The city of Ravenna in Emilia-Romagna on the Adriatic side of Northern Italy, is a civilised and quietly prosperous place, if it wasn’t for its most famous treasures, we wouldn’t guess that once, over a thousand years ago, the city was the capital of the Western Roman Empire. Those treasures are the sublime works of art that decorate the churches and basilicas that were built here in the 4th and 5th centuries AD, the declining years of the Roman Empire, at a time that we tend to think of Italy as being lost to marauding hordes of barbarians. Maybe our ignorance about the so-called Dark Ages, or Late Antiquity, makes a visit to any one of these extraordinary churches such an unexpected, overwhelming and moving experience.
I was in Ravenna in June 2024 and I can only repeat the superlatives of any sentient visitor to this small city’s remarkable eight Unesco World Heritage monuments. I took my camera and, for this blog, I plan to let the pictures do most of the talking, as was the intention of the magnificent mosaics that are Ravenna’s principal glory. It might help though to add a few notes on the way.
Galla Placidia’s Mausoleum (425 – 450 AD)
The little mausoleum, you could almost call the exterior cute, may have been intended but was not used as the burial site of the Roman Princess, Galla Placidia (393/3 – 450), who is said to have planned and overseen its construction and decoration with the mosaics which have inspired many generations of visitors to Ravenna. She is reputed to have often prayed there and, at times, even cried there. Galla Placidia was the daughter of the Roman Emperor Theodosius I, half-sister to the Roman Emperor Honorius, the Queen Consort to Ataulf, king of the Visigoths, Empress Regent to her son Constantius III. It appears though that she was much more than a royal daughter, sister, wife and mother, she was a powerful figure in the years of turmoil when Italy was being invaded by Visigoths (Western Goths) and Ostrogoths (Eastern Goths). She may have been a moderating voice between rival Romans and Goths at this time, seeing the qualities of both sides and having some responsibility for the artistic achievements of this mix of cultures. She was a remarkable woman, also a pious Christian who founded or restored a number of important churches in Rome, Jerusalem and Ravenna, and she spent some time in exile in Constantinople where she was born and she may have met the leading Byzantine architects and mosaic-makers who inspired whoever designed the mosaics in her mausoleum. Now, apart from seeing her face on a few gold coins, we can only get a glimpse of her from what she inspired.
The ceiling of her Mausoleum with its glittering stars representing a gateway to Heaven made a great impact on future mosaic-makers and on writers and artists over the centuries, including Carl Jung, and, reputedly, Vincent van Gogh’s painting The Starry Night and Cole Porter’s song, Night and Day. The often-admired glitter of the mosaics is achieved with tesserae that were made with gold leaf between pieces of glass.
The abstract patterns, and those starry night skies tell an emotional story beyond words, but there are narratives here too. The semi-circular lunettes show Christ the Good Shepherd. He is in a suitably pastoral scene, offering a gentle hand to stroke one of the sheep under the chin. Stay a while he seems to be telling us, you will be safe here. Facing this scene, in another lunette, we see a male saint, he might be Saint Vincent of Saragossa, who was ordered to reveal his hiding place for his sacred books, the four gospels – they were to be burned. He had hidden them in a safe place. Maybe they are hidden here in this little chapel. In another lunette two deer, or harts, referencing Psalm 42: As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God. I think we can feel the power and emotion that the founder of this place instilled here.
Basilica di Sant’Apollinare Nuovo (504 AD)
The basilica of Sant’Apollinare Nuova, was built by order of Theodoric the Great (454 -526 AD), the King of the Ostrogoths who became the de facto ruler, and self-declared King of Italy between the years 493 and 526. It was intended to be the chapel for Theodoric’s palace, the remains of which are still just down the road in Ravenna on Via Roma.
The most striking thing about the decoration of the basilica are the obsessive rows of figures – saints, prophets and evangelists on the window level, and virgins and martyrs on the level above the pillars. The higher row are more individualised in the Roman style but the lower levels ones are more uniform, minor figures, perhaps, to flesh out a scene or two, as in Byzantine art. There are many examples in this building of the theological and artistic clashes between East and West at this time. As a childhood collector of toy soldiers, I still love the way these figures are all made to stand in neat lines, making a kind of order out of the chaos that existed in the early years of Christian theology when Christian rulers and thinkers will still trying to work out what exactly we should believe.
