who inherited from his German father the ambition of the Hohenstauffens
and from his Norman mother the fair fields and Oriental traditions
of Sicily. The strange history of Frederick--an intellect of the
Eighteenth Century born out of date, a cosmopolitan spirit in the
age of Saint Louis, the Crusader who conversed with Moslem sages
on the threshold of the Holy Sepulchre, the Sultan of Lucera who
presented Paterini while he respected the superstition of Saracens,
the anointed successor of Charlemagne, who carried his harem with him
to the battle-fields of Lombardy, and turned Infidels loose upon the
provinces of Christ’s Vicar--would be inexplicable, were it not that
Palermo still reveals in all her monuments the _genius loci_
which gave spiritual nurture to this phœnix among kings. From his
Mussulman teachers Frederick derived the philosophy to which he gave
a vogue in Europe. From his Arabian predecessors he learned the arts
of internal administration and finance, which he transmitted to the
princes of Italy. In imitation of Oriental courts, he adopted the
practice of verse composition, which gave the first impulse to Italian
literature. His Grand Vizier, Piero Delle Vigne, set an example to
Petrarch, not only by composing the first sonnet in Italian, but also
by showing to what height a low-born secretary versed in art and law
might rise. In a word, the zeal for liberal studies, the luxury of
life, the religious indifferentism, the bureaucratic system of state
government, which mark the age of the Italian Renaissance, found their
first manifestation within the bosom of the Middle Ages in Frederick.
While our King John was signing the Magna Charta, Frederick had already
lived long enough to comprehend, at least in outline, what is meant by
the spirit of modern culture. It is true that the so-called Renaissance
followed slowly and by tortuous paths upon the death of Frederick. The
Church obtained a complete victory over his family, and succeeded in
extinguishing the civilization of Sicily. Yet the fame of the Emperor
who transmitted questions of sceptical philosophy to Arab sages, who
conversed familiarly with men of letters, who loved splendour and
understood the arts of refined living, survived both long and late
in Italy. His power, his wealth, his liberality of soul and lofty
aspirations, formed the theme of many a tale and poem. Dante places
him in hell among the heresiarchs; and truly the splendour of his
supposed infidelity found for him a goodly following. Yet Dante dates
the rise of Italian literature from the blooming period of the Sicilian
Court. Frederick’s unorthodoxy proved no drawback to his intellectual
influence. More than any other man of mediæval times he contributed,
if only as the memory of a mighty name, to the progress of civilized
humanity.
Let us take leave both of Frederick and of Palermo, that centre of
converging influences, which was his cradle, in the cathedral where he
lies gathered to his fathers. This church, though its rich sun-browned
yellow[7] reminds one of the tone of Spanish buildings, is like nothing
one has seen elsewhere. Here even more than at Monreale, the eye is
struck with a fusion of styles. The western towers are grouped into
something like the clustered sheafs of the Caen churches: the windows
present Saracenic arches; the southern porch is covered with foliated
incrustations of a late and decorative Gothic style; the exterior of
the apse combines Arabic inlaid patterns of black and yellow with the
Greek honeysuckle; the western door adds Norman dog-tooth and chevron
to the Saracenic billet. Nowhere is any one tradition firmly followed.
The whole wavers and yet is beautiful--like the immature eclecticism
of the culture which Frederick himself endeavoured to establish in
his southern kingdoms. Inside there is no such harmony of blended
voices: all the strange tongues, which speak together on the outside,
making up a music in which the far North, and ancient Byzance, and the
delicate East sound each a note, are hushed. The frigid silence of the
Palladian style reigns there--simple indeed and dignified, but lifeless
as the century in which it flourished. Yet there, in a side chapel
near the western door, stand the porphyry sarcophagi which shrine the
bones of the Hautevilles and their representatives. There sleeps King
Roger--“_Dux Strenuus et primus Rex Siciliæ_”--with his daughter
Constance in her purple chest beside him. Henry VI. and Frederick
II. and Constance of Aragon complete the group, which surpasses for
interest all sepulchral monuments--even the tombs of the Scaligers at
Verona--except only, perhaps, the statues of the nave of Innsprück.
Very sombre and stately are these porphyry resting-places of princes
born in the purple, assembled here from lands so distant--from the
craggy heights of Hohenstauffen, from the green orchards of Cotentin,
from the dry hills of Aragon. They sleep, and the centuries pass by.
Rude hands break open the granite lids of their sepulchres, to find
tresses of yellow hair and fragments of imperial mantles, embroidered
with the hawks and stags the royal hunter loved. The church in which
they lie, changes with the change of taste in architecture and the
manners of successive ages. But the huge stone arks remain unmoved,
guarding their freight of mouldering dust beneath gloomy canopies of
stone, that temper the sunlight as it streams from the chapel windows.
