Lux in Arcana: The Vatican Secret Archives reveal 100 priceless documents

Those of you who know me well, know that I like to post about a new exhibit if not the day it opens, then at least that same week. As Lux in Arcana: The Vatican Secret Archives revealed at the Capitoline Museums was the most highly anticipated exhibition of the year (century?) for me, it might be surprising that I have waited so long to write about it.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

I have been preparing an article on the exhibit for the Traveller, the Sunday travel magazine of both the Sydney Morning Herald and the Melbourne Age and it has been published this weekend! Here's an excerpt:

Michelangelo's smudged signature, a secret papal messaging code, a 1200-year-old book and myriad blood-red papal seals, excommunication bulls, death warrants of heretics and letters written in desperation by condemned queens - these are some of the most precious documents in the world, kept for the past four centuries in impenetrable vaults in the Vatican. For the first - and perhaps only - time in history, 100 original documents have left the Vatican Secret Archives and been shifted across town for an exhibition that opened a fortnight ago in the Capitoline Museums in central Rome...
read the full article.

I hope you enjoy it! The online version of the article unfortunately has only one photo, so below are some of the best images of the exhibit.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

These red penant seals (tied with red ribbon or "red tape", the origin of that expression) belonged to 81 separate members of the House of Lords. They are attached to a letter from King Henry VIII requesting Pope Clement VII to grant him an annulment of his marriage to Catherine of Aragon to enable him to marry his mistress Anne Boleyn.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

Galileo's signature! These are the court proceedings of his trial for heresy following his vocal support for Copernicus' heliocentric theory.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

 A letter from Michelangelo begs the Bishop of Cesena to resume payment of the workers of St. Peter's after the death of Pope Paul III. The builders had remained on site to protect the precious building materials from theivery despite the fact that they were not being paid to do so.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

A letter to the future Pope Celestine V informing him that he had been elected pope after 27 months of conclave at which he wasn't even present. The hermit priest reluctantly accepted, only to abdicate five years later. (During his papacy, he declared it the right of any pope to abdicate.) The letter is dated 11 July 1294.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

This was one of the most exciting and bone-chilling exhibits: a 60 meter scroll of parchment with the depositions of 231 French Templar knights. During the Council of Vienne in 1311 they were forced to betray the order or face execution.

Photo by Giovanni Ciarlo

What I found so thrilling about this exhibit was that many of the documents on display pertain to events that we have all learned about, events that changed history and changed the world. Seeing the documents up close and personal brings history alive in a whole new way. In my eternal quest to travel in time, this was pretty close.


Visit my Exhibits on Now page for all pertinent information and enjoy! This is truly a once-in-a-lifetime event!

All images are provided courtesy of Zètema Press Office and may not be reproduced.

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Antique Italian Maps at the Vittoriano

Le speranze del Bepi pel prossimo cinquantenario, Anonymous, L'Asino. 1911

I warn you now, dearest bloglings, the Pines of Rome is going to get a bit exhibit-heavy in the next few days. There are just so many amazing mostre on right now! One in particular, free of charge and hosted at the Complesso del Vittoriano, took me three weeks to see because of two weekend snowstorms in Rome that saw nearly every site in the city closed all weekend.

Italian Panorama, Anonymous, 1861

I finally had a chance to visit this small but lovely exhibit weekend before last, Antica Cartografia d'Italia. Beautiful detailed maps dating from the 1500s onward are on display, making for a lovely and enjoyable pre-lunch outing. In addition to maps, illustrated cover pages of antique atlases are also on display.

Sexta Europae Tabula, Silvano Bernardo, 1511

This exhibit was a real treat for me due to my life-long love of maps. I inherited this passion from my father, and I can spend hours pouring over them. My favorite are city maps, especially when they allow me to study how that particular city has changed and expanded over time, as well as how they have stayed the same. Alas, very few city maps are to be seen at this exhibit, but the region and country maps are nevertheless absorbing.

