AN ELEMENT OF apprehension, even anxiety, is inevitably mixed in with the more usual feelings of curiosity and interest whenever a major gallery or museum opens a new wing or reveals a new display. In the past one could be fairly certain that classification was reasonably simple and that chronology was respected. Nowadays such certainties can no longer be relied upon. Schools and national boundaries, the comfort-blanket of chronology, the old differentiations between primary and secondary, the outstanding and the quotidian, all have been thoroughly shaken up in the light of curatorial innovation and public expectations. The kitchens of stately homes vie in popularity with the fine rooms; materials and human labour are on a footing with design and purpose; history is devoured by themes.

While such considerations will have inflected the plans of those in charge of the continuing re-display of the collections of the Victoria and Albert Museum, one can immediately say that a course has been taken that deserves the highest praise. Neither tourist nor scholar, student nor casual visitor has been short-changed. The first major move was the inauguration in 2001 of the British Galleries 1500–1900. This saw the close integration of objects from across the collections, softening the distinction between the fine and decorative arts through an intellectual comprehension of a myriad dazzling exhibits, from the re-installed period rooms to costumes, painting and sculpture. Since then smaller new displays have taken place – British sculpture, Islamic arts, jewellery, the paintings collection, min­iatures, the twentieth-century rooms – all against the unfolding master plan for the Medieval and Renaissance Galleries which open next month.

It must be said straightaway that in order to mark the installation, the observations made here have been written before the final result has been seen, as the public will experience it from December onwards. At the time of writing, by no means was everything in place and much was under wraps. Nor can we yet comment on the two ‘discovery areas’, geared towards children’s activities. But even if the crucial relationship of objects and their lighting was not yet apparent, the sequence of galleries was coherent and several star-turns were in evidence. These alone show the astonishing riches of the collections and, incidentally, the taste and decisiveness of those early directors who pounced on great objects (such as the Venetian tympanum discussed in this issue on pp.746–54), sometimes against native outcry.

The ten new galleries, on three levels occupying the Mus­eum’s south-east wing, are those immediately to the right of the main entrance in Cromwell Road (where visitors will remember Continental nineteenth-century furniture and decorative arts and British sculpture). A visit begins with an introductory gallery showing stylistic and liturgical developments from late Antique through early Christian and continuing with ‘The Rise of Gothic’; it ends with mostly sixteenth-century secular and ecclesias­tical objects associated with the Renaissance city, dominated by the huge ’s-Hertogenbosch choir screen. Chronology is broadly but not strictly adhered to and, yes, there are the inevitable themes such as ‘Faiths and Empires’, ‘Devotion and Display’ and ‘Splendour and Society’. Some of these seem rather contrived catch-alls; but other groupings, such as a display on public worship and religious processions, may work well. Perhaps the most focused room is that given over to the Museum’s superlative works by Donatello, including, of course, the Chellini Madonna, which are joined by contemporary paintings and sculpture. These are displayed in the corner gallery, overlooking both Cromwell Road and the Brompton Oratory, a room appropriately once occupied by the Museum’s former director, John Pope-Hennessy. In some sections Europe is treated as an entity and Italian, Flemish and German works are shown side by side; elsewhere national schools are respected. These are predominantly British, French, Netherlandish, German and Italian (Spain and Portugal hardly figure). Trade and diplomacy with China, Persia and the New World, introducing new techniques and design, is represented through fine porcelain and carpets and such hybrid objects as the Robinson Casket with its intricately carved Sinhalese and Christian symbols. However, many masterpieces are displayed as ‘stand alones’, to be admired as works of art rather than being part of a chain of thematic illustrations. Long-familiar works are refreshed and others are on view for the first time in years. The former include, for example, Luca della Robbia’s ceiling roundels from Piero de’ Medici’s study; the chapel from S. Chiara, Florence, now central to the section on the Renaissance city in which Benedetto da Maiano’s terracotta models for a pulpit are beautifully displayed at their correct height; and tapestries integrated where before they were marooned in the tapestry court. Of the latter, the Romanesque window from Tri-Château, the subject of an article in this issue (pp.740–45), has been reinstalled (though the view of it is compromised by neighbouring showcases). It should be noted that the display includes a good number of judicious loans from British collections ranging from Gentile Bellini’s Sultan Mehmed II to splendid coinage from the British Museum.

The all-important matter of lighting has received thorough attention, the architects McInnes Usher McKnight working closely with lighting specialists from Arup and dha design, balancing conservation requirements and theatrical flourish. The lower floor is lit by side windows that have been unblocked; a notable feature here is the filtered light through onyx window screens, which provide both atmosphere and an unusual background to the showing of works in the ‘Devotion and Display’ gallery. Daylight is a feature of the one newly created space in what used to be a courtyard behind the S. Chiara chapel at the east end of the galleries, a miscellaneous section entitled ‘Living with the Past, 300–1600’, which includes some medieval sculpture and the famous façade of Sir Paul Pindar’s London house, a miraculous survival from c.1600.

The subtitle of the accompanying publication, containing much new research, puts the emphasis of the display firmly on material culture.1 But the sensitivity of placement and lighting and the absence of a heavy-handed curatorial agenda allows the spirit of people and place to shine through this great assemblage of objects.