[Illustration: FORTRESS AND PALACE OF GWALIOR, INDIA.]
THE FORTRESS AND PALACE OF GWALIOR
LOUIS ROUSSELET
The ancient city of Gwalior, which must not be confounded with the
modern town of that name, nor with the Mahratta camp of the Scindias,
is situated on the summit of a steep and isolated rock, 342 feet in
height at the north end, where it is highest, and a mile and a half
in length; its greatest breadth is 300 yards. Its position and the
exterior appearance of its fortifications, behind which rise numerous
monuments, remind one of Chittore, the famous capital of Meywar.
This rock, which is a block of basalt topped with sandstone, stands
like a sentinel at the entrance of a valley; and above the slopes at
its foot rise pointed cliffs, forming natural ramparts, on which are
built the fortifications of the town.
Tradition places the date of the founding of Gwalior several centuries
before the Christian era. The attention of the Aryan colonists from the
valley of the Chumbul probably was early attracted by the admirable
position of this rock. The first to establish themselves here were no
doubt the Anchorites, who were sent forth in such numbers by the Indian
schools of philosophy in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries before
the Christian era, as is attested by the numerous caverns, formed by
man, in the sides of the rock. In 773, Rajah Sourya Sena completed
a system of defence round the plateau by constructing ramparts. The
Kâchwas held the fortress until the reign of Tej Pal Doula, who, upon
being expelled by the Chohans in 967, founded the dynasty of Ambîr.
Sultan Shahab Oudin’s generalissimo, Koutub Eibeck, took it from the
Chohans in 1196; and thirty-eight years later it was again taken by
the Emperor Altamsh after a long siege. In 1410, the Touar Rajpoots
got possession of it, and held it until 1519, when it was finally
attached to the crown of Delhi by Ibrahim Lodi. At the dismemberment
of the Mogul Empire, it fell alternately into the hands of the Jâts
and Mahrattas. In 1779, it was garrisoned by Scindia, from whom it was
taken by a British force under Major Popham, and it was again made over
to Scindia by the treaty of 1805.
But the vicissitudes of the ancient fortress did not end here. In
1857, the Maharajah Scindia having refused to countenance the revolt,
the rebels, under the command of one of Nana Sahib’s captains, took
the place; but General Sir Hugh Rose dislodged them by planting
his batteries on the surrounding heights, and, for the purpose of
protecting the young king from his rebellious subjects, the English
kept possession of the plateau.
The present town of Gwalior extends to the north and east of the
fortress, being hemmed in between the rock and the river Sawunrika.
It was a large and handsome settlement, containing thirty or forty
thousand inhabitants; but the founding of a new capital by the
Scindias, at a distance of about two miles was a death-blow to its
grandeur, the higher branches of trade and the nobility having followed
the Court to Lashkar. The architecture of its stone houses is, for the
most part, handsome; but the streets are narrow and crooked. It is
probable that at one time there was a large suburb round the foot of
the ascent leading to the fortress, but it was not until the Sixteenth
Century that the town assumed its present proportions. There are
no monuments to be found of an earlier date; and the two worthy of
remark are the Jummah Musjid, a handsome mosque, flanked by two lofty
minarets, and the Hatti Durwaza, or “Gate of the Elephants,” a curious
triumphal arch, situated on a mound at the entrance to the town.
The bazaars of Gwalior contain several manufactures peculiar to the
place, such as silken fabrics, embroidered in gold, for turbans;
_saris_, or cotton scarfs for women, and curious stuffs in the
most brilliant colours. A very fair trade is carried on in these
articles.
Two flights of steps, one on the east and the other on the west, lead
up to the fortress; of which that on the east is a notable achievement,
since it had to be cut out of the solid rock. It is the more ancient of
the two; and, although on a very steep incline, it is practicable for
horses and elephants.
In order to reach this elevation, you must traverse the whole length
of the lower town; and the entrance to it is guarded by an embattled
fortification and guard-houses. Hidden among the trees, at a short
distance, stands a large palace, the exterior of which is ornamented
with bright blue enamel. Five monumental gates, placed at intervals,
and still armed with portcullis and heavy iron doors, guard the access
to the fortress. From the first, which is a splendid triumphal arch
with a Saracenic archway, and surmounted by a tier of small columns,
commences the causeway, which, although wide and well kept, is a long
and fatiguing ascent; and thence also commences a series of monuments,
bas-reliefs, caverns, and cisterns, forming a natural museum of great
interest to the archæologist. Even the rocks which overhang the road
merit his attention, for they contain numerous chambers, altars and
statues, which are reached by narrow paths, requiring a steady head and
a sure and practised foot.