Italian Unity, Map of Italy, Pinot and Segaire. ca 1861

By far the most amusing and enlightening maps on view at this exhibit are the comical ones, most of which depict Europe during World War I, although some date back to the late 1800s. We've all seen and laughed over the clever and often spot-on images like the ones below by Yanko Tsvetkov that depict Europe or the world according to specific groups or nationalities.

Europe according to Italians, by Yanko Tsvetkov

Europe according to Americans, by Yanko Tsvetkov

Europe according to the Vatican, by Yanko Tsvetkov

But who knew this type of satirical map dated back at least 150 years? The main difference is that the old Italian ones are even more astute and more artistically rendered. (Please forgive the quality of the next four photos, I took them myself.)

Hark! Hark! The dogs do bark! Johnson, Riddle and Co. 1914

The map above depicts Europe at the onset of World War One with the various countries depicted in canine form while Russia literally steam-rolls in. Germany and Austria are tethered together as Britain releases his mighty fleet of ships. Spain is still bullfighting and Italy is a pistol-weilding carabiniere.

Europe in 1914, B. Crité, 1914.

The map above is dominated by the Tsar of Russia. I love that nothing is going on in Finland except a few bears prowling around, while Sweden and Norway look on calmly and the Austro-Hungarian Empire is already a graveyard (literally).

Kill that Eagle, Anonymous, European Revue, 1914

Kill that Eagle shows a female but nevertheless fierce France attempting to pierce the German eagle, with Britain rolling up his sleeves to join the fight. Austria, depicted as a clown, is torn between Germany and Yugoslavia and looks in terror as the Russia literally bears down upon him. Spain and Scandinavia are nothing but idle spectators while Italy appears to be either singing or reciting poetry. Typical.

John Bull and his friends, Fred W. Rose, 1900

In the map above dated 1900, Russia is a menacing octopus strangling Poland and Siberia with tentacles reaching from Finland to China. France, Spain and Ireland are depicted as women while the rest of Europe, a choatic mess, are weapon bearing military leaders. The cleverest detail is the red Salwar pants that illustrate Turkey, who is literally leaning on Greece.

But this one below is by far my favorite. It sums up perfectly the Unification of Italy with triumphant Giuseppe Garibaldi ousting Pope Pius IX (Sardinia) and his Papal Tiara (Corsica).

Italy, Harvey Williams, 1869

This exhibit ends 4 March, so don't tarry! Find practical information at my Exhibits on now page.

Photo sources: 5, 6, 7 by Yanko Tsvetkov
8, 9, 10, 11 by author
All other images provided courtesy of Comunicare Organizzando press office.

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Eat, drink and be merry! Carnival in Rome!

Today is the first day of Carnival, and we all know the celebrations in Rome can't rival those Venice. In fact these days no one associates Carnival with Rome. But just a few hundred years ago (the blink of an eye in Rome-time), Rome was the place to be to celebrate this raucous, bacchanalian late-winter event.

Carnival is a ten day period (in the past it was much longer and sometimes began right after Christmas, on St. Stephen's day) that directly precedes Lent, the 40-day period in the Catholic liturgical calendar that in turn precedes Easter. In the Catholic religion, Lent is a period of sober reflection and abstinence from the earthly pleasures of life. Although today most Catholics try to give up one or two things they particularly enjoy (I always try to give up sugar or chocolate), traditionally it was a time of general fasting, during which alcohol, meat and rich foods were not consumed. Carnival was the last hurrah before this strict period of restraint, and in fact the name, Carnevale in Italian, derives from the phrase "farewell to meat" as this was the last chance to eat it for a while. It could also be translated as "farewell to the flesh," and in fact, part of the reason masks were worn was to facilitate marital infidelity and other no-nos.

Detail from Carnival in Rome, Johannes Lingelbach, ca 1650

In Rome, a city that was at times repressed due to papal influence (I say "at times" because certain popes were more lascivious than kings), Carnival was celebrated with particular exuberance. (Carnival celebrations have also been linked to pre-Christian winter festivities such as Saturnalia.) In addition to masked balls, theatrical spectacles, bull fights and general carousing, the most popular pastimes took place on Via del Corso.

