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TRICLINIUM PAUPERUM: , AND THE PAPACY IN THE

TIME OF GREGORY THE GREAT

AN ABSTRACT

SUBMITTED ON THE FIFTEENTH DAY OF MARCH, 2013

TO THE DEPARTMENT OF HISTORY

IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS

OF THE SCHOOL OF LIBERAL ARTS

OF TULANE

FOR THE DEGREE

OF

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

BY

______

Miles Doleac

APPROVED: ______Dennis P. Kehoe, Ph.D. Co-Director

______F. Thomas Luongo, Ph.D. Co-Director

______Thomas D. Frazel, Ph.D

AN ABSTRACT

This dissertation examines the role of Gregory I (r. 590-604 CE) in developing permanent ecclesiastical institutions under the authority of the of to feed and serve the poor and the socio-political world in which he did so. Gregory’s work was part culmination of pre-existing practice, part innovation. I contend that Gregory transformed fading, ancient institutions and ideas—the Imperial annona, the monastic soup kitchen-hospice or xenodochium, ’s “collection for the ,” Christian caritas more generally and Greco-Roman euergetism—into something distinctly ecclesiastical, indeed “papal.” Although Gregory has long been closely associated with charity, few have attempted to unpack in any systematic way what Gregorian charity might have looked like in practical application and what impact it had on the Roman

Church and the . I believe that we can see the contours of Gregory’s initiatives at work and, at least, the faint framework of an organized system of ecclesiastical charity that would emerge in clearer relief in the eighth and ninth centuries under I (r. 772-795) and Leo III (r. 795-816). Gregory’s efforts at caritative organization had significant implications. This dissertation argues that Gregory’s response to poverty and want in Rome from 590 to 604 CE permanently altered the trajectories of both ecclesiastical charity and the office that came to oversee its administration.

TRICLINIUM PAUPERUM: POVERTY, CHARITY AND THE PAPACY IN THE

TIME OF GREGORY THE GREAT

A DISSERTATION

SUBMITTED ON THE FIFTEENTH DAY OF MARCH, 2013

TO THE DEPARTMENT OF HISTORY

IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS

OF THE SCHOOL OF LIBERAL ARTS

OF

FOR THE DEGREE

OF

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

BY

______

Miles Doleac

APPROVED: ______Dennis P. Kehoe, Ph.D. Co-Director

______F. Thomas Luongo, Ph.D. Co-Director

______Thomas D. Frazel, Ph.D

©Copyright by Miles Doleac, 2013

All Reserved

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First, I wish to thank Dennis Kehoe, not only for the considerable time and energy he dedicated to this project, but for generously shepherding me through a graduate career at Tulane that was not without obstacles. In addition, I owe an enormous debt to my once-and-future mentor, colleague and, most importantly, my friend, Phyllis Jestice, for her , , guidance, concern and support over the last decade. Without

Phyllis, my professional circumstances would almost certainly be substantially different than they are today. I have been humbled by Phyllis’ belief in me and I to carve my own academic career in the most charitable image of hers. Lastly, I am very fortunate to have a family who has always provided, and continues to provide, unrelenting support to my endeavors, large and small. For this, even soaring words would fall short of expressing my gratitude.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ...... ii

Chapter

I. INTRODUCTION ...... 1

The Problem: Gregory and Permanent Poor Relief

The Argument: Charity Begins at Rome

The Problem and Its Implications: Poverty, Charity and Power

Food for the Masses: Christian Charity vs. Greco-Roman Euergetism

The End of the Roman World

Gregory I: and Senator

The Groundwork: Brown and Beyond

The Primary Evidence

Summary of Chapters

2. ROME AT THE END OF THE WORLD ...... 42

The Winter of and the Men Who Ran Them

The and the Old Aristocracy

3. PATERFAMILIAS DOMINI ET UTILITATES PAUPERUM: GREGORY “SAVES” ROME FOR THE POOR...... 89

Christianity’s Disciplined (if Disorderly) Care for the Poor: The Foundations of an Institution

Christian Charity Meets Imperial Largesse

A Brief History of the Annona

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Grain for Rome: From the Ports to the Distribution Centers

Localizing the Annona: The Situation after 410

Gregory’s Problem: Feeding Rome in the Late Sixth Century

The Gregorian Distributions: People and Places

Diaconiae and Distribution: What’s In A Name?

Rome’s ‘Dark Age’ and Her Bishop’s Response

4. VITA CONTEMPLATIVA ET VITA ACTIVA: THE APE AND THE LION ..192

The Faces and Needs of the Late Antique Poor

Gregory, and Monastic Poor Houses

Private Foundations, Papal Patronage

36,000 Meals and Fourteen Mares: Did Gregory’s Relief Efforts Actually Help to Ameliorate the Plight of the Poor?

5. CONCLUSION: POVERTY, CHARITY AND POWER ...... 248

Appendix

1. GREGORIUS CYRIDANO...... 269

2. ILLUSTRATIONS ...... 271

WORKS CITED ...... 278

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INTRODUCTION: TRICLINIUM PAUPERUM

The sixth century is one of the most memorable in history. In it, humanity witnessed the overthrow of a great and ancient civilization, and on this account believed that the end of the world had come.

Gregorovius, Die Geschichte der Stadt Rom im Mittelalter (History of the of Rome in the , 1870), ii.70

The future Gregory I “the Great” (r. 590-604 CE) carved the of

St. Andrew’s out of his wealthy family’s estate around 575 CE. Today, three chapels and the apse wall of a large library and audience hall are all that resemble

Gregory’s original foundation. The chapels are dedicated to S. Barbara, S. Andrea and

Gregory’s mother, S. Sylvia. According to legend, Sylvia is buried beneath the chapel that bears her name, although the current structure was erected from the foundations near the turn of the seventeenth century. The other two chapels exhibit striking elements of late Roman/early medieval building technique. Both have been renovated (S. Andrea extensively), but S. Barbara still displays the traits of a late Roman summer triclinium, as one might expect to find on an aristocratic family’s estate in the twilight of antiquity.1

But something is different about this dining room. Roman aristocrats had long used dinner parties as a venue for entertaining and impressing other Roman aristocrats, but S.

Barbara’s triclinium may have functioned in a much dissimilar capacity. An inscription on the marble archway that frames the entrance of S. Barbara’s Chapel tells another story

1 See Richard Krautheimer’s discussion in Rome: Profile of a City, rev. ed. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), p. 59.

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altogether. It reads: TRICLINIUM PAUPERUM (“dining room of the poor”). The inscription reflects how people understood Gregory and his work at a much later date, but it may well be appropriate to the use of the room (or at least a piece of its furniture) in

Gregory’s own lifetime.

Gregory’s ninth-century biographer, John the (fl. 872-882 CE), lists a

Chapel of S. Barbara in his description of the monastic buildings of St. Andrew’s. 2 He also relates the story that, as pope, Gregory hosted twelve destitute persons each evening for dinner and that, on one occasion; an appeared at the table to demonstrate God’s approval of Gregory’s great generosity. If the Bishop of Rome held such dinners, he likely would have done so in the Lateran apartments, but Gregory maintained close ties to

S. Andrew’s even after worldly affairs called him away from his monastic retreat in the late . The glorious of S. Gregorio Magno al Celio testifies to the fact that, even now, the site proudly commemorates the accomplishments of its namesake, as does—of greater significance for our purposes—the soup kitchen and homeless shelter, run by ’s of Charity, which also occupies the grounds of what was once St. Andrew’s. Today, upon entering the site’s Chapel of S. Barbara, one is struck by the presence of a large, rectangular, marble table, possibly of ancient origin, even if its fifteenth-century inscription is not. At the east end of the chapel, a towering medieval sculpture of a seated Gregory in papal regalia nods approvingly at the great table below, the inscription atop which reads:

2 John the Deacon, Vita Gregorii IV.89 PL 75, 234. : J.-P. Migne, 1847.

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Bis senos hic Gregorius pascebat egentes angelus et decimus tertius ac cubuit. Here Gregory used to feed twelve needy persons and an angel joined them, making thirteen.3

The inscription is notable for its simplicity, especially in light of how far removed it is from Gregory’s own time. By the fifteenth century, Gregory had long attained legendary status. The omission from the table inscription of Gregory’s adjectival honorific, Magnus, is particularly striking. But the impression one gets from even a cursory reading of

Gregory’s own letters, more than 850 of which survive, and the biographies written about him between about the year 700 and the end of the ninth century convey a similar simplicity and purity of purpose. The question of whether the room and its table were once used by Gregory himself—although they certainly could have been4—is somewhat moot. A rich tradition about Gregorian charity exists independently of the triclinium’s archaeological remains. Nevertheless, what is clear is that in this little chapel, on the quaint grounds of today’s S. Andrea del Celio monastery, whether or not it ever served as

Gregory’s dining room or housed his famous table, brilliantly encapsulates Gregory’s prime directive as pope: the care and feeding of the Roman poor. More important, perhaps, the triclinium bears witness to the fact that Gregory was remembered almost a thousand years after his death for his compassion toward the needy, for his great attention to charity.

In the following, I will muster considerable evidence, not unlike the above inscription (although demonstrably much closer to Gregory’s own time), which might

3 Henceforth, of texts are my own unless otherwise noted.

4 Krautheimer speculates on the possibility in Rome: Profile of a City, p. 59. Ferrari thinks that at least part of the Chapel of S. Barbara comprised a portion of a house that dates to the 3rd century CE. See Guy Ferrari, Early Roman Monasteries: Notes for the History of Monasteries and at Rome from the V through the X Century (Rome: Pontifico Istituto de Archaeologica Cristiana, 1957), p. 145 and footnote 14.

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rightly be called hagiographic, discursive or legendary. Even letters, to which we will consistently turn in the following pages, were often employed as rhetorical devices in antiquity and, as such, may not always reflect actual fact. I am sensitive to the discursive quality of some of the evidence mounted herein, but I am also convinced that these sources, in their uniform portrait of Gregory’s immense energy toward and deep concern for the needs of the poor, do provide significant insight into Gregory’s own actions and initiatives. At the very least, they show that poor relief was central to Gregory’s reputation and renown, both during his pontificate and for long thereafter. the

Deacon (d. c. 799), Gregory’s eighth-century Benedictine biographer, had explained away Gregory’s failure to build or adorn great churches by lauding his diligent care for the poor. Paul commented that, in contrast to other of Rome, who used the

Church’s resources to erect and ornament buildings with gold and silver, Gregory

“unremittingly dispersed and gave to the poor all the money he was able to acquire.”5

John the Deacon (d. c. 882), Gregory’s most meticulous panegyrist, writing not quite a century later, told the story that, when a poor man was found dead of starvation in Rome,

Gregory abstained from celebrating mass for many days, mourning as if he had killed the man himself.6 Even a legend about the Bishop of Rome knowing the identity of one poor man in the city and profoundly lamenting his loss must tell us something about Gregory’s response to poverty or, at least, how it was perceived by later generations. One thing is

5 Paul the Deacon, Vita Gregorii 16 reads: “Nam alii quidem pontifices construendis ornandisque auro vel argento ecclesiis operam dabant; hic autem et his iusistebat, et quasi his omissis totus erga animarum lucre vacabat, et quidquid pecuniae habere poterat, sedulus dispergere, et dare pauperibus curabat ….”

6 John the Deacon, Vita Gregorii 2.29.

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certain. This kind of sentiment rises, in our admittedly hagiographic sources, as a constant refrain.

The Problem: Gregory and Permanent Poor Relief

The lack of study about Gregory and poor relief in particular, despite legends of him feeding the poor from his own table to the approval of the , explains the need for the following study. Even as poverty in the has become a topic of much debate and investigation, Gregory’s own time and initiatives remain largely un- mined. Peter Brown’s important work on poverty and leadership in leaves

Gregory himself just beyond its scope.7 Susan Holman’s pioneering research has likewise broadened the discussion and our understanding of Christianity’s response to poverty.

But Holman’s research is primarily focused on Roman in the later fourth century and, especially, the towering figure of Basil of (c. 329-379 CE), whose significant charitable work represented perhaps the most important institutional antecedent to Gregory’s.8 The work of Brown and Holman, while leaning toward the realm of intellectual rather than institutional history, nevertheless, has been absolutely critical in opening the way forward, toward a better understanding of Christianity’s— especially Christian bishops’—responses to poverty. Brown and Holman have, however, limited the chronological parameters of their work on poverty and charity to the later

7 Which really situates itself from the middle-fourth to the middle-sixth century. Brown’s most important and influential work on the topic to date is Poverty and Leadership in the Later Roman Empire (Hanover and London: University Press of New , 2001). Therein, Brown admits that Gregory stands “at the end of our period,” touching upon Gregory’s charitable work for roughly a page. See p. 45 and p. 60.

8 See Susan Holman, The Hungry Are Dying: Beggars and Bishops in Roman Cappadocia (: , 2001).

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fourth and early fifth centuries, at least primarily. On the other side of Gregory, chronologically, stands the work of Hendrick Dey, who, in a recent article, began what he promises to be a systematic treatment of Christian charity from late antiquity through the middle ages, but his focal point thus far has been the late 7th-9th centuries, well after

Gregory and an institutionalized system was in place.9 Charitable outreach in Gregory’s time then rests squarely in the middle of Brown/Holman’s and Dey’s work, largely untreated by the larger academic community, save the passing mention, which, while readily acknowledging Gregory’s significant contribution to the Church’s relief structure, does not treat the situation at Rome in the late sixth century in a systematic way.

Richard Krautheimer’s assessment of Gregory’s work in his Rome: Portrait of a

City, 312-1308 is a prime example:

Distribution to the urban masses in Rome was likewise well-regulated. In the fifth century … a central welfare organization had been set up at the papal , the Lateran. Gregory presumably reactivated and improved it. A roster of welfare recipients—churches, monasteries, individuals—was kept at the Lateran; it was preserved until the ninth century. Foodstuffs, seasonably available, were doled out on the first of each month—grain, , cheese, vegetables, lard, meat, oil, fish: mobile soup kitchens provided for the sick and infirm, notables were regaled with condiments; the , monasteries, and churches received gifts in specie four times a year. However, the Lateran was far from what had become by Gregory’s time the densely populated area of town. To supplement the Lateran office, welfare offices were set up nearer that zone; their name, diaconiae, has survived in the title of the Cardinal .10

Here, Krautheimer fundamentally encapsulates the of research on Gregory and his charitable efforts and provides a firm jumping off point for my study, which seeks, first and foremost, to understand and elucidate in detail Gregory’s role in creating lasting

9 Hendrick Dey in his “Diaconiae, Xenodochia, Hospitalia and Monasteries: ‘Social Security’ and the Meaning of in Early Medieval Rome,” in Early Medieval 2008 16 (4) 398-422.

10 R. Krautheimer, Rome: Profile of a City, 312-1308 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980), p. 77.

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institutions to serve the poor. It is true that nearly every who touches Gregory points out how charitable he was, but rarely has a scholar taken the next step and attempted to unpack what Gregorian charity would have looked like, what it meant in the practical application and how it should be viewed both within the context of the Church and greater Roman . In fairness to Krautheimer, Gregory and poor relief were not the locus of his work and, yet, in three or so pages in Rome: Profile of a City, he still contributed as much specific information to the discussion as any scholar I have encountered with the exceptions of perhaps Holmes Dudden (in his monumental, two- volume work, Gregory the Great: His Place in History and Thought, 1905), Edward

Spearing (The Patrimony of the Roman Church in the Time of Gregory the Great, 1918),

Frances Niederer (in her inexplicably still-unpublished University dissertation of 1951) and, more recently, Jean Durliat.11 In the cases of Niederer and Durliat, however, neither project has Gregory and his immediate circumstances as its focal point.

But, because Niederer scrutinizes the physical structures that became Church food distribution centers (diaconiae) and Durliat works on the problem of urban subsistence in late antiquity, Gregory looms as a figure impossible to ignore.

Oversimplification of Christian poor relief efforts has likewise been an unfortunate fixture of scholarship. In an otherwise well-rehearsed work on pilgrimage in the middle ages, one scholar asserts following with regard to the provisioning of twelfth- century travelers in Rome: “The deaconry, or diaconia, had originated as a service provided by the monasteries of lower in the mid-fourth century and consisted of

11 More on Dudden and Spearing below. See Frances J. Niederer, The Roman Diaconiae: A Study of the Use of Buildings by the Christian Church to 806 A.D. (University Microfilm International, 1951) and J. Durliat, De la ville antique à la ville byzantine: Le problème de subsistences. In La Collection de L’Ecole française 136 (Rome: Palais Farnèse, 1990).

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the distribution by of food to the poor.”12 The author no doubt has in mind the charitable work of Antony of Egypt (c. 251-356 CE), the father of monasticism as it is now known, who made and sold baskets and used the proceeds to buy bread for the poor.13 Although it is certainly true that monasteries played a huge role in what would become the Gregorian welfare system, what Antony and his followers were up to in lower Egypt was hardly formally organized or systematic. There is no evidence that they even conducted their activity out of a specific building; rather, the implication of

Athanasius is that Antony and his disciples delivered the bread to the poor, not that the poor showed up at a designated facility to receive it. When monasteries did develop into formal relief centers, they did so in the form of xenodochia, monastic relief centers managed, initially at least, by monks, and specializing in housing and medical care, not diaconiae, a more strictly ecclesiastical institution, managed by officers of the Church, dedicated primarily to food distribution. The point is that it is time to investigate Gregory and his welfare initiatives fully, both on their own terms and in comparison to prior imperial and ecclesiastical efforts to address Roman society’s most glaring problems: 1) how to keep a large, ancient city fed and, by extension, viable; 2) how to deal with the overwhelming numbers of poor persons and the issue of poverty more generally.

The Argument: Charity Begins at Rome

And so, the purpose of my study is to examine Gregory’s role in developing permanent ecclesiastical institutions under the ultimate authority of the Bishop of Rome

12 Debra J. Birch, Pilgrimage to Rome in the Middle Ages: Continuity and Change (Rochester, New York: Boydell Press, 1998), p. 123.

13 Athanasius, Life of Antony 3; for more on Antony, pp. 165-166, below.

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to serve the poor and the background against which he did so. Toward this end, I see my work as a in the long history of poor relief, but also in the institutional development of the Roman Church and its highest office. One individual’s response to poverty and want in Rome from 590-604 CE permanently altered the trajectories of ecclesiastical charity and the office that would oversee its administration. I contend that

Gregory transformed fading, ancient institutions and ideas—the Imperial annona, the monastic soup kitchen-hospice or xenodochium, Christianity’s “collection for the saints”,

Christian caritas more generally and Greco-Roman euergetism—into something distinctly ecclesiastical, even “papal.” Make no mistake, I do not endeavor to prove that

Gregory devised a formal “system” of poor relief that heretofore had not existed and that was firmly entrenched after him. I would not discount the possibility, but, at present, I am inclined to think that this fact is probably unprovable. Rather, I seek to reveal the contours of organized ecclesiastical poor relief during Gregory’s time, the broad framework of a system that would not emerge in earnest (at least in our extant sources) until the eighth and ninth centuries in the pontificates of Hadrian I (r. 772-795 CE) and

Leo III (795-816 CE). I will ask questions about Gregory’s initiatives and even hazard a few answers, fully accepting of the fact that those conclusions must, for now, remain tentative. I do believe, however, that if we, as scholars, are going to continue to take for granted Gregory’s close association with charity, we should rightfully aspire to understand, at least the faint outline, what Gregorian charity actually looked like.

In the fall of 590, Bishop Gregory inherited a long tradition of Christian charity, but not a uniform or organized one. Based on the socio-political circumstances of the late sixth century, he also inherited unusually sweeping, temporal powers. He employed these

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powers to create a permanent infrastructure through which Christianity’s longstanding directive of care for the poor might be effectively administered. The initiatives he employed to feed the city Rome leaned heavily upon Imperial and ascetic precedents like the annona, the empire’s massive food distribution system for Rome (and, later,

Constantinople) and xenodochia, the monastic relief centers that first appeared in Egypt,

Jerusalem and Cappadocia in the later fourth century. But for the first time, these systems—in the case of the annona, the vestiges of one—were molded into a unified network and governed by the leader of the Roman Church. Although the primary focus of my work is the institutions Gregory developed or created, it is important to note that

Gregory also drew upon ideas deeply entrenched in both the Roman and Christian ethos.

That is to say, he transformed Greco-Roman euergetism by infusing it with Christian caritas. Gregory acted as something of a hybrid of Roman aristocratic and Christian

(especially ascetic) sensibilities in responding to profound crisis in a particularly thoughtful and durable way. Because Gregory’s relief system represents, both in ideology and practical application, a kind of hinge connecting Roman antiquity and the Christian

Middle Ages, it can be used to frame the much broader scholarly debate about the

Church’s social and political role in the West’s transition from late antiquity to the

Middle Ages proper. It even speaks to the much-debated question of when we can properly call the bishop of Rome, “pope.” Social welfare, I would argue, became, based on Gregory’s precedent, the fundamental obligation and expectation of the bishop of

Rome, in some respects, the very conduit of the bishop’s growing authority. In a way, the moral authority the bishop of Rome gained by his service to the poor increased the actual authority of his office and broadened the exercise of his power. I contend that Gregory

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quite simply made the office bigger. Few scholars would dispute the fact. But the “how” has not been sufficiently articulated up to now. Gregory’s charity, I would argue, was critical to his episcopal authority. And charity was one, albeit commonly neglected reason, among others, that the powers of the office of the Bishop of Rome, were wider and more clearly defined in the wake of Gregory’s pontificate.

In short, this paper addresses the issue of what Gregory did, but it also raises the fundamental question of what he was capable of doing, as bishop of Rome. Here, I refer not only to the scope and extent of the powers he was able to exert through his office, but the considerable constraints imposed upon him by the reeling . This, by extension, leads to further questions about the solvency and functioning of the Italian economy of the sixth century, especially compared to its earlier Imperial antecedents and with particular regard to the acquisition, storage and distribution of foodstuffs.

It seems to me that the Roman Church had become a temporal, political institution by Gregory’s death in 604. This was not part of some grand design on Gregory’s part. It was a matter of necessity. Gregory acted to save a starving city. J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, in reference to the heightened powers Christian bishops wielded in late antiquity, wrote:

“the position which he (i.e. the bishop) achieved had not been sought by either Church or state; it had evolved as secular in a city weakened, leaving a vacuum.”14 This

“vacuum” threatened the existence of late antique cities, even—perhaps especially—

Rome. Gregory’s welfare system was a response to crisis and, at least in part, we can say that Gregory’s charity gave birth to the papacy. If fourth-century bishops seeking to claim the mantle of Christian euergetēs gained prominence by eloquently sermonizing on

14 J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, The Decline and Fall of the Roman City (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), p. 401.

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poverty, Gregory gained prominence for himself and his office by mustering the resources, cultural, physical and financial at his disposal to feed and shelter a populace and a city that could no longer be moved or saved by speeches.

Further, examining the role Gregory played in creating lasting institutions to serve the poor opens a window onto a vast landscape of historical problems, many of which scholars have not yet satisfactorily addressed. Into this scholarly milieu, I hope to situate my contribution. In the first measure, Gregory’s initiatives offer a glimpse into the developing institutions of the Roman Church and the degree of their dependence on the imperial institutions that preceded them, especially the annona, the imperial provisioning system that distributed foodstuffs on a monthly basis to registered Roman citizens from the late until at least the late fifth century, perhaps, resurrected by the

Byzantines in the sixth. I think that Gregorian charity borrowed the annona in some respects. For example, John the Deacon saw, in the Lateran archive, a list of persons eligible to receive Church charity, dating, according to John at least, to Gregory’s own time.15 The emperors kept recipient lists as well; and maybe the Gregory’s register of persons represents not only a strand of continuity with the imperial system, but a step toward the systematization of charity with the Roman Church. Like the annona, ecclesiastical distributions appear to have taken place in porticoes and/or commercial buildings large enough to accommodate numbers, although the numbers of persons receiving the Church’s dole would have been, at any stage or circumstance, considerably smaller than those receiving the annona.

15 John the Deacon, Vita Gregorii, 2.29.

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The challenge of my study is two-fold. First, it seeks to understand the very make- up of Rome’s food supply system, what comprised it, how it was administered, and the myriad of problems associated with adequately provisioning the greatest city of antiquity and, closely related to the former, the prevalence and nature of poverty and want in late

Roman society more generally. Second—and these questions are yet to achieve a scholarly consensus one way or the other—when did the imperial institutions provisioning the city of Rome actually end and the Church’s formal charitable institutions begin? It is easy enough to say that the annona continued well into late antiquity, but, by the time of Gregory’s bishopric, there is not a shred of tangible evidence that it was still functioning, although the fact of its existence is often taken for granted. Similarly, charity and charitable outreach is rightly seen as representing an integral part of the from the first century on, but scholars have scarcely sought to answer the question of when ecclesiastical charity became a formal, uniform institution—or at least when an institutional framework was put firmly in place—and what precisely that would have looked like. I would argue that charitable outreach before Gregory was somewhat, if not vastly, different than after him. That is to say, ecclesiastical charity became organized, maybe even institutionalized, during the bishopric of Gregory I, at Rome, some of which was the result of Gregory’s own policies and initiatives, some, the result of external factors beyond Gregory’s (or anyone else’s) control.

The Problem and Its Implications: Poverty, Charity and Power

The ideology and application of charity, of course, created huge ripples throughout Christian communities well before Gregory. And central to my argument is

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the often-felt but rarely examined sense that —in this case Christian bishops with increasing clout—were, with regard to their concern for the poor, somehow different from their polytheistic counterparts. Brown opened the door onto the problem in two supremely important works, Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity (1992) and Poverty and Leadership in the Later Roman Empire (2001), wherein he investigated the burgeoning Christian hierarchy’s response, primarily ideological, to the very poor. Brown postulated an intimate link between Christian bishops’ rhetorical promotion of poverty and their rising power. He argued that the bishops’ full-throated, open-armed and even strategic embrace of their role as “protector” and “lover” of the poor and “nourisher” of cities contributed in large part to the widespread public prominence they enjoyed by the end of the fourth century, especially among “cultivated” Christians.16 Brown’s argument regarding the prominence of poverty in episcopal preaching in the fourth century certainly suggests a paradigm shift.

In The Hungry Are Dying, Susan Holman’s research focused on episcopal charity, as vividly enunciated by charismatic preachers, Basil, (c. 335-c. 395) and Gregory Nazianzus (c. 329-390 CE), the so-called “” and, in specific, the newly salvific role of charity in Christian discourse and practice. In fourth- century Roman Cappadocia, care for the poor was no longer a recommendation for beneficent believers; it was the very key to every believer’s . The pitiful, graphically-drawn figure of Lazarus from Luke’s parable (Lk 16:19-31) becomes a semi- heroic figure, the bishop’s rallying cry, the very embodiment of the “supreme human

16 See especially, Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Toward a Christian Empire (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1988), pp. 103-108; pp. 78-80.

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calamity.”17 He is no longer to be pitied; he is to be adored, the exemplar of Christian holiness. Indeed, Christian bishops were reorienting the focus of the Roman social pyramid, but this was, of course, not new to fourth-century Christianity.

In many respects, the trend brought to fruition the fears of Paul’s Thessalonian critics from Acts who charged the apostle and his retinue with “turning the world upside down” (17:6). It is most interesting that the heightened and unique visibility of the very poor in the early Church extended even to etymology: The NT’s primary term for a poor person is the Greek ptōchós, appearing 34 times in the , whereas the term, pénēs, appears only once (in 2 Cor. 8:9).18 It is possible that Christian writers were trying to suggest the Christian movement’s concern not just for the lower class day laborer

(pénēs), but for the truly bereft, the destitute ptōchós. Christianity’s earliest charitable practices can be gleaned at least in outline in Paul’s admonitions to contribute to the

“collection for the saints,” that is, the poor among the community and, perhaps in cases of extreme need, elsewhere.19 Paul claims that he had been given but one non- negotiable directive by the “pillars” of the Jerusalem Church (Peter, James and John): that he always “remember the destitute (ptōchós) (Gal. 2:10),” although the apostle seems free to interpret how to go about doing so. This “as-needed” approach to charity seems to have been normative in early Christianity. Indeed, Christianity’s earlier charitable outreach developed and was administered in an ad hoc fashion, beginning under the

17A theme seized upon to great effect by Holman in The Hungry are Dying: Beggars and Bishops in Roman Cappadocia . For hunger as the “supreme human calamity,” see Basil, Famem et siccitatem in PG 31.321. And Holman’s discussion in the above, pp. 76-79.

18 See The Anchor Dictionary, Volume 5, edited by Noel Freedman (New York and London: Doubleday, 1992), p. 415.

19 E.g. the Churches of Macedonia mentioned in 2 Cor. 8:1-2. Paul discusses the “collection” extensively in 2 Cor. 8-9 and encourages donations to it in Romans 15:25-32 and 1 Cor. 16:1-4.

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direction of individual Christian communities (Jerusalem most notable among the earliest examples) or individuals and, later, bishops and clergy, the scope and effectiveness of whose social welfare programs were entirely dependent on the wealth of their congregations—and their congregants’ willingness to give—or their own.20 Two examples from Acts perhaps elucidate the most typical incarnation of earliest Christian charity: the poor ministries of the female , (Tabitha), from Joppa, who was said to be “devoted to good works and charity” and the converted centurion,

Cornelius, who “gave generously to the people.” (Acts 9:36-41; 10:1-2). Dorcas appears to have been supporting a community of “saints and widows” with her own monies and at her own initiative, all of whom are in attendance when Peter raises their patroness from the dead; Cornelius was likewise offering support to ptōchoi from his home and of his own accord. Paul’s “collection”, to my mind, represents a trend of early

Christian congregations or individual leaders to funds specifically directed toward the care of the very poor, either in their own congregations or elsewhere. But these efforts were just that: individual, regional, unique to given circumstances. Even Basil’s relief efforts can be seen as the individual initiative of a single bishop in a particular place in a specific time of need. But what began as a sort of “grass roots” level operation swelled into something much more comprehensive and, ultimately, by the end of the sixth century, uniform. There is no doubt that Gregory’s extensive welfare program had important, foundational antecedents, noteworthy not only in the work of Basil or Gelasius

I, Bishop of Rome (r. 492-496 CE), but in the management and distribution of the

20 At least before Constantine, in 321, allowed wealthy Christians to bequeath lands to churches (and later monasteries), thereby vastly increasing their wealth, especially true for the See of Rome. CTh 16.2.4 (Rome, July 31, 321 CE).

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annona. Christian poor relief was hardly new, but the practical application of it, in the

Roman West at least, is very hard to spot before Gregory. And so, I contend that it was under Gregory’s leadership, and at a time of desperation, that the charitable apparatus of the institutionalized Church came into clear relief for the first time. With Gregory, we can see the Church taking steps toward systematization; we can glean the contours of how relief initiatives were practically applied. The fragmented evidence certainly leaves us with unanswered—perhaps unanswerable—questions, but I would surmise that it was

Gregory, who, intentionally or not, made Christianity’s ideology of charity a permanent institution of the Roman Church. And the city of Rome became Gregory’s triclinium pauperum.

Food for the Masses: Christian Charity vs. Greco-Roman Euergetism

In Brown’s thinking, as patrons of the poor and the urban sphere more generally,

Christian bishops like Basil or Augustine were not so very different from their Greco-

Roman counterparts after all. In fact, they stood in the direct lineage of Greco-Roman euergetēs like Herodes (c. 101-177 CE), who lavished his attentions and considerable fortune on the city of in the middle second century CE. Paul

Veyne’s Bread and Circuses (1990) still represents the definitive scholarly work on

Greco-Roman euergetism, which he defines as “private liberality for public benefit.”21

Veyne argued that voluntary euergetism in the form of buildings (amphitheatres, baths, stadiums, temples), games and services donated to cities by wealthy benefactors was in

21Paul Veyne, Bread and Circuses: Historical Sociology and Political Pluralism. Translated by Brian Pearce. (London: Allen Lane, 1990), quote, p. 10. For much of the remainder of this paragraph, see esp. pp. 70-80.

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fact not so voluntary at all. By the Roman period, it was the clear expectation of the magistracies that Roman aristocrats throughout the empire’s cities either held or aspired to hold. Further, Veyne contends that, while the gifts of the beneficent euergetēs were certainly meant to enhance the public profile or image of the giver, these acts were understood by patrons and recipients alike as kind of duty to one’s city, a sometimes burdensome, but obligatory munus (“service”). There was often a religious component inherent in such donations; even games, far from being mere entertaining distractions, honored the gods, commemorated (and gave thanks for) Roman victories and achievements and beseeched divine powers for their continuing favor.22 They also provided income to the hundreds—if not thousands—of vendors who hocked their wares in and around the baths and amphitheatres and the lanistae (“trainers”) who supplied .23 While these benefactions were not intended to serve the needs of a city’s poorest inhabitants, an entire city commonly benefited from them. The fact would certainly be true in a case like that of the imperial freedman and contemporary of

Hadrian, Publius Aelius Onesimus, who left 200,000 secterces to establish a grain fund for Nacoleia in , his gift celebrated by an extant inscription (and no doubt by

Nacoleia’s urban notables).24 Still, Veyne rejects the notion that euergetism was undertaken for “charitable” purposes. He calls the euergetēs “a ‘big man’ who would speak of ‘my people’ rather than ‘us’: the mass of the citizens are his family and he

22 See John Stambaugh, The Ancient Roman City (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins, 1988), pp. 225-228.

23 David S. Potter provides a table of prices for gladiators of various ranks in his article, “Entertainers in the Roman Empire” in Life, Death and Entertainment in the Roman Empire, edited by D.S. Potter and D.J. Mattingly (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999), pp. 256-323, ad loc. 318-319.

24 Paul Erdkamp, The Grain Market in the Roman Empire: A Social, Political and Economic Study (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), p. 272; CIL 3.6998.

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them no more than he controls them.”25 As Holman points out, Veyne’s study is absolutely vital for its fundamental exploration of the Greco-Roman “awareness” of patronage over poverty.26 So, euergetism was a form of social control, albeit a beneficial one, and, Brown at least suggests, that Christian charity, as articulated by fourth and fifth century bishops, was undertaken along the same lines. I would argue that the annona too, the emperor’s special gift to and responsibility toward his capital, represented a prime example of euergetism in action in a form that, quite literally, sustained the empire’s greatest city.

The “why” of euergetism is harder, but not impossible, to come by, at least according to Jennifer Tobin. Tobin has argued convincingly that at least in the case of

Athens’ most free-spending euergetēs, Herodes Atticus, the practice was undertaken first and foremost to perpetuate reputation and heighten personal celebrity, especially among fellow aristocrats, and was meant only secondarily for the good of the people.27 It is, of course, extremely difficult to analyze or understand the psychological motivations of an individual from antiquity, but Tobin thinks her exhaustive study of all personal, political and biographical evidence related to Herodes allows her to hazard a hypothesis. Brown thinks Christian bishops too were looking to heighten their profile through beneficent talk and works. These bishops had something to gain on a socio-political level: power, honor and status (just like Veyne’s and Tobin’s euergetēs) all of which remained in limited supply even in a Christian Roman Empire. Brown writes, “The theme of ‘ of the

25 P. Veyne, Bread and Circuses, p. 110, also cited by Holman, The Hungry are Dying, p. 11.

26 Holman, The Hungry are Dying: Beggars and Bishops in Roman Cappadocia, p. 11.

27 Jennifer Tobin, Herodes Attikos and the City of Athens: Patronage and Conflict under the Antonines (Amsterdam: J.C. Gieben, 1997), pp. 287-294.

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poor’ exercised a gravitational pull quite disproportionate to the actual workings of

Christian charity in the fourth century.”28 Indeed, Brown seems to relish the obvious irony in the fact that Christian bishops rallied the support of their fellow elites by painting themselves as “lovers” of the poor, regardless of their individual see’s actual poor relief practices. He argues:

By the end of the fourth century, the church, far from being a church of the lower classes,

reflected the sharp divisions in Roman society: its upper echelons were occupied by highly cultivated persons, drawn from the class of urban nobles. Their preaching tended to address wealthier and more educated members of the congregation.29

One gains a different perspective from Gregory’s letters than from the evidence of . But we should not overlook the practical charitable contributions of fourth- century bishops. We know, for example, that Basil was a passionate defender and supporter of the poor in the practical application, and an important forerunner of

Gregory’s own work, a fact made evident by his building of the massive poor relief center he called the ptōchotropheion.30 We should not allow his (or any other bishop’s) rhetorical eloquence to obscure actions on the ground in service of the poor. But Brown’s overriding argument that seeks to elucidate a direct socio-political (and educational) link between the Roman aristocracy of the high empire and the episcopal hierarchy of late antiquity is quite convincing. Christian bishops certainly employed rhetorical strategies borne out of a fundamentally Greco-Roman (that is, non-Judaic and non-Christian)

28 Brown, Power and Persuasion, p. 78.

29 Ibid., p. 77.

30 Basil, Ep. 94.

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model; they were deeply indebted, philosophically, to the Classical tradition; they arose, at least primarily, from the same aristocratic ranks that spawned senators, equestrians, civic leaders and patrons, even emperors. I think Gregory himself placed significant emphasis on his and the Church’s connection to their Roman forebears, whether cultural ideals or civil institutions. I am more concerned, however, with the practical, institutional aspects of ecclesiastical charity, the “actual workings of Christian charity” to use Brown’s phrase, and the cultural, political and economic factors that necessitated them; this is where Gregory’s program becomes unique and different

(certainly from its Christian antecedents). Gregory’s was the moment, in my view, wherein Brown’s assertion about the Church being “far from a church of the lower classes” no longer rings true in a practical sense (if it ever was, certainly a debatable point), wherein preaching and practice formally converged, even if this is partially the result of the significantly decreased size and fortunes of the aristocracy by 590. Still, the seeming overlap between the actions and ideology of a wealthy Roman euergetēs and a charitable Christian bishop in any period merits at least some scrutiny.

I think we can postulate a relationship between Greco-Roman euergetism and

Christian charity, at least as Gregory administered it. Gregory would himself bestow special care, even gifts, on high-status individuals within reach of his episcopal authority, likely with the rich legacies of Roman patronage and euergetism in mind. By 590,

Gregory was one of a rapidly shrinking number of individuals who had the financial resources to provide anything like the benefactions common to the earlier empire. I contend, however, that Gregory’s caritas was indeed different than euergetism in significant ways and, probably, different from what at least some fourth-century bishops

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were doing when they preached on poverty and charity. In short, I would argue that

Gregorian charity was euergetism in reverse. That is to say, Gregory’s fixation on providing for the poor led to his provisioning of the entire city of Rome, at least for a time, in addition to creating a permanent framework for ecclesiastical charity and increasing the power of his office.

On a more fundamental, social level, investigating Gregory’s relief effort forces one to take a hard look at one of the ancient world’s most pressing and logistically- demanding problems, that is, how to feed a large city, especially one like Rome, which imported her grain from Egypt, North , , and Corsica (depending upon the time period) and, to make matters more complicated, did not enjoy the luxury of being on the sea like , or . As Peter Garnsey stated, powerfully and succinctly, “Food first. No food, no life.”31 And in the ancient

Mediterranean world, production, transport, storage and distribution of foodstuffs were ever-perilous enterprises, a fact that made food shortages and malnutrition all-too- common fixtures of Roman society. -length treatments on the Roman grain by

Geoffrey Rickman (The Corn Supply of , 1980), Garnsey ( and

Food Supply in the Greco-Roman World, 1988) and, more recently, Boudewijn Sirks

(Food for Rome: The Legal Structure of the Transportation and Processing of Supplies for the Imperial Distributions in Rome and Constantinople, 1991) and Paul Erdkamp

(The Grain Market of the Roman Empire, 2005), have focused considerable scholarly attention on the enormous problem of getting food to mouths in antiquity and the risks associated with not doing so.

31 P. Garnsey, Food and Society in (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), p. 1.

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Erdkamp, while arguing against a uniform Roman economic policy for food supply (in favor of a more consumer-centric model, i.e. markets and individuals at least primarily drove the Roman grain trade, not the heavy-handed intervention of the Imperial government), nevertheless, stresses the extraordinary attentions individual rulers and patrons placed on the food supply of Rome and other cities, based largely on the status of urban consumers and the rulers’ desire to maintain their support and/or affections.32 For

Erdkamp, the annona itself became a kind of euergetism (although he does not use that term to describe it), not far removed from Herodes Atticus’ building of his theatre on the

Acropolis or the Panathenaic Stadium with an eye toward winning the affections of the citizens of Athens. In fact, points out Erdkamp, food euergetism, like that of the freedman

Onesimus, was not uncommon in the Roman Empire. While I would argue that euergetism and ecclesiastical charity were not the same—in fact, I think euergetism differed in significant ways from Gregory’s caritas—they were not wholly unrelated either. Erdkamp’s argument seems to imply that whatever the form of or motivation behind Greco-Roman euergetism, including donations of food or funds designated for the purchase of foodstuffs, it was unlikely that euergetēs held no concern for the very poor in their cities and their actions, at least by extension, surely helped to succor these individuals.

The plain and terrifying reality is that the distribution systems that sustained the people of Rome in antiquity, whether public, private or ecclesiastical and whatever the motivations behind them, had no choice but to succeed—and more often than not, they did. In addition, they certainly affected, even if indirectly, the lives of the poor. Without

32 P. Erdkamp, The Grain Market in the Roman Empire, see esp. pp. 5-7.

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these systems, an entire city foundered. Indeed, the annona and its ecclesiastical counterpart(s) were quite literally matters of life and death. As for those very poor persons who inhabited Roman cities, any discussion of food relief brings their plight and the rampant and endemic problem of poverty in the ancient world into clearest focus.

What did Roman poverty look like, who was vulnerable to it and what measures were undertaken by emperors, bishops, monks or other charitable patrons to ameliorate it?

The End of the Roman World

Gregory and his work were, in my view, the product and result of the two most disastrous centuries in Roman history. In spite of a trend among some of late antiquity to “banish catastrophe” from the narrative of the late Roman world, there can be little doubt that the fifth and sixth centuries were devastating for and Rome specifically.33 And my project seeks in part to add to the lively debate about how we as historians should rightly view and characterize the period from the late fourth century until the advent of the Carolingian Age. I will not dwell here on the circumstances that forced Gregory’s hand or had set the Roman economy, and the economic fortunes of many Romans, on a downward trajectory from Alaric’s in 410 on (the event that many consider the tangible starting point of the Roman west’s sinking fortunes), but the most damaging events should at least be noted. A century of Vandal incursions and piracy beginning in 429 and Justinian’s damaging two-decade war of reconquest (c. 534-554) had debilitated the Italian economy. In c. 560, a Bishop of Rome

33 Bryan Ward-Perkins’ stylish and appropriate phrase. See The Fall of Rome and the End of Civilization (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). His work provides an excellent introduction and examination of the events mentioned here. Ward-Perkins argues that the “decline” rightly begins with Alaric.

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(Pelagius I) lamented the “devastation that more than twenty-five years of continuous warfare, still now by no means abating, inflicted on the regions of Italy.”34 And despite the fact that Justinian’s war was declared at an end via the Pragmatic Sanction of 554,

Italy’s troubles persisted in the form of overzealous or corrupt Byzantine , the

Lombard invasion of 568, the catastrophic Flood of 589 and the outbreak of plague at Rome that followed it. By 419, with the reform of the number of Roman annona recipients from c. 200,000 to 120,000, we already see the practical effects of events on the ground.35 By the autumn of 590, as Gregory ascended to the Roman See, circumstances had conspired to alter permanently the social and economic landscape of the western Roman world. I will argue that the last and most significant symbols of

Rome’s Imperial achievement, the annona and the Senate, ceased to function at Rome just as the city fell into Gregory’s care. As a result, Gregory acted, of necessity, in a capacity greater than merely Bishop of Rome or even urban , increasing the power and profile of his office in doing so. But what follows is not about what Gregory did to broaden or solidify the authority of the embryonic papacy, although this was certainly a by-product of his actions. Rather, the discussion at hand postulates that, by grasping and exercising the unusual powers thrust upon him, Gregory accomplished something far

34 Pelagius I, Ep. 85.

35 CTh 14.4.10 (, 419), based on the pork dole. See below, chapter 1, pp. 19-21 (on population decline). There is obviously debate among scholars about the numbers of annona recipients, more so for the earlier period, that is to . gives us a definitive number of recipients under , 150,000 (Iul. 41.3), but cf. Res Gestae 15. Garnsey provides a fruitful discussion of the extant evidence in Famine and Food Supply: Responses to Risk and Crisis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 211-217. Cf. Garnsey, in favor of 200,000 Augustan recipients, Cities, Peasants and Food in Classical Antiquity: Essays in Social and Economic History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 229; Rickman seems to favor 150,000 Augustan recipients, moving to 200,000 under Septemius Severus, The Corn Supply of Ancient Rome (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980), pp. 181-184.

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more sublime: he created an institutional framework through which Christianity’s longstanding directive of charity might be effectively and permanently administered. I will attempt, to the extent possible, to illuminate that framework. While I seek, primarily, to scrutinize the circumstances that led Gregory to do this and the means by which he succeeded in doing so, I also hope to examine the practical results of the charitable program he managed, which included not only food-distribution, but lodging and . By better understanding Gregory’s mission to ameliorate the suffering of the needy, a group that, at times, included many more persons than just the destitute, we can see the

Roman Church emerge as the true economic and ideological heir to the Roman Empire in the west. Gregory’s background as Roman administrator and Christian ascetic placed him in a unique position as the axial figure in a transition as significant in western civilization as any before or after his pontificate.

Gregory I: Monk and Senator

It is well-known that Gregory was the first monk to become Bishop of Rome and, to that end, Gregory adopted charitable arrangements of monasteries for his programs at

Rome and elsewhere. He also adopted and espoused a monastic understanding of charity as an ideal. As Augustine (and Robert Markus) reminded us, the ascetic life was regarded as being fundamentally defined by the practice of charity.36 Herein, I will explore how monasticism made Gregorian charity different. In some respects, Gregory’s monasticism, his relationship to and understanding of monasteries and their institutions, changed everything.

36 See R.A. Markus, discussing Augustine’s City of God, in The End of Ancient Christianity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), pp. 75-83.

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But since euergetism was the purview of Greco-Roman aristocrats, I must point out that it is not often enough considered that Gregory was himself senatorial-class

Roman aristocrat, likely hailing from the Anicia, a family that enjoyed significant political influence in late antiquity. Gregory’s heritage is important in my view because it speaks to the very problem that Brown and others have sought to address, the aristocratization of the Church (and vice-versa, the of the Roman aristocracy) and its dynamic and far-reaching implications, a development that was key to the not only to the Church’s social or political place in late Roman society, but to her own self-identity. Gregory’s status informed the way he managed his office and the institutions created and developed from it while he was Bishop of Rome. In this regard, his background is at least worth considering in passing. Whether or not Gregory’s connection to the Anician family can be proven definitively, the fact that Gregory held the office of (“urban prefect”) c. 573 and that his family enjoyed extensive landholdings both in Rome (including their palatial estate on the Caelian) and

Sicily certainly betrays a man of high status, again we are talking as much about

Gregory’s own self-perception as the actuality of his kinship to a particular gens.37

Certainly with regard to education, he was given the tools of a good Roman aristocrat.

His rulings on wide-ranging social and legal issues reveal a man with a keen understanding of Roman culture—especially the culture of patronage (discussed above)—and law that bolstered his abilities as an administrator. Gregory was the scion of

37 For Gregory as Urban Prefect, see Gregory of , Historia Francorum, X. For the debate about and evidence of Gregory’s relationship to the gens Anicia, see Robert Markus, Gregory the Great and His World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 8, note 29 and Jeffrey Richards, Consul of God: The Life and Times of Gregory the Great (London, Boston and Henley: Routledge & Keegan Paul, 1980), p. 25.

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a long line of capable politicians and ecclesiastical administrators that included Pope

Felix III (r. 483-492), his great-great grandfather, and Pope Agapetus (535-36), perhaps his great uncle, who built the vast library on the family’s Caelian estate that later became part of St. Andrew’s. Gregory’s own father, Gordianus, had held an important post within the Roman church, perhaps even that of defensor, an ecclesiastical administrator and advocate who represented the interests of the bishop and his dependents on a wide-range of legal matters. Gregory himself enlarged the office and responsibilities of the defensor and made the post critical to his relief system.38 In sum, Gregory took both in his aristocratic Roman heritage and his family’s legacy of public service and he stood in the tradition of erudite Roman administrators dating back to the days of the Republic.

But Gregory’s task would require more than an effective administrator. In this regard, Gregory’s deep appreciation for monastic institutions, especially the soup kitchen-hospices and travelodges called xenodochia, and his monastic understanding of servitude were crucial to the success of the far-reaching welfare program he administered at Rome and beyond. In fact, perhaps Gregory’s most important and most visible innovation with regard to ecclesiastical charity was bringing established monastic relief structures squarely and practically into the organizational and administrative orbit of the

Bishop of Rome. In view of Gregory’s accomplishments, the relative paucity of scholarship on him in the last hundred years is something of an enigma. Gregory has perhaps suffered from having lived squarely in a period too late for many Romanists and too early for many Medievalists. Increasingly, however, Gregory’s era is seen as one of

38 John the Deacon, Vita Gregorii 1.1; 4.83. John calls Gordianus as , but Markus and Richards think this term was applied retroactively and that, in all likelihood, Gordianus served as a regionary defensor. See Markus, Gregory the Great and His World, p. 8, note 33 and Richards, Consul of God, p. 25.

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great historical significance. In fact, Gregory’s bishopric not only provides a view into conditions at Rome as Italy passed from late antiquity to the Middle Ages, it can be used as a vehicle for better understanding the socio-economic and political environment in which that shift took place. Gregory himself, a figure of universally-acknowledged importance, now deserves to be evaluated as a major figure in a seminal period of history.

The Groundwork: Peter Brown and Beyond

A study like this set squarely in problematic late antiquity thus poses significant challenges, both because of the nature of the available evidence and because the era itself has been neglected until somewhat recently. But a number of scholars, in just the last quarter century, have illuminated particular issues in the period under scrutiny without which my own study could not have been imagined. Work on the late Roman world has, of course, seen a manifest increase since Peter Brown’s The World of Late Antiquity was published in 1971. Brown focused his attentions on “social and cultural change” in a period that he believes to represent the most significant “transition” in Greco-Roman history.39 Within a decade, demand for broader scholarship on the period led Brown, along with G.W. Bowersock and Oleg Grabar to spearhead work on a substantial edited volume, Late Antiquity: A Guide to the Post-Classical World, containing contributions from , Henry Chadwick and Brent D. Shaw among others, in addition to its prolific editors (and an impressive annotated dictionary of important terms).40 More

39 Peter Brown, The World of Late Antiquity: From to (London: Thames and Hudson, 1971), reprinted as The World of Late Antiquity: AD 150-750 (New York and London: W.W. Norton, 1989), p. 7.

40 G.W. Bowersock, P. Brown and O. Grabar, Late Antiquity: A Guide to the Postclassical World (Cambridge and London: Belknap Press, 1999).

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recently scholars like Chris Wickham, Bryan Ward-Perkins, McCormick,

J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz and Averil Cameron have focused their attentions more directly on the social and economic history of this era of profound “decline” (a term favored by

Liebeschuetz and Ward-Perkins) or “transition” (the term favored by Brown and Averil

Cameron) from the late fourth to the early seventh centuries that bridged the later Roman

Empire and the .41

While Brown’s work is, in many respects, important to my project, I owe, perhaps, an even greater debt to a scholar like Chris Wickham, who particularly in his two most significant works, Early Medieval Italy: Central Power and Local Society, 400-

1000 (1981) and the monumental, Framing the Middle Ages: Europe and the

Mediterranean, 400-800 (2005) has investigated, through comprehensive comparative studies, social, institutional and economic changes in late antiquity across a broad geographic field, but especially in Italy. Wickham has provided us with a far clearer understanding of social and economic transformations by forcing scholars to rethink the way they approach basic concepts like “continuity” and “change” especially with regard to primary subjects of my study: aristocracies, urbanism and the definition of

“catastrophe” for and their cities. Cities, writes Wickham, “were the repository of basic public consciousness and responsibility in the Empire, and the Italian cities retained these features right through the early Middle Ages.”42 If this is true—and I think it is—then early medieval Rome should have many tales to tell. Investigating the city of

41 I consider the work of these scholars, and their terminologies, at some length below, ch. 1, pp. 43-47.

42 C. Wickham, Early Medieval Italy: Central Power and Local Society, 400-1000 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1981), pp. 4-5.

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Gregory’s pontificate should reveal much about cultural and political change and continuity as Rome evolved from city of the emperors to the city of the . But, even on this point, Wickham advises caution. It is not enough to suggest, on its face, that

Gregory’s Rome bore cultural, political or institutional resemblance to the Rome of the high Empire. Continuity, Wickham warns, “is a much misused concept, for it is often invoked for such specific things, in such isolation from wider problems of social change.”43 I aspire to cast a much wider net and Wickham has shown the way by providing scholars with new ways of interpreting and integrating our sometimes difficult or sparse sources in relation to one another. For example, taken together, the evidence of the Gaulish , of (fl. 440s), and a law of Valentinian III from

450 suggest that late Roman were oppressively high, a fact that is, in turn, suggestive of an economy in trouble.44 And we have not even mentioned or

Vandals. Wickham has shown that evidence for institutional change is in the details, especially when we compare those details to each other. I see my formulation of the issue in question and the methodology I employ to investigate it as dependent upon Wickham’s approach.

This, I think, is where my study represents a new contribution to the field.

Because, unlike Brown, or previous scholarship on Gregory specifically, which largely focuses on ideas, I am examining the institutional changes that occurred under Gregory’s leadership and their relationship to institutions that preceded them. These changes have

43 C. Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages: Europe and the Mediterranean, 400-800 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), p. 11.

44 Salvian, De gubernatione dei, 4.30-31, 5.17-45; Nov. Val. 1.3; Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages, pp. 62-64.

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wide-ranging implications for broader scholarship on late antiquity and force me into the dialogue of what precisely happened to the Roman world from c. 410 on. On this point, I have found myself consistently interacting with the work of Brown, Wickham, Ward-

Perkins and McCormick in particular. These scholars have plowed the field for me to one degree or another on this enormous question and the dialogue is especially relevant to the proceeding chapter. Bryan Ward-Perkins has argued for an inextricable link between the end of the ancient economy and the decline of the Roman Empire, based largely on events that occurred between 410 and Gregory’s bishopric.45 If we seize on Ward-

Perkins’ argument and follow Wickham’s methodological lead, Gregory’s dynamic

“moment” can provide a kind of test case for a better understanding of the entire period.

Comparative analysis of the intellectual evidence, even when rhetorical in nature, has, for me, still proven illuminating. I think Christians were different in the way they thought about and behaved toward the poor and their texts are replete with evidence of such. But it is with great respect for a Peter Brown or Henry Chadwick that I say that we must follow Wickham’s lead and seek to better understand practice, no matter how enthralling the preaching. Toward that end, like Gregory’s letters, the single most important pieces of evidence in my study, I hope this work bridges the gulf that sometimes—unnecessarily— separates scholarship on the early/late antique Church and the study of the social and economic history of the later Roman empire. In doing so, I wish to help resolve a tension between two “competing” schools of scholarship; there seems to be a rarely- acknowledged but simmering (and wholly unnecessary) antagonism between social and intellectual historians. But why choose between the formidable talents of Henry

45 Although he concedes that, “the ancient economy disappeared at different times and at varying speeds across the empire.” Ward-Perkins, The Fall of Rome and the End of Civilization, esp. pp. 123-137.

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Chadwick and Michael McCormick, when we could use both in tandem to point the way forward? The way forward entails not only a better understanding of institutions that came to define the Roman Church as a temporal institution, but a more direct appreciation of the period in which it definitively emerged as such. I would agree with

Wickham that we will uncover, generally speaking, “elements of both continuity and radical change.”46 I argue that both can be found in Gregory’s welfare efforts.

As for scholarship on Gregory specifically, since the still-important work of

Holmes Dudden (1905)47 and Edward Spearing (1918)48 in the earlier twentieth century, few scholars have sought to draw a full picture of Gregory and his times, much less analyze the social institutions that grew up on his watch. Dudden’s two-volume work remains critical based on its sheer comprehensiveness. No scholar before or after has filled as many pages detailing virtually every aspect of Gregory’s life, era and legacy.

Every treatment of Gregory since owes some debt to Dudden’s trailblazing. Dudden’s was the twentieth-century’s first substantive, English-language biography of a figure from the ancient world and one finds the specter of Dudden in Peter Brown’s breakout and still-relevant historical biography of Augustine.49 Both Dudden and Brown do an excellent of exploring not just their individual subject and his ideological preoccupations, but the historical milieu in which he lived, wrote and acted and the

46 Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages, p. 12.

47 F. Holmes Dudden, Gregory the Great: His Place in History and Thought, two volumes (London, New York and Bombay: Longman’s, Green and Co., 1905).

48 Edward Spearing, The Patrimony of the Roman Church in the Time of Gregory the Great (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1918).

49 Published in a new edition in the year 2000. See Peter Brown, : A Biography (Berkeley and : University of California Press, 2000).

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social, political and historical circumstances that “created” an Augustine or Gregory. I have aspired, in my own work, to stand on Dudden’s (and Brown’s) shoulders in this regard. Spearing’s work is more focused and, for our purposes, very important because it deals with the top-down administration of the patrimony of the Roman Church. Spearing represents an early and skillful work of economic history that places the Bishop of Rome at the fiscal axis of the former Roman west; for its focus alone, it remains fundamental and path-breaking. Spearing thoroughly investigates Gregory’s role as estate manager and, especially, the administrative apparatus he put in place to govern the Church’s far- flung landholdings. The revenues from these estates not only allowed the Church to remain solvent during the economic crises of the fifth and sixth centuries, but were used to support Gregory’s relief initiatives. Spearing was the first scholar to scrutinize closely the Church’s very economic make-up, how it worked, why it succeeded. More recent scholars, like Carol Straw50, have focused on Gregory’s theological or ideological preoccupations, but these works generally show little interest in the practical elements of

Gregory’s pontificate or the pope’s long-term influence on a social level. Thomas F.X.

Noble’s The Republic of St. Peter (1986) as well as Andrew J. Ekonomou’s more recent

Byzantine Rome and the Greek Popes (2007) both begin with a discussion of Gregory as a kind of foundational figure, but in short order, move forward chronologically, the bulk of their scholarship investigating the two centuries after Gregory’s death.51 The most successful and most complete recent work on Gregory, in my view, is Robert Markus’

50 Straw, Gregory the Great: in Imperfection (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1988).

51 See Thomas F.X. Noble, The Republic of St. Peter: The Birth of the Papal State, 680-825 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1986) and Andrew J. Ekonomou, Byzantine Rome and the Greek Popes (Lanham, MD: Lexington , 2007).

