The Graves of the Saints
A week in Rome was spent mostly in pilgrimage, hunting down some of the less famous holy sites (as well as the usual artistic pilgrimage). In fact, it was interesting to see some of the more famous sites with very few tourists, so perhaps, in retrospect, we should have taken the opportunity to go to the Vatican again.
One of the happy discoveries was San Giorgio in Velabro, which we hadn’t planned to visit, but just found open. It’s in the valley between the Capitoline and Palatine Hills, with a lovely Romanesque campanile, and an early medieval Ionic portico, in a surprisingly quiet spot. Just in front is the rather clumsy “Arch of Janus” which is actually a sort of shelter for fourth century market traders; “a work of the decadence” says the Blue Guide. Attached to the side of the church is a much finer classical monument, the Arcus Argentariorum, which dates from 204, and is a pretty monument erected by Rome’s moneychangers to the emperor Septimius Severus and family (who perhaps was not such a persecutor as Eusebius thought since this little arch was allowed to remain). San Giorgio has a timeless atmosphere, a rather dusty basilica, with sixteen random classical columns, and a fine thirteenth century altar with its canopy above. Under the altar in the proper place (for a basilica) are the relics of St George, brought there from Cappadocia around 750 by Pope Zachary. But not only is this the resting-place of St George, it was the titular church served by St John Henry Newman, so he will have celebrated at that altar, as Cardinal-Deacon of San Giorgio in Velabro. There is a memorial plaque on the south wall, but the Holy Cross fathers, who look after the church, do not seem to have cottoned on to the Newman connection, so nothing is made of it.
For the first time I was able to get into Santi Apostoli, next to the Colonna palace, and the parish church of the exiled Stuarts (the rather modest palazzo in which Bonnie Prince Charlie was born and died is yards away). It is surprisingly vast. There under the altar are the relics of the apostles St Philip and St James the Less (“Pip ‘n Jim” as they used to be known in Oxford), in a crypt decorated in the 1870s in the style of the catacombs, which is really atmospheric. Near the apostles’ tomb is the beautiful renaissance tomb of the father of Pope Julius (and brother of Sixtus IV). Also buried in the church are Bonnie Price Charlie’s mother and the great renaissance man Cardinal Bessarion, as well as the rather undistinguished Pope Clement XIV, who has a very distinguished monument by Canova. There were many other relics that we visited, but those will do for now.
The Rooms of the Saints
Another theme was rooms where saints lived or stayed. It was not possible to visit St Ignatius’s room beside the Gesu, but we managed three, and were thwarted with a fourth. Santa Maria Sopra Minerva (Rome’s only Gothic church, as one is always told, though it’s only partially true) is currently having works done, unspecified in nature, but which close the west end, so to gain admittance it is necessary to walk round the block (a surprisingly long way) to an entrance that brings you into the north transept. We did this as they readmitted visitors at 5pm one rainy day, but the friar opening up put very few lights on, so it was deeply gloomy and there was a very odd feel to the building, with the whole nave cordoned off and sunk in darkness. Still, the things you want to see are still accessible, most particularly the tomb of Blessed Fra Angelico, which is right beside you as you come in that funny entrance, and of course St Catherine of Siena’s effigy and tomb under the high altar. In the gloom most people didn’t even notice that there are coin-operated lights for some of the chapels, and so I performed a public service by illuminating the chapel with the beautiful Filippino Lippi frescoes of St Thomas Aquinas (though these are very expensive lights, 1 Euro per minute). Beside that chapel is the rather nice Cosmati tomb of Bishop William Durandus of Mende, a place of pilgrimage for liturgiologists (like me), because Durandus was the great medieval theorist of the liturgy, finding mystical meanings for everything that is done (or worn, or used) in church, not to mention church buildings themselves. What made this visit particularly special, though, was that we were able to see the room in which St Catherine died, which is at the far end of the Sacristy. In truth, it’s not terribly emotionally-charged, since it is clad up to the dado with very 1950s panelling, but at least you suppose that the two little windows are authentic, and its very smallness gives you a sense of the austerity of that remarkable woman’s life.
For austerity, though, St Gregory the Great’s stone slab on which he meditated (and perhaps slept) takes the prize. This is in the church that bears his name on the Caelian Hill, in a tiny room that was his cell, quite out of alignment with the baroque church. This was his monastery of St Andrew, from which he sent St Augustine to become the first archbishop of Canterbury, so it’s tantalising to have traces of the ancient buildings under the skin of the rather lovely later church. When modern archbishops of Canterbury come calling, the Pope generally takes them to Vespers at San Gregorio Magno, an action which is weighed down with significance.