Between the third and fourth gate are some huge tanks, excavated out
of the solid rock, and fed by springs. The capitals of the pillars
which support the ceiling appear above the water, and one can scarcely
distinguish the bottom in the obscurity. Near these tanks the surface
of the rock, which has been made smooth and even, is covered with
numerous bas-reliefs; one of the largest of which, representing an
elephant and rider, still is easily distinguishable in spite of
considerable mutilation; and further on is a head of Siva.
Opposite the fourth gate is a small monolith of great antiquity,
supposed to date from the Fifteenth Century. It is a temple cut out of
a single block of stone, and consists of a small square room, entered
by a peristyle and crowned with a pyramidal spire. The upper portion
of the latter, having been destroyed, has been replaced by a small
dome in stonework; and a few sculptures surround the entrance to the
sanctuary and the altar.
On the summit of the hill stands King Pal, which springs from the
very brink of the precipice. It is supported by six towers, and
pierced by only a few large windows ornamented with balconies and
pilasters. Sculptured bands, Jaïn arches, and indented cordons relieve
the monotony of the massive exterior, and give it a peculiarly light
and graceful appearance. The spaces between the Jaïn arches of the
gallery are filled in and covered with mosaics in enamelled bricks,
representing palm-trees on a blue ground; and each tower is surmounted
by a lantern with a double row of columns. It is difficult to imagine a
grander or more harmonious effect than that produced by this gigantic
edifice, combining rampart and palace in one.
At the south angle of the palace is a gateway, which gives access to
the interior of the fortress, and through which you enter a narrow
street that overlooks the lateral frontage of the palace. This is built
on the same plan as the exterior, but here the stone is completely
hidden by enamel. Bands of mosaics, representing candelabra, Brahma
ducks, elephants and peacocks in blue, rose-colour, green and gold,
give this immense blank wall an incomparably beautiful appearance. The
bricks of which these mosaics are composed still retain their primitive
brilliancy of colour and delicacy of shading, though ten centuries have
passed over them. I know of no country in the world where an architect
has succeeded so well in giving a graceful appearance to a heavy blank
wall.
The exact date of the construction of these facings is unknown, though
it is certain that they were the work of a Rajpoot prince of the name
of Pal; but, as several Chandela and Kâchwa chiefs bore this name, it
is difficult to fix the date more precisely than between the Eighth and
Ninth Centuries.
The palace of the kings of Gwalior covers an immense area on the
east of the plateau; but it was not the work of a single prince; the
most ancient portions of it date back to the Sixteenth Century. Each
dynasty enlarged the mass of buildings, and the Moguls themselves made
considerable additions to it. The interior of the Palace of Pal is
extremely simple in style. The various stories, which you enter through
rows of square pillars, overlook the large paved courts; and the rooms
are low with flat ceilings.
Among these ruins a portion of the ancient palace of the Vaïshnava
kings may still be seen. The thick walls, pierced with triangular
openings, are somewhat in the same style as the corridors of the
Mexican temples. It is to be regretted that so much of this part of the
Palace has already been destroyed.
The northern extremity of the plateau, which gradually becomes narrower
and narrower, was entirely covered by the palaces of the Emperors Akbar
and Jehanghir; but you do not find here the magnificent buildings
of Agra or of Delhi. It is evident that these were mere provincial
residences. There are nevertheless, a graceful dewani-khas and a small
zenanah, containing some fine galleries.
[Illustration: THE HOLY HOUSE OF LORETTO, ITALY.]
THE HOLY HOUSE OF LORETTO
ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY
On the slope of the eastern Apennines, overlooking the Adriatic gulf,
stands what may be called (according to the belief of the Roman
Catholic Church) the European Nazareth. Fortified as if by the bastions
of a huge castle, against the approach of Saracenic pirates, a vast
church, even now gorgeous with the offerings of the faithful, contains
the “Santa Casa,” the “Holy House,” in which the Virgin lived, and (as
is attested by the same inscription as that at Nazareth) received the
Angel Gabriel. Every one knows the story of the House of Loretto. The
devotion of one-half the world, and the ridicule of the other half,
has made us all acquainted with the strange story, written in all the
languages[8] of Europe round the walls of that remarkable sanctuary:
how the house of Nazareth was, in the close of the Thirteenth Century,
conveyed by angels, first to the heights above Fiume, at the head
of the Adriatic gulf, then to the plain and lastly to the hill, of
Loretto. But this “wondrous flitting” of the Holy House is not the
feature in its history which is most present to the pilgrims who
frequent it. It is regarded by them simply as an actual fragment of
the Holy Land, sacred as the very spot on which the mystery of the
Incarnation was announced and begun. In proportion to the sincerity
and extent of this belief is the veneration which attaches to what is
undoubtedly the most frequented sanctuary of Christendom. The devotion
of pilgrims even on week-days exceeds anything that is seen at any
of the holy places in Palestine, if we except the Church of the Holy
Sepulchre at Easter.
