'It is related,' says Sozomen in the ninth book of his
Ecclesiastical History, 'that when Alaric was hastening
against Rome, a holy monk of Italy admonished him to
spare the city, and not to make himself the cause of such
fearful ills. But Alaric answered, "It is not of my own
will that I do this; there is One who forces me on, and
will not let me rest, bidding me spoil Rome[323]."'
Towards the close of the tenth century the Bohemian
Woitech, famous in after legend as St. Adalbert, forsook
his bishopric of Prague to journey into Italy, and settled
himself in the Roman monastery of Sant' Alessio. After
some few years passed there in religious solitude, he was
summoned back to resume the duties of his see, and
laboured for awhile among his half-savage countrymen.
Soon, however, the old longing came over him: he resought
his cell upon the brow of the Aventine, and there,
wandering among the ancient shrines, and taking on himself
the menial offices of the convent, he abode happily
for a space. At length the reproaches of his metropolitan,
the archbishop of Mentz, and the express commands of
Pope Gregory the Fifth, drove him back over the Alps,
and he set off in the train of Otto the Third, lamenting,
says his biographer, that he should no more enjoy his
beloved quiet in the mother of martyrs, the home of the
Apostles, golden Rome. A few months later he died a
martyr among the pagan Lithuanians of the Baltic[324].
Nearly four hundred years later, and nine hundred after
the time of Alaric, Francis Petrarch writes thus to his
friend John Colonna:—
'Thinkest thou not that I long to see that city to which
there has never been any like nor ever shall be; which
even an enemy called a city of kings; of whose people
it hath been written, "Great is the valour of the Roman
people, great and terrible their name;" concerning whose
unexampled glory and incomparable empire, which was,
and is, and is to be, divine prophets have sung; where
are the tombs of the apostles and martyrs and the bodies
of so many thousands of the saints of Christ[325]
?'
It was the same irresistible impulse that drew the
warrior, the monk, and the scholar towards the mystical
city which was to mediæval Europe more than Delphi had
been to the Greek or Mecca to the Islamite, the Jerusalem
of Christianity, the city which had once ruled the earth,
and now ruled the world of disembodied spirits[326]. For
there was then, as there is now, something in Rome to
attract men of every class. The devout pilgrim came to
pray at the shrine of the Prince of the Apostles, too
happy if he could carry back to his monastery in the
forests of Saxony or by the bleak Atlantic shore the bone
of some holy martyr; the lover of learning and poetry
dreamed of Virgil and Cicero among the shattered
columns of the Forum; the Germanic kings, in spite of
pestilence, treachery and seditions, came with their hosts
to seek in the ancient capital of the world the fountain of
temporal dominion. Nor has the spell yet wholly lost its
power. To half the Christian nations Rome is the
metropolis of religion, to all the metropolis of art. In her
streets, and hers alone among the cities of the world,
may every form of human speech be heard: she is more
glorious in her decay and desolation than the stateliest
seats of modern power.
But while men thought thus of Rome, what was Rome
herself?
The modern traveller, after his first few days in Rome,
when he has looked out upon the Campagna from the
summit of St. Peter's, paced the chilly corridors of the
Vatican, and mused under the echoing dome of the Pantheon,
when he has passed in review the monuments of
regal and republican and papal Rome, begins to seek for
some relics of the twelve hundred years that lie between
Constantine and Pope Julius the Second. 'Where,' he
asks, 'is the Rome of the Middle Ages, the Rome of
Alberic and Hildebrand and Rienzi? the Rome which
dug the graves of so many Teutonic hosts; whither the
pilgrims flocked; whence came the commands at which
kings bowed? Where are the memorials of the brightest
age of Christian architecture, the age which reared Cologne
and Rheims and Westminster, which gave to Italy the
cathedrals of Tuscany and the wave-washed palaces of
Venice?'
To this question there is no answer. Rome, the
mother of the arts, has scarcely a building to commemorate
those times, for to her they were times of turmoil
and misery, times in which the shame of the present was
embittered by recollections of a brighter past. Nevertheless
a minute scrutiny may still discover, hidden in dark
corners or disguised under an unbecoming modern
dress, much that carries us back to the mediæval town,
and helps us to realize its social and political condition.
Therefore a brief notice of the state of Rome during the
Middle Ages, with especial reference to those monuments
which the visitor may still examine for himself, may not
be without its use, and is at any rate no unfitting pendant
to an account of the institution which drew from the city
its name and its magnificent pretensions. Moreover, as
will appear more fully in the sequel, the history of the
Roman people is an instructive illustration of the influence
of those ideas upon which the Empire itself rested, as
well in their weakness as in their strength[327].
It is not from her capture by Alaric, nor even from the
more destructive ravages of the Vandal Genseric, that the
Causes of
the rapid
decay of
the city.
material and social ruin of Rome must be dated, but
rather from the repeated sieges which she sustained in the
war of Belisarius with the Ostrogoths. This struggle
however, long and exhausting as it was, would not have
proved so fatal had the previous condition of the city
been sound and healthy. Her wealth and population in
the middle of the fifth century were probably little inferior
to what they had been in the most prosperous days of
the imperial government. But this wealth was entirely
gathered into the hands of a small and effeminate aristocracy.