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Gregory the Great and His World (1997),52 but even here only one chapter has anything to say about the Church’s economic institutions and, by extension, the Bishop of Rome’s responsibility of allocating funds for the poor.

The Primary Evidence

My approach to the primary evidence herein has been to include as diverse a body of sources as possible, as many as may legitimately contribute, not only to the principal question of Gregory and charity at Rome from 590-604, but to the broad-spectrum socio- economic situation in Italy from 410 on. The evidence trail begins with Gregory’s own correspondence, especially his letters, composed during his bishopric, the first in

September of 590, the last in March of 604. The letters prove incredibly valuable because of the types of matters with which they deal from the Church’s (i.e. Rome’s) grain supply, to administrative appointments, to the proper disposition of wills and legacies, to how individual institutions—including relief centers—should be managed and by whom, to Gregory’s constant haggling with Byzantine officials over matters ranging from food stores to defense to whether or not he had the authority to negotiate with the .

852 letters are extant, most of them preserved by the papal scrinium (the secretary’s office), the largest collection of 686 compiled in the reign of Hadrian I (r. 772-795). By the time John the Deacon was writing his biography of Gregory in the later ninth century, he was able to peruse fourteen volumes of letters, in possession of the papal secretary’s office; the number of volumes is the same as are extant today, although the number of

52 Although J. Richards’ Consul of God represents an important contribution as well.

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letters in each volume was likely smaller.53 Letters preserved in ’s Ecclesiastical

History of the English People, within Church canons, and two additional volumes bring us to a sum total of 852 letters. As Robert Markus notes, working on the letters of

Gregory is not without hazard.54 The scrinium, by Gregory’s day, had developed into a highly systematized communications office and, although it is thought that the vast majority of letters in the extant Gregorian Register were dictated by the pope himself, we can be fairly certain that some, possibly dealing with more routine matters, were not.

Such letters were likely produced by staff members very close to Gregory and they almost certainly reflected his opinions, but we must not take for granted that Gregory’s actual voice can be heard in every extant letter. Further, we must accept the fact that certain formulae of the scrinium appeared commonly in papal correspondences because they had become, well, formulaic. We must also take into account the often rhetorical thrust of epistolary correspondence in antiquity. Gregory was an administrator, but he was also a preacher. We must never fail to appreciate this fact as we mine the Register for information. Still, a remarkable number of the letters are deeply personal and practical in tone, even ones dealing with political, legal or economic concerns. Gregory seems to have taken a passionate and direct interest in the administration of the lands and institutions under his authority. As such, we are fortunate not only to have preserved in the Register more surviving correspondence than from any other pope until comparatively modern times, but more of his authentic voice.

53 John the Deacon, Vita, Praef. and 4.71.

54 Markus, Gregory the Great and His World, pp. 14-15.

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The biographies of Gregory penned by an anonymous monk of (c. 700), the Benedictine Monk and Lombard historian, Paul the Deacon (c. 725-c. 799) and John the Deacon all have something to contribute to the discussion beyond mere , but John the Deacon’s work, though late, is generally regarded as the most dependable.

Jean Durliat argues that, while John is not immune to hagiographic flights of fancy, he certainly presents ample evidence that he performed due investigating his subject, having been granted access to the papal scrinium and archives for the purpose.

When relying on “” papal documents, John proved himself a careful copyist and even bragged about being so.55 Gregory’s exact contemporary, (c. 538- c. 594 CE), also provides import biographical information about our Gregory in the opening of book X of his Historia Francorum, including background on Gregory’s family, his early political career and the tumultuous conditions of his accession. Gregory of Tours claims that his information was committed to him firsthand, the eyewitness report of Deacon , who was in Rome in the summer and early fall of 590. Bede, too, offers a short, if somewhat useful, piece-meal biography of his hero in addition to preserving letters that do not appear elsewhere.56 On the other hand, Gregory’s official biography in the , likely willfully abridged by members of the “clerical” faction who took power after Gregory’s death, provides the merest outline of Gregory’s life: he was a prolific writer (40 homilies on the , 35 on Job, 20 on , the

Regula Pastoralis and the Dialogues); he evangelized the English; he decreed that masses at St. Peter’s and St. Paul’s be celebrated atop the ’ remains and ordered

55 De La Ville Antique a La Byzantine, p. 166; Vita, 2.30

56 Bede, Ecclesiastical History of the English People, chs. 23, 28, 31, 32.

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appropriate renovations to make this possible. The mention that he “established his own house as a monastery,” the only line that comes close to a discussion of Gregory’s charitable work or worldview comes as a kind of afterthought.57 Taken together these biographies offer at least a perfunctory glimpse of Gregory’s fourteen years as bishop of

Rome and even, on occasion, have something to contribute to our discussion of

Gregory’s welfare program, but the scholar must place even the best of them alongside the letters to approach something like a complete picture of Gregory and even then, gaps in our portrait remain.58 Gregory’s remaining extant writings, his homilies, the Moralia on Job, the Dialogues and the Regula Pastoralis all present to the scholar the occasional puzzle piece, but we must move beyond strictly literary evidence if we are to understand with some confidence Gregory’s times and his program.

Buildings, the physical remains of the Roman grain stations, diaconiae and xenodochia, countryside villas at once bustling, then abandoned, shipping patterns, pottery deposits, forensic pathology and epidemiology and legal evidence, found in the

Theodosian and Justinianc Codes, especially after 410, even an extant early medieval

“blue print” of the Monastery of St. Gall, can help to fill in holes in the literary record.

For example, Ward-Perkins argues that pottery—the lack of sophistication in production, the falling off of trade in it, the sparseness of distribution patterns—provides the “fullest” picture of the “end of complexity” in the late Roman world, a clear marker of economic collapse.59 In short, what we lack in narrative history in our period can be made up by

57 Gregory of Tours, Hist. Franc. X.

58 On charity, most notably, John the Deacon, Vita, 2.26-35.

59 Ward-Perkins, The Fall of Rome and the End of Civilization, pp. 104-108.

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archaeological, legal and other evidence that can sometimes fill rather gaping holes. The physical buildings that housed diaconiae and xenodochia will be treated at length in chapter three, especially those that have a possible connection to Gregory himself. Even if such buildings were not established by Gregory, however, they can often provide answers about the relationship of the Church’s distribution program to the earlier

Imperial one (e.g. did the Church use some of the same buildings the emperors had?) and give us at least some idea how distribution, housing and medical care actually worked in the practical application, again, the nuts and bolts that have so often been glossed over.

As Michael McCormick muses, when one considers the wealth of evidence that exists beyond the literary record, the Mediterranean world can “sometimes seem a different place from the one historians have considered up to now.”60

I hope that I have embraced a cumulative, comparative approach to the primary sources, literary and otherwise, allowing each piece of evidence to inform not only the central problem of my study, but the way in which I interpret the others. Throughout, I have attempted not only to explain the significance of the various evidence I employ, but the central arguments of the scholars on whose shoulders I stand. Finally, I would say that Gregory’s understanding of and response to the world in which he lived, particularly with regard to charity, was cumulative as well. Gregory’s initiatives represent the aggregate result of the circumstances in Italy at least over the nearly two-hundred years preceding his accession and, in some respects, of many years before that. As such, it seems to me that any argument about what Gregory did must by necessity unpack the snowballing socio-economic circumstances that pre-dated him. So this is a study of the

60 Michael McCormick, The Origins of the European Economy: Communications and Commerce, AD 300-900 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001).

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system of one individual who led the Roman Church—and for all practical purposes,

Rome—for almost fourteen years, but it is also the study of the catastrophic two centuries prior and what the events therein meant for both Gregory and Rome.

Summary of Chapters:

My study begins at the top of the social ladder and works its way downward, concluding with those individuals in most desperate need of charity. Chapter one deals with Gregory in his position as aristocratic administrator and patron in the face of the fading fortunes of the wider Roman aristocracy, the ultimate demise of the

(the curiae of other cities) and the scope of economic decline in Italy in the fifth and sixth centuries. These events thrust the Roman Church, and the Bishop of Rome as landlord of the still quite solvent Patrimony of St. Peter, into an important political and economic leadership role. Gregory, a Roman aristocrat himself, had great sympathy for the formerly well-to-do, now losing lands and resources, many woefully unprepared for the economic straights that had befallen them. His response to them and to the Church’s newly-minted status as a political leadership entity reveals a great deal about his worldview and his overall approach to the office he inherited in 590.

Chapter two scrutinizes ecclesiastical charity, both as Gregory inherited it and its evolution on his watch, and attempts to understand its relationship to the earlier Imperial food distribution program, the annona. I will investigate the question of whether ecclesiastical food distribution ever came close to approaching the scale or demographic scope of the annona and whether the Church used measures similar to those of the

Imperial government in importing, storing and distributing grain and other foodstuffs.

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The Church appears to have even employed buildings that the emperors had used to manage the annona. If this is true, it speaks to the relationship not only between two systems of food distribution, but between two spheres of temporal government, one

Imperial, one ecclesiastical. Indeed, in late antiquity, it appears that continuity loomed every bit as large as change. The chapter continues with a discussion of the ecclesiastical officers and offices, the later-named diaconiae, employed to run the papal welfare system as Gregory developed it.

Chapter three brings us to monasteries and the lower end of the Roman social order. Because the organizational antecedents of Gregory’s program began in monasteries, it seemed appropriate to me to conclude with the monastic contribution to the Gregorian welfare system. Here, it is important to understand the role of the xenodochia in late antique society, their sometimes striking similarities to and differences from the diaconiae and, especially, to attempt to understand, to see really, the faces and needs of those individuals these facilities sought to help, the poor. Further, I will scrutinize not only the means by which xenodochia typically came into existence and how Gregory utilized these facilities in his program, but attempt to hypothesize about the services they provided. Finally, I close chapter three with a simple question: can we determine whether or not Gregorian charity in the late-sixth century actually helped to ameliorate the plight of the poor or, more specifically, can we discern in any intelligible way, the practical consequences of Gregory’s great charitable countermeasure? “You know,” Gregory wrote to his downhearted friends, Patricia and Venantius, in 599,

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“affliction is general.”61 I would argue that Gregory succeeded in making it less so, shaping the early medieval papacy in the process.

61 Register 9.232: “…percussionem generalem esse cognoscitis.”

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CHAPTER ONE: ROME AT THE END OF THE WORLD

“Senatus deest, populus interiit.”

Gregory I, Homiliae in Hezecheliem Prophetam ii.6.22

“The Senate is no more, the people are ruined,” Gregory pined in his Homilies on

Ezekiel. The connection Gregory draws between the Senate’s existence (or lack thereof) and the people’s welfare is striking, a bit over-the-top perhaps. But what if the same words had been written in the late first century rather than the late sixth? Senatus

Populusque Romanus, shortened to SPQR and emblazoned on the Roman standards carried before armies of legionaries, suggested the symbiotic and inextricable relationship between Rome’s Senate and her people—the que tacked onto the end of populus is significant enough to warrant inclusion in the abbreviation. But in 590 the heyday of the empire was long gone, a fact nowhere more apparent than in the decaying husk of the apparently not-so-eternal city. And, yet, even then, for the bishop of Rome, the end of the

Senate was the end of the Roman people, perhaps the most telling sign of all that the apocalypse was at hand. Gregory’s sentiment in “Senatus deest, populus interiit” was likely something closer to “the Senate ceases to exist, the people have ceased to exist,”

(emphasis mine). In Gregory’s view, one entity simply could not carry on without the other.

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Despite its decline, the Roman Senate was not merely a ceremonial body in the years preceding its demise; it was Rome’s city council.1 The praefectus urbi presided over its business and made sure its wishes were carried out. In the sixth-century, the

Senate appears to have functioned, more or less, like municipal councils (curiae and/or ordines) in other Western cities. Such councils were comprised of local nobles. They represented the governing apparatus of their respective cities. Gregory’s observation regarding Rome’s governing body could have been applied to hundreds of cities in the former Roman West. Everywhere, curiae and their aristocratic members were declining in power, resources and influence. Their cities suffered as a result. Some, Paestum in

Campania or Luni in Liguria—the once proud center of Carrara marble production— declined so rapidly as to almost disappear completely in our period.2 Where the

Byzantine military was active, the fall of town councils was sharper. Still, many curiae remained viable and relevant at least until the end of the sixth century. When they did at last disappear, the health of the cities they once ran became dependent on two entities: the

Church and the Byzantine military establishment. The hierarchy of the Church had been, for its part, keen to nurture relationships with municipal curiae. Gregory, in particular, often used his influence to bolster their ranks in hopes of averting or postponing their ultimate demise. The presence of the Byzantine dukes, their armies and civil service

1 A seemingly obvious yet often overlooked fact pointed out by T.S. Brown in Gentlemen and Officers: Imperial Administration and Aristocratic Power in A.D. 554-800 (Rome: British School at Rome, 1984), p. 18.

2 Both had been in existence since the Republic. Both were nominally under Byzantine control in our period. See Paul Arthur, “From Vicus to Village: Italian Landscapes, AD 400-800” in Landscapes of Change: Rural Evolutions in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, edited by Neil Christie (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), pp. 103-126; ad loc. p. 108. For a more extensive discussion of Luni, where wooden huts occupied the old in the sixth century, see Chris Wickham, Early Medieval Italy: Central Power and Local Society 400-1000 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1981), p. 81.

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officers had the opposite effect, hastening the descent, and sometimes the impoverishment, of the old ruling elites. In districts where a Byzantine commander, sometimes with the help of church officials, could step in and perform the tasks a debilitated was unable to do, a town could continue to function somewhat regularly.

In districts under Lombard control, the matter was far more complicated. Rome’s situation was most complex of all. Although Rome, Latium and some of Campania3 were technically under Byzantine authority, they were uncomfortably close to the Lombard districts of and , a fact that at least partially explains why Byzantine authorities chose to keep Rome at arm’s length. The city of Rome had no Byzantine to rescue her when her city council, the Senate, finally expired. Rome had only the

Church, incessant Lombard incursions and Byzantine promises of assistance rarely kept.

Before proceeding, let me acknowledge, and attempt to situate myself within, current debate on the period under scrutiny: alternately referred to by scholars as late antiquity4 and the early middle ages.5 In the above, I have employed the word “decline” and its equivalents with some frequency. As J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz wrote, “Decline or downward tendency or deterioration is blatantly obvious in late antiquity. It is so obvious that it is almost an insult to the reader to list the areas where it can be observed.”6

Generally speaking, I share Liebeschuetz’s view that the vast majority of the late Roman

3 was part of the Duchy of Rome as far south as the Garigliano River, near Monte , where the Lombard Duchy of Benevento cut between it and the Duchy of .

4 A term coined, for all practical purposes, by Peter Brown in his The World of Late Antiquity.

5 See Chris Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages: Europe and the Mediterranean, 400-800.

6 J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, “The Uses and Abuses of the Concept of ‘Decline’ in Later Roman History or, Was Gibbon Politically Incorrect?” in Recent Research in Late Antique Urbanism: Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series Number Forty-Two, edited by Luke Lavan (Portsmouth, R.I.: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2001), pp. 233-238; ad loc. 233.

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world exhibited obvious symptoms of decomposition. With regard to the specific entities and institutions I examine herein: the city of Rome (broadly speaking), the Roman Senate and the senatorial class, the framework of civic government in the city of Rome, local nobles and municipal councils in other Italian cities (and to a lesser extent, on the islands in proximity to the Italian peninsula)7 and the Italian economy more generally, deterioration appears to me abundantly evident. I would tend to agree, however, with

Bryan Ward-Perkins that the seeds of decline in the West sprouted later than is sometimes thought and as a direct result of events of the fifth century in particular, beginning with the sack of Rome by Alaric’s in 410 and proceeding through the

Vandal invasions of 429 and following and the Ostrogothic takeover by Odoacer in 476.8

The Justinianic Wars of the sixth century not only exacerbated inflicted damage, but ensured that that damage was permanent The succeeding Lombard invasions revealed how significant the damage was. In short, with Ward-Perkins, and against Gibbon9 and

Liebescheutz,10 I would argue that the “fall” of Rome precipitated the West’s decline, not vice-versa.11 Even then, as we shall see, decline occurred more slowly than one might have expected. With regard to the fortunes of Rome herself, the one pre-fifth century exception is Constantine’s decision to move the empire’s administrative capital to

7 Sicily, Sardinia and Corsica.

8 Including, of course, the Vandal incursions. See B. Ward-Perkins, The Fall of Rome and the End of Civilization.

9 , The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, (New York: Modern Library Edition, 2003).

10 See also J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, The Decline and Fall of the Roman City (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003).

11 In addition to Fall of Rome, see Ward-Perkins’ “A Brief Comment” in response to Liebeschuetz in Recent Research in Late Antique Urbanism, pp. 239-241.

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Constantinople in 331, although, based on the vibrant political scene of Rome’s later fourth century, one is forced to consider whether even this development would have led to real decline if outside forces had not intervened. The later sixth century and Gregory’s pontificate are fascinating precisely because they represent the moment when venerated institutions, fixtures of Roman government, like the Senate, the annona and the urban prefecture at last disappeared entirely. My focus herein is primarily the fifth and sixth centuries because I believe, with Ward-Perkins, that the chain of events that led to the

West’s “fall” and Gregory’s “moment” began in the fifth century.

Two other works of the past decade have greatly elucidated our understanding of the period: Chris Wickham’s Framing the Early Middle Ages: Europe and the

Mediterranean, 400-800 and Michael McCormick’s The Origins of the European

Economy: Communications and Commerce, AD 300-900.12 Wickham fights against a monolithic view of “late antiquity” at least implicitly argued by Peter Brown.13 By use of comparative studies, he demonstrates that conditions on the ground in the former western empire were by no means uniform, nor were responses to crisis or changes that arose in the wake of crises. Wickham sees trends, however, largely based on the West’s shared

Roman heritage. Essentially, when the western empire fractured into constituent parts, individual parts appropriated their Roman heritage in individual ways, some with greater continuity to the imperial system than others. Wickham thinks scholarship on the period suffers from the fact that “the Roman empire is too often seen as a whole, too seldom as a

12 For full citation, supra n. 42 (Wickham) and n. 59 (McCormick).

13 Supra, n. 64.

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collection of provinces”, even before the “fall” in the West.14 In the wake of the actual break-up of the Roman West, scholars fall all too easily into the trap of continuing to view the individual parts of the former empire as an all-too-coherent whole. For example,

Gregory of Tours’ (c. 538-594 CE) Merovingian displayed discernable social, economic and political differences from Gregory I’s Rome in the later sixth century, with

Rome hewing more closely in most every respect to the precedents of the emperors. With

Wickham , I would argue that downward trajectory is observable in most places, especially among the old ,western, Roman aristocracy, for a number of reasons, chief among them: the senatorial classes were dependent on the survival of the empire—and here, of course, the movement of the capital from Rome to Constantinople proves significant—and the invasions, wars and slackening shipping lanes of the fifth and sixth centuries made interregional landowning, a fixture of Rome’s wealthiest classes, extremely difficult if not impossible.15 The pieces of the pie shrunk far too quickly for most families to maintain their status. For many, financial ruin followed. Because my concern is principally with Rome itself, although Italy (including Sicily, Sardinia and

Corsica) factor prominently because of the Church’s estates and influence there, I hope to avoid Wickham’s trap. I will, however, certainly use comparative material from other areas when it appears useful in illuminating the situation at Rome and throughout Italy.

McCormick’s Origins skillfully utilizes economic and commercial trends in the early medieval west to unpack the evolution of the ancient world into the medieval world and beyond. The shifting economy thus becomes an umbrella under which all

14 Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages, p. 3.

15 Ibid., pp. 153-166.

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developments, good, bad and indifferent, in the late antique world can be understood and appreciated. Because of McCormick’s focus on transportation and trade, his approach is particularly useful with regard to points of contact between the various “parts” of the former Roman whole—and, thus, understanding the continuities and discontinuities that

Wickham is keen to point out. For McCormick, the European economy evolved out of the end of the Roman one, an economy that crumbled for a number of reasons, forcing the inhabitants of former Roman lands to reevaluate economic strategies and create new and alternative methods of maintaining their economic well-being. McCormick’s focus then is more on “transition” than “decline”, although decline, appears to me, inherent in his model, a fact that places him in a different category than other “transitionalists” like Peter

Brown16 or Averil Cameron,17 who prefer to avoid the theme of decline altogether.

In sum, the work of Ward-Perkins, Wickham and McCormick has provided essential groundwork for the period in question and, for my project particularly, because it rests heavily on understanding the political, cultural and economic events and trends that led up to 590 and the accession of Gregory. In provisioning the city of Rome,

Gregory was dealing with the results, perhaps the culmination, of a process of political and economic decline that began nearly two centuries previously. In the following, I will attempt to follow trends in decline, especially among the senatorial and local aristocracies of Rome and Italy to determine precisely how much stability was lost prior to 590. If the very framework of civic government at Rome no longer existed in 590 and the

Byzantines were nowhere to be found, Gregory’s practical task was monumental indeed.

16 Most notably but not limited to The World of Late Antiquity.

17 See A. Cameron, The Mediterranean World in Late Antiquity, 365-600 (London: Cambridge Press, 1993)

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It would appear to me that, if the “fall” began in the fifth century, Justinian’s wars of reconquest in the sixth meted out the actual death blow to the Senate, the old senatorial elite and the ruling elites in cities throughout Italy. The Senate was the very bastion of the

Roman aristocracy and the oldest Roman institution left in the West in the middle sixth century. Its demise was slow and painful and held very real repercussions. The “death” of the Roman Senate bore the consequence that the Roman Church became the sole entity able to govern and provision the city and, almost as important, to maintain the cultural ideals of Rome’s dying aristocracy.

The Winter of Cities and the Men Who Ran Them

Writing from Constantinople, at a time when civic councils had largely disappeared in the East, Byzantine bureaucrat John the Lydian (c. 490-c. 565) remembered when “the nobles where enrolled on the registers of cities, each city having members of a council, like a kind of Senate.”18 If late Roman curiae were so similar to the late Roman Senate, much can be learned by exploring the obligations, operation and make-up of such councils. The duties of city councils ranged from record keeping (sales, wills, contracts, donations etc.) to price-fixing to oversight of trade guilds to tax collecting to public works and infrastructure. Inscriptional evidence suggests that, in the

West, town councils maintained a standardized membership of 100, although, by the sixth century, their ranks would have likely been depleted in most cities.19 Membership in

18 De Mag. 1.28, written in the .

19 A.H.M Jones thinks that a standing membership of 100 in the west is nearly certain based on the inscriptional evidence of ILS 5670, 6121, 6579 and ’s de lege agraria 2.96, See his The Later Roman Empire, 284-602, vol. 1 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1984), p. 784; hereafter LRE.

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one’s local curia was mandatory if nominated, a kind of sacred if often onerous charge.20

Fourth century legislation provided that qualified persons could not dodge service in their local curiae even by taking office in the imperial government or joining the military.21

Such legislation speaks not only to the importance of city councils in the later Roman world, but to the often difficult business of serving on them, a task that many tried to avoid.

Gregory’s letters are replete with references to such councils. These municipal bodies recorded donations of land to the church to guarantee that such lands would thereafter enjoy tax-exempt status.22 The significance of municipal record-keeping should not be minimized. It was critical to the collecting of taxes. Successful enforcement of a land tax required substantial documentation. The land tax was by far the paramount tax in our period and bore the most important economic repercussions. Civic rolls recorded who owned what and where, the amount of tax owed and what was collected; records required near constant updating as lands were bought, sold or donated to church or monastery.23 After the registration of important documents, the enforcement and collection of taxes was the longest enduring duty of city councils. The tax-raising obligation of municipal curiae survived considerably longer in the West than in the East, where the legislation of the emperor Anastasius (r. 491-519) had introduced new government-appointed collectors (vindices) stationed in the cities within reach of

20 Jones, Later Roman Empire, 739 and n. 63.

21 CTh 12.1.13 (May 326)

22 As at Messina in 591, Tyndari in 599 and Fermo in 602. See Gregory, Register 2.6, 9.181 and 13.16, respectively.

23 Wickham make the land tax his primary focus in Framing the Early Middle Ages. See his rationale, pp. 64-65 and 70.

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Constantinople, thereby making curial collecting nearly obsolete.24 Western councils remained in charge of—and responsible for—tax collection at least into the late sixth century. They were still expected to abide by and enforce the legal rulings of the earlier empire, like the law of 386, which specified not only that tax collectors be appointed by municipal councils but held council members “responsible for all the actions of their nominees.”25 Taxation enforcement constituted a heavy burden for municipal curiae, which were financially liable to the state—in the person of their local governor—if they faltered. In most cases, they took the job of tax collecting very seriously. For this reason,

Gregory insisted that local bishops take responsibility for ensuring that all donations were properly documented with the local council, threatening Bishop Felix of Messina in 591 that “the church’s requirements” would be satisfied by him and his heirs if he failed to do so.26 On this front and others, the scope of curial power fluctuated from city to city.

Although Italian city councils continued to confirm tax officials into the later sixth century,27 in some places, we can see their influence beginning to wane. A letter of

Gregory’s written to Caligari (Sardinia) in May 594 indicates a heightened episcopal role in the collection of taxes, suggesting that Caligari’s local council either lacked the

24 On the institution of vindices by Anastasius, see Jones, LRE , pp. 235-236 (n. 41) and 457 (n. 111). Although Jones argues that the vindices were not meant to replace curial officials, Wickham thinks that this is what effectively occurred, see Framing the Early Middle Ages, p. 69.

25 CTh 12.6.20 (Constantinople). It is interesting that there apparently existed a great deal more continuity, in terms of political and economic structures, in much of the West (and particularly in Italy) than in the East, despite some seventy-five years of Gothic rule on the Italian peninsula.

26 Register 2.6

27 At Ravenna, collectors (hypodectae) are mentioned explicitly in Papiri Diplomatici 122 and P. Ital. 20; Collectarii are mentioned in P. Diplomatici 121 and P. Ital. 20.

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manpower to carry out the task or no longer had the leverage to compel individuals into service.28

What precisely led to the weakening of Caligari’s city council is hinted at by a letter of Gregory’s written the very same month in 594 to Zabardus, dux (military governor) of Sardinia. Therein, Gregory praised effusively Zabardus’ personal involvement in bringing a clan of North African , the Barbaricini, into the arms of the Church (and no doubt the Byzantine tax rolls). At one point, Gregory commends

Zabardus as one who, “knows to pay to the republic (res publica) the things which are of the earth and knows to show almighty God his obedience to the kingdom of Heaven.”29

Gregory’s comment is, of course, a not-too-thinly veiled reference to the admonition of

Jesus in Matt. 22:21/Luke 20:25, offered in response to a question about paying taxes. As

T.S. Brown has argued, the economic and social foundation of municipal councils in the late sixth century was unstable enough that, in areas that saw significant Byzantine military presence and encroachment, councils were often incapable of managing their basic civic obligations, tax collecting, for example.30 Gregory understood the necessity of maintaining an economic equilibrium in fertile Sardinia, by propping up her town councils and ingratiating himself with her military governor, who, along with church officials, would have to account for deficiencies of the local curiae. Gregory was aware of the fact, albeit disapprovingly so, that officers of the Byzantine military held

28 Register 4.26.

29 Register 4.25. “…. qui sic sciat quae terrena sunt reipublicae exolvere, ut bene etiam noverit omnipotenti Deo obsequia patriae caelestis exhibere.” For the Barbaricini, a clan driven from during the Vandal invasions and ungracefully assimilating into Sardinian society, see also Register 4.27 and 9.124 and MGH, 1, p. 260.

30 T. S. Brown, Gentlemen and Officers, p. 19.

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jurisdiction over town councils, could usurp authority at their discretion and were expected to do so when the need arose.31 Still, in theory, if not always in practical application, curiae were meant to govern and maintain their respective cities. One can assume, based on the two letters of Gregory (4.25 and 4.26), that, while the actual collecting part of the Caligarian council’s tax-raising obligation would hereafter fall to officials of the church and/or the Byzantine military, the city’s curia remained intact.32

There is no suggestion in Gregory’s correspondence that it has been or should be abolished. The Caligarian episode and the trend in municipal tax collecting in the sixth century, provide a window into the declining but still relevant status of city councils, as well as the Church’s tendency, especially under Gregory, to step in to shore up the basic apparatus of municipal government when necessary.

That the Church had most often attempted to work hand in hand with local councils is clear. Christian bishops had long cultivated relationships with curiae and their members. A hundred and fifty years or so before Gregory’s accession, , bishop of Cyrrhus (in northern , r. 423-457), had invited civic leaders to participate in the dedication of new churches and volunteered to intervene on their behalf when the city fell behind on its tax payments to Constantinople.33 As for Gregory, he seemed always at pains to support the continued viability of local councils and the remotest whims of their members against the increasingly-present Byzantine military. At Naples, where repeated

31 See also Gregory’s dealings with Maurentius, a Byzantine general stationed in the district of Naples sometime before 598. Maurentius appears in Register 9.17, 53, 65, 120, 125, 132, 134, 160 and 163.

32 Possibly similar to what occurred in the East after Athanasius’ institution of the vindices.

33 Perhaps even more indicative of Church policy because of Cyrrhus’ location within administrative reach of Constantinople. For civic nobles invited to church dedications, see Theodoret, Ep. 68; for Theodoret’s support to help ameliorate the city’s tax arrears, see Ep. 42; also see Peter Brown, Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian Empire, pp. 146-152, ad loc. 151.

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upheavals suggest a dynamic, if factional, political scene, Gregory intervened on behalf of Domitius, a vir magnificus, with Byzantine dux, Maurentius, in order that the former might be allowed to go sailing, a favorite pastime of Neapolitan nobles.34 Gregory also allowed Naples’ town council to choose and elect its own bishop, even if he seems to have been accorded (or accorded himself) a kind of veto power,35 perhaps because the fluidity of Neapolitan politics found him frequently intervening to tamp down civic dust- ups.36 The presence of Byzantine governor, Maurentius, was apparently beginning to take the air out of one of Italy’s last truly vibrant curia at Naples. In his approach to

Neapolitan affairs, then, Gregory hoped to buoy its continued participation in civic politics and help its members maintain their noble status, even if he had to a bit of papal oversight to do so.

Perhaps more burdensome than collecting taxes was the responsibility of late antique city councils to maintain their city’s bread supply. This included price-fixing, when necessary, to guarantee the sale of bread at fair market value. Commenting on the bread riots at in 387, Libanius shows a city council in action in this capacity, first fixing the price of bread and, finally, resorting to the rounding up and flogging bakers who refused to comply.37 At times, and often unsuccessfully, councils would attempt to

34 Gregory, Register, 9.160. Sailing was perhaps initially forbidden by Maurentius in the district of Naples because the Lombard presence, essentially surrounding the district on all but the sea side, made it a security risk. Although, it appears that, at this point, the ban on sailing has been lifted and that Maurentius is refusing Domitius’ request to sail out of some personal animosity.

35 Register 2.8; Naples’ town council was apparently not the only one to do so, see Liber Diurnus 6, 8.

36 Gregory steps in after receiving reports from Theodore, who is called an “” (and perhaps the maior populi). Register 9.46-47; 77.

37 Libanius, Orationes 20.7 and 24; A.H.M. Jones comments on the onerous nature of a curia’s provisioning responsibilities in Later Roman Empire, vol. 1, p. 735.

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convince landowners to release stored surpluses to mitigate shortages. In reference to a famine at Caesarea in the later fourth century, Gregory Nazianzus wrote, “The hardest part of all such distress is the insensitivity and of those who possess supplies.”38 In this particular instance, the city’s influential bishop, Basil, stepped in and succeeded where Caesarea’s city council could not, convincing landlords to open their warehouses.39 At Rome, supervision of the grain supply fell to the Senate, especially to its chief officer, the praefectus urbi, working in conjunction with the prefect of the annona and the imperial authorities.40 As such, when the Roman Senate disappeared,

Rome’s mechanism for feeding the city disappeared along with it. If the Senate governed not unlike municipal councils in other western cities, was its decline similar as well? One would imagine that Roman Senate would have possessed a kind of resilience and elasticity not present within local curiae.

Indeed, the Senate—and senatorial cachet—had survived, almost seamlessly, the empire’s harried transformation from pagan to Christian,41 even with men as exquisitely polytheist as Q. Aurelius presiding over it.42 True, the late antique Senate was much expanded since the reign of Constantine (306-337) and split between Rome

38 Gregory Nazianzus, Orationes 43.34-35.

39 Ibid.

40 That is, when imperial authorities existed. Infra, n. 122.

41 A point first and most cogently argued by Peter Brown in his “Aspects of the Christianisation of the Roman Aristocracy”, JRS 51 (1961), pp. 1-11. More recently, see John Curran, Pagan City and Christian Capital: Rome in the Fourth Century (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000), pp. 260-264.

42 See Christiana Sogno’s treatment of Symmachus’ fight to maintain the Curia’s of Victory in 382 and following, Q. Aurelius Symmachus: A Political Biography (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2006), pp. 45-51.

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and Constantinople, but the senatorial ideal remained constant.43 As Chris Wickham points out, “The Senate was the oldest marker of political position in the empire, older indeed than the empire.”44 The institution was bigger than ideology, even during

Christianity’s revolutionary fourth century. Indeed, Symmachus’ characterization of the

Roman Senate as representing the pars melior generis humani was more than rhetorical pomposity.45 It was a very real statement about how Roman aristocrats viewed the institution in the fourth century. Even in the middle fifth-century, the writer of the Vita

Melaniae, could claim that, “In the whole world, in the most important of matters, the wearer of the diadem takes no measure without first asking the Senate’s opinion.”46 But

Gregory’s time was different. Things had changed from the mid-fifth to the late sixth century. No one was more acutely aware of the fact than Gregory himself. He hailed, according to Gregory of Tours and others, “from one of the foremost senatorial families

(de senatoribus primis)”47 and is generally thought to have been a member of the Anicii,

43 Senatorial membership more than tripled under Constantine. says that Constantine was “generous” in bestowing senatorial rank in Vita IV.1. This was largely because Constantine created an order of imperial “companions (comites)” that proved to be an important gateway into the Senate for members of the Equestrian order. The trend of Constantine continued with Constantius II. CTh 6.4.9 () shows him adlecting 50 new members into the Senate. On these points, see Jones, LRE, pp. 105- 106 and n. 63 and 64.

44 Chris Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages: Europe and the Mediterranean, 400-800, p. 156.

45 Symmachus, Ep 1.52

46 Vita Melaniae, 44. This was an exaggeration to be sure, but nevertheless it speaks to an impression of senatorial power and prestige still held in the mid-fifth century.

47 History of the , X.1; cf. Bede, Ecclesiastical History, II.1, Paul the Deacon, Vita I, John the Deacon, Vita 1.1. All of the above sources agree that Gregory was the son of an ancient senatorial clan, although Gregory’s connection to the Anicii specifically is speculative. He was the great-grandson of Pope Felix III (r. 483-492). Gregory writes “atavus meus Felix huius Romanae Ecclesiae antistes,” in his Homiliae in Evangelia, Book II, Homilia XXXVIII, PL 76, col. 1291B; cf. Dialogi IV.17. Felix’s wife (and Gregory’s great-grandmother) was Petronia, whose name is preserved in a tomb inscription and who is likely to have been from the Anician gens. See Inscriptiones Latinae Christianae veteres, I, n. 167; cf.

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one of a handful—perhaps the most eminent—of old senatorial clans that continued to hold sway in late antiquity.48 Gregory’s family was one of the lucky ones.

Still, the Anician name could not save a figure as distinguished as from

Theodoric’s hand in 524, although it no doubt contributed to the continued success of his heirs after his execution. 49 Two years earlier, the same Boethius had called the praetorship “an empty name and a heavy burden to the Roman census.”50 Whatever lip service Theodoric had paid to the Senate, Boethius knew well that he and his contemporaries’ days atop the socio-political ladder were numbered. And Boethius is hardly our only witness of senatorial decline. S.J.B. Barnish has pointed to a number of signs that all was not well with the Senate, even before the wars of Justinian. The consuls, Felix the Gaul, in 511, and another Anician, , in 523, failed to pay bills incurred for consular liturgies, thereby prompting Theodoric’s intervention. Once extravagant consular diptychs were now being carved on the cheap, resulting in a much lower quality of work.51 The Justinianic reconquest debilitated an aristocracy already perched on the knife’s edge. As Pope Pelagius I bemoaned in 557, many once-proud

Pietri and Pietri, Prosopographie, II, pp. 777, 1721, the latter noted by Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages, p. 160. Familial connections to the gens Anicii were not uncommon in late antique Rome, so it does not strain credulity that Gregory’s family too was descended from a branch of the now somewhat bastartized Anician line.

48 Wickham provides others: the Petronii (w/connections to the Anicii), the Symmachi, probably the Acilii, Caeionii, Decii and Rufii Festii. Ibid, p. 159.

49 His sons, Symmachus and Flavius Boethius, were consuls and the latter went on to become prefect of Africa. His apparent granddaughter, Rusticiana, owned property in Italy and Sicily, but lived at Constantinople where she travelled in the retinue of the emperor and corresponded frequently with Gregory (Register 2.24, 4.44, 8.22, 11.26, 13.24). On the family of Boethius, see Brown, Gentlemen and Officers, pp. 28-30.

50 Boethius, Cons. Phil. III, pr. Iv.

51 See S.J.B. Barnish’s important article, “Transformation and Survival in the Western Senatorial Aristocracy, c. A.D. 400-700.” Papers of the British School at Rome, Vol. 56 (1988); pp. 120-155, ad loc. p. 141.

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Roman aristocrats had been reduced to destitution (egestas) in the wake of Justinian’s

Wars.52

Indeed, Gregory’s “Senatus deest, populus interiit” captures precisely the profound transition at hand from 554 on.53 The old families were losing their grip on authority and, in many cases, their livelihood. A new military elite was rising, at the top of which stood men like the general, , and his successor in the , , men who enforced the very onerous land tax that helped put the

Roman Senate (or Senatorial aristocrats) out of business. Such men were scarcely seen, or heard from, within the walls of Rome herself, although their administrative responsibilities clearly reached there.54 Whereas senatorial aristocrats bore cultivated appellations like illustris, clarissimus, and spectabilis (or the relatively new gloriosus and magnificus), titles of the new elite were starkly military in character: , dux, iudex, tribunus, .55 These titles were not new, but they had come to

52 Pelagius I, Ep. 9: “Tanta egestas et nuditas in civitate ista est, ut sine dolore et angustia cordis nostril homines quos honesto loco natos idoneos noveramus non possumus aspicere.” Pelagius’ statement is commonly noted as evidence of senatorial decline (e.g. Dudden, Gregory the Great, vol. I, p. 52; T.S. Brown, Gentlemen and Officers, p. 31). Note, however, just how closely it comes on the heels of the Pragmatic Sanction of 554, suggesting a direct link between the Justinianic reorganization and the decline of the old aristocracy.

53 The year the “Pragmatic Sanction” was published, laying out how the newly re-conquered portions of Italy, including Rome, were to be governed. See Constitutio Pragmatica 25 (CIC Nov., App. VII, p. 802) and H. Dey, The Aurelian Wall and the Refashioning of Imperial Rome, AD 271-825 (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011), pp. 241-242.

54 Narses was recalled in 568. Longinus, the supreme commander of Byzantine forces during the Lombard invasions, seemed incapable of keeping Lombard armies from terrorizing the Roman hinterland. The praetorian prefect, Gregory, and a military commander (the magister militum?), Castus, did find their way to Rome in 595 to help fend off Lombard invaders, only to be condemned thereafter by the emperor, Maurice, for their actions. See Gregory, Register 5.36. Register 12.6 shows Gregory eager to have the prefect appoint a new curator of Rome’s aqueducts, clear evidence that such matters fell under the prefect’s authority, despite the general neglect Rome appears to have received from the office of the prefecture.

55 The duties of these offices is not always entirely clear and there was certainly some overlap, but T.S. Brown has done an excellent job of sorting them out whenever possible: the titles magister militum

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symbolize a very new, militarized government presence in areas under Byzantine control, a presence that often enervated the power of local nobles or usurped it altogether. All of these officers reported to a Byzantine , stationed at Ravenna, and his more mobile counterpart, the praetorian prefect.

Chris Wickham has noted Roman society’s uniqueness in maintaining a civilian aristocracy for as long as it did. Aristocracies were much more often military. Rome’s senatorial aristocracy was a cultural aristocracy. 56 A vir illustris was expected to be just that, from a cultural perspective. The title implied more than social standing; it carried an expectation of cultural and moral excellence. The disappearance of Rome’s senatorial aristocracy represented a shift in values. The things that once made a Roman gentleman fundamentally Roman—a command of , the expectation of public munificence, the right to otium (to name the three most central)—seemed no longer to matter; at least they stopped being markers of authority once the Church and its officials became Rome’s de facto elite. Office-holding still counted, though, and office holders, especially church officers, were expected to carry forward Rome’s literary and cultural legacy. Indeed, the legacy of the Roman senator was slowly but surely becoming the legacy of the Christian bishop.57 Gregory of Tours, who was himself from senatorial

and dux appear to be synonymous and interchangeable, the title of the highest-ranking generals and military governors (those just below the praetorian prefect), iudex is more difficult and seems to have been applied to more than one office, but in most instances iudices appear to be regional governors. Tribuni were unit commanders, generally of 200-400 men, with the primecerius being an adjutant or lieutenant commander of that same unit. See Brown, Gentlemen and Officers, pp. 46-58.

56 See Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages, pp. 157-159.

57 To spin off of Dudden’s comment. See Gregory the Great: His Place in History and Thought, vol. I, p. 52. Even then, as Wickham notes, many of the trappings of secular literary acumen began to fall away in favor of extensive knowledge of scripture. See Framing the Early Middle Ages, p. 159.

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stock,58 reported with pride that Gregory I was “so skilled in grammar, dialectic and rhetoric that he was thought second to none in the whole city.”59 It is interesting that, whereas membership in the Senate once meant exemption from taxation, tax-exempt status later became the purview of the church.60 T.S. Brown points to this marked

“clericalization” of the aristocracy in Italy and throughout the old Roman west, but notes that, in spite of the papacy’s tendency to draw from senatorial families in the fifth and sixth centuries, Gregory favored a broader, less “narrowly senatorial” policy when it came to clerical appointments.61 Gregory’s pastoral concerns stretched beyond the fixations of his senatorial contemporaries.

It is possible that the final dissolution of the Roman Senate occurred during

Gregory’s pontificate. It almost certainly occurred in his lifetime. In his capacity as praefectus urbi, the office he attained in 573,62 Gregory himself officiated, no doubt with pride, over the Senate’s proceedings in the very last years of its existence. Gregory’s duties, as far as we can tell, were not unlike those of Symmachus before him. He would have been the chief figure of Rome’s civil administration, the manager not only of

Rome’s public works and administration but all matters of note within a hundred-

58 His father, , and grandfather, Georgius, were both Gallo-Roman senators, see Gregory of Tours, Liber vitae Patruum, XIV.3

59 Gregory, Hist. Franc. X.1 reads: “Litteris grammaticis dialectisque ac rhetorics ita est institutus, ut nulli in Urbe ipsa putaretur esse secundus.”

60 At least from superindictiones and many obligations to one’s city as Wickham points out in Framing the Early Middle Ages, p. 156.

61 T.S. Brown, Gentlemen and Officers, p. 34.

62 John the Deacon, Vita 1.4 (who says that Gregory was “ Urbanus”), although with Gregory, Register 4.2, it is clear that the office in question is that of urban prefect. The date, 573, was originally proposed by Dudden and, more or less, agreed upon by every scholar since. See H. Dudden, Gregory the Great: His Place in History and Thought, vol 1, pp. 99-104.

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radius of the pomerium. He was the arbiter of all legal disputes—civil or criminal— arising between members of the Senate and the hearer of reports and appeals from other civil service officers, like the , if the office was still in existence.63 It is important to note, however, that the praefectus annonae, at least since 365,64 was, even with respect to the distribution of grain, subordinate to the urban prefect. In practical application, the final arbiter of Rome’s grain supply was the urban prefect. The prefect’s role was far more important in Rome because of the absence of the imperial household.65

For similar reasons, one can assume, in spite of scanty evidence, that the Roman Senate had a larger hand in everyday government than the Senate of Constantinople. Dirk

Schlinkert’s work on the late Roman Senate, while expertly compiling legal evidence from the Theodosian and Justinianic Codes regarding senatorial activity, fails to reconcile fully the fact that the senatorial situation at Rome must have greatly differed from that at

Constantinople because of the immediate presence of the emperor in the City of

Constantine.66 About the very last years of Rome’s Senate, we can say very little, except that the Senate still functioned. It certainly functioned during Gregory’s term as prefect and for some time beyond it. Senatorial embassies to Constantinople and Emperor

63 A fact that helps to explain Gregory’s intimate knowledge of . The responsibilities of the urban prefect are explained in some detail by Christina Sogno in Q. Aurelius Symmachus: A Political Biography, pp. 34-36. Likewise, see Dudden, Gregory the Great: Volume 1, p. 102.

64 See the law of Valentinian (issued from Milan), which describes the relationship of the two offices in Cod. Theod. 1.6.5 and G. Rickman, The Corn Supply of Ancient Rome, pp. 200-201.

65 Although Constantinople had one as well since Constantius II in 359, see B. Lançon, Rome in Late Antiquity (New York: Routledge, 2000), p. 45.

66 And to a lesser extent, Ammianus Marcellinus. See D. Schlinkert, Ordo Senatorius und Nobilitas: Die Konstitution des Senatsadels in der Spätantike (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1996), for discussion of the legal sources, see pp. 55-61.

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Tiberius II in 578 and 580 demonstrate its continued concern with the practical elements of civic governance, in addition to being the mediator of weights and measures.67

But after 580, the Senate is not heard from again, save a passing, probably interpolated, aside in one of Gregory’s letters in 603.68 The scope of senatorial power in the years immediately preceding its final disappearance is difficult to determine, but we can assume that the Senate’s authority was on par with other curiae in Italy—Naples perhaps being excepted. The urban prefecture too passed out of existence around 599.

The last mention of the office in operation is again Gregory’s, in February of that year.69

We can say with certainty that Pope Honorius (r. 625-638) converted the Forum’s Senate

House into the Church of St. Hadrian, to the applause of his contemporaries, and it has been argued that Honorius’ father, , was the last surviving senator.70 In all likelihood, then, the Senate ceased to function sometime before the turn of the seventh century, perhaps well before 600, although it is impossible to say with certainty. What is certain, however, is that, with the Senate’s demise, the last of the cultural fixtures that forged Gregory’s conception of civic politics had faded away.

Coinciding with the final disappearance of the Roman Senate was the disappearance of the annona—the imperial system of food distribution that originated in the reign of Augustus. The precise moment when subsidized food distributions stopped at

Rome has proved difficult to pin down definitively. In general, scholars place the end of the annona system in the early seventh century, with arguments explicitly linked to the

67 , fr. 49, 62.

68 Brown, Gentlemen and Officers, p. 22.

69 Register, 9.117.

70 LP 72.1 (Honorius); On Petronius as the last senator, see Brown, Gentlemen and Officers, p. 24.

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disbanding of the Senate and the break-up of the old senatorial aristocracy.71 I think the annona may not have held out that long. There is much evidence to suggest that, before the arrival of the Byzantines, the public dole continued unabated under the ,

Odoacer and Theodoric. Theodoric is even said to have included pauperes in his state dole, certainly a new wrinkle in Rome’s annona system.72 We are told that Theodoric’s dole for Rome consisted of 120,000 modii of grain distributed “singulis annis”, although there is no discussion of the means or method of distribution.73 In addition to the above, the striking number of pig bones found at the villa complexes of S. Giovani di Ruoti in

Lucania and S. Vincenzo al Volturno in Samnium in south central Italy—both of which saw a significant redevelopment phase in the early fifth century followed by expansion in the later fifth—suggests that the pork dole was maintained and, at least briefly, enlarged.

Both Samnium and Lucania were known to be prominent suppliers of Roman pork74 and evidence of systematic slaughter at Samnium in particular probably means that the pork in question was intended for export. Things began to change with arrival of Justinian’s armies. reports that the “the Scissors,” Justinian’s chief finance officer in Italy in 540-541, ended Theodoric’s annual dole for the poor, “who lived in the

71 As well as the haphazard application of Byzantine administration at Rome. The scholarship is neatly tied up by Hendrick Dey in his article “Diaconiae, xenodochia, hospitalia and monasteries: ‘social security’ and the meaning of monasticism in early medieval Rome.” Early Medieval Europe 2008 16 (4); pp. 398-422, ad loc 399-400 and footnote 4; but see especially Girolamo Arnaldi, “L’approvvigionamento di Roma e l’administrazione del “patrimonio di san Pietro” al tiempo di Gregorio Magno.’ Studi Romani 34 (1986); pp. 25-39.

72 See the Anonymous Valesianus, 67, “Donavit (Theodoric) populo Romano et pauperibus annonas singulis annis, centum viginti milia modios.”

73 1 modius = 1 peck (9 litres) or 6.67 kg, so 120,000 modii = 1,080,000 litres or 800,400 kgs.

74 Samnium, Lucania, Bruttium and Campania were designated suppliers of Roman pork, subject to the pork levy under CTh, xiv.iv.3, 363 and 4, 367 and Valentinian III, Nov. xxxxvi, I, 452; See A.H.M. Jones, Later Roman Empire, p. 702 and note 35.

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vicinity of the Church of St. Peter the Apostle” and placed a tax on the sale of bread that crippled both bakers and the middling classes who bought from them.75 The abandonment of S. Giovani and S. Vincenzo by 550 lends credence to the picture

Procopius paints that the Byzantine reconquest of Italy spelled trouble for the dole and

Rome’s food markets more generally.76 The Liber Pontificalis reports that, after the

Justinianic wars, during the famine of 575/6, the emperor Justin II, “realiz[ing] that Rome was endangered by hunger and death, sent to Egypt and had ships laden with corn sent across to Rome,” thereby saving the city from starvation.77 Justin’s intervention is portrayed as a heroic, if isolated, instance of imperial largesse, which suggests that the annona had either evaporated completely by 576 or was not regularly administered. The latter is certainly a possibility in light of the scattershot application of Byzantine administration at Rome and its general tendency to cut corners financially in the sixth century. One is forced to consider whether, in the wake of Justinian’s Wars, the annona existed at all. There certainly appears to be no clear-cut evidence of the system under

Justinian and his successors, at least at the state level.78

A letter of Gregory’s from September 590 sheds further light. Therein, Gregory laments to Justin, praetor of Sicily, that every soul in the city could be “destroyed simultaneously” if the city’s granaries were not properly replenished in proportion to “the

75 This could very well have been the Church’s dole. Interesting that St. Peter’s is mentioned specifically, a longtime haunt for beggars looking to find their way onto the church’s poor roles. Procopius, Secret History, 26.

76 On this score see S.J.B. Barnish, “Pigs, Plebeians and Potentes: Rome’s Economic Hinterland, c. 350-600 AD.” In Papers of the British School at Rome, vol. 55 (1987): 157-185.

77 LP 64.1 (Benedict I).

78 Although it may have become an entirely private and/or municipal undertaking. See G.W. Bowersock, P. Brown and O. Grabar, “Annona” in Late Antiquity: A Guide to the Postclassical World (Cambridge and London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University, 1999), pp. 301-302.

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deficit of the past fifteen years.”79 Gregory references the fiscal cycle when he uses the term indictio.80 In fact, Gregory’s indictionis debito literally means “the deficit of the last fiscal cycle”—reckoned in fifteen year intervals, the last from 575. Gregory may be pointing to the general economic decline during the last indiction and its negative impact on the Roman grain trade. But fifteen years takes us precisely back to the famine of 575 and Justin II’s grain shipments. Could it be that Justin II’s was the last major instance of imperial intervention to provision Rome? The answer to that question rests on the identity of one Citonatus, nowhere else mentioned in Gregory’s letters, and the definition of the term sitonicum in the following: “that magnificent gentleman (vir magnificus), Citonatus, asserts, to the contrary, that only so much grain has been sent over as should be supplied to replenish the sitonicum.”81 Does sitonicum here mean “public granary”? Has sitonicum become a more generalized term? Does it refer to church granaries? Is there any difference between “public” and “church” granaries in 590? J.H.M. Strubbe and Paul

Erdkamp agree that the Greek sitos and its hybrid variations (sitonicum, sitonici, sitones, sitonai, sitonia, et al) were used in Roman Minor, even by imperial officials and in

Latin texts, to refer to municipal grain funds/stores and the appointed urban elites who funded and controlled them, as a kind of liturgy, a form of civic euergetism.82 The notion

79 Emphasis mine. Gregory, Register, 1.2.

80 The Roman fiscal period occurred in fifteen-year intervals from September 1 to .

81 Gregory, Register 1.2: “De frumentis autem quae scribitis, longe aliter vir magnificus Citonatus asserit, quia solummodo tanta transmissa sunt, quae pro transactae indictionis debito ad replendum sitonicum redderentur.”

82 E.g. , Digest, 50.4.18.5 Cura quoque emendi frumenti olei (nam harum specierum curatores, quos sitonai et elaionai appellant, creari moris est) inter personalia munera in quibusdam civitatibus numerantur: et calefactio publici balinei, si ex reditibus alicuius civitatis curatori pecunia subministratur; See P. Erdkamp, The Grain Market in the Roman Empire, pp. 271-283 & J.H.M. Strubbe, “The sitonia in the cities of Asia Minor under the (II)”, Epigraphica Anatolica 13 (1989); 99-

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of food as a form of euergetism was nothing new. Pliny’s panegyricus to in c. 100 had located the emperor’s benevolent handling of Rome’s food supply right alongside his games and alimentary programs.83 Pliny followed his hero’s lead. An inscription records

Pliny’s of five hundred secterces to the city of Comum, designated for the purpose of feeding children.84 One P. Papirianus established a fund of sixty-five thousand sesterces for the African town of Sicca Veneria that fed six-hundred children a month.85 Food provisioning continued to be viewed in this light into our period. Writing to an imperial official in grain-rich Sicily, Gregory may well have been thinking of the

Church’s food-provisioning role at Rome in similar terms. Gregory’s brand of “food euergetism,” however, looms different than that of his elite forebears and contemporaries, as we shall see.

As to Citonatus, although he is called by at least one scholar the praefectus annonae,86 the title appears nowhere in Gregory’s letter. Anyway, if the praetor of Sicily wrote to Gregory with a grain-related inquiry, as he did here (“De frumentis autem quae scribitis . . .”), it is likely that there was no praefectus annonae to answer the question or the Church was, by 590, at least storing imperial foodstuffs. In 595, Gregory would write

122. Whether these funds existed for the purpose of an annual grain dole or safeguards for periods of dearth is a point on which the two do not agree; the question is not terribly relevant to the current point.

83 Pliny, Panegyricus Traiani, 29-32; A point noted by Erdkamp, The Grain Market in the Roman Empire, p. 306.

84 Excluding, unsurprisingly, slave children. CIL V, 5262, ILS 2927; cf. Pliny, Ep. 1.8.10-11

85 ILS 6818, CIL VIII, 1641; noted by Dennis Kehoe as the “best example” of a second-century, private alimentary foundation. See Investment, Profit and Tenancy: The Jurists and the Roman Agrarian Economy, (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1997), p. 79.

86 John R.C. Martyn, The Letters of Gregory the Great, vol 1 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2004), p. 120, footnote 8. J. Richards says Citonatus was “probably” praefectus annonae, but provides no evidence to the effect. See Richards, Consul of God: The Life and Times of Gregory the Great (London, Boston and Henley: Routledge Press, 1980), p. 88 and notes.

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to the emperor Maurice and defend himself against charges that he allowed the city’s grain stores to run out.87 It is no leap to assume that Gregory was at least partially responsible for the city’s grain rations five years earlier in 590. It is possible that

Citonatus was praefectus urbi, who, as mentioned previously, should have been the final arbiter of all matters regarding the city’s grain supplies, even if said rations were being kept in church stores. It is also possible that he was a Byzantine military governor of some kind with jurisdictional authority over Rome, although Gregory frequently mentions such individuals in his letters and there is no further reference to Citonatus in fourteen years of papal correspondence.88 It is likely that, because no one else is mentioned holding the office that year, Citonatus was praefectus urbi in 590. As

Valentinian’s law of 365 states, the urban prefect was tasked with “the duty of supervision and diligence” over the grain supply.89 As such, the disagreement between

Gregory and Citonatus hinges on the fact that the two men shared the responsibility of provisioning the city, a messy business in 590. The Tiber River had overflowed its banks in the year prior, inundating the city, damaging church storehouses and spoiling “several thousand bushels of wheat.”90 The flood exacerbated the city’s already perilous situation, turning food shortage into full-blown famine. There was precedent for the bishop of

Rome taking sole control of food provisioning in times of dearth as Gelasius I (r. 492-

87Gregory, Register 5.36. “Et quia nos qui intra ciuitatem fuimus deo protegente manus eius euasimus, quaesitum est unde culpabiles esse uideremur, cur frumenta defuerint, quae in hac urbe diu multa seruari nullatenus possunt, sicut in alia suggestione plenius indicaui.”

88 And Citonatus is nowhere called dux or its equivalents.

89 CTh 1.6.5 (Milan).

90 Gregory of Tours, History of the Franks, X.1. Gregory says the waters “rose above the height of the city walls”, Dialogues, III.19.

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496) did when he “saved the city from the danger of famine.”91 That could be what was happening here, much to Citonatus’ chagrin. Under the circumstances, Gregory was in no mood to dance around the issue with Citonatus and matters came to a head. Still,

Gregory’s focus on the “deficit of the past fifteen years” rather than the immediate problem created by the flood (and Citonatus’ mismanagement?) is significant in my view.

Something changed between 575 and 590 and Roman grain stores were dramatically depleted as a result. A number of the above questions are simply unanswerable, but it is clear that if the annona was still in place in 590, it was both badly mismanaged and sporadically administered. Byzantine officials certainly had no contingency plan in place in the event of increased need, for both during the famine of 575 and after the flood that preceded Gregory’s letter of 590, the city’s foodstuffs had reached levels dangerously low enough that outside intervention was necessary. In 575, the city received the help it needed. In 590, it did not. Fifteen years, one fiscal cycle, meant a great deal in this regard.