Holy virgins and martyrs are queuing up in orderly fashion on each side of the church, the virgins are in line for the Virgin Mary and her small but adult son, Jesus. The martyrs, on the other side of the aisle, are heading for grown-up Jesus and his guardian angels. In front of the virgin queue are Caspar, Melchior and Balthassar, the three wise men, or Magi. I don’t know if they were virgins, but this image is said to be the first time the three kings have been named in pictorial art.
Theodoric was an Arian Christian, at that time a branch of Christianity that was at odds with the orthodoxy of the Byzantine Emperor, Justinian I (482 – 565 AD) and the Pope who were both pretty firm in their particular theology and thought that the Arians were troublesome and wrong . Arians believed that Christ wasn’t created divine but as a human being who was created as a human baby, like the rest of us, but became god-like after his crucifixion. This was seen in Rome and in Constantinople as a serious heresy and it was one that divided the Christian church in the 6th century. In this basilica there are two contrasted images of Christ, illustrating Arian beliefs – on the left he is a young beardless man, standing on his mother’s lap, on the right he is older and bearded as the Man of Sorrows. The decorations of the church were a kind of Arian manifesto which the emperor Justinian tried to blot out after Theodoric’s death in 526 AD.
At the back of the queues there were originally figures of Theodoric and his courtiers, in a realistic depiction of Theodoric’s Ravenna palace, they are now blocked out by golden bricks on one side and by rather dainty but incongruous curtains on the other. The alterations were part of clumsy Justinian attempt to air-brush Theodoric out of history.
If this church is seen as a kind of style war between Theodoric and Justinian, then I think Theodoric won. Justinian’s alterations merely focus our attention on that he was trying to cover up. The combination of styles is, however, a lot of fun, and we can even see the odd hand or foot that the Justinian mosaicist failed to hide. It makes these wonderful rows of holy people a game of Where’s Wally.
The guessing game continues with the image of the Emperor himself with its extra large label reading Justinian. Was this one of Justinian’s alterations? Some people claim it is the image of Theodoric altered by order of the emperor. I think it is Theodoric – and Justinian is the Wally.
Archbishop’s Chapel of St Andrew (c.495 AD)
The tiny chapel, later dedicated to Saint Andrew, but originally dedicated to Christ, was built as a private oratory for the archbishops of Ravenna and is found on the first floor of the archbishop’s palace. The mosaics date from the around the time of the chapel’s construction., but some of the mosaics below the ceiling were replaced in the 16th century by paintings of Christ by Luca Longhi.
A beardless Christ, in Orthodox rather than Arian style, over the entrance door, is seen dressed as an emperor treading on a lion and a serpent, in a style known as Christ treading on the beasts. This is the first known depiction of an image that became popular in early Medieval art. It is a visual quote from the Bible: The asp and the basilisk you will trample under foot, you will tread on the lion and the dragon. The beasts being a metaphor for the devil. This heroic, unbearded, but Orthodox, Christ is a warrior-god . The devil is will stamp out might well be Theodoric’s Arianism.
Next to the chapel is the Archiepiscopal Museum with its most famous exhibit, the Archbishop’s Throne, probably made and carved in Constantinople, is panelled entirely of ivory. The Archbishop of Ravenna at this time was Maximiam, or Maximianus (499 – 556 AD). This either saintly or merely politically acute man (or both) was appointed directly by the Emperor Justinian. He was on the front line between the Popes in Rome and the Emperor in Constantinople, with secular as well as ecclesiastical responsibilities, so he needed a strong seat to sit on. This elegant piece of furniture, carved from the tusk of elephants, seems like an appropriate symbol.
The Arian Baptistry (early 6th century AD)
The Arian Baptistry was an Arian Christian baptismal building originally standing next to an Arian Cathedral because Arians’ believed the baptistry had to be separate from the church. It was built at the beginning of the 6th century AD, for Theodoric’s Arian Cathedral.