The crowd that filled her streets was composed
partly of poor and idle freemen, unaccustomed to arms
and debarred from political rights; partly of a far more
numerous herd of slaves, gathered from all parts of the
world, and morally even lower than their masters. There
was no middle class, and no system of municipal institutions,
for although the senate and consuls with many of
the lesser magistracies continued to exist, they had for
centuries enjoyed no effective power, and were nowise
fitted to lead and rule the people. Hence it was that
when the Gothic war and the subsequent inroads of the
Lombards had reduced the great families to beggary, the
framework of society dissolved and could not be replaced.
In a state rotten to the core there was no vital force left
for reconstruction. The old forms of political activity
had been too long dead to be recalled to life: the people
wanted the moral force to produce new ones, and all the
authority that could be said to exist in the midst of
anarchy tended to centre itself in the chief of the new
religious society.
So far Rome's condition was like that of the other
great towns of Italy and Gaul. But in two points her
case differed from theirs, and to these the difference of
Peculiarities
in the
position
of Rome.
her after fortunes may be traced. Her bishop had no
temporal potentate to overshadow his dignity or check his
ambition, for the vicar of the Eastern court lived far away
at Ravenna, and seldom interfered except to ratify a papal
election or punish a more than commonly outrageous sedition.
Her population received an all but imperceptible
infusion of that Teutonic blood and those Teutonic
customs by whose stern discipline the inhabitants of
northern Italy were in the end renovated. Everywhere
the old institutions had perished of decay: in Rome alone
there was nothing except the ecclesiastical system out of
which new ones could arise. Her condition was therefore
the most pitiable in which a community can find
itself, one of struggle without purpose or progress. The
citizens were divided into three orders: the military class,
including what was left of the ancient aristocracy; the
clergy, a host of priests, monks and nuns, attached to the
countless churches and convents; and the people or
plebs, as they are called, a poverty-stricken rabble without
trade, without industry, without any municipal organization
to bind them together. Of these two latter classes
the Pope was the natural leader, the first was divided into
factions headed by some three or four of the great families,
whose quarrels kept the town in incessant bloodshed.
The internal history of Rome from the sixth to the twelfth
century is an obscure and tedious record of the contest
of these factions with each other, and of the aristocracy as
a whole with the slowly growing power of the Church.
Her condition
in the
ninth and
tenth centuries.
The revolt of the Romans from the Iconoclastic Emperors
of the East, followed as it was by the reception of
the Franks as patricians and emperors, is an event of
the highest importance in the history of Italy and of the
popedom. In the domestic constitution of Rome it made
little change. With the instinct of a profound genius,
Charles the Great saw that Rome, though it might be
ostensibly the capital, could not be the real centre of his
dominions. He continued to reside in Germany, and did
not even build a palace at Rome. For a time the awe of
his power, the presence of his missus or lieutenant, and
the occasional visits of his successors Lothar and Lewis II
to the city, repressed her internal disorders. But after
the death of the prince last named, and still more after
the dissolution of the Carolingian Empire itself, Rome
relapsed into a state of profligacy and barbarism to which,
even in that age, Europe supplied no parallel, a barbarism
which had inherited all the vices of civilization without
any of its virtues. The papal office in particular seems
to have lost its religious character, as it had certainly lost
all claim to moral purity. For more than a century the
chief priest of Christendom was no more than a tool of
some ferocious faction among the nobles. Criminal
means had raised him to the throne; violence, sometimes
going the length of mutilation or murder, deprived him of
it. The marvel is, a marvel in which papal historians
have not unnaturally discovered a miracle, that after
sinking so low, the Papacy should ever have risen again.
Its rescue and exaltation to the pinnacle of glory was
accomplished not by the Romans but by the efforts of
the Transalpine Church, aiding and prompting the Saxon
and Franconian Emperors. Yet even the religious reform
did not abate intestine turmoil, and it was not till the
twelfth century that a new spirit began to work in politics,
which ennobled if it could not heal the sufferings of the
Roman people.
Ever since the time of Alberic their pride had revolted
against the haughty behaviour of the Teutonic emperors.
Growth of
a republican
feeling:
hostility to
the Popes.
From still earlier times they had been jealous of sacerdotal
authority, and now watched with alarm the rapid
extension of its influence. The events of the twelfth
century gave these feelings a definite direction. It was
the time of the struggle of the Investitures, in which
Hildebrand and his disciples had been striving to draw
all the things of this world as well as of the next into
their grasp. It was the era of the revived study of
Roman law, by which alone the extravagant pretensions
of the decretalists could be resisted. The Lombard and
Tuscan towns had become flourishing municipalities, independent
of their bishops, and at open war with their
Emperor. While all these things were stirring the minds
Arnold of
Brescia.
of the Romans, Arnold of Brescia came preaching reform,
denouncing the corrupt life of the clergy, not perhaps,
like some others of the so-called schismatics of his time,
denying the need of a sacerdotal order, but at any rate
urging its restriction to purely spiritual duties. On the
minds of the Romans such teaching fell like the spark
upon dry grass; they threw off the yoke of the Pope[328]
,
drove out the imperial prefect, reconstituted the senate
and the equestrian order, appointed consuls, struck their
own coins, and professed to treat the German Emperors
as their nominees and dependants. To have successfully
imitated the republican constitution of the cities of
northern Italy would have been much, but with this they
were not content. Knowing in a vague ignorant way
that there had been a Roman republic before there was
a Roman empire, they fed their vanity with visions of a
renewal of all their ancient forms, and saw in fancy their
senate and people sitting again upon the Seven Hills and
ruling over the kings of the earth. Stepping, as it were,
into the arena where Pope and Emperor were contending
for the headship of the world, they rejected the one as a
priest, and declaring the other to be only their creature,
they claimed as theirs the true and lawful inheritance
of the world-dominion which their ancestors had won.