Little wonder then that Gregory found himself wrestling with pointed “anxieties” as “evils multip[lied]” and the “end” drew nearer.92 The last institution of civic governance at Rome was dead or dying and formal imperial distribution of foodstuffs occurred only inconsistently, if at all. Rome had been deprived of its administrative infrastructure and, essentially, left to its own meager devices. The holes in Rome’s public infrastructure would be plugged by the Church or not at all. Ward-Perkins’ careful argument that our period marked “the end of [Roman] civilization,” echoes the

91 LP 51 (Gelasius I).

92 Moralia, 1.3

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sentiments of the late sixth-century’s most vocal eye-witness. 93 “Senatus deest, populus interiit” was Gregory’s first-hand witness to the death of Rome’s most venerable institution and the divesting of the city’s most basic underpinnings of government. The event meant something both ideologically and practically.94 To that end, Gregory articulates a sentiment that must have been common among his (once?) aristocratic contemporaries. Roman civilization—at least as Gregory understood it— was at an end.

The fortunes of the city of Rome in years around 600 closely mirrored the fate of the Senate. The city’s trajectory must have felt like a slow, but obvious, fade toward oblivion to those who lived there, especially those, like Gregory, whose families had always enjoyed some semblance of wealth or prominence. McCormick situates the “end of the ancient economy” squarely here, between the Justinianic Wars and the end of the seventh century. Gregory’s reign is a kind of midline, illuminated brilliantly by the

Roman bishop’s prodigious epistolary output.95 What precisely happened that led to this eventuality has already taken up a fair amount of page space at the hands of able historians, “a very long concatenation of deteriorations and sharp blows,” to use

McCormick’s fine turn of phrase.96 My objective is not, however, to re-hash the arguments of McCormick, Ward-Perkins, Wickham and others, but rather to utilize their very large, macro umbrella to whittle down a clear picture of the conditions at Rome

93 Ward-Perkins’ definition of “civilization” here is “complex society and what it produces” or, rather, “complex [Roman] society.” See B. Ward-Perkins, The Fall of Rome and the End of Civilization, pp. 167-168.

94 Not unlike the removal of the Altar of Victory from the Senate in 384 and Symmachus’ bitter response, “Nunc aris deesse Romanos genus est ambiendi.” Symmachus, Ep. 1.51. 95 M. McCormick, The Origins of the European Economy: Communications and Commerce, AD 300-900, ad loc. 27-29; 115.

96 Ibid, p. 115

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itself during this period of decline and/or collapse. It was, after all, Rome who suffered the crisis most acutely, if only because she had farther to fall than other cities of the empire.

In the earlier empire, to use Erdkamp’s observation, “Roman power ensured safe circumstances for travel and trade, while agricultural production itself profited from peaceful conditions throughout the Roman world.”97 The contributions of the empire’s many provinces sustained not only Rome’s (and the ’s) food supplies, but her gargantuan building projects and gaudy spectacles. 98 In short, if the city of Rome enjoyed most benefit from the empire’s economic and military successes, the city had most to lose from economic contraction, political fragmentation and the collapse of

Roman infrastructure in the west. Italy was the chief victim of the Vandal invasions of

Africa, beginning in 429, precisely because travel and trade in the Mediterranean were stifled and critical economic ties between Carthage and Rome were severed. The very source of Rome’s food supply, the nerve center of the annona, was effectively cut off from the capital. Geiseric went so far as to confiscate Rome’s grain ships at Carthage harbor, a fact that fast gave rise to Vandal piracy.99 If Alaric’s sack in 410 represented the symbolic beginning of the “fall,” Geiseric’s invasions of 429 and following, especially the capture of Carthage in 439, represented the practical one. By Gregory’s time, Rome, once the most connected city in the world, was isolated. The Roman lands whose bounty

97 Paul Erdkamp, The Grain Market in the Roman Empire: A Social, Political and Economic Study, p. 207.

98 A point stressed by Garnsey in Famine and Food Supply, p. 244. Feeding the army was, after all, no small task, since it numbered somewhere between three and four hundred thousand during the high empire.

99 Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages, p. 88.

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had supported the capital’s massive provisioning and public works initiatives, had been reduced to only the city and her hinterland. A large ancient city simply could not muster the resources to feed itself from its countryside alone,100 especially when fertile soil went untilled for lack of labor.101

Within Rome’s walls, the Caelian Hill, where Gregory’s family had their estates, was, one of the city’s last aristocratic enclaves (the other being the Esquiline).102

Gregory’s family domus on the Caelian was one of the few remaining Roman palatial homes owned and inhabited by the same family for several generations.103 But in late- sixth century Rome, dilapidated ruin surrounded these relatively small islands of prosperity; “vast works of wealth and industry, injured by storm and fire, magnificent with no one to do business in them; grand lines of columns surrounding temples long closed and abandoned; triumphal arches rising in the midst of debris.”104 Rome had been sacked four times in the hundred and sixty year span from Alaric (410) to Ricimer

(572), rocked by a powerful earthquake in 543, gripped by at least two severe in

546—when the city’s inhabitants “wanted to eat their own children”105—and 575/6106 and harassed incessantly by marauding Lombard armies and waves of plague that swept

100 McCormick, Origins of the European Economy, p. 87.

101 Gregory, Register 9.204.

102 Dey, The Aurelian Wall and the Refashioning of Rome, pp. 169-171.

103 As Julia Hillner notes in her article, “Domus, Family and Inheritance: The Senatorial Family House in Late Antique Rome.” Journal of Roman Studies, Vol. 93 (2003): 129-145; ad loc. 129. Hillner cites a considerable body of evidence for the ownership of the house by Gregory’s family from at least the fifth or early sixth century.

104 H. Dudden, Gregory the Great: His Place in History and Thought, vol. I, p. 42.

105 Liber Pontificalis 61.7 (Vigilius).

106 LP 64. 1 (Benedict I).

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through southern Italy killing off government and church officials alike, Pope Pelagius II among them in 590. The great Tiber flood of 589, a disaster “so great that no one could remember anything like it,”107 made conditions ripe for the further spread of plague and the recurrence of famine. Trade was relegated to the few small guilds that hocked their wares in the once-bustling Forum Boarium and Forum Holitorium near the Tiber.

Gregory would seize upon what market activity remained there on the Tiber banks by setting up diaconiae right under the watchful eyes of old Quadrafons.108 In short,

Rome had become an impoverished shell of her former self.

The Church and the Old Aristocracy

On the ground, the group most viscerally affected by this unwanted sea change was the newly impecunious senatorial aristocracy. Wickham cautions against the view that the Senate’s demise was the direct result of senatorial poverty and suggests that the impoverishment of senatorial aristocrats should not be exaggerated.109 True enough.

Certainly, though, the Vandal invasions, Gothic Wars and Lombard invasions— all of which greatly damaged estates and displaced their occupants—and recurrent natural disasters that stifled the prospect of financial recovery ruined a number of senatorial aristocrats.110 The Roman Church, however, the single largest landholder in Italy, among

107 LP 65.1 (Pelagius); cf. Gregory of Tours, Hist. Franc. 10.1.

108 See Figure 1 (S. Giorgio in Velabro, view from the Arch of Janus).

109 Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages, p. 164.

110 Brown, Gentlemen and Officers, pp. 31-32.

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the largest in the ,111 was just too big to fail. Lands donated to the

Church by Constantine alone totaled rents in excess of 400 lbs. of gold a year.112 As important was Constantine’s that “every person shall have the liberty to leave at his death any property he wishes to the most holy and venerable Church.”113

Aristocrats bequeathed lands accordingly. A hundred and fifty years after Constantine’s death, the Church’s estates spanned the whole of Italy (some 25 Italian cities in the fourth century and no doubt more by Gregory’s day), stretched north into Gaul and , south to Sicily and North Africa, southwest to Sardinia and Corsica, and east to ,

Cilicia and Syria.114 Sicily, Sardinia and Africa had long served as major suppliers of

Roman grain and they continued to be grain-rich in Gregory’s day,115 providing the

Church an enormous economic boon. The Church’s lands outside the Italian peninsula served as economic buffers, insulating the Church from the troubles brought about by

Byzantine and Lombard armies. Pope Pelagius I had essentially confirmed as much in

560 when he wrote, “After the continuous devastations of war that have been inflicted on the regions of Italy for twenty-five years or more and have scarcely yet ceased, it is only from the islands and the places overseas that the Roman Church receives some revenue,

111 See Thomas F.X. Noble, The Republic of St. Peter: The Birth of the Papal State, 680-825 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1984), p. 10 and A.H.M. Jones, The Later Roman Empire, 284-602, vol. 2, pp.781-782, 789, 895-902.

112 Jones, LRE, vol. 2, p. 904.

113 CTh 16.2.4 (Rome, 321).

114 See John the Deacon, Vita 2.53 and Edward Spearing, The Patrimony of the Roman Church in the Time of Gregory the Great (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1918), pp. 6-18.

115 See P. Erdkamp, The Grain Market in the Roman Empire, p. 218.

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however insufficient, for the clergy and the poor.”116 As to the “places overseas,” the

Church enjoyed the luxury of maintaining holdings in nearly every great port city in the late antique world, including Alexandria, Carthage, Tarsus and Tyre. Gregory Nazianzus saw such maritime hubs as being almost immune to economic contraction: “Maritime cities are able to bear such times of need without difficulty, by an exchange of their own products for what is imported.”117 The Church’s presence in major trading centers no doubt made a significant difference. Pelagius’ rhetorical verbosity cannot obscure the fact that he well understood that the “islands”—meaning Sicily, Sardinia and Corsica—and

“places overseas”—meaning Africa and the great eastern ports—guaranteed the Church’s financial stability amid deteriorating circumstances in Italy.

Individual landowners were not as fortunate. They suffered great losses. Some lost everything. Archaeological evidence shows widespread abandonment and fragmentation of large rural sites in Italy and the islands. Two large, rural villa sites, mentioned above in connection with the pork dole, S. Vincenzo al Volturno in Samnium and S. Giovanni di Ruoti in Lucania, suffered just this fate.118 S. Giovanni boasted a great hall, comparable to the palace of Theodoric at Ravenna and shows signs of significant expansion before its desertion, both indicating occupation by a socially- dominant family in the region.119 The fact that Lucania was known to be a popular retreat of senatorial nobles further bolsters the claim that S. Giovanni had been the estate of a

116 Emphasis mine. Pelagius I, 85.

117 Gregory Nazianzus, Orationes 43.34.

118 See the discussion above at n. 133.

119 S. J.B. Barnish, “Pigs, Plebeians and Potentes,” p. 159. For S. Giovanni’s mosaics, see Allastair Small and Robert J. Buck, The Excavations of S. Giovanni di Ruoti: The Villas and Their Environment, vol. 1 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1994), p. 114.

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senatorial family until its abandonment around 550.120 Small and Buck, the excavators of

S. Giovanni, point to heavy fighting in Lucania during the Justinianic Wars as the likely cause of the estate’s demise and ultimate abandonment, noting evidence of fire damage, a possible result of the hostilities.121 One can surmise that many rural estates suffered similar consequences. In Campania, the villa complex at S. Nicola appears to have held on slightly longer than S. Giovanni, but not by a great deal.122 Sardinia provides evidence of a large, rural wine-producing estate, S. Felicita, wholly deserted by 600, but in transition somewhat earlier.123 S. Felicita began to fracture in the sixth century with certain areas perhaps co-opted by the Church. Sixth-century evidence of burials and the conversion of one building into a chapel hints at an ecclesiastical presence. Intensive wine-production, however, continued into the sixth-century, a trend we also find at Quote

S. Francesco in .124 Although it would be tempting to suggest that, at some point,

S. Felicita had been donated entirely to the Church, the evidence suggests a more communal approach to the break-up of the villa complex. As Christie notes, the onsite chapel may even have been for private use.125 It is possible that the landowner donated some part of his estate to the Church both to lessen his tax obligation and in hopes that church officials or (more likely) monks might provide additional hands in the vintage

120 Cassiodorus, Variae IV.48, written to one Eusebius, vir illustris.

121 Small and Buck, The Excavations of S. Giovanni di Ruoti: The Villas and Their Environment, vol. 1, p. 121.

122 Ibid., p. 41.

123 For a discussion of S. Felicita, see Neil Christie, From Constantine to : An Archaeology of Italy, AD 300-800 (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing, 2006), pp. 447-448.

124 P. Arthur, “From Vicus to Village: Italian Landscapes, AD 400-800” in Christie, ed., Landscapes of Change, p. 108.

125 Or perhaps a martyrium, see Christie, From Constantine to Charlemagne, p. 448.

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process. We might imagine the sixth-century situation at S. Felicita was not unlike the one described by Caesarius of in the earlier sixth century, wherein locals and family members banded together to rebuild a declining vineyard.126 The fate of S. Felicita was apparently a fairly common one as conditions forced estate owners to return to their cities, where there existed at minimum a greater hope of protection, or partition the estate among Church and neighbors. When large landholders abandoned their estates entirely, those estates were chopped up and co-opted by nobles and peasants alike, thus creating the conditions of the early medieval vicus, in a kind of “de-evolution” of aristocratic villa culture. Thus, villages arose from the fragmented remains of elite estates, most often abandoned out of economic or political necessity.127 The mere existence of new vici in our period provides compelling evidence of the decline and/or desertion of aristocratic estates.

One cannot underestimate the importance of these lands to the elites who owned them. They were magnificent symbols of power and prestige. In 527, Cassiodorus seemed to think that at least some local notables at Bruttium had forsaken their cities in favor of them, “Let the land owners (possessores) and town council members (curiales) of Bruttium return to their cities: those who ceaselessly till the fields are peasants

(coloni).”128 Ever sympathetic to aristocratic sensibilities, Gregory mourned the very fact of culture’s demise and what it meant when he saw “the fields abandoned by

126 Here, perhaps, with the help of church officials as well. , Sermones 1.67. Caesarius refers to a vineyard in Gaul, albeit in an area which, according to Wickham, was very similar to Italy. See Wickham, Early Medieval Italy, p. 98.

127 “De-evolution” is Christie’s term. See N. Christie, “Landscapes of Change in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages: Themes, Directions and Problems” in N. Christie, ed., Landscapes of Change, pp 1-38, ad loc. p. 10. See also, Wickham, Early Medieval Italy, p. 98.

128 Cassiodorus, Variae 8.31

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mankind and destitute of any cultivator; the land lies empty and solitary. No landowner lives on it. Wild beasts occupy places once held by a multitude of men.”129 It is true that some former aristocratic lands still had cultivators, but they were Cassiodorus’ peasants, not the pars melior generis humani, a fact that Gregory found devastating.130

The Byzantine government apparently realized what was happening. On occasion, they took measures to stanch the bleeding, as with the Debtors’ Law of 557, which placed a moratorium on debts in Italy and Sicily (Lex quae data est pro debitoribus in Italia et

Silicia) and sliced repayment of unsecured loans by half.131 The most serious problem here likely arose as a direct result of lost estates. In Wickham’s estimate, senatorial families earned about seventy-five percent of their annual incomes from the rents of such estates.132 We have evidence of those rents already decreasing in the mid-fifth century, even in areas unaffected by war, although it is impossible to say for certain whether the effect was normative by then.133 In the sixth century, the evidence for decline and loss is clear. But the fact that Senators still technically owned lands that they were no longer cultivating meant they were expected to pay taxes on them. Second, monies borrowed by

Italian elites, say from their Senatorial brethren in Constantinople, to sustain now defunct estates, were essentially lost along with a given estate. Despite Justinian’s legislation,

129 Dialogues, 3.38.

130 Again, Symmachus’ phrase, Ep 1.52.

131 Novellae 803.

132 Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages, p. 163.

133 Paulinus of , d.c. 470 referring to his holdings in Epirus, as noted by Barnish in “Transformation and Survival in the Western Senatorial Aristocracy”, p. 140.

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Byzantine boots on the ground seem to have shown little tolerance when it came to paying up.134

The question of how severe the financial crisis was hinges on how much money and senators enjoyed prior to the events of the sixth century. If a senatorial family lost everything in mid to late sixth-century Italy, just how much were they losing? Based on what we know about senator’s annual incomes in the earlier empire, “everything” could have meant an enormous sum of money. Senatorial families no doubt took in less on average in 590 than Olympiodorus’ estimate in 425 of 375,000 solidi (5,000 or so pounds of gold) annually.135 How much less is hard to say. In 498, it took a gift of only

1,000 solidi from the emperor Anastasius to Paul, a bankrupt senator and ex-consul from

Constaninople, to restore the latter’s financial standing.136 When Gregory offered money, it was often much less, four solidi here, twenty to forty solidi there, often supplemented with grain, wine and olive oil and sometimes as an annual dispensation.137 Can one assume that Gregory’s donatives were stop-gap measures, whereas Anastasius’ gift was meant to reestablish completely his subject’s finances?

Before the relative economic darkness of the sixth century, we know that the wealthiest families held lands in numerous locations. The Vita Melaniae latina (the Latin

134 Brown seems to think, however, that the Debtors’ Law provided at least some practical relief. See Gentlemen and Officers, p. 33.

135On average. Olympiodorus, Hist. fr. 41.2; Noted by Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages, p. 162.

136 Ibid. 41.1, 23, 25; Wickham thinks this donation represented Paul’s total resources. Framing the Early Middle Ages, p. 162.

137 E.g., Gregory, Register 1.37, wherein Gregory gives his aunt, the domna Pateria, 40 solidi, her children 20 solidi and 300 measures of wheat and one, Viviana, also called domna, 20 solidi and 300 measures of wheat and Register 2.50 wherein Gregory offers an annual pension of four solidi and twenty measures of grain to one Sisinnius, former governor of Samnium; Also on this point, see Brown, Gentlemen and Officers, pp. 31-32.

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Life of Melania the Younger, d. 439) says that Melania and her husband, Pinianus, owned estates in Rome, Campania, Sicily, Africa, , and even Britain.138 Everybody desired holdings in fertile Africa and Sicily. African and Sicilian estates were senatorial cash cows and the truly elite almost always enjoyed possessions in one or both regions. Italian lands in and around Rome and the Bay of Naples were popular among senators as well, albeit for rather more recreational purposes. Without a massive administrative structure and an even larger labor force (which only the Church and the Byzantine government possessed by the late sixth century), far-flung estate holdings would have been difficult to maintain. The Vandal invasions of North Africa complicated and/or crippled senatorial holdings there139 and, with the ’ advance and Vandal piracy, ultimately in Sicily,

Sardinia and Corsica as well. For its part, the Church more or less developed a modus vivendi with the invaders despite their Arian leanings and tendency to harass or expel individual landowners. But, as in many matters, the Church was the exception. With

Vandal overlords occupying important economic zones, the Roman west increasingly trended toward a kind of economic “regionalism” and families with vast interregional holdings fast disappeared.140 During the Ostrogothic period, Senators found it even more difficult to glean revenues from estates outside Italy. Failures in communication, slackening shipping lanes and Vandal pirates patrolling the seas meant that even those

138 Vita Melaniae latina, 21

139 Depending on the Vandals’ needs, the presence or absence of the estate-holder and the respective family’s willingness to cooperate with the invaders.

140 When precisely this trend began is difficult to say, but the Vandal invasions (429 and on) certainly cemented its trajectory. Although they suggest that this economic fragmentation began earlier, Horden and Purcell focus primarily on the seventh and eighth centuries in trying to situate an early medieval “depression.” As such, they lay great emphasis on Muslim piracy (too late for this study) and its cutting off of shipping lanes in the Mediterranean. See The Corrupting Sea: A Study in Mediterranean History, p. 158.

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families who maintained their lands could hardly find ways manage them. Local estate managers simply could not be trusted much of the time. With no mechanism of enforcement in place, greed and/or ineptitude commonly got the better of them. Estates could be gobbled up by opportunistic managers, sliced up by local nobles or seized by regional Vandal or Ostrogothic generals, with senators in Italy helpless to do anything about it.141 In short, senatorial families were seeing attrition even before Justinian and the

Lombards did their worst.

As Wickham notes, the “hyper-rich” senatorial families were all based at Rome, with extensive holdings in Italy.142 It was these same families who suffered the greatest loss of land and money in the sixth century because of conditions on the Italian peninsula.

In some cases, their situation had become truly desperate. In others, their “suffering” merely meant leading a life less extravagant than the one that they believed was their birthright. In either case, these families felt consumed by financial crisis and they turned to the one entity large enough, solvent enough, and ideologically inclined to help: the

Church.

Gregory had great sympathy for those among his aristocratic contemporaries struggling under straitened circumstances, regardless of their level of need. He was one of their own after all. He felt compelled to help. Let us examine some examples, beginning with the most severe.

In 593, one Urbicus, a former defensor of Tivoli (Tibur) and the Church’s Sabine patrimony and owner of a large estate, died in debt to the church for “quite a large

141 Brown, Gentlemen and Officers, p. 32.

142 Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages, p. 163.

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sum.”143 Unfortunately, we do not know the nature of Urbicus’ debt, although we might speculate that he borrowed money from the Church to sustain his failing farm, yet another sixth-century estate teetering on the brink of ruin. In fact, we might go further to suggest that the Justinian’s Debtor’s Law of 557144 was written with men like Urbicus in mind, but again, we are in the realm of hypotheticals. What we can say is that Tivoli is a mere 18.5 miles (or about 30 km) east-northeast of Rome, an area long desirable to aristocratic sensibilities, most notably among them, the emperor Hadrian (r. 117-138), who built his massive 250-acre villa there. Urbicus’ debt was so large, writes Gregory, that, “although all of his property was liable to the Church for this, yet it could not suffice to pay for what he had consumed.”145 Urbicus had three sons, who, by law, would be forced to assume responsibility for their father’s debt. As Gregory rightly observes, the

Church had the right to confiscate the deceased’s property if his heirs could not pay. In this instance, that seems to be the case as church officials had already evicted the sons from the estate in anticipation of its becoming part of the church patrimony. The seizure of this estate would have meant the effective end of the family’s financial solvency.

Gregory’s letter does not necessarily suggest that the sons had appealed their case to him.

In fact, the impression given is that Gregory has inserted himself into the situation on his own accord, declaring “It is part of my duty to give advice to those who have lost their

143 Gregory, Register 3.21

144 Novellae 803, supra p. 67.

145 Gregory, Register 3.21

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parents, so that I can give some help in those miseries of theirs that are justly the responsibility of the Church, thereby alleviating them.”146

The “miseries” imposed upon Urbicus’ sons likely not only refer to their being forcibly removed from their father’s estate, which had been seized by Church officials as a security on Urbicus’ debt, but to the collective financial burden under which so many former elites now suffered. The Church’s right to seize the estate was clear, after which it might sell the land to recoup the debt or incorporate it into the larger church patrimony.

But Gregory renounced the church’s rights under the law, canceled Urbicus’ debt, returned the estate to his sons and assured that no church official will trouble them in the future. The Tivoli estate was to remain theirs in perpetuity:

Nos tamen, pietatis intuitu, eiusdem patris vestri substantiam vos habere ac possidere permittimus atque concedimus, vestris procul dubio utilitatibus profuturam, securi quod nullus vos denuo de iis quae vobis relaxantes concessimus aliqua ratione concutiat.

Even so, with a regard to , we permit and concede that you have and possess the property of that same father of yours, undoubtedly to serve your advantage henceforth, and we have no concern that anyone might for any reason eject you again from those properties that we, in relinquishing our claim, have allowed you to retain.147

Then there is the case of the daughters of Venantius of Palermo (whom Gregory calls dominus),148 a former senator—turned monk—turned Sicilian governor (?),149 whose death left his daughters, Antonina and Barbara, in a precarious spot. In an attempt

146 Ibid.

147 Ibid.

148 Meaning that he was the owner of the estate.

149 Venantius appears in thirteen of Gregory’s letters and one is able to work out, more or less, the details of his career from these correspondences. See Register, 1.33; 2.49; 6.42, 43; 9.13, 38, 120, 232, 236; 11.18, 19, 25; 13.12.

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to secure the financial welfare of those daughters, Venantius had apparently left a will that appeared to make Antonina and Barbara wards of the emperor, with Gregory serving as their guardian.Venantius’ status as a government official and the apparent status of his daughters as wards of the state upon his death has led Byzantine officers to attempt to commandeer his Sicilian estate for the emperor—who is a kind of heir in his capacity as the girls’ protector, depending upon how one interprets the will. had, centuries before, called a man’s will, “proof of his affection for his family,” and

Venantius’ will certainly stands in that tradition, despite its lack of clarity.150 Gregory, however, knew Venantius well and claims to know his intentions. Here, Gregory, a keen student of Roman law, is on solid legal ground.151 He argues that it was never Venantius’ desire that the estate become Byzantine property or that the girls be hauled off to

Constantinople as legally-bound wards of the emperor. Gregory argues that he was made the girls’ guardian precisely so that the girls could stay put and the family holdings be maintained. Gregory wrote to John, bishop of Syracuse, in 601, who seems to be going along with the wishes of the Byzantine establishment, and asks him to intervene on the his (Gregory’s) behalf.

For after their father (Venantius) had foresworn me to take care of their concerns, adding that I should look after their arrangements, he followed with some other line in his letter (epistola), which I am sure might obstruct my ability to do so. For he said that he should often make them pray as suppliants to our most serene lordship, the emperor, as he would provide for them. You realize how different this is from his previous wish. And for that reason I doubt that occasion should be given to men in Sicily who are seeking the chance to deal with his goods (in rebus). For I know this much, what are those men going to do who, without any

150 Pliny, Ep. 8.18.2.

151 argued that if the intention of the deceased was clearly known that it should surmount possible issues with interpretation of legal documents. Quintilian, Instituto Oratoria III.6.95-104.

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apparent cause, are already trying to put a seal (sigillum)152 on his property? Would reason not seem to support them on the surface and provide them with just the sort of material for this? If they should say: “The girls have been recommended to his lordship, the emperor, and we cannot ignore it, or it involves us in danger. We are securing their property until the lord emperor orders them to be taken to Constantinople.” Tell me, I beg you, what shall I do about this when a father’s recommendation seems to be agreeable to a person of great power? For he swears to me that I should look after their arrangements so that either they live in the city of Rome or not be removed from Sicily, and he brings it about that there is no reason for bringing them here or retaining them there. But you must resist those evil men as best you can. Defend the daughters’ property for the sake of almighty God, as if it were your own, and if it is still allowed, consider how every opportunity for violence might be removed from the will (testamentum) of the aforementioned gentleman, lord Venantius.153

As with the sons of Urbicus, Gregory here intervenes to ensure that the daughters of

Venantius maintain control of their family estate, thereby protecting the long-term prospects of a noble family at a time when the fortunes of many such families had grown impossibly dim.

In his desire to protect the interests of struggling aristocrats, Gregory commonly found himself at odds with the Byzantine military establishment or having to make nice with its officers for the sake of his larger aims. In 593, he wrote to George, the praetorian

152 This seal is suggestive of Venantius’ role as government official of some sort, although it is impossible to say precisely what that office was. See John R.C. Martyn, The Letters of Gregory the Great, vol. 3, p. 759, footnote 110 and T.S. Brown, Gentlemen and Officers, p. 31.

153 Gregory, Register 11.25: “Nam postquam me de eis sollicitudinis curam gerere coniuravit addens, ut earum debeam ordinationi prospicere, aliud epistola sua secutus est, quod hoc mihi studenti dubium non est, quia possit obsistere. Ait enim, ut serenissimo domno imperatori saepius supplicem, quatenus ipse eas faciat, ut praeviderit, ordinari; quod quam diversum sit, priori voluntati, perpenditis. Ex qua re dubito, ne hominibus in positis et quaerentibus occcasionem in rebus ipsius apta detur occasio. Nam hoc cognito quid facturi sunt, qui nulla existente causa iam sigillum in substantia ipsius, quantum dicitur nitibantur imponere? Numquid non illos videtur ratio ad faciem adiuvare et ad hoc illis iustam quasi praebere materiam? Si dixerint: domno imperatori commendatae sunt, neglegere non possumus, periculi nostri interest, res in tutum facimus, quousque domnus Constantinopolim duci praeceperit. Dic, rogo, quid ad haec ego facturus sum, quando habenti homini potestatem paterna videtur commendatio concordare? Me enim coniurat, ut ita eas ordinari provideam, quantenus aut in civitate Romana sint aut de Sicilia non tollantur, et ille id agit, ut eas nulla nec hic deducendi nec illic sit ratio retinendi. Vos, tamen, in quantum potestis, malis hominibus obviate; earum substantiam propter omnipotentem Deum velut proprium defendite et, si adhuc licet, quo modo omnis occasio violentiae removeatur in praedicti viri domni Venantii testamento praevidete.”

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prefect, to request an appointment for Armenius, the son of the late vir illustris

Aptonius.154 Armenius, writes Gregory, “constrained by poverty (egestas),” desires a government position so that he might attempt to regain his lost status. Here, we find an implicit admission, both by Gregory and Armenius, the senator’s son, that the surest way back to the top of the social hierarchy is an appointment within the Byzantine administration. The power of family name and heritage had fallen far indeed. Gregory saw firsthand his fellow aristocrats quite literally ruined by the events of the sixth century and one senses his palpable disdain for the Byzantine military machine, all the way up to, and perhaps especially, the emperor Maurice himself, every time he has to beg for their either on behalf of an individual or the church.

And then there were the Lombards, who were only slightly more tolerable from

Gregory’s perspective, with whom Gregory often negotiated to ransom senatorial captives. It is important to note that the Lombards actually possessed more land on the

Italian peninsula than the Byzantines and Rome’s territorial proximity to the Lombard

Duchies of Spoleto and Benevento made Gregory’s diplomatic role exceedingly complicated.155 About 596, the Lombard , Arichis, succeeded, where the Goths had failed, in sacking the city of Cotrone in southern Italy—a bastion of aristocratic otium— taking a number of nobles (multi viri ac multae mulieres nobiles) as booty.156 Despite their aristocratic status, these individuals were “unable to afford their own ransom” says

Gregory, who sends the ransom in question with one vir magnificus, Stephen, and

154 Gregory, Register, 3.28.

155 Neil Christie provides a discussion of Lombard-controlled territories in Italy, as well as a useful map. See his The Lombards (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 1995); pp. 69-108; ad loc. 75.

156 See Gregory, Register 7.23 and 6.32; ad loc. 7.23. had laid to Cotrone unsuccessfully in 550; Procopius, Bell. Goth. 7.36-37.

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instructs Anthelm, sub-deacon of Naples, to see to it that the aforementioned nobles are freed from the Lombards’ hands.157 But Gregory’s gold leads the Lombards to release only some of their captives, forcing Gregory to write to Theoctista, sister of the emperor

Maurice, to beg additional monies. Gregory’s letters regarding the matter reveal a number of important insights. First, the captives, despite being nobiles, cannot afford to buy their freedom. The Lombards’ demands were generally excessive, here indicated by the fact that Gregory asks a member of the imperial family for the extra ransom money, but the inability of a conspicuously large group of Italian nobles (“many noble men and women”) to negotiate their own release supports the picture of an aristocracy in economic free fall.

Meanwhile, Gregory’s request of Theoctista suggests the enormous financial burden that the Church shouldered just to maintain the status quo in the Italy of the late sixth-century.

Still, Gregory was compelled to take care of his own (i.e. his fellow aristocrats).

That compulsion stands in the long tradition of Greco-Roman public munificence

(euergetism). Rome’s aristocratic classes were expected to look out for one another; their dignitas forced them to do so. The earlier empire’s most notable aristocratic benefactors were celebrated for doing just that. Philostratus’ summary of the life of philanthropist and euergete par excellence, Herodes Atticus (101-177 CE), begins with the statement, “he looked after his friends . . . .” And continues, “He used to say that it befits one who uses his wealth properly to help those in need so that they might not be in need and to help those not in need, so that they might not become needy.”158 Gregory’s act of forgiving

Urbicus’ massive debt to the church in fact has an exact parallel from the high empire in

157 Register 6.32.

158 Emphasis mine. Philostratus, Lives of the Sophists, 2.547.

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the decision of Pliny to forgive a child her father’s debt. Writing to one, Calvina, Pliny agrees to write off a debt of more than one hundred thousand sestercii.

If your father had died in debt to more than one person, or to anyone other than myself, you might perhaps have hesitated to accept an inheritance which even a man would have found a burden. But I thought it my duty as your relative to pay off anyone who was rather pressing, though not actually offensive, so as to be left the sole creditor; and while your father was alive, I had contributed 100,000 sesterces toward your dowry for marriage in addition to what he had assigned you (which also came indirectly from me, as it could only be paid from his account with me). All this should be a firm guarantee of my generous feelings, and ought to give you confidence to defend your late father’s honor (dignitas) and reputation; to provide you also with practical encouragement I shall give instructions for his debt to me to be entered as paid.159

As Gregory did with Urbicus’ sons, Pliny averted the possibility that Calvina would become impoverished under the weight of her father’s debt. Pliny’s use of the loaded term, dignitas—which indicates the aristocratic rank of Calvina’s father—demonstrates his desire to preserve and protect a fellow elite’s long-term familial interests in the same way Gregory intervenes to protect Urbicus’ sons and Venantius’ daughters. In all the above cases, an estate hung in the balance, the loss of which means impoverishment for the respective family. Gregory could no more allow this to happen in 593 or 601 than

Pliny could in a much more financially successful epoch around the year 100. Although

159 Pliny, Ep. 2.4 reads: “Si pluribus pater tuus vel uni cuilibet alii quam mihi debuisset, fuisset fortasse dubitandum, an adires hereditatem etiam viro gravem. Cum vero ego ductus affinitatis officio, dimissis omnibus qui non dico molestiores sed diligentiores erant, creditor solus exstiterim, cumque vivente eo nubenti tibi in dotem centum milia contulerim, praeter eam summam quam pater tuus quasi de meo dixit - erat enim solvenda de meo -, magnum habes facilitatis meae pignus, cuius fiducia debes famam defuncti pudoremque suscipere. Ad quod te ne verbis magis quam rebus horter, quidquid mihi pater tuus debuit, acceptum tibi fieri iubebo. Nec est quod verearis ne sit mihi onerosa ista donatio. Sunt quidem omnino nobis modicae facultates, dignitas sumptuosa, reditus propter condicionem agellorum nescio minor an incertior; sed quod cessat ex reditu, frugalitate suppletur, ex qua velut fonte liberalitas nostra decurrit. Quae tamen ita temperanda est, ne nimia profusione inarescat; sed temperanda in aliis, in te vero facile ei ratio constabit, etiamsi modum excesserit. Vale.” The debt is likely considerably more than the one hundred thousand sestercii, for the gift for Calvina’s dowry was one of a series of loans Pliny made to the girl’s father. In addition, he has bought up Calvina’s father’s outstanding debt to other creditors. Dennis Kehoe discusses the implications of this letter in his Investment, Profit and Tenancy: The Jurists and the Roman Agrarian Economy, pp. 25-28.

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the political, economic, and ideological landscape has changed dramatically in the five hundred years from Pliny to Gregory, the cultural preoccupations and expectations of aristocratic Romans, remarkably, have not.

From Constantinople, John the Lydian (c. 490-c. 565), boasted that Justinian’s wars had “restored to Rome what was Rome’s.”160 Romans living in the city of Rome could not have shared John’s sentiment. The Byzantine reconquest achieved precisely the opposite. The wars finally and completely deprived Rome of the last vestiges of the empire of Augustus, most significantly represented in the institution that was the Roman

Senate and the fortunes of the families that had filled its ranks. In his Historia

Francorum, written during the years of his bishopric (573-594) Gregory of Tours could still call Rome “Urbs urbium et totius caput mundi.”161 The sixth-century evidence, both before and after the reconquest, hardly suggests as much. Writing from Gaul, however,

Gregory of Tours still clung to the ideal of Rome as caput mundi even if conditions on the ground bore out a much different picture. Pope Gregory, writing from the old capital itself, clung to the ideal as well, but in a slightly nuanced way. Senatus Populusque

Romanus signaled for Gregory I all that was great about Rome, her ability to govern far- flung and diverse lands and peoples by means of a civilian and highly-cultured aristocracy, whose own shared interests matched that of the wider world. But everywhere he looked, Gregory found evidence that the ideal of Rome itself was crumbling. The clearest evidence of this fact was the demise of the Senate and the utter economic ruin he saw wrought daily upon the families that once populated its hallowed halls. As one of

160 John the Lydian, De Magistratibus, 3.55.

161 Hist. Franc. 5.1.

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them, and in the tradition of long generations of Roman elites who came before him,

Gregory did his best to preserve and protect the newly impoverished senatorial aristocracy. But powerful forces worked against him: a largely intransigent and tax-happy

Byzantine military authority, whose ranks were the only non-clerical path to anything like elite status and the ever-present and unpredictable Lombard armies and their dukes, crisscrossing the Italian peninsula and laying waste to cities and senatorial estates.

“Senatus deest, populus interiit,”162 wrote Gregory. The “people” in that sentiment, the people Gregory tried, time and again, to pull back into financial solvency, were, first and foremost, the very apex of the Roman social ladder.

162 Gregory, Homiliae in Hezecheliem Prophetam, ii.6.22.

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CHAPTER TWO: PATERFAMILIAS DOMINI ET UTILATES PAUPERUM: GREGORY “SAVES” ROME FOR THE POOR

On the first day of every month, he distributed to the poor (pauperibus) that part of the Church revenues which was reserved for them. Thus, grain in its season, and, in their appropriate times, wine, cheese, vegetables, bacon, meat, fish, and oil were most carefully doled out by the head of the Lord’s household (paterfamilias Domini). But he offered pigments (pigmenta) and other more delicate commercial items to citizens of rank (primoribus) as a mark of respect. So the Church came to be regarded as the storehouse (horreum) of the whole community.1

John the Deacon’s account of Gregory’s charitable efforts at Rome proves fascinating on a number of fronts. First, John’s treatment stresses that, even as Gregory diligently addressed the needs of the poor, he showed continued concern for his struggling aristocratic contemporaries, giving them a little something extra “as a mark of respect.” In doing so, he ameliorated some of their embarrassment at having to depend, even partially, on the Church’s monthly bread, reminding them of their vaunted heritage—reminding them that the Church had not forgotten their “status,” despite current, grim circumstances. A little pigmentum probably went a long way in this regard.

Second, John’s use of the term paterfamilias to describe Gregory is highly suggestive of how he came to be viewed as Rome’s provisioner-in-chief and, most likely, how he viewed himself.2 As Kristina Sessa’s recent work has shown, late antique Roman

1 John the Deacon, Vita Gregorii 2.26.

2 This is not the only place he uses the term; cf. Vita 2.51, where he calls Gregory “prudentissimus paterfamilias Christi.”

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bishops, well before John’s lifetime, were being perceived in terms of their role as stewards of the Lord’s household.3 The language employed to describe them hearkens to the Roman domestic sphere.

As paterfamilias, though, Gregory not only stood in the long tradition of the elite

Roman householder, but of the emperor himself, the pater patriae, the Roman paterfamilias par excellence. Gregory had inherited a role reserved for elite Roman males for centuries, many of whom had, as the previous chapter points out, lost much in the way of power, influence and wealth in the course of sixth-century upheavals. It is notable that, for his own part, Gregory, in a on the of Luke, called himself, not

“paterfamilias,” but “servus summi patrisfamilias (servant of the supreme paterfamilias).”4 The creator then was the ultimate paterfamilias; Gregory, his earthly representative. Third, John’s Vita suggests the wide scope of the Church’s food dole. Not only grain, but wine, cheese, vegetables, bacon, meat, fish and oil were distributed. Based on John’s list, we should note that, in at least some cases, perishable that could or should be eaten immediately were included in the distributions.5 Further, John reveals that the Church dole included pauperes and, in some capacity, primores.

And, finally, John here applies the word horreum, formerly used to describe imperial buildings designated for the storage and/or distribution of grain, to the Church’s stores. I do not think he does so at random. Gregory of Tours, an exact contemporary of

Gregory I, had used the same term in his Historia Francorum, when describing the

3 See Kristina Sessa, The Formation of Papal Authority in Late Antique Italy: Roman Bishops in the Domestic Sphere (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012).

4 Sessa points to the significance of Gregory’s characterization of himself, used in HEv 3.62 (CC 141:334); cf. Sessa, The Formation of Papal Authority, p. 19.

5 And in Vita 2.28, John says Gregory, at times, distributed “cooked provisions (cocta stipendia).”

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devasting Tiber floods of 589: “the storehouses of the Church (horrea ecclesiae) were also badly damaged, in which several thousands of modii of wheat perished.”6 And

Gregory I himself likewise employs the term horrea ecclesiae in correspondences that address issues of the city’s grain supply.7 Even if we cannot definitively link ecclesiastical distributions to the the axis points of the annona distributions, like the

Porticus Minucia Frumentaria or the Statio Annonae—the former, however, proves an intriguing case as we shall see below—we can say that Gregory and/or the Roman

Church often utilized buildings that were, in many respects, already configured to suit the purpose of charity, that is to say, the Church co-opted commercial spaces, and perhaps former granaries, with ample storage, distribution and, perhaps, dining space. Oftentimes, the buildings that became diaconiae or food distribution centers had similar features, such as porticoes, common nuclei of ancient commercial activity, and central galleries, flanked or surrounded by smaller side chambers. Relief facilities were likewise frequently located near bath complexes. The Church may have placed facilities in Rome’s primary late antique population or market areas, around the Campus Martius/Via Lata and in the emporium district. In fact, the known locations of early diaconiae and xenodochia serve to bolster recent arguments about where residents of Rome actually lived in the fifth to eighth centuries.8 Accessibility to the Tiber and/or central transport routes was likewise a

6 “….horrea etiam ecclesiae subversa sint, in quibus nonnulla milia modiorum tritici periere.” Gregory of Tours, Historia Francorum 10.1. It is important to note here that, although a horreum does not necessarily have to imply a storage warehouse for grain (we could be talking about a storehouse for virtually anything), Gregory’s account specifically links the destruction of these facilities with the loss of grain, meaning grain must have been stored in them.

7 Register 1.42 and 9.115.

8 See R. Coates-Stephens, “Housing in Early Medieval Rome, 500-100 AD,” in Papers of the British School at Rome, 64 (1996): 239-259.

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major contributing factor in the location of relief centers. Using John’s account as a starting point, this chapter will attempt, in as much as it is possible, to unpack some specifics of Gregory’s system of provisioning and providing relief to the city and to determine what kind institutional infrastructure supported his relief efforts. In short, what might Gregorian charity have looked like? Let us begin with Christian precedents.

Christianity’s Disciplined (if Disorderly) Care for Poor: The Foundations of an

Institution

Christian communities had long engaged in the direct care of poor. Acts describes first-century believers selling lands and handing over the proceeds to the Jerusalem

Church for distributions to the needy.9 Paul testifies that even members of his house churches in Greece contributed to the ever-growing fund that supported “the poor among the saints at Jerusalem.”10 The Jerusalem Church, of course, had been the command center of earliest Christianity, so Jerusalem was the axis point of Christians’ first attempts at organized charity. Between the first and fifth centuries, individual sees engaged in their own welfare initiatives based on the ideological imperatives and example of first-century leadership. Far and wide, Christian communities supported the poor in their vicinity.

From North Africa, in the later second century, (c. 160-c. 225 CE) spoke of a voluntary monthly donation (which he labled a “depositum pietatis”) by members of his

Carthaginian congregation, employed by the bishop “to support and bury the poor, to supply the needs of boys and girls destitute of means and parents and those of old people

9 Acts 4:34-35.

10 Romans 15:25-28; cf. Gal. 2:10.

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now confined to their homes, and, also, those who have suffered shipwreck, and if there are any in the mines or banished to the islands or shut up in prisons . . .”11 In fourth- century Gaul, we find a “register” of the poor at Brioude and a “celebration of vigils” wherein food was dispensed to those persons whose names appeared on the church rolls.12 As bishop of Caesarea, Basil not only helped to relieve a severe famine in

Cappadocia in 368, but opened, on his family’s estate just outside Caesarea, what he called a ptōchotropheion (ptōchos + trēpho, lit. “a place for nourishing the poor”), a large hospice facility designed to provide food, shelter and medical care for the poor, the infirm and travelers. The facility also contained a church and an apartment where Basil himself could reside and oversee the work of the complex.13 The facility, and Basil’s leadership, immediately grew so popular as to create whisperings of impropriety and moans of the bishop’s undermining the Roman government. Basil forcefully defended himself and his good work against such charges in a letter to Elias, the of Cappadocia.14

Indeed, what we find in the ethos of Christian bishops like Basil and his contemporaries, is the strange notion developing that concern for the poor was linked to one’s very salvation. Charity was not just encouraged by Christian leadership; it was

11 Tertullian, Apology 39.6: “Haec quasi deposita pietatis sunt. Nam inde non epulis nec potaculis nec ingratis voratrinis dispensatur, sed egenis alendis humandisque et pueris ac puellis re ac parentibus destitutis iamque domesticis senibus, item naufragis et si qui in metallis et si qui in insulis vel in custodiis, dumtaxat ex causa dei sectae, alumni confessionis suae fiunt.”

12 In this case, distributions were supplemented by a wealthy member of the congregation. See Gregory of Tours, Vita Iuliani (Life of Julian of Brioude), 38.

13 For Basil’s actions during the famine of 368, see Gregory Nazianzus, Orationes 43.34-36. For Basil’s description of the facility, see Basil, Ep. 94. Gregory Nazianzus describes the facility in Orationes 43.35, 63. For his characterization of the same facility as a “ptōchotropheion (ptōchos + trephō)”, see Ep. 176. Also, see Susan Holman’s discussion of the facility in The Hungry Are Dying: Beggars and Bishops in Roman Cappadocia, pp. 74-76.

14 Basil, Ep. 94.

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demanded. Gregory Nazianzus (c. 329-389) provides an elegant example. Preaching to his congregation, likely not long after Julian’s death, he said:

The pauper is close at hand; help his affliction; cough up part of your surplus for him. Why do you both suffer, you from indigestion, he from hunger; you from hangovers, he from dropsy; you sagging from one excess upon another, he staggering from disease? Let not the neglect of your Lazarus in this life cause you to share the fate of the rich man in the next.15

More than two hundred years later, Gregory I, bishop of Rome, preached to a congregation in the Basilica of S. Lorenzo fuori le Mura on precisely the same theme, again employing the ’s most notable pauper:

For now you have many Lazaruses; they are lying before your gates, and also for these, who now lie wanting of the things that fall from your table every day when you have had your fill, the words of the holy reading (Lk. 16:19-31) should instruct us to fulfill the mandates of compassion. If we go looking for Lazarus, we can find him each day; and if we do not seek Lazarus we see him every day still . . . Honor the poor whom you see . . . share what you have with them, so that when the time comes, they may share what they have with you.16

The reaction of the rich man to Lazarus, the beggar at his gate, who became a focal point for the Church’s advocacy of charity, is, of course, drawn in extreme terms in

Luke’s Gospel. Still, the story might well have had some ring of truth to it within a larger

Greco-Roman context. In the traditional model of urban Roman society, the poor were not just marginalized; they lived outside the margins.17 I will return to the theme of

Christianity’s ideological impetus toward service of the very poor in the proceeding chapter. For now, I merely wish to point to the fact of its existence.

15 , Oration 36, translated by Vinson. In The Fathers of the Church: Gregory of Nazianzus, Select Orations (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2003), 229.

16 Gregory I, Homiliae in Evangelia, 40.10-12 (excerpts): 40:10 reads: “Multos etenim nunc Lazaros habetis; ante ianuas vestra iacent, atque his indigens, quae vobis iam satiatis quotidie de mensa cadunt, verba sacrae lectionis debent nos instruere ad implenda mandata pietatis.”

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Despite the work of Basil and the eloquent pleas of Gregory Nazianzus in the east, as far as we can tell, it was not until the fifth century that bishops of Rome began to systematize Church relief programs. First Simplicius (r. 468-484) and then Gelasius I (r.

492-496) declared that one quarter of all Church revenues should be dedicated to the care of the poor.18 As with Basil’s actions in 368 and later, need may have been a motivating factor. Gelasius, called by the author of his Liber Pontificalis biography an amator pauperum (“lover of the poor”), is also said to have “saved the city from the danger of famine.”19 One can imagine that Rome, and her food supply, suffered neglect as Odoacer and Theodoric jostled for power in Ravenna, the latter succeeding in assassinating his rival in 493. Gelasius, like Gregory after him, may have become de facto manager of the city until the political troubles had subsided. We can only speculate as to what Gelasius did to relieve the city’s hunger, but it would be a fair assumption that he temporarily opened up the Church’s grain warehouses, typically reserved for the clergy and the poor, to meet the larger population’s needs. Basil had done just that at Caesarea in 368.20 In the wake of the Cappadocian famine of 368, we find Basil immediately expanding his see’s relief system by building his ptōchotropheion. It is possible that Gelasius too expanded his relief system after 493. We cannot say for sure. What can be said with some certainty

17 Or as Peter Brown puts it: Before the advent of Christianity, “the poor had remained a blank on the notables’ map of the city.” Power and Persuasion, 92.

18 , Causa XII, quest. II, 27-28. XII.II.28 reads: “Item Simplicius papa Florentio, et Equitio Episcopis. [epist. III.] De redditibus ecclesiae uel oblatione fidelium sola episcopo ex his una portio remittatur, duae ecclesiasticis fabricis, et erogationi pauperum profuturae apresbitero sub periculo sui ordinis ministrentur; ultima clericis pro singulorum meritis diuidatur. Et infra: §. 1. Cui (id est Gaudentio episcopo), specialiter hoc precipimus, ut tres illas portiones, quas triennio sibi tantummodo dicitur uendicasse, restituat.”

19 LP 51.2.

20 Gregory Nazianzus, Or. 43.34-35.

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is that Christian bishops became extremely efficient in dispensing relief and in widening the scope of their relief programs during emergencies. So efficient, in fact, that in 537, with ’ army moving north toward Milan and political conditions deteriorating,

Cassiodorus entrusted royal distributions of grain from the horrea of () and

Dertona to Datius, the bishop of Milan.21

What can also be said is that Gregory I, whom John the Deacon calls a “most careful follower” of Gelasius, enlarged and reorganized the Church’s distribution system between 590 and 604 in a much more comprehensive way than his predecessors.22 But, as with Basil and Gelasius, Gregory’s initiatives grew out of crises, both natural and political, as discussed in the previous chapter. In at least one instance, in 601, Gregory increased Gelasius’ requirement that a quarter of all Church revenues be expended on the poor. In a letter to Pascius, the newly-ordained bishop of Naples, where we have direct literary evidence of the existence of a diaconia so-called by 600 (Register 10.8), Gregory ordered four-hundred solidi to be divided almost evenly between payments to the clergy

(216 solidi) and payments to the poor (186 solidi), although part of his rationale may have been that Pascius’ predecessor had neglected his duty to the poor. “It should be remembered that we have decided that a portion of the revenues of your church are to be set aside for the clergy and the poor, that is, four-hundred solidi, which ought to provide

21 Although this could merely represent sales of grain at a specified price, in which case, it would not represent a “dole” at all per se, although the fact remains that Cassiodorus was comfortable placing the matter in the hands of a bishop. Ostrogothic distributions had begun with Theodoric around 500, see Anonymous Valesianus 67. Cassiodorus, Variae 12.27.2: “Et ideo sanctitatem vestram petimus, cuius propositi est divinis inserviri mandatis, ut horreis Ticenensibus et Dertonensibus panici speciem, sicut a principe iussum est, tertiam portionem esurienti populo ad viginti quinque modios per solidum distrahi sub vestra ordinatione faciatis, ne cuiusquam venalitate ad illos per veniat, qui se de proprio videntur posse transigere. Accipiat minus habens indulgentiam principalem.”

22 For Gregory as “most careful follower” of Gelasius, see John the Deacon, Vita 2.24.

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for payment of clergy and paupers, whom your predecessor had hardly provided for at all.”23 The fact that Pascius’ predecessor in Naples could have largely ignored his ordained responsibility to the poor suggests not only that Gelasius’ one-quarter rule was not fixed, but that the task of systematizing ecclesiastical poor relief was daunting, even for the most meticulous manager.

Gregory, however, proved to be a relentless organizer. Ultimately, his determination would pay dividends. Thomas Noble has argued that it was precisely the

Roman Church’s ability, “in the absence of a continuously effective imperial administration,” to provide for the poor, widows, the sick, the orphaned and those otherwise unable to care for themselves, through a “sophisticated” system of ecclesiastical government that made the bishop of Rome the central power not only in

Rome, but, eventually, in Italy.24 Indeed, Gregory represents the institutionalization of an ad hoc, but entrenched, framework of Christian poor relief that had, in previous times of need, demonstrated a remarkable elasticity. Gregory managed to build upon the successes of his predecessors, both Roman and otherwise, by capitalizing on a model that was even older than Jerusalem’s collection for the saints and, for Gregory, the Anician senator and former urban prefect, the prudentissimus paterfamilias, almost as venerable.

23 Gregory, Register 11.22: “. . .Contuisse nos recolet, ut ex pecuniis ecclesiae vestrae portio cleri vel pauperum quam minime decessor vester praebuerat, id est quadringenti solidi, seorsum fieri debuissent, qui eiusdem cleri atque pauperum erogationi proficerent.” Spearing uses this letter to suggest that the four- fold division of revenues was not always fixed and depended largely on the individual bishop. See E. Spearing, The Patrimony of the Roman Church, p. 121.

24 Thomas F.X. Noble, The Republic of St. Peter: The Birth of a Papal State, 680-825, pp. 9-10.

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Christian Charity meets Imperial Largesse

Gregory inherited vestiges of the imperial annona, the latter having ceased to function completely in the later sixth century. He utilized what fragments of the old system he could and merged them into the Church’s existing program of charitable outreach. As we shall see, it appears that the Church, in many respects, replaced the state as Rome’s primary provisioner, perhaps going so far as to use some of the same storage warehouses (horrea) previously run by the imperial government. In this respect,

Gregory’s program was not revolutionary. Gregory was, however, extremely skillful and creative in uniting older or existing systems of both Church and state under a new management umbrella, toward the singular end of feeding Rome, at least much of it.

Gregory’s creative synthesis of the Church’s existing relief program and the Imperial annona resulted, finally, in the institutionalization of the former. Because Gregory’s provisioning operation built upon the annona, it will be useful to discuss the imperial distribution program in some detail and the general dependence of the Roman Church on the management institutions and framework of the Roman Empire. At the very least, this will provide some understanding, first, of how central food distribution had been to Rome throughout the empire and how far it extended and, second, how the process of acquisition, storage and distribution occurred.

As T.S. Brown has rightly noted, “the organization of the church was modeled upon that of the empire, and in many respects the church was expected to act as the agent of the state.”25 This fact was perhaps never truer than in Gregory’s fourteen-year

25 T.S. Brown, Gentlemen and Officers, p. 175.

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pontificate, for from food to defense the Roman Church and her prudentissimus paterfamilias, Gregory, were the state in the city of Rome. Gregory himself said as much in a letter to the empress Constantia in 595:

Just as in Ravenna, the piety of his Lordship has a chief finance officer among the first army of Italy, who handles the daily expenses as matters arise, even so in this city, I am the chief financial officer (saccellarius) in such matters. And, nevertheless, look, this Church, which pays out so much, at one and the same time, to the clergy, the monasteries, the poor and the people and on top of all these, the Lombards, is still pressed from the needs of all the churches, which suffer much from the arrogance of one man, even if they presume to say nothing.26 Gregory’s use of the personal pronoun ego makes abundantly clear how he viewed himself and his role in the Rome of 595. And, even accounting for his obvious rhetorical flourish, his use of the very specific office, the “saccellarius”—denoting a chief treasurer or finance officer—is interesting. If only because there was no one else, Gregory was the final arbiter of all matters of civic government, large and small, while simultaneously serving as leader of an ecclesiastical administration that was, as Gregory’s letter makes clear, “paying out”—whether in actual monies, foodstuffs or other supplies cannot be determined in every case—to its clergy, its monasteries, the poor, the people (of Rome?) and the Lombards. Although Gregory’s situation was temporary and extraordinary, on the basis of such evidence one can conclude that, in 595, with regard to the city of Rome itself, Gregory had become more than saccellarius, more than pope; he might as well have been emperor.

26 Gregory, Register 5.39. The Latin reads: “Sicut in Ravennae partibus dominorum apud primi exercitus Italiae sacellarium habet, qui causis supervenientibus cotidianas expensas faciat, ita et in hac urbe in causis talibus eorum saccellarius ego sum. Et tamen haec ecclesia, quae uno eodemque tempore clericis, monasteriis, pauperibus, populo atque insuper Langobardis tam multa indesinenter expendit, ecce adhuc ex omnium ecclesiarium afflictione premitur, quae de hac unius hominis superbia multum gemunt, etsi dicere praesumunt.” The “arrogant” man in question is John, the of Constantinople, who Gregory feels is consistently thwarting his authority as bishop of Rome.

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And like the emperors before them, Gregory and/or his agents directly inserted themselves into the transport, storage and distribution of grain to the city of Rome. Like the state, they conducted business with private and shippers to ensure that their needs were met. And, most importantly, like the Roman state before her, the Roman

Church had become the largest individual landholder in the western Mediterranean.27 One cannot appreciate Gregory’s efforts without understanding the Church’s late antique role as a major player in—perhaps even arbiter of—the grain market in the west, a free market that certainly continued to exist in Gregory’s day. Because of its enormous interregional landholdings, the Roman Church had the ability to manipulate the grain market to its advantage, if not perhaps on par with what the Roman state had done earlier. But the

Church’s effort was based on more than mere economics or practical utility; it also bore an ideological component, an interest in charity for charity’s sake, which set it apart from its state-run predecessor. It is important, however, to consider whether, functionally, the

Church manipulated, organized, in some respects, even distributed her subsidy in the same way the state had. To do this requires a bit of looking backward to the history of the annona.

A Brief History of the Annona

In the late Republic and under the Empire, administration of the city’s food supply was called the cura annonae or “the charge of supplying provisions.” Annona first and foremost meant grain, enormous quantities of it, transported annually by sea and land

27 Erdkamp argues against the notion that “private enterprise largely sustained and supplied Rome,” rather he argues for a significant amount of direct government intervention in the grain market, through price manipulation and taxation. The Roman state was, of course, able to engage in such practices because of the massive amounts of land it owned. See The Grain Market in the Roman Empire, p. 255-256.

