f, apart from all that concerns the priests and the monks, we
attempt to measure the strength of the old faith, it will be found
great or small according to the light in which it is considered. We
have spoken already of the need felt for the Sacraments as something
indispensable. Let us now glance for a moment at the position of faith
and worship in daily life. Both were determined partly by the habits of
the people and partly by the policy and example of the rulers.
All that has to do with penitence and the attainment of salvation by
means of good works was in much the one stage of development or
corruption as in the North of Europe, both among the peasantry and
among the poorer inhabitants of the cities. The instructed classes were
sometimes influenced by the same motives. Those sides of popular
Catholicism which had their origin in the old pagan ways of invoking,
rewarding, and propitiating the gods have fixed themselves ineradicably
in the consciousness of the people. The eighth eclogue of Battista
Mantovano, which has already been quoted elsewhere, contains the prayer
of a peasant to the Madonna, in which she is called upon as the special
patroness of all rustic and agricultural interests. And what
conceptions they were which the people formed of their protectress in
heaven. What was in the mind of the Florentine woman who gave 'ex voto'
a keg of wax to the Annunziata, because her lover, a monk, had
gradually emptied a barrel of wine without her absent husband finding
it out. Then, too, as still in our own days, different departments of
human life were presided over by their respective patrons.
The attempt has often been made to explain a number of the commonest
rites of the Catholic Church as remnants of pagan ceremonies, and no
one doubts that many local and popular usages, which are associated
with religious festivals, are forgotten fragments of the old
pre-Christian faiths of Europe. In Italy, on the contrary, we find
instances in which the affiliation of the new faith to the old seems
consciously recognized. So, for example, the custom of setting out food
for the dead four days before the feast of the Chair of St. Peter, that
is to say, on February 18, the date of the ancient Feralia. Many other
practices of this kind may then have prevailed and have since then been
extirpated. Perhaps the paradox is only apparent if we say that the
popular faith in Italy had a solid foundation just in proportion as it
was pagan.
The extent to which this form of belief prevailed in the upper classes
can to a certain point be shown in detail. It had, as we have said in
speaking of the influence of the clergy, the power of custom and early
impressions on its side. The love for ecclesiastical pomp and display
helped to confirm it, and now and then there came one of those
epidemics of revivalism, which few even among the scoffers and the
sceptics were able to withstand.
But in questions of this kind it is perilous to grasp too hastily at
absolute results. We might fancy, for example, that the feeling of
educated men towards the relics of the saints would be a key by which
some chambers of their religious consciousness might be opened. And in
fact, some difference of degree may be demonstrable, though by no means
as clearly as might be wished. The Government of Venice in the
fifteenth century seems to have fully shared in the reverence felt
throughout the rest of Europe for the remains of the bodies of the
saints. Even strangers who lived in Venice found it well to adapt
themselves to this superstition. If we can judge of scholarly Padua
from the testimony of its topographer Michele Savonarola, things must
have been much the same there. With a mixture of pride and pious awe,
Michele tells us how in times of great danger the saints were heard to
sigh at night along the streets of the city, how the hair and nails on
the corpse of a holy nun in Santa Chiara kept continually growing, and
how the same corpse. when any disaster was impending, used to make a
noise and lift up the arms. When he sets to work to describe the chapel
of St. Anthony in the Santo, the writer loses himself in ejaculations
and fantastic dreams. In Milan the people at least showed a fanatical
devotion to relics; and when once, in the year 1517, the monks of San
Simpliciano were careless enough to expose six holy corpses during
certain alterations of the high altar, which event was followed by
heavy floods of rain, the people attributed the visitation to this
sacrilege, and gave the monks a sound beating whenever they met them in
the street. In other parts of Italy, and even in the case of the Popes
themselves, the sincerity of this feeling is much more dubious, though
here, too, a positive conclusion is hardly attainable. It is well known
amid what general enthusiasm Pius II solemnly deposited the head of the
Apostle Andrew, which had been brought from Greece, and then from San
Maura, in the Church of St. Peter (1462); but we gather from his own
narrative that he only did it from a kind of shame, as so many princes
were competing for the relic. It was not till afterwards that the idea
struck him of making Rome the common refuge for all the remains of the
saints which had been driven from their own churches. Under Sixtus IV,
the population of the city was still more zealous in this cause than
the Pope himself, and the magistracy (1483) complained bitterly that
Sixtus had sent to Louis XI, the dying King of France, some specimens
of the Lateran relics. A courageous voice was raised about thin time at
Bologna, advising the sale of the skull of St. Dominic to the King of
Spain, and the application of the money to some useful public object.
