The Santa Casa—Pilgrims—The treasury—Exquisite statues
and bassi-rilievi—Chocolate at the Canonico's—La Signora
Placida—A survey of the house—The rich vestments.
Strangers were evidently no rarity in Loretto, and the admiring gaze of
the population did not greet our appearance as at Umana. Simply looked
upon as travellers, and legitimate objects of prey, we were soon beset
by the vendors of the trinkets peculiar to the place, and imposed on
without mercy. I have no hesitation in saying that the _corone_, or
chaplets, with which the midshipmen persisted in filling their pockets,
and the bracelets of ten beads called _corone alla moda_—an indefinite
supply whereof _l'officier marié_ seemed to consider indispensable to
his wife—were charged them at least three times their value. The main
street, already noticed, opens upon a spacious square, adorned by a
fountain and two handsome colonnades, and flanked by the palace of the
bishop and the Jesuits' College; at the upper end, on arising ground,
stands the church of the Santa Casa, a large and commanding edifice.
The interior is profusely decorated, and contains numerous side-chapels
enriched with pictures in mosaic; but the object on which the eye first
rests on entering is a structure of an oblong form of white Carrara
marble, completely incrusted with statues, Corinthian columns, and
exquisite bass-reliefs, placed on a platform accessible by three or
four broad steps, immediately beneath the cupola. This is the far-famed
Holy House, or, more properly speaking, the costly building raised
over the reputed cottage of Nazareth, at once to impede its future
migrations, and preserve it for the edification of the faithful.
Passing into the sacred tabernacle, a gorgeous vision strikes upon
the senses—golden lamps, suspended from the ceiling, shed a mellow
but subdued light upon an altar, where jewelled chalices, crucifixes,
and candelabras are arrayed in glittering profusion, surmounted by
an image, whence literally a blaze of diamonds is radiating. Here
prostrate forms are always seen, and brows bent low in penance or
adoration; and here many a guilt-worn wretch, coming from distant
realms, in penury and toil, has sunk rejoicing on his knees, and deemed
his pardon won!
Above, around, on every side, are evidences of the piety and liberality
of the princely votaries to the shrine, whose offerings were pointed
out with conscious pride by the young priest who had attached himself
to our party. The figure of the Madonna and Child, rudely carved in
cedar, and said to be the workmanship of St Luke, is absolutely covered
with gems. The two heads are encircled with tiaras of immense value,
and the black velvet in which the shapeless trunk of the image is
enswathed, is scarcely discernible amid the ear-rings, necklaces, and
chains of the most sparkling brilliants overlaying it. Each jewel,
and candlestick, and lamp, has its donor and its history, all duly
registered in printed catalogues annexed to the authenticated relation
of the house and its mysterious fittings. This book sets forth how, in
the year 1294, the Santa Casa, where the Virgin had meekly dwelt, and
watched the childhood of her son, was first lifted from its foundations
by angel hands, and borne from Palestine to Dalmatia. After a short
interval, the same supernatural agency transported it across the
Adriatic to a hill in the vicinity of Ancona; thence, after one or two
brief haltings, it was finally conveyed to Loretto, where the speedy
erection of a church over the precious deposit attested the piety of
the inhabitants, and secured them the continuance of its presence.
From that time the cottage of Nazareth went on increasing in fame
and riches; miracles were wrought by its influence, and princes and
pontiffs contended who should do it honour, until 1797, when the sun
of its prosperity became clouded. The pitiless exactions of the French
compelled Pius VI. to have recourse to the treasures of the Madonna
di Loretto to meet his conquerors' demands; and in the following year,
the fierce invaders captured the town, and sent the venerated image to
Paris. It was restored, however, a few years afterwards, to the joy of
all sincere adherents to the church, and was solemnly crowned by Pius
VII. with those same diadems whose rainbow lustre dazzles the beholder.
The internal dimensions of the Santa Casa are those of a mere hut—27
English feet in length, 12-½ in breadth, and proportionably low.