The Basilica Spirito Santo with its 15th century portico was the original church built here for the baptistry it was much restored and has lost its original mosaics. This complex of Arian Christian buildings would also have included a priest’s accommodation as can be seen on the wall in the picture below. The octagonal Arian Baptistry would have had mosaics on its interior walls but only the ceiling mosaics have survived.
The ceiling shows the young, unbearded and nude Christ, submerged in the River Jordan (personified as an old man). He’s being baptised by John the Baptist. The Holy Spirit, a dove, emits the baptismal water directly over Christ’s head. The encircling figures are the Apostles led in different directions by St Paul with his keys, and St Paul with his scrolls. They are indicating the rather comfortable throne where Christ will sit. There is something decidedly homely and human about this scene. The Arian human god, is, for a moment in his short life, just like you or me….his disciples are too.
The Neonian Baptistry, or the Orthodox Baptistry (late 4th century or early 5th century AD)
The Neonian or Orthodox Baptistry predates the Arian Baptistry by more than 50 years and the mosaics were added at the end of the 5th century. The subject is the same in both baptistries, but here, Christ is a mature bearded man. He too is submerged naked in the River Jordan which is similarly personified by an old river god, and the baptism is being conducted by John the Baptist in conjunction with a descending dove representing the Holy Spirit. The Apostles form a circle led as in the Arian Baptistry by St Peter and St Paul. This baptism, in comparison to the Arian one, is a much fancier affair with the Apostles in voluptuous, flowing robes. The figures are more Roman in appearance – they are three dimensional with more differentiated expressions that in the flatter Byzantine design in the Arian. These two buildings are very different under their superficial similarities. Here in the Neonian Baptistry, we are meant to be in awe at the divine happenings up there in the heavens. The Arians are more human and, consequently, more down to earth – even modern-looking. No wonder the Arians were seen by the Orthodox authorities as dangerous heretics.
Basilica di San Vitale (547 AD)
The Basilica of San Vitale was built between 526 and 547 AD and experts in Byzantine architecture and art say it is one of the masterpieces of early Byzantine architecture and art – and who am I to disagree. It was finished just as the Emperor Justinian was about to begin his partially successful re-conquest of the Western Roman Empire after a long struggle for power between rival candidates for controlling the land mass we now call Italy. It is a magnificent building decorated with the largest and most complex set of Byzantine mosaics outside of Istanbul and the largest number of murals I have ever seen anywhere.
To simplify the complex, the two main subjects of the mosaics in the two giant apses, are Old Testament sacrifices, such as Cain and Abel and Abraham and Isaac, and the story of Moses and the burning bush. In the second apse the subject is Christ, either, quite literally, the Lamb of God, or the unbearded but god-like young man with his guardian angels. He’s seen on high, giving a martyr’s laurel to St Vitale, a local saint, and receiving a model of the basilica from the Archbishop of Ravenna. Saints, martyrs, evangelists, angels and apostles, can be found everywhere with depictions of flora and fauna mingled with abstract patterns in an overall wash of green, yellow and gold that I found quite intoxicating. I think English Pre-Raphaelites artists must have seen these colours on their European tours.
Amidst the glorious chaos of the over-all design, two panels stand out. This church, Maximiam, the Archbishop of Ravenna seems to be implying, is part of the brave new Western Empire, reuniting under its saviour, Christ, yes, but also its superhero Emperor Justinian. On one side we see the Emperor himself, in his imperial robes, flanked guards and priests with the Archbishop himself in pride of place next to him, holding a heavily bejewelled cross like a weapon. With the equivalent of an on-screen television caption, just in case you don’t recognise him, Maximiam has broadcast only one name over this elevated company, his own, Maximianus, in large letters above his head. The matching panel on the other side of the apse, is of Justinian’s wife, the Empress Theodora, imperial, glamorous and solemn – an equal match to her Emperor, surrounded by her team. Are they on the same team, Justinian and Theodora, I wondered. I’m not sure which side would win in a battle of wits, but I think everyone should watch out for that dodgy-looking Maximianus. Justinian and Theodora are the very images of power – too strong, they must have hoped, to be hidden from view by the golden bricks and draped curtains that obliterated Theodoric from his basilica down the road.