Roman Carnival, Ippolito Caffi

Previously called Via Lata, this wide straight road leading from Piazza Venezia to Piazza del Popolo has been an important thoroughfare in Rome since ancient times, connecting with Via Flaminia and continuing into northern Italy. During the Renaissance and beyond, it became the place to be seen during Carnival. Horse-drawn coaches would drive up and down the street, with people in garish costumes and elaborate masks greeting each other and often playing pranks. The wealthy citizens would rent rooms in the palaces that faced Via del Corso to watch the spectacle from above.

Carnival on the Corso, Ippolito Caffi

More exciting still, Via del Corso was also the site of many races (in fact, the street's name was changed for this very reason, corso in Italian means race.) Most famous was the corso dei berberi, the Race of the Berbers, when riderless Berber horses would race from the top to the bottom of Via del Corso. The empty saddles of the unfortunate creatures were studded with nails to make them run faster.

The retaking of the Berbers, Achille Pinelli, 1832

Much more hideous was the Race of the Bi-peds, in which the city's Jews, handicapped and other disadvantaged members of the population were forced to race the same street while objects were thrown at them from the jeering crowds. These barbaric traditions were outlawed in the 19th century and the 17th century respectively. The celebrations culminated on Mardi Gras, just like they do today in New Orleans and Rio de Janeiro, but the Roman grand finale was a candle race down Via del Corso in which the goal was to keep your candle lit while trying to snuff out the candles of everyone around you. No wonder there were so many fires in Rome!

The Candle race on Via del Corso, Ippolito Caffi, ca 1850

Today Roman Carnevale has become mostly a holiday for children when they dress up in costume, throw confetti and are paraded around town by their proud parents. But Rome is trying to revive the ancient traditions (without the cruel races, thankfully!) and this year a record number of events are on offer, from exhibits, to dance and music performances to balls, and most notably several equestrian shows. Events kick off tonight at the historic center of the Carnival action, Piazza del Popolo, with a performance by the orchestra of the Opera di Roma.

Visit the official site of Carnevale Romano, with a detailed list of events.

Photos 1 and 7 by Robbi Huner and Barbara Roppo, courtesy of Zétema Press Office
Other photo sources: 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

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Numa Pompilius and the Vestal Virgins

My last history post, way back in November, was about Rome's second king, Numa Pompilius and his calendar reform. Now, for those of you stifling a yawn, I'll have you know that little post has become one of this blog's top all-time most read posts, and number one by far in 2011. Who knew people were so interested in King Numa? As I mentioned in an earlier post, Numa was the most religious of Rome's seven kings, so it's no surprise that he was responsible for the institution of the cult of Vesta and the order of the Vestal Virgins.

Vesta was the goddess of the home, family and the hearth, and inside her cylindrical temple in the Roman Forum, a fire perpetually burned. This ritual fire was an vital aspect to Roman life, and it was believed that while the fire burned, Rome would be protected. This sacred fire symbolized the fire that burned in the king’s own home, and the six priestesses who tended the fire represented the king’s daughters. These priestesses were called Vestal Virgins and were subject to strict rules and restrictions, but also enjoyed a high social status and privileges unknown to any other Roman women.

Vestal Virgins making a sacrifice

Vestals were chosen at between six and ten years of age and were exclusively female, with no physical or mental defects. Both of the girls’ parents had to be living, and her father had to be a freeborn Roman citizen. The more prominent the family, the more likely the girl was to get picked. (Another example of how things haven’t changed in Italy after nearly 3000 years!) In Numa’s time there were only two vestal virgins at any given time, but eventually the number increased to six. Their period of duty was 30 years, and during that time they were obliged to take a vow of chastity. After their service was finished they were permitted to marry if they wished.

Dedication of a new Vestal Virgin, Alessandro Marchesini, early 1700s

A vestal’s major duty was to keep the fire within the temple burning at all times. If the fire went out, the city would be vulnerable to attack. In addition to this they were expected to prepare offerings and sacrifices, and observe any other rituals that were not permitted to be performed by the male priests. They lived in a large and luxurious home in the heart of the Roman Forum, adjacent to the Temple of Vesta, some of which is still visitable today, that had large courtyard decorated with statues of Vestal Virgins, and each one had her own bedroom.

