St. Gregory.
Lat. Sanctus Gregorius Magnus. Ital. San Gregorio Magno or Papa. Fr. St. Grégoire. Ger. Der Heilige Gregor. (March 12, A.D. 604.)
The fourth Doctor of the Latin Church, St. Gregory, styled, and not without reason, Gregory the Great, was one of those extraordinary men whose influence is not only felt in their own time, but through long succeeding ages. The events of his troubled and splendid pontificate belong to history; and I shall merely throw together here such particulars of his life and character as may serve to render the multiplied representations of him both intelligible and interesting. He was born at Rome in the year 540. His father, Gordian, was of senatorial rank: his mother, Sylvia, who, in the history of St. Gregory, is almost as important as St. Monica in the story of St. Augustine, was a woman of rare endowments, and, during his childish years, the watchful instructress of her son. It is recorded that when he was still an infant she was favoured by a vision of St. Antony, in which he promised to her son the supreme dignity of the tiara. Gregory, however, commenced his career in life as a lawyer, and exercised during twelve years the office of prætor or chief magistrate of his native city; yet, while apparently engrossed by secular affairs, he became deeply imbued with the religious enthusiasm which was characteristic of his time and hereditary in his family. Immediately on the death of his father he devoted all the wealth he had inherited to pious and charitable purposes, converted his paternal home on the Celian Hill into a monastery and hospital for the poor, which he dedicated to St. Andrew: then, retiring to a little cell within it, he took the habit of the Benedictine Order, and gave up all his time to study and preparation for the duties to which he had devoted himself. On the occasion of a terrific plague which almost depopulated Rome, he fearlessly undertook the care of the poor and sick. Pope Pelagius having died at this time, the people with one voice called upon Gregory to succeed him: but he shrank from the high office, and wrote to the Emperor Maurice, entreating him not to ratify the choice of the people. The emperor sent an edict confirming his election, and thereupon Gregory fled from Rome, and bid himself in a cave. Those who went in search of him were directed to the place of his concealment by a celestial light, and the fugitive was discovered and brought back to Rome.
No sooner had he assumed the tiara, thus forced upon him against his will, than he showed himself in all respects worthy of his elevation. While he asserted the dignity of his station, he was distinguished by his personal humility: he was the first pope who took the title of ‘Servant of the Servants of God;’ he abolished slavery throughout Christendom on religious grounds; though enthusiastic in making converts, he set himself against persecution; and when the Jews of Sardinia appealed to him, he commanded that the synagogues which had been taken from them, and converted into churches, should be restored. He was the first who sent missionaries to preach the Gospel in England, roused to pity by the sight of some British captives exposed for sale in the market at Rome. Shocked at the idea of an eternity of vengeance and torment, if he did not originate the belief in purgatory, he was at least the first who preached it publicly, and made it an article of faith. In his hatred of war, of persecution, of slavery, he stepped not only in advance of his own time, but of ours. He instituted the celibacy of the clergy, one of the boldest strokes of ecclesiastical power; he reformed the services of the Church; defined the model of the Roman liturgy, such as it has ever since remained—the offices of the priests, the variety and change of the sacerdotal garments; he arranged the music of the chants, and he himself trained the choristers. ‘Experience,’ says Gibbon, ‘had shown him the efficacy of these solemn and pompous rites to soothe the distress, to confirm the faith, to mitigate the fierceness, and to dispel the dark enthusiasm of the vulgar; and he readily forgave their tendency to promote the reign of priesthood and superstition.’ If, at a period when credulity and ignorance were universal, he showed himself in some instances credulous and ignorant, it seems hardly a reproach to one in other respects so good and so great.
His charity was boundless, and his vigilance indefatigable: he considered himself responsible for every sheep of the flock intrusted to him; and when a beggar died of hunger in the streets of Rome, he laid himself under a sentence of penance and excommunication, and interdicted himself for several days from the exercise of his sacerdotal functions.
Such was St. Gregory the Great, the last pope who was canonised: celestial honours and worldly titles have often been worse—seldom so well—bestowed.
During the last two years of his life, his health, early impaired by fasts and vigils, failed entirely, and he was unable to rise from his couch. He died in 604, in the fourteenth year of his pontificate. They still preserve, in the church of the Lateran at Rome, his bed, and the little scourge with which he was wont to keep the choristers in order.
