The Madonna della Clemenza

If you happen to visit the Basilica of Santa Maria in Trastevere, one of Rome's oldest and most fascinating churches, make sure you don't miss the Madonna della Clemenza. Hidden away in the magnificent Altemps Chapel, this rather extraordinary painting has quite a story to tell. In fact, it has several: one about the origins of Marian images, another about a miracle, and yet another involving papal revenge, a tragic execution and a cardinal who never quite recovered from the loss of his son.

But let's start at the beginning.

The Madonna della Clemenza is one of the oldest surviving Marian icons in Rome, probably dating from the late 7th or early 8th century. It is an impressive painting, measuring approximately 164 by 116 centimetres, executed using the ancient encaustic technique, in which pigments are mixed with hot wax, on a wooden support made of cypress panels.

Its origins remain a matter of debate, although most scholars believe that it was produced in Rome, possibly commissioned by Pope John VII (705–707). The Pope was of Greek origin and had particularly strong connections with the Byzantine world, which would certainly explain the rather Eastern flavour of the painting.

And what a painting it is!

A little background: who painted the Virgin Mary?

Before looking at the icon itself, let's take a moment to consider how the tradition of painting the Virgin Mary actually began.

According to a rather persistent Christian tradition, many of the oldest Marian icons were painted by none other than Saint Luke the Evangelist. Yes, the same Luke who wrote one of the four Gospels was apparently also an accomplished painter. Quite a talented chap!

Over the centuries, artists have enthusiastically embraced this story, frequently depicting Saint Luke at work, carefully painting the portrait of the Mother of God.

Unfortunately, there is no historical evidence to support the claim. All the icons attributed to Saint Luke were actually produced during the Middle Ages, several centuries after his death. The legend probably developed because Luke is the Evangelist who provides the most detailed account of Mary's life and the events surrounding the birth of Jesus. In a sense, he became her biographer, even if the Gospels never actually offer a proper biography of the Virgin.

But why did Christians start painting religious images in the first place?

During the earliest centuries, the Christian attitude towards images was rather cautious, partly because of the Jewish tradition, which strongly discouraged the representation of the divine. As Christianity became increasingly established, however, images gradually acquired a fundamental role in religious devotion, liturgy and, of course, the education of the faithful.

After all, a picture is worth a thousand words, particularly when your audience cannot read.

The earliest representations of Christ were quite different from what we are accustomed to seeing today. He was often depicted as a young, beardless man, with an appearance inspired by classical Greek and Roman sculpture. Eventually, a different image became established: Christ with long hair, a central parting and a beard, looking considerably more like a Byzantine emperor than a young Greek philosopher.

The same process took place with the Virgin Mary. Following the Council of Ephesus in 431, which formally recognised Mary as Theotokos, or Mother of God, her image gradually acquired a more solemn and majestic character.

She was no longer simply the mother of Jesus. She was becoming the Queen of Heaven.

Meet the Basilissa

And this brings us back to our Madonna della Clemenza.

Mary is represented as a Basilissa, the Greek word for an empress or queen. She sits majestically on a throne, facing the viewer, dressed in elaborate imperial garments and wearing a crown decorated with pearls.

Her appearance is unmistakably Byzantine. In fact, her costume bears interesting similarities to the imperial garments worn by Empress Theodora in the famous mosaics of San Vitale in Ravenna.

Not a bad wardrobe, considering that she is supposed to be the Queen of Heaven!

The Virgin holds the Christ Child on her lap. Both figures have golden haloes, while Jesus wears a purple garment which was probably originally decorated with gold. Two angels stand behind the throne, completing the composition.

There is, however, something rather unusual about the way Mary holds her son. Unlike the more familiar representations in which she embraces the Child securely against her body, here Jesus sits upright on her lap, almost as if he were posing for an official portrait. Mary's hand appears to rest on his thigh, while her other hand holds a cross.

The cross is an important detail, reminding us that the little fellow sitting so comfortably on his mother's lap is also the future Saviour, whose destiny will eventually lead to the Crucifixion.

And who is that little man kneeling at the bottom?

Look carefully at the lower part of the painting and you will notice a small figure kneeling at the feet of the Virgin.

The painting is rather worn, but the figure is generally identified as Pope John VII, who is believed to have commissioned the icon.

This is actually one of the most interesting features of the entire work. The Pope is represented as a donor, a person who has commissioned or financed a religious image and is therefore included in the composition as an act of devotion.

Donor portraits would become increasingly common in later medieval and Renaissance art, but here we are looking at one of their earliest known examples.

Naturally, the Pope is considerably smaller than the Virgin and Child. This is not a question of poor artistic skills or a particularly unfortunate perspective. Medieval artists often used different scales to express the spiritual importance of their subjects rather than their actual physical dimensions.

The presence of John VII also helps scholars establish the approximate date of the painting. If the identification is correct, the icon must have been produced during or around his pontificate, between 705 and 707.

But was it actually painted for Santa Maria in Trastevere?

Most scholars believe so, although there is another interesting theory. John VII was also involved in the development of a religious complex around Santa Maria Antiqua, in the Roman Forum. Some historians have suggested that the painting may originally have been intended for this project, which was never completed during his short pontificate.

Whatever its original destination, we know that the Madonna della Clemenza was already associated with Santa Maria in Trastevere by the time of Pope Gregory IV (827–844).

