In St. Ambrogio Henry of Luxemburg, the looked-for peacemaker, was crowned in 1311, with his consort, Margaret of Brabant, in the presence of all the great nobles of Italy and characters conspicuous in the history of the time. A strange and somewhat ominous circumstance of this occasion was that the crown always used for the coronation of the Kings of Italy—which had become, though only shortly before this time, known as the Iron Crown—was missing. With the rest of the treasure of the Cathedral of Monza—where it was kept then, as to-day—it had been pawned by the Torriani.[[8]] So a new iron crown, in the form of a laurel wreath, was forged to encircle the brow of Henry VII. The newly anointed monarch created two hundred knights in the church, the first upon whom he laid his sword being Matteo Visconte. From this time the ceremony of knighting was customarily performed in St. Ambrogio, and later on those who received the dignity there were called the Knights of St. Ambrogio.
[8]. The treasure was recovered later from Avignon by Matteo Visconte.
It was in St. Ambrogio that Gian Galeazzo Visconte, newly created Duke of Milan, knelt before the altar while the Archbishop of Milan and a splendid array of prelates chanted hymns and offices in celebration of his elevation to the ducal dignity, in the presence of princes and ambassadors from all the States of Italy and Europe. Here, in 1477, the young Republicans who had sworn to avenge the wrongs of their city upon the tyrant Galeazzo Maria Sforza, bowed themselves before the image of the Saint, patron of the Milanese liberties, and besought his blessing upon their enterprise. In the sixteenth century St. Ambrogio was the goal of the pathetic penitential processions which used to wind their way from the Duomo day after day during the visitations of the plague and the persecutions by the Spaniards.
The Basilica as we see it now shows no trace, it need hardly be said, of the church which Ambrose himself built. But it still contains his bones. An interesting proof of his actual burial there beside the two martyrs, according to his directions, was the discovery, in 1864, beneath the High Altar, of two cavities of unequal size, the larger in the middle, the smaller on its left hand, evidently burial-places. There were no bodies in them, but the remains of the three saints were found in a sepulchre of porphyry above the cavities. It was known that they had been removed and laid in one tomb together by Archbishop Angilberto in the ninth century, probably at the time when the floor of the sanctuary was raised and the golden altar set up. The church appears to have been completely rebuilt at this time by Angilberto (824-859) and Ansperto (868-881), after the instalment of the Benedictines, in order to suit it to the requirements of monastic ritual. Angilberto had the main part built, it is supposed, and Ansperto added the atrium—Atria vicinas struxit et ante fores,—as is recorded in the lengthy epitaph of the said prelate inscribed above his tomb on the south side of the nave.
But the noble building of to-day, with its grand forecourt, or atrium, is almost certainly not the ninth century church of Angilberto and Ansperto, but a reconstruction on the same lines in the eleventh or early twelfth century. The date of St. Ambrogio has been a much-disputed point, and some authorities still cherish the theory that it is in the main the ninth century building, and as such, the prototype of all the many churches of the Romanesque style scattered throughout Europe. But the advanced system of vaulting, and the compound form of the pillars, as seen in St. Ambrogio, are said not to appear in other Italian churches until a good deal later than the ninth century—later, in fact, than in more northern countries. If the Basilica be of this early date, it must have remained for two hundred years a solitary example of a splendid style of architecture which had arrived at completeness without leaving any traces of preliminary stages. There are many tenth and eleventh century churches, however, which show what would naturally seem the early and undeveloped stages of the style, which is in favour of the belief held by most of the writers on the subject, that St. Ambrogio follows rather than precedes them in date, and stands at the zenith and not at the dawn of Romanesque architecture. The style of most of the decorative sculpture on the building also points to a later origin.[[9]]
[9]. The exponents of the ninth century theory are Dartein, Landriani, and Mongeri, among others, and more recently, Luca Beltrami; and of the theory of a later origin, Kügler, Viollet-le-Duc, Stielh, Cattaneo, Adolfo Venturi, etc.
There is no actual record, it is true, of a restoration in the eleventh or twelfth century, but the patriotism and fervour of vitality which animated the Milanese in that epoch, and brought them into conflict with Barbarossa, may well have induced them to rebuild and beautify this church, which, being the resting-place of their Patron, was to them as the sanctuary of their liberties. Italian enthusiasm has always memorialised itself in brick and stone, and, moreover, in the twelfth century architecture was the only art in which they could fully express themselves. Not only in Milan, but throughout Lombardy, the churches of this period are a grand and enduring testimony to the great era of the Italian Communes, and in St. Ambrogio, queen if not mother of them all,[[10]] surely we have before us the noblest artistic embodiment of the spirit which produced the Lombard League.
[10]. Madre e regina delle chiese lombarde—Dartein.
The outward form of the church—the large Romanesque style—is in keeping with that great patriotic thought and resolve. It is essentially of the soil. The grand curves of the arches, the massive pillars, the sense of space and freedom seem the proper expression of the mediæval Lombard character, in their union of Latin breadth and clearness with the picturesque ruggedness, and the rich effects of light and shade of Northern building. Above all, the material—brick and stone, that fortunate combination which produces such glory and enchantment of colour—is peculiarly Lombard. The effect of it in St. Ambrogio is most beautiful and satisfying. Even the newness of much of the brick at the present time—crude evidence of restoration—cannot destroy the charm.