The monastery of St. Andrew, which he founded on the Celian Hill, is now the church of San Gregorio. To stand on the summit of the majestic flight of steps which leads to the portal, and look across to the ruined palace of the Cæsars, makes the mind giddy with the rush of thoughts. There, before us, the Palatine Hill—pagan Rome in dust: here, the little cell, a few feet square, where slept in sackcloth the man who gave the last blow to the power of the Cæsars, and first set his foot as sovereign on the cradle and capital of their greatness.
St. Gregory was in person tall and corpulent, and of a dark complexion, with black hair, and very little beard. He speaks in one of his epistles of his large size, contrasted with his weakness and painful infirmities. He presented to the monastery of St. Andrew his own portrait, and those of his father, and his mother St. Sylvia: they were still in existence 300 years after his death, and the portrait of Gregory probably furnished that particular type of physiognomy which we trace in all the best representations of him, in which he appears of a tall, large, and dignified person, with a broad full face, black hair and eyebrows, and little or no beard.
As he was, next to St. Jerome, the most popular of the Four Doctors, single figures of him abound. They are variously treated: in general, he bears the tiara as pope, and the crosier with the double cross, in common with other papal saints; but his peculiar attribute is the dove, which in the old pictures is always close to his ear. He is often seated on a throne in the pontifical robes, wearing the tiara: one hand raised in benediction; in the other a book, which represents his homilies, and other famous works attributed to him: the dove either rests on his shoulder, or is hovering over his head. He is thus represented in the fine statue, designed, as it is said, by M. Angelo, and executed by Cordieri, in the chapel of St. Barbara, in San Gregorio, Rome; and in the picture over the altar-piece of his chapel, to the right of the high altar. In the Salviati Chapel, on the left, is the ‘St. Gregory in prayer,’ by Annibal Caracci. He is seen in front bareheaded, but arrayed in the pontifical habit, kneeling on a cushion, his hands outspread and uplifted; the dove descends from on high; the tiara is at his feet, and eight angels hover around:—a grand, finely-coloured, but, in sentiment, rather cold and mannered picture.[286]
By Guercino, St. Gregory seated on a throne, looking upwards, his hand on an open book, in act to turn the leaves; the dove hovers at his shoulder: to the left stands St. Francis Xavier; on the right, and more in front, St. Ignatius Loyola. Behind St. Gregory is an angel playing on the viol, in allusion to his love and patronage of sacred music; in front an infant angel holds the tiara. The type usually adopted in figures of St. Gregory is here exaggerated into coarseness, and the picture altogether appears to me more remarkable for Guercino’s faults than for his beauties.[287]
Several of the legends connected with the history of St. Gregory are of singular interest and beauty, and have afforded a number of picturesque themes for Art: they appear to have arisen out of his exceeding popularity. They are all expressive of the veneration in which he was held by the people; of the deep impression left on their minds by his eloquence, his sanctity, his charity; and of the authority imputed to his numerous writings, which commonly said to have been dictated by the Holy Spirit.
1. John the deacon, his secretary, who has left a full account of his life, declares that he beheld the Holy Ghost in the form of a dove perched upon his shoulder while he was writing or dictating his famous homilies. This vision, or rather figure of speech, has been interpreted as a fact by the early painters. Thus, in a quaint old picture in the Bologna Gallery, we have St. Gregory seated on a throne writing, the celestial dove at his ear. A little behind is seen John the deacon, drawing aside a curtain, and looking into the room at his patron with an expression of the most naïve astonishment.
2. The Archangel Michael, on the cessation of the pestilence, sheathes his sword on the summit of the Mole of Hadrian. I have never seen even a tolerable picture of this magnificent subject. There is a picture in the Vatican, in which Gregory and a procession of priests are singing litanies, and in the distance a little Mola di Adriano, with a little angel on the summit;—curious, but without merit of any kind.
