S. Michele (_continued_)
I HAD often seen this wonderful pile of buildings, and had marvelled at
it, as all must do who pass from Susa to Turin, but I never went actually
up to it till last summer, in company with my friend and _collaborateur_,
Mr. H. F. Jones. We reached S. Ambrogio station one sultry evening in
July, and, before many minutes were over, were on the path that leads to
San Pietro, a little more than an hour’s walk above S. Ambrogio.
In spite of what I have said about Kent, Surrey, and Sussex, we found
ourselves thinking how thin and wanting, as it were, in adipose cushion
is every other country in comparison with Italy; but the charm is
enhanced in these days by the feeling that it can be reached so easily.
Wednesday morning, Fleet Street; Thursday evening, a path upon the quiet
mountain side, under the overspreading chestnuts, with Lombardy at one’s
feet.
Some twenty minutes after we had begun to climb, the sanctuary became
lost to sight, large drops of thunder-rain began to fall, and by the time
we reached San Pietro it was pouring heavily, and had become quite dark.
An hour or so later the sky had cleared, and there was a splendid moon:
opening the windows, we found ourselves looking over the tops of trees on
to some lovely upland pastures, on a winding path through which we could
almost fancy we saw a youth led by an angel, and there was a dog with
him, and he held a fish in his hand. Far below were lights from villages
in the valley of the Dora. Above us rose the mountains, bathed in
shadow, or glittering in the moonbeams, and there came from them the
pleasant murmuring of streamlets that had been swollen by the storm.
[Picture: S. Michele from S. Pietro]
Next morning the sky was cloudless and the air invigorating. S.
Ambrogio, at the foot of the mountain, must be some 800 feet above the
sea, and San Pietro about 1500 feet above S. Ambrogio. The sanctuary at
the top of the mountain is 2800 feet above the sea-level, or about 500
feet above San Pietro. A situation more delightful than that of San
Pietro it is impossible to conceive. It contains some 200 inhabitants,
and lies on a ledge of level land, which is, of course, covered with the
most beautifully green grass, and in spring carpeted with wild-flowers;
great broad-leaved chestnuts rise from out the meadows, and beneath their
shade are strewn masses of sober mulberry-coloured rock; but above all
these rises the great feature of the place, from which, when it is in
sight, the eyes can hardly be diverted,—I mean the sanctuary of S.
Michele itself.
A sketch gives but little idea of the place. In nature it appears as one
of those fascinating things like the smoke from Vesuvius, or the town on
the Sacro Monte at Varese, which take possession of one to the exclusion
of all else, as long as they are in sight. From each point of view it
becomes more and more striking. Climbing up to it from San Pietro and
getting at last nearly on a level with the lower parts of the building,
or again keeping to a pathway along the side of the mountain towards
Avigliana, it will come as on the following page.
[Picture: S. Michele, near view]
[Picture: S. Michele, from Path to Avigliana]
There is a very beautiful view from near the spot where the first of
these sketches is taken. We are then on the very ridge or crest of the
mountain, and look down on the one hand upon the valley of the Dora going
up to Susa, with the glaciers of the Mont Cenis in the background, and on
the other upon the plains near Turin, with the _colline_ bounding the
horizon. Immediately beneath is seen the glaring white straight line of
the old Mont Cenis road, looking much more important than the dingy
narrow little strip of railroad that has superseded it. The trains that
pass along the line look no bigger than caterpillars, but even at this
distance they make a great roar. If the path from which the second view
is taken is followed for a quarter of an hour or so, another no less
beautiful point is reached from which one can look down upon the two
small lakes of Avigliana. These lakes supply Turin with water, and, I
may add, with the best water that I know of as supplied to any town.
[Picture: Main Entrance to the Sanctuary]
We will now return to the place from which the first of the sketches on
p. 95 was taken, and proceed to the sanctuary itself. Passing the small
but very massive circular ruin shown on the right hand of the sketch,
about which nothing whatever is known either as regards its date or
object, we ascend by a gentle incline to the outer gate of the sanctuary.
