San Rufino, Assisi's cathedral

San Rufino at sunset

As promised a little while ago, I'd like to introduce you to my all-time favorite medieval church façade, the magnificent 12th century romanesque front of Assisi's cathedral.  This medieval church is dedicated to San Rufino and houses the saint's relics.

This may well suggest two questions to you:

• What, exactly, is romanesque, anyway?  
• And why just the façade?

 To answer the second one first, in the 16th century they baroqued the poor thing to death on the inside (sorry, I think my biases are showing...), thereby making it much less interesting to someone who studies the middle ages.   Not that there aren't still a few very cool bits, and of course there's all that history (see earlier blog post about three important baptisms).  But what is authentically 12th and 13th century is that intricate, astonishing façade.  (Also the bell tower, which actually includes some even earlier components.)

Romanesque arch

As for the second one, there's a simple distinction between medieval arches (round arch = romanesque = earlier, pointy arch = gothic = later), but of course there's lots more to it than that.   Not that I understand much of it; I don't really speak architecture.  But I did find this passage helpful (from Architectural Guides for Travellers:  Medieval Tuscany and Umbria, by Anthony Osler McIntyre):

Gothic arch

The name Romanesque indicates the style's debt to classical architecture.  As a living architecture it was partly an inheritance from the Lombards, who had ruled in Central Italy until the eighth century, and to some extent from the Carolingian architects who had followed them.  Yet the medieval artist grew up surrounded by real classical buildings, as were so many of the structures he demolished to build the new civic palaces or churches.

This author does seem to know his pediments from his cornices, though he's a tad shaky on the history (Saint Clare was Saint Francis's sister?!?  I think that would have surprised both of them quite a bit!).

But we are (I hope!) less shaky on the history, on this blog.  So here's a bit of the history of this church:

The Duomo of San Rufino honors - naturally enough - San Rufino, a 3rd century martyr and the patron saint of the city of Assisi.  (What?  you may say.  It isn't Francis?  No, Francis is one of the patron saints of all of Italy.  Rufino gets Assisi.) 

As early as the 5th century here was a chapel dedicated to San Rufino on this spot, which many believe to be the site of the Forum from Assisi's Roman days.   Traces of a Roman retaining wall survive under the floor of the current church.

Santa Maria Maggiore

In the 11th century Bishop Ugone built a new cathedral on the site.  At the time this building was constructed, Assisi's cathedral was Santa Maria Maggiore, but Bishop Ugone's version of San Rufino became the cathedral in 1036.  This version of the church projected farther out into what is now the piazza (and sometime parking lot) than the current church does.  Bits of it can still be seen in the crypt, and also the lowest part of the bell tower. 

Piazza (and parking lot)

Bell tower

In 1134 the decision was made to tear down the old church and build the one that stands on the piazza today.  Construction on the new building, designed by an architect known to us as Giovanni of Gubbio, began in 1140 and finished around 1228, though it was 1253 before it was consecrated by Pope Innocent IV.

Innocent IV

Saint Francis knew this church well.  Born in around 1181, Francis (who died in 1226) probably watched as this church was completed, and saw the decorative details as they were added to the façade over the years.  One wonders which aspects were already in place when he first preached there, around 1210 or 1211, and which were yet to come.

Saints Francis and Clare

Saint Clare would have known the church well, too - in fact, this church may be where she first heard Francis preach.  Clare's childhood home is right next door to the cathedral.  She could have stepped out her front door and reached the central portal of San Rufino in about a dozen paces.

The remarkable façade, with its biblical and animal motifs, is thought to have been modeled on Spoleto's cathedral, shown here:

The building is constructed of white stone from Mount Subasio and of travertine.  Mount Subasio produces stone in both white and pink, and in Assisi the two have often been used together to graceful effect:

The lower part contains three doors.  An arcade rests on the cornice, and a central rose window, consisting of three concentric circles, is surrounded by the symbols of the evangelists and held up by three telamones or atlantes standing on the backs of three fabulous beasts.  These little guys are my favorite part of the whole church; I find them utterly charming, for some reason.