Vestal Virgins, Jean Raoux, 1727

As for myself, had I been unlucky enough to have been born in ancient Rome, becoming a Vestal Virgin would have been the only way I could have survived it. No other women in Rome, including the emperor’s own wife and daughters, were afforded the privileges and freedoms of a Vestal. They had their own reserved box at all games and events, including the Colosseum, directly across from the emperor's own box. They had the power to free any slave or condemned criminal simply by touching him, and if a criminal on his way to his execution was lucky enough to see a Vestal, he would be automatically pardoned. They could testify without taking an oath and anyone who injured them physically would be put to death. Perhaps most exceptional of all, they were permitted to own property, make a will and vote, the only women in Italian society with these rights.

Vestal Virgin, Sir Frederic Leighton, 1880

The only problem came when a Vestal Virgin was discovered to have broken her vow of chastity. It should be understood that it wasn't just prudishness that made the act of sex with a Vestal a crime punishable by death: the idea was that by contaminating a high priestess (whose job it was to safeguard the flame that ensured the safety of the city) with sex, you would be risking the very survival of Rome itself.  Therefore the offending gentleman would be whipped to death, but the priestess herself endured an even harsher death. Since it was a sin to spill a Vestal's blood, she would be buried alive outside the city walls with enough food and water to keep her alive for a few days.

Vestal Virgin condemned to death, Pietro Saja, ca. 1800

Now I'm guessing that my astutest little bloglings are scratching their heads right now, saying to themselves, "But if Numa Pompilius invented the Vestal Virgins, how could it be that Rhea Silvia, the mother of Numa's predecessor Romulus, was also a Vestal Virgin!?" Oh, you are so good.

I myself have often wondered at this, but the explanation is simple. King Numa did not invent the cult of the goddess Vesta or the tradition of the Vestal Virgins. This cult was already practiced in other parts of Latium. In fact, Titus Livy writes that the Vesta priesthood had its origins in Alba Longa, Rhea Silvia's hometown, coincidentally (or not). Rather, King Numa simply introduced this cult into Roman religious culture.

What have we covered so far?

The Birth of Rome, 21 April 753 BC

The Rape of the Sabine Women

An Introduction to the Seven Kings of Rome

Romulus, First King of Rome

The Death of Romulus

Numa Pompilius, Second King of Rome

Numa Pompilius and Calendar Reform

Photo sources: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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The Borghese Gallery and the fate of an ill-gotten collection, part 1

Do you believe in karma?

What about when it comes to art?

Visiting the extraordinary new exhibit at the Galleria Borghese, which opens in Rome today, I couldn't help but be struck by the irony of situation. Sixty works of art, mostly antiquities, once part of the Borghese collection, have been temporarily returned from their current location at the Louvre in Paris back to their original home at the Boghese Gallery. But how did they get to Paris?

Would you be surprised if I told you Napoleon had something to do with it? But let me start from the beginning...

Rome, 16 May 1605. Camillo Borghese is elected Pope Paul V and immediately names his sister's son, Scipione Caffarella, as Cardinal-Nephew. Not content with being a pope's nephew, Scipione becomes the adopted son of his uncle and is known thereafter as Scipione Borghese. He became the most unscrupulous collector the art world has ever seen.

Scipione must have realized that as Cardinal-Nephew in corrupt 17th-century Rome, he would have more than ample access to any funds he might require, and so he traded his right of inheritance with his cousin Marcantonio, in exchange for every piece in the family's art collection. Despite his position of immense influence, he chose not to involve himself in affairs of state, and instead used his power to satisfy his obsession to possess the world's greatest art.