Antiquity was in one sense on their side, and to us now
it seems less strange that the Roman people should aspire
to rule the earth than that a German barbarian should
rule it in their name. But practically the scheme was
absurd, and could not maintain itself against any serious
opposition. As a modern historian aptly expresses it,
'they were setting up ruins:' they might as well have
raised the broken columns that strewed their Forum and
hoped to rear out of them a strong and stately temple.
The reverence which the men of the Middle Ages felt for
Rome was given altogether to the name and to the place,
nowise to the people.
Short-sighted
policy of the
Emperors.
As for power, they had none:
so far from holding Italy in subjection, they could scarcely
maintain themselves against the hostility of Tusculum.
But it would have been well worth the while of the Teutonic
Emperors to have made the Romans their allies,
and bridled by their help the temporal ambition of the
Popes. The offer was actually made to them, first to
Conrad the Third, who seems to have taken no notice of
it; and afterwards, as has been already stated, to Frederick
the First, who repelled in the most contumelious
fashion the envoys of the senate. Hating and fearing
the Pope, he always respected him: towards the Romans
he felt all the contempt of a feudal king for burghers, and
of a German warrior for Italians. At the demand of
Pope Hadrian, whose foresight thought no heresy so
dangerous as one which threatened the authority of the
clergy, Arnold of Brescia was seized by the imperial
prefect, put to death, and his ashes cast into the Tiber,
lest the people should treasure them up as relics. But
the martyrdom of their leader did not quench the hopes
of his followers. The republican constitution continued
to exist, and rose from time to time, during the weakness
or the absence of the Popes, into a brief and fitful
activity[329]. Once awakened, the idea, seductive at once
to the imagination of the scholar and the vanity of the
Roman citizen, could not wholly disappear, and two centuries
after Arnold's time it found a more brilliant if less
disinterested exponent in the tribune Nicholas Rienzi.
Character
and career
of the
tribune
Rienzi.
The career of this singular personage is misunderstood
by those who suppose him to have been possessed of
profound political insight, a republican on modern principles.
He was indeed, despite his overweening conceit,
and what seems to us his charlatanry, both a patriot and
a man of genius, in temperament a poet, filled with soaring
ideas. But those ideas, although dressed out in
gaudier colours by his lively fancy, were after all only the
old ones, memories of the long-faded glories of the
heathen republic, and a series of scornful contrasts levelled
at her present oppressors, both of them shewing no vista
of future peace except through the revival of those ancient
names to which there were no things to correspond. It
was by declaiming on old texts and displaying old monuments
that the tribune enlisted the support of the Roman
populace, not by any appeal to democratic principles;
and the whole of his acts and plans, though they astonished
men by their boldness, do not seem to have been regarded
as novel or impracticable[330]. In the breasts of men
like Petrarch, who loved Rome even more than they
hated her people, the enthusiasm of Rienzi found a sympathetic
echo: others scorned and denounced him as an
upstart, a demagogue, and a rebel. Both friends and
enemies seem to have comprehended and regarded as
natural his feelings and designs, which were altogether
those of his age. Being, however, a mere matter of
imagination, not of reason, having no anchor, so to speak,
in realities, no true relation to the world as it then stood,
these schemes of republican revival were as transient and
unstable as they were quick of growth and gay of colour.
As the authority of the Popes became consolidated, and
free municipalities disappeared elsewhere throughout Italy,
the dream of a renovated Rome at length withered up
and fell and died. Its last struggle was made in the conspiracy
of Stephen Porcaro, in the time of Pope Nicholas
the Fifth; and from that time onward there was no question
of the supremacy of the bishop within his holy city.
Causes of
the failure
of the
struggle
for independence.
It is never without a certain regret that we watch the
disappearance of a belief, however illusive, around which
the love and reverence for mankind once clung. But this
illusion need be the less regretted that it had only the
feeblest influence for good on the state of mediæval Rome.
During the three centuries that lie between Arnold of
Brescia and Porcaro, the disorders of Rome were hardly
less violent than they had been in the Dark Ages, and to
all appearance worse than those of any other European
city. There was a want not only of fixed authority, but
of those elements of social stability which the other cities
of Italy possessed. In the greater republics of Lombardy
and Tuscany the bulk of the population were artizans,
hard working orderly people; while above them stood
a prosperous middle class, engaged mostly in commerce,
and having in their system of trade-guilds an organization
both firm and flexible. It was by foreign
trade that Genoa, Venice, and Pisa became great, as
it was the wealth acquired by manufacturing industry
that enabled Milan and Florence to overcome and
incorporate the territorial aristocracies which surrounded
them.
Internal
condition
of the city.
The people.