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for the purpose of feeding the city of Rome and, later, Constantinople.28 But the annona was more than grain also. It constituted the “yearly return” of the land, the “stock” on which the city of Rome was sustained: thus, grain, olives, grapes and, later, livestock and all food products derived from these fell under the catch-all heading, annona.29 In the sixth century, when large stretches of farmland lay forcibly or voluntarily abandoned,

Italy’s annual return would likely have been sparse indeed, making the prospect of sustaining the city a difficult and complex affair. From the first century BCE until at least the fifth century CE, the ripples of the annona suffused nearly every aspect of the Roman economy. For example, up until Gregory’s time, specific stretches of land were hereditarily responsible to the functio navicularia, meaning that shipowners were compelled by the state to use the income from their lands for the building and upkeep of the ships that carried the annona, with the land serving as a security for the shipowners’ duties.30 In short, from the fields to the threshing floors to the high seas to the ports to storage and distribution, the Roman government’s long fingers somehow touched, if not directly controlled, the administration of the annona. The third and fourth centuries in particular saw the annona system alter significantly the nature of Roman long-distance communications and shipping, setting the economic stage for the bishop of Rome’s

28 This massive annual tonnage of grain was at least partially the reason for the name, annona, observes McCormick. See Origins of the European Economy, p. 86.

29 B. Sirks, Food for Rome: The Legal Structure of the Transportation and Processing of Supplies for the Imperial Distributions in Rome and Constantinople (Amsterdam: J.C. Gieben, 1991), p.10.

30 McCormick, Origins of the European Economy, p. 88 and footnote 21.

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entrance into the fray.31 The system ensured that regular distributions of free grain and, eventually, olive oil, wine and pork occurred regularly at Rome from the later reign of

Augustus (31 BCE-14 CE) through the reign of Aurelian (270-275 CE), when baked bread replaced grain.32 Full , proof of residency in the city of Rome and an age restriction barring children under the age of eleven were necessary requirements for receiving the public dole.33 The annona existed as the privilege of the

Roman civitas (i.e., the citizen body of Rome), represented by the term plebs frumentaria. This group commonly excluded slaves, foreigners, women (hence, the dubious position of widows), itinerants, the destitute and the disenfranchised, all of whom received the Church’s charity early on and in larger numbers as the Church grew into a major economic force after the reign of Constantine.34

Before continuing, I should address the matter of tesserae frumentariae (“grain tickets”), which some sources—and some scholars—suggest could be and were sold on the open market.35 We know that the Church kept “registers” of recipients of charity, meaning that specific individuals received a standing allocation, in much the same way

31 Ibid., p. 99.

32 SHA, Aurelian 35 and 47.

33 The age requirement may have been relaxed in the reign of Trajan (r. 98-117 CE), cf. Pliny, Panegyricus 51, 26-28 and Rickman, The Corn Supply of Ancient Rome, p. 188.

34 A point stressed by Hendrick Dey in “Diaconiae, Xenodochia, Hospitalia and the Monasteries: ‘Social Security’ and the Meaning of Monasticism in Early Medieval Rome” in Early Medieval Europe 16(4) (2008): 398-422; ad loc. 399 & n. 3; cf. Peter Garnsey, Cities, Peasants and Food in Classical Antiquity: Essays in Social and Economic History, p. 238. There were certainly some exceptions with regard to women. See G. Rickman’s discussion in The Corn Supply of Ancient Rome, pp. 182-185 and J. Durliat, who argues that some widows would have received the annona until their sons reached the age of majority, De la Ville Antique à la Byzantine, p. 112.

35 Paul Veyne, Bread and Circuses, p. 245. For the purchasing of tesserae, see Paul, Digest 31, 87 pr.; Ulpian, Digest 5.1.52.1; Paul, Digest 31.49.1, seems to suggest tesserae can be left as legacies in one’s will.

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annona recipients were provisioned.36 We must at least consider how the Church confirmed the eligibility of such individuals and whether it could have adopted the state’s model. Despite the fact that John the Deacon says that the Lateran’s lists of recipients of

Church charity comprised “a very large volume,” we must assume, of course, that the state’s register of annona recipients would have been much larger than any church’s poor rolls.37 The imperial program required identification “tickets,” or tesserae frumentariae.

Rickman has pointed to a number of problems with the argument that free grain tickets were sold commercially, from continuous changes in the identity of individuals who held the right to free grain, to “black market” counterfeiting of tickets to a general inability of

Roman authorities to maintain up-to-date lists of recipients. The fact, however, that a law of 372 explicitly forbids the selling of food (annona) rations suggests that some people must have tried doing so, at least in the later empire.38 The tickets likely suggested one’s hereditary right to grain, indicated in the form of an “identity card” that specified the holder, the day one was to receive the allocation and the location where grain was to be distributed. It makes a great deal of sense that the highly-organized Romans would have devised some method of ensuring the correct individuals received their grain, so tickets would have been presented at a distribution site as proof of one’s eligibility. As a hereditary property right, tesserae could be bequeathed via a will, as described in Digest

36 John the Deacon, Vita 2.29

37 Ibid.

38 Cod Theod. 14.17.7.

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31.49.1 (Ulpian), albeit under the strict supervision of state officials, who would amend the recipient lists accordingly.39 The actual numbers of recipients, then, remained fixed.

The number of recipients, from the reign of Augustus, stood at either 150,000 or

200,000 persons.40 The number held firm into the fourth century, as we have seen above, being reduced in the fifth, most likely to 120,000.41 The number of individuals Gregory needed to feed was much closer to the fifth-century figure, even at the highest estimates of Rome’s population in 590. The scale of the imperial distributions required the creation of a dedicated office (the praefectus annonae) to manage the care and distribution of

Roman grain. Augustus had not only created such an office; he also ordered standing naval fleets stationed in areas from whence they might patrol the seas and ensure the stability of the grain trade, most notably, at Misenum, Ravenna and Alexandria.42 The necessity of providing naval protection demonstrates that even in the early empire, transport by sea could be problematic and hazardous; in the later age of Vandal piracy, it was made all the more so.

Even when we can pin down precise, or near-precise, numbers of annona recipients, we still have to contend with the issue of how much grain those individuals

39 See Rickman’s discussion, The Corn Supply, pp. 244-249.

40 Res Gest. 15; Garnsey, in favor of 200,000, Cities, Peasants and Food in Classical Antiquity, p. 229; Rickman seems to favor 150,000 Augustan recipients, moving to 200,000 under Septimius Severus, The Corn Supply, pp. 181-184.

41 The number of recipients of the pork dole in 419 was the same as recipients of the grain dole, a fact accepted by A.H.M. Jones, LRE, vol. 2, 696; G. Rickman, The Corn Supply, p. 198; P. Erdkamp, The Grain Market in the Ancient Roman Empire, p. 242, but rejected by B. Sirks, “The Size of the Grain Distributions in Imperial Rome and Constantinople,” p. 224.

42 For the praefectus annonae, see , Annals I.7; for the standing fleets, Seutonius, 49.1; Tacitus, Annals 4.5.

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consumed; in short, what was the volume of grain Rome imported for the annona? Here, the problem lies in the necessity of understanding ancient grain measures by a modern standard. Foxhall and Forbes have pointed to the intrinsic problems of measuring grain distribution and consumption in the ancient world.43 Chief among them is the fact that

Roman grain was measured in units of volume; modern grain is measured by weight.

Weights of grain per volumetric unit can vary, sometimes substantially, depending upon a number of factors. For example, wheat with hulls weighs more than naked wheat; seeds and other foreign bodies add weight to a given sample; wheat typically weighs more than barley; some wheat varietals are heavier than others. And these are only the most significant variables. Still, accepting and accounting for such hazards, scholars, including

Foxhall and Forbes, have been able to approximate, albeit tentatively at times, distribution and consumption rates.

We know that the annona was distributed at a rate of 5 modii of grain (c. 33.75 kg of grain) per recipient per month. 44 That number equates to 405 kg of grain distributed to each dole recipient annually. At 200,000 dole recipients, the Roman government handed out 81,000,000 kg of grain via the annona every year.45 Even if ’s

43 L. Foxhall and H.A. Forbes, “Sitometreia: The Role of Grain as a Staple Food in Classical Antiquity.” In Chiron 12 (1982): 41-90.

44 Using Garnsey’s calculations for the kilogram measure, Cities, Peasants and Food in Classical Antiquity, p. 238. Garnsey qualifies the number of 5 modii per month (ibid., 236) as the maximum a dole recipient received, arguing that due to a number of factors from spoliation to shortage to sometimes necessary in-kind payments to millers and bakers, the amount could have been less; cf. Richard Duncan- Jones, The Economy of the Roman Empire, pp. 146-147.

45 B. Sirks argues that the distributions were more modest, suggesting that Rome depended to a far greater extent on private imports. The grain distributions, he contends, would have represented “roughly . . . an overcapacity in private commerce.” See Sirks, Food for Rome, p. 21. Erdkamp does not agree that private merchants were largely responsible for Rome’s grain supply. See The Grain Market in the Roman Empire, p. 326.

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suggestion that Egypt supplied 20,000,000 modii (or 135,000,000 kg) of grain to Rome per year is far-fetched, it is widely acknowledged that Egypt, along with North Africa, supplied the vast majority of grain for the Roman distributions, at least before 334 CE.46

The amount of grain distributed per dole recipient per year would have been, according to

Garnsey’s calculations, sufficient to sustain two adults.47 Erdkamp qualifies Garnsey’s argument, but only a little, suggesting that 5 modii a month was “probably sufficient for one and a half or two persons.”48 So by Garnsey’s rationale, it would take about 202.5 kg of grain a year (16.875 kg a month) to keep an adult alive. Jean Durliat contends that 200 kg of grain per person/per year represented the average Roman consumption rate, a slightly different argument than Garnsey’s, who implies that 202.5 kg was the minimum annual subsistence ration. Durliat concedes, however, that it would have taken a far greater amount of grain to maintain an adult male in his prime, something more like 1 kg of grain per day or 365 kg per year. Accounting though for the fact that the diet of the rich was far more varied than that of the poor—meaning meat, fish, fowl and legumes comprised a significant portion of well-to-do diets as well as grain and olive oil—and women, children, the old and infirm required substantially less calories, Durliat finds 200 kg a satisfactory average consumption rate.49 Durliat’s 200 kg per person consumption

46 In 334, when Constantine introduced free food distributions at Constantinople, diverting thereafter to the city on the Bosporus. For for 20,000,000 modii of grain that Egypt supplied to Rome each year, see Aurelius Victor, Epit. De Caesaribus, 1.6. Durliat does not wholly refute Aurelius Victor’s claim, but suggest that the author is “not above suspicion”, see J. Durliat, De la Ville Antique à la Ville Byzantine, p. 114; cf. Rickman, who thinks the 20,000,000 figure to be too high and argues for a figure closer to 13,000,000 modii, The Corn Supply, pp. 231-235. B. Sirks think that Egyptian grain represented about a third of Rome’s total grain requirement prior to 334. See Sirks, Food for Rome, p. 147.

47 Garnsey, Cities, Peasants and Food in Classical Antiquity, p. 238.

48 P. Erdkamp, The Grain Market in the Ancient Roman Empire, p. 242.

49 J. Durliat, De la Ville Antique à la Ville Byzantine, p. 112-113.

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average and Garnsey’s 202.5 kg subsistence measure both roughly correspond with Keith

Hopkins’ calculation that a minimum subsistence ration of wheat equivalent per person/per year would have been about 250 kg (or approximately 37 modii).50 A.H.M.

Jones hypothesized an average consumption rate of 45 modii or 303.75 kg per person per year, which is almost certainly on the high side, certainly when compared to Durliat’s consumption rate of 200 kg annually, a figure that is much closer to current the scholarly consensus.51 Although, again, Durliat argues that a healthy adult male needed much more food, which, of course, was not necessarily limited to grain. If, however, we split the difference between Jones’ and Durliat’s consumption rates, we get Hopkins’ subsistence number, 250 kg, which is 50 kg per year higher than Garnsey’s subsistence number. We are, therefore, likely on safe ground if we assume an average consumption rate of around

250 kg per year and, with Garnsey, a subsistence rate of around 200 or slightly fewer kgs per year. Based on these calculations, the annona (at 405 kgs per annum) would have, more or less, represented the minimum subsistence ration for two persons for one year.

What is important to recognize here (as noted by Foxhall and Forbes) is that most individuals would have consumed less than what the World Health Organization would deem adequate.52

Obviously, Roman households commonly consisted of more than two persons, often many more. Families with more than two adult members would have needed to buy

50 Although wheat equivalent is a notional quantity and does not mean that an individual consumed 250 kg of wheat in a year, but foodstuffs, more generally, in equivalent to 250 kgs. K. Hopkins, “Rome, Taxes, Rents and Trade” in W. Scheidel and S. Von Reden, eds. The Ancient Economy (New York: Routledge, 2002), pp 190-230; ad loc. 198.

51 A.H.M. Jones, Later Roman Empire, vol. 1, p. 698.

52 Foxhall and Forbes, “Sitometreia: The Role of Grain as a Staple Food in Classical Antiquity.”

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grain or bread on the open market at regular rates, unless bread was purchased from bakers on state contracts and thereby partially subsidized by the Imperial government.53

Also, we must take into account the fact that both Garnsey and Hopkins are pointing to the minimum subsistence ration per person per year, the amount of grain necessary merely to keep an individual alive. Hopkins himself stresses this fact; he would not wish to suggest that all or most Romans lived at the base level of minimum subsistence.54

Durliat’s argument implicitly agrees. And Garnsey notes, “The state grain was only a beginning;” it was a “bonanza” of sorts, to be sure, but the recipient still needed money to cover expenses from the remainder of the household’s food requirements to housing and other basic necessities.55 Foxhall and Forbes’ calculations support Garnsey’s conclusion; they estimate that the annona would have provided about 24% of a given household’s total nutritional requirement and, here, they utilize a hypothetical sample wherein two household members qualified to receive the dole, probably a common scenario since a large number of families would have contained at least one male child of eligible age.56

The point is that the dole represented a major food subsidy for the Roman population. If 200,000 persons received the annona under Augustus, twice as many were supported by it. 400,000 persons represented perhaps half of the population of the city in the high empire. When one considers the presence of 100-200,000 slaves among the population of Rome, the percentage of persons the annona reached was substantial

53 Garnsey, Cities, Peasants and Food in Classical Antiquity, p. 238.

54 K. Hopkins, “Rome, Taxes, Rents and Trade” in The Ancient Economy, p. 198.

55 Garnsey, Cities, Peasants and Food in Classical Antiquity, p. 239.

56 That is, age eleven. See Foxhall and Forbes, “Sitometreia: The Role of Grain as a Staple Food in Classical Antiquity,” p. 64.

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indeed. In short, I would suggest, with Erdkamp, that the dole, “improved conditions for the entire population.”57 Still, the annona did not meet even the smallest household’s complete nutritional requirements, which meant that every householder dealt in some capacity with the commercial market.

On the commercial market, Duncan-Jones assumes that the common rate per modius of grain was 2 to 4 secterces in the earlier empire.58 As Dominic Rathbone has noted, however, ‘normative’ wheat prices in the Roman empire are hard to come by. The data, outside of Egypt at least, is sparse, at times, misleading.59 For example, Tacitus tells us that , during a period of shortage in 19 CE, set a maximum price of 2 secterces per modius.60 What Tacitus does not reveal is the rate immediately before the shortage, although Rathbone thinks the evidence “implies” a rate of 4 HS per modius.61 Also in

Tacitus’ pages, we find lowering the cost of wheat to 3 HS per modius in the wake of the fire of 64, with no discussion of the going rate prior to the conflagration.62 The actions of Tiberius and Nero—along with significant spikes in the price of grain in the

57 P. Erdkamp, The Grain Market in the Roman Empire, p. 242 and note 171.

58 Duncan-Jones, The Economy of the Roman Empire, pp. 145-146; Rickman argues for 2 to 3 secterces a modius in The Corn Supply, p. 153; Garnsey assumes less in Cities, Peasants and Food in Classical Antiquity, p. 245.

59 Dominic Rathbone, “Earnings and Costs: Living Standards in the Roman Empire (First to Third Centuries AD)”, pp. 299-326. In Quantifying the Roman Empire: Methods and Problems, edited by A. Bowman and A. Wilson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). Rathbone provides an excellent chart (table 15.1) wherein he provides all ‘normal’ data (he adds, “that I can find”) for wheat prices in the Roman Empire, pp. 304-305.

60 Tacitus, Annals 2.87.

61 Rathbone, “Earnings and Costs,” p. 307.

62 Tacitus, Annals 15.39.

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wake of the Antonine plague of 165-180 CE—point to a couple of conclusions.63 One, despite the state’s machinations to manipulate it, there was a free market in grain that shifted based on events. Rickman has argued that grain costs were based to a great extent on market forces, while Erdkamp would argue, alternatively, for a greater degree of state influence, but that a free market existed seems clear.64 One should not allow the relative stability of grain prices throughout the earlier empire to obscure this fact. Two, as

Rathbone suggests, for Roman city-dwellers of the first and second centuries CE a price of 4 HS per modius was seen as “a fair urban” or even an “iconic” price for wheat, hence the rationale of Tiberius and Nero to get below it. But if 4 HS per modius was the ideal, it is likely that prices would ‘normally’ have been a bit higher, perhaps 6 to 10 or even

12HS per modius, in extreme cases.65 Perhaps we can safely assume an “average rate” of

4 to 6 HS per modius. The point is, even at the lowest proposed ‘normative’ rate of 2 HS per modius, a person would have to spend 10 secterces a month for 5 modii of grain, a not insignificant sum. In short, while the grain dole greatly benefitted those who received it, even annona recipients commonly found themselves committing substantial monies to the commercial market to fill out their household needs. Therefore, employment or income was still necessity for the plebs frumentaria; they could not live on government bread alone, even if it was a significant and much-welcomed supplement. There still remained a not insignificant percentage of the Roman population that enjoyed no benefit

63 As Rathbone notes, grain in Egypt was two-times as expensive in gold and silver after the Antonine Plague than it had been before it. See “Earnings and Costs,” p. 309 and Table 15.1. See HA, 14.3 for the reduction of grain prices by Commodus in the wake of the plague.

64 See Rickman, The Corn Supply of Ancient Rome; Erdkamp, The Grain Market in the Roman Empire.

65 Rathbone, “Earnings and Costs,” pp. 307-308; Rathbone cites, e.g., 12.76, although here the poet is discussing the cost of wine.

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from the dole. In the reign of Marcus Aurelius (r. 161-180), Fronto could point to the distinction between plebs frumentaria and plebs urbana.66 The plebs urbana, then, represented those Roman residents who did not receive free monthly grain. Even at low population estimates for the high empire (c. 700,000, Lo Casio: 1999) and estimating the slave population on the higher end of 200,000; such persons would still have totaled around 100,000, a not insignificant number of hungry bellies in the ancient world. To put that number in perspective, consider once again that 100,000 likely represented the entire population of Rome during Gregory’s pontificate, a fact that, more than anything, speaks to the incredible success of the Imperial annona, in feeding as many persons as it did.67

But what of this plebs urbana? Did it really even exist? What of the very poor beneath them? Whatever one labels them, there were individuals who did not receive the dole. The most compelling evidence of the stark divide between the plebs frumentaria and everybody else—or the lack of government assistance for the poor in particular—lies in the attempted charitable outreach program of the emperor Julian (r. 361-363). The oft- quoted letter of the last non-Christian emperor has been pointed to by scholars like Peter

Brown68 and Hendrick Dey69 and even Pope Benedict XVI.70 Sending 30,000 modii of

66 Cornelius Fronto, Epistle 200.4-5; cf. cited both by Rickman, The Corn Supply, p. 185 and Garnsey, Cities, Peasants and Food in Classical Antiquity, p. 238 as evidence of the privileged status of grain recipients.

67 R. Santangeli-Valenzani estimates an even lower population for sixth-century Rome, something closer to 60,000. See “Public and Private Space in Rome during Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages.” In Fragmenta 1 (2007): 63-81, ad loc. 67.

68 Peter Brown, Poverty and Leadership in the Later Roman Empire, p. 2.

69 H. Dey, “Diaconiae, Xenodochia, Hospitalia and the Monasteries,” p. 399.

70 Benedict XVI, Letter (, 2006), p. 24; Benedict’s response to Julian is also noted by Dey, ibid.

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grain and 60,000 pints of wine to Galatia to be distributed among the poor, Julian wrote to Arsacius, the high priest of Galatia, with instructions for the implementation of what can only be described a charitable relief plan directed at the poor, one that might rival similar initiatives of Christians. It is worth noting that Galatia had been, from the middle first century CE, an important center of Christian activity.71 In short, Julian was attempting to upstage the Christians in their own backyard. He writes:

For when it came about that the poor were neglected and overlooked by the priests, then I think the impious Galileans observed this fact and devoted themselves to philanthropy. And they have gained ascendancy in the worst of their deeds through the credit they win for such practices . . . In every city establish several hostels (xenodochia) in order that strangers may benefit from our benevolence (philanthropia); I do not mean for our own people only, but for others also who are in need of money . . . I order that one-fifth of this be used for the poor who serve the priests, and the remainder be distributed by us to strangers and beggars. For it is disgraceful that, when no Jew ever has to beg, and the impious Galileans support not only their own poor but ours as well, all men see that our people lack aid from us.72

Using Hopkins’ basic model of 37 modii of grain needed to sustain one person annually,

Julian’s contribution would have fed an additional 810 persons for one year, a small figure perhaps, except no doubt to the beggars who now received free grain. The letter provides no specific instructions as to how the rations were to be distributed, rather in a systematic fashion, or all at once, although it is hard to imagine what a beggar would have done with such a large amount of grain if given in a single allocation. When one considers that, at a consumption rate of 37 modii per year, an individual consumed less than one modii per week (.711 of one modius), Julian’s allocation could have fed about

42,250 persons for a week or roughly 9,680 people for a month. The latter monthly

71 Paul had set up house churches there, as described, most notably, in his letter to the Galatians.

72 Julian, Letter to Arsacius, Works vol. III, 69-70. Translated by Wilmer C. Wright (with slight emendation). (Cambridge: , 1923).

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allocation is perhaps the most logical explanation. Julian, therefore, would have been working along the same lines as the annona system. One must also consider that whereas,

Galatia, in central had cities—Lystra, Pisidian Antioch and Ankyra—these were not great population centers like Rome, Alexandria, Constantinople and Syrian Antioch.

30,000 inhabitants would have represented a larger city in the region, meaning that

Julian’s 30,000 modii of grain and 60,000 pints of wine would have gone a long way.

Any way one looks at it, Julian was making a significant investment to enlarge the imperial distributions based, by his own admission, on what he saw the Christians (and

Jews) doing. If Julian had lived longer, such Imperial largesse might have become standard practice. Before Julian’s initiative though, and after it, as far as we can tell, the dole was restricted to citizens.

Beyond Julian’s program, can we find anything like charity among the Romans?

Peter Garnsey answers the question as follows:

The operation of charity cannot be ruled out, but in pagan society this would have been ad hoc and irregular, largely in the hands of slave cooks and kitchen maids at the back doors, or just possibly slave and freedman footman at the front doors, of the elegant houses of the rich. I suspect that the closest approximation to patrons known to Romans of low socioeconomic standing were the bosses who ruled the building sites and on the wharves. It was they who handed out the wage labour that stood between the poor and starvation (or a life of begging, scavenging and petty theft).73 With Garnsey, I would not discount acts of charity among non-Christian Romans.

And I do not wish to suggest that Romans were wholly insensitive to the needs of the very poor. The existence of pagan almsgiving or the practice of leaving terminally-ill

73 Garnsey, Cities, Peasants and Food in Classical Antiquity, p. 239.

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slaves in certain pagan temples or near healing pools seems to suggest otherwise.74 But both of these and the examples Garnsey mentions above, even if widespread, are individual acts in response to individual cases. I find, among the vast array of religious traditions and belief systems that collectively comprised Greco-Roman polytheism, nothing like the kind of collective ideological urgency for charity that we find among many Christians. The annona, for example, did not extend to the very poor, but we would be unreasonable to expect it to do so. Male citizens represented the foundation of Roman society. As such, they received the dole with the expectation that they would use it responsibly to help support themselves, their families and, by extension, the long-term welfare of the Roman state.

Finally, Christianity’s irrepressible influence on western society will tempt us to cast judgment on Romans who possessed no firm concept of Christian charity. But we would do well to withhold that inclination. As Ioannes Karayannopoulos reminds us, the

Christians, even with their sublime teaching on charity, “were, and still are, anything but a society of angels.”75 Suffice to say, whatever the reality of practice, in their respective ideologies toward the poor, Christianity and differed substantially. The annona was, without question, a significant benefit to the city of Rome. Its parameters, however, serve to illustrate an important distinction between how pagans and Christians understood

“charity.” The Gregorian program then replaced a major subsidy designated for Roman citizens that excluded the very poor with one that, while originally designated exclusively

74 Such as temples of Aesclepius, to state the most obvious example. Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 33.

75 Ioannes Karayannopoulos, “Basil’s Social Activity.” In : Christian, Humanist, Ascetic, edited by Paul Jonathan Fedwick (Toronto: Pontifical Institute for , 1981), 375- 391, ad loc. 376.

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for the very poor, came to support Roman citizens and many other classes of persons as well and, perhaps for a time, the entire population of the city.

Grain for Rome: From the Ports to the Distribution Centers

I have outlined the identity of those who primarily received the annona (the plebs frumentaria, i.e. a subset of Rome’s male citizen population), what it would have meant to them and who would have been excluded from the dole. It is equally important, for our purposes, to examine how grain arrived at Rome, where it was stored and how it was distributed, at least as far as such facts are possible to determine.

Rome did not enjoy the advantage of being a sea port like Constantinople or

Alexandria. Procopius noted the fact as the city’s one important weakness, “Rome lacks only the benefit of being on the sea.”76 Grain shipments arrived some distance away from the city at the ports of Ostia, and Puteoli on the Bay of Naples. Grain reached

Rome’s ports in ships owned by navicularii, government-contracted shippers who owned or at least worked a ship for commercial ends. A single navicularius might have owned many ships; he did not, therefore, always command a given vessel. Instead, he selected a magister navis to act as his personal representative when he was not onboard. The magister navis acted as the ship’s captain and was charged also with handling financial transactions and transport contracts.77 Roman grain ships apparently ranged in size, possessing carrying capacities of as little as 10,000 modii (67,500 kg) or as much as

76 Bell. Goth.. 1.26.

77 Ulpian points out that the magister navis was “the person tasked with the care of the entire ship.” Ulpian Digest 14.1.1.1 pr., 28 ad ed.; Sirks, Food for Rome, p. 27 and n. 18.

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50,000 modii (337,500 kg).78 At the docks, saccarii (“sack men”) unloaded grain from these ships, perhaps with the help of pack animals, and hauled it to mensores, quality control inspectors, who examined and measured newly-arrived grain.79 From there, the grain was either stored in warehouses or prepared for shipment to Rome. Administration of state storehouses at Ostia and Portus was an important, delicate and often duplicitous business, a fact illustrated by the rescript of Arcadius and Honorius in 400 that limited the term of patroni horreorum portuensum, who acted as superintendents of the state horrea, to one year.80 The legislation points to a concern among the emperors of the late fourth and fifth centuries that the very officials necessary to maintain an effective distribution system were undermining it by fraudulent practices. This law appears designed squarely at keeping a particular office and office-holders from becoming too entrenched in the system and thereby becoming better able to manipulate it toward their own ends.

From the ports, supplies were carried over land, along the coast on smaller ships

(if from Puteoli) or up the Tiber, on barges, to Rome, where they were unloaded and stored in the city horrea. Sitting squarely at the mouth (ostium) of the Tiber, Ostia fell victim to the continual silting up of the river and became irrelevant by the early fifth century. Portus continued to play a significant role in supplying Rome in the fifth and sixth centuries and for some time thereafter, attested by the fact that Alaric made her a target for plunder in 408-410, the Vandals did the same in 455 and the Ostrogoth Witigis

78 Sirks, Food for Rome, p. 26.

79 The scene is depicted in CIL 14.2028; pointed out by Sirks, Food for Rome, p. 257. As Sirks notes, ‘sack men’ are attested not only at Ostia and Portus, but at (CIL 4.274), Rome (CIL 6.5356, CIL 6.25737, CIL 6. 4417) and in Dalmatia (CIL 3.14642); cf. Rickman, The Corn Supply, p. 204.

80 The wording of the rescript (“all surreptitious devices shall cease . . .”) points to an obvious problem with individuals mismanaging state supplies. See CTh 14.23.1 ().

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in 537 recognized that, without cutting off Rome from Portus (her main provisioning port), he would not be able to take the former capital. Having captured Portus, Witigis left a thousand-man garrison on her “exceedingly strong wall” to ensure that supplies could not reach the harbor and starvation fast became the lot of the population of Rome.81

About a decade before Rome’s harbor fell to Witigis, Cassiodorus had celebrated the significance of Portus, calling it the “throat (fauces)” from which the collected produce of the state proceeded via the Tiber “as through a belly (quasi per alvum)” to nourish

Rome.82 Cassiodorus’ gastronomic metaphor points to the bare and frightening fact that

Rome needed a harbor for her very sustenance. Witigis confirmed the fact. Without a channel to the sea, provisioning Rome was fairly impossible and, in our period, Portus was by far the most important such channel.

Procopius describes in some detail how provisions unloaded at Portus ultimately reached the city:

At the very beginning, the Romans made a road leading from Portus to Rome, which was flat and presented no difficulty of any kind. And many barges are always anchored in the harbor ready for service, and no small number of oxen stand ready close by. When the merchants reach the harbor with their ships, they unload their cargo and place it on the barges, and sail by way of the Tiber to Rome; but they do not use sails or oars at all, because the boats cannot be propelled in the river by any wind since the river winds about exceedingly and does not follow a straight course. Neither can oars be employed, since the force of the current is always against them. Instead of using such means, therefore, they fasten ropes from the barges to the necks of oxen, and so draw them just like wagons up to Rome.83

81 The paragraph is largely a summary of Sirks, Food for Rome, pp. 252-256; for Witigis and Portus, see Procopius, Bell. Goth. 1.26. The fact that Portus was still well fortified (hence, her “exceedingly strong wall”) in the mid-fifth century suggests the port’s continuing importance as well.

82 Cassiodorus, Variae 7.9; also noted by Sirks as proof of Portus’ ongoing importance. See Food for Rome, p. 256, n. 18.

83 Procopius, Bell. Goth.1.26. Translated by H.B. Dewing (Cambridge: Loeb Classical Library, 1914. Reprinted 1961).

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This second part of foodstuffs’ journey to Rome was demanding work. Procopius’ passage points to specific challenges the Romans faced, such as the Tiber’s winding course and the boatmen’s inability to use oars to any effective end. The imperial government in 364 gave itself the right to conscript any boat found in the Tiber channel for the purpose of ferrying grain up the river to the city.84 The directed to Tiber boatmen (de nautis Tibernis) demonstrates the difficulty, even for the state, of maintaining vessels capable of completing the task.

Arrived at Rome, grain was unloaded again by saccarii, Valentinian I, in 364, firmly established the position of government-employed “sack men” at both Rome and

Portus, as Sirks argues, granting them the exclusive monopoly of unloading not only state supplies, but private imports also.85 Here, in the later empire, we find the state intervening, albeit indirectly, in the private market to protect Rome’s food supply. By providing the saccarii with an exclusive contract, the state limited the number of hands in the city’s grain supply and, theoretically, reduced the possibility of theft or fraud, because the men unloading the grain saw their economic fortunes immediately increase and they had the state to thank for it. After being unloaded at the Tiber docks, grain would have been stored and prepared for distribution.

Initially, there appears to have been no primary distribution site. Rickman argues that the fact that the Table of Heraclea’s (the end portion of the so-called Lex Iulia

Municipalis, issued by in c. 45 BCE) list of persons is to be posted “at the

Forum and when grain is to be given, there where it is to be given” indicates that there

84 CTh 14.17.21 (from Altinum).

85 CTh 14.22.1; CIL 14.4285 (Portus); Sirks, Food for Rome, p. 258.

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were no fixed distribution centers.86 We must first grant that we are on unsteady ground here because the Table of Heraclea’s reference is to distributions that took place not in

Rome at all, but in Heraclea, an Italian coastal city in Lucania on the Gulf of Tarentum.

The reference to the Heraclea’s forum, however, may be significant. At Rome, is it possible that distributions contemporary with the Table of Heraclea (that is, late in the dictatorship of Julius Caesar) took place in the Forum Romanum? Julius Caesar had enlarged it, beginning c. 54 CE. Or, following Rickman, perhaps a movable distribution site was posted in the Forum along with the list of grain recipients, even if that site shifted from building to building within the Forum itself. Whether Heraclean or Roman, fora were centers of public and commercial activity. The Forum Romanum’s porticoes and basilicas could have supported the distributions. A very large storage facility, the

Horrea Agrippiana, would be built nearby in the reign of Augustus. But, beyond these facts and the passing and admittedly enigmatic mention of the dole in the Table of

Heraclea, we can say nothing definitive.

By the middle of the first century CE, however, we find firmer ground on the matter of a specific location for distributions. An inscription of one Tiberius Claudius

Ianuarius from the mid-first century CE indicates that Tiberius would receive grain at the

Porticus Minucia, at entrance (ostium) 42 on day 14 of the month.87 Other later inscriptions note individuals receiving grain at the Porticus Minucia at given entrances on given days of the month.88 We can imagine, then, that the Porticus Minucia was by the

86 Rickman, The Corn Supply, p. 185, with regard to ILS 6085 (Table of Heraclea).

87 CIL 6.10223 = ILS 6071.

88 CIL 6.10224= ILS 6069; cf. CIL 6.10225=6070; noted by Rickman, The Corn Supply, p. 192.

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middle first century a, if not the, hub of the Roman grain distributions.89 Recipients were assigned a particular day of the month and a particular arcade, where they would go, present their tessera and receive their grain. The process likely occurred within the

Porticus Minucia itself until the reign of (81-96 CE) and, thereafter, in a newly- added quadraporticus.90 The Porticus Minucia Frumentaria was in region IX of the city, in the Campus Martius. Arguments about the precise location have varied, even if, of late, a scholarly consensus seems to have settled around the structure just east of the Largo

Argentina between the Theatre of Balbus and the Saepta Iulia.91 Not far away, grain rafts could have been unloaded at the Tiber dockyards northwest of the Bridge of Agrippa, near the Theatre of Pompey, although we cannot speak with certainty about the fact. Part of the trouble with identifying the precise location of the Porticus has been the fact that two buildings, a Porticus Minucia Vetus (erected in 107 BCE by the consul M. Minucius

Rufus) and a Porticus Minucia Frumentaria, existed in antiquity, although Manacorda’s and Coarelli’s solution that the Porticus Frumentaria represents an enlarged renovation or extension of the Porticus Minucia Vetus seems a reasonable answer to this conundrum.92

89 At least the Porticus Minucia Frumentaria’s heightened profile emerged in earnest between the reigns of Claudius (41-54 CE) and Domitian (81-96). See Fausto Zevi, “Per l'identificazione della Porticus Minucia frumentaria” in Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome. Antiquité, 105, 2 (1993): 661-708.

90 See D.Manacorda, "Archaeology and History of an Urban Landscape," in Crypta Balbi, Museo Romano Nazionale short guide, edited by F. Consoli; N. Pollard & J. Berry, translators (Rome: Electa, 2000) 5-47, ad loc. p. 17.

91 Rickman once postulated, although without adequate evidence, that the granary-type structure beneath the present-day Church (and former diaconia) of S. Maria in Via Lata was the Porticus Minucia Frumentaria. See his discussion in The Corn Supply, p. 192 and 250-252 and, reconsidering his earlier assertion, in “Porticus Minucia.” In K. de Fine Licht, ed., Città e architettura nella Roma imperiale. (Odense: Odense University Press: 1983) 105-108. Also, D. Manacorda, “Porticus Minucia Frumentaria,” in Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae, vol. IV, edited by Eva Margareta Steinby (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), pp. 132-137.

92 And evidence of during the middle first century (likely from the reign of Claudius) supports this argument, perhaps in addition to the fast-track reconstruction/renovation of the facility in the

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In the reign of Commodus, we find a curator aquarum et Minuciae and a praefectus

Miniciae, the former with consular rank, the latter with praetorian rank, offices that suggest the ongoing importance—at least through the Severan period—of the Porticus

Minucia Frumentaria and the Campus Martius more generally as a milling, storage and distribution center, a fact that remains true whether or not the Porticus Minucia

Frumentaria and the statio aquarum ever had neighboring offices or joined forces to create a large headquarters around the Largo Argentina.93 Based on their relative distance from one another (i.e. Campus Martius to Forum of Augustus, c. 1.9 km or 1.2 miles), and the number of dole recipients, it would be no stretch to assume that distributions took place at different locations, both in the Forum of Augustus (again, one notes that the

Table of Heraclea’s recipient lists were posted “at the Forum when grain is to be given,

wake of fire damage from about 80 CE. Finally an inscription found nearby dedicated to the mensores machinarii frumenti publici lends further weight to the hypothesis. See D.Manacorda, "Archaeology and History of an Urban Landscape," in Crypta Balbi, pp. 15-16. See, cf. F. Coarelli, Rome and Environs: An Archaeological Guide (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2007), p. 279; cf. Zevi, “Per l'identificazione della Porticus Minucia frumentaria” and Manacorda, “Porticus Minucia Frumentaria” in Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae IV, 132-137.

93 See Figures 3 and 4 below for maps of the area of the Campus Martius/Porticus Minucia. Curator aquarum et Miniciae (Minicia had, according to Rickman, had become a common spelling of Minucia in the later second century), see CIL 6.1408; Rabun Taylor points to a the recently discovered inscriprtion CIL 5.7783, arguing that its evidence is “uncontestable” and that “there can be little doubt” that M. Valerius Bradua Mauricus, consul under Commodus in 191, held the post of curator aquarum et Miniciae. See Rabun Taylor, “Bread and Water: Septimius Severus and the Rise of the Curator Aquarum et Miniciae,” in Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome, Volume 55, edited by Vernan Hyde Minor and Brian A. Curran (Rome: American Academy in Rome, 2011), pp. 199-220, ad loc. p. 200 and n. 9. The city’s water supply too had come to be centered at Porticus Minucia apparently or, perhaps, since water mills were used to grind grain, the curator aquarum et Miniciae might have been running the water mills and the grain depositories at Porticus Minucia; cf. Rickman, The Corn Supply, p. 195; more recently, Taylor has speculated upon the possibility of conjoined offices for the Porticus Minucia and statio aquarum, although insisting that whether they did or did not “had no bearing” on the decision to combine the functions of the officer in charge of water and grain, see above, Taylor, “Bread and Water,” pp. 202- 203. Finally for the Praefectus Minuciae, see CIL 8.12442.

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there where it is to be given”)—near one the city’s largest storehouses, the Horrea

Agrippiana, sat—and the Porticus Minucia on the Campus Martius.94

At some point, however, likely in the third century, distributions shifted away from Porticus Minucia, perhaps coinciding with the reorganization of the annona under

Aurelian (r. 270-275), who established firmly the distribution of olive oil that had wavered in the thirty-five years since the death of Alexander Severus (d. 235) and added pork95 and possibly, for a short time, wine96 to the dole. Aurelian also abolished the distribution of grain in favor of baked bread, a move that required an overhaul of much of system and brought bakers to the forefront of it. Whereas previously distributions were handed out to recipients once a month (albeit, apparently, on different days for different recipients) bread, because of its obviously short shelf-life, had to be distributed daily, so more handouts occurred and with greater frequency.97 Every day distributions would take place in different regions of the city rather than at a centralized location like the Forum or the Porticus Minuciae as before. The central office of the praefectus annonae, and possibly the center of distribution, at this time or very soon thereafter came to be located at the Statio Annonae, possibly located in or around the Emporium district near the Tiber,

94 ILS 6085 and n. 306 above.

95 SHA, Aurelian, 35.1-2; Aurelius Victor, De Caesaribus, 35.7

96 SHA, Aurelian, 48.1-4. Watson finds suspect Aurelian’s addition of wine to the annona, since it is mentioned only in the SHA. See his Aurelian and the Third Century (London and New York: Routledge Press, 1999), p. 140. Rickman accepts the wine distributions as a given. See The Corn Supply of Ancient Rome, p. 197. SHA 48.1-2 reads: “(Aurelian) statuerat et vinum gratuitum populo Romano dare, ut, quemadmodum oleum et panis et porcina gratuita praebentur, sic etiam vinum daretur ….”

97 SHA, Aurelian, 35.1-2.

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although pinpointing the facility’s precise location has proved elusive.98 By increasing the weight of loaves that bakers were allowed to sell on the public market by a full ounce, yet maintaining the fixed price per loaf at its previous level, Aurelian provided bread on the cheap for all the Roman people, while enlarging and improving the parameters of the dole for the chosen few.99 This amounted to an increase in the quantity of food distributed under the dole and a reduction of the price of bread; both effected at the state’s expense.

Bakers incurred no loss. It is likely that the bakery business boomed as a result of

Aurelian’s initiative. But bakers’ responsibilities increased also. By 364, if not earlier, bakers themselves went to granaries to receive from mensores the allotted measures of grain, which they then carried to their shops to bake bread for the annona.100 But what must have seemed to bakers a perpetual windfall, at least initially, soon turned onerous as the imperial government and the city of Rome became wholly dependent on the rapid production of baked bread for the daily distributions.

98 CIL 1151=ILS 707. The dedicatory inscription of a praefectus annonae, Creperius Madalianus (who also held the office of vice praetorian prefect in 341, CTh 16.10.2), from late in the reign of Constantine (r. 306-337) was found outside the building, now the loggia of the Church of S. Maria in Cosmedin. This inscription, however, is dedicated to a statue and, therefore, cannot be used a definitive evidence of the identity of any particular building. A number of other inscriptions found in the immediate vicinity seem to identify the building with the annona (CIL 6.31856; CIL 15.7941-7951) and, for some time, it was thought to be the StatioFor example, Rickman accepted that S. Maria in Cosmedin housed the remains of the Statio. See The Corn Supply of Ancient Rome, p. 81. But, recently, Gemma Fusciello has carefully and cogently argued against the identification of the columner remains in the sacristy and nave of the present-day church with the ’s exchange of the Statio, arguing instead that the structure represents the remains of a monumental entrance to the Forum Boarium or perhaps the colonnade of a basilica that served as a commercial market at the entrance of the Forum. See her “La piazza del Foro Boario e gli edifice romani nell’area di S. Maria in Cosmedin,” in Palladio, 14, 28 (2001): 5-22. Coarelli agrees, arguing that the structures within and beneath S. Maria in Cosmedin “have nothing in common” with a large Roman administrative office, such as the Statio would have been. See “Statio Annonae” in Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae, IV, pp. 345-346. Coarelli postulates that the remains inside S. Maria in Cosmedin may have been part of a associated with the adjacent Ara Maxima. See F. Coarelli, Rome and Environs: An Archaeological Guide, p. 319.

99 SHA, Aurelian, 47.1

100 CTh 14.15.1 (Valentinian and Valens, from Nish, 364); CJ 10.

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An edict of 319 forbade the transfer or sale of bakers’ landholdings for the purposes of sidestepping one’s breadmaking responsibilities.101 In either case, the guilty party is ordered to remain “in the service of breadmaking.” And if he has sold his property, it will not be restored to him, meaning that the guilty party would find himself relegated to the lowest levels of the breadmaking profession. The increasing need for, and dearth of, bakers is further illustrated by a law of Constantius II (r. 337-361) that orders those individuals who marry the daughters of breadmakers be consigned to the service of breadmaking: “Since he is bound to the family of a breadmaker, he shall be forced also to be subject to its burdens.”102 Despite the imperial government’s best efforts, however, there were never enough bakers to meet the city’s demands. In the reign of Theodosius (r.

379-395), some overworked breadmakers at Rome had become desperate enough to put up brothels above their shops to lure unsuspecting strangers whom they then kidnapped and forced into the service of the bakery.103 Still, an edict of 377 proves that, although bakers might have been in short supply, those who abused their newly-heightened status had no place in the service of the imperial government.104 Therein, it is stipulated that breadmakers who have been ejected from their position by the courts for embezzling cannot be restored to their former trade even by the prefect of the annona himself. The legislation of the fourth century collectively suggests a delicate juggling act on the part of the Roman government in trying to maintain an infrastructure large enough to support the

101 CTh 14.3.1, (Constantine, August 13, 319).

102 CTh 14.3.2, (Constantius from Milan, 355).

103 At least according to in Ecclesiastical History, 5.18. It is certainly possible that Socrates is here attempting to slander non-Christian breadmakers here, although it would seem to me that by the reign of there would have been more Christians baking Rome’s bread than pagans.

104 CTh 14.3.14 (Valens, Gratian and Valentinian, from Trier, 377).

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annona, while retaining the necessary oversight to ensure its long-term viability. As the

Roman administrative apparatus receded and then disappeared from Rome in the fifth century, that kind of organization and oversight would no longer have been possible. One need only look at the glorious reception of Theodoric’s 120,000 modii of grain—an amount that was said to be intended for the Roman citizenry and, apparently, the poor or pauperes—in 500 by comparison. Whereas, at the turn of the sixth century, Theodoric’s gift might have seemed truly significant, the Roman government had delivered 1,000,000 modii of grain to dole recipients every month from 2 BCE until roughly 419.105 What did the emperors do to compensate for their increasing lack of boots on the ground, combined with the increasing difficulty of long-distance trade? They talked tough and bought local.

Localizing the Annona: The Situation after 410

How the Roman government attempted to revise and revitalize the annona around this time, in response to the sack of Rome by Alaric in 410 and its aftermath, is very significant for our purposes since this was the effective infrastructure the Church inherited in late antiquity. Because crises commonly created food shortages, they likewise created the need for greater government intervention. This was as true in the early fifth century as it had been in the first (e.g. the Great Fire of 64) or the second (e.g., the Antonine Plague). The War against Gildo and the tensions with Alaric had brought instability and uncertainty to the grain market. The Vandal occupation of North Africa and the presence of roving Vandal pirates at sea from 430 onward brought catastrophe.

105 Durliat uses Theodoric’s donation and its reception as evidence of how much Rome had diminished since the earlier empire. See De la Ville Antique, p. 137; for Theodoric’s donation, see Anonymous Valesianus, 67.

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As Rickman notes, “. . . the food supply of Rome was at best in a state of delicate equilibrium, able to be upset by anything from poor harvests and bad weather at sea to incompetence or corruption among officials.”106 With so many factors beyond the

Romans’ control stifling the annona in the fifth century, imperial authorities attempted at least to control the dynamics they could, most notably with regard to fraud. The threat of fraud and corruption is especially vivid in legislation addressing the annona from 410 on.107 The legislation points to a major problem for the west Roman state in the fifth century. The Imperial government was far more limited in its capacity to intervene than it had been in the earlier empire. What we find then is a marked “localization” of the annona in the fifth-century, combined with increased protections for local producers and tough-talk for the local overseers of the state distributions.

The state response in the fifth century entailed considerably less encroachment into the free market than before; at least one cannot locate direct evidence of price manipulation like we find in the first and second centuries under Tiberius, Nero and

Commodus or the sweeping, top-down reforms of Aurelian in the third.108 This is perhaps because the kind of intervention that marked the first three centuries was simply no longer possible and that Rome relied to a greater extent on local food sources, specifically pork from southern Italy and grain from Sicily. An increase in local bureaucratic oversight of the annona was coupled with harsh punishments for failures by the persons tasked with it. In short, the emperors placed considerable pressure on the

106 Rickman, The Corn Supply, p. 199.

107 E.g., Cod. Theod. 14.4.9 from 417, issued from Ravenna, which addresses fraudulent practices among the “patrons of the boatmen” and “thievery” by the mensores.

108 For price manipulation in the first two centuries CE, see supra pp. 111-112 and notes.

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shoulders of the praefectus annonae and the praefectus urbi or any other official who was in a position to abuse or support the Roman food supply. A law of 414 tasked the praefectus annonae with ensuring that no more than the legally-allowable amount of grain was missing from ships arriving at Rome’s harbors.109 He was given five days to prepare an inquiry with the urban prefect and three senators or incur of fine of seven pounds of gold. The urban prefect was liable to pay a fine of five pounds, yet more evidence that the office of the urban prefecture stood ultimately responsible for Roman grain imports.

Such fines were not uncommonly imposed upon officers in late antiquity for failure to comply with Imperial mandates. A law issued from Ravenna in 417, however, takes matters to an altogether different level. Directed at the praefectus urbi and the praefectus annonae themselves, the law strictly forbids “extortion upon a baker” upon penalty of being confined for life to the profession of breadmaking.110 One is forced to wonder what the officers running the annona might have done, or at least have been suspected of doing, to warrant the issuance of such a law, but it is clear that all was not well with Rome’s grain bureaucracy in the early fifth century. The tenuous situation with bakers at Rome, along with the increasing difficulty of acquiring overseas grain in the first place, helps to explain Valentinian III’s legislation of 452, which significantly

109 Cod. Theod. 13.5.38, from Ravenna. Shipmasters were granted additional shares of grain to compensate for spoilage in transit. See Cod. Theod. 13.5.7; 13.5.38.

110 Cod. Theod. 14.3.22.

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increased the role of pork in the distributions.111 Valentinian III’s legislation of the previous year reveals the severity of Vandal incursions onto Rome’s grain-producing estates in North Africa, estates that had been “despoiled by the devastation of the enemy.”112 Even the remission of five years’ taxes was likely not enough to solve the government’s North African problem and stabilize the flow of North African grain to

Rome. As such, the increasing vulnerability of the grain trade led to more localizing of foodstuffs by the Roman authorities.113 Rome’s newly expanded reliance on pork is an excellent example of this shift.

Pork was produced in Italy—in Lucania, Bruttium and Samnium primarily—and, although transport overland from Italy’s southern pork provinces to Rome was not easy, at least the overland pork hauler did not run the risk of tangling with Vandal pirates.114

Still, evidence of the difficulty of overland transport shows up in the fourth-century legislation that attempted to compensate pork producers from Lucania and Bruttium for losses incurred in transit by way of a fifteen-percent wine epimetrum (“surety”); the wine surety was guaranteed so that pork farmers had some insurance should they lose stock on the rocky roads from Lucania to Rome. In the earlier fifth century (419), the government attempted to merge the cattle producers’ and pork producers’ guilds, ostensibly to

111 Valentinian III, Novellae 36

112 Valentinian III, Novellae 34.

113 See P. Erdkamp, The Grain Market in the Roman Empire, pp. 325-327.

114 Cod Theod 14.4.4, 367, from Rheims, attempts to account for pork producers losses or wastage in the journey from Lucania and Bruttium to Rome by providing a fifteen-percent (per singulas et semis decimas) epimetrum .

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strengthen the position of the latter.115 By 452, the pork producers’ guild, still described quite separately from the cattle producers’, was nonetheless “on the point of failing.”116 A novel of Valentinian III (Novellae 36) speaks of an arrangement wherein all potential losses in transit have been eliminated, seemingly suggesting something much more comprehensive than the fifteen-percent wine dispensation of earlier legislation. In addition, as part of the Valentinian legislation, the Imperial government demanded

30,000 more pigs than were previously required to support the dole. I would argue that the increased demand for pork from southern Italy to supply the annona required additional and significant protections for pork producers. Valentinian III’s Novellae 36 reads:

The praetorian chest shall not demand anything from the provinces of Lucania and Samnium before all that they owe is paid to the pork producers on their demand. Governors of provinces and their office staffs, at the risk of their resources, shall contribute diligence and efficiency to this work, in order that they may fulfill which we have provided may be more easily fulfilled . . . Such persons (the suarii) must not be called to any other burden, but they shall be held exempt from all other duties, in order that they may be free for this service. The swine collectors themselves must not undergo outrages or losses at the hands of any apparitors, and the privileges shall remain which the previous laws sanctioned for them.117

115 Cod. Theod. 14.4.10, 419, from Ravenna.

116 Valentinian III, Novellae 36.

117 Valentinian III, Novellae 36:4-7: “Nec ante quicquam de Lucania Samnioque provinciis arca praetoriana deposcat quam suariis exigentibus debitum omne solvatur. Moderatores provinciarum eorumque officia sub periculo facultatum suarum diligentiam et efficaciam huic operi commodabunt, ut ea ipsa quae providimus facilius inpleantur. Baonio priori corporis cum dignitate lege concessa etiam cingulum militiae iubemus adiungi, quo in rebus ordinandis sub privilegio militari maior huic suffragetur. Quod circa successores eius venientes per ordinem volumus custodiri. Quos ad nullum aliud praeterea onus convenit devocari, nisi ut huic officio vacantes a ceteris habeantur inmunes. Suarios ipsos nullius adparitionis neque iniuriae neque dispendiis subiacere manentibus circa eos, quae superiora scita sanxerunt.”

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The legislation puts provincial officers on notice that their first and foremost responsibility, even “at the risk of their own resources,” was to support the needs of the pork producers. Just as the urban and grain at Rome were held personally responsible for the work they did to manage and secure the annona’s foodstuffs, local governors (moderatores) in Rome’s pork-producing regions were made accountable for ensuring the success of the pork farms that supplied the annona. And, as if doubt might arise, Digest 1.12.11 places the urban prefect squarely in charge of the “whole meat trade and, therefore, the pork market . . .”118 We have seen archaeological evidence, in the expansion of pork producing villas at S. Vincenzo al Volturno in Samnium and S.

Giovanni di Ruoti in Lucania following 452, that legislation supporting pork farmers had positive results.119

The second trend toward localization is the return of Sicily and, to a lesser extent,

Sardinia, as the most important suppliers of Roman grain. Two of three of Cicero’s provinciae frumentariae (“corn provinces”), Sicily and Sardinia had been supremely important in supplying grain to Rome in the late republic, before being surpassed by

Egypt and North Africa in the earlier empire.120 Indeed, describing Rome’s food situation during the Punic Wars with Carthage, Cicero points to Sicily as Rome’s “safety net”

118 Ulpian, Digest 1.12.11 reads: “Cura carnis omnis ut iusto pretio praebeatur ad curam praefecturae pertinet, et ideo et forum suarium sub ipsius cura est. The cattle and sheep markets are included “so far as they bear upon consumer offers of this kind.”

119 See the discussion above at n. 133.

120 Cicero, De Domo Sua 11. Both Erdkamp and Rickman stress the importance of Sicily for the Roman grain supply in the late republic. Rickman points to Sicily’s resurgence in the later empire. See Erdkamp, The Grain Market in the Roman Empire, pp. 209-218 and Rickman, The Corn Supply, pp. 104- 106.

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(subsidium) against the possibility of shortage.121 With North African produce thwarted by Vandal occupation and piracy and Egyptian grain earmarked for Constantinople,

Rome would again turn to Sicily and Sardinia in late antiquity as her primary sources of grain. Procopius reproduces the letter Belisarius wrote to Justinian upon his arrival in

Rome in 537, asking for additional troops, because of the size of the garrisons he was forced to leave in Sicily and Naples. We must remember that, at this time, Witigis had taken control of Rome’s ports, so Sicily and the port of Puteoli on the Bay of Naples would have become the axis of the city’s food supply.122 Belisarius pleads with Justinian on this account, defending his decision to leave large garrisons behind him and pointing specifically to the city’s hunger, “the Romans will be compelled by hunger to do many things that they would rather not do.”123 In short, Belisarius’ argument is that without protecting Rome’s main grain supplier, the fight to liberate the city is meaningless.

Indeed, writing from , roughly a century earlier, Salvian could already take for granted the fact that Sicily and Sardinia were Rome’s “imperial granaries.”124 In 599, the

Byzantine curator annonae for Italy was based at Sicily, pointing to the importance of

Sicilian grain in Gregory’s own lifetime.125 Gregory’s connection to Sicily, in particular, by virtue of his family’s large estates there, must have given him important insight into the island’s role as Rome’s chief grain source in late antiquity.

121 Cicero, 2 Verr. 2.3, pointed out by Erdkamp, The Grain Market, p. 209.

122 See above at n. 304.

123 Procopius, De Bell. Goth. 5.24.9-16.

124 Salvian, De Gubernatione Dei, 6.12; for further evidence of Sicily’s late antique significance as a source for Roman grain, see , Contra Symm. 2 (from the early fifth century) and Rickman’s discussion in The Corn Supply, pp. 104-107.

125 Gregory, Register 9.115 and 9.31.

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The evidence after 410 then suggests a move toward the localizing of Roman foodstuffs by way of pork from southern Italy and grain from Sicily and Sardinia, combined with increased local supervisory responsibilities for grain officers at Rome.

Stiff penalties for fraud and incompetence at every level were threatened. Whether such penalties were consistently enforced is another matter. I would not overestimate the actual presence on the ground or the state’s ability to enforce proposed punishments for failure to comply. While the rewards, or protections, afforded southern Italian pork producers appear to have met their aim, we cannot say with certainty that the punishments threatened against grain officers at Rome accomplished their intent. As discussed in the previous chapter, the fifth century was tumultuous, at times, debilitating for the Italian economy and aristocrats in particular. Some flexibility on the part of the state would have been necessary to keep the system functioning at all.126 As such, the urban prefect and the praefectus annonae would almost certainly have been given a good deal of independence in managing the annona in the late empire, perhaps too much independence in the eyes of the authorities. In 417, the grain prefect was explicitly denied the right to inflict corporeal punishment of the chief patrons of the three major guilds (the boatman’s, mensores and breadmakers’ guilds) that handled grain for the annona. Rather, these individuals are made liable to the Senate alone.127 The legislation suggests that praefectus annonae might have been bearing down too hard on the guildsmen, who were so critical to the successful provisioning of the city. It is interesting that Imperial legislation employs the Senate as a kind of last line of defense against abuses by either

126 A point articulated by Rickman, The Corn Supply, p. 204.

127 Cod. Theod. 14.4.9, from Ravenna.

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the praefectus urbi or the praefectus annonae. It remains to be seen how much actual power the Senate possessed to enforce the emperor’s regulations. In seems that the emperors had become “prisoners in the system” they created.128 Despite their shows of legislative bravado, it is hard to imagine fifth-century emperors employing precious resources to rule Roman prefects with the iron fist they claimed to possess. The increasingly independent role of the urban prefect and his lieutenant, the praefectus annonae, in fact, laid the groundwork for the bishop of Rome to manage the city’s food supply with even greater impunity. The fact that Gregory had occupied one of these offices (the urban prefecture) before the other (the bishopric) made him the ideal candidate for the job.

Gregory’s Problem: Feeding Rome in the Late Sixth Century

I have already pointed to evidence that the annona appears to have no longer functioned by the time of Gregory’s accession. But the best evidence, perhaps, that

Gregory was in fact provisioning the city, at least temporarily, lies in the Byzantine government’s attempt to reclaim the responsibility. In early 599, Gregory wrote to one

Cyridanus, a high-ranking Byzantine official based at Sicily, who had been appointed curator annonae (head of grain supply) for Italy.129 While, in theory, the curator annonae was in charge of grain for all areas of Italy under Byzantine control, the office obviously had no direct hand in managing Rome’s foodstuffs, at least not before 599. The letter begins:

128 Rickman’s term, The Corn Supply, p. 208.

129 It would seem so at least. See Jeffrey Richards, Consul of God, p.88; For Cyridanus base at Sicily, see Gregory, Register 9.31.