Between the Emperor and Empress, high above the window is Christ who is sitting on a blue globe that represents the universe, his kingdom. He is the ruler of all he surveys including this magnificence, and all its associated problems. As he’s the model of a this basilica by another bishop, not Maximianus, but Ecclesius, the builder and first bishop here. What can we do but look on, look up even, in awe? Well, it’s a great show of strength and a spectacular work of art.
Basilica di Sant’Apollinare in Classe (549 AD)
The Basilica di Sant’Apollinare in Classe (6 km from Ravenna) was consecrated by Archbishop Maximian, him again, in 549 AD and is dedicated to Saint Apollinaris, or Sant’Apollinare, the patron saint of Ravenna, whose ‘relics’ are buried under an altar in the centre of the church. He was probably born in Antioch but, after much travelling as a preacher, it is claimed that he became the first Bishop of Ravenna during the reign of the Emperor Claudius (41 – 54 AD). He was regularly persecuted and tortured during his twenty-six year tenure, until he was finally martyred (beaten to death) on a road in Classe. The town was then a small religious settlement built on swampy coastal land on the coast of the Adriatic Sea is where there’s archaeological evidence of ancient Christian and pagan cemeteries Within decades of Apollinare’s death, Octavian, Caesar Augustus, became emperor, he decided to make Classis, or Classe, the major port on the Adriatic for his naval fleet, but over time after the Fall of Rome, the port fell into disuse and it eventually silted up leaving Classe as an inland settlement with its glory days behind it. The busy port for Ravenna, Porto Corsini, is now 13 km away from the city in another direction.
Like many historic buildings around Ravenna, the Basilica was built on piles in the marshy terrain, like Venice was, centuries later. Classe with its giant basilica is now a small community set amongst grassy, and marshy, fields where Rough Marsh-Mallows (malva setigera) still thrive, and where the church keeps some of the original sense of remoteness that must have characterised the period of those early Christian cemeteries. The sculptural bronze Mediterranean female buffalos by Davide Rivalta (born 1974), add to the spirit of calm. They’ve been gently grazing here in front of the basilica since 2012.
The buffalos seem uninterested in their sculptural companion, the bronze copy of a statue of Emperor Augustus Caesar who stands, imperiously, with his back to the basilica.
The sumptuously decorated basilica’s relative isolation made it vulnerable over the centuries and the former marble and mosaic covering of the walls of the nave were pillaged by 14th century Venetian raiders and then by the famous condottiere, Sigimondo Maletesta (1417 – 1468)), for the construction of his Tempio Malatestiano further down the coast in Rimini. The basilica has done a pretty good job at recovering from the loss and, in some ways, the simpler and plainer decoration gives it an elegance and beauty. The original mosaics were left in the apse and on the triumphal arch and now they stand out with especial brilliance.
Sant’Apollinare stands in a verdant , and maybe marshy, valley, praying to God for grace to be given to his faithful flock – here represented by a row of twelve bright-eyed sheep, or lambs, or maybe the twelve Apostles, now with the addition of Ravenna’s very own saint as centre of attention. Three additional lambs, amongst the trees, symbolise the three saints. Peter, James and John, who were witnesses to the Transfiguration of Jesus, returning to Heaven in his god-like form, along with the air-borne figures of Elijah and Moses. There is a shimmering gold cross on a starry sky, copied from the Galla Placidia Mausoleum. Above them all is The Hand of God protruding from the heavens. Up above the apse, we see the twelve lambs again, along with the four symbols of the Biblical Evangelists (Eagle, Winged Man, Lion and Calf), and a transfigured, very god-like Jesus, demonstrating that this whole scene is a glorification of Christ’s divine nature, and it is also a condemnation of the Arian heresy.