Arcade

 Each portal is surrounded by rich carvings, with geometric and plant motifs,  animals, and fanciful creatures.  Sculpted lions and griffins flank the portals; one lion is eating a human being, the other a goat.  (One source says that the first represents "the pagan sacrifice" and the second "the Jewish sacrifice," but I've also read that the lion eating the man is a reminder of martyred Christians.)

Main portal

 

The blank space at the top of the façade may once have been intended to house a mosaic, or may even have once contained one.  This whole area is a later addition, probably 13th century.

The lunette over the main portal pictures a figure of the Blessing God, crowned like a king and with an outstretched hand that some find reminiscent of contemporary depictions of the emperor Frederick II, who had childhood ties with Assisi and may have contributed to the building of this church.  On one side is the Madonna, nursing the infant Jesus; on the other, a figure representing either San Rufino or Saint John the Evangelist.

Frederick II

The bell tower's oldest extant bell dates from 1287.  At the tower's base is a vaulted Roman cistern.  The one-handed liturgical clock tells 24-hour time, with the day ending at sunset.

And since sunset is perhaps the best time to view this beautiful and evocative church, I'll leave you as we began, with a view of the cathedral at the close of the day.

Images in this picture:  Frederick II, Saint Francis, and gothic and romanesque arches are in the public domain by virtue of age.  Photos of the loggia supported by carved heads and of the detail around the main portal are licensed to Wolfgang Sauber under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 unported license via Wikimedia Commons; the picture of the griffin is similarly licensed to JoJan (Georges Jansoone); and the picture of the Cathedral of Spoleto is similarly licensed to Italiamedievale.  Other photos are by my husband Tim Heath, who holds copyright.

Rockin' the Rocca - story/caption contest

The Rocca Maggiore, Assisi

This week I am in the mood to be entertained.  To that end, I'm going to provide four pictures of an exhibition within the magnificent castle pictured above, and I'm asking you, my clever and creative readers, to use them to create a story.  Or, if that doesn't appeal, I'd like you to assign captions to these pictures.  I will write something along these lines myself, and whatever you send me, whether privately or in the comments, will then appear along with my version in my next blog post.

If I select your entry as the best, your reward will be to have your work featured here for the admiration and adulation of your peers.  I may also come up with a prize, but so far I haven't thought of anything, so no guarantees there.

The Rocca on its hill

 Perched high on a hill, this formidable structure glowers down at the town of Assisi.  It's been doing this for quite a while; this version has been in place since the late 14th century, but an earlier castle, built by 1174, was torn down by a mob of townspeople which might have included the then-teenager Francis of Assisi.

Inside this castle we saw a curious exhibition:  faceless mannequins, dressed in the sorts of medieval costumes the people of Assisi love to wear for their Calendimaggio celebrations.   Click here to see a slideshow of this colorful spectacle; here to watch a short video. 

 

Calendimaggio

Calendimaggio

The mannequins were arranged in various poses around a hall.  Presumably they are meant to represent some of the people who would have lived and worked in this castle, long ago.  They might have walked on this floor, or one very much like it:

Perhaps they went up and down these stairs:

And maybe they looked out this window:

 

But we don't really know anything about who they were, or what they did.  So, next I'll show you the four pictures we're using in this contest.  If you wish to write a (very short) story, here are the rules:

• You may place the pictures in any order you wish (but do specify).
• You may write one paragraph about each picture.
• Or, if you prefer, you may offer a caption for any or all of the pictures.

 The pictures:

Picture A

Picture B

Picture C

Picture D

There.  That's all there is to it.  Tell us what these silent, faceless people were all about - entertain us, amuse us, edify us.  You have about a week; I'll look forward to seeing what people come up with.  Enjoy!

Images in this post are my husband's photos and he holds copyright, with the exception of the two Calendimaggio pictures, which the photographer has placed in the public domain.