Rome possessed neither source of riches. She was
ill-placed for trade; having no market she produced no
goods to be disposed of, and the unhealthiness which
long neglect had brought upon her Campagna made its
fertility unavailable. Already she stood as she stands
now, lonely and isolated, a desert at her very gates. As
there was no industry, so there was nothing that deserved
to be called a citizen class. The people were a mere
rabble, prompt to follow the demagogue who flattered
their vanity, prompter still to desert him in the hour of
danger. Superstition was with them a matter of national
pride, but they lived too near sacred things to feel much
reverence for them: they ill-treated the Pope and fleeced
the pilgrims who crowded to their shrines: they were
probably the only community in Europe who sent no
recruit to the armies of the Cross. Priests, monks, and
all the nondescript hangers on of an ecclesiastical court
formed a large part of the population; while of the rest
many were supported in a state of half mendicancy by
the countless religious foundations, themselves enriched
by the gifts or the plunder of Latin Christendom. The
The nobility.
noble families were numerous, powerful, ferocious; they
were surrounded by bands of unruly retainers, and waged
a constant war against each other from their castles in the
adjoining country or in the streets of the city itself. Had
things been left to take their natural course, one of these
families, the Colonna, for instance, or the Orsini, would
probably have ended by overcoming its rivals, and have
established, as was the case in the republics of Romagna
and Tuscany, a 'signoria' or local tyranny, like those
which had once prevailed in the cities of Greece. But
the presence of the sacerdotal power, as it had hindered
The bishop.
the growth of feudalism, so also it stood in the way of such
a development as this, and in so far aggravated the confusion
of the city. Although the Pope was not as yet
recognized as legitimate sovereign, he was not only the
most considerable person in Rome, but the only one
whose authority had anything of an official character.
But the reign of each pontiff was short; he had no military
force, he was frequently absent from his see. He
was, moreover, very often a member of one of the great
families, and, as such, no better than a faction leader at
home, while venerated by the rest of Europe as the
universal priest.
The Emperor.
It remains only to speak of the person who should
have been to Rome what the national king was to the
cities of France, or England, or Germany, that is to say,
of the Emperor. As has been said already, his power was
a mere chimera, chiefly important as furnishing a pretext
to the Colonna and other Ghibeline chieftains for their
opposition to the papal party. Even his abstract rights
were matter of controversy. The Popes, whose predecessors
had been content to govern as the lieutenants of
Charles and Otto, now maintained that Rome as a spiritual
city could not be subject to any temporal jurisdiction,
and that she was therefore no part of the Roman Empire,
though at the same time its capital. Not only, it was
urged, had Constantine yielded up Rome to Sylvester and
his successors, Lothar the Saxon had at his coronation
formally renounced his sovereignty by doing homage to
the pontiff and receiving the crown as his vassal. The
Popes felt then as they feel now, that their dignity and
influence would suffer if they should even appear to admit
in their place of residence the jurisdiction of a civil
potentate, and although they could not secure their own
authority, they were at least able to exclude any other.
Hence it was that they were so uneasy whenever an
Emperor came to them to be crowned, that they raised up
difficulties in his path, and endeavoured to be rid of him
as soon as possible.
Visits of the
Emperors
to Rome.
And here something must be said of
the programme, as one may call it, of these imperial visits
to Rome, and of the marks of their presence which the
Germans left behind them, remembering always that after
the time of Frederick the Second it was rather the exception
than the rule for an Emperor to be crowned in his
capital at all.
The traveller who enters Rome now, if he comes, as he
most commonly does, by way of Civita Vecchia, slips in
by the railway before he is aware, is huddled into a vehicle
at the terminus, and set down at his hotel in the middle of
the modern town before he has seen anything at all. If
he comes overland from Tuscany along the bleak road
that passes near Veii and crosses the Milvian bridge, he
has indeed from the slopes of the Ciminian range a
splendid prospect of the sea-like Campagna, girdled in by
glittering hills, but of the city he sees no sign, save the
pinnacle of St. Peter's, until he is within the walls. Far
otherwise was it in the Middle Ages. Then travellers of
Their approach.
every grade, from the humble pilgrim to the new-made
archbishop who came in the pomp of a lengthy train to
receive from the Pope the pallium of his office, approached
from the north or north-east side; following a track along
the hilly ground on the Tuscan side of the Tiber until
they halted on the brow of Monte Mario[331]
—the Mount of
Joy—and saw the city of their solemnities lie spread
before them, from the great pile of the Lateran far away
upon the Cœlian hill, to the basilica of St. Peter's at their
feet. They saw it not, as now, a sea of billowy cupolas,
but a mass of low red-roofed houses, varied by tall brick
towers, and at rarer intervals by masses of ancient ruin,
then larger far than now; while over all rose those two
monuments of the best of the heathen Emperors, monuments
that still look down, serenely changeless, on the
armies of new nations and the festivals of a new religion—the
columns of Marcus Aurelius and Trajan.
Their entrance.
From Monte Mario the Teutonic host descended, when
they had paid their orisons, into the Neronian field, the
piece of flat land that lies outside the gate of St. Angelo.