3. The Supper of St. Gregory. It is related that when Gregory was only a monk, in the Monastery of St. Andrew, a beggar presented himself at the gate, and requested alms: being relieved, he came again and again, and at length nothing was left for the charitable saint to bestow, but the silver porringer in which his mother, Sylvia, had sent him a potage; and he commanded that this should be given to the mendicant. It was his custom, when he became pope, to entertain every evening at his own table twelve poor men, in remembrance of the number of our Lord’s apostles. One night, as he sat at supper with his guests, he saw, to his surprise, not twelve, but thirteen seated at his table. And he called to his steward, and said to him, ‘Did I not command thee to invite twelve? and behold, there are thirteen!’ And the steward told them over, and replied, ‘Holy Father, there are surely twelve only!’ and Gregory held his peace; and after the meal, he called forth the unbidden guest, and asked him, ‘Who art thou?’ And he replied, ‘I am the poor man whom thou didst formerly relieve; but my name is the Wonderful, and through me thou shalt obtain whatever thou shalt ask of God.’ Then Gregory knew that he had entertained an angel (or, according to another version of the story, our Lord himself). This legend has been a frequent subject in painting, under the title of ‘The Supper of St. Gregory.’ In the fresco in his church at Rome, it is a winged angel who appears at the supper-table. In the fresco of Paul Veronese, one of his famous banquet-scenes, the stranger seated at the table is the Saviour habited as a pilgrim.[288] In the picture painted by Vasari, his masterpiece, now in the Bologna Gallery, he has introduced a great number of figures and portraits of distinguished personages of his own time, St. Gregory being represented under the likeness of Clement VII. The unbidden guest, or angel, bears the features of the Saviour.
This is one of many beautiful mythic legends, founded on the words of St. Paul in which he so strongly recommends hospitality as one of the virtues: ‘Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.’ (Heb. xiii. 2.) Or, as Massinger has rendered the apostolic precept,—
Learn all,
By this example, to look on the poor
With gentle eyes, for in such habits often
Angels desire an alms.
4. The Mass of St. Gregory. On a certain occasion, when St. Gregory was officiating at the mass, one who was near him doubted the real presence; thereupon, at the prayer of the saint, a vision is suddenly revealed of the crucified Saviour himself, who descends upon the altar, surrounded by the instruments of his passion. This legend has been a popular subject of painting from the beginning of the fifteenth century, and is called ‘The Mass of St. Gregory.’ I have met with it in every variety of treatment and grouping; but, however treated, it is not a pleasing subject. St. Gregory is seen officiating at the altar, surrounded by his attendant clergy. Sometimes several saints are introduced in a poetical manner, as witnesses of the miracle: as in an old picture I saw in the gallery of Lord Northwick;—the crucified Saviour descends from the cross, and stands on the altar, or is upborne in the air by angels; while all the incidental circumstances and instruments of the Passion,—not merely the crown of thorns, the spear, the nails, but the kiss of Judas, the soldiers’ dice, the cock that crew to Peter,—are seen floating in the air. As a specimen of the utmost naïveté in this representation may be mentioned Albert Dürer’s woodcut.
The least offensive and most elegant in treatment is the marble bas-relief in front of the altar in the Chapel of St. Gregory at Rome.
5. The miracle of the Brandeum. The Empress Constantia sent to St. Gregory requesting some of the relics of St. Peter and St. Paul. He excused himself, saying that he dared not disturb their sacred remains for such a purpose, but he sent her part of a consecrated cloth (Brandeum) which had enfolded the body of St. John the Evangelist. The empress rejected this gift with contempt: whereupon Gregory, to show that such things are hallowed not so much in themselves as by the faith of believers, laid the Brandeum on the altar, and after praying he took up a knife and pierced it, and blood flowed as from a living body. This incident, called the ‘miracle dei Brandei,’ has also been painted. Andrea Sacchi has represented it in a grand picture now in the Vatican; the mosaic copy is over the altar of St. Gregory in St. Peter’s. Gregory holds up to view the bleeding cloth, and the expression of astonishment and conviction in the countenances of the assistants is very fine.