Before the dawn of day the worship begins. Whilst it is yet dark, the
doors are opened--a few lights round the sacred spot break the gloom,
and disclose the kneeling Capuchins, who have been here throughout the
night. Two soldiers, sword in hand, take their place by the entrance of
the “House,” to guard against all injury. One of the hundred priests
who are in daily attendance immediately begins mass at the high altar
of the church, the first of a hundred and twenty that are repeated
daily within its precincts. The “Santa Casa” itself is then opened and
lighted, the pilgrims flock in; and, from that hour till sunset, come
and go in a perpetual stream. The “House” is thronged with kneeling
or prostrate figures, the pavement round it is deeply worn with the
passage of pilgrims, who, from the humblest peasant of the Abruzzi
up to the King of Naples, crawl round it on their knees; the nave is
filled with the bands of worshippers, who, having visited the sacred
spot, are retiring backwards from it, as from some royal presence.
On the “Santa Casa” alone depends the sacredness of the whole locality
in which it stands. Loretto--whether the name is derived from the
sacred grove (Lauretum) or the lady (Loreta) under whose shelter the
house is believed to have descended--had no existence before the rise
of this extraordinary sanctuary. The long street with its venders of
rosaries, the palace of the governor, the strong walls built by Pope
Sixtus IV., are all mere appendages to the humble edifice which stands
within the Church. The “Santa Casa” is spoken of by them as a living
person, a corporation sole on which the whole city depends, to which
the whole property far and near over the rich plain which lies spread
beneath it belongs forever.
No one who has ever witnessed the devotion of the Italian people on
this singular spot, can wish to speak lightly of the feelings which
it inspires. But a dispassionate statement of the real facts of the
case may not be without use. Into the general question of the story
we need not enter here. It has been ably proved elsewhere,[9] first,
that of all the pilgrims who record their visit to Nazareth from the
Fourth to the Sixteenth Century, not one alludes to any house of Joseph
as standing there, or as having stood there, within human memory or
record; secondly, that the records of Italy contain no mention of the
House till the Fifteenth Century; thirdly, that the representation of
the story as it now stands, with the double or triple transplantation
of the sanctuary, occurs first in a bull of Leo X., in the year 1518.
But it is the object of these remarks simply to confront the House as
it stands at Loretto with the House as it appears at Nazareth. It has
been already said that each professes to contain the exact spot of
the Angelic visitation, to be the scene of a single event which can
only have happened in one; each claims to be the very House of the
Annunciation, and bases its claim to sanctity on that especial ground.
But this is not all: even should either consent to surrender something
of this peculiar sacredness, yet no one can visit both sanctuaries
without perceiving that by no possibility can one be amalgamated with
the other. The House of Loretto is an edifice of thirty-six feet by
seventeen; its walls, though externally cased in marble, can be seen
in their original state from the inside, and these appear to be of a
dark red polished stone. The west wall has one square window, through
which it is said the Angel flew; the east wall contains a rude chimney,
in front of which is a mass of cemented stone, said to be the altar
on which St. Peter said mass, when the Apostles, after the Ascension,
turned the house into a church. On the north side is (or rather was) a
door, now walled up. The monks of Loretto and of Nazareth have but a
dim knowledge of the sacred localities of each other. Still, the monks
of Nazareth could not be altogether ignorant of the mighty sanctuary
which, under the highest authorities of their Church, professes to have
once rested on the ground they now occupy. They show, therefore, to any
traveller who takes the pains to inquire, the space on which the Holy
House stood before its flight. That space is a vestibule immediately
in front of the sacred grotto; and an attempt is made to unite the
two localities by supposing that there were openings from the house
into the grotto. Without laying any stress on the obvious variation
of measurements, the position of the grotto is, and must always have
been incompatible with any such adjacent building as that at Loretto.
Whichever way the house is supposed to abut on the rock, it is obvious
that such a house as has been described, would have closed up, with
blank walls, the very passages by which alone the communication could
be effected. And it may be added, that there is no traditional masonry
of the “Santa Casa” left at Nazareth, there is the traditional masonry
close by of the so-called workshop of Joseph of an entirely different
character. Whilst the former is of a kind wholly unlike anything in
Palestine, the latter is, as might be expected, of the natural grey
limestone of the country, of which in all times, no doubt, the houses
of Nazareth were built.
It may have seemed superfluous labour to have attempted any detailed
refutation of the most incredible of Ecclesiastical legends. But
Loretto is so emphatically the “Holy Place” of one large branch of
Christendom--its claim has been so strongly maintained by French and
Italian writers of our own times--and is, moreover, so deeply connected
with the alleged authority of the Papal See--that an interest attaches
to it far beyond its intrinsic importance. No facts are insignificant
which bring to an issue the general value of local religion--or the
assumption of any particular Church to direct the conscience of the
world--or the amount of liberty within such a Church left on questions
which concern the faith and practice of thousands of its members.