Here it was the custom for the elders of the Romans to
meet the elected Emperor, present their charters for confirmation,
and receive his oath to preserve their good
customs[332]. Then a procession was formed: the priests
and monks, who had come out with hymns to greet the
Emperor, led the way; the knights and soldiers of Rome,
such as they were, came next; then the monarch, followed
by a long array of Transalpine chivalry. Passing into
the city they advanced to St. Peter's, where the Pope,
surrounded by his clergy, stood on the great staircase of
the basilica to welcome and bless the Roman king. On
the next day came the coronation, with ceremonies too
elaborate for description[333],
ceremonies which, we may well
believe, were seldom duly completed. Far more usual
were other rites, of which the book of ritual makes no
mention, unless they are to be counted among the 'good
customs of the Romans;' the clang of war bells, the battle
Hostility of
Pope and
people to the
Germans.
cry of German and Italian combatants. The Pope, when
he could not keep the Emperor from entering Rome, required
him to leave the bulk of his host without the walls,
and if foiled in this, sought his safety in raising up plots
and seditions against his too powerful friend. The Roman
people, on the other hand, violent as they often were
against the Pope, felt nevertheless a sort of national pride
in him. Very different were their feelings towards the
Teutonic chieftain, who came from a far land to receive
in their city, yet without thanking them for it, the ensign
of a power which the prowess of their forefathers had won.
Despoiled of their ancient right to choose the universal
bishop, they clung all the more desperately to the belief
that it was they who chose the universal prince; and were
mortified afresh when each successive sovereign contemptuously
scouted their claims, and paraded before
their eyes his rude barbarian cavalry. Thus it was that a
Roman sedition was the all but invariable accompaniment
of a Roman coronation. The three revolts against Otto the
Great have been already described. His grandson Otto the
Third, in spite of his passionate fondness for the city, was
met by the same faithlessness and hatred, and departed at
last in despair at the failure of his attempts at conciliation[334].
A century afterwards Henry the Fifth's coronation produced
violent tumults, which ended in his seizing the Pope
and cardinals in St. Peter's, and keeping them prisoners
till they submitted to his terms. Remembering this, Pope
Hadrian the Fourth would fain have forced the troops of
Frederick Barbarossa to remain without the walls, but the
rapidity of their movements disconcerted his plans and
anticipated the resistance of the Roman populace. Having
established himself in the Leonine city[335],
Frederick barricaded
the bridge over the Tiber, and was duly crowned
in St. Peter's. But the rite was scarcely finished when
the Romans, who had assembled in arms on the Capitol,
dashed over the bridge, fell upon the Germans, and were
with difficulty repulsed by the personal efforts of Frederick.
Into the city he did not venture to pursue them, nor was
he at any period of his reign able to make himself master
of the whole of it. Finding themselves similarly baffled,
his successors at last accepted their position, and were
content to take the crown on the Pope's conditions and
depart without further question.
Memorials
of the Germanic
Emperors
in
Rome.
Coming so seldom and remaining for so short a time, it
is not wonderful that the Teutonic Emperors should, in the
seven centuries from Charles the Great to Charles the
Fifth, have left fewer marks of their presence in Rome
than Titus or Hadrian alone have done; fewer and less
considerable even than those which tradition attributes to
those whom it calls Servius Tullius and the elder Tarquin.
Those monuments which do exist are just sufficient to
make the absence of all others more conspicuous. The
most important dates from the time of Otto the Third,
Of Otto
the Third.
the only Emperor who attempted to make Rome his permanent
residence. Of the palace, probably nothing more
than a tower, which he built on the Aventine, no trace has
been discovered; but the church, founded by him to receive
the ashes of his friend the martyred St. Adalbert,
may still be seen upon the island in the Tiber. Having
received from Benevento relics supposed to be those of
Bartholomew the Apostle[336],
it became dedicated to that
saint, and is now the church of San Bartolommeo in Isola,
whose quaintly picturesque bell-tower of red brick, now
grey with extreme age, looks out from among the orange
trees of a convent garden over the swift-eddying yellow
waters of the Tiber.
Of Otto
the Second.
Otto the Second, son of Otto the Great, died at Rome,
and lies buried in the crypt of St. Peter's, the only Emperor
who has found a resting-place among the graves of
the Popes[337]. His tomb is not far from that of his nephew
Pope Gregory the Fifth: it is a plain one of roughly
chiselled marble. The lid of the superb porphyry sarcophagus
in which he lay for a time now serves as the
great font of St. Peter's, and may be seen in the baptismal
chapel, on the left of the entrance of the church, not
far from the tombs of the Stuarts. Last of all must be
mentioned a curious relic of the Emperor Frederick the
Of Frederick
the
Second.
Second, the prince whom of all others one would least
expect to see honoured in the city of his foes. It is an
inscription in the palace of the Conservators upon the
Capitoline hill, built into the wall of the great staircase,
and relates the victory of Frederick's army over the
Milanese, and the capture of the carroccio[338]
of the rebel
city, which he sends as a trophy to his faithful Romans.
These are all or nearly all the traces of her Teutonic lords
that Rome has preserved till now. Pictures indeed there
are in abundance, from the mosaic of the Scala Santa at
the Lateran[339]
and the curious frescoes in the church of
Santi Quattro Incoronati[340],
down to the paintings of the
Sistine antechapel and the Stanze of Raphael in the
Vatican, where the triumphs of the Popedom over all its
foes are set forth with matchless art and equally matchless
unveracity. But these are mostly long subsequent to the
events they describe, and these all the world knows.
Associations of the highest interest would have attached
to the churches in which the imperial coronation was performed—a
ceremony which, whether we regard the dignity
of the performers or the splendour of the adjuncts,
was probably the most imposing that modern Europe has
known. But old St. Peter's disappeared in the end of
the fifteenth century, not long after the last Roman
coronation, that of Frederick the Third, while the basilica
of St. John Lateran, in which Lothar the Saxon and
Henry the Seventh were crowned, has been so wofully
modernized that we can hardly figure it to ourselves as
the same building[341].