On the site of St Gregory’s ancient monastery the outstanding saint of the twentieth century, Mother Teresa (St Teresa of Calcutta) set up her Rome headquarters, so you go through a garden gate beside the church, and there, at the end of a path, is the enclosure of the Missionaries of Charity. At specified times you can ring the bell and a sister will show you the cell in which Mother used to stay when she was in Rome. It’s small and very simple, and very evocative of the saint. In truth, it’s very like the cell she had in Mother House in Calcutta; in fact the whole enclosure looks terrifically Indian, which is a bit disconcerting. It seems really appropriate that this modern reformer of religious life (though she never thought of herself like that) should have acquired the use of that ancient monastic site.
The one saintly room we were thwarted in seeing was the room of St Dominic, where he lived for several years, and met St Francis, in the Dominican house adjoining Santa Sabina on the Aventine Hill. Sadly that’s only accessible on a guided tour, and they have been suspended. Santa Sabina, though, is terrific. I can see why it was Comper’s favourite. Interestingly, they keep it clear of chairs, as he liked his churches to be. It is a very beautiful authentic fifth century basilica, restored in the ninth and thirteenth centuries, but not much messed about. Terrific schola cantorum and ambones, and apse with marble and porphyry revetment. There is fifth century opus sectile inlay in the spandrels of the arches and round the apse, which appears to have a chalice and host design, but the only panel of mosaic left is on the west wall, with a huge inscription. Beneath that is the amazing fifth century door, with carved panels of astonishing vigour, including what is probably the oldest surviving image of the crucifixion in public art. That was really something to see.
Working Title
On our last morning we slipped into San Lorenzo in Lucina, which is on a quiet piazza just off the Corso, the smart shopping street. It’s another church that preserves its twelfth century façade, with an ionic portico and Romanesque campanile, though the interior has less charm. I was keen to see the tomb of Poussin, the great seventeenth century French classical painter, and also the relic of St Lawrence’s gridiron. As it happened, we couldn’t wander around, because Mass was being said, with a congregation of five. It was the feast of St Ignatius of Antioch. The celebrant, it slowly dawned on me, was a cardinal (for he was wearing his red zucchetto) so it must be the titular of the church. A swift google search subsequently revealed that this was correct, and that we had been present at the Mass of Cardinal Malcolm Ranjith, the archbishop of Colombo, and former secretary of the Congregation for Divine Worship. He was using the Roman Canon, but otherwise it was a very Vatican 2 sort of celebration, not really his style. Our seats at the back enabled us to view the tomb of Poussin, and the relic of the gridiron, so we got value for our brief stay.
Test and Trace
Back last winter it seemed a good idea to return to our honeymoon hotel to celebrate our first anniversary, and so that was what I arranged, for June. Obviously that was impossible, when the Foreign Office was advising against travel to Italy, and there were actually no flights anyway. The hotel very kindly asked if I wanted to rearrange (which they didn’t have to do) and so I picked a week in October which seemed feasible, and for which BA was offering flights. As Italy seemed to be coping better with the second wave, it didn’t seem such a bad idea, though BA told me five weeks ago that they had cancelled my flights and were rebooking me on earlier ones, so clearly they were consolidating flights because not so many people were travelling. As the date approached we became anxious that the “travel corridor” to Italy might be closed and that we might have to quarantine on return, but that didn’t happen. I was concerned to discover from an Italian website that their authorities would require us either to have had a COVID test within 72 hours prior to arrival, (how exactly do you do that without symptoms?) or to take a test on arrival, but that seemed a gamble worth taking. Then I was confused by the forms handed out on the (half empty) plane which implied that this was not necessary. It was; BA was wrong.
So, at Fiumicino, we found the COVID testing facility, queued up, and had a swab test. Then after waiting twenty minutes we were handed official certificates saying that at 6.30pm on Saturday 10th October, we had tested negative. Most efficient. That all seemed very easy, I have to say, though it would be a struggle if large numbers of people were actually travelling, which they aren’t.
No such testing available on the way home, though, on what turned out to be the last BA flight before arrivals from Rome became subject to fourteen days’ quarantine, a flight that was pretty full of rather nervous people. It turns out we were right to be nervous, as we have now had the message from NHS Test & Trace telling us that we have to self-isolate for fourteen days because we were in potential contact with someone who has tested positive (on that flight). What a bore!
