A stone for Saint Agnes

Today is the feast of Saint Agnes of Rome, who was killed during the Diocletian persecutions of the early fourth century. She was one of the first Christian virgin martyrs to gain a substantial cult outside of Rome, and it is possible that she might have more of a claim to historicity than some of her fellow virgin martyrs like Catherine of Alexandria, Lucy, Agatha, or Barbara. Her cult spread throughout Latin Christendom, and she was - and remains - typically associated with the lamb which is her main iconographical attribute. 

The main centre of her cult is the Church of Saint Agnes Outside the Walls, located in Rome. Its position outside the old city walls point to its origin as a Christian place of worship from before the legalisation of Christianity during the early reign of Constantine, although the church building itself is younger. At this church is found one of the surviving catacombs from the early Christian period, and it is a marvellous place for coming close to the everyday realities of Christian worship in this part of history. 

The church itself has undergone several changes in the course of the centuries, and like most churches in Rome it is a blend of different historical periods and styles. I was there for the first and so far only time in the early summer of 2023, when a friend and I co-presented at a conference. We had set aside one day for sightseeing and being both medievalists we went to Sant'Agnese Fuori le Muri to see one of the oldest of the surviving Roman churches. Unfortunately, our visit coincided with the funeral of a dignitary from Thailand, so there was limited opportunity for photography. However, we did get to see the old basilica, the catacombs, and one archaeological jewel that I came to appreciate greatly. The jewel in question is an old stone fragment, ostensibly part of a grave slab or a stone covering. Although it is broken, the words 'S[aint]' and 'Agnes' are still legible, and provide a quiet testimony of the craft and skill that has gone into furnishing the cult of Saint Agnes with various paraphernalia. The stone, although unassuming, is an important testament to the material dimension of the cult of saints, and it has been displayed in front of a marvellous apsis fresco which shows the cross of Christ standing atop a summit from whence the four rivers of Paradise burst forth. This combination of iconography also reminds us that like the Church of Saint Agnes itself, Christianity is a mish-mash of different ideas, different images, different impulses that more or less cohere into some sort of unity - which is what makes studying its history all the more interesting.  

Typological rejoicing for the feast of SS Peter and Paul

 

Today, June 29, is the feast of SS Peter and Paul, who are among Rome's patron saint, since Rome is both their place of martyrdom and their place of burial - at least according to the medieval tradition. Due to their historical connection to Rome, both Peter and Paul have been key figures in the construction of Rome's Christian identity. This identity has been predominantly orchestrated by the Papacy, but it has also been added to, perpetuated, disseminated and maintained by a range of other historical actors across the social hierarchy of medieval Rome.     

To map the many forms in which Peter and Paul have been used to construct and maintain Rome's identity would require a study of its own and at least one hefty monograph. Even today, Peter and Paul are ubiquitous in Rome, and they continue to provide a cornerstone for the city's identity. In this blogpost, therefore, I will only look at one aspect of this identity construction, one that I encountered by chance while I was preparing a talk on the issue of typological rejoicing. 

Before I return to Peter and Paul, however, it might be necessary to briefly explain what I mean by typological rejoicing. Typology, or the study of types, was one of the main keys through which medieval Christians understood their place in Creation. The term refers to the patterns and similarities - types - that can be found in the Old Testament, the New Testament, and the post-biblical period. In other words, typology reveals the pattern in God's plan, and through typological connections a person, a city, an institution, or a country can see itself as a new version of an old phenomenon. This connection across time - a connection divinely ordained - carries prestige as the glory of the earlier iterations, or types, is reflected onto the new iteration, or the antitype. (In this case, 'anti' does not mean contrary to.) 

Typological connections can be sought in many different ways, and one such way is rejoicing. Several biblical versions contain exhortations to rejoice or to be happy. Isaiah 52:9 tells deserted Jerusalem to rejoice because a better future will come, while Paul, in Philippians 4:4 tells the Christians in general to rejoice in the Lord always. Similarly, addressing a city, a country, or a people to be happy is another form of establishing a typological connection through joy. 

Lauds for the feast of SS Peter and Paul

Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France - Département des Manuscrits, Latin 1090, f.175v

One such typological connection can be found in the liturgy for the feast of SS Peter and Paul. The above manuscript page - from a late-twelfth-century antiphoner from Marseille, whose content can be found here, and a digitized version of which can be found here - contains chants for the hour Lauds on their feast. Lauds is celebrated around six hours after sundown, and is one of three important services in the daily round of the liturgical office, the performance of which is divided into eight slots in one twenty-four-hour cycle. Lauds is typically where the chants describe miracles of whichever saint is being celebrated on that particular day, and these are described in chants called antiphons, each of which is sung before and after a psalm from the Bible. There is also a hymn, and in our case here, the hymn is called 'O Roma felix', O happy Rome.

Rome is here called happy because it is the resting-place of two such important martyrs as Peter and Paul, two of the most important apostles and two of the most powerful saints in the Latin Christian collegium of saints. Importantly, in this chant, Rome is not only connected to Peter and Paul by way of containing the primary shrines of these two saints, but through its happiness the city is connected to biblical locations which also have reason to rejoice, such as Jerusalem (cf. Isaiah 66:10), Israel (Zephaniah 3:14) and Sion (Zechariah 2:10). Even though the wording is different - 'felix' instead of 'gaude' or 'laetare' - the point remains the same: Happiness brought on by the divine machinations of the Lord, which has ensured that the city or the country or the people can rejoice. 

By calling Rome happy, Rome's identity as a Christian city is further enhanced because its happiness is an echo of biblical events. This echo proves that God protects and guides Rome's progress through history. Moreover, since the happiness is caused by Rome being chosen as the location of two of the most important martyrdoms in Christian history, there is also a connection to the New Testament. This biblical, cosmic background is neatly summarized in the incipit, or opening words, of the hymn: 'O Roma felix'.  

O Roma felix - hymn for Lauds

Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France - Département des Manuscrits, Latin 1090, f.175v

Saint Bartholomew at the Basilica dei Santi Quattro Coronati

 

During a stay in Rome for a conference last week, a friend and I spent one day as tourists, seeking out churches of particular interest to two medievalists interested in the cult of saints. It was a rich day, full of wonderful sights and glorious reminders of the medieval past of a city currently so dominated by Baroque ecclesiastical architecture. 

While I hope to return to some of the sights of that day in future blogposts, I will here just briefly present one of the spectacular works of art to be found in some of these churches, namely the flayed Saint Bartholomew in the Church of the Four Crowned Saints. Bartholomew appears in a gory fashion quite typical of representations of him in art, carrying his flayed skin over his shoulder like a piece of cloth, with the instrument of his martyrdom, the knife, in his hand. I have not yet been able to ascertain the date of this fresco cycle.  

Bartholomew is one among several saints in the fresco cycle on northern wall of the church nave, but arguably the most arresting of them all. The image is a stark reminder of how visual communication in medieval churches could be very visceral, and presumably all the more effective. The legend of Saint Bartholomew, and especially the manner of his death, was especially suited to this kind of visceral communication. 

The frescoes in Quattro Coronati are beautiful pieces of art, however disturbing, and also serve to remind us that beauty can often serve to fashion grim tools for what is ultimately a beautiful message - at least if you are a Christian believing in the saints - which is the steadfastness of the faithful.