Causes of
the want of
mediæval
monuments
in Rome.
Bearing in mind what was the social condition of Rome
during the middle ages, it becomes easier to understand the
architectural barrenness which at first excites the visitor's
surprise. Rome had no temporal sovereign, and there
were therefore only two classes who could build at all,
the nobles and the clergy. Of these, the former had seldom
the wealth, and never the taste, which would have enabled
them to construct palaces graceful as the Venetian or
massively grand as the Florentine and Genoese.
Barbarism
of the aristocracy.
Moreover,
the constant practice of domestic war made defence
the first object of a house, beauty and convenience the
second. The nobility, therefore, either adapted ancient
edifices to their purpose or built out of their materials
those huge square towers of brick, a few of which still
frown over the narrow streets in the older parts of
Rome. We may judge of their number from the statement
that the senator Brancaleone destroyed one hundred
and forty of them. With perhaps no more than one
exception, that of the so-called House of Rienzi, these
towers are the only domestic buildings in the city older
than the middle of the fifteenth century. The vast palaces
to which strangers now flock for the sake of the picture
galleries they contain, have been most of them erected in
the sixteenth or seventeenth centuries, some even later.
Among the earliest is that Palazzo Cenci[342],
whose gloomy
low-browed arch so powerfully affected the imagination of
Shelley.
It was no want of wealth that hampered the architectural
efforts of the clergy, for vast revenues flowed in
upon them from every corner of Christendom. A good
Ambition,
weakness,
and corruption
of
the clergy.
deal was actually spent upon the erection or repairs of
churches and convents, although with a less liberal hand
than that of such great Transalpine prelates as Hugh of
Lincoln or Conrad of Cologne. But the Popes always
needed money for their projects of ambition, and in times
when disorder or corruption were at their height the
work of building stopped altogether. Thus it was that
after the time of the Carolingians scarcely a church was
erected until the beginning of the twelfth century, when
the reforms of Hildebrand had breathed new zeal into the
priesthood. The Babylonish captivity of Avignon, as it
was called, with the great schism of the West that followed
upon it, was the cause of a second similar intermission,
which lasted nearly a century and a half.
Tendency of
the Roman
builders to
adhere to
the ancient
manner.
At every time, however, even when his work went on
most briskly, the labours of the Roman architect took the
direction of restoring and readorning old churches rather
than of erecting new ones. While the Transalpine countries,
except in a few favoured spots, such as Provence
and part of the Rhineland, remained during several ages
with few and rudely built stone churches, Rome possessed,
as the inheritance of the earlier Christian centuries, a profusion
of houses of worship, some of them still unsurpassed
in splendour, and far more than adequate to the
needs of her diminished population. In repairing these
from time to time, their original form and style of work
were usually as far as possible preserved, while in constructing
new ones, the abundance of models beautiful in
themselves and hallowed as well by antiquity as by religious
feeling, enthralled the invention of the workman,
bound him down to be at best a faithful imitator, and
forbade him to deviate at pleasure from the old established
manner. Thus it befel that while his brethren throughout
the rest of Europe were passing by successive steps from
the old Roman and Byzantine styles to Romanesque, and
from Romanesque to Gothic, the Roman architect scarcely
departed from the plan and arrangements of the primitive
basilica. This is one chief reason why there is so little
Absence of
Gothic in
Rome.
of Gothic work in Rome, so little even of Romanesque
like that of Pisa. What there is appears chiefly in the
pointed window, more rarely in the arch, seldom or never
in spire or tower or column. Only one of the existing
churches of Rome is Gothic throughout, and that, the
Dominican church of S. Maria sopra Minerva, was built
by foreign monks. In some of the other churches, and
especially in the cloisters of the convents, instances may
be observed of the same style: in others slight traces, by
accident or design almost obliterated[343].
Destruction
and alteration
of the
old buildings:
The mention of obliteration suggests a third cause of
the comparative want of mediæval buildings in the city—the
constant depredations and changes of which she has
been the subject. Ever since the time of Constantine
Rome has been a city of destruction, and Christians have
vied with pagans, citizens with enemies, in urging on the
By invaders.
fatal work. Her siege and capture by Robert Guiscard[344],
the ally of Hildebrand against Henry the Fourth, was far
more ruinous than the attacks of the Goths or Vandals:
and itself yields in atrocity to the sack of Rome in
A.D. 1526 by the soldiers of the Catholic king and most
pious Emperor Charles the Fifth[345]. Since the days of the
first barbarian invasions the Romans have gone on building
By the
Romans of
the Middle
Ages.
with materials taken from the ancient temples, theatres,
law-courts, baths and villas, stripping them of their gorgeous
casings of marble, pulling down their walls for the
sake of the blocks of travertine, setting up their own hovels
on the top or in the midst of these majestic piles. Thus
it has been with the memorials of paganism: a somewhat
different cause has contributed to the disappearance of the
mediæval churches. What pillage, or fanaticism, or the
wanton lust of destruction did in the one case, the ostentatious
zeal of modern times has done in the other.
By modern
restorers of
churches.