The collection was already dazzling, but it wasn't enough to satisfy Scipione. He had plans for a marvelous villa, custom built to display the crown jewels of his collection, and he was determined to fill it up. One of his preferred painters was Giuseppe Cesari, better known as Cavalier d'Arpino, a mannerist painter who could boast that Caravaggio had once been his student. In fact, it was d'Arpino who introduced Scipione to the work of Caravaggio, as well as that of Bernini, both of whom would go on to become the cardinal's favorite artists. Since Caravaggio had once worked in d'Arpino's studio, the latter owned a number of Caravaggio's early paintings, and possessed a collection totalling 107 works by various artists. Scipione lusted after d'Arpino's collection (the Caravaggio works in particular) and it didn't take long before he got his hands on it. In 1607, when the artist failed to pay a tax bill, Pope Paul V confiscated his entire collection and gave it to Scipione. The collection included Caravaggio's Boy with a Basket of Fruit and Sick Bacchus, both of which hang in his villa today. If Scipione was addicted to collecting art, then his uncle the Pope was his enabler.

Boy with a Basket of Fruit, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, 1593-1594, Galleria Borghese, Rome

Sick Bacchus, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, 1593-1594, Galleria Borghese, Rome

Another Caravaggio painting, Madonna and Child with St. Anne which had been commissioned to be an altarpiece in a chapel in St. Peter's, was appropriated by the cardinal when it was declared by the College of Cardinals to be unfit to hang in the basilica. Documents have suggested that Scipione may have planned it that way from the beginning.

Madonna and Child with St. Anne, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, 1605, Galleria Borghese, Rome

More shocking still is how the Cardinal Borghese ended up with Raphael's sublime Deposition. A gang working for Scipione literally ripped it off the Baglioni Altarpiece in the church of San Francesco in Perugia. The city of Perugia was understandably outraged, and to appease them, Scipione had two copies of the painting by Lanfranco and d'Aprino sent to them. But if you've seen the original, you know the copies couldn't possibly substitute it.

The Deposition, Raphael, 1507, Galleria Borghese, Rome

While Bernini was more than willing to be on the cardinal's payroll, pumping out masterpiece after masterpiece, some of his most famous sculptures that still adorn the gallery today, others were not so easily convinced. Cardinal Pietro Aldobrandini had commissioned the sensitive artist Domenichino to paint his triumphant Diana and the Hunt, and when Scipione decided that the work should go to him instead, Domenichino refused to sell it to him. Domenichino was carted off to jail for his lack of cooperation (and probably some invented charges as well) and Scipione got his Diana in the end. Guido Reni, a proud Bolognese through and through, got so sick of the nepotism and corruption rife in Rome, he washed his hands of the Vatican and returned home, only to retrace his steps when the cardinal threatened him with jail as well.

Diana and the Hunt, Domenichino, 1617-1618, Galleria Borghese, Rome

But most horrific of all was his alleged blackmailing of Caravaggio. After over three years on the run due to an unfortunate brawl that left him with blood on his hands and a price on his head, Caravaggio was desperate to return to Rome. As his doting uncle the Pope had recently conferred on him the title of Grand Penitentiary, it was well within Cardinal Borghese's power to pardon Caravaggio, but for months he kept the tortured artist guessing. When the pardon finally came, the 'grateful' Caravaggio sent Scipione a David with the Head of Goliath as gesture of  'thanks'. But Caravaggio wasn't long for this world, and it was on his journey back to Rome that he died, most likely of malaria or fever (although his body was never found), and Scipione snapped up his last two available works to round out his collection.

David with the Head of Goliath, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, 1609-1610, Galleria Borghese, Rome

None of these works are the subject of the Borghese Gallery's new exhibition of course, but to me, the way they were acquired caused the Borghese family to acrue some karmic dept that would be paid back about 200 years later to a short Frenchman with an even greater sense of entitlement than Scipione Borghese, if possible. Part 2 to come tomorrow...

Photo sources: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

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New Exhibit at the Quirinale

A new exhibit opened this Wednesday, not at the Scuderie del Quirinale (where the Filippino Lippi exhibit is still in full swing) but at the actual Palazzo Quirinale itself. This palace is the residence of the President of the Republic, and is generally open only once a week, on Sunday mornings at a cost of 5 euros. As you can imagine, it can be stiflingly crowded.

Thanks to the new mostra, until March the Quirinale is open six days a week--for free! The exhibit, entitled From the Unification of Italy to our time, displays hundreds of portraits, photographs, letters, newspapers, documents, videos, books and more that tell the (comparatively short) story of the country of Italy.

