S. Michele and the Monte Pirchiriano
[Picture: S. Michele and the Monte Pirchiriano]
[Picture: S. Michele] SOME time after the traveller from Paris to Turin
has passed through the Mont Cenis tunnel, and shortly before he arrives
at Bussoleno station, the line turns eastward, and a view is obtained of
the valley of the Dora, with the hills beyond Turin, and the Superga, in
the distance. On the right-hand side of the valley and about half-way
between Susa and Turin the eye is struck by an abruptly-descending
mountain with a large building like a castle upon the top of it, and the
nearer it is approached the more imposing does it prove to be. Presently
the mountain is seen more edgeways, and the shape changes. In
half-an-hour or so from this point, S. Ambrogio is reached, once a
thriving town, where carriages used to break the journey between Turin
and Susa, but left stranded since the opening of the railway. Here we
are at the very foot of the Monte Pirchiriano, for so the mountain is
called, and can see the front of the building—which is none other than
the famous sanctuary of S. Michele, commonly called “della Chiusa,” from
the wall built here by Desiderius, king of the Lombards, to protect his
kingdom from Charlemagne.
The history of the sanctuary is briefly as follows:—
At the close of the tenth century, when Otho III was Emperor of Germany,
a certain Hugh de Montboissier, a noble of Auvergne, commonly called
“Hugh the Unsewn” (_lo sdruscito_), was commanded by the Pope to found a
monastery in expiation of some grave offence. He chose for his site the
summit of the Monte Pirchiriano in the valley of Susa, being attracted
partly by the fame of a church already built there by a recluse of
Ravenna, Giovanni Vincenzo by name, and partly by the striking nature of
the situation. Hugh de Montboissier when returning from Rome to France
with Isengarde his wife, would, as a matter of course, pass through the
valley of Susa. The two—perhaps when stopping to dine at S.
Ambrogio—would look up and observe the church founded by Giovanni
Vincenzo: they had got to build a monastery somewhere; it would very
likely, therefore, occur to them that they could not perpetuate their
names better than by choosing this site, which was on a much travelled
road, and on which a fine building would show to advantage. If my view
is correct, we have here an illustration of a fact which is continually
observable—namely, that all things which come to much, whether they be
books, buildings, pictures, music, or living beings, are suggested by
others of their own kind. It is; always the most successful, like Handel
and Shakespeare, who owe most to their forerunners, in spite of the
modifications with which their works descend.
Giovanni Vincenzo had built his church about the year 987. It is
maintained by some that he had been Bishop of Ravenna, but Claretta gives
sufficient reason for thinking otherwise. In the “Cronaca Clusina” it is
said that he had for some years previously lived as a recluse on the
Monte Caprasio, to the north of the present Monte Pirchiriano; but that
one night he had a vision, in which he saw the summit of Monte
Pirchiriano enveloped in heaven-descended flames, and on this founded a
church there, and dedicated it to St. Michael. This is the origin of the
name Pirchiriano, which means _πῦρ κυρίανον_, or the Lord’s fire.
The fame of the heavenly flames and the piety of pilgrims brought in
enough money to complete the building—which, to judge from the remains of
it embodied in the later work, must have been small, but still a church,
and more than a mere chapel or oratory. It was, as I have already
suggested, probably imposing enough to fire the imagination of Hugh de
Montboissier, and make him feel the capabilities of the situation, which
a mere ordinary wayside chapel might perhaps have failed to do. Having
built his church, Giovanni Vincenzo returned to his solitude on the top
of Monte Caprasio, and thenceforth went backwards and forwards from one
place of abode to the other.