The
era of the final establishment of the Popes as temporal
sovereigns of the city, is also that of the supremacy of
the Renaissance style in architecture. After the time of
Nicholas the Fifth, the pontiff against whom, it will be
remembered, the spirit of municipal freedom made its last
struggle in the conspiracy of Porcaro, nothing was built in
Gothic, and the prevailing enthusiasm for the antique produced
a corresponding dislike to everything mediæval, a
dislike conspicuous in men like Julius the Second and
Leo the Tenth, from whom the grandeur of modern Rome
may be said to begin. Not long after their time the great
religious movement of the sixteenth century, while triumphing
in the north of Europe, was in the south met
and overcome by a counter-reformation in the bosom of
the old church herself, and the construction or restoration
of ecclesiastical buildings became again the passion of
the devout[346]. No employment, whether it be called an
amusement or a duty, could have been better suited to
the court and aristocracy of Rome. They were indolent;
wealthy, and fond of displaying their wealth; full of good
taste, and anxious, especially when advancing years had
chased away youth's pleasures, to be full of good works also.
Popes and cardinals and the heads of the great families
vied with one another in building new churches and restoring
or enlarging those they found till little of the old
was left; raising over them huge cupolas, substituting
massive pilasters for the single-shafted columns, adorning
the interior with a profusion of rare marbles, of carving
and gilding, of frescoes and altar-pieces by the best
masters of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. None
but a bigoted mediævalist can refuse to acknowledge the
warmth of tone, the repose, the stateliness, of the churches
of modern Rome; but even in the midst of admiration
the sated eye turns away from the wealth of ponderous
ornament, and we long for the clear pure colour, the
simple yet grand proportions that give a charm to the
buildings of an earlier age.
Existing
relics of the
Dark and
Middle
Ages.
The Mosaics.
Few of the ancient churches have escaped untouched;
many have been altogether rebuilt. There are also some,
however, in which the modernizers of the sixteenth and
subsequent centuries have spared two features of the old
structure, its round apse or tribune and its bell-tower.
The apse has its interior usually covered with mosaics,
exceedingly interesting, both from the ideas they express
and as the only monuments of pictorial art that remain
to us from the Dark Ages. To speak of them, however,
as they deserve to be spoken of, would involve a digression
for which there is no space here.
The Bell-towers.
The campanile or
bell-tower is a quaint little square brick tower, of no great
height, usually standing detached from the church, and
having in its topmost, sometimes also in its other upper
stories, several arcade windows, divided by tiny marble
pillars[347]. What with these campaniles, then far more
numerous than they are now, and with the huge brick
fortresses of the nobles, towers must have held in the
landscape of the mediæval city very much the part which
domes do now. Although less imposing, they were probably
more picturesque, the rather as in the earlier part
of the Middle Ages the houses and churches, which are
now mostly crowded together on the flat of the Campus
Martius, were scattered over the heights and slopes of
the Cœlian, Aventine, and Esquiline hills[348]. Modern
Rome lies chiefly on the opposite or north-eastern side
of the Capitol, and the change from the old to the new
site of the city, which can hardly be said to have distinctly
begun before the destruction of the south-western part of
the town by Robert Guiscard, was not completed until
the sixteenth century. In A.D. 1536 the Capitol was
rebuilt by Michael Angelo, in anticipation of the entry
of Charles the Fifth, upon foundations that had been
laid by the first Tarquin; and the palace of the Senator,
the greatest municipal edifice of Rome, which had hitherto
looked towards the Forum and the Coliseum, was made
to front in the direction of St. Peter's and the modern
town.
Changed
aspect of
the city of
Rome.
The Rome of to-day is no more like the city of Rienzi
than she is to the city of Trajan; just as the Roman
church of the nineteenth century differs profoundly, however
she may strive to disguise it, from the church of Hildebrand.
But among all their changes, both church and
city have kept themselves wonderfully free from the intrusion
of foreign, at least of Teutonic, elements, and have
Analogy
between her
architecture
and her
civil and
ecclesiastical
constitution.
faithfully preserved at all times something of an old
Roman character. Latin Christianity inherited from the
imperial system of old that firmly knit yet flexible organization,
which was one of the grand secrets of its power:
the great men whom mediæval Rome gave to or trained
up for the Papacy were, like their progenitors, administrators,
legislators, statesmen; seldom enthusiasts themselves,
but perfectly understanding how to use and guide
the enthusiasm of others—of the French and German
crusaders, of men like Francis of Assisi and Dominic
and Ignatius. Between Catholicism in Italy and Catholicism
in Germany or England there was always, as
there is still, a very perceptible difference. So also, if
the analogy be not too fanciful, was it with Rome the
city. Socially she seemed always drifting towards feudalism;
Preservation
of an
antique
character
in both.
yet she never fell into its grasp. Materially, her
architecture was at one time considerably influenced by
Gothic forms, yet Gothic never became, as in the rest of
Europe, the dominant style. It approached Rome late,
and departed from her early, so that we scarcely notice
its presence, and seem to pass almost without a break
from the old Romanesque[349]
to the Græco-Roman of the
Renaissance. Thus regarded, the history of the city, both
in her political state and in her buildings, is seen to be
intimately connected with that of the Holy Empire itself.
The Empire in its title and its pretensions expressed the
idea of the permanence of the institutions of the ancient
world; Rome the city had, in externals at least, carefully
preserved their traditions: the names of her magistracies,
the character of her buildings, all spoke of antiquity, and
gave it a strange and shadowy life in the midst of new
races and new forms of faith.