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We received your Glory’s letter a long while ago, in which you indicated that the care of the grain supply had been entrusted to your solicitude at the command of our most serene emperors and that you had been ordered that the whole amount of wheat, which had been received in the granaries of our Church (horrea ecclesiae nostrae) ought to be handed over to you in every capacity. You have also written that we should have this very thing made ready in supplies (of grain). Indeed we know this because it did not belong to you whose great benefits have been reported to us. 130

The letter shows an imperial official asserting, or reclaiming, authority over the Roman grain supply, at least part of which is being stored in the Church’s granaries. Based on the content of the letter it is possible that Cyridanus is demanding the Church’s grain—since said grain was clearly being stored in the Church’s warehouses (horrea ecclesiae nostrae)—but this would appear to be a very odd request indeed and nothing else in

Gregory’s letters supports such an interpretation. Cyridanus is apparently holding

Gregory (i.e. the Church) responsible for losses of imperial grain being stored in Church warehouses and has asked for in-kind payments to recoup these losses. The letter implies that imperial grain was received by the Church’s grain officers (defensores), but not properly documented (as such) in the “public records” and placed in Church storehouses.

It would be fair to assume that the “loss” Cyridanus is demanding back is grain that the

Church has already been distributed. But Gregory rejects Cyridanus’ notion outright, in the name of the city’s inhabitants and the Church’s defensores:

Henceforth, whatever losses arise in the aforesaid supplies of grain, you should know that in no way does it count as an expense of the Church, since neither the

inhabitants of this city, in fact afflicted persons, nor the aforementioned defensores can take upon themselves this grain requisition as their loss.131

130 Gregory, Register 9.115. For the entire Latin text, see Appendix 1.

131 Register 9.115.

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First, the identity of these defensores is critical to the interpretation of the letter. The defensor was an officer tasked with managing the Church’s food distribution network at

Rome. Defensores were appointed by the bishop of Rome, one for each of the seven papal districts of the city.132 These defensores acted as Gregory’s deputies in their respective districts. Prior to Gregory, the seven papal districts of Rome (ostensibly created by , r. 236-250) had been governed by a deacon, a sub-deacon and a notary.133 Gregory’s administrative reorganization greatly increased the powers and responsibilities of the office of defensor, which had existed in some capacity at least since the pontificate of Damasus (r. 366-384), but probably did not become a permanent fixture of the ecclesiastical bureaucracy until Felix III (r. 483-492).134 Gregory appointed his most trusted companions to these posts, men like Boniface, who would become pope himself in 608.135 The foremost—though not only—responsibility of the defensor was the care of the poor and, hence, the care and distribution of various foodstuffs. Is there a reasonable explanation as to why Cyridanus held Church officers responsible for state losses or why the Church’s defensores are handling and storing Imperial grain at all? It appears unlikely that the grain in question would have appeared in Church warehouses by

132 On occasion, regionaries were plugged in to manage distribution efforts, presumably as a stop- gap. In one instance, Gregory calls his food managers sitonici, although he may here be referring to some position other than that of defensor, perhaps a lower-ranking official. See Gregory, Register 9.116.

133 Catalogus Liberianus 91 and E. Spearing, The Patrimony of the Roman Church, p. 123

134 The term defensores ecclesiae first appears in a letter of Valentinian, Valens and Gratian from 367, wherein so-called individuals aid Damasus in drawing up a petition. There is no implication here that the office is a permanent one and no discussion of the responsibilities of the position beyond the quasi- secretarial (legal?) work being performed in service of the petition. See Coll. Avell. Epistle 6. See also, LP 39.1(Damasus) , LP I, 50.1 (Felix III). Claire Sotinel thinks the late fifth-century saw defensores become permanent members of the clergy, rather than laymen independent contractors. See her “The Bishop’s Men: Episcopal Power in the City” in Church and Society in Late Antique Italy and Beyond (Padstow, Cornwall: Variorum, 2010); VII.1-22; ad loc. pp. 6-8.

135 Gregory, Register 8.16

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mistake, especially given Cyridanus’ charge that Church officers failed to record it properly and Gregory defense: “The defensores of the Church both recorded the quantity

(of grain), just as you have written, and sought what they deemed useful.” We have seen above that, the Imperial government, in the fifth century, increasingly tried to make its grain officials more personally liable for losses of foodstuffs. Here, as reasserted its authority in Italy, we may be seeing a continuation of that trend, with

Cyridanus attempting to hold Gregory and his defensores responsible for losses incurred.

But this suggests that Church defensores were acting in the former capacity of the urban and grain prefects. Further, Gregory suggests that not only the Church’s defensores, but the “inhabitants of the city” will suffer as a result of Cyridanus’ demand. In the letter,

Gregory appears happy to relinquish whatever responsibility for imperial grain he has be given or provisionally inherited. The question remains: why was Gregory given the charge of managing the entirety of Rome’s food supply in the first place?

The likeliest explanation is that Gregory was effectively managing the whole city in 599. Food supply was obviously a critical component of the city’s infrastructure.

Gregory is known to have interceded, when necessary, to protect the city’s interests in other matters, with or without the approval of the Byzantine government. That had been precisely the case in 595 when Maurice lambasted Gregory for negotiating a treaty with

Ariulf, the Lombard , charging that the pope had no authority to make deals with the Lombard enemies of the Byzantine state. Gregory defended himself vigorously, asserting that Rome’s grain had run out (frumenta defuerint), the city was cut off from supplies and, with Byzantine forces removed to fight elsewhere, there had been

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no alternative.136 In that instance, when Rome’s food supply faltered, Gregory took necessary measures to secure provisions for the city, even if that meant cutting a deal with the Lombards. The letter shows Gregory negotiating fully on behalf of Rome. If his concern is the welfare of the city entire, he is certainly managing the most important component of this: the food supply. This would not have represented a permanent arrangement, but, rather, a stop-gap. Cyridanus’ letter shows that the Byzantines had a strong interest in reclaiming the responsibility of provisioning the city. Gregory’s real concern is that Cyridanus’ demand that the Church meet state losses, combined with the onerous if temporary responsibility of managing the city’s food supply is compromising the Church’s ability to help the poor. Gregory closes the letter with the hope that “the cares of this charge no longer burden the poor (pauperes) of the Church.” Gregory leaves little doubt about the primary focus of the Church’s food distribution initiatives: the pauperes. Gregory probably had no interest in running a city-wide distribution effort that reached both rich and poor, but it appears that, as manager of the city, he was forced to do so, temporarily, to meet an immediate need. In this regard, he behaved no differently than Basil in 368 or Gelasius in 493. Gregory’s great fear was that the necessity of his acting in a political capacity as the leader of the city of Rome infringed upon his spiritual charge as guardian of the poor. For my part, this is the most important takeaway from the

Cyridanus letter. These tenuous circumstances at Rome in the might well have been motivation for Gregory to rethink the organization of the Church’s system of charity and this fact bore significant repercussions for ecclesiastical poor relief. In fact, Gregory’s actions firmly institutionalized the Church’s formerly ad hoc system of charity.

136 Gregory adds that the treaty was contracted at no expense to the Byzantine government, likely meaning it required a healthy payout to the Lombards by the Church. Gregory, Register 5.35.

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But let us return to the warehouses, the grain-storage facilities that supplied the city. If indeed the Byzantines employed Church’s granaries for storage of foodstuffs in

599, what had happened to the state-owned granaries formerly used for this purpose?

Was it simply that, based on its existing distribution system, the Church had the infrastructure on the ground in Rome that the Byzantines did not? If so, this would seem to show that Gregory’s Church indeed possessed some measure of organization or systematization with regard to food storage and distribution. It appears clear that state- owned granaries had been maintained at Rome, Ostia and Portus throughout the earlier empire. Evidence from the early empire collectively suggests that grain stored in these state-controlled facilities was intended specifically for the Roman populace.137

Suetonius’ claim that Caligula (r. 37-41) would on occasion close the state’s granaries

(horrea), thereby “condemning the people (populus) to hunger” certainly argues in favor of state-run storehouses.138 In addition, according to Seneca, Caligula’s reign saw a shortage wherein the holdings of state (stored in the horrea publica) had dwindled to only seven or eight days’ worth of grain.139 Grain officers withheld the fact from the public.

Private owners or merchants, contends Erdkamp, would hardly have concealed the dearth in their storehouses.140 The state stood to suffer immediate and devastating consequences from shortage; private traders, on the other hand, could benefit from the increased demand and higher prices on the commercial market. As we have seen, in the early

137 See P. Erdkamp, The Grain Market in the Roman Empire, pp. 243-244. The examples that follow are presented as evidence of state-controlled storehouses therein.

138 Seutonius, Caligula (), 26.5.

139 Seneca, Brev. vit. 18.5-6.

140 Erdkamp, The Grain Market in the Roman Empire, p. 243.

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empire in particular, the state might intervene to lower prices again, but it most often did so at its own expense.141 In short, the Roman government had every reason to keep shortage hush-hush. Merchants had every reason to publicize it. When, during the reign of Claudius, a fire broke out in the Aemiliana, near a major state storehouse, the emperor was willing to pay private citizens large sums of money to help put out the blaze, suggestive of the fact that a significant amount of state grain was being stored there.142

Tacitus reports that, later in the first century, in 62, a storm sunk 200 grain ships in

Ostia’s harbor. To make matters worse, at roughly the same time, 100 barges burned in a fire on their way up the Tiber. The people’s panic led Nero to order “grain intended for the people (frumentum plebis)” thrown into the river to prove that Rome’s supply far exceeded the people’s demands, i.e. the demands of the annona.143 Nero’s theatrics were likely at least partly predicated on the fact that the grain in question had spoiled due to age, but that does not change the fact that it was Nero’s grain to do with as he pleased.

Therefore, it would seem that, although large horrea in the late republic and early empire were primarily erected and owned by aristocratic families, by the first century CE, the imperial government increasingly gained control of at least the largest storehouses, through various means.144 The first-century evidence certainly suggests that a considerable number large horrea were under state authority, even if the state continued

141 See the examples of Tiberius and Nero and n. 281 and 283.

142 The Horrea Aemiliana, see Suetonius, Claudius 18; cf. Rickman, The Corn Supply, p. 139 and note 62.

143 Tacitus, Annals 15.18.2.

144 The emperor commonly acquired property by gift, inheritance, exaction or legacy or through instances wherein ownership of a given property had lapsed (vacantia) or the testamentary disposition found legally invalid (caduca). It is likely, however, that imperial building initiatives from the first-century

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to rely on private contractors for their construction. It is possible that, with the state’s heightened role and the increase in the building of storehouses at Rome, Ostia and Portus, especially in the early second century, private ownership may have begun to decrease.145

Rickman has argued that Alexander Severus’ (r. 222-235) attempt to promote the building of horrea by private individuals perhaps demonstrates just how large the state monopoly on storehouses had become by the third century.146 Likely, the opposite is true.

If the emperor was giving incentives to build private horrea, at least some horrea must have still been in private hands or perhaps were being built by private contractors, with a little extra encouragement from the state. Such storehouses had substantial rental value and there was money to be made by private individuals in renting to the imperial government or building such a facility on its behalf. The third-century crisis and the civil wars that opened the fourth century likely did the most damage to private ownership of storage facilities. Whether private ownership did decline markedly or not, the state continued to rent out space to merchants in some of their large storehouses, like the

Horrea Agrippiana, space that might have been used either for storage or retail. In short, while major horrea were apparently under state control; private storehouses certainly

CE on increasingly saw the inclusion of storehouses as well. For a thoroughgoing discussion of how the emperor accrued wealth, see Fergus Millar, The Emperor in the Roman World, 31 BC- AD 337 , 2nd edition (London: Duckworth Press, 1992), pp. 133-201.

145 Rickman presents evidence that some of the foremost senatorial families, like the Sulpicii Galbae, built and ran storehouses in the very early empire, but state ownership of such buildings became normative by, at latest, the early second century. See Rickman, The Corn Supply of Ancient Rome, p. 139.

146 SHA, Alexander Severus 39.3; cf. Rickman, The Corn Supply, pp. 139-140, who argues that the emperor was in fact encouraging the building of smaller privately-owned horreae to serve as depositories for the valued possessions of said owners during periods of uncertainty. The argument certainly makes sense given the empire’s impending troubles at the time. Still, the emperor’s initiative, whatever its impetus, suggests a lack of privately-owned storehouses at Rome in the early third century.

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continued to exist, although, in most cases, under much less lucrative circumstances than before.147

So where did these horrea publica go? From the middle to late sixth-century, we not only hear nothing about them, we hear relatively little about Rome’s grain supply at all. What we do get are several references to the horrea ecclesiae or horrea ecclesiastica and the one reference of Gregory’s to the sitonicum, seemingly suggesting Rome’s grain stores, noted above.148 Gregory uses the term “horrea ecclesiae” specifically in a letter to

Peter, the of Sicily, that instructs him to keep the price of grain steady so as to avoid overburdening the “rustici ecclesiae,” who worked and managed Church estates in

Sicily.149 He uses the term again in the aforementioned letter to Cyridanus (Reg. 9.115).

Both letters show Gregory acting in a very official capacity, as the arbiter of Rome’s grain supply, yet when referring to Rome’s granaries themselves, he employs the phrase horrea ecclesiae.150 It is also worth noting that when Gregory of Tours and John the

Deacon treat the Tiber Flood of 589 and point to the loss of “nonnulla milia modiorum tritici (‘several thousands of modii of grain’)”, they both focus on the grave danger this loss of grain wrought upon the city’s inhabitants, not the poor, but all residents of

147 Rickman contends that the ground floor rooms of the Horrea Agrippiana at Rome appear to have been used for retail sales, being of a type commonly found in shops and markets. See G. Rickman, Roman Granaries, p. 95.

148 Gregory notes a significant deficiency in the sitonicum, in Register 1.2. For horrea ecclesiae, see Gregory of Tours, Hist. Franc. 10; for horrea ecclesiastica, see John the Deacon, Vita, 1.34.

149 Gregory, Register, 1.42.

150 For Gregory’s other references to Church granaries, see Register 5.38; 5.39 and 9.5.

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Rome.151 When Gregory wrote to Justin, praetor of Sicily, less than a year after the flood, in September 590, he insisted that the whole population of Rome (cunctus populus) was threatened by the Church’s losses.152 As Durliat observes, if the entire population of the city stood to suffer from the damage done to Church granaries in 589, then the Church must have assumed the responsibility for the storage of Roman grain.153 It follows then that, if the horrea publica and the horrea ecclesiae were one and the same by 590, the bishop of Rome was managing the reception, storage and, almost certainly, distribution of Roman grain and foodstuffs.

A letter of Gregory’s from August 591 confirms the fact, as well as the difficulty of feeding the city despite the Church’s large landholdings. Therein, Gregory directs the sub-deacon Peter, who is based in Sicily, to use fifty pounds of gold to buy “new grain

(nova frumenta)” for the city from “foreign traders (extraneis)” and to store it in Sicily

“in places where it will not ruin” until the following February, at which point Gregory will send ships to bring the grain to Rome.154 The letter reveals a number of important points. First, there was still a free market in Gregory’s time, one that he was forced to utilize on occasion, despite the Church’s possession of large grain-producing estates in

Sicily, Sardinia and Corsica. Gregory’s officers in grain-rich Sicily, men like Peter, obviously played a significant role not only in managing the Church’s grain estates there, but in organizing transport and storage and, if necessary, buying on the open market.

How many modii of grain would fifty pounds of gold buy in 591? Employing Rathbone’s

151 Their phraseology is virtually identical, a fact noted by Durliat, De la Ville Antique, p. 146.

152 Gregory, Register, 1.2.

153 Durliat, De la Ville Antique, p. 146.

154 Gregory, Register, 1.70.

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figures, based on rates provided for Italy under Theodoric by the Anonymous Valesianus,

Gregory’s fifty libri would have bought him roughly 88,909 modii (or c. 600,136 kg) of grain on the commercial market.155 The number is a far cry from the 81,000,000 kg of grain annually distributed by the Roman state in the earlier empire, but using the subsistence rates discussed above, Gregory’s purchase would still have sustained about

3,000 persons for an entire year.156 And this transaction was merely meant as a supplement to the city’s food supply; it is not representative of the Church’s entire dispensation. Later in the letter, Gregory refers separately to “the grain that we are awaiting to be shipped now, in the month of September or October, following our normal routine.”157 The letter goes on to demonstrate that Gregory, like the emperors before him, had ships at his disposal, “. . . in the month of February, we would send as many ships there as we are able in order to bring that same grain to us.”158 And, although the availability of ships at Rome might not have been a given, Church officials like Peter apparently had access to them as well, “But even if we fail to ship it (i.e. the grain), provide ships yourself and, with the Lord’s help, bring this same grain to us in the month of February . . .”159 It would seem that Gregory has ships that he can send to Sicily to

155 See Rathbone, “Earnings and Costs: Living Standards and the Roman Economy,” p. 305, table 15.1 and Anonymous Valesianus 12.73; the figure could be a little less given that the average price in Egypt from the fourth to sixth centuries was a bit higher than that of Italy. In Italy, 60 modii could be purchased for 11 g of gold, in Egypt 45 modii for 15 g.

156 Based on the consumption rates discussed on pp. 101-105 above.

157 Gregory, Register 1.70: “. . . exceptis dumtaxat frumentis, quae nunc mense Septembrio vel Octubrio iuxta consuetudinem transmitti praestolamur.”

158 Gregory, Register 1.70: “. . . mense Februario illic naves quantas possumus dirigamus et eadem ad nos frumenta deferantur.”

159 Gregory, Register 1.70: “Sed et si nos transmitter cessamus, ipse naves provide et ad nos auxiliante Domino Februario mense haec eadem frumenta transmitte . . .”

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pick up the grain, but he is warning Peter of the possibility that those ships may not be available, in which case Peter should take the initiative and send the grain on to Rome, perhaps by contracting commercial freighters. Finally, the letter shows that Rome received a standing allocation of grain from Sicily and we might anticipate similar situations existed for Sardinia and Corsica. The letter does leave us with a loose end though. Why does Gregory ask Peter to store the newly bought grain in Sicily until

February? Why not send it to Rome in September (or October) with the customary shipment? There are a number of legitimate hypotheses: that the Church simply did not possess enough warehouse space for the additional grain or that sending Rome’s regular allocation plus the newly-bought grain would be difficult.160 But we might also conclude that some of Rome’s storehouses have not yet been fully repaired from the damage done by the Tiber flood of 589, repairs to which were no doubt complicated by the outbreak of plague at Rome in 590. As such, the city’s storage capacity remained, in 591, somewhat limited. Gregory’s request that Peter store the grain “in places where it will not ruin” seems to suggest that some of the city’s stores are still not water tight and placing the new grain in them would result in spoilage. I would suggest then that, while the Church indeed possessed the storage capacity to house all the grain in question, some Church warehouses were still in need of renovation and repair. So, if from the very outset of his reign, Gregory was managing a citywide distribution effort that effectively replaced the annona, how similar were the two systems? The Church had long maintained a system of charitable relief for the poor, but surely that program would have needed expansion to cover the needs of the entire city of Rome, even if her population had been substantially

160 Because transporting all the grain at once would have required larger ships. On the Church’s storage capacity, see Gregory, Register 5.36.

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diminished by 590 and even if Gregory’s expanded responsibilities were temporary. This meant a sizable increase in ecclesiastical infrastructure, both in terms of people to run the system and buildings in which to house it.

The Gregorian Distributions: People and Places

In a letter of 595, Gregory wrote to the newly-appointed defensor, Vincomalus,

“It is decided . . . that you receive the office of defender of the Church (defensor ecclesiae) and whatever we have imposed on you for the benefit of the poor, you should carry it out without corruption but with diligence . . .”161 Gregory charged each defensor with the provisioning of his district, each of which, it appears, would have maintained a distribution house or at least a , monastery or basilica to serve as a base of operations.162 In the year 600, Gregory appointed a single administrator, John, about whom we most unfortunately hear nothing else in Gregory’s extant letters, to manage the city’s poor relief system: “And so, being encouraged by the earnestness of your intention, we have decided that you, pious John, should be put in charge of meals for the poor

(mensae pauperum) and of appointing deacons . . . .”163 It is interesting that John is given the power to appoint deacons—typically the sole purview of the bishop—and yet not

161 Gregory, Register 5.26 reads: “Ecclesiasticae utilitatis intuitu id nostro sedit arbitrio, ut, si nulli condicioni vel corpori teneris obnoxius nec fuisti clericus alterius civitatis aut in nullo tibi canonum obviant statua, ecclesiae defensoris accipias et quicquid pro pauperum commodis tibi a nobis iniunctum fuerit, incorrupte et naviter exequaris usurus hoc privilegio quod in te habita deliberatione contulimus. Omnibus, quae tibi a nobis fuerint iniuncta, complendis operam tuam fidelis exhibeas redditurus de actibus tuis sub Dei nostri iudicio rationem. Hanc autem epistolam Paterio notario ecclesiae nostrae scribendam dictavimus.”

162 See Dudden, Gregory the Great, vol. 1, p. 247.

163 Gregory, Register, 11.17

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defensores, a right that Gregory reserved for himself.164 One presumes that John was tasked with coordinating citywide relief efforts among the seven papal defensores, whose duties were not limited to food distribution. Gregory’s language to John here proves most interesting in that it specifically references John’s responsibility to provide “meals” and gives him virtually unlimited resources and authority in going about this task.165 In fact, it seems that in his capacity as head of the city’s distribution system, John would answer to no one save Gregory himself.

. . . so that no doubts arise for you in the administration (of the office), we have taken care that you should be supported by our protection and we deem that in whatever you have considered or whatever you will consider needs to be spent for the meals of the poor and the selecting of deacons, you will never be forced to provide an account for any person, in any sort of manner or inclination, nor will you suffer harassment from anyone.166

One is forced to speculate why, if Gregory was running a city-wide food distribution program from the beginning of his pontificate, he waited until 600 to appoint a sort of ecclesiastical praefectus annonae. The appointment of a deputy suggests the increased importance Gregory attached to the city’s relief system. It may also point to the fact that

Gregory himself was becoming physically unable to manage the system personally as before. In a letter written a month later, January 601, to frequent correspondent Venantius of Syracuse, Gregory relates that he is suffering terrible gout, the pains of which had

164 On Gregory and the appointment of deacons, see Richards, Consul of God, pp. 71-72.

165 A word that could also mean “table”, but in seems to have been more commonly and, metaphorically, to mean “meal.”

166 Gregory, Register 11.17 reads: “… ne qua tibi ex hac nascatur amministratione dubietas, hac te munitione prospeximus fulciendum constituents, ut de hoc quod ad mensas pauperum vel diaconiae exhibitionem percepisiti sive subinde perceperis erogandum, nulli umquam hominum quolibet modo seu ingenio cogaris ponere rationem vel aliquam debeas molestiam sustinere.”

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recently violently increased (vehementer excrescunt).167 Although he does not say it directly, Gregory’s lengthy discussion of his torturous physical ailment would suggest that he is bedridden and, therefore, unable to be the active manager of the Church’s distribution effort he was previously. Gregory had proven a meticulous advocate and manager of relief efforts. He likely found it hard to accept when such efforts fell short.

John the Deacon tells us that upon learning a pauper had been found dead of apparent starvation in a decrepit tenement house in the city, Gregory refused to celebrate mass for many days, claiming personal responsibility for the man’s death.168 Prevented by his gout from the kind of meticulous oversight to which he had grown accustomed, Gregory appointed John as his personal representative, answerable to no one, to be there on the ground where he could not, to ensure that food distribution continued unabated. By 600, a distribution network appears to have been securely in place. Before John’s appointment,

Gregory himself, in his typical hands-on fashion, managed and maintained that network.

Can we glimpse the physical framework of Gregory’s network? The answer is not as straightforward as one might hope.

Diaconiae and Food Distribution: What’s in a Name?

Church-run facilities designated solely and specifically for food distribution and called diaconiae do not appear in the extant historical record at Rome until the later seventh century. The term diaconia is not explicitly used to describe facilities in Rome until the pontificate of Benedict II (r. 684-685), where it appears as “monasteria

167 Gregory, Register 11.18.

168 John the Deacon, Vita 2.29.

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diaconiae (monasteries of a diacona?).”169 And yet, Frances Niederer contends that

Gregory was “directly or indirectly, the most important figure in the history of the development of the diaconiae in the west.”170 We must, therefore, address the issue of how it is possible that facilities nowhere named by Gregory or his immediate contemporaries could have played a major role in Gregory’s welfare system and how

Gregory himself could have been so influential in the development of an institution that may not have even existed at Rome during his bishopric. We can say that we find, with

Gregory, mentioned for the first time, the horrea ecclesiae, the Church granaries, under the management of the bishop of Rome, a fact known even to Gregory of Tours in far-off

Gaul.171 Should we assume that the Roman Church was running its charitable operations directly out of these horrea ecclesiae?172 Is it possible that the horrea and the diaconiae were at the same or roughly the same locations? Did distribution locations change periodically, like moving markets, migrating about the city to address the needs of different areas at different times? Is there any definitive evidence for diaconiae at Rome between 590 and 604?

The short answer is no. This poses a seemingly insoluble problem. Although more than one scholar has asserted something to the effect that diaconiae can be dated “from the period of Gregory the Great (590-604) and his consolidation of papal administration in the city,” I cannot point to a single, decisive strand of extant evidence that buildings

169 See, e.g. Niederer, “Early Medieval Charity,” p. 287.

170 Niederer, The Roman Diaconiae, p. 148.

171Gregory, Register 9.115; Gregory of Tours, Hist. Franc. 10 (likely because of the eye-witness report he cites).

172As Niederer does, The Roman Diaconiae, p. 149.

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called diaconiae existed at Rome during Gregory’s reign.173 There is, however, a comparative mountain of evidence to suggest that Gregory was deeply engaged in the business of charity, which included the maintence, at least for a time, of Rome’s grain stores, the distribution of foodstuffs in amounts large and small and varying other forms of largesse toward the poor, infirm or downtrodden. There is also compelling evidence for the existence of diaconiae in other Italian cities in Gregory’s day (such as Naples and

Pisa), as we shall see below. The explanation for this discrepency rests partially upon the fact that the term diaconia had not yet become commonplace or applicable, at least not at

Rome. Since horrea ecclesiae were only just being commented on by Gregory and his contemporaries, this should come as no shock. The emergence of this term horrea ecclesiae at the end of the sixth century suggests that the Church’s storage and distribution efforts were expanding at that time. The question that remains to be answered is where, or in what kinds of facilities, were ecclesiastical distributions being carried out?

Can we trace the outlines of Gregorian charity without evidence for the existence of buildings called diaconiae? What, after all, is in a name?

The Latin word diaconia, is derived from the name of the church officers

(diaconi, literally “servants”) who ran ecclesiastical relief centers before the Gregorian reorganization—when the papal-appointed defensores appear to have taken charge of the facilities. A diaconia entailed more than a physical building. It meant the entire administrative and organizational apparatus of a facility, defensores, deacons, monks and

173 Carol M. Richardson, Reclaiming Rome: Cardinals in the Fifteenth Century (Leiden: Brill, 2009), p. 192.

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their agents, and the lands earmarked to support their work.174 Although diaconiae were run by papally-appointed defensores appointed by the pope, they were commonly staffed by monks.175 In the Liber Pontificalis’ biography of Benedict II (r. 684-685 CE), in the very first extant use of the term for a facility in Rome, these institutions are called, significantly in my view, monasteria diaconiae.176 It is true that, only in the pontificate of

Hadrian I (r. 772-795) does a fully illuminated picture of the Roman diaconiae come into view. Krautheimer argues, however, based on archaeological evidence, that the first

Roman diaconiae were established in the half century following the Justinianic Wars, with “one perhaps preceding the pontificate of Gregory the Great.”177 Krautheimer named four diaconiae, S. Maria in Cosmedin, S. Giorgio in Velabro, S. Teodoro and S. Maria in

Via Lata, as having been plausibly founded “around 600 or earlier.”178 At all four, plus S.

Maria Antiqua, on the northwestern edge of the Palatine, small chapels, the ceremonial hubs of the early diaconiae, have been found.179 But I am not so much interested in connecting these specific buildings to Gregory’s reign as I have no direct evidence with which to do so. I would argue, however, that diaconiae (or designated ecclesiastical food distribution facilities whatever one chooses to call them) did exist at Rome during

Gregory’s pontificate and I think something can be learned about how they functioned

174 Spearing, The Patrimony of the Roman Church, p. 123.

175 See T. Noble, The Republic of St. Peter, p. 233.

176 LP 83.5.

177Krautheimer, Rome: Portrait of a City, p. 77.

178 Ibid.

179 Niederer, The Roman Diaconiae: A Study of the Use of Ancient Buildings by the Christian Church prior to 806 A.D, p.180.

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from investigating the archaeological remains of known early diaconiae in conjunction with the literary record.

In my view, the lack of definitive evidence for Roman diaconiae before the later seventh century arises because the use of the actual name, diaconia, may well be later than the fact of these buildings’ existence, at least at Rome.180 John the Deacon, however, specifically employs the word diaconia twice—alongside the term, xenodochium—when describing Gregory’s relief program, although we must grant that John was writing in the ninth century, when the diaconia qua diaconia had become a commonplace at Rome.

John mentions the use of other facilities (or their officials) as well, including , churches and monasteries, but this fact is intended to suggest only the size of Gregory’s effort, the scope of which required at least the temporary conversion of buildings not primarily tasked for the purpose to support it.181 One of John’s uses of the term suggests that officers from these facilities played a major function in Gregory’s provisioning program; and, in fact, Gregory himself appointed them. John says that Gregory “singulis diaconiis vel xenodochiis viros idoneos deputavit (appointed capable men from individual diaconiae and xenodochia).”182 John also relates that Gregory sent an named Probus to found a xenodochium in Jerusalem. Might we speculate that if Gregory had sent a deacon, John would have called the foundation a diaconia?183 It is impossible say, of course, but it is clear that John presents two distinct institutions (diaconiae and

180 As noted by Raymond Davis in The Lives of the Eighth-Century Popes (Liber Pontificalis) with Introduction and Commentary (Trowbridge: Liverpool University Press, 1992), p. 238.

181 John the Deacon, Vita 2.24; 2.51.

182 Ibid.

183 Ibid., 2.52.

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xenodochia), albeit ones that worked closely together toward similar, often overlapping, ends. In short, a xenodochium is generally seen as monastic institution, managed by an abbot, perhaps in consultation with an ecclesiastical officer such as a sub-deacon (and this too seems potentially a Gregorian innovation).184 A diaconia is an ecclesiastical foundation, managed directly by a deacon, who reported up the chain to a papal defensor.

But monks, likely by virtue of the fact that they had long experience with poor relief often worked in diaconiae. Additionally, “xenodochium” is a Latinized variant of the Greek xenodocheion and it is true that these facilities were more commonly found in the Greek east. Let us recall, for a moment, Basil’s poor relief center, his ptōchotropheion. Obviously, Basil was a Greek-speaking bishop. Because of his own monastic sympathies, he was certainly aware of the monastic xenodocheion. He consciously chose, therefore, to employ an alternative term to characterize his facility, which is clearly an ecclesiastical foundation. Some of Basil’s contemporaries, however, did not make such fine distinctions. Epiphanius, writing about 390, speaks of a

“xenodocheion, which, in , is called a ptōchotropheion.”185 The point is that, in both east and west, poor relief centers did not always receive different designations based on whether they were monastic or ecclesiastical in character. Gregory—particularly because of his monastic background—seems to have seen the two institutions as interchangeable. In fact, his initiatives aimed at incorporating, whenever possible, monastic institutions into the organizational structures of the Church, especially with regard to poor relief. I shall return to this theme in the following chapter. The fact,

184 See Chapter Three below.

185 Epiphanius, Panarion 75.1; noted by Susan Holman in The Hungry are Dying: Beggars and Bishops in Roman Cappadocia, p. 74.

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however, that in the very first mention of these facilities in Rome, the term diaconia is combined with monasteria, suggests that by 684/5, the two facilities had become, inextricably linked, both ideologically and in practical application.

To continue along etymological lines, we know that named diaconiae existed in other cities in Italy during Gregory’s pontificate. Gregory mentions them explicitly at

Pisa (in 595) and Naples (in 600).186 Further, we know that xenodochia existed in Rome before and during Gregory’s time. Pelagius II (r. 579-590) had turned his house into one

(“domum suam xenodochium fecit pauperum senum”) and, many years before, Pope

Symmachus (r. 498-514) had founded three in the city.187 But John said (cf. Vita 2.24 and

2.51) that both xenodochia and diaconiae existed at Rome during Gregory’s time. Durliat argues that John the Deacon proved himself a duteous investigator of texts from

Gregory’s own lifetime and thinks he copied one such text more or less verbatim.188 The silence about Roman diaconiae until the later seventh century, he contends, may be based on the fact that diaconiae were initially linked to xenodochia, commonly housed in monasteries and providing similar services. Consider again the LP’s “monasteria diaconiae.”189 The name of the older institution, the xenodochium, was often used to describe both xenodochia and diaconiae. John the Deacon, however, the meticulous copyist, cited both terms because both institutions existed, even if they often occupied the

186 Gregory, Register 5.25 (Pisa), 10.8 (Naples). Note herein Gregory’s specific use of the term “diaconia.”

187 By “his own house,” the LP probably means Pelagius’ former estate, since the bishops of Rome would have lived at the Lateran (see LP 65.1, Pelagius II); for Symmachus, see Ado ( of ), in Migne, PL cxxiii; noted by Dudden, Gregory the Great, vol. I, p. 247.

188 J. Durliat argues that John copied “un texte ancien sans interpolation.” See De La Ville Antique a La Byzantine, p. 166; On the point of John’s meticulousness, note, e.g., John the Deacon, Vita 2.30.

189 LP 83.5.

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same building. Does John’s text in fact suggest as much? Did Gregory deputize “capable men for individual diaconiae or (vel) xenodochia”—a that suggests that the two terms are interchangeable?190 Or is it merely that these facilities offered very similar or related services, to the extent that both facilities’ staffs could easily participate in the larger scale distribution effort that John describes? In other areas where diaconiae are named specifically and independently, like Pisa and Naples, we see perhaps a transition beginning whereby the Church had begun setting up offices wholly independent from pre-existing xenodochia. If that transition was occurring under Gregory at Pisa and

Naples, it was likely occurring at Rome also. In fact, using Durliat’s rationale, one might argue that Pelagius II and perhaps even Symmachus before him started the transition whereby the Roman Church came to govern independent distribution centers; these centers simply were not being called diaconiae yet, at least not at Rome.

Another explanation for why these buildings do not readily appear in our sources is that they probably would not have attracted much attention; they would have been more functional than ornate, often occupying former commercial buildings. When changes were made to these buildings, the facilities may have become even less eye- catching than their imperial predecesors. As Ward-Perkins argues, the later sixth-century saw even major papal foundations like Pelagius II’s S. Lorenzo fuori le Mura being built smaller and with less fanfare, so one would not expect the Church, much less private individuals, to shell out precious cash to adorn a food distribution station, even one under

190 Vita 2.51.

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direct papal authority.191 The little chapels found at S. Maria in Cosmedin and S. Maria in

Via Lata, two of the earliest diaconiae, are far from elaborate, even if they were housed within monumental commercial structures; such facilities were devoted to function not form.192 Finally, if diaconiae abutted or were attached to churches, they would likely not have been viewed as independent entities, but rather as mere extensions of the church or basilica to which they were attached. Again, note the example of Basil’s ptōchotropheion. As bishop of Caesarea, Basil had constructed an entirely new facility with no connection either to a pre-existing poor relief center, monastic or ecclesiastical, or to a pre-existing church or basilica.

Still, contemporaries associated Basil’s facility with a known commodity, the xenodocheion. I would argue that the sources’ silence on Roman facilities clearly named

“diaconiae” is the result of the same tendency to equate these newer ecclesiastical foundations with older monastic ones. With Durliat, I see no reason to doubt the existence of an institution at Rome that is found elsewhere in the same period.193 We simply need to separate said institution from the name diaconia. There are more important questions than what to call Roman distribution stations during Gregory’s tenure. As such, I hope to provide some understanding of how many such centers existed at the end of the sixth cetury, how these facilities functioned, what was the scale of their operations and in what areas of the city they were concentrated. We have seen that public

191 Though still lovely, S. Lorenzo is a mere 30 meters in length. Ward-Perkins sees an overall trend of more modest building in the late sixth century. See his From Classical Antiquity to the Middle Ages: Urban Public Building in Northern and Central Italy AD 300-850 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985), pp. 60-61.

192 See F. Niederer, “Pagan Monuments Converted to Christian Use: The Roman ‘Diaconiae’” in Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, vol. 12, no. 3 (1953): 3-6.

193 J. Durliat, De La Ville Antique a La Ville Byzantine, pp. 165-166.

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granaries were being run by the Roman Church in 590 and following, indeed they were being called “Church granaries” (horrea ecclesiae) for the first time. Gregory would have utilized the grain in these buildings to support his food distribution efforts, but can we gain a better understanding of how these distribution stations worked in Gregory’s day?

One of the precious, rare mentions of a diaconia by Gregory himself may start us down the path. In March of 600, Gregory wrote to the John, the praetorian prefect of

Italy, about his intervention in the affairs of a diaconia at Naples. We have already reviewed Gregory’s letter of 601 to the newly-ordained Neapolitan bishop, Pascius, wherein Gregory ordered an increase in the percentage of resources allocated for the poor at Naples and it is possible that the demand may be linked not only to the neglect of

Pacius’ predecessor but to to actions of a Byzantine official.194 But before investigating the letter, let us consider the fact that in a city where we have a named diaconia in

Gregory’s reign, we also have a bishop who appears as the ultimate arbiter of that facility’s affairs, the aforementioned Pascius.

Whatever is given to a poor person, if assessed by careful consideration, is not a gift, but a loan, because that which is given is, beyond doubt, recovered with multiplied abundance … It is reported that your Eminence has withdrawn (subtraxerit) the provisions (annonas) and the customary rights (consuetudines) of the diaconia, which is employed at Naples. This perhaps would have been less mind-boggling if they had not been administered in the time of your predecessor, John … And so, your Powerful Eminence should prevail to examine these things in that what also existed under his predecessors has not been taken away.195

194 Register 11.22 and n. 244 above.

195 Gregory, Register 10.8: “Quicquid tribuitur pauperi, si suptili consideratione pensetur, non est donum, sed mutuum, quia quod datur multiplicato sine dubio fructu recipitur … Fertur itaque, quod annonas atque consuetudines diaconiae, quae Neapolim exhibetur, eminentia vestra subtraxerit. Quod minus fortasse fuerat obstupendum, si Iohannis decessoris vestri non fuissent tempore ministratae … Haec itaque eminentia vestra potential qua pollet inspicere atque hoc quod sub decessoribus eius non est ademptum ….”

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Gregory’s letter may offer a better understanding of how sixth-century diaconiae were provisioned, as well as their scale of operations and the on-going tensions between the

Roman Church and the Byzantine government over issues of food supply. First, it is important to remember that the prefect to whom Gregory wrote was Italy’s primary judicial officer, in charge of issuing legislation and enforcing the land tax. Beyond his judgments, the only right of appeal was to the emperor himself.196 As such, we appear to be dealing with a situation where the new prefect (named John, somewhat confusingly, like his predecessor) has taken an antagonistic stance toward an ecclesiastical distribution center in direct contrast to the man who held the office before him, who had upheld the

“rights” of the facility. I have discussed above the letter of Gregory to Cyridanus (Reg.

9.115), the curator annonae for Italy written in the wake of the Byzantine government’s attempt to reclaim control over Rome’s grain supply.197 About a year later, we find similar tensions arising at Naples, as a Byzantine praetorian prefect withdrew provisions

(annonas) and customary rights (consuetudines) from a Neapolitan diaconia. Much of the interpretation of the letter hinges on the definition of annona and consuetudo, but however we render the two words, it seems clear that the diaconia at Naples had been afforded a regular allocation of grain (annona), perhaps formerly at the full discretion of

Roman Church (now under the supervisory eye of the Byzantine government?) and that the facility’s “rights” to said grain were old enough to become “customary” or

“traditional.” The letter shows Gregory, as bishop of Rome, intervening to defend a diaconia outside of Rome. The Neapolitan bishop would have had oversight of the

196 See T.S. Brown, Gentlmen and Officers, pp. 10-11.

197 Discussed at n. 125 in chapter two. Full text, appendix 1.

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Church of Naples’ ecclesiastical relief apparatus (as Reg. 11.22 demonstrates), but above him was Gregory. This is an interesting and potentially revealing dynamic and one could even speculate that it may have something to do with our naming dilemma with regard to relief facilities at Rome and what they might have been called. Rome was a unique case because of the sweeping powers and economic prowess of her bishop.

Nevertheless, Naples and her bishop were within jurisdictional authority and, to that effect, he accuses a Byzantine officer of acting outside of his—whether or not this is legally the case. Gregory says that John’s predecessor had maintained the standing allocation and rights of the Neapolitan diaconia without question, the intimation perhaps being that the Roman Church had an established way of doing things at the Naples facility (i.e. with regard to the amount of grain and the priviledges of the facility) that the

Byzantines were expected to uphold. Whether there is any loaded significance to

Gregory’s use of the term annona in the letter, we cannot say with certainty; although it is at least plausible that he uses the term intentionally to emphasize the Church’s new role as chief provisioner, especially of the poor and especially at Rome, but perhaps beyond

(at Naples also?). The Byzantine resistence to—or desire to temper or ameliorate—the

Church’s food distribution activities at the end of the sixth century suggests, at least, a very real concern that control of a city’s food supply translated directly into political and institutional authority as well. The fact that the “provisions” of the Naples diaconia were substantial enough for a Byzantine officer to go to the trouble to withdraw them also may suggest that the Naples facility required substantial foodstuffs and may have been able to accommodate a significant number of persons.

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The Liber Pontificalis’ biography of Hadrian I (772-795 CE) reveals that distributions under the Latern portico served bread, broth and wine to 100 pauperes

Christi a day.198 Did Gregorian facilities serve more? I think at least some probably did.

Although I will present archaeological evidence that specific distribution centers (the name of such facilities notwithstanding) could have existed in Gregory’s pontificate, I think it more profitable to use the archaeological and literary evidence of buildings known later to be diaconiae to get an idea of how the Gregorian welfare system may have functioned in practical application. These buildings and the notices about them can serve as indirect evidence for the scope and nature of facilities that Gregory had at his disposal and, possibly, their scale of operations. Gregory’s charitable efforts required physical infrastructure, which to date, has been assumed but not investigated in much detail.

Toward that end, I begin by examining evidence of the much better-documented and clearly-designated early medieval diaconiae—that is, buildings that existed by the pontificate of Leo III, r. 795-816 CE—in the hopes of being able to work backward toward a better understanding of how these facilities operated in Gregory’s reign.

Thereafter, I will scrutinize specific structures that have been identified with the earliest known diaconiae to determine what their material remains can tell us about the scope of operations. The Liber Pontificalis offers valuable information about the services these institutions provided in the eighth century.

According to LP’s biography of Gregory III (r. 731-741), the pope granted perennial gifts to diaconiae (i.e., “everything a diaconiae requires”) as he tasked them

198 LP 97.54.

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with “supporting the poor for all time.”199 Gregory III also enlarged the diaconia of SS.

Sergio and Bacco, apparently very close to S. Peter’s, one of two diaconiae to bear the names of the fourth-century Christian martyrs.200 The second diaconia of Sergio and

Bacco stood at the western end of the Forum between the Temple of and the

Temple of Concord, but was badly damaged in the collapse of the latter in the late eighth century; thereafter, Hadrian I restored it.201 By the pontificate of Hadrian, we learn that sixteen diaconiae existed at Rome. During his bishopric, Hadrian added two more, S.

Adriano and SS Cosma and Damiano, thereby raising the number to eighteen.202 By the year 800, in the reign of Hadrian’s predecessor, Leo III, the number of Roman diaconiae stood at twenty-two.203 At least six diaconiae stood in the city’s commercial center from the Forum Romanum to the emporium district on the east bank of the Tiber: S. Giorgio in

Velabro, S. Maria Antiqua, S. Maria in Cosmedin, SS. Sergio e Bacco (in the Forum), S.

Adriano (next door to SS. Sergio e Bacco), SS. Cosma e Damiano and S. Teodoro.

Another, S. Lucia in Septem Vias, stood about half a kilometer away at the east end of the . In the later eighth century, perhaps as in Gregory’s day, we find the

199 LP 92.13.

200 LP 92.13 says Gregory III expanded the “diaconiam sanctorum Sergii et Bachi ad beatum Petrum apostolum, in qua pridem parvum oratorium erat, a fundamentis ampliori fabricis dilatavit.” Although modern archaeology has provided no clear identification of this facility, Coates-Stephens seems to think, based on the LP’s evidence and the seventeenth-century report of Severano (1630) that it was close to the Vatican (maybe at the eastern corner of the north transept?) even if we cannot pin down its precise location.

201 LP 97.90. The diaconia appears again at LP 98.38, 75.

202 LP 97.60. Hadrian therein is said to have provided 6 veils of “crossed-adorned and tyrian” to each of the Roman diaconiae, “totaling 96 veils,” meaning there were 16 diaconiae in Rome at the time. On Hadrian’s addition of diaconiae at S. Adriano and SS Cosmas and Damiano, see LP 97.81.

203 The number denotes facilities specifically called diaconiae in the Liber Pontificalis through the biography of Leo III (LP 98).

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Church founding and/or managing distribution facilities in locations along the Tiber to enable the easy reception, unloading and storage of foodstuffs.204

What we seem to have are concentrated “pockets” of early distribution and relief centers; another pocket located around S. Peter’s. We find Hadrian restoring a diaconia of S. Silvestro, “outside the Gate of S. Peter,” near S. Gregory’s hospitale, a Latin word for “guest house”, at times interchangeable in the LP with the Greek xenodochium. The hospitale in question may well have been established by our Gregory himself.205 Perhaps a trend begun in Gregory I’s day, of diaconiae and xenodochia working together toward a common purpose and, therefore, being often situated in close proximity to one another, continued into Hadrian’s reign and beyond. The LP goes on to state that, providing the diaconia of S. Silvestro and two other diaconiae, S. Maria in Adriano and S. Maria in

Caput Portici, in its immediate vicinity with “many movable and immovable gifts,”

Hadrian directed that, every Thursday, the deacon and his assistants should make their way to the baths (balnea) while chanting the , in order to provide an “orderly dispersal” of alms to the poor.206 Perhaps the most interesting element of the LP’s account is the location of the distributions—albeit here, of alms, not food: the baths. The first question that comes to mind here is how many functional bath complexes actually existed in postclassical Rome and Italy. Paulo Squatriti has collected compelling evidence that, while certainly not on the same scale as in Rome’s first four centuries CE, a significant number of public baths did in fact continue to operate in early medieval

204 On this point, see Debra J. Birch, Pilgrimage to Rome in the Early Middle Ages: Continuity and Change, p. 124.

205 See below, n 80-81 in chapter 3.

206 LP 97.66.

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cities.207 Some episcopal baths, like those at Pavia, erected in 711, could be quite vast indeed.208 It has been argued that weekly food distributions came with, perhaps required, a weekly bath and that was, in fact, an important part of the services rendered by early medieval diaconiae.209 The bathing tradition may have begun somewhat earlier, in a monastic setting. Caesarius of Arles, in his Rule for (c. 534) specifically mentions bathing as an element of monastic hospitality: “By no means let baths be denied those whose infirmity demands them . . . .”210 Another passage from Hadrian’s LP biography has “regular refreshment for the poor of ” being provided at the “bath-house”

(lusma) of the diaconiae of S. Adriano and SS. Cosma and Damiano.211 Since there are no extant remains of a Roman-style bath complex near S. Adriano or SS. Cosma and

Damiano, we might infer that the LP’s lusma (from the Gk. lousma) refers to a smaller washing house or even a large bathing room (not unlike a baptistery with a centrally- located pool or font), which could have accommodated a number of persons for the purposes of both feeding and bathing.212 We are told that Bishop Symmachus (r. 498-

514) had over three centuries earlier constructed a cantharus (“washing basin” or

207 Paulo Squatriti, Water and Society in Early Medieval Italy, AD 400-1000 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 45.

208 Ibid., p. 46.

209 Krautheimer, Rome: Portrait of a City, p. 111; R. Davis, Lives of the Eighth-Century Popes, p. 165, n. 170. And Squatriti, Water and Society, p. 46 and n. 7.

210 Caesarius of Arles, Rule for Nuns, 31.

211 The word used for “bath-house” here is lusma. Davis leans in favor of the argument of Duchesne that this is a Latinate form of the Greek lousma , so a “washing-house” or “bath-house”, a notion supported by the above-mentioned LP 97.66, where distributions are made at the baths. See R. Davis, Lives of the Eighth-Century Popes, p. 165, n. 170.

212 Perhaps not unlike what can still be seen at the Hagion Lousma of the Church of S. Maria Blachernae in .

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“fountain”) “to use for human necessity” (usum necessitatis humanae) outside St. Peter’s and we might plausibly assume that the lusma of S. Adriano and SS. Cosma and

Damiano was similarly designed for a similar purpose.213 What is clear is that, from a very early stage, the bishops of Rome were concerned to provide the poor and pilgrims with washing facilities around S. Peter’s. We are also told that Hadrian meticulously restored the Claudian aqueduct, substantial remains of which can still be found on Monte

Celio, very close to the Lateran, which “had been demolished for a period of years,” but had once supplied “water for washing at the Lateran bath.”214 Hadrian’s of the

Lateran baths is particularly interesting in light of the fact that he is said to have held daily distributions at the Lateran diaconia. The distributions took place under a portico

“at the Lateran ,” the stairway that ran alongside the papal apartment, with

Church officials handing out food to 100 persons per day.215

If bathing was not a part of Hadrian’s distributions, we might infer that large, empty bath facilities, mentioned near four distribution centers in Hadrian’s biography alone, would have been ideal for the recipients of Church’s dole to eat and drink the baked bread, wine, broth, and presumably on occasion pork or cheese, they received at the Church’s largesse.216 At the baths, they could also have taken shelter. During an epidemic at in 499, we find old baths being transformed into xenodochia for

213 LP 53.7.

214 LP 97.62. On Hadrian’s restoration of the Claudian Aqueduct (and three other Roman aqueducts) and its significance, see R. Coates-Stephens, “The Walls and Aqueducts of Rome,” in Journal of Roman Studies, vol. 88 (1998) 166-178; ad loc. pp. 171-172.

215 LP 97.54.

216 The text suggests that 100 pigs were slaughtered a year to support Hadrian’s dole, but it does not specifically discuss how or in what quantity these pork rations were dispersed. LP 97.54.

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precisely this reason.217 At the very least, the restoration of the Claudian aqueduct supplying the Lateran baths would have given recipients water to use at their leisure. It is notable, perhaps, that Hadrian’s successor, Leo III (r. 795-816) built a triclinium “of wondrous size” at the very same site where the Lateran distributions took place, the

“patriarchate” again, which receives specific mention in the Liber Pontificalis.218 Leo built a second large triclinium near a Hadrianic distribution site, at the “obelisk” (aculia) next to St. Peter’s (i.e. south of the basilica) and very close to the diaconiae of S.

Silvestro, S. Maria in Adriano and S. Maria in Caput Portici. After Leo III’s lifetime, this dining hall has no recorded use until the papal audiences of Leo IV (r. 847-855) over fifty years later.219 It is at least possible that Leo’s dining rooms were built to support

Hadrian’s restored diaconiae, perhaps as a replacement for the run-down baths. From an even earlier stage, the popes seem to have been concerned to provide dining areas either in or near distribution facilities. And, if we conclude, as Niederer does, that the placement of four (counting Gregory III’s SS. Sergio and Bacco) diaconiae around S. Peter’s may have been a means to support visiting pilgrims as well as the poor, the necessity of a large nearby dining hall becomes all the more apparent.220 Whatever the case may be, the

Church appears not only to have required a facility that allowed for distributions of

217 Joshua the Stylite, Chronicle, translated with commentary by William Wright (Amsterdam: Press, 1968), p. 32.

218 LP 98.39.

219 LP 98.27. The “needle” refers to the Vatican obelisk, but in its former position, south of the basilica. See Figure 5 for the previous location of the obelisk. See R. Davis, Lives of the Eighth-Century Popes, p. 193, notes 68 and 69.

220 Niederer, “Early Medieval Charity,” pp. 289-290.

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foodstuffs (i.e., under a portico), but a large area that allowed recipients to consume the dispensed rations.

According to the Liber Pontificalis, Hadrian had specifically earmarked a nearby estate, at Capracorum (c. 7.7 miles or 12.3 km north of Rome), which produced wine, wheat, barley and pork, to support his Lateran dole.221 The estate in question is called a domusculta. Based on the LP’s presentation, domuscultae appear to have been lands either newly-acquired in the seventh and eighth centuries or perhaps designated for a new purpose, as in the case of Capracorum, for poor relief. The first recorded mention of domuscultae comes in the LP biography of Zacharias (r. 741-752 CE).222 These lands are called, both in the biographies of Zacharias and Hadrian, “inalienable,” meaning they are forever a part of the patrimony of the Roman Church.223 It would be tempting to speculate, based on the evidence of Hadrian’s biography, that domuscultae were designated exclusively for the Church’s charitable work, but there is simply not enough evidence to determine this fact with certainty. Wickham has pointed to the fact that large

Church-run monastic estates start cropping up across the Italian countryside in the eighth century.224 In the LP’s treatment of Hadrian, a monastery (St. Laurence’s) is said to have been part of the pope’s newly-founded domusculta Galeria, although this is still scant evidence that monasteries and domuscultae were always connected. What can be said is that, if the Church’s poor relief system became more firmly entrenched and systematized

221 LP 97.54; cf. Niederer, “Early Medieval Charity,” p. 290.

222 LP 93.25

223 See Raymond Davis’ discussion of the domuscultae in The Lives of the Eighth-Century Popes (Liber Pontificalis), pp. 31-34.

224 Wickham, Early Medieval Italy, pp. 86-88.

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after Gregory, more rural lands would have been needed to be specifically designated to support it and more rural estates were indeed being acquired or reorganized by the

Church in the seventh and eighth centuries. As Wickham notes “landowning . . . underlay all other urban activity” in early medieval Italy and that included, especially, poor relief.225 Hadrian’s Lateran program certainly depended on Capracorum. And with its daily distributions under a designated Lateran portico, Hadrian’s program, likely emulated at the other diaconiae throughout the city, appears strikingly similar to the imperial annona in the later empire, just on a much, much smaller scale.

Hadrian is also said to have rebuilt the diaconia of S. Maria in Cosmedin, which had either been damaged in some way, perhaps by earthquake or lightening, or was decaying with age.226 It is at least possible that the diaconia of S. Maria in Cosmedin had become a shabby ruin from long use by the time of Hadrian’s pontificate (r. 772-795), which, if so, would suggest that a diaconia had stood on the site for some time. The renovations to the facility were certainly celebrated with papal pomp. After Hadrian’s restoration of the facility, Leo III presented S. Maria in Cosmedin with a twelve-pound silver crown, perhaps to honor the fact that the venerable, old diaconia was back in business.227 Leo III, who was said to have “dispersed to the poor day and night” commonly gave large donations to the Roman diaconiae, especially to the diaconia of S.

Maria, “quae appelatur Antiqua” or S. Maria Antiqua, singled out four times for donations in Leo’s pontificate and listed first among all Roman diaconiae in the LP’s

225 Ibid., p.88.

226 LP 97.72.

227 LP 98.70.

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biography of Leo.228 Hadrian too had patronized S. Maria Antiqua, restoring the atrium walls with new frescoes, one of himself as donor.229 S. Maria in Cosmedin and S. Maria

Antiqua were indeed among the oldest diaconiae in the city, perhaps a reason for their special treatment by Hadrian and Leo. Debra Birch goes so far as to say that the diaconia of S. Maria in Cosmedin “was certainly in existence by the end of the sixth century.”230

Krautheimer and Niederer argued for the its probable existence by then—Krautheimer largely based on masonry techniques unique to sixth-century Rome but common to sixth- century Naples (where we know a sixth-century diaconia existed)—and the more recent work of Gemma Fusciello likewise supports a sixth-century date for the foundation of the diaconia.231 I do not wish to argue that Gregory established these particular buildings, although that is indeed possible. Instead, I only point to the fact that the buildings existed from an early date as distribution centers and, as such, may offer insights into the infrastructure of the Gregorian distribution program based upon stylistic similarities and conventions, size and location. Using S. Maria in Cosmedin as an example, we know that this facility existed as a diaconia (that is, again, called by that name) by the middle , but it was an important ecclesiastical building much earlier and, possibly, an

228 LP 98. 1, 45, 52, 70, 83.

229 Krautheimer, Corpus Basilicarum Christianarum Romae, vol II, “S. Maria Antiqua,” pp. 252- 253.

230 Debra J. Birch, Pilgrimage to Rome in the Early Middle Ages: Continuity and Change, p. 124; Krautheimer, Rome: Portrait of a City, p. 77; Niederer also supports the idea that S. Maria in Cosmedin existed as a diaconia by the end of the sixth century, see The Roman Diaconiae: A Study of the Use of Ancient Buildings by the Christian Church prior to 806 AD (Ann Arbor: Bell and Howell, 1951), p. 98.

231 Krautheimer, Rome: Portrait of a City, p. 77-78; Niederer also supports the idea that S. Maria in Cosmedin existed as a diaconia by the end of the sixth century, see The Roman Diaconiae: A Study of the Use of Ancient Buildings by the Christian Church prior to 806 AD, p. 98. More recently, G. Fusciello, “La piazza del Foro Boario e gli edifice romani nell’area di S. Maria in Cosmedin,” in Palladio, 14, 28; pp. 5-22, ad loc. pp. 10-12. For the Naples diaconia, see Gregory, Register 10.8.

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ecclesiastical distribution center. In this case, I think we can separate the institution of the ecclesiastical relief facility from the name diaconia.