An ancient church, three significant baptisms: San Rufino

San Rufino, Cathedral of Assisi (photo by Raffaele Carloforti, before 1901)

San Rufino.  This magnificent Romanesque church has stood on its elevated piazza in Assisi for around 900 years, and two earlier versions occupied its space before that.  From its vantage point on what was once Assisi's Roman forum, it looks down on the rest of that very vertical Umbrian hill town.  Named for Saint Rufino, the third century martyr and bishop of Assisi who is the city's patron saint, Assisi's cathedral has a magnificent 12th-century façade which I will be blogging about in the near future, complete with lavish illustrations, but for today I want to concentrate on three baptisms that occurred here in the 12th century:

• Francesco di Pietro di Bernadone (who was to become Saint Francis)
• Chiara Offreduccio (to become Saint Clare)
• Frederick Hohenstaufen (to become Holy Roman Emperor and a whole bunch of other things)

Francesco and Chiara

Frederick

Taking these baptisms in chronological order by birth, we'll begin with Francesco.

Francesco was born in 1181 or 1182, in Assisi.  He was the son of Pietro, a wealthy merchant, and his wife Pica.  Although biographical information about him is sketchy and draws heavily on legend, much of it supplied after his death and canonization, a few themes do recur.

It is said that his father was away on business, probably in France, when Francesco was born (Pietro bought and sold luxury fabrics).  It is also said that the child's  baptismal name may have been Giovanni, and his father Pietro may have changed it when he returned from his travels.  

Francis's parents (statue in Assisi)

One legend says that a pilgrim, begging for food, knocked at the door of Pietro and Pica's home on the evening of the day of the baptism.  After eating, the guest asked to hold the infant.  To the nurse's surprise, Pica agreed.  The mysterious pilgrim studied the child and then said, "Today two children have been baptized in this city; this one will be among the best of men, the other among the worst."  (This incident is cited in Adrian Houses's biography, Francis of Assisi:  A Revolutionary Life, and is based on one of the early Lives of Saint Francis.)  

As a novelist, I find that this legend raises two questions:  the first, naturally, is who was that other child?  But no one seems to want to tell us the answer to that, so we move on to the next question, which is:  why only two?  It was usual at this time, in the Italian communes, for a mass baptism to take place on Easter Saturday, involving all of the children born since the previous mass baptism, and performed with great pomp and circumstance, welcoming the new Christians not only to their faith, but to citizenship in their city.   The population of Assisi at this time was between 2000-3000, so Easter Saturday would surely have seen more than two candidates for baptism.

(As Dante has his ancestor Cacciaguida say, when they encounter each other in the Divine Comedy, "... and in your ancient baptistery, at once I became both Christian and Cacciaguida.")

Baptism was considered a vitally important sacrament, as it was believed that unbaptized children would not go to heaven when they died.  Thus, when there was any doubt about a child's health, emergency baptism could take place at any time.  In fact, laypersons could administer baptism in a pinch.  And given the extremely high infant mortality rate of the time, it's obvious that not every child waited for the next Easter Saturday to be baptized.  Francis had health problems all of his life; perhaps he was not a sturdy infant, and a baptism was performed soon after his birth. (Alternately, perhaps we shouldn't believe the legend.)

So we don't really know whether Francesco was baptized on Saturday, the 28th of March, 1182, or some other time.  But we do know that he (and also Chiara and Frederick) were baptized in this font, which you can barely see through the metal grille):

 

Chiara was born into a noble family in Assisi.  Like many others of their social caste, her family lived near the cathedral - in fact, pretty much right next door.  Here are pictures of the placque proclaiming that building to be Chiara's childhood home, and also the small shrine inside the doors of the house:

On our recent trip to Assisi, we also stayed within spitting distance of San Rufino, and were awakened to its bells every morning.  I think I can safely attest that the young Chiara rarely got a chance to sleep in.

There's a legend attached to Chiara's birth, too:  it's said that her mother, Ortolana, was fearful as her time for delivery approached, but when she prayed in front of a crucifix, she heard a voice telling her, "Woman, fear not, for safe and sound you shall give birth to a light that will greatly illuminate the world."  This is said to be why she chose the name "Chiara" (Clare, or clear) for her daughter.  Chiara's birthdate was July 16, 1194, so if she was included in the mass baptism, it would have been quite a few months later, in early spring of 1195. 