The battered plates of iron that cover the wooden doors are marked with
many a bullet. Then we keep under cover for a short space, after which
we find ourselves at the foot of a long flight of steps. Close by there
is a little terrace with a wall round it, where one can stand and enjoy a
view over the valley of the Dora to Turin.
Having ascended the steps, we are at the main entrance to the building—a
massive Lombard doorway, evidently the original one. In the space above
the door there have been two frescoes, an earlier and a later one, one
painted over the other, but nothing now remains save the signature of the
second painter, signed in Gothic characters. On entering, more steps
must be at once climbed, and then the staircase turns at right angles and
tends towards the rock.
At the head of the flight shown p. 98, the natural rock appears. The
arch above it forms a recess filled with desiccated corpses. The great
pier to the left, and, indeed, all the masonry that can be seen, has no
other object than to obtain space for, and to support, the floor of the
church itself. My drawing was taken from about the level of the top of
the archway through which the building is entered. There comes in at
this point a third small staircase from behind; ascending this, one finds
one’s self in the window above the door, from the balcony of which there
is a marvellous panorama. I took advantage of the window to measure the
thickness of the walls, and found them a little over seven feet thick and
built of massive granite blocks. The stones on the inside are so sharp
and clean cut that they look as if they were not more than fifty years
old. On the outside, the granite, hard as it is, is much weathered,
which, indeed, considering the exposed situation, is hardly to be
wondered at.
[Picture: Steps Leading to the Church, No. 1]
Here again how the wind must howl and whistle, and how the snow must beat
in winter! No one who has not seen snow falling during a time when the
thermometer is about at zero can know how searching a thing it is. How
softly would it not lie upon the skulls and shoulders of the skeletons.
Fancy a dull dark January afternoon’s twilight upon this staircase, after
a heavy snow, when the soft fleece clings to the walls, having drifted in
through many an opening. Or fancy a brilliant winter’s moonlight, with
the moon falling upon the skeletons after snow. And then let there be a
burst of music from an organ in the church above (I am sorry to say they
have only a harmonium; I wish some one would give them a fine organ). I
should like the following for example:—{99}
[Picture: Score form Handel; slow movement in the fifth grand concerto]
How this would sound upon these stairs, if they would leave the
church-door open. It is said in Murray’s handbook that formerly the
corpses which are now under the arch, used to be placed in a sitting
position upon the stairs, and the peasants would crown them with flowers.
Fancy twilight or moonlight on these stairs, with the corpses sitting
among the withered flowers and snow, and the pealing of a great organ.
[Picture: Steps Leading to the Church, No. 2]
After ascending the steps that lead towards the skeletons, we turn again
sharp round to the left, and come upon another noble flight—broad and
lofty, and cut in great measure from the living rock.
At the top of this flight there are two sets of Lombard portals, both of
them very fine, but in such darkness and so placed that it was impossible
to get a drawing of them in detail. After passing through them, the
staircase turns again, and, as far as I can remember, some twenty or
thirty steps bring one up to the level of the top of the arch which forms
the recess where the corpses are. Here there is another beautiful
Lombard doorway, with a small arcade on either side which I thought
English, rather than Italian, in character. An impression was produced
upon both of us that this doorway and the arcade on either side were by a
different architect from the two lower archways, and from the inside of
the church; or at any rate, that the details of the enrichment were cut
by a different mason, or gang of masons. I think, however, the whole
doorway is in a later style, and must have been put in after some fire
had destroyed the earlier one.
Opening the door, which by day is always unlocked, we found ourselves in
the church itself. As I have said, it is of pure Lombard architecture,
and very good of its kind; I do not think it has been touched since the
beginning of the eleventh century, except that it has been re-roofed and
the pitch of the roof altered. At the base of the most westerly of the
three piers that divide the nave from the aisles, there crops out a small
piece of the living rock; this is at the end farthest from the choir. It
is not likely that Giovanni Vincenzo’s church reached east of this point,
for from this point onwards towards the choir the floor is artificially
supported, and the supporting structure is due entirely to Hugo de
Montboissier. The part of the original church which still remains is
perhaps the wall, which forms the western limit of the present church.