S. Maria in Cosmedin certainly contained a chapel of some importance no later than c. 530, but it is not unequivocally called a diaconia in the extant record until the deed of the dux and dispensator, Eusthasius, a wealthy patron of the diaconia, recording his donation the facility; the inscription, found in the facility’s by then enclosed portico, is generally dated to around 750 CE.232 Still, the LP’s (97.72) discussion of Hadrian’s later eighth-century restoration suggests that the building was showing serious signs of wear and tear or at least damage, perhaps from long years of use, but regardless of what precipitated the need for restoration, the fact that a significant papal restoration occurred at all and was celebrated in not one but two LP biographies (Hadrian and Leo III), must suggest the building’s importance to the bishops of Rome and maybe, its age. In short, no scholar would dispute the claim that S. Maria in Cosmedin is among the earliest, if not the earliest, Roman diaconia; the problem arises on the rather semantic issue of when the building actually starts being called a diaconia. So, let us set the name aside for the moment and, instead, determine whether the layout and location of the extant structure can tell us anything about how early diaconiae functioned and what carrying capacity they had.

The diaconia of S. Maria in Cosmedin was built inside a rectangular, or slightly trapezoidal, portico or colonnaded gallery, roughly 31 meters (c. 101 ft) long and 17

232 See Niederer, The Roman Diaconiae, pp. 97-98. The inscription found in S. Maria in Cosmedin’s portico reads: “Offero dona ego humillimus servulus tuus Eusthathius immeritus dux quem tibi deserviri et huic sanctae tuae diaconiae dispensatorem effici iussisti tradens de propriis meis facultatibus in usu istius sanctae diaconiae pro sustenatione Christi pauperum et omnium hic deservientem diaconitarum … fundum pompeianum cum casis et vineis … et mercurianum seu campis cum casis et vineis …” In G.M. Crescimbeni, L’istoria della basilica di S.M. in Cosmedin (Rome: 1715, p. 64 ff).

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meters (c. 56 ft) wide.233 To provide some perspective, the porticus east of the Largo

Argentina believed to have been the Porticus Minucia Frumentaria, the primary grain distribution station in Rome at least until the later third century, measured, by the reign of

Domitian (81-96 CE), roughly 150 x 115 meters (c. 492 x 377 ft.).234 But, given the apparent number of annona recipients (c. 200,000), the Porticus Minucia would have served very large numbers of persons indeed, even if it was not the city’s only center for imperial distributions.235 S. Maria in Cosmedin’s portico was enclosed to form the diaconia—the Flavian-era (probably spoliated) columns embedded in the diaconia wall are still visible inside the present-day basilica’s sacristy and nave—but maintained entrances on three sides, the main entrance facing east toward the Tiber, which was literally steps away.236 The eighth-century evidence equates Church distributions directly with a portico (at the Lateran) and, because porticoes served a number of commercial functions in the Roman world, it makes sense that the Church would have utilized such facilities for food distribution.237 The builders of the diaconia of S. Maria in Cosmedin, however, altered the portico’s orginal configuration. The diaconia was given an east-west orientation (the portico ran north-south). The Church’s architects split up the portico to form a slightly-trapezoidal central room that was now 17 m (56 ft.) long and c. 9 m (29

233 Fusciello calls the buildings a “hall of columns.” See “La piazza del Foro Boario e gli edifice romani nell’area di S. Maria in Cosmedin,” p. 10; cf. Niederer, “Pagan Monuments Converted to Christian Use: The Roman Diaconiae,” p. 3 and Coarelli, Rome and Environs, p. 319. Also, Krautheimer, Rome: Portrait of a City, p. 78.

234 F. Coarelli, Rome and Environs, p. 281.

235 Res Gestae 15; Rickman thought the Porticus Minucia would have served c. 200 persons a day, at least most days, see “Porticus Minucia,” p. 107.

236 Fusciello, “La piazza del Foro Boario e gli edifice romani nell’area di S. Maria in Cosmedin,” p. 10 and p. 15 (fig. 12).

237 LP 97.54.

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ft.) wide and flanked on both sides by two levels of smaller rooms, the bottom levels more like a rectangular corridors; both top and bottom side chambers opened on to the main hall.238 It seems strange that the architects of the diaconia effectively chopped up the sizable open portico, which may have once served as a monumental entrance to the

Forum Boarium, or met some other commercial need associated with the market area

(Fusciello) or may have been some kind of shrine attached to the Ara Maxima

(Coarelli).239 It would seem that the facility could have served more people if it had maintained the portico’s original size and orientation. My guess, however, is that diaconiae aspired not only to dispense food (in the main hall), but to provide a sheltered location in which to eat it (the side chambers), at least for its poorest patrons. Again, John the Deacon’s discussion of Gregory’s larger scale distributions includes items that were immediately edible (in addition to grain) and the LP says that Hadrian’s Lateran dole included bread, broth and wine, all of which would likely have been consumed straightaway.240 The provision of a dining area marks, in my view, a distinct change from the earlier imperial distributions, which sought only to hand out raw grain or, later, foodstuffs in “to-go” fashion. S. Maria in Cosmedin’s smaller side chambers could have served as dining rooms. In addition, it is possible that some of these rooms were used for storage or “holding” areas for foodstuffs. Even if S. Maria in Cosmedin never housed the

Statio Annonae, it had a number of features functionally-suited to the Church’s needs. In addition, it was near significant warehouse storage space (the Horrea Agrippiana) and

238 Fusciello, “La piazza del Foro Boario e gli edifice romani nell’area di S. Maria in Cosmedin,” p. 10-11; cf. Krautheimer, Rome: Portrait of a City, p. 78.

239 The portico’s former connection to the Statio Annonae is problematic and no longer satisfactory, see n. 94 in chapter two.

240 Vita Gregorii 2.26; LP 97.54.

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stood in immediate proximity to the Tiber, all of which would have made the facility ideal for the unloading, storage and distribution of foodstuffs.

Should we consider S. Maria in Cosmedin a small distribution facility? Can its dimensions and layout give us any clue as to how many people the facility could have served? Consider the fact that New York’s largest soup kitchen (in terms of volume of meals dispensed), the Church of the Holy Apostles, standing on the corner of Twenty- eighth Street and Ninth Avenue in Manhattan, serves about 1,200 meals a day every

Monday to Friday in a building that runs a mere 27 m (90 ft.) long from the baptismal font at the back of the church to the steps of the altar, where soup kitchen attendants set up the food service area. The main sanctuary has no pews because the facility’s diners both receive and eat their food therein. Guests arrive at the church at mealtimes with lines typically forming outside the building. After receiving their meals at the church’s altar, they sit at round tables with metal chairs placed throughout the sanctuary area.241 If we cut the Church of the Holy Apostles number of meals (1,200) in half to compensate for S.

Maria in Cosmedin’s smaller size and in half again because modern conveniences almost certainly would make the job of preparing and serving meals more streamlined, could we plausibly speculate that S. Maria in Cosmedin could serve 300 meals a day? Even if we cannot pin down a firm number of persons (or meals) served, perhaps we can envision a distribution scenario in which, like at the Church of the Holy Apostles, S. Maria in

Cosmedin’s guests lined up down in the center of the main room (and perhaps out onto the street) and, having received their meals, retired to the side rooms to consume them.

241 See Ian Frazier, “Hungry Minds: Tales from a Chelsea Soup Kitchen,” in The New Yorker, , 2008. Accessed at http://holyapostlessoupkitchen.wordpress.com/2012/02/22/hungry-minds-tales- from-a-chelsea-soup-kitchen-by-ian-frazier/ (Nov. 26, 2012). For additional information about the soup kitchen’s activities, see http://www.holyapostlessoupkitchen.org/.

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At S. Maria in Via Lata, a fresco (“The Prayer of in the ”) from room

3 is widely believed to be late sixth-century, even if the diaconia was not fully operational until the middle seventh.242 Most scholars now agree, however, that the facility was built within a commercial porticus of some sort (c. 10 m. high); it contained a large central gallery (to which the diaconia architects added an apse), extensive storage space, and six adjoining rooms.243 Even if the remains beneath the present-day church represent a “very odd arrangement” to have ever served as an imperial granary or distribution center, there certainly existed on the site a large commercial building with a portico, which was later partitioned into smaller rooms.244 Although the layout of S.

Maria in Via Lata was not precisely the same as that of S. Maria in Cosmedin, we still find the Church appropriating a former portico and commercial building, which bore a central hall surrounded by rooms that could have served for dining or storage.

Whatever the original function of the building that became S. Maria in Via Lata, we can say with confidence that at least one early diaconia had a definitive physical connection to an important imperial grain-storage and commercial facility, S. Teodoro,

242 See Roberta Pardi, La Diaconia in S. Maria in Via Lata (Roma: Istituto Poligrafico e Zecca dello Stato, 2006), ad loc. p. 25. Although the first mention of S. Maria in Via Lata as a diaconia comes not until c. 800, Krautheimer, in CBCR, vol II, “S. Maria in Via Lata,” pp. 76-79, also thought it existed as such earlier based on the frescoes from the subterranean rooms that he dates to the early seventh century “or somewhat earlier.” Coarelli supports the fifth-century Christianization of the building (meaning at least the building of a Christian chapel within it) in Rome and Environs: An Archaeological Guide, p. 255

243 Niederer argued for the definitive identification of the building as a former granary. See her “Pagan Monuments Converted to Christian Use: The Roman ‘Diaconiae’” in Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, vol. 12, no. 3 (1953): 3-6.; See Roberta Pardi , who does not support the identification with the Porticus Minucia Frumentaria, La Diaconia in S. Maria in Via Lata.

244 At S. Maria in Via Lata the portico was not, strictly speaking, part of the diaconia (see Figure 2) as at S. Maria in Cosmedin, although it was certainly part of the building’s entryway. Krautheimer, Corpus Basilicarum Christianarum Romae, vol. II, pt. 3, “S. Maria in Via Lata,” p. 76-79. On the “odd arrangement” of the building beneath S. Maria in Via Lata, see Rickman, “Porticus Minucia,” in Città e architettura nella Roma imperiale, p. 106.

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on the western slope of the Palatine, built atop a portion of the ruins of the Horrea

Agrippiana. S. Teodoro retains a brick arch and a heavily restored apse that, in

Krautheimer’s assessment, pointed to a late sixth-century foundation, with recent excavations uncovering structures underneath the church that may be some two centuries older.245 Nevertheless, S. Teodoro is first attested as a diaconia in the LP biography of

Leo III (795-816 CE).246 The majority of the ruins of the Horrea Agrippiana sit directly in between S. Teodoro and S. Maria Antiqua and it is plausible that both facilities could have utilized the old warehouses for storage or even distributions, since the original building was more than a mere holding facility. It was two storeys, contained porticoes and arcades and was ready built for commercial activities of all kinds. Evidence of renovation of the horrea—especially to the courtyards, which were mostly chopped up into smaller rooms—after the area fell under Church control may suggest adjustments by the Church to meet distribution needs.247 To provide some orientation, two other early diaconiae stood nearby: S. Giorgio in Velabro and S. Maria in Cosmedin. S. Giorgio in

Velabro stands roughly halfway between S. Maria in Cosmedin (to the south) and S.

Teodoro (to the north), in the shadow of the arch of Janus Quadrifons, the god who served as protector of the large commercial zone in which was combined the Forum

Boarium and Forum Holitorium. 248 All four of these facilities (S. Maria Antiqua, S.

245 See Coarelli, Rome and Environs: An Archaeological Guide, p. 78; cf. Krautheimer, Corpus Basilicarum Christianarum Romae, vol. 4, pp. 279-288.

246 LP 98.45.

247 Niederer, Roman Diaconiae, p. 130; Coarelli, Rome and Environs, p. 78.

248 Gregory of Tours’ account of the Tiber flood of 589 (History of the Franks 10.1) supports the idea that these three were the Church’s main granaries in the late sixth century. Their close proximity to the

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Teodoro, S. Maria in Cosmedin, S. Giorgio in Velabro) stood a mere 400 meters apart from one another.249

The diaconia of S. Maria Antiqua, sitting on the northwest edge of the Palatine

Hill looking out on the Roman Forum, sits adjacent to a great rectangular hall measuring

32.5 x 23.5 meters (c. 107 x 77 ft.) with three entrances (as at S. Maria in Cosmedin), surrounded by a quadraporticus.250 These entrances, which provided communication between the great hall and the outer corridor, were cut through sometime after the building came under the Church’s control and, once again, may give us some insight into how distributions at the diaconia took place.251 The dimensions of S. Maria Antiqua’s great hall make it a little more than twice the size of S. Maria in Cosmedin’s main room

(and larger than our present-day example, New York’s Church of the Holy Apostles).252

In little more than a hundred years after Gregory’s death, S. Maria Antiqua had become so central to papal affairs at Rome that John VII (r. 705-707) spent lavishly not only to

“adorn” the facility, but to build a papal residence above it.253 S. Maria Antiqua’s diaconia is later celebrated frequently not only as a food distribution center, perhaps the most important in the early medieval city, but as hospice (hospitalia) for sick persons and the frequent recipient of donations from laymen and popes alike.254 Much of the church’s

Tiber would have contributed to the amount of damage done to the buildings and grain lost; cf. LP I, 65.1 (Pelagius II).

249 See Figure 6.

250 Niederer, Roman Diaconiae, p. 82; Coarelli, Rome and Environs, p. 77.

251 Rushforth, “The Church of S. Maria Antiqua,” in PBSR, p. 95.

252 See discussion at n. 232 in chapter two above.

253 LP 88.2

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effort found its focus in the complex’s great rectangular hall, which alone is almost the size of Radio City Music Hall’s auditorium, a room that holds some 6,000 seated persons.255 If we accept the fact that the Church sought not only to provide meals, but sheltered dining areas for guests of the diaconiae, the great hall becomes an extremely important feature of the complex. We could surmise that rations could have been handed out in the building’s portico and that recipients could then pass through one of the entryways to enjoy their meals in the shelter of the great hall. Another scenario, based on the building’s known later function as a hospice, is that the quadraporticus could have served mostly for take-away food distribution (albeit with some sheltered dining under the portico itself) and that the great hall housed the sick. It would have been able to accomodate many persons, laid in tightly-spaced beds or mats on the floor.

As discussed above, Hadrian I made use of bath facilities for his distributions.256

It is interesting that Gregory himself was a proponent of baths as a therapeutic, bodily necessity—as opposed to the more common, classical understanding of bathing as a social and recreational past-time. In a letter of 602, Gregory chastised some in Rome who were teaching that individuals should refrain from bathing on the Lord’s Day. Gregory

254 The diaconia of S. Maria Antiqua is mentioned four times as the recipient of donations in the papacy of Leo III alone (r. 795-816), see LP 98. David Knipp argues that the hospice capitalized on the presence, on site, of an ancient healing shrine (most likely to Roman deity Juturna). The Lacus Iuturnae, a healing well, rested on part of the site where S. Maria Antiqua was later built. Knipp thinks the basilica’s “Chapel of ,” depicting various eastern saints holding surgeon’s boxes and medical paraphernalia is a kind of continuity with the ancient healing shrine. See D. Knipp, “The Chapel of Physicians at Santa Maria Antiqua”, Pp. 2-23. Dumbarton Oaks Papers, no. 56:2002.

255 S. Maria Antiqua’s great hall again is 32.5 by 23.5 meters, while Radio City Music Hall’s auditorium measures approximately 48.8 by 30.5 meters. See http://www.radiocity.com/about/history.html.

256 For what follows, see the discussion and notes, c. n. 206 in chapter two.

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argued that bathing was “essential to the needs of the body” (pro necessitate corporis) and, therefore, should not be prohibited.257

As to bathing and ecclesiastical food relief, it would seem that even those distributions that are explicitly mentioned as taking place in the Lateran portico (in the

LP) appear connected to Hadrian’s reconstruction of the Claudian aqueduct that supplied water to the Lateran baths. Bath complexes, if functional (and this fact, of course, is very difficult to determine decisively for specific early medieval bath complexes, the Lateran complex, perhaps, being an exception), could have served as both shelter for recipients of the Church’s dole and provided the opportunity for washing.258 Baths are specifically mentioned as being used in the distributions that took place at S. Adriano and SS. Cosma and Damiano, both in or near the Roman Forum. Leo III built large dining facilities near known distribution sites at the Lateran patriarchate and S. Peter’s, perhaps to replace the baths used in these distributions. If we remove S. Adriano and SS. Cosma and Damiano from the equation, that leaves seven known diaconiae around the emporium district along the Tiber in reigns of Hadrian and Leo III ( so, collectively, 772-816): S. Angelo, S.

Giorgio in Velabro, S. Lucia in Septem Vias, S. Maria Antiqua, S. Maria in Cosmedin,

SS. Sergio and Bacco and S. Teodoro. And yet, no dining halls are being built nor baths restored in the immediate vicinity by Hadrian or Leo. A logical explanation is that this is because a large space already existed to support the distribution efforts of the above-

257 See Register 13.1 and Paulo Squatriti, who argues that Gregory was one of the earliest proponents of bathing as a therapeutic practice, although we have seen Caesarius of Arles discuss the therapeutic nature of baths earlier in the sixth century (at n. 232). See his Squatriti’s Water and Society in Early Medieval Italy, p. 54.

258 The papal restoration of the Claudian aqueduct is compelling enough for Squatriti and others to suggest that the Lateran baths along with others connected to early medieval diaconie were, in fact, in working order. See Squatriti, Water and Society, p. 46 and n. 7.

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mentioned diaconiae, most of which were a short walk from one another. That space might well have been S. Maria Antiqua’s great hall. Just as Hadrian’s recipients received their rations at the portico of the Lateran patriarchate and then retired to the baths to enjoy them along with a bit of shelter and, perhaps, fresh water for bathing, one can imagine a recipient receiving his or her dole in the loggia of S. Maria in Cosmedin or, around the corner and beyond the arch of Janus Quadrafons, in a portico of S. Giorgio in

Velabro and making a short walk up to the cusp of the Palatine, where they could sit and enjoy their rations in S. Maria Antiqua’s great hall.

Although, once again, we cannot definitively link the facility to Gregory, archaeological evidence points strongly to the middle to late sixth-century as the moment of S. Maria Antiqua’s conversion from a public building of some import to a Christian church. For example, the church bema (or speaker’s platform) rests on marble and mosaic, the style and use of which closely the mosaic work that existed at

Pelagius II’s church of S. Lorenzo f.l.m. 259 In addition, Krautheimer reports that below a column erected when the quadriporticus was refashioned into a church were found coins of Justin II (r. 565-578), which suggests a terminus post quem of 565.260 The building starts being called “antiqua” as early as 640, which has been used to suggest (sic,

Krautheimer) that the church was the oldest sanctuary of the in Rome (older even that S. Maria Maggiore, begun by Sixtus III, b/t 432-440, completed by Leo I, r. 440-

461), but Rushforth argued convincingly that merely applying the epithet “old” to a building, which, of course, is entirely relative, does not necessarily make that same

259 Krautheimer, Corpus Basilicarum Christianarum Romae, p. 264.

260 Ibid.

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building the oldest foundation equated with a particular eponymous patron and, thus, speculating on the significance of antiqua likely brings us to a dead end.261 We can say that the first painting layer reveals Rome’s earliest depictions of the Maria Regina and that these frescoes probably date until around c. 550-560.262 Rushforth placed the church’s earliest dated object (an inscribed marble slab associated with the grave monument of one Amantius) at c. 572.263 The collective evidence at least points to one near certainty; the building existed as a church during Gregory’s pontificate.

Looking back southeastward from S. Maria Antiqua, in the very shadow of Janus

Quadrifons, sat S. Giorgio in Velabro, where remains of a large courtyard encircled by shops again suggests a facility with built-in accountrements that would have served the

Church’s distribution requirements.264 Once again, a large central area, where provisions could have been dispensed, is surrounded by small rooms that could have served the dual purpose of dining and storage. As to the age of the diaconia of S. Giorgio, not even

Krautheimer is willing to offer a firm date for its foundation, even if the present basilica is more or less the work of Pope Gregory IV (r. 827-844 CE) in the ninth-century.265

Coates-Stephens thinks the church—and by extension the diaconia—“certainly” existed before Zacharias (r. 741-752), but will speculate no further based on the very few

“secure” references to S. Giorgio in Velabro before the later seventh century, specifically

261 The that ultimately came to rest at S. Maria Nova. See Krautheimer, Corpus Basilicarum Christianarum Romae, pp. 264-265. Also, G. McN. Rushforth, “The Church of S. Maria Antiqua” in Papers of the British School at Rome, Vol. 1, No. 1 (1902): 1-119, ad loc. pp. 5-6.

262 Krautheimer, CBCR, p. 263.

263 Rushforth, “The Church of S. Maria Antiqua,” in PBSR, p. 108.

264 Coarelli, Rome and Environs, p. 78.

265 Krautheimer’s findings at S. Giorgio (CBCR, 1, pp. 263-264) have been more recently confirmed by R. Coates-Stephens, “Dark Age Architecture in Rome,” p. 185.

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the bishopric of Leo II (r. 682-683).266 What we can say is that the Itinerarium

Salisburgesne, the account of a German pilgrim visiting the of Rome in the reign of Honorius I (r. 625-638), reveals the existence of a basilica of S. Giorgio on the site

(likely somewhat smaller than its later incarnation)267 and, when the of St. George were transferred to the site in the mid-eighth century (c. 741-752), there was already a diaconia there.268

Now that we have examined, in at least some detail, the layout of early diaconiae,

I think we must consider their locations, beginning with the area around the Forum

Boarium, where we seem to have something like an early diaconia district with S. Maria

Antiqua, S. Teodoro, S. Giorgio in Velabro and S. Maria in Cosmedin. The question of why the church needed four diaconiae in such close proximity has not been answered satisfactorily, save for the supposition that the area between the Tiber river and the westernmost edge of the Palatine remained an important center of commercial activity into late antiquity and that large grain shipments could have been easily transported from the Tiber docks to the warehouses on and at the foot of the Palatine.269 Indeed, the main entrance of S. Maria in Cosmedin—probably the earliest of the diaconiae and perhaps the only designated ecclesiastical distribution facility to have preceded Gregory’s pontificate—would have stood only c. 100 meters (c. 330 ft.) from the banks of the

266 Coates-Stephens, “Dark Age Architecture,” p. 184 and LP 82.

267 The last chapter of which is preserved in the De Locis Sanctis Martyrum Quae Sunt Foris Romae in Codice Topografico della Città di Roma, volume secondo, edited by R. Valentini and G. Zucchetti (Rome: Tipografia del Senato, 1942) ad loc. 118; cf. See De Rossi, Roma sotterranea, I, p. 143.

268 LP 93 (“Zacharias”).

269 T. Magnuson, The Urban Transformation of Medieval Rome: 312-1420 (Jonsered: Paul Aströms Förlag, 2004) pp. 71-72; cf. Frances Niederer in “Early Medieval Charity,” in , vol. 21, no. 4 (1952) 285-29, ad loc. 286-287 & 289. On S. Maria in Cosmedin’s proximity to the river, see Coarelli, Rome and Environs, p. 317 (fig. 85).

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Tiber.270 If proximity to the river was a significant factor in the location of such a facility, the early church had no better choice for locating a diaconia than S. Maria in Cosmedin.

S. Maria in Via Lata appears far from the beaten path, at least when compared to the very nearly adjacent facilities mentioned above. The diaconia, however, sat right on a major ancient thoroughfare (the Via Lata/Flaminia or the present-day Via Del Corso) in the shadow of ’s Arcus Novus (303-304 CE)—and here we must consider not only commercial but pilgrim traffic—and was ideal for the Church’s purposes.271 S.

Maria in Via Lata also stood close to the probable hub of early imperial grain distribution, the Porticus Minucia Frumentaria, which was roughly 350 meters to the southwest, toward the Tiber. If the praefectus urbi, Anicius Faustus, restored the Porticus

Minucia Frumentaria to a Christianized version of its original function in the fifth century, after which it became the xenodochium Aniciorum, this facility’s importance to the ecclesiastical distributions may have loomed very large indeed.272

As much as accessibility along a key transportation route or proximity to the xenodochium Aniciorum may have played into the Church’s rationale for locating a diaconia on the Via Lata, a late antique population shift to the area may have been a contributing factor as well. As Robert Coates-Stephens has noted, the area of the Via

Lata, became an important population center from the sixth century on. Even in a period

270 See Niederer, The Roman Diaconiae, p. 98.

271 See location of the Arcus Novus along the Via Lata in Figure 3.

272 Although Faustus’ facility would not have taken up the entire property of the former Porticus Minucia Frumentaria. The praefectus urbi, Anicius Acilius Glabrio Faustus, is identified by an inscription (CIL 6, 1676; cf. IGUR 69 for Faustus as xenodochos) that records the prefect’s restoration of the building. Anicius restored the building in the wake of some disaster, speculated to have been perhaps and earthquake or the sack of Rome by Alaric in 410. See R. Santangeli Valenzani in "Pellegrini, senatori e papi: Gli xenodochia a Roma tra V e IX secolo," Rivista dell'Istituto nazionale d'archeologia e storia dell'arte 19-20 (1996-1997): 203-226, ad loc. pp. 205-208. Supported “provisionally” by Manacorda in “Archaeology and History of an Urban Landscape,” in Crypta Balbi, p. 20.

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wherein evidence of residential habitation is meager indeed, finds along the Via Lata of animal bones and amphorae associated with lower-floor tabernae suggest the presence of large insulae. Coates-Stephens presumes that residents of the Via Lata holed up in these sizable apartment-type structures (Rome’s largest holding 380 people) during the flood of late 791, when waters rose to some ten feet or higher.273

Moreover, the neighborhoods of the Via Lata held a significant number of houses owned by the families of eighth and ninth-century bishops of Rome, or the bishops themselves, including Stephen II, Paul I, Hadrian I, Valentine and Stephen V.274 Paul I

(757-767) lived just off the Via Lata (less than half a mile northwest of S. Maria in Via

Lata) in a house he converted into the monastery, and later, basilica of S. Silvestro in

Capite; and Hadrian I is said to have hailed “from the region of the Via Lata” as well.275

What Paul I did at S. Silvestro or Gregory I with his mansion on the Caelian for that matter, appears as a commonplace of Rome’s Christianization in late antiquity, as private houses or estates became ecclesiastical buildings.276 Around the Via Lata, however, the trend may have been even more pronounced if only because elite residences were more common there. Further, it certainly included at least one high-profile “public” building, the nearby Pantheon, converted by Boniface IV (r. 608-615) into the Church of S. Maria

273 So says R. Coates-Stephens, see “Housing in Early Medieval Rome, 500-1000 AD,” in Papers of the British School at Rome, vol. 64 (1996): 239-259, ad loc. 247, leaning on the excavations of Quilici at San Paolo all Regola (1986-7:407-409).

274 Based on the evidence of the Liber Pontificalis. See Coates-Stephens, “Housing in Early Medieval Rome,” p. 239 and n. 2.

275 LP 95.5 (Paul I) and LP 97.1 (Hadrian).

276 As R. Santangeli Valenzani has pointed out, this represents something of a reversal of the long- held notion that “the transformation from private to public utilization came to a standstill” in late antiquity, when, in fact, many private houses were being transformed into ecclesiastical centers of some kind, some of them quite public. See his "Public and Private Space in Rome during Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages,” Fragmenta 1 (2007): 63-81, ad loc. pp. 65 and 67.

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ad Martyres in 609 (a mere five years after Gregory’s death). The conversion of one of the most significant ceremonial and architectural fixtures of the city (the emperor Hadrian apparently held court there) suggests the increasing importance of the area for the Roman

Church, perhaps even before it became a residential hotbed of ecclesiastical elites.277 In sum, in the case of S. Maria in Via Lata—following the argument of Coates-Stephens— we have a diaconia placed in a functional, accessible commercial building (possibly a granary) on a major transportation artery, just around the corner from one of imperial

Rome’s greatest monuments (a church as of 609), in an area that, from the sixth century forward, was an important population center and one that would, at least by the early eighth century if not before, have significant connections to the families of popes. One could even speculate that the decision in the late sixth century to place an ecclesiastical distribution center in the area led to the Via Lata’s heightened population profile very soon thereafter, but, unfortunately, we can go no futher.

The above buildings may have played a significant part in the Roman Church’s food distribution program by the end of Gregory’s reign in 604, but even if Gregory did not establish a single one of them, they, nevertheless, reveal hints about the infrastructure that he possessed during what appears to have been a substantial expansion of relief efforts at Rome. This expansion was more than some sublime inititative. Gregory’s distribution effort, like Basil’s in 368 or Gelasius’ in 463, was a practical response to crisis.

277 The Pantheon’s identification as a temple is not certain and, in fact, the only definitive evidence of its use is Cassius Dio’s (69.7.1) reference to Hadrian’s holding court there.

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Rome’s ‘Dark Age’ and Her Bishop’s Response

Beginning with the terrible conjunction of Tiber floods and recurrence of plague in 589-590, famine too often became the reality at Rome through at least the reign of

Boniface IV (r. 608-615). Food shortage can certainly be inferred from the LP’s account of the disastrous events that led Pelagius II (r. 579-590) to “make his own house into an almshouse (ptochium) for the aged poor.”278 Famine is mentioned explicitly in the biographies of Sabinian279 and Boniface IV.280 Sabinian (r. 604-606), Gregory’s immediate successor, is chastened for his handling of food distribution at Rome in three different contemporary sources.281 Gregory’s own LP biography is notoriously brief, but it is notable still that there is no mention of food shortage therein, even though his letters show him consistently on edge about Rome’s food rations running out.282

I have speculated above about how distributions might have been carried out at early diaconiae. I have also suggested that, for a time, Gregory was likely managing a city-wide distribution network that conducted larger scale distributions in addition to smaller, more targeted poor relief. It is hard to imagine large-scale distributions being carried out at any of the buildings we have discussed, S. Maria Antiqua, with its large hall and exterior portico, being the possible exception. We should consider again the

278 LP 65.2 (Pelagius)

279 LP 67.1 (Sabinian)

280 LP 69.1 (Boniface)

281 LP 67.1, Anonymous Monk of Whitby, Vita Gregorii 28 and Paul the Deacon, Vita S. Gregorii 29.

282 LP 66.1

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evidence of John the Deacon. The closest thing to a description of an apparently large scale distribution comes from his Vita Gregorii:

On the first day of every month, he distributed to the poor (pauperibus) that part of the Church revenues which was reserved for them. Thus, grain in its season, and, in their appropriate times, wine, cheese, vegetables, bacon, meat, fish, and oil were most carefully doled out by the head of the Lord’s household (paterfamilias Domini). But he offered pigments and other more delicate commercial items to citizens of rank (primoribus) as a mark of respect. So the Church came to be regarded as the storehouse (horrea) of the whole community.283 It is interesting that John specifies the day, the first of every month, as the day Gregory made distributions and not only to the pauperibus, but to primoribus. As with the imperial distributions that took place at Porticus Minucia, a given day was appointed on which ecclesiastical distributions occur.284 The population of Rome in the 590s would have, even at its highest estimates, been less the half the number of annona recipients during the high empire. Still, the distributions would have required a substantial ecclesiastical bureaucracy. John the Deacon gives us some sense of the workforce

Gregory needed to feed the city. These once-a-month distributions reported by John do not quite square with the weekly distribution reported in Hadrian’s time; we might speculate a larger monthly distribution at the Lateran overseen by Gregory himself was supplemented by smaller distributions at relief centers around the city and individual acts of charity by Gregory and his agents.285 Another passage of John’s might suggest such an arrangement. John says Gregory made a ceremony of supplying officials with necessary funds to support the city on four occasions each year, three times on festival days, , the Festival of the Apostles (June 29), the Festival of St. Andrew (November 30) and

283 Vita, 2.26

284 See above at n. 87 in chapter two.

285 For Hadrian’s distributions, LP 97.66.

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once on the anniversary of his accession (September 3). To do this, Gregory called together “the officials of the Church, the palace, the monasteries, the lesser churches, the cemeteries, the diaconiae and the xenodochia both within and outside the walls of

Rome.”286 The passage shows the Roman Church mustering every available manpower resource, however loosely or closely affiliated with the Bishop of Rome to carry out the ecclesiastical distributions. It is difficult to know quite what to make of John’s mention of

“palace (palatinus) officials”, but it could point to the presence of members of the

Byzantine government, living on the , who participated, albeit under

Gregory’s authority. These allocations on festival days apparently were held to supply the various Church officers and diaconiae with the resources they needed to conduct distributions. The fact that Gregory made a celebration of disseminating the Church’s provisions again suggests that he was keenly aware of his role not only as pope, but as paterfamilias, the provider, protector and celebrant of the Roman people.

In distributing the resources of the Church in this manner, Gregory is said to have followed the ledger of Gelasius (ex Gelasiano polyptyco), the “lover of the poor,” who

“saved the city from famine.”287 Gelasius seems to have taken great strides toward organizing a relief model that could support a city the size of Rome and, as discussed above, he most likely fixed the eventually canonical notion that the one-quarter of all church revenues belonged by right to the poor.288 Based on John’s account one gets the

286 Vita, 2.24.

287Liber Pontificalis 51.1. Noted by Frances Niederer in “Early Medieval Charity.”

288 Simplicius (r. 468-483 CE) again was the first pope to issue and toward this end. Decretum Gratiani, c. 27 and 28, Spearing, The Patrimony of the Roman Church, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1918), p.120.

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impression that, Gregory, who is called “a most careful follower” of Gelasius, may have returned to Gelasius’ model where other Roman bishops had abandoned or at least had not strictly followed it. Whether this means that Gregory was the first to firmly enforce

Gelasius’ one-fourth policy,289 whether there was some wider distribution framework under Gelasius that Gregory adopted or whether the two men are simply linked because they both managed to provision the city under exceedingly difficult circumstances, we cannot say with certainty. What is clear, however, is that John describes a process whereby Gregory distributed Church revenues on a quarterly basis at festivals, celebratory occasions wherein we might imagine Church-sponsored banquets as well, perhaps at facilities like S. Maria Antiqua’s great hall. Funds were distributed to officials from virtually every clerical, monastic and civic foundation in the city, all of whom participated in the distributions in some fashion.

It seems that Gregory kept lists as well, like the imperial government before him, although he clearly did not limit his charity to those whose names appeared on them.

John writes:

There exists to this day in the most holy archives of the , a very large paper volume, compiled in the times of our subject, in which the names of all persons of either sex, of all ages and professions, both at Rome and in the suburbs, in the neighboring towns and even in the distant cities on the coast, are set down, together with details concerning their family names, their ages, and the payments they received.290

289 John’s “he distributed to the poor that part of the Church revenues which was reserved for them (Vita 2.26)” suggests that there was a specific allocation of Church revenues that was, under Gregory, given to the poor.

290 Vita, 2.30 reads: “Exstat usque hodie in sacratissimo Laternensis palatii scrinio huis confectum temporibus charachteum praegrande volumen, in quo communis sexus cunctarum aetatum ac professionum nomina tam Romae quam per suburban civitatesve vicinas, nec non longinquas maritimas urbes degentium, cum suis cognominibus, temporibus, et remunerationibus expressius continentur.”

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We can assume that these “payments” included all kinds of things, not just food, but perhaps money, clothing and other necessities. For example, Gregory subsidized 3,000 nuns in the city of Rome not only with monies and food rations, but bed linens, an apparently common donation.291 We can assume that the ledger to which John refers contained information about precisely what and how much was to be distributed to certain individuals. Gregory was often very specific with his lieutenants about the amount of his distributions as he was with the subdeacon Peter, early in his pontificate, in 591.

Gregory instructed Peter to allocate annually to one, Filimuth, the son of a vir dignissimus, recently gone blind, “24 modii of grain, 12 modii of beans and 20 casks of wine.”292 Once again using Keith Hopkins’ consumption model, 24 modii of grain alone could sustain Filimuth for about 8 months, when the beans—which provided more calories and protein than grain and supplied amino acids and vitamin A, missing from grain altogether—and wine are added, Gregory’s allocation to Filimuth roughly approaches, or even exceeds, the per-recipient allocation of the Imperial annona.293 The example in question is clearly a yearly allocation for one person and may or may not have been connected to Gregory’s larger city-wide relief effort. It is certainly possible that

Gregory had food delivered to Filimuth because his blindness made him unable to show up physically at a Church center and receive his allotted portion, but this is to speculate.

Is it possible that Gregory could have distributed that much to everyone in Rome, even everyone in his ledger—which most likely comprised individuals with special

291 Gregory, Register, 7.23; cf. 11.2 and John the Deacon, Vita 2.27.

292 Gregory, Register, 1.44.

293 For Hopkins’ consumption model at n. 272. On nutritional values of grain vs. legumes, see Garnsey, Cities, Peasants and Food in Classical Antiquity, pp. 239-243.

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circumstances, like Filimuth—based on the ever-straightened circumstances of the

Church’s grain stores? It is unlikely. But this incident and others like it reveal not only

Gregory engaging again and again in collective and individual acts of charity, but the well-organized support network, here represented by the frequently-called-upon Peter, that carried them out.

We simply do not have reliable evidence as to the whether there existed a precise city-wide method of distribution or amount distributed as had existed earlier with the imperial annona and later with Hadrian I. Gregory’s letters show his tendency to act on a case-by-case basis and John’s account—Gregory treated paupers and persons of rank in a different way or possessed a ledger with detailed information about who was to receive what—points in the same direction.294 Along those same lines, John writes that Gregory:

. . . Every day sent out cooked provisions (cocta stipendia) by couriers appointed to the office to the sick and infirm throughout the streets and the various districts of the city. To those of higher rank, who were ashamed to beg, he sent food from his own table, to be delivered at their doors as a gift of St. Peter ….295 It would seem impossible that distributions could be delivered to all recipients. As such,

John’s reference to the “sick and infirm” must indicate that these individuals, like

Filimuth, were unable to go and physically claim their allocations and Gregory similarly made special arrangements for them; the use of the term stipendia certainly seems to suggest that what is here being received was part of their ration. But John says that these deliveries occurred quotidianus (“every day”) and not only on the first day of the month,

294 Vita, 2.26.

295 Vita, 2.28 reads: “Quotidianis quibusque diebus per omnium regionum vicos vel compita, infirmis seu qualibet corporis parte debilibus cocta stpendia per constitutos veredarios emittebat. Verecundioribus vero, antequam ipse cibum caperet, a mesa sua benedictionis apostolicae ostiatim diregere curabat scutellam ….”

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as he seems to claim earlier.296 Once again, we might imagine a relatively uniform ration distributed once a month, which was then supplemented throughout the remainder of the month on a case-by-case basis. The distribution of monies (solidi), as opposed to food, four times a year to various officers of diaconiae, xenodochia, churches, monasteries and the like, also would argue that Gregory must have conceded some oversight to individual regions of the city and the officers who ran those regions, his defensores perhaps, who managed distributions in their districts and better understood the individual needs of their communities. They reported directly to Gregory, at least until the appointment of John as a kind of supreme defensor in 600.297 If then there existed a normalized distribution of rations, say, on the first day of every month, how did it occur and where did this process take place?

In Hadrian’s time (i.e., later eighth century), distributions made use of porticoes and baths. Even earlier evidence shows the Church utilizing porticoes, granaries, courtyards and other commercial facilities as distribution centers. These buildings were often situated along the Tiber in Rome’s central commercial zone (the Forum Boarium) or on major thoroughfares with easy access by river or road to foodstuffs. In Gerasa, in

Transjordan, the ruins of a large building with two four-hundred year old propylaea, later transformed into a basilica, situated in the heart of the city’s market area and along the river, became a diaconia around 565, indicated by a mosaic inscription bearing the term

“diaconia.”298 On the side facing Jabbok River (as S. Maria in Cosmedin would have

296 Vita, 2.26.

297 Gregory, Register, 11.17

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faced the Tiber), the basilica opens onto the street and into a trapezoidal propylaeum, from whence we might imagine rations both arriving via the river docks, to be stored in the buildings many chambers, and dispensed to applicants under the imposing porticoes.

As Gerasa, then, we see another building converted by the Church from its previous use, in this case, the monumental gateway from the river to Gerasa’s central market area. If S.

Maria in Cosmedin’s portico was also a monumental gateway (as Fusciello has suggested), its layout is almost exactly equivalent to the building at Gerasa.299 The

Gerasa diaconia’s location near the river, on a main thoroughfare in a bustling commercial zone made it an ideal candidate for the diaconia that came to exist there. The same can be said for the buildings that were Rome’s earliest diaconiae.

It is not a stretch to imagine that, in Gregory’s pontificate, at buildings similar in style and location to the Gerasa diaconia, in a method similar to Hadrian’s relief program, relatively small-scale daily distributions could have taken place in various locations around Rome with monthly large-scale distributions occurring at centralized locations that could handle volume, both of persons and foodstuffs. S. Maria Antiqua, which could have acted as distribution center, soup kitchen and even hospital, based on its great hall and portico, may have fit the bill. The smaller and nearby S. Maria in

Cosmedin had direct river access and moderately-sized distribution facility, while S.

Teodoro and S. Giorgio in Velabro had immediate access to large grain stores. All of the above could have handled overflow from large scale distributions (say at S. Maria

298 On the building, see Frances Niederer, “Early Medieval Charity”, p. 286; For the mosaic inscription, see C.H. Kraeling, Gerasa, City of the (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1938), plate XXXV.

299 G. Fusciello, “La piazza del Foro Boario e gli edifice romani nell’area di S. Maria in Cosmedin,” in Palladio, 14, 28; pp. 5-22

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Antiqua’s portico or within her great hall) or smaller daily distributions. The Lateran had size, but not the same storage capacity, which may answer the question of why, even in the eighth century, distributions there were handed out to a more limited number of persons (i.e. 100 a day). The Church did possess one sizable building that we can definitively connect to Gregory’s reign and, most would now agree, to the imperial distributions. The building would have had no difficulty accommodating large numbers of persons or the large-scale distributions that John describes, even if it did not the size of its earlier imperial incarnation. It was not called a diaconia, but a xenodochium.

The xenodochium Aniciorum, in the Campus Martius, very near the Baths of Agrippa, a facility now “provisionally” believed to have been built in the remains of the Porticus

Minucia Frumentaria, would have marked the ultimate ecclesiastical appropriation of a former imperial, commercial space.300 To this discussion, I shall return below. The remaining buildings discussed above, the early diaconiae, appear to have been formerly employed, in one respect or another, either by the imperial government or commercial entities (as marketplaces, etc.) and were, therefore, uniquely set up to meet ecclesiastical requirements for food storage and distribution. These buildings were appropriated, restructured and funded by the accumulated revenues of the Church to serve the same purpose in a period of dire need by a man who called those revenues, the very patrimony of St. Peter, the “treasury of the poor.”301 But in Gregory’s Rome, want, if not outright poverty, touched virtually everyone. As both Gregory’s letters and John’s biography frequently remind us, that certainly included former aristocrats, persons of rank and

300 See n. 259 in chapter two above and Gregory, Register 9.8.

301 Utilitates pauperum or res pauperum; the latter phrase was also used by Gelasius I, see Register 684 (PL 59, 155) and E. Spearing, The Patrimony of the Roman Church p. 114.

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standing, who had lost a great deal if not everything. John tells us that some of “higher rank” were “ashamed to beg”, which means that at least some former aristocrats had been reduced to utter destitution, although many others had no doubt retreated to their estates

(if they still had them) or even to Constantinople.302

Whether or not Gregory ever ran a city-wide distribution effort that included both rich and poor, what seems clear is that, for much of his pontificate, he was forced to manage and protect the city of Rome and that included her grain stores. He was not the first Christian bishop to “save” his city or to step into the shoes (or onto the toes) of a government official in doing so. But Gregory was responding to more than just one disaster and the duration of his time in the leadership vacuum was considerably longer than either Basil’s or Gelasius’. This fact led him to reorganize and expand the Church’s existing system of poor relief and to concretize Gelasius’ notion that S. Peter’s “property” belonged by right to the poor. In doing this, Gregory institutionalized a practice that had been, from Christianity’s first century, a much-promoted ideal, applied in a mostly ad hoc manner that, regardless, gave hope and sustenance to many. I am not suggesting that

Gregory effectively ended the longstanding problem of Roman poverty, even temporarily, but he seems to have gone further than anyone before him (including Roman emperors) in truly ameliorating the needs of the urban poor (or at least a significant number of poor persons). If we assume, with Niederer,303 that S. Maria in Cosmedin, was perhaps the only fully operational food distribution center/diaconia in Rome prior to

Gregory’s bishopric—not so far-fetched when we consider that Pelagius II’s decision to

302 John the Deacon, Vita, 2.28.

303 Niederer, The Roman Diaconiae, p. 98.

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transform his own living quarters into a poor house must have been based on real need— we can at least plausibly suggest that the other pre-600 food distribution facilities in

Rome, whatever one chooses to call them at the time, were Gregorian foundations. It is, of course, true that these facilities were, in most cases staffed by monks, often of

Byzantine persuasion, a -section of what Rushforth called a kind of “ of occupation” that descended upon Rome in the sixth and seventh centuries following the Justianic reconquest.304 They were housed within churches that maintained strong ties to the east—S. Maria in Cosmedin is the best, although not the only, example of this.305 This fact, however, cannot rule out Gregory’s role in founding the early, if later-named diaconiae, for not only was he himself a monk, the first monk in fact to attain the papacy, but he too had significant ties to the Greek east by virtue of his service as apocrisarius (a kind of papal “secretary of state”) to Constantinople under Pelagius II.

And, as we have seen, monastic xenodochia and ecclesiastical diaconia maintained a symbiotic relationship in the sixth century to the point where observers hardly understood where one institution ended and the other began. The Church’s earliest designated food distribution centers may not have been yet called diaconiae, because, in practical application, they were really glorified xenodochia with enlarged responsibilities and now under papal oversight. As the following chapter will show, there is no question about the fact that xenodochia so-named were part of Gregory’s Rome. Gregory’s monastic preoccupations made him uniquely qualified to support this existing framework, a notion

304 As Rushforth notes, “Greek inscriptions, Greek costumes, Greek saints meet the eye everywhere” in Rome of the period. See Rushforth’s discussion in “The Church of S. Maria Antiqua” in PBSR, p. 11.

305 On this point see Ferrari, Early Roman Monasteries, pp. 355-361, although he dates their arrival in Rome to the early seventh century, slightly later than I would, ad loc. p. 356.

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that I shall explore further below. For now, we can measure Gregory’s success in provisioning the city by comparison to the unmitigated failure of his immediate successor, Sabinian, who knew perhaps better than anyone how remarkable Gregory’s pontificate had been. To a hungry crowd, one used to Gregory’s efficient charity,

Sabinian shouted, “Gregory might have been able to take care of all the people, but we can no longer sustain you all.”306 Both as pope and paterfamilias, Gregory had set a very high standard indeed.

306 Anonymous Monk of Whitby, Vita Gregorii 28and Paul the Deacon, Vita S. Gregorii 29.

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PART THREE: VITA COMTEMPLATIVA ET VITA ACTIVA: THE APE AND THE LION Behold, my most serene Lordship and emperor has ordered an ape to become a lion. At his command, an ape can certainly be called a lion, but a lion he cannot become.1 Gregory, Register 1.5 He (Gregory) never rested, but was always providing for the needs of his children or writing down some composition worthy of the Church or seeking out the secrets of heaven by the grace of contemplation.2 Paul the Deacon, Vita Gregorii, 15 Chosen to succeed Pelagius II as bishop of Rome, Gregory’s immediate response was sorrow and anxiety. In a letter to his friend, the emperor’s sister, Theoctista, in 590,

Gregory expressed despair at being “driven by a tornado” from the “pinnacle” of contemplation back into “” to a troubled world and a troubled city. He feared that he would not be up to the task: “I am afraid of nothing for myself, yet I greatly fear for the safety of those entrusted to me.”3 He mourned the loss of his vita contemplativa and the new and heavy burden of the vita activa that he was now forced to shoulder.4 Because of Gregory’s large collection of extant letters, we are in a unique position to understand the thought-process behind his actions as pope. Gregory’s thought was deeply influenced

1 Register 1.5 reads: “Ecce serenissimus domnus imperator fieri simiam leonem iussit. Et quidem pro iussione illius vocari leo potest, fieri autem leo non potest.”

2 Paul the Deacon, Vita 15: “….numquam otio indugebat, quin aut filiorum utilitatibus inserviret aut aliquid dignum Ecclesiae scriberet. Aut per contemplationis gratiam coeli secretis interesset.”

3 Register, 1.5.

4 Ibid.

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by monasticism. His relationship to monastic institutions, notably the monastic facilities called xenodochia, loomed large in the final institutionalization of Christian poor relief structures that, at the end of the sixth century had been in existence, in some cases, much earlier. Gregory’s monastic sympathies played out in both institutional and intellectual spheres. His Life of Benedict, written in the early years of his pontificate (593-594), became an instantly important work.5 As one scholar recently argued, Gregory’s treatment of Benedict was every bit as influential in the “creation” of western monasticism as the historical Benedict himself, for Gregory made Benedict “an Italian

Antony, giving the afflicted peninsula and the entire West a superhuman figure whose sanctity could match that of ‘the patriarch of Eastern monks.’”6 Even Gregory’s use of the begging Lazarus as a rhetorical rallying flag can be linked to late antique monks’ common use of the beggar as a holy ideal, perhaps as the very vessel of Christian salvation. The concept was not new in the sixth century, but profound economic distress had transformed even a few rich men into Lazaruses in Gregory’s day, thereby making

Gregory’s analogy more immediate, more urgent and more real. Gregory’s monasticism certainly included a vow of poverty, even though the Benedictine Rule did not.7 Gregory prohibited monks in Italy from owning private property, suggesting that the desire to own private property is “the most telling proof that [one] does not have the heart of a monk.”8

5 Which comprises book two of Gregory’s Dialogues, generally dated to 593-594, see Carol Straw, Gregory the Great: Perfection in Imperfection, p. 67.

6 Andrew J. Ekonomou, Byzantine Rome and the Greek Popes: Eastern Influences on Rome and the Papacy from Gregory the Great to Zacharias, A.D. 590-752, p. 21.

7 See Regula 33, which hedges the issue by essentially placing decisions about monks’ ownership of property and the reception of gifts at the discretion of the abbot.

8 Register 1.40 (Sorrento); Register 12.6 (Ravenna). The quote is from Register 12.6.

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But in Gregory’s Rome, some level of poverty or want touched almost everyone. As we have seen above, the world had created enormous suffering in the years preceding

Gregory’s reign. Gregory had renounced the world. In doing so, he created a powerful with regard to how to care for those people left squarely in it. What is interesting is that the very kind of monasteries (and the brand of monasticism) so critical to the functioning of a socially-engaged institution like the xenodochium was, in many respects, quite different from the fortresses of monastic solitude that Gregory built at St. Andrew’s or Benedict built at .9 From his “pinnacle” of solitary contemplation, his vita contemplativa, Gregory never could have maintained the vast system of public charity that he put in place and nurtured at the end of the anxious sixth century.

Somehow, although with difficulty, Gregory found a way to ameliorate the tensions between his two lives, but even at the height of his vita activa, the vita contemplativa was never far from his mind, as is clear in his relationship to monastic matters, large and small. It is perhaps for this reason that monastic institutions played such a significant role in Gregory’s vision of poor relief.

Like the story of Lazarus, Christian poor relief programs dated back to the New

Testament era and “the collection for the saints” frequently referenced by Paul. The

Roman Church in particular had a long history of helping the poor, culminating in the heroic effort of Gelasius I at the end of the fifth century. Eastern xendochia vigorously supported the poor, promoted by notable Christian personalities like Basil and Gregory

Nazianzus. Gregory I, both monk and bishop of Rome, was forced to address a much

9 An argument recently and cogently advanced by Hendrick Dey in his “Diaconiae, Xenodochia, Hospitalia and Monasteries: ‘Social Security’ and the Meaning of Monasticism in Early Medieval Rome,” in Early Medieval Europe 2008 16 (4) 398-422.

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larger concern, a concern that played to his sensibilities as Roman aristocrat cum Roman official as keeper of the common welfare and his deepest impetus toward monastic servitude. The Imperial distributions had been meant to support the Roman citizenry and, by extension, the long-term health of the Roman state. The annona celebrated Roman greatness by provisioning her citizens with the very spoils of conquest—in the early imperial period, gathered from the most-prized conquered lands of Egypt and North

Africa. When the annona disappeared, the Roman See became, of happenstance, an axis point that represented, all at once, the ideals of a dying Senatorial aristocracy, a long- shifting Christian emphasis on care for the “poor”, the stand-in for an absentee emperor and the care-taker of an Eternal City that had long been forgotten as the capital of

Empire, but must still, of necessity, take its place as the capital of .

Gregory’s efforts, of course, did not match those of the Imperial annona; his relief program perhaps never consistently provisioned the entire population of rich and poor in the city of Rome. It would seem to me, however, that the Roman Church’s creation of a kind of papal annona under Gregory, did more than save Rome; it saved, perhaps

“created,” the papacy as it was later known, that is, the pope as the temporal ruler of

Rome and papal possessions, far and near, in addition to the spiritual and political authority of Europe. As Hendrick Dey writes, the Roman Church’s charitable activity in late antiquity is “surely correctly seen” not only as “an important means by which the

Church came to expand its physical presence in the city,” but the means by which the

Roman See “assume(d) the role of patron and protector of the Roman plebs in matters temporal as well as spiritual.”10 Indeed, without Gregory’s efforts to defend and provide

10 Ibid., p. 399.

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for Rome and her population, the city and her bishop might have been increasingly marginalized or worse. Consider that John the Faster, the bishop of Constantinople (r.

582-595), was freely calling himself “ecumenical patriarch” in a maneuver Gregory thought designed to bring the worldwide Church under the singular control of the

Constantinopolitan See.11 But the moment required the accession of an individual who uniquely possessed the characteristics of two distinct cultural spheres to guide him and an office that provided the foundations, economic and bureaucratic, to support the task at hand. The circumstances of 590 required a man who could be both ape and lion. Despite his protests to the contrary, Gregory, the devoted monk on the one hand, the high-born

Roman public servant on the other, fit the bill.

In a recent article on poverty in the Roman Empire, W.V. Harris writes, “On balance we should probably suppose that, from Constantine’s time onwards, wealthy churches, for instance in Rome itself, provided a serious safety net for the faithful if they were very poor (for non-Christians?).”12 Harris’ statement is a kind of coda on an article that addresses destitution in the high empire (both urban and rural) and touches upon

“counter-measures” that may, or may not have, served to ameliorate it. Picking up, to some extent, where Harris leaves off, Hendrik Dey, in an important article on institutional charity in the early middle ages, writes:

By the end of the seventh century, in the face of the vacuum left by the final disappearance of the annona—which had never been primarily destined for the poorest and most desperate urban dwellers—and more generally by the evaporation of the old senatorial order and the increasing debility of Byzantine

11 See, e.g. Register 5.18.

12 W.V. Harris, “Poverty and Destitution in the Roman Empire,” pp. 27-54. In Rome’s Imperial Economy: Twelve Essays, edited by W.V. Harris. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), p. 53.

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civic administration, the church was definitively established as the leading provider for the needy.13 The aim of the following is three-fold. First, with regard the issues in question, Gregory’s project represents a kind of bridge between the themes addressed in Harris’ article and

Dey’s, that is the scope of destitution in Rome, and the Roman world, and imperial

“counter measures” that may or may not have ameliorated it (Harris’ article) over against the moment, in the early middle ages, when the Church became the supreme institutionalized provider of charity and caretaker of the poor, the sick and travelers at

Rome and beyond (Dey’s). Gregory is the figure who dealt most directly and extensively with the immediate repercussions of the “final disappearance” of the annona, the

“evaporation” of the senatorial aristocracy and the “debility” of Byzantine government in

Italy.14 To that end, the seeds of the very monastic-centric system that Dey unpacks, centered around the medieval hospitale, were sown in Gregory’s time, some of them by

Gregory himself. Dey points to the fact that early (i.e. late-antique) poor relief institutions at Rome were a decentralized “hodgepodge” of sorts, with monastic xenodochia as well as institutions founded by pious Roman nobles and run by laymen

(dispensatores or patres) dominating the Roman landscape.15 At some point, Roman charitable institutions were brought together into a unified system under the direction of the Bishop of Rome.16 I think Gregory played a significant role in this transition. The

13 H. Dey, “Diaconiae, Xenodochia, Hospitalia and Monasteries: ‘Social Security’ and the Meaning of Monasticism in Early Medieval Rome,” 399.

14 He was not the only figure to address some of these issues; consider, e.g., the efforts of Gelasius I at the end of the fifth-century (492-496), although Gregory was forced to deal with some factors (e.g. Lombards, a haphazard Byzantine military presence, the apparent lack of any Senatorial administration of the city) that Gelasius was not.

15 Dey, “Diaconiae, Xenodochia, Hospitalia and Monasteries,” p. 401.

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previous chapter has detailed a large part of Gregory’s charitable initiatives, specifically with regard to the diaconiae. This chapter will seek to understand the monastic side of the equation. Conrad Leyser has argued that, despite his monastic sympathies, Gregory did not enact any uniform or systematic monastic policy and, further, he did little to promote monasticism. Leyser may go too far; he grants, however, that Gregory called for an

“ascetic-understanding of clerical office” and that this fact alone weighed heavy on his view of charity, both ideological and institutional.17 Leyser must also grant that a remarkable number of Gregory’s extant letters—over 200 of them— deal with monasteries in some way, most of them monasteries within Gregory’s immediate sphere of influence in Italy and Sicily.18 In addition, Gregory had a direct hand in, or his direct support, influence or generosity (in the form of some donation) to, the foundation of some 28 monasteries during his tenure as bishop of Rome.19 Although any bishop of

Rome would have had to weigh in on monastic affairs to one extent or another, Gregory took a more personal and comprehensive interest in the business of monastic life. Beyond his avid support for the foundation of new monasteries and the maintenance of older ones, he encouraged clergy to behave like monks, ran the Lateran as kind of papal

16 Dey argues that even older institutions founded by private individuals ultimately “passed fully under the tutelage of the popes, who saw to their upkeep and appointed their supervisors . . .” Although he is not entirely certain at what precise point the transition occurred, he thinks the process was completed by the 730s. Ibid., p. 400.

17 Conrad Leyser, Authority and from Augustine to Gregory the Great (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), pp. 150-151.

18 Ibid., p. 152.

19 Including the seven he established himself in Sicily. Of the remaining 22, eight were founded by men and 14 by women. John R.C. Martyn cites the relevant letters in The Letters of Gregory the Great, vol. 1, pp. 8-9 and note 29.

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monastery and welcomed monks from Monte Cassino to set up shop in its immediate environs.