And that leaves Frederick.  Some of you may remember my most recent blog post, which concerned the unusual circumstances of his birth (see here). Things didn't get any more normal for Frederick, certainly not for a while, maybe not ever.  His mother, who was off to help her husband claim a throne, handed him over to the Duchess of Spoleto for safekeeping while she was away.

Constance, handing off Frederick to the Duchess of Spoleto

Some say that he spent his early years living in Foligno; others say it was Assisi, because the Duke of Spoleto was often in residence in the Rocca, a castle perched even higher up than the cathedral and dominating the town (in more ways than one). 

The Rocca

I think the latter may be more likely, since at that time Foligno was a bigger city than Assisi, and there would have been no particular reason for his baptism not to have happened there. 

I doubt if Frederick's baptism was part of a mass baptism on Easter Saturday.  It seems to have been a festive occasion, with processions, and with many dignitaries on hand to do honor to the royal boy.  Some say that the lad's parents had wanted his baptism to be performed by no one less than the pope himself, and that it was the Duke and Duchess of Spoleto who made the decision, in the absence of his parents, to go ahead and have it done in Assisi.  Here's a picture of Frederick's parents, and of his baptism:

Frederick had been born just a few months after Chiara; had they both been involved in a mass baptism, it would have been the same one.  His birth was on December 26, 1194.  His baptism was a public event.  Adrian House speculates that everyone in town would have known about this important occasion, and that it is very likely that the young Francesco (about 13 at this time) would have been there, to see the procession and the crowds if not to observe from within the church. 

I'd love to tell you more about what a baptism ceremony entailed in 12th century Assisi, but it is fiendishly difficult to pinpoint exactly how it was done at a particular time and place.  

We do know some things.  Preparations for the mass baptisms began months ahead of time, with infants being enrolled and then attending scrutinies, during which they underwent exorcisms, vows (usually spoken by their godparents), and anointings.  We know that a male child likely would have had two godfathers and one godmother, and a female child two godmothers and one godfather.  We know that the first male child baptized would receive the name Giovanni (in honor of John the Baptist) and the first female child would become Maria (for the Virgin).  (We don't think, however, that this explains Francesco's original name of Giovanni, if indeed that's true, because we suspect that the honor would have gone to a child born to a family of the nobility.)  We know that the newly baptized infants would be clothed in pure white garments (though how long the garments stayed that way on newborns is anybody's guess).  

But every city had different rituals, different traditions.  Nothing was standardized yet, and everything was in flux.  So for much of what went on, we can only guess. 

But we do know that the baptismal font pictured above hosted three remarkable individuals, and that the magnificent church of San Rufino looks very much today as it did to Francesco, Chiara, and Frederick.

Images in this post are in the public domain or are my husband's photographs (to which he holds copyright), with the exception of the baptismal font photo, which is licensed to Georges Jansoone (User name JoJan) via the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license, Wikimedia Commons.

Winter comes to Assisi

A dejected soon-to-be Saint Francis in the snow, returning from war

As some of you know, I've recently returned from a trip to Assisi, where I had the privilege of spending three weeks in November doing research and drinking in all the beauties of that wonderful medieval city.

My husband and I often travel late in the fall, as the crowds are thinner then, prices lower, and the weather wherever we're going is probably going to be better than it is at home (Wisconsin).  This time, though, for the first time I had the pleasure of watching the season change dramatically during the time we were there.

The day we were scheduled to arrive (which is not the day we did arrive, pace United Airlines; if you want to read more about this debacle, see the starred paragraphs at the end), it was supposed to be 70 degrees in Assisi.  By the time we left, things had changed radically, and we were feeling more like this poor fellow:

Statue of friar at Eremo dei Carceri

We were fortunate to have an apartment with a view across the valley, so we could see the weather moving in.  This was ideal for my research purposes, because I was learning about the life of a remarkable woman named Giacoma, and she might well have been a guest in a 13th century palazzo right where our apartment building was, near the cathedral and situated in the neighborhood where the upper crust lived (and a couple of doors down from Saint Clare's childhood home).  So, when I looked out the window and realized I could see Santa Maria degli Angeli down below (that being the vast baroque church that has engulfed the tiny hut that served as the first home for Francis with his early followers), I knew that Giacoma, too, could have looked out her window and would have seen that hut, and could have watched the friars walking slowly up the hill toward her. 