A miracle, a procession and a change of dedication

As you might expect from an image that has been venerated for more than a thousand years, the Madonna della Clemenza has its own miracle story.

According to local tradition, Rome was once struck by a terrible drought. With no rain in sight, the faithful decided to take the sacred image through the streets of the city in a solemn procession, praying for the Virgin's intervention.

And what happened?

As soon as the procession returned to the basilica, dark clouds gathered over Rome and the long-awaited rain finally arrived.

A miracle, naturally!

The episode strengthened the popular devotion to the icon, which was increasingly regarded as something more than an ordinary painting. It became a sacred image, an object of divine protection and a direct link between the faithful and the Virgin.

This brings us to the fascinating concept of acheiropoietic images, a Greek term meaning "not made by human hands". These are images believed to have a supernatural origin or to possess a special divine character.

Although the Madonna della Clemenza was certainly painted using a traditional artistic technique, its miraculous reputation gave it an almost supernatural status in the eyes of its devotees.

According to another tradition associated with the basilica, the cult of this miraculous image contributed to the change of the church's original dedication, traditionally connected with Saint Callixtus, to Santa Maria in Trastevere.

Rome and its five ancient Marian icons

Rome has always been particularly rich in ancient Marian images. Traditionally, five icons are singled out as some of the oldest and most important examples of this devotion:

• The Madonna del Conforto, in Santa Maria in Nova.

• The Madonna di San Luca, in Santa Maria ad Martyres, better known as the Pantheon.

• The Madonna of the Monasterium Tempuli, now in Santa Maria del Rosario on Monte Mario.

• The Salus Populi Romani, in the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore.

• And, of course, our Madonna della Clemenza, in Santa Maria in Trastevere.

Each of these images has its own history, artistic characteristics and devotional traditions. Together, they provide a fascinating picture of the development of Marian iconography in Rome and the importance of the city as a centre of Christian devotion.

In 1988, an exhibition at Santa Maria Maggiore brought together representations of all five icons. Well, almost. Due to its delicate state of conservation, the original Madonna della Clemenza could not be moved and was represented by a photographic reproduction instead.

Sometimes even a miraculous image needs a little rest!

The Altemps Chapel: when clemency was nowhere to be found

Now that we have covered the artistic and religious background, let's move on to the final chapter of our story. And this one is particularly interesting because it involves a powerful cardinal, a ruthless Pope and a rather unfortunate young man.

The Madonna della Clemenza is now housed in the magnificent Altemps Chapel, commissioned by Cardinal Marco Sittico Altemps and installed in the basilica in the late 16th century.

The architectural project was entrusted to Martino Longhi the Elder, while the decorative paintings were executed by Pasquale Cati, a pupil of the celebrated Cavalier d'Arpino.

The chapel is quite a spectacle. The vault is decorated with scenes from the life of the Virgin, while the side walls feature episodes connected with the pontificate of Pope Pius IV, who happened to be the cardinal's uncle.

And, naturally, the ancient Madonna della Clemenza occupies the central position above the altar.

But why did Cardinal Altemps decide to build such an elaborate chapel?

Well, here comes the interesting part.

Marco Sittico Altemps had been one of the opponents of Cardinal Felice Peretti during the conclave of 1585. Unfortunately for him, Peretti was elected Pope and took the name Sixtus V.

Sixtus V was not exactly known for being a particularly forgiving man. Determined to restore papal authority and put an end to the excessive influence of Rome's powerful aristocratic families, he was prepared to take rather drastic measures.

And the Altemps family would soon discover just how drastic.

The cardinal's son, Roberto Altemps, was accused of adultery. He was barely in his twenties, although he had reportedly been married for ten years. The accusation led to a trial and, eventually, a death sentence.

His father desperately appealed to the Pope, hoping to save his son's life. But Sixtus V refused to intervene and Roberto was beheaded in 1586.

According to the story handed down through tradition, the Pope rejected the cardinal's pleas with a particularly cold response, declaring that there could be no clemency for those who broke the law, regardless of whether they were young, noble or even members of the clergy.

Not exactly the answer a desperate father would have hoped for.

The tragedy completely devastated Marco Sittico Altemps. He never truly recovered from the loss of his son, although he did outlive the Pope responsible for his execution by several years.

And this is where the story becomes particularly intriguing.

A few years after this terrible episode, the cardinal commissioned a magnificent chapel and chose as its central image the Madonna della Clemenza: an ancient icon that had been venerated for centuries as a symbol of mercy, compassion and divine intercession.

Whether this choice was deliberately connected to his personal tragedy or simply reflected the traditional devotion associated with the image is difficult to establish. Nevertheless, the contrast is hard to ignore.

A father who had begged in vain for mercy from the Pope now placed his hopes, and perhaps his prayers, before an image whose very name celebrated clemency.

There is something rather poignant about that.

And so, the next time you visit Santa Maria in Trastevere, take a moment to step into the Altemps Chapel and look carefully at the ancient Madonna.

You will be looking at much more than an early medieval painting. Behind that solemn Byzantine face lies a story spanning more than a thousand years: from the early development of Christian iconography and the influence of Constantinople to miraculous traditions, papal politics and a family tragedy.

Not bad for a painting that has quietly watched over Rome for thirteen centuries!

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