But those who had the least reverence of all for the relics were the
Florentines. Between the decision to honour their saint, St. Zanobi,
with a new sarcophagus and the final execution of the project by
Ghiberti, ten years elapsed (1432-42) and then it only happened by
chance, because the master had executed a smaller order of the same
kind with great skill (1428).
Perhaps through being tricked by a cunning Neapolitan abbess (1352),
who sent them a spurious arm of the patroness of the Cathedral, Santa
Reparata, made of wood and plaster, they began to get tired of relics.
Or perhaps it would be truer to say that their aesthetic sense turned
them away in disgust from dismembered corpses and mouldy clothes. Or
perhaps their feeling was rather due to that sense of glory which
thought Dante and Petrarch worthier of a splendid grave than all the
twelve apostles put together. It is probable that throughout Italy,
apart from Venice and from Rome, the condition of which latter city was
exceptional, the worship of relics had long been giving way to the
adoration of the Madonna, at all events to a greater extent than
elsewhere in Europe; and in this fact lies indirect evidence of an
early development of the aesthetic sense.
It may be questioned whether in the North, where the vastest cathedrals
are clearly all dedicated to Our Lady, and where an extensive branch of
Latin and indigenous poetry sang the praises of the Mother of God, a
greater devotion to her was impossible. In Italy, however, the number
of miraculous pictures of the Virgin was far greater, and the part they
played in the daily life of the people much more important. Every town
of any size contained a quantity of them, from the ancient, or
ostensibly ancient, paintings by St. Luke, down to the works of
contemporaries, who not seldom lived to see the miracles wrought by
their own handiwork. The work of art was in these cases by no means as
harmless as Battista Mantovano thinks; sometimes it suddenly acquired a
magical virtue. The popular craving for the miraculous, especially
strong in women, may have been fully satisfied by these pictures, and
for this reason the relics been less regarded. It cannot be said with
certainty how far the respect for genuine relics suffered from the
ridicule which the novelist aimed at the spurious. The attitude of the
educated classes in Italy towards Mariolatry, or the worship of the
Virgin, is more clearly recognizable than towards the worship of
images. One cannot but be struck with the fact that in Italian
literature Dante's 'Paradise' is the last poem in honour of the Virgin,
while among the people hymns in her praise have been constantly
produced down to our own day. The names of Sannazaro and Sabellico and
other writers of Latin poems prove little on the other side, since the
object with which they wrote was chiefly literary. The poems written in
Italian in the fifteenth and at the beginning of the sixteenth
centuries, in which we meet with genuine religious feeling, such as the
hymns of Lorenzo the Magnificent, and the sonnets of Vittoria Colonna
and of Michelangelo might have been just as well composed by
Protestants. Besides the lyrical expression of faith in God, we chiefly
notice in them the sense of sin, the consciousness of deliverance
through the death of Christ, the longing for a better world. The
intercessiOn of the Mother of God is only mentioned by the way. The
same phenomenon is repeated in the classical literature of the French
at the time of Louis XIV. Not till the time of the Counter-Reformation
did Mariolatry reappear in the higher Italian poetry. Meanwhile the
visual arts had certainly done their utmost to glorify the Madonna. It
may be added that the worship of the saints among the educated classes
often took an essentially pagan form.
We might thus critically examine the various sides of Italian
Catholicism at this period, and so establish with a certain degree of
probability the attitude of the instructed classes towards popular
faith. Yet an absolute and positive result cannot be reached. We meet
with contrasts hard to explain. While architects, painters, and
sculptors were working with restless activity in and for the churches,
we hear at the beginning of the sixteenth century the bitterest
complaints of the neglect of public worship and of these churches
themselves.
It is well known how Luther was scandalized by the irreverence with
which the priests in Rome said Mass. And at the same time the feasts of
the Church were celebrated with a taste and magnificence of which
Northern countries had no conception. It looks as if this most
imaginative of nations was easily tempted to neglect everyday things,
and as easily captivated by anything extraordinary.
It is to this excess of imagination that we must attribute the epidemic
of religious revivals upon which we shall again say a few words. They
must be clearly distinguished from the excitement called forth by the
great preachers. They were rather due to general public calamities, or
to the dread of such.