Lastly, I will attempt, at least in hypothetical terms, to answer Harris’ question about the practical impact of ecclesiastical charity. Did the late antique Church’s food relief programs actually make a difference in the lives of the destitute, whether they appeared on ecclesiastical poor rolls or not? This latter will require some situating of the poor in Rome late antiquity (for my focus herein remains urban food relief). Who were they? What were their needs? What percentage of those needs was the Church able to provide? What strategies did the Church employ to provide them (i.e. to maintain a functional distribution network even amid difficult economic times)? The answer to this last question returns us to our overriding theme: that Gregory’s relief initiatives served to institutionalize the Church’s formerly active, but ad hoc, charitable operations. This permanent streamlining of the charitable apparatus of the Church of Rome in itself was a major benefit to the Roman poor in Gregory’s own time and beyond. A chief element of the Gregorian reorganization of the Church’s charitable efforts was the direct use of monastic institutions like the xenodochia as centers for care of and distribution to the poor. Gregory’s monastic inclinations profoundly shaped his understanding of the poor and how to help them, a fact that bore significant fruits in the practical application of his welfare system. Gregory’s close relationship with monks and monasteries led him to support strongly their needs and interests. As a result, monastic foundations largely agreed to work within the framework of the Roman Church’s direction with regard to the application of charity.

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The Faces and Needs of the Late Antique Poor

To maintain a system of poor relief, no matter how large or small, whether institutional or merely utilitarian, required identifying poverty, defining who was poor.20

Indeed, Christian sources from the New Testament period on provide a stark, if not always unproblematic, picture of the very poor in the Roman world, because Christians saw poverty as a social injustice and maintained an ideological impetus to address it.21

When Christianity became the religion of the Roman empire in the fourth century, the poor became even more visible in Christian teaching and preaching, and likely to society at large, as Christian leaders actively promoted charity. Richard Finn writes, “it is now taken for granted that in their promotion of almsgiving Christian preachers of the late fourth and fifth centuries gave a new visibility through and in their texts to the poor and the very poor.”22 Because Christians “saw”—and encouraged compassion toward—the very poor, such individuals, society’s Lazaruses, appeared frequently in Christian texts.

20 A profoundly important point made by Harris, albeit in passing, in “Poverty and Destitution in the Roman Empire,” p. 32.

21 Susan Holman has forwarded a slightly more nuanced argument regarding the Christian (especially Basil’s, Gregory Nazianzus’ and Gregory of Nyssa’s) view of poverty in that the poor epitomize “an incarnate connection to eschatological images of society and suffering,” with Cappadocian bishops trying to incorporate the poor into the impending heavenly polis using the classical language of patronage and gift exchange (and to convince their congregations to do likewise). It is no doubt true that, for many Christian leaders, the poor very viscerally embodied the horrors of a world that was (in many of their minds) passing away and that Christian bishops, often being educated classicists themselves, employed classical models of patronage when approaching them, but this, to my mind, does not change the fact that, from the NT on, Christian sources display a keen awareness of poverty as the result of the disregard, if not the direct disenfranchisement, of vulnerable persons by the powerful. In tradition alone, the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus (Lk. 16:19-31), the parable of the Great Banquet (Luke 14:12-14; cf. Matt 22:1-14) and the story of the Rich Young Man (Mark 10:17-22; cf. Matt. 19:16-30; Luke 18:18-30) are all variations on this theme. For Holman’s argument, see The Hungry are Dying: Beggars and Bishops in Roman Cappadocia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), above quotation, ad loc. p. 182.

22 Richard Finn, OP “Portraying the Poor: Descriptions of Poverty in Christian Texts from the Late Roman Empire.” Pp. 130-144. In Poverty and the Roman World. Edited by Margaret Atkins and Robin Osborne (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), p. 130.

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In fact, these Lazaruses became more than just a cause to be supported. As Caner writes, “Christianization required that imaginations be reoriented toward new cultural , based not only on scriptural examples but also on living exemplars who vividly embodied the ideals that the Scriptures described.”23 Caner’s work points to the fact that begging, itinerant monks of the late antique world indeed sought more than to acknowledge the presence of the Lazaruses in our midst, rather, they endeavored to become like Lazarus themselves and, in doing so, to “embody the ideals” of Scripture, emerging as counter-cultural heroes for a new Christian age. But a Christian monk’s idealization of the poor does not necessarily entail addressing the physical needs of the poor. Gregory, a monk himself, held a slightly different and more practical view, “The abstinent should know that the they offer to God is pleasing to him when they give to the poor what they withhold from themselves.”24 For Gregory, the practice of renunciation was directly connected to the care of those individuals who had no choice in the matter. Unlike many of the “iconic” beggar-monks in Caner’s survey, Gregory preached that becoming Lazarus won one no praise from the creator unless it entailed helping real Lazaruses as a result. This too was not a new idea. The effective founder of

Christian monasticism, Antony of Egypt (c. 251-356 CE), after hearing a sermon on

Jesus’ response to the rich young man (“Sell what you own and give the money to the poor . . . .”), had sold his 300-acre estate and all his possessions, distributing the proceeds to the poor.25 In his ascetic life, Antony practiced the art of basket-weaving and insisted

23 D. Caner, Wandering, Begging Monks: Spiritual Authority and the Promotion of Monasticism in Late Antiquity (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2002), p. 4.

24 Regula Pastoralis 3.19: “Admonendi sunt abstinentes, ut noverit quia tunc placentem Deo abstentiam offerunt, cum ea quae sibi de alimentis subtrahunt, indigentibus largiuntur.”

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that his disciples do the same; the baskets were sold and a part of the earnings used to buy bread for the needy.26 In the middle fifth century, a wealthy Christian from , one

Alexander, was likewise celebrated for voluntarily giving all his wealth to the poor and committing himself to a monastery, from which he continued to advocate for charity.27

Alexander’s story in fact is strikingly similar to Gregory’s own. The path undertaken by

Antony and Alexander was indeed firmly embraced and further popularized by Gregory, who saw an inseparable link between the monastic vocation and care for the poor. The case has been made that Antony’s influence in particular on Gregory’s (and Italian) monasticism should be better appreciated since monasticism proper arrived in Italy on the wings of the exiled Athanasius, who knew Antony and wrote his biography.28 So who were these poor that Christians tried to aid and emulate? Lazarus is but one, albeit quite vibrant, example.

As Walter Scheidel has reminded us, there were levels of impoverishment in antiquity. Poverty meant physical deprivation of some sort, of food, shelter, clothing or access to medical care. The difference between poverty and destitution may have been, at times, slight, but there was a difference and it was a difference in the level or manner of

25 Mark 10:17-22 (NRSV); cf. Matt. 19:16-30; Luke 18:18-30; Athanasius, Life of Antony, 2.

26 Athanasius, Life of Antony, 3.

27 Life of Alexander 6, ed. E. De Stoop Vie d’Alexandre l’Acémète, PO 6 (Paris, 1911). Alexander’s Vita has been dated to roughly 460, see Richard O.P. Finn, who makes excellent use of the text in his Almsgiving in the Later Roman Empire: Christian Promotion and Practice, 313-450 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), pp. 90-98.

28 Joan M. Petersen, The Dialogues of Gregory the Great in Their Late Antique Cultural Background (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1984), pp. 152-188.

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one’s deprivation. 29 The noted and prolific fifth-century presbyter, Salvian of Marseilles, confirmed the fact: “There is no single form of poverty shared by all those who number among the poor,” he wrote.30 Although defines the “poor (penetai)” at

Antioch (where he served as presbyter from 386-397) as those who had “absolutely nothing” and depended entirely on the ecclesiastical support, we should not immediately

“assimilate poverty to destitution.”31 An entire society can be “impoverished” at some level and, indeed, scholars have argued that the Roman world suffered from “a serious level of endemic destitution.”32 If we take especially the non-Christian sources at face value (which would be ill-advised), we might assume that the overwhelming majority of the Roman populace was indeed impoverished from the late Republic on. But the “tavern workers” who, in Cicero’s view, supported Catiline or Tacitus’ “dirty plebs accustomed to the circus and the theatres” were certainly not all extremely poor.33 Rather, as Morley argues, such accounts “reflect an elite worldview that sometimes uses the vocabulary indiscriminately of the entire non-elite population—a poor man, from this perspective, is anyone who lacks leisure, and hence, the virtue of the rich . . .”34 To paraphrase an image

29 See Neville Morley, “The Poor in the City of Rome,” Pp. 21-39. In Poverty in the Roman World, ad loc. p. 29.

30 Salvian, Four Books of Timothy to the Church, 4.21; cf. Finn, Almsgiving in the Later Roman Empire: Christian Promotion and Practice, pp. 18-19.

31 W. Scheidel, “Stratification, Deprivation and Quality of Life.” Pp. 40-59. In Poverty in the Roman World, edited by Atkins and Osborne; John Chrysostom, Homilies on Matthew 66.3; Noted by Harris, “Poverty and Destitution in the Roman Empire”, p. 32 and Finn, “Portraying the Poor”, p. 130.

32 W.V. Harris, although admitting that his conclusion may be “exaggerated.” See “Poverty and Destitution in the Roman Empire,” p. 33.

33 Cicero, Cat. 4.17; Tacitus Hist. 1.4. Both noted by Morley, “The Poor in the City of Rome,” p. 26.

34 Morley, ibid.

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of , the circus and the people who frequented it, were always “dirty” when compared to the Roman elites, clothed in their Tyrian silk.35 For all Tacitus’ apparent disdain for the Imperial system (at least the Julio-Claudian incarnation of it), he was himself an elite, with all the privileges and biases that elite status entailed. But before defining who might have been poor or at least susceptible to impoverishment, let us examine those individuals who certainly were. So visible in the Christian sources as to be made “heroic” are the abject poor, the destitute.36

What were the characteristics of destitution within Roman society? The New

Testament proves very revealing in this regard, providing numerous, often graphic, snapshots of poverty-stricken individuals: Lazarus (Lk. 16:19-31), of course, covered in oozing sores and harassed by neighborhood dogs, longing to taste the crumbs that fell from the rich man’s table, the blind Bartimaeus, who begged for alms at the gates of

Jericho (Mk. 10:46-52; Mt. 20:29-34; Lk. 18:35-43), the leper who cannot resist the temptation to tell everyone in town that Jesus has healed him of his affliction (Mk. 1:40-

45; Mt. 8:1-4; Lk. 5:12-16), the poor widow whom Jesus praises for placing all the money she had to live on in the Temple treasury (Mk. 12:41-44; Lk. 21: 1-4), the man with the withered hand who accosts Jesus as he enters a synagogue and asks to be healed even though it is the Sabbath (Mk. 3:1-5; Mt. 12:9-13; Lk. 6:6-10); the lame man who begs alms of Peter and John as they approach the Temple’s Beautiful Gate and receives instead the ability to walk again (Acts 3:1-10). Almost four centuries later, John

Chrysostom provided eyewitness testimony of individuals at Constantinople who could

35 Juvenal, Satire 10.

36 Finn, “Portraying the Poor,” p. 131.

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have similarly appeared in a scene from the NT, “As I was hastening to this congregation through the markets and alleyways, I saw many cast out in the middle of the street, some missing hands, some eyes, others covered with ulcers and incurable wounds.”37 Non-

Christian sources closes mirror their Christian counterparts. Martial depicts the destitute in temple precincts, just as Acts does.38 The impression given by and Juvenal of the urban poor in crosswalks and alleyways, with crudely fashioned bed mats and crutches, hoping to convince passers-by to toss them a few alms or at least to survive on crusts of “moldy dog’s bread” very closely hews to the picture painted by John

Chrysostom.39

The persons identified in the above examples, the widow perhaps being the lone exception, are truly indigent, most probably, homeless. They have been rendered unable to work by their respective afflictions and, therefore, relegated to the streets, where they begged for money and food in order to survive. Beggary was a common fate for the sick and disabled, although it is certainly not the case that every beggar possessed some physical handicap. Once on the unsanitary streets, however, without shelter and with very little or no clothing, beggars would have been exceedingly vulnerable to a variety of diseases, parasites and infections.40 Lazarus’ open sores would have been common among the homeless. Their hunger, what Basil called the “slow evil”, would have further

37 De Eleemosyna I (PG 51.261).

38 Martial, 4.53.

39 Horace, Ep. 1.17.58; Juvenal 5.8-11 and 9.140. For “moldy dog’s bread,” see Juvenal, 5.11. Cam Grey and Anneliese Parkin provide an excellent sketch of beggary at Rome (complete with many more examples) in their article, “Controlling the Urban Mob: The Colonatus Perpetuus of CTh 14.18.1.” Pp. 284-299. In Phoenix, vol. 57, no. 3/4 (2003).

40 See M. Mollat, The Poor in the Middle Ages: An Essay in Social History .Translated by Arthur Goldhammer. (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1986), pp. 17-18.

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weakened their immune systems, sapped their physical strength and enfeebled their bodies, exacerbating conditions they had and making them more susceptible to ones they had not yet contracted.41 Lazarus, Bartimaeus and the others represent the very dregs of society and the portrait that the New Testament paints of them, begging at major thoroughfares, at the entrances to houses of the rich, at the gates of cities and temples, seems to capture at least in outline the historical reality.42

But the indigent were not the only “poor” with whom the early Christians were concerned. Peter Brown writes, “Christian talk of ‘care for the poor,’ and the all- embracing ideology that went with it, could come to mean far more than mere charity to the destitute.”43 Or to use Brown’s language, there existed both “deep” and “shallow” poverty in the Roman Empire.44 Those who lived in a state of “shallow” poverty have come to be called the “conjunctural” or “episodic” poor, as opposed to the “structural” poor, the utterly destitute.45 The New Testament authors do not appear to have fully appreciated the distinction between poverty and destitution, at least from a linguistic perspective; they almost always employ the Greek ptochos (“one who crouches or cringes, a beggar”)46 when describing the poor.47 But later Greek-speaking church

41 In his chilling description of starvation from Homily 8, his so-called “famine sermon (In famem et siccitatem),” as found in PG 31.303-328 and treated with great care by Susan Holman in The Hungry are Dying, pp. 76-79.

42 So argues Peter Brown, Poverty and Leadership in the Later Roman Empire (Waltham, MA: Brandeis Press, 2001), 12.

43 Ibid. 49.

44 Ibid. 15-16.

45 These terms, apparently coined by Parkin, have gained wide usage among social historians attempting to understand poverty in the Greco-Roman World. See Richard Finn OP, Almsgiving in the Later Roman Empire: Christian Promotion and Practice, 315-450, 22.

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fathers, and Basil for example, do seem to draw a distinction between a penes (“a day-laborer or poor man”) and a ptochos. 48 Hence, Origen and Basil’s penes, living—to use modern parlance—from paycheck to paycheck, might well be vulnerable to impoverishment, but he would not be totally indigent.49 It might, however, take only the loss of his tools (perhaps pledged to creditors as security on debts), a shortage of seed, a bad harvest, a drought or some other natural disaster to make him so.50 The Latin pauper is ubiquitous and problematic, with egens or indigens being more suggestive of extreme poverty or destitution and mendicus (or even indigens mendicus), referring specifically to beggars.51 In a telling passage, Augustine uses pauper to describe a man who possesses a house and a patch of land (villula), meaning the term was hardly applied only to the destitute.52 Many of these individuals, from the famous widow and her mite to

Augustine’s pinched small farmer, found themselves teetering on the brink of abject poverty only to be pushed into destitution by famine, plague, debt or some other natural or economic disaster. Widows and orphans, whose families had lost their breadwinner but

46 Definitions of Greek terms are taken from Liddell and Scott’s Greek-English Lexicon, 9th ed. with supplement (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996).

47 Ptochos appears 24 times in the Gospels. See Susan Holman, The Hungry Are Dying: Beggars and Bishops in Roman Cappodocia (Oxford and London: Oxford University Press, 2001), 6-7.

48 Ibid. 6.

49 Holman discusses these terms in some detail. See The Hungry Are Dying, 5-6.

50 Mollat, The Poor in the Middle Ages: An Essay in Social History, p. 16.

51 Augustine Enarrationes in Psalmos. 121.11; noted by Finn, “Portraying the Poor: Poverty in Christian Texts from the Late Roman Empire,” p. 137.

52 Augustine, En. in Ps. 39.28: Si vero iuxta vicinus sit pauper, qui vel in necessitate positus ets, ut possit vendere, vel premi potest, ut cogatur vendere, inicitur oculus, speratur villa; impraegnata est anima, sperat se posse adipsici villulam et possessionem vicini pauperis. Indigens, inops and their derivatives would be other possibilities for describing someone as poor. See The Oxford Latin Dictionary, edited by P.G.W. Glare (Oxford and New York: Clarendon Press, 1982. Reprinted 2004), egens 594, indigens 883, inops 917; cf. Brown, Poverty and Leadership in the Later Roman Empire, 15 and note 47.

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retained the responsibility for his outstanding debt, would be particularly susceptible to such a fate.

Neville Morley has proposed a handy system of categorization to help define the parameters of Roman poverty. “Vulnerability” is the first of his three criteria.53 Most immediately, these individuals would be vulnerable in the event of a food crisis. This could include the poor peasant whose modest tract of land had been depleted by draught, political instability, or the more mundane but equally devastating bad harvest season. In the cities, those who lived in a state of “shallow” poverty depended entirely on the market, a market that could be severely disrupted by the mere rumor of harvest failure. In addition to the possibility of food shortage, city-dwellers faced constant threats of fire, crime, and infectious disease, all of which could tip the scales and send the “shallow” poor into a state of deep impoverishment.54 While rural peasants might at least take solace in the possibility of adaptive agricultural procedures or food stockpiles, the urban poor were “passive victims” of forces completely beyond their control.55

Morley’s second and third criteria are “exclusion” and “shame,” two concepts that

Christianity rejected outright.56 In the case of exclusion, ancient Mediterranean societies were highly stratified. A certain level of wealth and/or status was required to participate fully in social and political life.57 The politics of exclusion were hardly the purview of non-Christian Romans alone. Consider the Markan story (1.40-45) of Jesus’ healing of a

53 N. Morley, “The Poor in the City of Rome.” In Poverty in the Roman World, 33-37.

54 Ibid. 33.

55 Justin J. Meggit, Paul, Poverty, and Survival (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 165.

56 This does not mean, of course, that individuals were not excluded within Christian ranks.

57 Meggit, Paul, Poverty, and Survival, pp. 165-166.

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leper, whom he then tells to go to the Temple and present himself before the High Priest.

The leper’s disease had made him an outcast, quite literally banned from entering the

Temple. Only the High Priest, who controlled access to the Temple, held the authority to lift the ban, a fact that even Jesus acknowledges. In the case of Mark’s leper, “exclusion” means not only separation from normative society, but physical separation from his God.

In Luke 17:11-19, Jesus stumbles onto a colony of lepers on the outskirts of a village in

Samaria, separated from normative society by virtue of their illness. Grey and Parkin include the “disabled” and “chronically ill” like the lepers in question among the

“structural poor” because of their inability to work.58 Susan Holman characterizes such individuals as the “exiled sick poor” and points to the fact that, whether or not such individuals had “true” , any obvious skin disease from frostbite to gangrenous, necrotic sores would have been viewed as such.59 Gregory of Nyssa described communities of such persons, not unlike the one that confronted Luke’s Jesus in Samaria as having been “driven away from everywhere . . . a society apart from the living, mixed together in tight quarters.”60 These “unsupported” chronically ill persons faced direst circumstances indeed, a fact that makes “lepers” perhaps the very best example of

Morley’s criterion of exclusion.61 Proving this rule is the fact that when, at the end of the fourth century, John Chrysostom planned to erect a facility specifically designed for the

58 Grey and Parkin, “Controlling the Urban Mob,” p. 287, although as Harris notes Grey and Parkin’s inclusion of the “chronically ill” is unusual, see “Poverty and Destitution in the Roman Empire,” p. 33, note 35.

59 Susan Holman, “Everyday Life of the Poor in 4th Century Cappadocia.” Pp. 441-464. In Social and Political Life in Late Antiquity, edited by W. Bowden, A. Gutteridge and C. Machado (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2006) ad loc. 452.

60 Gregory of Nyssa, De Pauperibus Amandis 2; cf. Holman, ibid.

61 Grey and Parkin, “Controlling the Urban Mob,” p. 287.

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care and treatment of lepers too close to the city of Constantinople, he was vehemently opposed, even by prominent members of his own congregation.62 Indeed, the charitable expressions, both in word and deed, of Christian leaders in late antiquity should not obscure the fact that many lay Christians were just as likely to practice the politics of exclusion as anybody else. What else would have led the Cappadocians, Chrysostom,

Augustine and Gregory I, among others, to keep harping on the necessity of care for the poor?

Women and the elderly were similarly susceptible to exclusion and hardship. The elderly, like the chronically ill, often suffered for their inability to work. Epictetus said that beggars were scarcely seen who were not old men or, even, “of extreme old age.”63

This fact perhaps helps to explain Pelagius II’s decision to found a facility to support explicitly the “elderly poor.”64 Within elite Roman society, deeply ingrained patriarchal predilections could leave even a wellborn Roman excluded if only by virtue of her sex.65

This helps to explain the difficult position of single women at virtually every level of society. Widows, a group that may have made up as much as 25-30 % of the female

62 Pseudo-Martyrius, Oratio Funebris 63 (Parisinus Graecus 1519); cf. Rudolf Brändle, “The Sweetest Passage: Matthew 25:31-46 and Assistance to the Poor in the Homilies of John Chrysostom.” Pp. 127-139. In Wealth and Poverty in Early Church and Society, edited by Susan R. Holman (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic Publishing, 2008) and Brown, Poverty and Leadership in the Later Roman Empire, p. 34.

63 Discourses 3.26.6. As W.V. Harris points out, it is difficult to know precisely what to make of Epictetus’ statement. Are we to assume that “the young managed without begging, or the elderly were appallingly vulnerable?” See “Poverty and Desitution in the Roman Empire,” p. 40. We can only reiterate that old age made a great many persons susceptible to destitution.

64 LP LXV, Pelagius II: “Hic domum suam fecit ptochium pauperum senum.” On the “unsupported elderly,” see Grey and Parkin, “Controlling the Urban Mob,” p. 287.

65 At least from political influence. Yes, this might be different in principle, but it still speaks to the fact that Roman society was highly stratified at every level, even within its elite sectors, a fact that Jens- Uwe Krause illustrates in Witwen und Waisen im Römischen Reich, 4 volumes (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1994).

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population at a given time, were particularly at risk.66 On the practical side of the equation, non-Christian Romans certainly acknowledged a basic duty, rooted in pietas, to care for members of their family. For example, it was not uncommon for a newly- widowed woman’s -in-law to step in, in his brother’s stead, and oversee her care and protection. Even better, if she had an adult son, he could and often would do the same. In addition, Roman husbands could and did provide for wives in their wills. In cases where there was no family member capable of taking up the burden of care and no prior financial arrangement, the widow in question might attempt to find work, but job opportunities were often limited. Jens-Uwe Krause discusses these and other arrangements whereby widows endured the loss of their husbands, but he also argues that the loss of the male breadwinner, especially in instances where women had small children to raise, could be devastating. Under ideal circumstances, pagan care for widows and orphans could have differed little from its Christian counterpart in terms of effectiveness, but as Krause notes, the many references to poor widows or widows’ reliance on the

Church for charity suggests not only the dangers of widowhood in the Roman world but the increasingly comprehensive manner in which churches took widows into their care.67

From the New Testament era, widows were supported by Christian communities, many of which had “widows’ orders” whose enrollees were cared for at a given church’s expense.68 Chrysostom says the Church of Antioch provisioned three-thousand widows

66 Krause makes keen use of inscriptions to arrive at his percentage. He says the average number of widows would have varied from region to region, but, overall would have settled at “significantly above 20%.” See Witwen und Waisen im Römischen Reich, vol. 1 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1994) pp. 11- 12.

67 See especially Witwen und Waisen, vol 4: Witwen und Waisen im frühen Christentum (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1995).

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and virgins, but that there were many more suffering women in the city whom the Church was unable to support.69 1 Timothy 5:3-16 had provided both the rationale and parameters for the care of widows, but the text makes clear that, even in the first century, not all who aspired to appear on church rolls were worthy of being there: “Honor widows who are really widows . . . The real widow, left alone, has set her hope on God and continues in supplications and prayers night and day; but the widow who lives for pleasure is dead even while she lives.” (1 Tim. 5:3-6 NRSV) Indeed, church widows were not only expected to be moral exemplars (e.g., by , praying for the community and practicing hospitality), if physically able, they were commonly asked to perform jobs, such as private instruction of younger female congregants or assistance with or other ceremonies and festivals, in exchange for the church’s support.70

But these tasks were no doubt a small price to pay for the financial and emotional support they received as members of a church community, especially in a society wherein women, the chronically-ill and the elderly could all be excluded from normative society for a variety of reasons. Any combination of these characteristics (e.g., an elderly woman) made the measure of one’s exclusion, one’s lack of status and, by extension, one’s vulnerability to destitution, greater, especially in a society where status distinctions were so clearly defined.71

68 See, e.g., Tertullian, De Virginibus Velandis, 9.2-3.

69 Hom. Matt. 66.

70 Jens-Uwe Krause, Witwen und Waisen im Römischen Reich IV: Witwen und Waisen im frühen Christentum, 64-65.

71 On the extreme vulnerability of elderly women, see Grey and Parkin, “Controlling the Urban Mob,” p. 287.

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The “excluded” widows, the elderly, the chronically-ill or injured, all of whom were immediately susceptible to poverty or destitution would have been “included” in

Gregory’s relief efforts or John Chrysostom’s for that matter. Writing about charity,

Gregory referred specifically to Jesus’ “Parable of the great banquet,” wherein the host is instructed to invite “the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind,” precisely those typically-excluded individuals who could never repay the banquet giver’s hospitality.72

As we shall see, Gregory’s efforts sought not only to feed such individuals, but to provide them, at least temporarily, with housing and medical care. If they were former aristocrats fallen on hard times, Gregory might hope to restore, in some small way, the sense of honor that had been ingrained in them from birth, cemented in second-century legislation that labeled them honestiores (“the more honorable ones”) and set them legally apart from the masses of humiliores beneath them.73 Although economic perils had, in some cases, blurred the meaning of such labels by Gregory’s day, he himself did not neglect them, seeking by his benefactions to assure struggling aristocrats that, in the eyes of the

Church, their “honor” was still very much intact. We recall again the more delicate gifts

Gregory bestowed upon persons of rank during his monthly distributions.74 “The humble and the proud should be handled differently,” Gregory wrote in the Regula Pastoralis.75

On this last point, the widespread economic turmoil that had engulfed even the aristocratic classes, Gregory, and his times, were somewhat different from the situation of

72 Luke 14:12-14 (NRSV); cf. Matt 22:1-14; Gregory, Regula Pastoralis 3.20.

73 And added all army veterans to the upper echelons of Roman society. See Walter Scheidel, “Stratification, Deprivation, and Quality of Life,” Pp. 40-59. In Poverty in the Roman World, ad loc. 40-41; cf. Brown, Poverty and Leadership in the Later Roman Empire, 53.

74 John the Deacon, Vita Gregorii, 2.26.

75 Regula 3.17.

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Basil or Chrysostom.76 As was Gregory’s solution, for honestiores and humilores alike.

Gregory rejected the world that had wrought such havoc on his flock, rich and poor and in between. He turned to monasteries to act as islands of sanctuary in terrible times. But these islands of the vita contemplativa had to become engaged more than ever in the vita activa. Gregory encouraged those aristocrats who still enjoyed some measure of economic solvency to establish islands of their own, from whence the work of charity might be carried out and pledged to them the full support of the Roman See. Convincing his still-thriving fellow elites to do their part for the poor and downtrodden was admittedly, for Gregory, an uphill battle:

Some who are rich by worldly standards give an enormous bounty to stage performers while the poor of Christ remain tormented by hunger. The one, nevertheless, who gives his bread to the most indigent sinner, not because he is a sinner, but because he is a human being, gives aid to a righteous beggar, because it is not the that the giver loves, but the humanity.77

Briefly and eloquently, Gregory articulates his view of who precisely deserved charity: every human being in need, even if said human being is an unrepentant sinner. He also articulated his most onerous obstacle. Even with all her resources and infrastructure, the

Roman Church alone could barely put a dent in, much less solve the problem of poverty.

He needed the resources of everyone and every institution he could rally or order to the cause. John Chrysostom had bemoaned the number of widows at Antioch who were simply beyond the reach of his care. Gregory wished to overcome Chrysostom’s problem by widening the Church’s net and installing an “all hands on deck” approach to charity.

76 Not so much Gelasius’ though.

77 Regula Pastoralis 3.20: “Unde et nonnulli huius mundi divites, cum fame crucientur Christi pauperes, effusis largitatibus nutriunt histriones. Qui vero indigenti etiam peccatori panem suum, non quia peccator, sed quia homo est, tribuit; nimirum non peccatorem, sed justum pauperem nutrit, quia in illo non culpam, sed naturam diligit.”

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So he set out, by direct administrative supervision, , or influence to bring as many facilities as possible under his effective authority. It was in the monastic sphere that he succeeded most notably.

Gregory, Monasteries and Monastic Poor Houses

Let the clergy of the poor-houses (ptocheion), monasteries and ’s shrines remain under the authority of the bishops in every city according to the tradition of the holy fathers; and let no one arrogantly cast off the rule of his own bishop. Further, if anyone shall contravene this canon in any way whatever, and will not be subject to their own bishop, if they be clergy, let them be subject to canonical , if they be monks or laymen, let them be excommunicated. 78 First, it is important to note that all the “clerics” (Gk. klerikoi) addressed in this canon of

451’s are monks, who staffed and managed the institutions in question.79 Monastic poor relief centers are mentioned explicitly and placed under the strict authority of the bishop. It is interesting that the canon specifically addresses the obvious problem of monks contravening the power of bishops and their agents—monks, perhaps understandably, seeking independence in the governance of their facilities— threatening such individuals with no less than . Gregory would be forced to deal on occasion with this very problem because like the demand that one- fourth of all Church revenues be allocated to the poor, also promulgated in the fifth century, this rule does not appear to have been uniformly applied before Gregory.

78 Council of Chalcedon, canon 8. Dionysius Exiguus, in his Latin translation of the canons, simply transliterates the Greek ptocheion to Latin ptochium. See W. Bright, Canons of the First Four General Councils, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Oxford at the Clarendon Press, 1892), XXXIX-XLVIII and for the Latin, Dionysius Exiguus in Migne, PL 67, col. 0090.

79 See Dey, “Diaconiae, Xenodochia, Hospitalia,” p. 414.

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There are a number of references in Gregory’s letters to xenodochia, a handful of them (Reg. 1.42; 9.8; 9.63; 9.67; 9.82) dealing with xenodochia in the city of Rome. As I will discuss below, in at least two of these cases, we can with relative confidence pin down near-precise locations. One, located near St. Peter’s Basilica, a long-time center of charitable outreach and an already-popular pilgrim’s destination, the other in an area around the Campus Martius/Circus Flaminius that apparently had, heretofore, no other provisioning facilities in its vicinity. In the case of a third, the xenodochium de Via Nova of Register 1.42, we know it must have stood either near the foot of the Palatine Hill or on the Via Nova that ran parallel to the Via Appia in Region XII, in the vicinity of the

Baths of Caracalla.80 But before investigating the Roman xenodochia known to have existed on Gregory’s watch, let us examine two letters that confirm Gregory’s enforcement of Chalcedon’s canon 8.

In 603, Gregory wrote to Vitalis, the defensor of Sardinia, after having received a report that several xenodochia on the island had fallen into disrepair:

From the report provided us by your experience, we learn that the xenodochia in Sardinia are suffering grave neglect. For that reason, our most reverend brother and fellow bishop, Januarius, should have been severely reprimanded; he was spared only because of his old age and simplicity and the illness by which he is afflicted, as previously related to us by you. Because, therefore, he is in such a state as to be unable to order anything else, strictly command the steward of the Church itself and the , Epiphanius, under our all-encompassing authority, that they themselves set about dutifully and profitably putting those same xenodochia in order, at their own risk. For if any neglect exists there after

80 Because the context of the letters does not make it clear which Via Nova is meant. L. Richardson thinks the Region XII location is more likely. See his A New Topographical Dictionary of Ancient Rome (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1992), p. 434.

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this, let them know that they will not be able to excuse themselves before us for any reason whatever.81 Some years earlier, in 594, Gregory had written to the bishop in question, Januarius, to inform him of the necessity that xenodochia in his region must “present their detailed accounts on every single occasion to the bishop of their city.”82 Gregory chastised

Januarius for having neglected this duty and urged him to place the responsibility for the accounting in the hands of “those men who are or have been stationed in the xenodochia.”83 As such, Gregory warned Januarius that, when appointing such men in the future, he is to seek out individuals who are “most worthy (dignissimi)” in their “way of life (vita), customs (moribus) and industry (industria).”

The two letters taken together reveal a number of important facts. The institutions in question, the xenodochia, despite the fact that they are monastic foundations, fall under the supervision of the bishop, in this case Januarius, who is responsible for appointing officers to run them and inspecting their accounts. Because of his neglect of the latter,

Gregory instructs Januarius to choose officers worthy of handling the increased budgetary responsibilities that would normally fall to the bishop. By 603, Januarius had fallen short of his duties to the xenodochia again, this time with regard to the physical

81 Gregory, Register 14.2: “Experientia tua indicante comperimus xenodochia in Sardinia constituta gravem habere neglectum. Unde reverentissimus frater et coepiscopus noster Ianuarius vehementissime fuerat obiurgandus, nisi nos eius senectus ac simplicitas et superveniens aegritudo, quam ipse retulisti, suspenderet. Quia ergo ita est positus, ut ad aliquam ordinationem esse non possit idoneus, oeconomum ecclesiae ipsius atque Epiphanium archipresbyterum ex nostra districte auctoritate commone, ut eadem xenodochia ipsi in periculo suo sollicite ac utiliter student ordinare. Nam si quis illic post hoc neglectus extiterit, nulla se posse noverint apud nos ratione aliquatenus excusare.”

82 Register 4.24: “. . . apud episopum civitatis singulis quibusque temporibus suas subtiliter rationes exponerent . . . ”

83 Register 4.24: “Quod quia tua hactenus fertur caritas neglexisse, hortamur, ut sicut dictum est singulis quibusque temporibus rationes xenodochi, qui in eis sunt vel fuerunt constitute, subliter ponant.”

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structures themselves. Gregory gracefully blames Januarius’ age and infirmity, but, clearly put-off by continued mismanagement of the Sardinian xenodochia, this time he takes a more hands-on approach by involving his lieutenant in Sardinia, the defensor

Vitalis. As discussed in the previous chapter, defensores were placed in charge of poor relief at Rome and it seems that here a defensor held the same ultimate responsibility (for the bishop has failed in the task) in Sardinia. Brandishing papal authority, Gregory has

Vitalis order officials immediately below the enfeebled Januarius (the Church steward, and Epiphanius, the archpriest) to restore and maintain the xenodochia, a task for which they will answer to Gregory personally.

At Rome, Gregory employed various agents to manage existing xenodochia, these officers again likely falling under the authority of the defensor in their district if not

Gregory himself. One such officer was the sub-deacon, commonly cast as a manager of

Roman xenodochium, as was case with the xenodochium Valeriorum on the Caelian, not far from Gregory’s own monastery of St. Andrew’s. In a letter written to both the subdeacon Antony and the abbot Domitius, Gregory intervened in 598 to end a dispute over who was in charge of certain monastic foundations in both Sicily and Rome. The xenodochium Valeriorum was apparently an important relief center from Gregory’s time on and is mentioned in the LP biographies of both Stephen III (768-772) and Leo III

(795-816).84 Gregory’s letter displays his nuanced view of the Church’s leadership role with regard to monastic institutions, his skill for and his appreciation for the ruling of Chalcedon. In it, he essentially affirms the authority of the abbot Domitius over

84 The xenodochium Valeriorum is mentioned twice in the LP in the biographies of Stephen III, LP 96.15 and Leo III, 98.81. The identification of this building with the former Domus Valerii is based on eleven inscriptions found on site, see CIL vi. 1684-1694; PT 292.

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the Sicilian monastery and the authority of Antony, his own sub-deacon, over the xenodochium at Rome. With regard to the xenodochium, Antony is said to be “memorati xenodochii praepositus (placed in charge of the xenodochia mentioned above).”85

It is worth noting that sub-deacons, although traditionally of a secondary clerical order, were given tasks of enormous import under Gregory. In one of his first formal acts as Bishop of Rome, Gregory appointed the sub-deacon Peter to act as his personal deputy over the bishops of Sicily, saying, “We have considered it very necessary that we should commit all your affairs to one and the same person, and that our authority should be represented through the man entrusted with it, where we cannot be present ourselves.”86

No doubt some bishops took exception to the fact that they were being asked to report to a formerly humble cleric, now imbued with the power of the Roman See. Of greater significance to Gregory was the appointment of vicars he knew that he could trust to serve his own and the Church’s interests.87 Here, we may see Gregory as a kind of micro- manager, attempting to exert more control over the day-to-day elements of administration by elevating lower officials to act as his deputies in lieu of bishops, who could have acted more independently. For his part, Peter was charged with convening and moderating an annual council of the Sicilian bishops, at which a variety of practical and financial matters were addressed. Not surprisingly, one of the central focuses of these episcopal councils, held at Syracuse and Catania, was “lightening the burden of the poor and

85 Register, 9.82; for this ongoing dispute, cf. Register 9.67 and 9.20.

86 Register 1.1.

87 A point made by Robert Markus in Gregory the Great and His World, p. 115. Gregory had a close, personal relationship with Peter, the sub-deacon in question, who was his interlocutor in the Dialogues.

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oppressed.”88 It makes sense that Gregory would task these same officers with overseeing the affairs of the xenodochia, which were so critical to the business of succoring the poor.

In Register 9.63, also from 598, we find Gregory actually establishing a xenodochium based on the wishes of the recently-deceased Boniface, who had donated part of his inheritance to the Church specifically for this purpose. In the letter to the former government official turned papal secretary, Azimarchus, Gregory writes:89

We recollect that your Greatness, during the time you were here in Rome, knew that Boniface, who was once an accountant (numerarium), when he made his will, left some part of his inheritance for a xenodochium, located near St. Peter, prince of the apostles … And we said that we were taking care that a person should be sent to the vir clarissimus, Laurentius, to explain the man’s accounting, and we took care that it should be completed.90 Gregory goes on to ask Azimarchus to oversee the completion of the xenodochium, on which construction has apparently stalled and tells him that he will receive a “reward” or

“payment” (merces) for doing so, although no specific amount is given.91 Because

Azimarchus is obviously a person of some status, the “merces” in question is probably not a monetary payment at all, but some reward in Heaven for doing this good work.

Suggesting that Gregory’s policy regarding xenodochia was somewhat utilitarian, here, in the very same year—598—but unlike in the previous example, the bishop employs a

88 Register 1.1: “. . . necessitatem pauperum oppressorumque sublevandam.”

89 Azimarchus is called a vir magnificus in Register 9.57.

90 Register 9.58 reads (excerpts quoted above): “Magnitudinem vestram tempore quo hic in Romana urbe fuit cognovisse recolimus Bonafatium quondam numerarium condito testamento partem aliquam heriditas suae xenodochio, quod ad sanctum Petrum apostolorum princepem situm est, reliquisse. Et quoniam gerere nos sollicitudinem diximus, ut ad gloriosum filium nostrum Leontium persona pro exponendis ratiociniis ipsius mitteretur, curam, ut compleri debuisset, habuimus. Idcirco, quia Laurentius vir clarissimus praesentium portior ad hoc illic noscitur esse transmissus ….”

91 Register 9.63 concludes: “. . . dum sincerissimae bonitatis vestrae fuerit ope suffultus, et de viduitate mulieris quondam Bonifatii et de pauperibus, quibus, sicut diximus, isdem Bonifatius hereditatis suae partem aliquam dereliquit, mercedem apud omnipotentem Deum adquiratis.”

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secretary (scribo) to attend to the task at hand. The difference is probably predicated on the fact that the subdeacon Antony’s job was to run the xenodochium Valeriorum, while

Azimarchus’, a former civil administrator (vir magnificus) likely with experience in such matters, was to ensure that construction of the facility near St. Peter’s was completed on time and on budget and, thus, Boniface’s bequest fulfilled. Nothing more is heard of the building in Gregory’s letters, but a facility linked to Gregory certainly stood in the same vicinity for some time to come. In the preceding chapter, I discussed Hadrian I’s (772-

795) restoration of the diaconia S. Silvestrii, which was near the gates of S. Peter.92 The diaconia S. Silvestrii was also said to be “iuxta hospitale sancti Gregorii” (near the hospital of St. Gregory).93 In his twelfth-century discussion of the environs of the

Vatican, dedicated to Pope Alexander III, Petrus Mallius, the canon of St. Peter’s Basilica and dutiful topographer, writes of a “xenodochium S. Gregorii iuxta gradus S. Petri.”94

The sixteenth-century Augustinian monk, canon of Cardinal Alessandro Farnese and noted historian, Onofrio Panvinio echoed Mallius, “ Gregorius papa fecit xenodochium sui nominis iuxta gradus beati Petri . . .”95 Is it possible that the building

Gregory established in 598 is the same hospitale S. Gregorii mentioned almost two- hundred years later in Hadrian’s biography and the xenodochium S. Gregorii of Petrus

Mallius some six-hundred years hence? Panvinio’s treatment, admittedly late, at least

92 Supra, p. 162.

93 LP 97.66 reads: “Hic enim coangelicus vir, divina inspiratione ignitus, constituit diaconias tres foris porta beati Petri apostolorum principis, id est una quidem sanctae et gloriosae semper virginis Dei genetricis Mariae dominae nostrae quae ponitur in Adrianum, alia vero suprascriptae sanctae et intemeratae dominae nostrae, quae ponitur foris porta beati Petri apostoli, in caput portici, necnon et alia diaconia quae appellatur sancti Silvestrii, quae ponitur iuxta hospitale sancti Gregorii.”

94 Descriptio Basilicae Vaticanae, 4.

95 O. Panvinio, De Basilica Vaticana 3.38 in A. Mai’s Spicilegium Romanum, Tomus IX.

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addresses the issue of terminology, saying that the popes “established great hospitales for the care of the poor, which the Greeks call xenodochia.”96 Ultimately, the scholar is left to make a judgment based on circumstantial evidence alone, although Dey argues that there is “good reason” to suspect that Gregory’s xenodochium near S. Peter’s had come to be known as the hospitale S. Gregorii in the eighth century and continued to function as such when Petrus Mallius was writing in the twelfth. Dey writes, “We would here seem to be dealing with an example of functional continuity over the longue dureé, punctuated only by a mutation of terminology that saw the xenodochium of the sixth century transformed into a hospitale two centuries later. In short, the name changed, but the building remained the same.”97 Whatever the case may be, there appears little doubt that

Gregory was associated with some kind of relief center in the area of S. Peter’s and the fact that his own letters show him building one there at least points in the direction that these references may well be to the same building, established by Gregory with the inheritance of an accountant named Boniface at the end of the sixth-century.

The area around S. Peter’s certainly seems to have been, even before Gregory’s day, an important center of charity. The shrine and basilica of S. Peter early attracted pilgrims and the poor alike, seeking the blessings of the prince of the apostles. In the later fourth century, Ammianus could already speak of the “egentes a Vaticano” (the needy from the Vatican), suggesting that the very poor congregated in the area.98 Gregory wrote

96 Ibid.: “Maxime semper romanis Pontificibus ex evangelico praecepto cordi fuit pauperum cura, quibus alendis, et a famis iniuria vindicandis magnas domos hospitales, quas Graeci xenodochia vocant, fabricarunt.”

97 H. Dey, “Diaconiae, Xenodochia, Hospitalia and Monasteries,” p. 409.

98 In 365. Ammianus Marcellinus, 27.3.

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in the fourth book of his Dialogues of a Galla Patricia, daughter of the one-time consul,

Aurelius Symmachus, who renounced the world and “handed herself over to a monastery near the Church of the blessed apostle Peter (apud beati Petri apostoli ecclesiam monasterio tradidit)” where “for many years” she committed herself to the “work of charity” (opera eleemosynarum) and the care of the “very poor” (indigens), winning the monastery great acclaim for doing so.99 Indeed, we must not underestimate the importance of private monastic foundations like Galla Patricia’s that supported the work of charity. Gregory himself eagerly encouraged and supported such foundations, a point to which I shall return below. The fact is that there is ample evidence that independent monastic poor relief centers were in existence, even fairly common, at Rome by the late sixth century. What Gregory seems to have done is to devise a system within the ecclesiastical hierarchy that gave the bishop a firm hand in their management and organization.

Bolstering the evidence further that sub-deacons were Gregory’s most likely choice to manage the daily operations of xenodochia is the tantalizing case of the xenodochium Aniciorum, where Florentius, the subdeacon is, according to Gregory,

“praeesse dinoscitur” (known to be in charge, known to preside over?).100 The letter written to Fantinus, the defensor of Palermo, is also from 598:

We believe that your experience already knows that our most beloved son and former deacon, Servusdei, left his property to the holy Roman Church, which we

99 Dialogues 4.13; cf. Dey, “Diaconiae, Xenodochia and Monasteries, who thinks she founded the monastery in question.

100 Register 9.8. Herein, Florentius is called simply diaconus, but he is called subdiaconus in Register 3.15 and Dialogues 2.8, so I am presuming that his actual title his the latter.

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serve by God’s authority. And that in an item of his bequest, he decided that four mares be given to his relative, the Aluminosa, and at the request of our most beloved son and deacon, Florentius, we made provision that ten mares with a groom be bestowed upon the xenodochium of the Anicii, where he is known to be in charge. For that reason, we ask you by this order to send simultaneously both the four mares bequeathed by him and the ten mares granted to the xenodochium by us from the mares owned by the former deacon mentioned above, and hand them over to the bearer of this letter, who was sent there for this purpose, and, at the same time, you should deliver the groom without excuse or delay.101 The letter once again shows Gregory taking a direct role in the affairs of a xenodochium, here to provide necessary provisions out of property bequeathed to the Church by the deceased deacon, Servusdei. Gregory’s gift to the xenodochium, ten mares plus the four already bequeathed, is a substantial one and may imply a deeper than usual connection to this particular facility. It was, after all, named for the Anicii and, as discussed above,

Gregory was very possibly a member of this venerable, aristocratic gens.102 The fact that

Gregory provides mares will also ensure that the xenodochium can enlarge and/or replenish its stables, provided, of course, that it has a stallion.

The xenodochium Aniciorum likely stood in the area of Circus Flaminius in the

Campus Martius. The proposed location is based on the xenodochium’s identification in the LP’s biography of Leo III as being located near the of St. Lucia, which some scholars have identified as the no longer extant S. Lucia de Calcarario. S. Lucia de

Calcarario would have stood very near the remains of the so-called Domus Aniciorum

101 Register 9.8 reads: “Experientiam tuam iam credimus cognovisse dilectissimum quondam filium nostrum Servum-dei diaconum heredem sanctam Romanam cui Deo auctore derservimus ecclesiam reliquisse. Et quia legati titulo quattuor equarum capita Aluminosae ancillaeDei proxime suae dari constituit atque nos petente dilectissimo filio nostro Florentio diacono xenodochio Anichiorum, cui praeesse dinoscitur, decem equarum capita cum emissario suo praevidimus largienda, idcirco hac tibi praeceptione mandamus, ut latori praesentium, qui ad hoc illic ex opera missus est, tam quattuor quae legata sunt, quam decem equarum capita, quas xenodochio concessimus, de equabus praefati quidem diaconi, simul et emissarium sine aliqua debeas excusatione vel mora contradere.”

102 John Martyn points to the fact that Gregory’s gift may have to do with his connection to the Anicii. See his The Letters of Gregory the Great, vol. 2, p. 551, note 28.

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(identified by CIL 6.1676).103 It may well be that the Domus Aniciorum and the xenodochium Aniciorum were the same building.

First, let us admit that we are not comfortable definitively locating the site of the building. Nevertheless, I propose a hypothesis based on the tantalizing and plausible argument of Santangeli Valenzani, that the Domus and, by extension, the xenodochium

Aniciorum occupied the very same building that had housed the Porticus Minucia

Frumentaria.104 Santangeli Valenzani has also hypothesized that just to the west of the

Porticus, in the Largo Argentina, a monastery was set up, perhaps even in the sixth century (or perhaps an oratory was added in the sixth century to a building from the fifth).105 This would suggest that the area of the Campus Martius/Circus Flaminius was becoming an important monastic center in the fifth and sixth centuries with the xenodochium Aniciorum becoming the logical extension of the monastic takeover of an area formerly important to the imperial government. The Baths of Agrippa, situated very close by, could have—if they were still functioning—provided the monks additional support for bathing, exercise or, at the very least, potential shelter, if necessary, for the xenodochium’s patients. Gregory’s proposed connection to the Anicii, of course, tempts us to speculate further. For example, could the praefectus urbi, Anicius Faustus, recorded

103 See LP, Leo III 98.81: “. . . in oratorio sanctae Luciae qui ponitur in xenodochium qui appellatur Anichiorum.” See also L. Richardson, A New Topographical Dictionary of Rome, p. 434.

104 See R. Santangeli Valenzani, “Pellegrini, senatori e papi: Gli xenodochia a Roma tra V e IX secolo”, in Rivista dell’Istituto nazionale d’archeologica e storia dell’arte, 19-20 (1996-1997), 203-226, esp. pp. 205-207. Santangeli Valenzani’s argument has been “provisionally” supported by D. Manacorda, in "Archaeology and History of an Urban Landscape," in Crypta Balbi, p. 20.

105 See R. Santangeli Valenzani, “Tra la Porticus Minucia e il Calcarario: L’area Sacra di Largo Argentina nell’altomedioevo”, in Archaeologia medieval: Cultura material, insedimenti, territorio 21 (1994), 57-98.

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as restorer of the building in the fifth century, be a relative of Gregory’s? 106 Did the

Anicii own the property on which the Porticus sat or did Anicius Faustus, as praefectus urbi, simply restore a Roman public building that met a public need, essentially to replace it with a Christianized version of the same? Does Did Gregory take special care of the xenodochium Aniciorum because of a family connection? Further Greek inscriptional evidence (IGUR 69) identifies a Faustus as xenodochos. If this is the same Ancius

Faustus who restored the building, it could suggest that he bankrolled the renovations (as

CIL VI, 1676 seems to suggest), donated land to the monks on which to build the xenodochium or even managed the facility in some way.

If we can locate the xenodochium in the building east of the Largo Argentina, provisionally identified by Santangeli Valenzani, Manacorda and Coarelli as the former location of the Porticus Minucia, the site is interesting in that, as with many of the known diaconiae, the xenodochium Aniciorum very near the bend the Tiber, with easy access to the river and dockyards and thus the foodstuffs and other supplies that would have arrived there. The Circus Flaminius and the xenodochium Aniciorum sat upriver

(northwest) from the emporium district (the Forum Boarium and Forum Holitorium) where the majority of the early diaconiae were situated, east of S. Maria in Via Lata— and closer to the river—and south of the Vatican area. The importance of maintaining a relief presence in the area of the Campus Martius/Circus Flaminius is illustrated by the fact that (r. 537-555) and Belisarius had founded, somewhat earlier,

106 The praefectus urbi, Anicius Acilius Glabrio Faustus, is identified by an inscription (CIL 6, 1676; cf. IGUR 69 for Fautus as xenodochos) that records the prefect’s restoration of the building. Anicius restored the building in the wake of some disaster, speculated to have been perhaps and earthquake or the sack of Rome by Alaric in 410. See Manacorda, “Archaeology and History of an Urban Landscape,” in Crypta Balbi, p. 20 and Santangeli Valenzani, “Pellegrini, senatori e papi,” p. 207.

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another relief facility “in Via Lata et in Via Flaminia” in establishing a xenodochium during the general’s first visit to Rome in 536.107 As mentioned in the previous chapter, it is at least possible that Belisarius’ foundation became the diaconia of S. Maria in Via

Lata (which stands about 350 meters from the proposed location of the xenodochium

Aniciorum), although Richardson thinks the site of the xenodochium Belisarii should be equated with S. Maria in Trivio.108 Later, Pope Stephen II (752-757) would place another relief center in the area, the xenodochium in Platana, which he mandated to feed a hundred “paupers of Christ” each day.109

If the site of the xenodochium Aniciorum was in the location discussed above, then, it rested between important ecclesiastical relief centers, but it seems probable that the facility may well have been a major provisioning facility in its own right, certainly if the building was housed in the former Porticus Minucia Frumentaria. The Church’s ability to capitalize on existing architectural advantages of the building that may have been the Porticus Minucia might provide some insight as to why it needed all those horses, Gregory’s generous gift to the facility. It is also possible that its officers were actually transporting supplies between relief centers, perhaps especially S. Maria in Via

Lata and the xenodochium iuxta beati Petri whose completion Gregory was, in the same year of 598, overseeing. In this regard, a significant number of work animals would have been a necessity; facilities that distributed significant quantities of food needed draft animals. In addition, it may have been that larger amounts of foodstuffs were distributed,

107 LP, Vigilius 41.2.

108 L. Richardson, A New Topographical Dictionary of Ancient Rome, p. 434.

109 LP, Stephen II 94.4: “Pari modo a novo fundasse dinoscitur et xenodochium in Platana, centum pauperum Christi, dispositum illic faciens, cotidianum videlicet victum eorum decernens tribui.”

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and thus required, at the xenodochium Anciorum simply because it was a more sizable facility and could handle large-scale distributions. It is at least plausible that this facility could have housed the Church’s biggest distributions, like the monthly dole described by

John the Deacon (Vita 2.26). Even if the xenodochium Aniciorum did not take up the entire former Porticus Minucia, it still would have been one of the largest relief facilities at the Church’s disposal at the end of the sixth century. Another explanation for the horses could be based on the primary function of the xenodochium as a housing and medical facility, not just for travelers and pilgrims, but for the poor. If care of the sick and disabled poor was central to the mission of the xenodochia, horses (and horse carts) might have been required for the transport of at least some of these individuals to the facilities’ sick wards.110 It would seem probable that every fully functional xenodochium would have needed horsepower to provide transport to patients, since many would have been physically unable to reach these facilities under their own power and the destitute sick would have had no friend or family member to take them there. The larger the facility—and the xenodochium Aniciorum was certainly comparatively large—the more pack and transport animals would have been required.

The Liber Diurnus provides important information about this role of xenodochia as health care and hospice facility. The journal contains two formulae for papal charters granted to xenodochia, which seem to suggest that housing of the poor and sick was the primary function of these facilities:

110 One would imagine here those individuals who were physically incapable to travelling to the facility under their own power, but it may well have been the case that people had to make their way to these facilities under their own power; it is difficult to know for sure.

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. . . in the stated venerable place, beds with bedding should be prepared under your care, in which you should always receive the sick and the needy and care for them and give them what they need. You should annually prepare a confection of oils for the sick and the poor and prepare all the things which are useful for the sick, bringing in doctors and lavishing care on the sick, so that through your labor Christ our Lord may be pleased.111 Peter Brown cautions against defining “too rigidly” the functions of xenodochia, but Dey believes, rightly in my view, that xenodochia did offer services that set them apart from other charitable institutions.112 As Dey notes, although xenodochia were long thought to serve, at least primarily, as lodging places for foreigners (Gk. xenoi) and pilgrims, neither is mentioned in the above or the one other LD formula on xenodochia, while the needy

(indigens) and sick (infirmans) are singled out specifically. Dey thinks that, in fact, offering housing and medical care to the poor and infirm was a distinguishing feature of xenodochia and that the care provided by xenodochia was “destined at least as much to locals as strangers.” 113 Since, as discussed above, the unsanitary conditions of life on the streets would have contributed to and exacerbated illness among the indigent—along with the fact that a particular disability may well have led to homelessness in the first place—the sick-ward component of xenodochia would have been absolutely critical in any comprehensive attempt to help the poor. It is worth mentioning here that the

Benedictine Rule contains the strict admonition to care for the sick, “before and above all things . . . so that they will be served as if they were Christ in person, for He himself said

111 LD, Clar. 83 (Vat. 66), ed. Foerester, pp. 256-257 “ . . . in eodem venerabili loco lecta cum stratibus suis tuo studio preparentur in quibus egros semper suscipias et egros eisque curam adhibeas et necessaria tribuas. Confectionem oleorum infirmantibus atque indigentibus annuae facias atque praepares vel omnia quae infirmantium necessitate sunt utilia, medicos introducens at curam egris inpendens, ut tali tuo studio Christus deus noster possit placari.” Dey points to the significance of this formula in “Diaconiae, Xenodochia, Hospitalia and Monasteries,” p. 407. I have used his translation of the passage above.

112 Brown, Poverty and Leadership in the Roman Empire, p. 33.

113 Dey, “Diaconiae, Xenodochia, Hospitalia,” pp. 407-408; ad loc. 408.

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‘I was sick and you visited me.’114 The Rule further specifies that a nurse (deputata) be chosen to oversee the care of the sick. The sixth-century Itinerarium Antonini Placentini

(c. 570), a contemporary pilgrim’s account of his trip to Jerusalem, describes an area near the Basilica of S. Maria, where a community of monks ran “two xenodochia, one for men and one for women, a welcome center for pilgrims, countless tables and three-thousand beds for the sick.”115 3,000 seems a high estimate for the number of patients the typical xenodochia might be able to house, even if beds or floor mats were packed very close together. Is it conceivable, even in light of the fact that Jerusalem was a high-traffic city, often replete with pilgrim tourists, that two xenodochia could have housed 3,000 sick?

Perhaps not, but the traveler’s report still conveys the sense that monastic medical care could be very large in scope, certainly at pilgrimage centers like Jerusalem or Rome. The rural St. Gall monastery (in modern ), which housed an active and celebrated ninth-century xenodochium, perhaps provides a more normative picture of these facilities.

The monastery was laid out in proto-blueprint form by its abbot, Heito, c. 830, in preparation for expansion and renovation, the so-called “St. Gall plan.” Analyzing the St.

Gall plan, Guenter Risse calculates that the xenodochia there had a patient capacity of perhaps 30.116 But this was a rural facility. What about its urban counterpart? Whether the

114 Regula Benedicti 36: “Infirmorum cura ante omnia et super omnia adhibenda est, ut sicut revera Christo ita eis serviatur, quia ipse dixit: Infirmus fui, et visitastis me.” It must be granted that the admonition seems directed at least as much at fratres who have fallen ill as outsiders who may be under the monastery’s care. It is clear, however, from Regula 56, that the monastery was obliged to provide assistance to outsiders in need, even if were hardly “social workers” or “civil servants,” as Dey points out, see “Diaconiae, Xenodochia, Hospitalia,” p. 421.