Avogadro is among those who make Giovanni Bishop, or rather Archbishop,
of Ravenna, and gives the following account of the circumstances which
led to his resigning his diocese and going to live at the top of the
inhospitable Monte Caprasio. It seems there had been a confirmation at
Ravenna, during which he had accidentally forgotten to confirm the child
of a certain widow. The child, being in weakly health, died before
Giovanni could repair his oversight, and this preyed upon his mind. In
answer, however, to his earnest prayers, it pleased the Almighty to give
him power to raise the dead child to life again: this he did, and having
immediately performed the rite of confirmation, restored the boy to his
overjoyed mother. He now became so much revered that he began to be
alarmed lest pride should obtain dominion over him; he felt, therefore,
that his only course was to resign his diocese, and go and live the life
of a recluse on the top of some high mountain. It is said that he
suffered agonies of doubt as to whether it was not selfish of him to take
such care of his own eternal welfare, at the expense of that of his
flock, whom no successor could so well guide and guard from evil; but in
the end he took a reasonable view of the matter, and concluded that his
first duty was to secure his own spiritual position. Nothing short of
the top of a very uncomfortable mountain could do this, so he at once
resigned his bishopric and chose Monte Caprasio as on the whole the most
comfortable uncomfortable mountain he could find.
The latter part of the story will seem strange to Englishmen. We can
hardly fancy the Archbishop of Canterbury or York resigning his diocese
and settling down quietly on the top of Scafell or Cader Idris to secure
his eternal welfare. They would hardly do so even on the top of Primrose
Hill. But nine hundred years ago human nature was not the same as
nowadays.
The valley of Susa, then little else than marsh and forest, was held by a
marquis of the name of Arduin, a descendant of a French or Norman
adventurer Roger, who, with a brother, also named Arduin, had come to
seek his fortune in Italy at the beginning of the tenth century. Roger
had a son, Arduin Glabrio, who recovered the valley of Susa from the
Saracens, and established himself at Susa, at the junction of the roads
that come down from Mont Cenis and the Mont Genèvre. He built a castle
here which commanded the valley, and was his base of operations as Lord
of the Marches and Warden of the Alps.
Hugh de Montboissier applied to Arduin for leave to build upon the Monte
Pirchiriano. Arduin was then holding his court at Avigliana, a small
town near S. Ambrogio, even now singularly little altered, and full of
mediæval remains; he not only gave his consent, but volunteered to sell a
site to the monastery, so as to ensure it against future disturbance.
The first church of Giovanni Vincenzo had been built upon whatever little
space could be found upon the top of the mountain, without, so far as I
can gather, enlarging the ground artificially. The present church—the
one, that is to say, built by Hugh de Montboissier about A.D. 1000—rests
almost entirely upon stone piers and masonry. The rock has been masked
by a lofty granite wall of several feet in thickness, which presents
something of a keep-like appearance. The spectator naturally imagines
that there are rooms, &c., behind this wall, whereas in point of fact
there is nothing but the staircase leading up to the floor of the church.
Arches spring from this masking wall, and are continued thence until the
rock is reached; it is on the level surface thus obtained that the church
rests. The true floor, therefore, does not begin till near what appears
from the outside to be the top of the building.
There is some uncertainty as to the exact date of the foundation of the
monastery, but Claretta {90} inclines decidedly to the date 999, as
against 966, the one assigned by Mabillon and Torraneo. Claretta relies
on the discovery, by Provana, of a document in the royal archives which
seems to place the matter beyond dispute. The first abbot was
undoubtedly Avverto or Arveo, who established the rules of the
Benedictine Order in his monastery. “In the seven hours of daily work
prescribed by the Benedictine rule,” writes Cesare Balbo, “innumerable
were the fields they ploughed, and the houses they built in deserts,
while in more frequented places men were laying cultivated ground waste,
and destroying buildings: innumerable, again, were the works of the holy
fathers and of ancient authors which were copied and preserved.” {91}
From this time forward the monastery received gifts in land and
privileges, and became in a few years the most important religious
establishment in that part of Italy.
There have been several fires—one, among others, in the year 1340, which
destroyed a great part of the monastery, and some of the deeds under
which it held valuable grants; but though the part inhabited by the monks
may have been rebuilt or added to, the church is certainly untouched.