Some of my favourite views of Rome
11: Madonna del Parto
The statue of the Madonna del Parto (the Madonna of Childbirth) in the church of Sant’Agostino in Campo Marzio is, tradition says, a reworking of an ancient sculpture depicting Agrippina the Younger and her infant son, the incipient emperor Nero. A great story, if apocryphal. In fact it dates to c.1516 and is the work of Jacopo Tatti, better known as Il Sansovino (who would subsequently become Proto—chief architect—of Venice and attempt to pummel Venetian wonkiness into Renaissance order).
Unfounded as it may be, the story of the statue’s ancient origins is nevertheless telling; there is something profoundly atavistic in the veneration of the image, which as the name suggests is particularly revered by those seeking protection during pregnancy and childbirth. After a recent major restoration Sansovino’s statue is now barricaded off with elegant determination by three solid prie-dieux, protecting what remains of the Virgin’s foot from the further erosive effects of devotion.
To the side of the statue an ever-changing array of blue and pink rosettes tell of prayers answered: thanks for the safe delivery of Alessandro and Domenico, they say; for Mattia, Francesca and Giulia. Above the rosettes early twentieth century pictures showing folk saved in the parish by the Virgin’s non-birth related protection from disastrous ladder-related incidents and the like. Such drawings can be found in churches across Italy until perhaps the fifties when the profession of ex voto illustrator—like courtroom artists they are always carried out in a very recognisable style—appears to have fallen victim to changing times.
The neighbouring Cavaletti Chapel is home to Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto (about which more here, no paywall) painted eighty years or so after the statue was placed here: as if the Madonna del Parto has come to life in a doorway on one of the vicoli outside.
And somehow, whenever I see the long forgotten and tarnished silver hearts side by side with the recently purchased and heartbreakingly sweet rosettes, I am reminded of distant tales I was once told of the temple of Apollo at Amyclae where, seven centuries before Christ, the boys of Sparta left locks of their hair to seek protection from the god as they left childhood behind and were old enough to go to war.