115 Itinerarium Antonini Placentini, 23; cf. Procopius, On Buildings 5.6.25-26, noted by Michelle Voltaggio (who dates the document to 570) in “Xenodochia and Hospitia in Sixth-Century Jerusalem: Indicators for the Byzantine Pilgrimage to the Holy Places.” In Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 127.2 (2011): 197-210. Voltaggio argues that the basilica in question is the Nea Ekklesia of the , discovered by Avigad in the Jewish Quarter of the old city in the 1970s.

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urban xenodochium could have held more, much less considerably more, is very difficult to say with certainty, although at prime pilgrimage sites like those at Rome and

Jerusalem, it would at least seem probable.

Beyond housing and feeding, the precise nature of medical services provided at xenodochia remains obscure, but we might at least be able to hypothesize on courses of treatment. The picture of the Benedictine sick ward at least demonstrates that basic nursing practices were administered, practices that were apparently common among a number of geographically and chronologically disparate monastic welfare centers. The

Bendictine deputata, more commonly in non-Benedictine centers, the infirmarius, is required to be “diligent (diligens)” and “particular (sollicitus)” in the care of patients, offering baths to the infirm as needed and serving meat (from which Benedictines typically abstained) to weaker patients whose strength needed boosting.117 The provisioning of the sick with “comfort foods” like meat, wine, honey, eggs, fruits, pastries, even sherbet in one potentially-fanciful account from fourth century Egypt, was a common practice in monastic sick wards.118 As Crislip notes, the point here may have been not only to provide a comfortable environment for the patient wherein his or her spirits were lifted by way of normally forbidden, restricted or hard-to-come by culinary delights, but to administer some therapeutic dietary program in support of the patient’s

116 Guenter B. Risse, Mending Bodies, Saving Souls: A History of Hospitals (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 99; cf. http://www.stgallplan.org/recto.html.

117 Regula Benedicti 36.

118 The sherbet provision comes from a story in the Life of Macarius the Alexandrian (sometimes called “the Great”), a fourth-century Egyptian monastic. See Apoph Pat (alph.), Macarius the Great, 8. Pointed out by A. Crislip in From Monastery to Hospital: and the Transformation of Health Care in Late Antiquity, (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2005). Crislip also provides analysis of the uses of “comfort foods” like those listed above. See pp. 28-30.

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recovery (what Crislip calls “dietary therapy”).119 In addition to the therapeutic application of certain foods, roots, herbs, flowers or seaweed believed to have medicinal properties might have been mixed with food or drink and given to patients. For example, honey, as Aulus Cornelius Celsus’ (c. 25 BCE-c. 50 CE) De Medicina proves, was known even in antiquity for its anti-bacterial properties and was used for wound care and infections, both internal and external.120 The deputata or infirmarius, the nun or monk in charge of the sick ward, would have possessed, or had to develop, a knowledge of such natural remedies, derived from various medicinal plants and herbs and their compounds.121 In the ninth century, the abbot Bertharius of Benedict’s Monte Cassino could compile two books of herbal healing formulas and antidotes, with recipes containing precise weights and measures, the sheer volume of Bertharius’ compilation suggesting that at least some of those remedies had been in use in Benedictine circles for some time.122 It seems likely that there often would have been provision on site for the growing of medicinal herbs, in the form of an herbarium or hortulus, as demonstrated by the St. Gall plan.123 Wine, believed to have restorative qualities, was likewise commonly produced from vineyards on monastery grounds.124 Some monasteries thus became self-

119 Ibid., 29.

120 Aulus Cornelius Celsus, De Medicina , e.g. 7.6. Celsus provides countless other examples of herbal remedies. To name a few: cinnamon, saffron, pomegranate rind, bitter almonds, Syrian nard, sweet wine, radish and acacia juice and vinegar (see, esp. 7.2-3).

121 Guenter B. Risse, Mending Bodies, Saving Souls: A History of Hospitals, p. 100.

122 Ibid., p. 96

123 Lorna Price, The Plan of St. Gall in Brief (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1982), pp. 40-50.

124 Guenter Risse, Mending Bodies, Saving Souls, p. 103.

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contained pharmacological cornucopiae. Discussing the administration of herbal remedies to patients at his White Monastery in Egypt, (d. 466) wrote:

For the herbs which are appropriate to each disease did not grow out of the ground automatically, but, to be sure, were produced by the will of the Creator with the object of benefiting us. So the natural forces which reside in roots, flowers, leaves, fruits or juices, or whatever is found in metal or in the sea to have properties beneficial to the body, fall into line with the things to eat and drink which we find.125 Food then, in large quantity and wide variety of forms, lay at the fore of monastic welfare centers’ care of the sick. Other practical remedies, like bloodletting via leeches or small incisions, thought to purify the body of old, diseased or corrupted blood, were likely performed as well. The St. Gall plan reveals a specific ward for bloodletting, complete with four fire places in each corner of the room to provide added warmth to patients undergoing the procedure.126 While the St. Gall plan and the practices it suggests are, of course, much later than Gregory, the monastery itself was founded very close to

Gregory’s own time, around 613. Additionally, practices at St. Gall basically coincide with what we find at Egypt’s White Monastery in the fifth century and in the Regula

Benedicti of the sixth. If we assume that these measures alone, along with the obvious benefit of shelter and the more hygienic conditions it provided, were performed at xenodochia roughly contemporary with the Regula Benedicti (and keeping in mind

Gregory’s connection to Benedict and Benedictines), they would have spawned positive results. As sociologist historian Rodney Stark has concluded, “conscientious nursing without any medications could cut the mortality rate by two-thirds or more” compared to

125 Shenoute, Canon 7, DG 421-27, L.III:69-74; Crislip, From Monastery to Hospital: Christian Monasticism and the Transformation of Health Care in Late Antiquity, p. 35.

126 Guenter Risse, Mending Bodies, Saving Souls, p.98.

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individuals who received no such treatment.127 If early medieval herbal remedies actually had some medicinal or restorative effect, even better. Stark’s contention might strike the skeptical reader as far-fetched, but let us consider the proposition by way of a modern analogy.

One might imagine that services provided at early medieval xenodochia would have mirrored, in a number of respects, the care provided even today at many of the third- world hospices, founded by Mother Teresa, where “treatment” entails far more in the way of maintenance and comfort than invasive or complicated, pharmaceutical-based medical regimens. In her memoir on her time spent volunteering as a nurse at Nirmal Hriday, Mother Teresa’s very first “House of Sick and Dying

Destitutes,” in Calcutta, Rosemary Dew discusses her initial puzzlement at the lack of narcotics at the facility, speculating that the threat of theft or abuse might have been too great a risk for the sisters to take, especially in light of the fact that basic antibiotics were, more or less, available. Dew was similarly surprised to find a French nurse and fellow volunteer who preached the curative benefits of leeches and maggots, albeit closely monitored ones, to eat away necrotic tissue and clean bacteria-laden wounds. Dew cites one example where maggots likely saved a patient’s leg from amputation and were easily enough removed with a simple saline and iodine solution.128 Perhaps the only difference between this example and maggot therapy in late antiquity is that, in the pre-modern world, the maggots would have been removed with vinegar instead of iodine, which was

127 See Stark’s discussion in Rodney Stark, The Rise of Christianity: A Sociologist Reconsiders History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), pp. 88-91.

128 Rosemary Dew, In Mother Teresa’s House: A Hospice Nurse in the Slums of Calcutta (Charleston, SC: BookSurge, 2006), p. 105 (lack of narcotics) and 120 (leeches and maggots).

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only discovered in the nineteenth century.129 In Mother Teresa’s , a place where pharmaceuticals are cheap, but often counterfeit or substandard, “holistic” treatments are something of a necessity and many such treatments are very old indeed.130 Dew was amazed to witness that even when the volunteer doctors made their intermittent rounds, some with greater genuine concern for the patients than others, their prescriptions often bore little better result than the basic, if highly-attentive care, provided by the nuns. Dew writes:

If I had to describe one memory of the House for Sick and Dying Destitutes, it would not be the maggot-filled wounds, the patients scarred from whippings, tuberculosis, leishmaniasis, mental illness, or the women burned by their husbands. The overriding image I carry is one of smiling patients—people who never dreamt they’d be treated as sentient beings as long as they walked this earth.131 Obviously, not every patient at early medieval xenodochia, or at Nirmal Hriday for that matter, received only comfort care to ease the process of dying, nor was every patient utterly destitute, although many certainly were, but the goal—and the effect—of care provided was the same. Ruminating on the success of Basil’s ptochotropheion, Gregory

Nazianzus had marveled at the fact that there illness was “regarded philosophically.”132

Gregory goes on to discuss Basil’s strange and wondrous practice of “giving honor” to

129 Celsus, De Medicina, 7.1. Maggot or “larval” therapy has been known since antiquity, the oldest evidence for wound infestation by maggots being Job 7:5. See Iain S. Whitaker, Christopher Twine, Michael J. Whitaker, Matthew Welck, Charles S. Brown and Ahmed Shandall, “Larval Therapy from Antiquity to the Present Day: Mechanisms of Action, Clinical Applications and Future Potential.” In Postgraduate Medical Journal 83:2007 (409-413). The medieval medical handbook known as the Hortus Sanitatis from 1491 contains an overt reference to medicinal maggot therapy as well as an image of a clearly ailing man with flies attending his wounds (Figure 7). See Meydenbach, J. ed. Hortus Sanitatis Mainz: Jacobus Meydenbach, 1491, 454 leaves.

130 Some 25% of all medicines in India are counterfeit or of lesser potency according to the WHO, see ibid., p. 119 and http://www.who.int/mediacenter/factsheets/en/.

131 Dew, In Mother Teresa’s House, p. 143.

132 Gregory Nazianzus, Or. 43.63; noted by Crislip, From Monastery to Hospital, p. 118.

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leprosy and lepers.133 The “destigmatization” of illness, the notion that sickness and infirmity was “not something to shun, but something to contemplate,”134 that the sick themselves were not to be excluded, but included and “honored” with meticulous care; this was the revolutionary treatment protocol of the early medieval xenodochium and, based on the present-day example of Nirmal Hriday, it had quite an enduring legacy.

Outside of basic medical care then, what of large-scale food-distribution at xenodochia? There is nothing in the Liber Diurnus formulae about xenodochia feeding pilgrims or travelers, both of whom may have come in large numbers; there is, however, an admonition to feed such individuals (proselyti) in a formula on diaconiae.135 This is, in fact, the only place in the LD where the provisioning of food for foreigners is mentioned.

In short, while diaconiae supplied food and baths to the poor and—apparently—travelers, xenodochia provided food, medical care and housing. There were concentrations of these facilities at pilgrimage sites, especially at Jerusalem and Rome, where not only travelling pilgrims, but also the poor, gathered. The placement of five diaconiae around S. Peter’s

(S. Silvestro, S. Maria in Adriano, S. Maria in Caput Portici, S. Sergio e Bacco and S.

Martino) by the reign of Leo III (795-816), when Rome had become a major destination for pilgrims, certainly supports the above-mentioned formula of the LD and lends credence to Dey’s contention that diaconiae perhaps more readily fed travelers than

133 Ibid.

134 Crislip, From Monastery to Hospital, pp. 118-119.

135 LD, Privigelium Diaconias, Clar. 89 (Vat. 95), Foerster, ed. p. 260:“. . . et sedula fratribus nostris subministrantur alimonia quatenus omnium egentium inopum etiam proselitorum copiosa proficient subsidia.” Cf., Dey, “Diaconiae, Xenodochia, Hospitalia,” p. 405.

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xenodochia.136 And in the immediate vicinity “iuxta gradus S. Petri” stood xenodochia, like the xenodochium Gregorii, to house these travelers and the local poor alike and to provide medical care if necessary.137

Dey’s argument stands in contrast to the recent work of Crislip, who, in the service of his argument about the existence of something like a “monastic health care system,” asserts that all Christian relief centers, regardless of who founded them, were, from the fourth century on, concerned with medical care.138 Modern hospitals are direct descendants of these facilities in Crislip’s view.139 While Crislip rightly points up the integral role that monks and monasticism played in the social life of both city and countryside in late antiquity (he seeks to debunk the notion that most monastic sects were isolated “tourist curiosities”), Dey is right to challenge his work as too generalizing in its scope.140 There apparently existed a fairly clear-cut division of labor among these facilities, with medical care and housing being the purview not of every charitable institution, but of monastic xenodochia alone. Niederer long ago took it for granted that xenodochia always offered medical care of some kind, although without presenting much

136 See Hadrian LP 97.66, who restored or rebuilt three of these (suggesting perhaps an increasing number of visiting pilgrims in the later eighth century) and Leo III LP 98. Niederer argued that multiple diaconiae stood around S. Peter’s precisely for this reason. See F. Niederer, “Early Medieval Charity,” pp. 289-290; although, by this same time, there were still more diaconiae (9) in Rome’s emporium district.

137 Supra, pp. 226-227.

138 The fourth century dating, of course, coincides rather conveniently with the advent of monasticism in Egypt.

139 See Crislip, From Monastery to Hospital: Christian Monasticism and the Transformation of Health Care in Late Antiquity, esp. pp. 9-18 and pp. 100-142.

140 See Crislip on “tourist curiosisties”, From Monastery to Hospital, p. 1; Dey thinks Crislip’s project is “misguided.” See “Diaconiae, Xenodochia, Hospitalia,” p. 410, note 35.

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evidence to support the supposition.141 The fact that diaconiae and xenodochia, however, shared the significant task of food distribution, at least on some scale, and together comprised a system of charitable relief collectively called—or understood to be—the

Diaconia may help to explain why the terms appear sometimes interchangeable or why we get a term like monasteria diaconiae in the LP.142

Private Foundations, Papal Patronage

Gregory offered high praise in his Dialogues for the noblewoman, Galla Patricia, who founded a monastery dedicated to the care of the poor in the area of S. Peter’s.143

The support and encouragement of such private institutions was key element of

Gregory’s charitable efforts. Gregory understood the great value of aristocrats’ mustering their resources to establish and maintain centers of charity, in that these facilities mitigated the enormous responsibilities of the Bishop of Rome with regard to the poor, travelers and, to some extent, the larger population. Two wealthy patronesses of the later fourth and earlier fifth centuries, Melania the Elder and her granddaughter, Melania the

Younger, set the standard of aristocratic charity that many, in Gregory’s time, would attempt to follow. (d. c. 430) tells us that the elder Melania devoted herself exclusively to the work of charity “for thirty-seven years,” succoring the poor,

141 And, thus, translates xenodochium as “hospice.” See “Early Medieval Charity,” ad loc. 286.

142 LP Benedict II, 83.5; Dey, ibid., 416.

143Dialogues, 4.13.

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travelers and captives.144 In the early fifth century, after Alaric’s sack of Rome drove their family from the city, Melania the Elder, along with her daughter Albina, Melania the Younger and her husband, Pinianus, fled first to their estates in Sicily and then to

North Africa, where, undeterred, they continued their far-reaching mission of charity.

Individually or as a group, they founded monasteries in Jerusalem, near the Mount of

Olives, one for women and one for men, two more in North Africa (near Thagaste), one in Sicily and one in Campania and lavished gifts and endowments from their considerable fortune on many others throughout the Mediterranean world, including monasteries at

Rome and Constantinople.145 A frequent visitor to holy sites, the younger Melania returned to Italy once the trouble with Alaric had receded, to reside primarily at her monasteries in Campania and Sicily, until her death in 439.146 Palladius reports that he visited Rome personally with a large party of travelers, all of whom were kindly received and refreshed by Melania, likely at her monastery in Campania.147 Indeed, much of the work of the two Melanias seems to have focused on providing food and lodging to pilgrim travelers, especially at Rome and Jerusalem, another indication that housing was at least principally the purview of monastic foundations.

144Palladius, , 54

145 The elder Melania died about 417, the younger in 439. For the monasteries in Jerusalem (the men’s monastery was established after Pinianus’ death) see Gerontius, Vita Melaniae, 49; for North Africa, Vita Melaniae, 22; for donations elsewhere, Palladius of Galatia, Lausiac History, 61; for a cogent discussion of the Melanias’ charitable work, see Maribel Dietz, Monks, Virgins and Pilgrims: Ascetic Travel in the Mediterranean World, A.D. 300-800 (University Park, Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2005), pp. 123-126.

146Palladius, Lausiac History, 61.

147 Although the location where Palladius and his group received this hospitality is not specifically mentioned, ibid.

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A number of Gregory’s letters (21 in all) reveal private individuals founding monasteries and being supported in their efforts by Gregory. He convinced, Brunhilde,

Queen of the Franks, to found a monastery and xenodochium in Autun, both of which he granted special papal privigelium, “so that we might be held as partners in your good deeds.”148 In fact, Gregory commonly made himself partner and patron to monasteries far and near. Closer to home, we see him donating a large garden at the foot of the Aventine

(at the “steps of S. Sabina”) to the monastery of Euprepia, in a letter wherein he speaks of his duty to provide for monasteries as a kind of compulsion (“Officio pietatis inpellimur, monasteriis provida consideration ferre consultum . . . .”).149 The agent who is tasked with overseeing this transaction is once again a sub-deacon, Sabinus. In a very interesting letter to Symmachus, a defensor stationed on the island of Montechristo, Gregory provides funds to re-locate the monastery of the religious woman (religiosa femina),

Lavinia, to an area of Corsica “which has not had a monastery up to now” (quae monasterium nunc usque non habuit).150 Gregory instructs Symmachus to buy a plot of land from a private individual (“personae privatae locus”) upon which the new monastery can be built. Gregory’s concern to locate a monastery in an area that previously had none is significant in that it shows him concerned to have a monastic presence in as many

148 Which entailed a permanent, inalienable concession that allowed these foundations to operate outside the normal constraints of law, i.e., under the singular authority of the Roman Church, with all the rights, privileges and exemptions this status entailed. Register 13.7: “. . . Epistolis autem vestris indicantibus agnoscentes ecclesiam vos sancti Martini in suburbano Augustodonensi atque monasterium ancillarum Dei nec non et xenodochium in urbe eadem construxisse valde laetati sumus et gratias omnipotenti Deo retulimus, qui cordis vestri sinceritatem ad haec operanda compungit. Qua de re ut et nos bonis vestris in aliquot participes haberemur, privilegia locis ipsis pro quiete et munitione illic degentium, sicut voluistis, indulsimus nec excellentiae vestrae amplectenda nobis desideria vel ad modicum diferre pertulimus.”

149Register 2.10.

150 Montechristo sits about 25 miles south of the island of Elba. Register 1.50.

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places as possible, which becomes very significant when considering what these monasteries did. A letter from late in Gregory’s reign (603) shows Gregory asserting quite clearly his belief that these monasteries should, first and foremost, be devoted to the care of the poor. It seems that a wealthy aristocrat named Julian had founded a monastery in Catania. His resources, however, were not sufficient enough to carry out a proper poor relief program at the monastery and Julian was apparently ashamed to ask Gregory for help in this regard. Gregory’s response demonstrates that poor relief was his primary expectation of monasteries and that he was happy to provide additional resources from the Church’s coffers to make it so.

In this, moreover, you satisfy me greatly if you ask me earnestly to oversee continually the burden of pay-outs, nor should there be any measure of embarrassment about speaking of charity inconveniently, as it is certain that one does not have goods of one’s own, but has the goods of the poor for distribution. And, therefore, you ought to have acted freely before the bishop with regard to the burden of these payments, even if you did not know my mind and the extent to which it existed in your love. Even though your embarrassment was very reprehensible, I must confess, we love your glory in every way and we hold the position of steward in the matters of the poor, as you know . . . And so, for your monastery, which you built in Catana, we have allotted ten solidi to be given annually through Hadrian, our notary and the administrator of the patrimony, on the page of our command, which we ask that you receive without offense, because these things are not offered to you by us, but by the benediction of the blessed Peter, prince of the apostles.151 What stands out about this letter immediately is, first, Gregory’s expectation that every monastery, regardless of its foundation or relationship to the Roman Church should

151 Register 13.23: “In hoc autem valde me continetis, si mercedis causas mihi adsidue providendas studiose requiritis; nec debet esse verecundiae ei aliquid de elemosinis importune dicere, quem constat non res suas, sed ad dispensandum res pauperum habere. De causis itaque mercedis apud episcopum libere agere debuistis, etiam si meum animum, qualis in amore vestro existeret, nesciretis. Postquam et nos omnino gloriam vestram diligimus et dispensatoris locum in rebus, sicut scitis, pauperum tememus, vestra, fateor, verecundia valde accusabilis fuit . . . Monasterio itaque vestro, quod a vobis in Catenensi urbe constructum est, per Adrianum notarium et rectorem patrimonii emissa praecepti pagina decem annuos solidos dari deputavimus, quod petimus sine iniuria suscipi, quia non haec vobis nostra oblatio, sed sancti Petri apostolorum principis benedictio offertur.”

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support the poor and, second, Gregory expects, demands, to be asked for whatever assistance is necessary in doing so and is ever willing to provide it. “We are the steward in the matters of the poor, as you know . . .” writes Gregory. Gregory’s “sicut scitis” is telling. Even a private individual like Julian ought to have known well, by 603, Gregory’s understanding of his and the Church’s duty to the poor, a charge that extended beyond relief facilities managed by clergy or deputies of the pope, even to institutions under the direction of private individuals.

Suddenly, the main lines of the Gregorian relief system begin to emerge. They are in fact not fully visible without consideration of both diaconiae and xenodochia, working in conjunction, both of which ultimately reported to the bishop of Rome. In addition,

Gregory encouraged and supported the foundation of monasteries by wealthy private individuals, with the expectation that these facilities too would contribute to the work of charity. Gregory inserted himself into the affairs of private monasteries by acting as their patron, offering gifts, endowments and practical and financial assistance. He thereby ensured his continuing influence in their affairs. On three occasions we find him consolidating monasteries that were individually suffering financial hardship or have been damaged or depopulated by Lombard armies.152 He subsidized many others, granting a monastery near Blerana (present-day Blera in central Italy) that was suffering the “gravest shortage” (necessitatem gravissimam) ten acres of land from the Church patrimony for thirty years, so that the community might find its footing again.153 His own monastic foundations at St. Andrew’s and on Sicily were shining examples that he

152 Register 10.18 (at Naples); 11.54 (Sorrento); 13.3 (Palermo).

153 Register 9.96.

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challenged his fellow aristocrats to follow. When they did, as was the case with the vir spectabilis, Romanus, who set up a monastery on his estate in Naples or the clarissima femina, Alexandria, who erected the monastery of Sts. , Maximus and Juliana

(also in the Naples region) or the “ (patricia)” Rustica, who built a convent in

Herculaneum over the last twenty years of her life and endowed it generously in her will, he zealously supported their foundations.154 And he challenged Byzantine officials for thwarting the work or growth of monasteries, be it Theodore, dux of Sardinia, whose officers had confiscated land on which sat the monastery of the Juliana or the emperor Maurice himself for enacting legislation that forbade military officers from becoming monks.155

36,000 Meals and Fourteen Mares: Did Gregory’s Relief Efforts Actually Help to

Ameliorate the Plight of the Poor?

Gregory commonly spoke of “lightening” (levare or sublevare) the burden of the poor.156 He knew that no one was capable of removing the weight of poverty entirely.

Did he succeed in making the lives of the poor better? Philosophically speaking, as

Gregory Nazianzus did with regard to Basil’s relief efforts, the answer is an unqualified yes.157 Here, we would do well to consider the smiles on the faces of the patients at

154 For Romanus, the vir spectabilis, Register 9.10, cf. 9.165; for Alexandria, Register 9.170; Rustica’s convent, Register 3.58.

155 Register 1.46 (for Juliana’s monastery); for Maurice’s legislation, Register 3.61; cf. CTh. 16.2.3.

156 E.g., Register 1.1, Register 6.4.

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Mother Teresa’s Nirmal Hriday, who were lifted up merely by being noticed and included.158 But let us endeavor to think more analytically, at least in the barest of terms.

Consider Gregory’s charge to , the administrator of the patrimony of grain-rich

Sicily, to grant to Zenon, bishop of Epirus, 1,000 modii of grain, “or two thousand if you can raise more” to feed persons whom the bishop has apparently recently learned are suffering from a lack of food.159 Based on the consumption rates presented in the previous chapter, 1,000 modii of wheat would have fed roughly four-hundred persons for a month; two-thousand would have fed eight-hundred for the same period.160 The letter suggests that this is special circumstance. Hence, the grain being delivered to Epirus is over and above whatever the city’s regular poor relief structures provided. The impact of feeding an additional four to eight-hundred individuals for a month is hard to measure without a close approximation of the whole population of the area and that is very hard to measure indeed. The largest city in the region, , founded by Pompey after the

Third Mithradatic War, had, like many late antique cities, become a shadow of her former self. An earthquake in 499 brought immeasurable damage to the city and wiped out a large majority of the population, although the story that only the bishop and two secretaries escaped with their lives is no doubt exaggerated. Procopius tells us that

Justinian did a fair amount of rebuilding there, including restoring the city walls and

157 Gregory Nazianzus, Or. 43.63.

158 Supra, pp. 239-240.

159 Register 6.4: “Zenon frater et coepiscopus noster quosdam in civitate sua alimoniorum necessitate innotuit sustinere. Quibus quoniam, ut possibile est, aliquid desideramus ferre consultum, idcirco dilectionem tuam antedicto fratri nostri mille modios tritici aut, si plus levare potuerit, usque ad duo milia scriptis te dare praesentibus deputamus. Hortamur ergo, ut in praebendis nullam moram aut excusationem adducas, quatenus, dum tempus sinit, et hic cum Dei adiutorio sine periculo ad propria remeare et citius necessitate valeat patientibus subvenire.” Cf. Register 6.7 for the same bishop Zenon.

160 Supra, pp. 107-109.

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erecting a new monastery.161 Whatever renaissance, however, Nicopolis had enjoyed in the middle sixth century, it was abandoned in the seventh, part of a trend of

“deurbanization” that affected the entire region of the and Greece in the period.162 The point is that Gregory’s grain could have gone a long way in a smallish city

(or a collection of villages) that might have been suffering a temporary shortage. It certainly would have made a great deal of difference to the four to eight-hundred additional persons who were able to eat for a month. Granted, the example does not deal with the situation at Rome, but it does point to Gregory’s willingness—and ability—to draw from the Church’s grain stores to address needs old and new, near and far, expected and unexpected.

At Rome, numbers of recipients of Gregory’s relief efforts are hard to come by.

We can say that he earmarked eighty pounds of gold each year to support 3,000 nuns

(ancillae Dei or monastriae) living in the city in addition to supplying them with bed linens.163 To the former praetor, Libertinus, one of the many aristocrats fallen on hard times, he supplied twenty suits of clothing (vestitus) annually “for your boys (ad pueros vestros),” probably servants whom Libertinus himself was no longer able to clothe.164

The clothing is to be delivered “through the defensor Romanus (per denfensorem

Romanum),” an assignment typical of the defensor’s office. There is the story of John the

161 Procopius, De Aed., 3.4; Bull. Acad. de Belgique (1905) 557; cf. F. & E. Cumont, Studia Pontica II (1906).

162 Liebeschuetz, The Decline and Fall of the Roman City, pp. 284-287.

163 John the Deacon, Vita, 2.27; Gregory, Register 7.23.

164 Register, 10.12; cf. J. Richards, Consul of God: The Life and Times of Gregory the Great, p. 96.

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Deacon that Gregory hosted twelve destitute persons for dinner every evening and the repetition of the notion in the LP that individual diaconiae and xenodochia fed one- hundred pauperes Christi each day.165 If these numbers approach accuracy (by no means a certainty), Gregory would have served, from his own table, at least one meal to 360 persons a month; each diaconia and xenodochium could have supported 300 persons a month. What we cannot know is whether the diaconiae and xenodochia were serving the same 100 pauperes Christi every day or 100 different individuals each day. By the end of the reign of Hadrian I (795) eighteen diaconiae existed at Rome, six of which, at least could have plausibly existed as relief facilities by the end of Gregory’s reign.166

Gregory’s letters show him directly involved in the affairs of at least three xenodochia at

Rome, and other poor relief facilities (e.g. Pelagius II’s xenodochium/ptochium, Galla

Patricia’s monastery, the three xenodochia founded by ) were known to exist at Rome prior to Gregory’s bishopric.167 What we can say is this, if ten relief facilities existed in Gregory’s time, each of them serving 100 meals a day, the Roman

Church, under Gregory’s direction, would serve 36,000 meals in a year. But I have argued that buildings, like S. Maria Antiqua, devoted to feeding the poor had rooms that could have held thousands. Did the city’s poor dine in great triclinia such as these daily?

Only on special occasions such as feast days? Does the fact that Leo III built additional

165 John the Deacon, Vita 4.89, the symbolism of the number twelve is hard to escape, although the tradition that Gregory commonly invited the poor to dine with him probably rests on firm ground. On one- hundred pauperes Christi, see LP, Stephen II 94.4 and LP Hadrian 97.54.

166 LP 97.60. In Gregory’s reign, I have argued for the possible existence of diaconiae at S. Maria in Cosmedin, S. Maria Antiqua, S. Teodoro, S. Giorgio in Velabro, S. Maria in Via Lata and the Lateran.

167Again, Gregory has direct contact with the xenodochium Valeriorum, the xenodochium Gregorii iuxta gradus S. Petri and the xenodochium Aniciorum.

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dining halls tell us anything?168 One sixth-century xenodochium, albeit in Jerusalem and not Rome, was said to have 3,000 beds for the sick.169 We have seen Gregory provide substantial monetary and physical resources (e.g. the mares to the xenodochium

Aniciorum) to support relief structures and centers.170 In a city of perhaps 80-100,000 persons, could 36,000 meals and fourteen mares help? One gets the profound sense that just as want in at least some small way touched nearly everyone in late sixth-century

Rome, so did the program Gregory employed to combat it, a program that he ran with the organizational acumen and attention to detail necessary of a Roman urban prefect and the pastoral sensibilities of a Christian bishop. We have seen Gregory assign officers other than bishops, the defensores and sub-deacons, to run relief facilities and manage the larger relief system, perhaps to ensure its most efficient functioning by keeping the system itself from being adulterated by the pastoral responsibilities and/or the power grasping that was the purview of episcopal life. And then something seemingly strange happened. In the ninth century, diaconiae and xenodochia, at Rome at least, disappear from the written record entirely.

What emerges is the hospitale, the medieval charitable institution par excellence, run by monks, often within the confines of monasteries, but operating under the authority of the bishop. Hendrick Dey has brilliantly illuminated this evolution in his recent article, admittedly focusing on the period from c. 730 on when a “unitary” system of charitable

168 LP Leo 98.27.

169 Supra, n. 642.

170 Register, 9.8.

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relief becomes visible.171 Dey grants, however, that the “transition” from a kind of ad hoc, “hodgepodge” system of poor relief at Rome was underway during the reign of

Gregory.172 In fact, I would argue that Gregory was the primary agent of that transition.

This task required a uniquely qualified individual, connected at once to the old Roman senatorial order, the ecclesiastical hierarchy and the emerging monastic .

Gregory did the heavy lifting; the hard-working simia became a leo in spite of himself.173

171 Dey admits that he “hopes” to return to the earlier period later on, see “Diaconiae, Xenodochia, Hospitalia,” ad loc. p. 401, note 7.

172 Ibid.

173 Register 1.5.

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CONCLUSION: POVERTY, CHARITY AND POWER

“If you can’t feed a hundred people, then feed just one.”

-Mother Teresa

“For you always have the poor with you and you can do good to them whenever you wish …” said the Jesus of Mark’s Gospel.1 More powerful perhaps than the saying itself is the context in which it is uttered, in response to Judas’ charge that the oil the woman used to anoint Jesus’ feet should have been sold and the proceeds given to the poor. Jesus’ claim is at once bold, terrifying and absolute. No one person—not even Jesus himself and certainly not one bottle of even the most expensive oil—will ever be able to eradicate poverty completely, but every person with any means or ability can make the lives of the poor a little less miserable by consistent acts of kindness, by an everyday, workmanlike commitment to charity. The revolutionary claim of Christianity was that every believer was expected to make such a commitment, based on their individual capability. 1 Peter 4:8-10 reads:

Above all things, maintain constant charity (agápe) toward one another, for charity overcomes a multitude of evils. Practice hospitality (philóxenoi) toward one another without complaining. Like good stewards of God’s manifest grace, serve one another with whatever gift each of you has received.

From the first century on, Christian believers had been called to be constant servants of the poor and the stranger. In doing so, by charitable acts both large and small, they claimed a measure of power over the evils of the world and the oppressive forces of the

1 Mk. 14:7; cf. Matt 26:11

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powerful. From 590-604 CE, Gregory I, bishop of Rome and self-proclaimed “servant of the servants of God,” using the powers and resources at his disposal, made charity not just a fixture of Christian ideology or the practice of capable and motivated individuals, monks or bishops, but a permanent, institutional fixture of the Roman Church, which was soon to become the ideological, if not political, head of Christendom, at least until the

Protestant . This was Gregory’s “great” achievement. Leo I, the only other papal Magnus, saved Rome from Attila, designed and built S. Maria Maggiore and swayed the Council of Chalcedon with his Tome.2 Gregory’s contribution was in the realm of charity, in the overhaul, expansion and formalization of the Church’s charitable apparatus.

“We hold the position of paymaster in the affairs of the poor ….” Gregory wrote to another aristocrat turned ascetic, Julian (in 603), demanding that his Catanian monastery embrace fully its role as— first and foremost— a center for poor relief.3

Despite the seriousness with which Gregory approached his office’s role as steward of the poor, he did not, in practical application, create new poor relief institutions. Even diaconiae were in existence before his bishopric. Rather, he merged and reorganized old ones, most notably in his treatment of monastic xenodochia. His extensive attention to and patronage of monasteries appears to have had, at its root, his belief—demonstrated by his above exchange with Julian or his chastisement of bishop Januarius (in 594 and

603, respectively) for allowing a Sardinian xenodochium to fall into disrepair, among

2 Although Leo’s sermons too have a great deal to say about poverty and charity. See esp. Sermons 22-24. In fact, Peter Brown credits Leo with “redefining” the poor at Rome, at least rhetorically, in his brand new, Through the Eye of the Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome and the Making of Christianity in the West, 350-550 (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2012), pp. 465-468.

3 Register, 12:23.

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other evidence—that monasteries should and must play an integral role in the Church’s mission against poverty.4 This is likely why Gregory held his own bishops and sub- deacons personally responsible for overseeing the affairs of xenodochia or even managing their day-to-day operations.

Robert Markus wrote that Gregory’s was a world in which “The was close, always ready to swallow up the world and the flesh.”5 Gregory’s decision to turn to ascetic configurations and institutions specifically to address the basest necessities of the flesh—food, shelter, medical care—is most interesting indeed. It is almost as if Gregory saw in monasticism a kind of buffer that stood immune to the world’s eschatological predicament. Monks, therefore, stood well-placed to stand on the front lines, feeding and caring for the world’s most desperate. Christian ascetics had turned Christ into a kind of spiritual “feeder” to reconcile the problem that food and the belly were seen as exemplars of base, carnal desire; fasting was necessity for most monks, as it was for Gregory, who wrecked his body by doing so.6 Yet, for the same Gregory, the provision of food for

Christ’s flock was the responsibility of his Church, the “feeder” of his people and

“paymaster” of the poor, and so he went to significant lengths to ensure that hunger— most notably, the carnal kind—was satiated whenever possible. The result of all this, for a time, was that Gregory fed significant numbers of persons in the city of Rome beyond just the destitute; although, the very poor remained always the primary focus of his effort.

4 See above ch. 4, pp. 40-41 for a discussion of Gregory’s letter to Julian; for Januarius and the Sardinian xenodochium, see Register 4.24 and 14.2 (this last letter written to Vitalis, defensor of Sicily, about Januarius) and ch. 4, pp. 22-24.

5 Robert Markus, The End of Ancient Christianity, p. 228.

6 See P. Garnsey, Food and Society in Classical Antiquity, p. 97.

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Just how “significant” a number Gregory assisted remains difficult to pin down, but consider that the three-thousand Roman nuns alone, who were fully supported by

Gregorian charity, represented perhaps a full three percent of the population of Rome in

590.7 Further, Xenodochia founded by John the Almsgiver in Alexandria around 610 (the year of Gregory’s death) held on average about forty beds (whose occupants almost certainly rotated based on need and circumstance) if we can believe his Vita.8 We have evidence of the existence of at least eight xenodochia at Rome during Gregory’s bishopric and John the Deacon points to Gregory’s particular concern for them.9 One would have to guess that these facilities cared for hundreds, if not thousands, of persons per year. All this is before consideration of the food distribution initiatives of the diaconiae. Let us consider again John’s first-hand report of a “very large volume, compiled in Gregory’s times, wherein the names of all persons of either sex, of all ages and professions, both at Rome and in the suburbs, in the neighboring towns and even distant cities on the coast are set down ….”10 Even if Gregory’s programs supported only the very poor, there were apparently many, many such persons in Gregory’s Rome. This was a large-scale and far-reaching operation. The evidence of John and Gregory’s own

7 Register 7.23.

8 See Sophronius, John Moschus and Leontius, Vita Johannis Eleemosynarii, 2, 7. For its first fifteen chapters, the work is a conflation of two Vitae of John the Almsgiver, the from 610-619, with “supplements” added thereafter by Leontius of Neapolis, who is commonly credited with authorship of the work in its present form. For further discussion on the work see Elizabeth Dawes and Norman H. Baynes, Three Byzantine Saints: Contemporary Biographies Translated from the Greek (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Press). John’s Vita says that he supported 7500 persons per year by “daily distributions,” see Christopher Haas’ discussion in Alexandria in Late Antiquity: Topography and Social Conflict (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins, 1997), pp. 252-255, n. 17.

9 Including Galla Patricia’s monastery, which was devoted to care for the poor. See supra, p. 246 and note 695 and John the Deacon, Vita, 2.51.

10 John the Deacon, Vita 2.29.

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letters agree that, outside of Rome, but still within Gregory’s sphere of influence, charitable outreach was enlarged primarily through the work of monastic facilities whose officers reported, directly or indirectly, to the bishop of Rome. Long-term, Gregory’s program(s) served to create a permanent infrastructure and institutions through which the

Church might more efficiently meet the New Testament’s directives to ameliorate the plight of the poor.

In a fashion, this fact meant that Gregory addressed, even if unintentionally, one of Christianity’s longstanding internal problems: how to justify the increasing wealth and power residing in the hands of Christian bishops in a society fraught with endemic poverty and want. This problem has not been the central focus of my work, but it warrants at least some reflection here, especially in light of the fact that Peter Brown’s just-released work, Through the Eye of the Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome and the

Making of Christianity in the West, 350-550, addresses exactly this tension. Further, it returns us to the question of how much Gregory’s programs relied on what remained of the annona and the tradition of civic benefaction that was Greco-Roman euergetism.

Brown takes his title from Jesus’ famous Gospel admonition that “it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.”11

Brown, commenting on the social landscape of our period, writes:

In Italy also much of the old world appeared to have continued. But this continuity masked deep changes. By the end of the fifth century, the popes had ousted the Senate as the patrons of the lower classes of the city. The estates of the Roman Church had come to rival, for the first time, the wealth of the lay .12

11 Mark 10:25 (RSV); cf. Matt. 19:24.

12 Brown, Through the Eye of the Needle, p. xxi.

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Brown’s point is that the Church was the rich man, a fact that Christian leaders had to reconcile. Charity was their answer. The Church essentially inherited the mantle of the old Roman aristocracy. Gregory mourned the end of the Senate because he himself was a member of the senatorial class, a product and upholder of Romanitas. But Christianity’s

“rich men” now added a twist to the traditional narrative; now, the rich man no longer ignored the “Lazaruses” at his gate. He embraced them. He focused his considerable resources on the plight of the poor, even if, as Brown states, the poor of the Church were mere “recognizable avatars … of the once-triumphant populus Romanus,” who had been nourished by the gifts of euergetai long before Christian bishops made their entry into the

Roman world’s arenas of power.13 The bishop’s patronage of the poor then led to his patronage and protection of the “entire social spectrum” of a given city.14 No one illustrates this trend better than Gregory. Indeed, Gregory represented the culmination, the “summing up” of Christianity’s reaction to the troublesome problem of wealth and poverty and the ever-present gap between the two.15 Brown goes on:

By the time of Gregory the Great (590-604 CE) the “great works” of the annona and the “small works” of Christian charity had merged. There are no grounds for the view that the popes of Rome consciously took over what remained of the annona system. Instead, they offered their own support on their own terms. But what they offered is what the people of Rome had come to expect. The difference was that it was now the poor who were said to be privileged and not the plebs.16

13 In my view, a slight overstatement and one that, at least to some degree, undermines a sublime ideal and the good, charitable work—undertaken for charity’s sake—by some Christians in late antiquity. Ibid, p. 468.

14 Christopher Haas, Alexandria in Late Antiquity, p. 252.

15 Brown, Through the Eye of the Needle, p. 22

16 Ibid., p. 468.

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Brown points out that the enormous monies spent, even in the later empire, on the “great” works of civic benefaction, the annona and games, would typically have far exceeded the sums churches spent on poor relief. He compares the estimated 3,000 solidi the bishop of

Ravenna’s heavily-endowed church expended on poor relief in the early sixth century to the 14,700 solidi spent in 452 on the annona’s pigs alone.17 But a shift had occurred by the end of the sixth century. In my view, there were two immediate and related reasons for this shift, the “merger” Brown proposes.18

First, the annona no longer existed as such (even if the institutional framework of it remained somewhat intact) by the end of the sixth century (in the west) and, second, the

Roman Church—and Gregory in particular—vastly expanded the scope of social welfare programs. As I have suggested above, I think Brown is wrong about the popes’ not consciously adopting elements of the annona, at least with regard to Gregory. Gregory can be seen twice (Register 1.2; 9.115) dealing directly with Byzantine officials concerning issues of Rome’s grain supply and the now-skeletal, but still-extant infrastructure of the Roman annona. In the first instance, Justin, the praetor of Sicily, writes to Gregory specifically with questions about the Roman sitonicum (‘grain supply,’ or ‘public granary’) and, in the second, Gregory is chastised by another high-ranking

Byzantine officer from Sicily, Cyridanus, because grain stored in Church warehouses

(horrea ecclesiae) was not properly logged in the public record (acta publica) by the very

17 Ibid., p. 462. Brown uses Agnellus of Ravenna, Liber pontificalis ecclesiae Ravennatensis 60 for the 3,000 solidi of Ravenna church relief and Novellae Valentiniani III, 36.1 for the price of pigs.

18 Noble had suggested as much some thirty years ago (i.e. the Church had become the “de facto key power” and patron of Italy), albeit in a slightly less elegant way, in his still important, The Republic of St. Peter: The Birth of the Papal State, 680-825, pp. 9-12

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officers (defensores) who managed the Church’s food distribution programs.19 Both of the officers behind these letters were stationed in Sicily, significant indeed, because

Sicily supplied Rome with the vast majority of her grain in the late sixth century. There is simply not enough evidence to suggest that Gregory was managing a kind of fully- realized, papal annona, but the evidence is certainly clear that he had a hand in the management and maintenance of a large part, if not the entirety, of Rome’s grain supply between September of 590 (the date of Register 1.2) and April 599 (the date of Register

9.115). Otherwise, his communications with Byzantine officials as a kind of “point man” for Rome’s grain supply simply do not add up. Further, we find Gregory arranging shipments of grain to Rome and deputizing his agents, like the sub-deacon Peter, with the authority to negotiate contracts with “foreign” (extraneus) shipping merchants.20 It seems to me, and Durliat has agreed, to make little sense that Gregory, or any other practical- minded bishop, would not have employed the remaining Imperial resources at his disposal, from warehouses to transport and distribution schemes, for ecclesiastical food programs.21 Perhaps the Byzantine government envisioned a scenario wherein the bishop of Rome served as a stop-gap manager of a simplified annona system, but external factors like the Lombards intervened to make this a far more complicated proposition than anyone imagined. I would not wish to debate Gregory’s (or another bishop’s) level of premeditation in adopting remnants of the annona; I would simply contend that, as with most matters in Gregory’s bishopric, Gregory responded in an obvious, practical and

19 Register 9.115 is discussed at length above, ch. 3, pp. 38-40 and can be found in its entirety (and in Latin) above, ch. 3, pp. 79-80. For defensores running the city’s food distribution programs, see Register 5.26 and ch. 3 above, pp. 47-48.

20 Register 1.70.

21 Durliat, De la ville antique à la ville byzantine, pp. 134-137.

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efficient way to the situation in which he had been placed. That situation included governing a city dangerously susceptible to food shortage and, yet, one that maintained some of her old food distribution infrastructure. This fact affected the way Gregory organized and administered the distribution system that he was unquestionably running, a system admittedly directed at a much smaller number of persons: the poor relief program of the Roman Church. I would argue then that Gregory set up a system using some (but not all) of the infrastructure of the annona meant—at least principally—to address the needs of the destitute. For a time, however, of necessity, it supported a broader class of persons.

Regardless of the fact that Gregory’s relationship to the annona remains elusive, I hope that Brown’s comment above, and his work more generally, at least points not only to the need for the above study, but to the inherent soundness of its contention. Gregory was the figure who finally and fully transformed the “small works” of Christian charity— carried out in varying and significant degrees by individuals, communities and Christian leadership from the first century—into something more monolithic, something more uniform, something that “merged” elements of Greco-Roman euergetism, the charitable apparatus of monasteries, the relief framework developed by Basil, Gelasius I and others and, finally, the very lifeline of the city of Rome, the annona, formerly administered by the emperors. Brown’s work, even as it mostly avoids Gregory directly, nonetheless confirms the profound significance of his moment. From the fourth to the sixth centuries, in a time of supreme economic devastation and dislocation, Christianity was faced with an identity crisis: who precisely did the Christian bishop represent? Far from the rag-tag revolutionaries of the first century who “turned the world upside down,” Gregory and his

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fellow bishops were often the richest, most powerful, most influential figures in their immediate social orbit.22 They embraced, albeit in a sometimes unwieldy way, the role of patron formerly reserved for emperors and wealthy civic benefactors, but as Brown implicitly confirms, the evolution of Christianity’s “rich men” into the protectors (and not the oppressors) of society’s “Lazaruses,” even if well-begun, remained not quite complete until Gregory.

Therefore, Gregory represents a kind of culmination of organized Christian responses to poverty. I think the next step for scholars entails gaining a more fundamental understanding of how Gregory’s programs grew and developed after his death. Who, and what institutions, played the largest role in carrying Gregory’s charitable legacy forward?

Hendrick Dey’s work has already set us on the path.23 Dey’s article too, although focusing on the later period, points to Gregory’s hand at work because it makes monasticism and monastic institutions the centerpiece of Church poor relief in early medieval Rome. This development becomes very significant indeed when one considers the on-going tensions, especially throughout much of the seventh century, between the

‘clerical’ and ‘monastic’ factions within the ecclesiastical hierarchy. Gregory’s monastic background, his patronage and close, working relationship with and general support of monasteries and his elevation of monks to important positions within the Church hierarchy were not well-received by all. Roman clerics without monkish credentials saw themselves passed over for positions of authority and enjoying far less influence within

22 Cf. Acts 17:6.

23 See Dey’s “Diaconiae, Xenodochia, Hospitalia and Monasteries: ‘Social Security and the Meaning of Monasticism in Early Medieval Rome,” in Early Medieval Europe 2008 16 (4) 398-422.

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the ecclesiastical hierarchy than ever before.24 What is most interesting is that, if we are to believe Gregory’s biographers, a very early sticking point in the was Gregory’s charitable programs. The account of the anonymous monk of Whitby says that while

Gregory had been “moved by the charity of Christ to care for the masses,” his successor,

Sabinian (r. 604-606 CE), a member of the clerical faction, was either unable or unwilling to maintain fully Gregory’s food distribution programs, a fact that incited a riot among the people of the city. Sabinian’s terse response to an angry crowd, “Just because

Gregory was able to care for all the people, we can no longer feed and sustain you all,” suggests that perhaps Gregory had set an impossible, unsustainable precedent.25 It also suggests that the Church still had work to do to ensure that its food distribution networks remained in working order, no matter the circumstance. Gregory had pointed to the solution. And that solution, as Dey’s article keenly articulates, was even more direct involvement and oversight of social welfare programs by monasteries. Indeed, Sabinian’s short reign was followed by the even shorter reign of a member of the monastic faction,

Gregory’s trusted subdeacon and, ultimately, apocrisarius to Constantinople, Boniface III

(r. 607). But despite the fact that the contentious title “ecumenical patriarch” was conferred on Boniface (and what might rightly then be called “the papacy”) by the emperor in 607, the years that followed Gregory’s death were not good for the city of Rome or her bishop until perhaps the reign of Honorius I (r. 625-638), of whom

Jeffrey Richards rightly wrote, “(he) took the papacy by the scruff of the neck and shook it heartily, making a concerted effort to dispel the gloom and fatalism creeping over

24 See Jeffrey Richards’ discussion of the conflict in The Popes and the Papacy in the Early Middle Ages, 476-752 (London, Boston and Henley: Routledge and Keegan Paul, 1979), pp. 258-260.

25 Anonymous Monk of Whitby, Vita Gregorii, 28.

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Rome.”26 But if, as Richards also argues, Honorius was the last pope truly dedicated to the support of monasticism, the initiatives Gregory employed to make monks and monasteries major players in the administration of charity had already, by 638, become too deeply entrenched to dislodge. As Dey’s work confirms, monastic institutions were to remain central to the popes’ social welfare programs, even for popes unsympathetic to monasticism as an ideal. By the time we reach the pontificates of Hadrian I (r. 772-795) and Leo III (r. 795-816), whose lengthy Liber Pontificalis biographies provide some of our best evidence for the actual mechanics of charity in the early medieval Church, xenodochia are practically spoken of as ecclesiastical institutions. It is easy to forget that some two hundred years before, this was simply not the case.

The eighth/ninth century place of xenodochia could simply be the result of a considerable increase in Church bureaucracy, the innumerably more layers that existed between the pope himself and the monks who actually carried out charitable work. As

Noble argues, “although papal government was already large in Gregory’s day, it had doubled in size by the beginning of the eighth century …”27 But amid the grumbling between monastic and clerical factions or between popes and Byzantine emperors, even between city and countryside, it seems that the charitable system formalized under

Gregory was something about which at least most parties, Sabinian notwithstanding, could agree. When that system emerges again into clear relief at the end of the eighth century, we can still see the fundamental framework Gregory put in place at the end of the sixth.

26 J. Richards, The Popes and the Papacy in the Early Middle Ages, 476-752 (London, Boston and Henley: Routledge and Keegan Paul, 1979), p. 179.

27 Thomas F.X. Noble, The Republic of St. Peter: The Birth of the Papal State, 680-925, p. 10.

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Perhaps Gregory’s bishopric is best seen as a hinge connecting the remnants of the Roman Empire—and the Roman aristocracy—in Italy and the medieval Papal State that began to emerge at the end of the seventh century. What is fascinating is that a bishop of Rome’s approach to charity offers perhaps the truest glimpse of precisely what this transition entailed and the nature of its repercussions moving forward into the Middle

Ages. In his new book, Brown presses a similar line of argument. For the scholar who really hopes to understand what happened at the end of the Roman world, wealth, poverty and charity provide a fundamental axis for untangling the problem. This is true because wealth came to reside in the seats of bishops, who replaced wealthy non-Christian benefactors as the patrons of cities and the people who inhabited them, but it is also true because charity was so absolutely fundamental to Christian ideology; it had been since the very embryonic stages of the movement. The command of Mark’s Jesus to the rich young man continued to motivate and trouble the Church throughout antiquity: “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”28 The rich young man of the story was hardly the only would-be (or actual) Christian to be grieved by Christianity’s antagonistic attitude toward wealth and pointed devotion to the poor. Jesus and Paul may have turned the world upside down, but an individual, Gregory I, who sat atop the socio-economic ladder in a right-side-up Roman world, perhaps, went furthest in heeding the movement founder’s command while remaining the steward of considerable material resources. This was the delicate balancing act that Christian leaders faced every day as the western

28 Mark 10:21-22 (NRSV); cf. Matt. 19:21-22.

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Roman Empire crumbled around them in the fifth and sixth centuries, along with the fortunes of rich and poor alike. And no one did it better than Gregory.

Gregory’s legacy is, of course, still felt today. Charity remains central to the ideology of mainstream Catholic and Protestant churches as well as , even if, in practice, it seems that more could always be done. Indeed, a professor of could, in only the last decade, bemoaned the “decline” and “eclipse” of charity in modern

Christian theory and practice even in a moral system that fully acknowledges the fact that human beings exist in a state of perpetual vulnerability.29 Perhaps part of the problem is that charity did in fact become a symbol of papal power and, for this, Gregory is largely responsible. Inevitable though it may have been, this development also reminds us that when the bishop of Rome replaced the as the effective ruler of Rome and beyond, he, in some way, came to represent the very accumulation of power and wealth that Jesus and Paul railed against. We are reminded of the hard fact that earliest

Christianity and Empire were opponents, not allies, and that, even in a post-Constantinian world, the two were never a match made in proverbial heaven. In my view, the hard truth in no way diminishes Gregory’s achievement; perhaps it even enhances his ‘moment’ exponentially. Here, I return again to Gregory’s monasticism. Maybe it was his skeleton key. Perhaps Gregory had to renounce the world to work squarely within it in service to the poor. Let us not forget that Gregory did the very thing that Mark’s rich young man could not. He sold his material belongings and gave the proceeds to the poor; he converted his estates into monasteries and monasteries became integral to the institutional charitable apparatus of the Roman Church, the largest and wealthiest individual

29 Timothy P. Jackson, The Priority of Love: Christian Charity and Social (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2003), pp. 1-13.

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landholder in the former Roman West: the quintessential “rich man.” Gregory did not solve the terrible problem of poverty. We will “always have” the poor, said the Jesus of

Mark’s Gospel.30 But few would doubt that Gregory’s tireless work and the charitable institutions that grew out of it made a significant dent; people suffered less because of what Gregory did and this continues to be true today. Indeed, Gregory’s legacy stands as definitive proof that a rich man, if not a camel, can—with effort—go through the eye of a needle. That’s real power.

30 Mark 14:7; cf. Matt 26:11

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APPENDIX 1

Gregory, Register, 9. 115. Feb-April, 599

GREGORIUS CYRIDANO

Gloriae vestrae dudum scripta suscepimus, in quibus indicastis sollicitudini vestrae serenissimorum principum iussione curam sitonici fuisse mandatam atque praeceptum esse, ut omnis tritici quantitas, quae in horreis ecclesiae nostrae suscepta fuerat, vobis tradi per omnia debuisset, et scripsistis, ut hoc ipsum parari in specie faceremus. Quod quidem quia vestrum, cuius ad nos tanta quippe bona perlata sunt, non fuerit, novimus. At quamquam durum ac erat omnino difficile, ut res, quae nec servari nec eo tempore ad emendum poterat inveniri, in specie restitui peteretur, verumtamen ut exui ab huius rei sollicitudine valeremus, studii nostri fuit, etsi cum maiori omnino dispendio, frumenta ipsa, sicut voluistis, in specie facere praeparari. Post vero per latorem praesentium Eutychum virum magnificum, qui se inlustrem praefecturium esse memorat, aliam nobis epistolam transmisistis, ut, quae summa eiusdem sitonici ab horreariis ecclesiae sit suscepta, prodi inter acta publica debuisset. Et ideo ne per occasionem ecclesiae quaedam cuiquam nasci excusatio potuisset, et quantitatem, sicut scripsistis, defensores ecclesiae prodiderunt et quae putaverunt utilia petiverunt. Quod gloria vestra diligenter solliciteque pertractet et verba eorum non neglegat. Nam quicquid post hoc in praedicta sitonici specie damni contigerit, amplius iam ad ecclesiae dispendium sciatis nullo modo pertinere, quia nec habitores civitatis istius, afflicti revera homines, ac

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praedicti sitonicum ipsum in suum se asserunt detrimentum posse suscipere. Haec igitur omnia gloria vestra cognoscens ita de his quae sibi sunt commissa studeat cogitare, ut et utilitatem publicam faciat et huius oneris curae ecclesiae nostrae denuo ad gravamen pauperum non incumbant.

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APPENDIX 2

ILLUSTRATIONS

FIGURE 1: S. Giorgio in Velabro through Arch of Janus Quadrafons

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FIGURE 2: S. Maria in Via Lata (after Pardi, 2006 and Krautheimer, 1971)

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FIGURE 3: CAMPUS MARTIUS (after Coarelli, Rome and Environs, 2007)

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FIGURE 4: CAMPUS MARTIUS/PORTICUS MINUCIA (after Coarelli, Rome and Environs, 2007)

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FIGURE 5: VATICAN OBELISK, ORIGINAL LOCATION (after http://saintpetersbasilica.org/Plans/Circus-basilicas-plans.jpg)

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Key: 1 Porticus of Octavia 8 Prow 1 5 S. Maria in Cosmedin 2 Temple of Bellona 9 Pons Aemilius (Ponte 16 Arch of Janus 3 Temple of Medi- Ratto) 1 7 Arch of the Argentarii cus Sosianus 10 Triumphal Way Arcades 18 S. Giorgio al Velabro 4 Theatre of Marcellus 11 S. Omobono 19 S. Anastasia 5 S. Nicola in Carcere 1 2 House of Crescenzio 20 Mithraeum 6 Piazza di Monte Savello 13 Temple of Portunus 21 Pons Cestius 7 Pons Fabricius 14 Round temple 22 Horrea Agrippiana

FIGURE 6: DIACONIAE IN FORM BOARIUM/VELABRUM/PALATINE (after Claridge, Rome: An Archaeological Guide, 2nd ed., 2010)

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1:• \ • ....." •....<+ •

, .

: c ..

•- .. _.. :• ... :

FIGURE 7: HORTUS SANITATIS, J. Meydenbach, ed. Mainz, 1491.

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BIOGRAPHY

Miles Doleac received a BFA in Drama from the University of North Carolina School of the Arts (1998), an MA in History from the University of Southern (2005) and has written this dissertation in partial fulfillment of requirements for a PhD in Ancient History from Tulane University (2013). Miles was awarded the Graduate Prize Dissertation Fellowship by the Center for Ethics and Public Affairs at Tulane University’s Murphy Institute, 2009-2010. Further, he has studied at the American School of Classical Studies in Athens and served as a Visiting Scholar at the American Academy in Rome. For the past two years, he has worked as a Visiting Lecturer in Latin and at the University of Southern Mississippi. As of March, 2013, Miles accepted an appointment as Assistant Professor of Classics at the University of Southern Mississippi, commencing August, 2013. In addition to his work as a student and teacher of History, Miles is an actor, writer and filmmaker.

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