In the Middle Ages all Europe was from time to time flooded by these
great tides, which carried away whole peoples in their waves. The
Crusades and the Flagellant revival are instances. Italy took part in
both of these movements. The first great companies of flagellants
appeared, immediately after the fall of Ezzelino and his house, in the
neighbourhood of the same Perugia which has been already spoken of as
the headquarters of the revivalist preachers. Then followed the
flagellants of 1310 and 1334, and then the great pilgrimage without
encouraging in the year 1349, which Corio has recorded. It is not
impossible that the Jubilees were founded partly in order to regulate
and render harmless this sinister passion for vagabondage which seized
on the whole populations at times of religious excitement. The great
sanctuaries of Italy, such as Loreto and others, had meantime become
famous, and no doubt diverted a certain part of this enthusiasm.
But terrible crises had still at a much later time the power to
reawaken the glow of mediaeval penitence, and the conscience - stricken
people, often still further appalled by signs and wonders, sought to
move the pity of Heaven by wailings and scourgings. So it was at
Bologna when the plague came in 1457, and so in 1496 at a time of
internal discord at Siena) to mention two only out of countless
instances. No more moving scene can be imagined than that which we read
of at Milan in 1529) when famine, plague, and war conspired with
Spanish extortion to reduce the city to the lowest depths of despair.
It chanced that the monk who had the ear of the people, Fra Tomasso
Nieto, was himself a Spaniard. The Host was borne along in a novel
fashion, amid barefooted crowds of old and young. It was placed on a
decorated bier, which rested on the shoulders of four priests in linen
garments--an imitation of the Ark of the Covenant which the children of
Israel once carried round the walls of Jericho. Thus did the afflicted
people of Milan remind their ancient God of His old covenant with man;
and when the procession again entered the cathedral, and it seemed as
if the vast building must fall in with the agonized cry of
'Misericordia!', many who stood there may have believed that the
Almighty would indeed subvert the laws of nature and of history, and
send a miraculous deliverance.
There was one government in Italy, that of Duke Ercole I of Ferrara,
which assumed the direction of public feeling, and compelled the
popular revivals to move in regular channels. At the time when
Savonarola was powerful in Florence, and the movement which he began
spread far and wide among the population of Central Italy, the people
of Ferrara voluntarily entered on a general fast (at the beginning of
1496). A Lazarist announced from the pulpit the approach of a season of
war and famine such as the world had never seen; but the Madonna had
assured some pious people that these evils might be avoided by fasting.
Upon this, the court itself had no choice but to fast, but it took the
conduct of the public devotions into its own hands. On Easter Day, the
3rd of April, a proclamation on morals and religion was published,
forbidding blasphemy, prohibiting games, sodomy, concubinage, the
letting of houses to prostitutes or panders, and the opening of all
shops on feast days, excepting those of the bakers and greengrocers.
The Jews and Moors, who had taken refuge from the Spaniards at Ferrara,
were now again compelled to wear the yellow O upon the breast.
Contraveners were threatened, not only with the punishments already
provided by law, but also 'with such severer penalties as the Duke
might think good to inflict.' After this, the Duke and the court went
several days in succession to hear sermons in church, and on the 10th
of April all the Jews in Ferrara were compelled to do the same. On the
3rd of May, the director of police, Zampante, sent the crier to
announce that whoever had given money to the police-officers in order
not to be denounced as a blasphemer, might, if he came forward, have it
back with a further indemnification. These wicked officers, he said,
had extorted as much as two or three ducats from innocent persons by
threatening to lodge an information against them. They had then
mutually informed against one another, and so had all found their way
into prison. But as the money had been paid precisely in order not to
have to do with Zampante, it is probable that his proclamation induced
few people to come forward. In the year 1500, after the fall of
Lodovico il Moro, when a similar outbreak of popular feeling took
place, Ercole ordered a series of nine processions, in which there were
4,000 children dressed in white, bearing the standard of Jesus. He
himself rode on horseback, as he could not walk without difficulty. An
edict was afterwards published of the same kind as that of 1496. It is
well known how many churches and monasteries were built by this ruler.
He even sent for a live saint, the Suor Colomba, shortly before he
married his son Alfonso to Lucrezia Borgia (1502). A special messenger
fetched the saint with fifteen other nuns from Viterbo, and the Duke
himself conducted her on her arrival at Ferrara into a convent prepared
for her reception. We shall probably do him no injustice if we
attribute all these measures very largely to political calculation. To
the conception of government formed by the House of Este, this
employment of religion for the ends of statecraft belongs by a kind of
logical necessity.