In 1870, nine years after the Garibaldi's troops unified the country, Rome finally fell to the bersaglieri and the capital city was moved from Torino to Rome. Pope Pius IX hunkered down in the Vatican, and his former palace, the Quirinale, became the official residence of the kings of Italy. Nearly 80 years later, when Italy became a republic, it became the residence of the president, as it remains today.

New Year's Day reception in the Sala dei Corazzieri, 1888.

The monarchs visit an exhibition at Palazzo delle Belle Arti on occasion of the 50th anniversry of the Unification of Italy, March 1911.

Hitler and Mussolini depart from the Quirinale, 4 May 1938

President Giorgio Napolitano in Piazza del Quirinale on occasion of the Notte Tricolare, 16 March 2011

One of my favorite things about the exhibit was that reproductions of important letters, photographs and documents printed on high quality glossy paper and hand-stamped are lying around on the display cases at random for visitors to pick up and take home with them.
This exhibit is most suited either to Italians or people with an active interest in Italian history of the past 150 years. If you do not fall into one of these categories, there are probably other exhibits on at the moment that might capture your interest more fully. However it is more than worth a visit simply to admire the magnificent building, now affectionately called La Casa degli Italiani. Nearly the entire piano nobile is open to the public, including the glorious Sala Gialla, Sala di Augusto and Sala degli Ambasciatori, (once one long gallery and now sadly divided) decorated by a group of artists led by Pietro da Cortona and recently restored to its original splendor. In addition, Ottaviano Mascarino's (sometimes spelled Mascherino) graceful spiral staircase, the Sala degli Specchi (Hall of Mirrors), the Sala del Balcone (Balcony Room) and many others are open to visitors.

One disappointment: the Sala dei Corazzieri (ex-Sala Regia) with its delightfully distinct frescoes of the ambassadors by Agostino Tassi, Giovanni Lanfranco and Carlo Saraceni is not part of the exhibit. Neither is the Cappella Paolina, however, if you come on a Sunday morning, at least during December, you can end your visit with a live (free!) concert in the Cappella Paolina. Since you can't get to the chapel without passing through the Sala dei Corazzieri, you'll get to see both--and get to hear some classical music!

The palace itself deserves its own post, so I will not attempt to describe it here in further detail. Instead I will leave you with a few more images of the works in the exhibition.

Joseph and his brothers, tapestry, design by Agnolo Bronzino and Raffaellino del Colle

Portrait of Queen Margherita, Pasquale Di Criscito

Portrait of Princess Elena of Savoy, Francesca Gambacorta Magliani

"The King's Thunderbolt", Fiat, 1910

Oh, did I fail to mention the kings' (and presidents') carriages and cars are also on display? For opening days and times, see the Exhibits on now page.

All images provided courtesy of Ufficio Stampa Civita

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Numa Pompilius and his calendar

Since our Roman King of the moment, Numa Pompilius is credited with reforming the calendar, I figured it would be an opportune moment to discuss what the months we still use today actually mean. Although the calendar was reformed two more times after Numa, first by Julius Caesar and much later by Pope Gregory XIII, Numa made the most significant changes.

Before Numa’s reign, the calendar had only 10 months. (Some say it was Romulus himself to invent the first Roman calendar!) This explains why the last four months of the year seem to be named after the wrong numbers: September, the seventh month, October, the eighth month, November, the ninth month and December, the tenth month. The calendar year was 304 days long and winter, oddly enough, was considered a monthless period.

In 713 BC, King Numa had the bright idea to add two months to the calendar year, and these were January and February. Although it is certain that it was Numa (if he actually existed, of course) to add these months, there is differing among Roman writers as to who actually decided that January would be the first month of the year. Some sources claim it was the Decimvirs to do this in 450 BC, but others maintain it was Numa himself. I tend to go with Numa, simply because of the name he chose.

Januarius (January) was named after Janus, god of beginnings and endings. Also god of gates and doorways, he is depicted as having two faces, one looking ahead and one looking behind. This is an apt name for a month that opens and closes the year which is what makes me think it was Numa himself to make this change.

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