6. St. Gregory releases the soul of the Emperor Trajan. In a little picture in the Bologna Academy, he is seen praying before a tomb, on which is inscribed Trajano Imperador; beneath are two angels raising the soul of Trajan out of the flames. Such is the usual treatment of this curious and poetical legend, which is thus related in the Legenda Aurea:—‘It happened on a time, as Trajan was hastening to battle at the head of his legions, that a poor widow flung herself in his path, and cried aloud for justice, and the emperor stayed to listen to her; and she demanded vengeance for the innocent blood of her son, killed by the son of the emperor. Trajan promised to do her justice when he returned from his expedition. “But, Sire,” answered the widow, “should you be killed in battle, who then will do me justice?” “My successor,” replied Trajan. And she said, “What will it signify to you, great emperor, that any other than yourself should do me justice? Is it not better that you should do this good action yourself than leave another to do it?” And Trajan alighted, and having examined into the affair, he gave up his own son to her in place of him she had lost, and bestowed on her likewise a rich dowry. Now, it came to pass that as Gregory was one day meditating in his daily walk, this action of the Emperor Trajan came into his mind, and he wept bitterly to think that a man so just should be condemned as a heathen to eternal punishment. And entering into a church he prayed most fervently that the soul of the good emperor might be released from torment. And a voice said to him, “I have granted thy prayer, and I have spared the soul of Trajan for thy sake; but because thou hast supplicated for one whom the justice of God had already condemned, thou shalt choose one of two things: either thou shalt endure for two days the fires of purgatory, or thou shalt be sick and infirm for the remainder of thy life.” Gregory chose the latter, which sufficiently accounts for the grievous pains and infirmities to which this great and good man was subjected, even to the day of his death.’
This story of Trajan was extremely popular in the middle ages: it is illustrative of the character of Gregory, and the feeling which gave rise to his doctrine of purgatory. Dante twice alludes to it; he describes it as one of the subjects sculptured on the walls of Purgatory, and takes occasion to relate the whole story:—
... There was storied on the rock
Th’ exalted glory of the Roman prince,
Whose mighty worth moved Gregory to earn
His mighty conquest—Trajan the Emperor.
A widow at his bridle stood attired
In tears and mourning. Round about them troop’d
Full throng of knights: and overhead in gold
The eagles floated, struggling with the wind.
The wretch appear’d amid all these to say:
‘Grant vengeance, Sire! for, woe beshrew this heart,
My son is murder’d!’ He, replying, seem’d:
‘Wait now till I return.’ And she, as one
Made hasty by her grief: ‘O Sire, if thou
Dost not return?’—‘Where I am, who then is,
May right thee.’—‘What to thee is others’ good,
If thou neglect thy own?’—‘Now comfort thee,’
At length he answers. ‘It beseemeth well
My duty be perform’d, ere I move hence.
So justice wills; and pity bids me stay.’
Cary’s Dante, Purg. x.
It was through the efficacy of St. Gregory’s intercession that Dante afterwards finds Trajan in Paradise, seated between King David and King Hezekiah. (Par. xx.)
As a subject of painting, the story of Trajan was sometimes selected as an appropriate ornament for a hall of justice. We find it sculptured on one of the capitals of the pillars of the Ducal Palace at Venice: there is the figure of the widow kneeling, somewhat stiff, but very simple and expressive, and over it in rude ancient letters—‘Trajano Imperador, che die justizia a la Vedova.’ In the Town Hall of Ceneda, near Belluna, are the three Judgments (i tre Giudizi), painted by Pompeo Amalteo: the Judgment of Solomon, the Judgment of Daniel, and the Judgment of Trajan. It is painted in the Town Hall of Brescia by Giulio Campi, one of a series of eight righteous judgments.
I found the same subject in the church of St. Thomas of Canterbury at Verona. ‘The son of the Emperor Trajan trampling over the son of the widow’ is a most curious composition by Hans Schaufelein.[289]
7. There was a monk, who, in defiance of his vow of poverty, secreted in his cell three pieces of gold. Gregory, on learning this, excommunicated him, and shortly afterwards the monk died. When Gregory heard that the monk had perished in his sin, without receiving absolution, he was filled with grief and horror; and he wrote upon a parchment a prayer and a form of absolution, and gave it to one of his deacons, desiring him to go to the grave of the deceased and read it there: on the following night the monk appeared in a vision, and revealed to him his release from torment.
This story is represented in the beautiful bas-relief in white marble in front of the altar of his chapel; it is the last compartment on the right. The obvious intention of this wild legend is to give effect to the doctrine of purgatory, and the efficacy of prayers for the dead.
St. Gregory’s merciful doctrine of purgatory also suggested those pictures so often found in chapels dedicated to the service of the dead, in which he is represented in the attitude of supplication, while on one side, or in the background, angels are raising the tormented souls out of the flames.
In ecclesiastical decoration I have seen the two popes, St. Gelasius, who reformed the calendar in 494, and St. Celestinus, who arranged the discipline of the monastic orders, added to the series of beatified Doctors of the Church.