ROME, THE CITY OF RUINS.
Rome itself, the city of ruins, now became the object of a wholly
different sort of piety from that of the time when the ‘Mirabilia Romæ’
and the collection of William of Malmesbury were composed. The
imaginations of the devout pilgrim, or of the seeker after marvels[406]
and treasures, are supplanted in contemporary records by the interests
of the patriot and the historian. In this sense we must understand
Dante’s words,[407] that the stones of the walls of Rome deserve
reverence, and that the ground on which the city is built is more worthy
than men say. The jubilees, incessant as they were, have scarcely left a
single devout record in literature properly so called. The best thing
that Giovanni Villani (p. 73) brought back from the jubilee of the year
1300 was the resolution to write his history which had been awakened in
him by the sight of the ruins of Rome. Petrarch gives evidence of a
taste divided between classical and Christian antiquity. He tells us how
often with Giovanni Colonna he ascended the mighty vaults of the Baths
of Diocletian,[408] and there in the transparent air, amid the wide
silence, with the broad panorama stretching far around them, they spoke,
not of business, or political affairs, but of the history which the
ruins beneath their feet suggested, Petrarch appearing in their
dialogues as the partisan of classical, Giovanni of Christian antiquity;
then they would discourse of philosophy and of the inventors of the
arts. How often since that time, down to the days of Gibbon and Niebuhr,
have the same ruins stirred men’s minds to the same reflections!
This double current of feeling is also recognisable in the ‘Dittamondo’
of Fazio degli Uberti, composed about the year 1360--a description of
visionary travels, in which the author is accompanied by the old
geographer Solinus, as Dante was by Virgil. They visit Bari in memory of
St. Nicholas, and Monte Gargano of the archangel Michael, and in Rome
the legends of Araceli and of Santa Maria in Trastevere are mentioned.
Still, the pagan splendour of ancient Rome unmistakably exercises a
greater charm upon them. A venerable matron in torn garments--Rome
herself is meant--tells them of the glorious past, and gives them a
minute description of the old triumphs;[409] she then leads the
strangers through the city, and points out to them the seven hills and
many of the chief ruins--‘che comprender potrai, quanto fui bella.’
Unfortunately this Rome of the schismatic and Avignonese popes was no
longer, in respect of classical remains, what it had been some
generations earlier. The destruction of 140 fortified houses of the
Roman nobles by the senator Brancaleone in 1257 must have wholly altered
the character of the most important buildings then standing; for the
nobles had no doubt ensconced themselves in the loftiest and
best-preserved of the ruins.[410] Nevertheless, far more was left than
we now find, and probably many of the remains had still their marble
incrustation, their pillared entrances, and their other ornaments, where
we now see nothing but the skeleton of brickwork. In this state of
things, the first beginnings of a topographical study of the old city
were made.
In Poggio’s walks through Rome[411] the study of the remains themselves
is for the first time more intimately combined with that of the ancient
authors and inscriptions--the latter he sought out from among all the
vegetation in which they were imbedded[412]--the writer’s imagination is
severely restrained, and the memories of Christian Rome carefully
excluded. The only pity is that Poggio’s work was not fuller and was not
illustrated with sketches. Far more was left in his time than was found
by Raphael eighty years later. He saw the tomb of Cæcilia Metella and
the columns in front of one of the temples on the slope of the Capitol
first in full preservation, and then afterwards half destroyed, owing to
that unfortunate quality which marble possesses of being easily burnt
into lime. A vast colonnade near the Minerva fell piecemeal a victim to
the same fate. A witness in the year 1443 tells us that this manufacture
of lime still went on; ‘which is a shame, for the new buildings are
pitiful, and the beauty of Rome is in its ruins.’[413] The inhabitants
of that day, in their peasants’ cloaks and boots, looked to foreigners
like cowherds; and in fact the cattle were pastured in the city up to
the Banchi. The only opportunities for social gatherings were the
services at church, on which occasion it was possible to get a sight of
the beautiful women.
In the last years of Eugenius IV. (d. 1447) Blondus of Forli wrote his
‘Roma Instaurata,’ making use of Frontinus and of the old ‘Libri
Regionali,’ as well as, it seems, of Anastasius. His object is not only
the description of what existed, but still more the recovery of what was
lost. In accordance with the dedication to the Pope, he consoles himself
for the general ruin by the thought of the precious relics of the saints
in which Rome was so rich.[414]
With Nicholas V. (1447-1455) that new monumental spirit which was
distinctive of the age of the Renaissance appeared on the papal throne.