The ceiling is blackened by the smoke of the many lamps which are
perpetually burning; the lower walls are covered with plates of
silver, gilded and wrought into bass-reliefs, except on one side
where a portion of the original masonry is left exposed. It is of
course brickwork, discoloured by time, and worn smooth by the kisses
continually pressed upon it. The priest pointed to a rude sort of
recess, which he told us was the fire-place of the Holy Family, and
then produced a cup or bowl, called _La Scodella Santa_, from which the
Madonna used to drink. All the faithful reverently press their lips to
this relic, and then place in it their chaplets, crosses, or medals, to
be blessed.
The well-known story of a channel being worn on the pavement
immediately surrounding the Holy House, by the knees of pilgrims,
is not in the least exaggerated. There are two distinct furrows in
the marble, traced there by the thousands who have yearly dragged
themselves, in this attitude of devotion, for a given number of times
around its walls. At the moment of our visit, several peasant-women
were thus shuffling along, seemingly without much inconvenience, with
the exception of one, whose attitude and appearance produced a painful
impression on my mind. She was working her way round on her hands and
knees, drawing as she went a line with her tongue upon the pavement.
I know not how long she had been in that position, but it was horrible
to view: her face was black and swollen; her eyes starting from their
sockets; the veins on her forehead standing out like tight strained
cords, and mingled blood and saliva flowing from her mouth. Our
conductor looked unconcernedly at the poor wretch as we passed, and
said in answer to my appealing glances: “It is only a great penance;
you may be sure she richly deserves it: there are many who come here in
this way to expiate their sins;” and then walked on, leading the way
to the treasury, as if the subject were too commonplace for further
consideration.
The _Sala del Tesoro_ is a magnificent hall, richly painted in fresco,
the ceiling representing the death of the Madonna, surrounded by the
apostles, and the walls furnished with immense presses with glass
doors, in which are deposited the numerous and yearly increasing
offerings to the shrine. Many of these are of great value, although of
course not equalling the splendour of those displayed upon and around
the image. Some evidence considerable eccentricity in the donors, such
as the king of Saxony's wedding-suit, a full court costume of gold
and silver brocade, estimated at I forget how many thousand crowns;
others, again, are of a devotional type—silver statuettes of saints,
crucifixes, and church vessels; but the majority of gifts comprise
necklaces, gold chains, rings, brooches, watches, cups, flagons,
silver hearts—contributions from every nation and every class—from the
gemmed _sevigné_ that lately sparkled in the saloons of the Quartier
St Germain, to the coral pendants a poor _contadina_ has proffered in
gratitude for last year's vintage.
At a moderate computation, the present collection would amply stock a
score of jewellers' shops; nevertheless, as a grey-haired sacristan
informed us with a sigh, it is not worthy to be named in the same
breath with the glories of the ancient treasury.
Thence we were reconducted to the church, to see the mosaic pictures
in the side-chapels, full-sized admirable copies of celebrated
masters, and of course most valuable from the tedium and minuteness
requisite in their execution. Besides these, there are some originals
by Guercino, and other celebrated artists, their subjects mostly
referring to different passages in the life of the Virgin, as supplied
by legends of the east, the writings of Dionysius the Areopagite, and
other traditional sources. But of all the monuments of the piety or
ostentation of the Roman pontiffs, who for centuries lavished large
sums on the adornment of this edifice, nothing can compete with the
marble casing that encloses the Santa Casa. This costly monument of
the best times of Italian art, projected by Julius II., was commenced
under Leo X.; and in its execution the most eminent sculptors seem
to have vied in leaving worthy memorials of their skill. Designed by
Bramante—Sansovino, Bandinelli, Giovanni da Bologna, besides others
scarcely less illustrious, were employed on the bass-reliefs, and
those groups of prophets and sibyls, which in majestic beauty still
rivet the admiration of the beholder. There is a figure of Jeremiah, by
Sansovino, at the angle of the western façade, the sublime mournfulness
of which haunts me even now.
