But how effective were those vows? In the pilgrims' intentions these were certainly innocent and full of ardour, I thought. But, I murmured to myself as I passed a squalid and most costly lodging house for pilgrims which I knew to be the property of a cardinal — there was also something else beyond those prayers that was perhaps less innocent and pure: the very organisation of the Jubilee.
Of course, I well knew (and it was universally known) that Pope Boniface VIII had, in the year 1300, inaugurated the solemn recurrence of the Holy Year with the best of intentions. Drawing inspiration from the noble custom of the pontiffs of ancient times, who every hundred years granted the faithful full and complete remission of their sins, provided that they visited the Basilica of St Peter in the Vatican, Pope Boniface VIII had officially instituted the Jubilee Year in the full and proper sense, adding to past practice only the obligation to visit the Basilica of St Paul, and setting aside certain days for the visits of the faithful.
The news had spread like lightning throughout Christendom and had touched the hearts of the faithful everywhere, as though the very trumpeting angels of paradise had been at work. Its success had been immense. Swarms of Romei, or pilgrims, had in that year 1300 come to the Holy City from all the world over, descending from the valleys of the Apennines, crossing valleys and ravines, crags and gullies, peaks and high plateaux, towns and villages, rivers, seas and far-away coasts, bringing with them, both for the purposes of the journey and those of the sojourn in Rome, purses well filled with money: and this the popes, and with them all the Romans, found most welcome.
To make the great journey, the Romei had often sacrificed their most precious goods: peasants had abandoned their fields, merchants had neglected their business, shepherds had sold their flocks, and fishermen, their boats. This was not, however, to pay for the journey (which was made entirely on foot, like every good pilgrimage springing from a lively and uncontaminated faith) but rather to be able to procure for oneself a place to lay one's head in Rome, where such things cost a veritable fortune. There was no thought of sleeping in the open: if one did not fall a prey to cut- purses and cutthroats, the Pontifical Guards did what they could to dissuade the less fortunate pilgrims. Indeed, why sleep in the streets when the popes themselves had organised an immense number of lodgings for the pilgrims? Confraternities and pious hospices did their very best; but beds were always scarce. At the Jubilee of 1650, it was said that even the Pope's sister-in-law, the powerful and notorious Donna Olimpia, had purchased lodgings and inns to take advantage of the arrival of the pilgrims. But in truth all the Romans enjoyed the benefits of the holy event. Aware of their responsibilities as hosts, they had turned innkeeper overnight, knowing full well that the regular inns and the religious hostels would never suffice to accommodate the influx of pilgrims. When the poor travellers, exhausted by the fatigues of the journey, came to the door of the inhabitants of the Holy City (as Buccio di Ranallo tells it so well) they were then greeted with angelic smiles, kindness and mercy without end. Once, however, they had entered their chambers, the music changed and those angels turned into ravening dogs: the guests were piled up ten to a room (which sufficed for three or four at most), the sheets were filthy, the pillows stank, manners were rough and the food, although most costly, was rubbish. One could never be rid of the suspicion that the sudden rise in the prices of foodstuffs had been caused by clever frauds, keeping supplies of commodities far from the city. The poor quality of the food was usually blamed on bad meat and cheeses which, some said (but this was never proven) were cleverly mixed with the fresh produce.
Some Romei, believing that to sleep on the hard ground was a badge of merit to be taken into account when the time came for the remission of sins, would humbly lay themselves down in the streets of Rome. In the middle of the night, they would be, however, rudely awoken by the sergeants, who first of all would give them all a sound hiding for having violated the city's decorum and the regulations for public order. Then they would say to them, "Are you pilgrims? But how did you think to sleep like vagabonds? There's a hostel for people like you just a stone's throw from here." And thus the unfortunates would be compelled to rent a room for an unbelievable price in one of the boarding houses owned by relatives of the pontiff or high prelates.
Then there were the most embarrassing episodes, such as those when pilgrims, arriving exhausted at the gates of Rome, were seized by bands of slave-traders who, after beating all the stuffing out of them, forced them to work in the fields and released them, humiliated and extenuated by hard labour, only after many months.
Yet the Faith, indifferent to such passing inconveniences, had for centuries continued to draw glorious hosts of believers to the Holy City, and with them, huge sums of money: I knew that, among the most ancient examples, there had at the Jubilee of 1350 been one million two hundred thousand pilgrims during Lent and at Easter, and eight hundred thousand at Whitsuntide; in 1450, the Apostolic Chamber had taken one hundred thousand florins (and celebrated by converting no fewer than forty Jews and a rabbi). Finally, in 1650, only half a century before the Jubilee now being celebrated, there had been no fewer than seven hundred thousand pilgrims. Great feasting and booty was had by alclass="underline" the cobblers who resoled the Romei's boots, the innkeepers who fed them, the water-sellers who sated their thirst; and by the traders who had something to offer them: rosaries, holy images, stools to sit on, medicinal herbs, wine, prayer books, bread, clothing, hats, the authentic relics of saints, pens and paper, gazettes, guides to Rome and whatever could be bought and sold.
According to the wish of Boniface VIII, one hundred years should pass between one Jubilee and the next. Such an interval of one century was a warning to all sinners that one could not and should not abuse the patience of the Most High. However, seeing the success of the initiative, and its not unwelcome economic effects, the solemn interval of one hundred years was at once reduced to a half-century by Pope Clement VI who in fact announced the next recurrence in 1350 (without himself celebrating it in person, since he was then in Avignon, which was at that time the seat of the papacy, while Rome was soiled with bloodshed in internecine warfare between noble families, exhausted by the plague and perturbed by the dark misdeeds of the lawless plebeian Cola di Rienzo).
Boniface IX later shortened the interval to forty years and proclaimed a new Jubilee in 1390, and then another barely ten years later in 1400. Martin V celebrated one in 1423, while Nicholas V even went so far as to proclaim two consecutive ones in 1450 and 1451.
The next popes were more orderly, increasing the interval between one Jubilee and the next to 25 years: Sixtus IV held one in 1475, Alexander VI in 1500 and Clement VII in 1525. There then followed yet another intense acceleration: both Paul III and Julius III celebrated three Jubilees in four years.
The pace grew more and more breathless: Pius IV celebrated no fewer than four Holy Years during his pontificate (including two in the same year) while Clement VIII proclaimed three. Paul V marked up six, at an inexorable rate: 1605, 1608, 1609, 1610, 1617 and 1619. All of which was as nothing compared with the performance of Urban VIII who, in twenty years decreed no fewer than twelve of them.
Seeing their signal success, the popes who followed did not feel like changing course: Innocent X fitted five Jubilees into ten years, Alexander VII another five into nine years, while Clement IX even managed to compress four Holy Years into two years.