The new passion for embellishing the city brought with it on the one
hand a fresh danger for the ruins, on the other a respect for them, as
forming one of Rome’s claims to distinction. Pius II. was wholly
possessed by antiquarian enthusiasm, and if he speaks little of the
antiquities of Rome,[415] he closely studied those of all other parts of
Italy, and was the first to know and describe accurately the remains
which abounded in the districts for miles around the capital.[416] It is
true that, both as priest and cosmographer, he is interested alike in
classical and Christian monuments and in the marvels of nature. Or was
he doing violence to himself when he wrote that Nola was more highly
honoured by the memory of St. Paulinus than by all its classical
reminiscences and by the heroic struggle of Marcellus? Not, indeed, that
his faith in relics was assumed; but his mind was evidently rather
disposed to an inquiring interest in nature and antiquity, to a zeal for
monumental works, to a keen and delicate observation of human life. In
the last years of his Papacy, afflicted with the gout and yet in the
most cheerful mood, he was borne in his litter over hill and dale to
Tusculum, Alba, Tibur, Ostia, Falerii, and Ocriculum, and whatever he
saw he noted down. He followed the line of the Roman roads and
aqueducts, and tried to fix the boundaries of the old tribes who dwelt
round the city. On an excursion to Tivoli with the great Federigo of
Urbino the time was happily spent in talk on the military system of the
ancients, and particularly on the Trojan war. Even on his journey to the
Congress of Mantua (1459) he searched, though unsuccessfully, for the
labyrinth of Clusium mentioned by Pliny, and visited the so-called villa
of Virgil on the Mincio. That such a Pope should demand a classical
Latin style from his abbreviators, is no more than might be expected. It
was he who, in the war with Naples, granted an amnesty to the men of
Arpinum, as countrymen of Cicero and Marius, after whom many of them
were named. It was to him alone, as both judge and patron, that Blondus
could dedicate his ‘Roma Triumphans,’ the first great attempt at a
complete exposition of Roman antiquity.[417]
Nor was the enthusiasm for the classical past of Italy confined at this
period to the capital. Boccaccio[418] had already called the vast ruins
of Baiæ ‘old walls, yet new for modern spirits;’ and since this time
they were held to be the most interesting sight near Naples. Collections
of antiquities of all sorts now became common. Ciriaco of Ancona (d.
1457), who explained (1433) the Roman monuments to the Emperor
Sigismund, travelled, not only through Italy, but through other
countries of the old world, Hellas, and the islands of the Archipelago,
and even parts of Asia and Africa, and brought back with him countless
inscriptions and sketches. When asked why he took all this trouble, he
replied, ‘To wake the dead.’[419] The histories of the various cities of
Italy had from the earliest times laid claim to some true or imagined
connection with Rome, had alleged some settlement or colonisation which
started from the capital;[420] and the obliging manufacturers of
pedigrees seem constantly to have derived various families from the
oldest and most famous blood of Rome. So highly was the distinction
valued, that men clung to it even in the light of the dawning criticism
of the fifteenth century. When Pius II. was at Viterbo[421] he said
frankly to the Roman deputies who begged him to return, ‘Rome is as much
at home as Siena, for my House, the Piccolomini, came in early times
from the capital to Siena, as is proved by the constant use of the names
Æneas and Sylvius in my family.’ He would probably have had no objection
to be held a descendant of the Julii. Paul II., a Barbo of Venice, found
his vanity flattered by deducing his House, notwithstanding an adverse
pedigree, according to which it came from Germany, from the Roman
Ahenobarbus, who led a colony to Parma, and whose successors were driven
by party conflicts to migrate to Venice.[421A] That the Massimi claimed
descent from Q. Fabius Maximus, and the Cornaro from the Cornelii,
cannot surprise us. On the other hand, it is a strikingly exceptional
fact for the sixteenth century that the novellist Bandello tried to
connect his blood with a noble family of Ostrogoths (i. nov. 23).
To return to Rome. The inhabitants, ‘who then called themselves Romans,’
accepted greedily the homage which was offered them by the rest of
Italy. Under Paul II., Sixtus IV., and Alexander VI. magnificent
processions formed part of the Carnival, representing the scene most
attractive to the imagination of the time--the triumph of the Roman
Imperator. The sentiment of the people expressed itself naturally in
this shape and others like it. In this mood of public feeling, a report
arose, that on April 15, 1485, the corpse of a young Roman lady of the
classical period--wonderfully beautiful and in perfect preservation--had
been discovered.[422] Some Lombard masons digging out an ancient tomb on
an estate of the convent of Santa Maria Novella, on the Appian Way
beyond the Cæcilia Metella, were said to have found a marble sarcophagus
with the inscription, ‘Julia, daughter of Claudius.’ On this basis the
following story was built. The Lombards disappeared with the jewels and
treasure which were found with the corpse in the sarcophagus. The body
had been coated with an antiseptic essence, and was as fresh and
flexible as that of a girl of fifteen the hour after death. It was said
that she still kept the colours of life, with eyes and mouth half open.