This wall is not external. It forms the eastern wall of a large chamber
with frescoes. I am not sure that this chamber does not occupy the whole
space of the original church.
There are a few nice votive pictures in the church, and one or two very
early frescoes, which are not without interest; but the main charm of the
place is in the architecture, and the sense at once of age and strength
which it produces. The stock things to see are the vaults in which many
of the members of the royal house of Savoy, legitimate and illegitimate,
lie buried; they need not, however, be seen.
I have said that the whole building is of much about the same date, and,
unless perhaps in the residential parts, about which I can say little,
has not been altered. This is not the view taken by the author of
Murray’s Handbook for North Italy, who says that “injudicious repairs
have marred the effect of the building;” but this writer has fallen into
several errors. He talks, for example, of the “open Lombard gallery of
small circular arches” as being “one of the oldest and most curious
features of the building,” whereas it is obviously no older than the rest
of the church, nor than the keep-like construction upon which it rests.
Again, he is clearly in error when he says that the “extremely beautiful
circular arch by which we pass from the staircase to the corridor leading
to the church, is a vestige of the original building.” The double round
arched portals through which we pass from the main staircase to the
corridor are of exactly the same date as the staircase itself, and as the
rest of the church. They certainly formed no part of Giovanni Vincenzo’s
edifice; for, besides being far too rich, they are not on a level with
what remains of that building, but several feet below it. It is hard to
know what the writer means by “the original building;” he appears to
think it extended to the present choir, which, he says, “retains traces
of an earlier age.” The choir retains no such traces. The only remains
of the original church are at the back of the west end, invisible from
the inside of the church, and at the opposite end to the choir. As for
the church being “in a plain Gothic style,” it is an extremely beautiful
example of pure Lombard, of the first few years of the eleventh century.
True, the middle arch of the three which divide the nave from the aisles
is pointed, whereas the two others are round, but this is evidently done
to economise space, which was here unusually costly. There was room for
more than two round arches, but not room enough for three, so it was
decided to dock the middle arch a little. It is a she-arch—that is to
say, it has no keystone, but is formed simply by propping two segments of
a circle one against the other. It certainly is not a Gothic arch; it is
a Lombard arch, modified in an unusual manner, owing to its having been
built under unusual conditions.
[Picture: Garden at the Sanctuary of S. Michele]
The visitor should on no account omit to ring the bell and ask to be
shown the open Lombard gallery already referred to as running round the
outside of the choir. It is well worth walking round this, if only for
the view.
The official who showed us round was very kind, and as a personal favour
we were allowed to visit the fathers’ private garden. The large
arm-chairs are made out of clipped box-trees. While on our way to the
garden we passed a spot where there was an alarming buzzing, and found
ourselves surrounded by what appeared to be an angry swarm of bees;
closer inspection showed that the host was a medley one, composed of
wasps, huge hornets, hive-bees, humble-bees, flies, dragon-flies,
butterflies, and all kinds of insects, flying about a single patch of ivy
in full blossom, which attracted them so strongly that they neglected
everything else. I think some of them were intoxicated. If this was so,
then perhaps Bacchus is called “ivy-crowned” because ivy-blossoms
intoxicate insects, but I never remember to have before observed that
ivy-blossoms had any special attraction for insects.
I have forgotten to say anything about a beam of wood which may be seen
standing out at right angles from the tower to the right of the main
building. This I believe to have been the gallows. Another like it may
be seen at S. Giorio, but I have not got it in my sketch of that place.
The attendant who took us round S. Michele denied that it was the
gallows, but I think it must have been. Also, the attendant showed us
one place which is called _Il Salto della belle Alda_. Alda was being
pursued by a soldier; to preserve her honour, she leaped from a window
and fell over a precipice some hundreds of feet below; by the
intercession of the Virgin she was saved, but became so much elated that
she determined to repeat the feat. She jumped a second time from the
window, but was dashed to pieces. We were told this as being unworthy of
actual credence, but as a legend of the place. We said we found no great
difficulty in believing the first half of the story, but could hardly
believe that any one would jump from that window twice. {105}