Everything was summery, green, and lovely.  The Basilica of Saint Francis looked like this:

The old amphitheatre area looked like this:

The Rocca, high on its peak, looked like this:

But all that was about to change.  Fortunately, the day we decided to hike up Mount Subasio to the Eremo dei Carceri, another Francis-related place of great interest, we still had decent weather, though it was a long, hard slog anyway (imagine climbing stairs for four and a half kilometers - that's how steep it was).  We could look down on the valley and see the clouds collecting.

 At home, too, things were starting to look a bit more ominous.

And at the Basilica, too:

Then the snow came.  We watched, cozy in our apartment, as it blanketed the area, whiting out our view of the valley.

This was a great opportunity for me.  I could watch how the twisting, winding streets below sheltered some areas and left others exposed.  I could observe people making their way along the street, and from that I could tell how the wind was blowing.  I could watch the storm progress across the valley - at least until the snow filled the air and obscured the view.

This was the first time I ever took notes on a snowstorm!  When we finally ventured out, we found it slushy and a little slippery.  I realized this was a problem Giacoma would not have had, since there would have been much less paving in her day - her main difficulty would have been mud, I suspect.  It was quite nippy, and when I thought of Francis and his brothers in their thin, patched tunics, making their way up and down the mountain barefoot, I began for the first time to realize, just a little, how great were the hardships they chose to endure. 

And now beautiful Assisi looked like this:

Tau cross and the word "PAX" outside the Basilica

Mount Subasio

It was winter.  And we got to see it arrive.  But now we had our view of the valley back, as the sky cleared:

And I had a much better idea of what life in Assisi would have been like for my characters, thanks to our fortunate timing.

I'll leave you with a couple of seasonal images also from Assisi.  Note that the jolly red-clad gentleman is engaging in a most appropriate seasonal activity, namely, reading.

And here's that part about our travel misadventures.  (Warning - rant ahead.)

*The reason we spent the first night of our trip in Newark, New Jersey instead of in Assisi is that United Airlines screwed everything up.  Delays which should have been inconsequential snowballed into bigger delays that were badly handled, misinformation proliferated, and all in all, it was a mess.  As if that wasn't enough, they then proceeded to send our luggage to Munich (Munich?!), where it remained, probably hanging out in a beerhall, for a week.  That left us shopping for socks and underwear in Assisi's street market.  (Thanks, Samuele - my husband loves the Albanian underwear!)

But that wasn't enough.  Oh, no.  Next, they bumped us from our seats on Phase 2 of the return trip (Chicago to Madison), reseating us twenty rows apart.  But before we had even read the email that told us of that, they bumped us from the flight entirely, and told us the flight had been cancelled.  That flight was not cancelled.  They were prepared to just dump us in Chicago, making no further arrangements, presumably because someone had waved money at them for our seats.  When we called from Vienna  they scheduled us on a late plane, leaving about seven hours after our original flight was scheduled to go.  Considering the time we started moving in Vienna, and the time change, that would have meant a travel day of twenty-three and a half hours door to door.  We came home from Chicago on the bus, arriving two hours before we would have left on that late plane.

In this season of peace and goodwill toward mankind, one should not speak ill of an airline company, even one staffed by people who somehow manage to give you misinformation at every turn.  I'm sure that next time it would be much better.  (Of course, the next time we fly United will be when Hell freezes over, so I think we could realistically expect weather-related delays.)

I would just like to point out, however, that "Fly the friendly skies of United" can be anagrammed to read:  "So tired:  nuke filthy fly fiends."  True, you have to add the punctuation and there's an "e" left over, but still. 

Images in this post are all photos taken by Timothy Heath, who holds copyright.