She was taken to the palace of the ‘Conservatori’ on the Capitol; and
then a pilgrimage to see her began. Among the crowd were many who came
to paint her; ‘for she was more beautiful than can be said or written,
and, were it said or written, it would not be believed by those who had
not seen her.’ By the order of Innocent VIII. she was secretly buried
one night outside the Pincian Gate; the empty sarcophagus remained in
the court of the ‘Conservatori.’ Probably a coloured mask of wax or some
other material was modelled in the classical style on the face of the
corpse, with which the gilded hair of which we read would harmonise
admirably. The touching point in the story is not the fact itself, but
the firm belief that an ancient body, which was now thought to be at
last really before men’s eyes, must of necessity be far more beautiful
than anything of modern date.
Meanwhile the material knowledge of old Rome was increased by
excavations. Under Alexander VI. the so-called ‘Grotesques,’ that is,
the mural decorations of the ancients, were discovered, and the Apollo
of the Belvedere was found at Porto d’Anzo. Under Julius II. followed
the memorable discoveries of the Laöcoon, of the Venus of the Vatican,
of the Torso, of the Cleopatra.[423] The palaces of the nobles and the
cardinals began to be filled with ancient statues and fragments. Raphael
undertook for Leo X. that ideal restoration of the whole ancient city
which his celebrated letter (1518 or 1519) speaks of.[424] After a
bitter complaint over the devastations which had not even then ceased,
and which had been particularly frequent under Julius II., he beseeches
the Pope to protect the few relics which were left to testify to the
power and greatness of that divine soul of antiquity whose memory was
inspiration to all who were capable of higher things. He then goes on
with penetrating judgment to lay the foundations of a comparative
history of art, and concludes by giving the definition of an
architectural survey which has been accepted since his time; he requires
the ground plan, section, and elevation separately of every building
that remained. How archæology devoted itself after his day to the study
of the venerated city and grew into a special science, and how the
Vitruvian Academy at all events proposed to itself great aims,[425]
cannot here be related. Let us rather pause at the days of Leo X., under
whom the enjoyment of antiquity combined with all other pleasures to
give to Roman life a unique stamp and consecration.[426] The Vatican
resounded with song and music, and their echoes were heard through the
city as a call to joy and gladness, though Leo did not succeed thereby
in banishing care and pain from his own life, and his deliberate
calculation to prolong his days by cheerfulness was frustrated by an
early death.[427] The Rome of Leo, as described by Paolo Giovio, forms a
picture too splendid to turn away from, unmistakable as are also its
darker aspects--the slavery of those who were struggling to rise; the
secret misery of the prelates, who, notwithstanding heavy debts, were
forced to live in a style befitting their rank; the system of literary
patronage, which drove men to be parasites or adventurers; and, lastly,
the scandalous maladministration of the finances of the state.[428] Yet
the same Ariosto who knew and ridiculed all this so well, gives in the
sixth satire a longing picture of his expected intercourse with the
accomplished poets who would conduct him through the city of ruins, of
the learned counsel which he would there find for his own literary
efforts, and of the treasures of the Vatican library. These, he says,
and not the long-abandoned hope of Medicean protection, were the real
baits which attracted him, when he was asked to go as Ferrarese
ambassador to Rome.
But the ruins within and outside Rome awakened not only archæological
zeal and patriotic enthusiasm, but an elegiac or sentimental melancholy.
In Petrarch and Boccaccio we find touches of this feeling (pp. 177,
181). Poggio (p. 181) often visited the temple of Venus and Rome, in the
belief that it was that of Castor and Pollux, where the senate used so
often to meet, and would lose himself in memories of the great orators
Crassus, Hortensius, Cicero. The language of Pius II., especially in
describing Tivoli, has a thoroughly sentimental ring,[429] and soon
afterwards (1467) appeared the first pictures of ruins, with, a
commentary by Polifilo.[430] Ruins of mighty arches and colonnades, half
hid in plane-trees, laurels, cypresses, and brushwood, figure in his
pages. In the sacred legends it became the custom, we can hardly say
how, to lay the scene of the birth of Christ in the ruins of a
magnificent palace.[431] That artificial ruins became afterwards a
necessity of landscape gardening, is only a practical consequence of
this feeling.