On the arch, under palm tress symbolising justice, there are two archangels, Michael and Gabriel, and busts of Saint Matthew and another male saint. All the forces of Heaven seem to be here to join in the acclamation of the Truth and the Word. There are also four figures of bishops, the founders of Ravenna’s main basilicas, and a 7th century panel showing the Byzantine Emperor Constantine IV granting the city’s privileges to the Archbishop’s envoy. Finally there is a panel showing Abraham, Abel and Melchizedek offering sacrifices to God. For all its anti-Arian symbolism, the apse mosaics, like those in the Galla Placidia Mausoleum, leave us, mere mortals, with a less didactic message – peaceful beauty and tranquillity in the God’s creation. The sense of spiritual calm is complimented by the basilica’s architecture, a celebration of space, and of the grassy surroundings outside, mirrored up there with Sant’Apollinare and his sheep.
The So-Called Theodoric’s Palace (c.6th or 7th century AD?)
The building, or ruins of a building on the Via Roma in Ravenna has often been called the ruined remains of Theodoric’s Palace, but 20th and 21st century archaeology has discovered that the real palace lay behind this structure and behind Theodoric’s Basilica di Sant’Apollinare, a short distance from here. The remains we see today where probably part of the guard house to the palace complex which might have been the home of the Ravenna Exarch’s, governors appointed by the Emperor Justinian to rule the Italian peninsular after the death of Theodoric in 525 AD. After this, there is evidence that the building might have become a church and later still a private dwelling. Today it is a fascinating ruin from the time of Theodore, so the rather clumsy new name The So-Called Theodoric’s Palace is good enough for now.
The mosaic of Theodoric’s Palace on the wall of Basilica di Sant’Apollinare originally also showed Theodoric and his court ‘at home’ in the palace. The Emperor Justinian wanted the Ostrogothic King expunged from the record, so golden bricks and drapes were introduced to the work, leaving just the image of the palace which was taken to be the same building that we see in the photograph, even thought it is demonstrably different. The palace, which definitely existed in Ravenna was probably a grander affair than these ruins would suggest.
Imaging the restored building as a guard house, allows us to think of the spaces that remain as entrance vestibules with narrow sentry-duty corridors at the front and soldiers’ quarters up the spiral stairs to the first floor; which is now being used to exhibit some of the mosaics excavated over recent years and which appear to be from the floors of the real palace behind.
Archaeologists continue to find clues to Theodoric’s Palace, but the ruins already visible show us roughly where his palatial grounds were and how they fitted in with his great basilica next door.
Theodoric’s Mausoleum (520 AD)
Theodoric had his own burial mausoleum built in AD 520, five years before his death, and he was buried here with much pomp and ceremony in what must have been a magnificent display of Gothic ritual. His tomb was built in what was then open countryside outside the city of Ravenna, maybe to keep it safe from his likely successors, as he appears to have wanted his last resting place to be an Arian and a traditional Ostrogothic memorial. It is unique, as the only surviving mausoleum built in the Gothic style, without any stylistic features from Roman or Byzantine art.
It is still a distance from the city centre but the modern city has grown up around it and the mausoleum is now in a pleasant urban park. I was particularly attracted to the orderly rows of trees that remind me of those virgins and martyrs in Theodoric’s church, the Basilica di Sant’Apollinare Nuovo.
The building itself has a domed roof carved from a single stone that weighs 230 tonnes – not even the apparently superhuman Theodoric could have lifted it up there on his own. It is a two story structure with the actual burial chamber at the top. When I was there it was eerily silent apart from the calls of a few crows. Downstairs, inside, the curators have created a recording of unauthentic but Gothic-sounding music – unexpected but effective.
The dead king’s body would have been placed in this porphyry tub, something that wouldn’t be out of place in a luxury hotel. Theodoric had visualised his final resting place, lying here sealed up in silence in the country that he had made his own. Directly over his head was a Gothic-style Christian cross. It was all perfectly orchestrated.
The tub is now empty, of course, because the Byzantine authorities ordered that the building should be used as an Orthodox Christian oratory and Theodoric’s remains were removed – and, I assume, lost. The tub was found in the ruins that are now called the So-Called Theodoric’s Palace.
Theodoric, the civilised warrior-king with his subversively human theology would never have been allowed to rest in peace here, but he was far too big a figure to be successfully air-brushed out of history as his legacy in Ravenna still shows us.