We were still engaged in our survey, when we were joined by my cousins'
friend the canonico, panting for breath, who had come to remind us of
our engagement. Accordingly, we adjourned _en masse_ to his habitation,
situated in a very miserable narrow street, or rather lane; and
climbing up a steep, dark, and indescribably dirty staircase, arrived
at last at the _ultimo piano_, where the door was opened with many
courtesies by a middle-aged, demure-looking personage, introduced by
the canonico as La Signora Placida, his niece and housekeeper.
The entrance-hall was in the usual style of dwellings of this
description, with four carved-back settles or benches, some
undistinguishable oil-paintings in frames that had once been gilded, a
clothes-horse, a broom, and dust-pan—whose offices were mere sinecures,
to judge by the appearance of the floor—and so on. From this we were
ushered into the _sala_, which contained a horse-hair sofa, so hard
and high that one was perpetually slipping off, and six chairs to
correspond; a folded card-table whereon stood a silver _lucerna_,
and a press with glass doors, in which a set of cups and saucers was
displayed.
To accommodate their numerous guests, our host and his niece brought
in a number of chairs from adjoining rooms, and seated us with
great bustle and ceremony; an operation diversified by the Signora
Placida's continually darting into some obscure region of the
house, whence she could be overheard disputing with a shrill-voiced
attendant, or energetically clattering glasses and plates, in a
manner that singularly belied her name. Meantime the canonico talked
and gesticulated, patted the youngest midshipman on the head, to
his evident disgust, entertained Madame V—— with the history of his
relative, on whose virtues he pronounced a glowing panegyric, and
recounted to the consul the latest miracles performed at the Santa
Casa, while he shook his finger playfully at my cousins, as if menacing
them with a return to their ancient hostilities. Presently the circle
received an addition in the shape of another priest, Don Antonio, a
great friend of our canonico's, and almost as rosy, and pursy, and
jovial as himself, who now came to have his share of the good things
and see the _forestieri_.
This was one of those quaint Italian friendships I have so often
noticed. It commenced in boyhood at the seminary, had been renewed on
our host's establishing himself at Loretto, and would probably continue
unbroken till the end of their days. Regularly as clock-work used Don
Antonio to come every evening to make _la società_—limited to himself,
I believe—play at cards, and discuss the petty scandal of the place.
I asked him if they ever read, at which he shrugged his shoulders, and
said that after going through the daily office in the breviary, for his
part he must own he had had enough of study. This facetious response
was loudly echoed by the canonico, and they laughed over it in chorus,
with a sound more resembling the shaking of stones in a barrel than any
human manifestation of hilarity.
The chocolate was now brought in by the _serva_, and handed to us
by the two friends and the niece. It was made thick, and served in
cups without handles, and teaspoons not being apparently considered
requisite, the uninitiated found some difficulty in discussing it with
propriety; but after watching our entertainers, we perceived that the
approved method was to steep in it morsels of rusks which had been
distributed at the same time, and then convey them daintily to one's
lips through the medium of the thumb and forefinger. This was followed
by trays of ices and sweetmeats from the caffè, the canonico observing
significantly, he well remembered the signorine were always fond of
_dolci_; and when, to please him, every one had eaten as much as he
possibly could, he insisted on pouring all the remaining bon-bons into
our handkerchiefs, to amuse us, as he expressed it, on our way home.
When it was time to think of going, he declared we must first see
the house, and took us into a small adjoining room, containing a
writing-table with a dried-up inkstand, and two or three shelves
adorned with some very dusty, dry-looking folios in parchment covers.
This den, he told us, he retired to when he studied or had letters to
write—both rare occurrences, it was evident. Next we were shown the
dining-room, with no furniture but a table and rush-bottomed chairs,
and opening into the kitchen—a custom also generally followed in houses
of higher pretensions, but opposed to all our notions of quiet or
refinement; and, lastly, into his and the niece's sleeping apartments,
in each a clumsy wooden bedstead, rickety chest of drawers—on which,
under a glass shade, stood a figure of the infant St John in wax, with
staring blue eyes and flaxen curls—two chairs, the usual tripod-shaped
washing-stand, and an engraving of some devotional subject, with a
crucifix, a little receptacle for holy water, and a palm that had been
blessed at Easter, hanging near the pillow. You may enter a hundred
bed-rooms in families of the middle class in this part of Italy, and
see them fitted up after the same pattern; those of the provincial
nobility have a little more display in mirrors or pictures, but no
greater comfort.