Relation of
the City
and the
Empire.
In its essence the Empire rested on the feeling of the
unity of mankind; it was the perpetuation of the Roman
dominion by which the old nationalities had been destroyed,
with the addition of the Christian element which
had created a new nationality that was also universal. By
the extension of her citizenship to all her subjects heathen
Rome had become the common home, and, figuratively,
even the local dwelling-place of the civilized races of man.
By the theology of the time Christian Rome had been
made the mystical type of humanity, the one flock of the
faithful scattered over the whole earth, the holy city whither,
as to the temple on Moriah, all the Israel of God should
come up to worship. She was not merely an image of
the mighty world, she was the mighty world itself in
miniature. The pastor of her local church is also the
universal bishop; the seven suffragans who consecrate
him are the overseers of petty sees in Ostia, Antium,
and the like, towns lying close round Rome: the
cardinal priests and deacons who join these seven in
electing him derive their title to be princes of the Church,
the supreme spiritual council of the Christian world,
from the incumbency of a parochial cure within the precincts
of the city. Similarly, her ruler, the Emperor, is
ruler of mankind; he is chosen by the acclamations of her
people[350]:
he can be lawfully crowned nowhere but in one
of her basilicas. She is, like Jerusalem of old, the mother
of us all.
There is yet another way in which the record of the
domestic contests of Rome throws light upon the history
of the Empire. From the eleventh century to the fifteenth
her citizens ceased not to demand in the name of the old
republic their freedom from the tyranny of the nobles and
the Pope, and their right to rule over the world at large.
These efforts—selfish and fantastic we may call them, yet
men like Petrarch did not disdain to them their sympathy—issued
from the same theories and were directed to the
same ends as those which inspired Otto the Third and
Frederick Barbarossa and Dante himself. They witness
to the same incapacity to form any ideal for the future
except a revival of the past; the same belief that one
universal state is both desirable and possible, but possible
only through the means of Rome: the same refusal to
admit that a right which has once existed can ever be
extinguished.
Extinction
of the
Florentine
republic,
A.D. 1530.
In the days of the Renaissance these
notions were passing silently away: the succeeding
century brought with it misfortunes that broke the spirit
of the nation. Italy was the battle-field of Europe: her
wealth became the prey of a rapacious soldiery: the last
and greatest of her republics was enslaved by an unfeeling
Emperor, and handed over as the pledge of amity to a
selfish Medicean Pope. When the hope of independence
had been lost, the people turned away from politics to live
for art and literature, and found, before many generations
had passed, how little such exclusive devotion could compensate
for the departure of freedom, and a national spirit,
and the activity of civic life. A century after the golden
days of Ariosto and Raphael, Italian literature had become
frigid and affected, while Italian art was dying of mannerism.
Feelings of
the modern
Italians
towards
Rome.
At length, after long ages of sloth, the stagnant waters
were troubled. The Romans, who had lived in listless
contentment under the paternal sway of the Popes, received
new ideas from the advent of the revolutionary
armies of France, and have found the Papal system, since
its re-establishment fifty years ago as a modern bureaucratic
despotism, far less tolerable than it was of yore.
Our own days have seen the name of Rome become
again a rallying-cry for the patriots of Italy, but in a sense
most unlike the old one. The contemporaries of Arnold
and Rienzi desired freedom only as a step to universal
domination: their descendants, more wisely, yet not more
from patriotism than from a pardonable civic pride, seek
only to be the capital of the Italian kingdom. Dante prayed
for a monarchy of the world, a reign of peace and Christian
brotherhood: those who invoke his name as the
earliest prophet of their creed strive after an idea that
never crossed his mind—the national union of Italy[351].
Plain common-sense politicians in other countries do
not understand this passion for Rome as a capital, and
think it their duty to lecture the Italians on their flightiness.
The latter do not themselves pretend that the
shores of the Tiber are a suitable site for a capital: Rome
is lonely, unhealthy, and in a bad strategical position; she
has no particular facilities for trade: her people, with
some fine qualities, are less orderly and industrious than
the Tuscans or the Piedmontese. Nevertheless all Italy
cries with one voice for Rome, firmly believing that
national life can never thrill with a strong and steady
pulsation till the ancient capital has become the nation's
heart. They feel that it is owing to Rome—Rome pagan
as well as Christian—that they once played so grand a
part in the drama of European history, and that they have
now been able to attain that fervid sentiment of unity
which has brought them at last together under one government.
Whether they are right, whether if right they are
likely to be successful, need not be inquired here. But it
deserves to be noted that this enthusiasm for a famous
name—for it is nothing more—is substantially the same
feeling as that which created and hallowed the Holy
Empire of the Middle Ages. The events of the last few
years on both sides of the Atlantic have proved that men
are not now, any more than they ever were, chiefly
governed by calculations of material profit and loss.
Sentiments, fancies, theories, have not lost their power;
the spirit of poetry has not wholly passed away from
politics. And strange as seems to us the worship paid to
the name of mediæval Rome by those who saw the sins
and the misery of her people, it can hardly have been an
intenser feeling than is the imaginative reverence wherewith
the Italians of to-day look on the city whence, as
from a fountain, all the streams of their national life have
sprung, and in which, as in an ocean, they are all again
to mingle.