,
the sheet flowing to the floor like a white flag…
Three sisters, three women, three merciful judges
open an unlimited credit for me.

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