The introduction of all the visitors into the canonico's chamber was
not, I suspect, wholly without design; for our attention was speedily
attracted to a _cotta_ or alb of fine white cambric lying upon the bed;
the most elaborate specimen of the art of _crimping_ it was possible
to behold. The niece immediately held it up for our closer inspection,
while the uncle stood by smiling; and in answer to our praises of the
exquisite designs of flowers, leaves, &c., with which it was wrought,
entirely by a manual process, told us it was the work of the nuns of
a particular order—I forget the name—a very strict one, moreover, who,
by way of serving the altar, dedicate themselves to the preparation of
this part of the priestly vestments. This marvellous example of fine
plaiting, however, was but the least recommendation of the ephod, which
was trimmed with a deep flounce of the most magnificent point-lace.
“Look at that, look at that!” chuckled the canonico, rubbing his hands
with glee; “that is the lace which all the ladies of Loretto, and
Recanati, and Macerata—yes, all of them together—are envious of, when
I walk in the procession of the Corpus Domini. I have been offered
five hundred dollars for it by a Russian princess who came here on a
pilgrimage; but I could not make up my mind to part with it. Look at
that tracery—look at that ground, it is perfect—not a thread broken;”
and he descanted on it with the zest of a connoisseur.
When he paused in his raptures—“Signor Canonico,” meekly suggested La
Signora Placida, “may I fetch the stole you have just had worked?”
“Ah, the little vain thing!” was the rejoinder; “she is so proud of my
vestments! It is a trifle though—Well, well, bring it out.” And from
a long pasteboard box, duly enveloped in tissue paper, the Signora
Placida drew forth a gorgeous stole, the original texture cloth of
silver, but almost concealed by raised embroidery in gold.
“The canonico has not worn this yet; it is for the great
_funzione_—that is, church ceremony—of the Madonna in August,” said the
niece, with as much earnestness as if she were a lady's-maid talking
of her mistress's preparations for a ball, and disposing it so that it
might be viewed to the greatest advantage. It really was beautiful as a
work of art, due to the skill, as Don Antonio informed us, of another
set of nuns, who exclusively applied themselves to needlework in gold
and silver.
The pleasure this good man took in the display of his friend's
possessions impressed me very favourably. “_Per Bacco!_” he exclaimed,
handling the vestment with respect—“each time I see it, it strikes me
more! It is worth—ss—ss—ss—ss,” emitting a long sibillatory whistle,
expressive in the Marche of something unlimited, whether of good cheer,
astonishment, money, or so forth.
“_Via, via_,” said the canonico modestly, “it is not much a poor priest
can do. Still, we may place it at the same value as the lace, and be
within the mark.”
Our reiterated admiration evidently enchanted the trio; in fact, it
was altogether with the most amiable feelings, and with mutual thanks
and protestations, we took our leave, the politeness of our entertainer
and Don Antonio leading them to give us their company in visiting the
bishop's palace and the Farmacea, or pharmacy of the Santa Casa, the
last renowned for its collection of _majolica_, consisting of three
hundred vases coloured from designs by Raphael and his pupils.
No adventures befell us in these perambulations, except that we were
more beset and pestered than before, if possible, by the beggars, who
followed us in troops, and for whom I learned, with astonishment, no
alms-house or refuge of any kind existed. Concluding our sight-seeing
with another visit to the Santa Casa, there remained but time for
a hasty dinner, ere we set out on our return to Ancona—the state of
the neighbourhood, as we were repeatedly reminded, necessitating our
departure in broad day-light.
The usual scene of clamour, begging, imprecations, and blessings
attended our exist from Loretto, a place which presents the strongest
contrast of wealth and poverty it has ever been my lot to witness, or
entered my imagination to conceive.