Ex Voto: An Account of the Sacro Monte or New Jerusalem at Varallo-Sesia / With Some Notice of Tabachetti's Remaining Work at the Sanctuary of Crea

Chapel No. 3.  The Salutation of Mary by Elizabeth.

The walls of this chapel according to Fassola are old, but the figures all new.  Both Fassola and Torrotti say that Tabachetti had just begun to work on this chapel when he lost his reason, but as the work is described as complete in the 1586 edition of Caccia, it is evident, as I have already shown, that his insanity was only temporary, inasmuch as he did another chapel after 1590.  Both writers are very brief in their statement of the fact, Fassola only saying “quando era diuenuto pazzo,” and Torrotti “impazzitosi.”  The fresco background is meagre and forms no integral part of the design; this does not go for much, but suggests that in the original state of the chapel, which we know was an early one, there may have been but little background, the fresco background not having yet attained its full development.  The figures would doubtless look better than they do if they had not been loaded with many coats of shiny paint, which has clogged some of the modelling; they are not very remarkable, but improve upon examination, and it must be remembered that the subject is one of exceeding difficulty.

Chapel No. 4.  First Vision of St. Joseph.

Fassola and Torrotti say that this chapel was originally a servant’s lodge (“ospizio delli serui della Fabrica”), and part of the building is still used as a store-room.  The servants were subsequently shifted to what was then the chapel of the Capture of Christ, the figures in that chapel being moved to the one in which they are now.  The original Capture chapel was on the ground floor of the large house that stands on the right hand as one enters the small entrance to the Sacro Monte which a visitor will be tempted to take, opposite Giovanni Pschel’s chapel, and a little below the Temptation chapel.

The First Vision of St. Joseph is not mentioned in either the 1586 or 1590 editions of Caccia; we may therefore be certain that it did not exist, and may also be sure that it was Tabachetti’s last work upon the Sacro Monte—for that it is by him has never been disputed.  It should probably be dated early in 1591, by which time Tabachetti must have recovered his reason and was on the point of leaving Varallo for ever.  I give a photograph of the very beautiful figure of St. Joseph, which must rank among the finest on the Sacro Monte.  I grant that a sleeping figure is the easiest of all subjects, except a dead one, inasmuch as Nature does not here play against the artist with loaded dice, by being able to give the immediate change of position which the artist cannot.  With sleep and death there is no change required, so that the hardest sleeping figure is easier than the easiest waking one; moreover, sleep is so touching and beautiful that it is one of the most taking of all subjects; nevertheless there are sleeping figures and sleeping figures, and the St. Joseph in the chapel we are considering is greatly better than the second sleeping St. Joseph in chapel No. 9, by whomsoever this figure may be—or than the sleeping Apostles by D’Enrico in chapel No. 22.

Cusa says that the Madonna is taken from a small figure modelled by Gaudenzio still existing at Valduggia in the possession of the Rivaroli family.  She is a very pretty and graceful figure, and is sewing on a pillow in the middle of the composition—of course unmoved by the presence of the angel, who is only visible to her husband.  The angel is also a remarkably fine figure.

CHAPTER X.  THE SEVEN CHAPELS NUMBERED 5–11.

If Fassola and Torrotti are to be believed, [140] and I am afraid I must own that, much as I like them, I find them a little credulous, the Virgin in this chapel is more remarkable than she appears at first sight; she used originally to have her face turned in admiration towards the infant Christ, but at the very first moment that she heard the bells begin to ring for the elevation of Pope Innocent the Tenth to the popedom, she turned round to the pilgrims visiting the place, in token of approbation; the authorities, not knowing what to make of such behaviour, had her set right, but she turned round a second time with a most gracious smile and assumed the position which the elevation of no later Pope has been ever able to disturb.  Pope Innocent X. was not exactly the kind of Pope whom one would have expected the Virgin to greet with such extraordinary condescension.  If it had been the present amiable and venerable Pontiff there would have been less to wonder at.

Chapel No. 8.  Called by Fassola and Torrotti the Circumcision, and by Bordiga the Purification.

The chapel itself is, as I have already said, one of the very oldest on the Sacro Monte; it is doubtless much older than either the frescoes or the terra-cotta figures which it contains, both of which are given by Fassola, Torrotti, and Bordiga to Fermo Stella, but I cannot think they are right in either case.  The frescoes remind me more of Lanini, and are much too modern for Fermo Stella; they are, however, in but poor preservation, and no very definite opinion can be formed concerning them.  The terra-cotta work is, I think, also too free for Fermo Stella.  The infant Jesus is very pretty, and the Virgin would also be a fine figure if she was not spoiled by the wig and over-much paint which restorers have doubtless got to answer for.  The work is mentioned in the 1586 edition of Caccia as completed, but there is nothing to show whether or no it was a restoration.  I have long thought I detected a certain sub-Flemish feeling in both the Virgin and Child, and though aware that I have very little grounds for doing so, am half inclined to think that Tabachetti must have had something to do with them.  Bordiga is clearly wrong in calling the chapel a Purification.  There are no doves, and there must always be doves for a Purification.  Besides, there was till lately a knife ready for use lying on the table, as shown in Guidetti’s illustration of the chapel.

Chapel No. 9.  Joseph Warned to Fly.

This chapel is described as completed in both the 1586 and 1590 editions of Caccia.  The figures are again given to Fermo Stella by Bordiga, but not by either Fassola or Torrotti.  I am again unable to think that Bordiga is right.  There is again, also, a sub-Flemish feeling which is difficult to account for.  The angel is a fine figure, and the heads of the Virgin and Child are also excellent, but the folds of the drapery are not so good.  If there were any evidence, which there is not, to show that these figures were early works of Tabachetti, and that the sleeping St. Joseph is a first attempt at the figure which he succeeded later so admirably in rendering, I should be inclined to accept it; as it is, I can form no opinion about the authorship of the terra-cotta work.  The fresco background is worthless.

Chapel No. 10.  The Flight into Egypt.

This chapel is of no great interest.  The authors and the date are uncertain.  It is mentioned in the 1586 and 1590 editions of Caccia, but we may be tolerably sure that Tabachetti had nothing to do with it.  Bordiga says “the figures seem to be by Stella,” which may be right or may be wrong.  Though the figures are not very good, yet this chapel has, or had in Fassola’s time, other merits perhaps even of greater than artistic value, for he says it is particularly useful to those who have lost anything.  “Perditori di qualche cosa” are more especial recipients of grace in consequence of devotion at this particular chapel.  The flight is conducted as leisurely as flights into Egypt invariably are, but has with it a something, I know not what—perhaps it is the donkey—which always reminds me of Hampstead Heath on a bank holiday.

Chapel No.  11.  Massacre of the Innocents.

This is one of the most remarkable chapels on the Sacro Monte, and also one of the most abounding in difficult problems.  It was built with funds provided by Carlo Emanuele I., Duke of Savoy, about the year 1586, and took four years to complete.  In the 1586–7 edition of Caccia the chapel itself is alone given as completed.  In the 1590–1 edition, it is said that both the sculptures and the frescoes were now finished, and that they are all “bellissime e ben fatti (sic).”  This is confirmed by an inscription on the collar of a soldier who stands near Herod’s right hand, and which, I do not doubt, is intended to govern the whole of the terra-cotta work.  The inscription runs—

“Michel Ang.  RSTI” (Rossetti) “Scul: Da Claino MDXC  Etate an. VIIL”

This exactly tallies with the dates given in the two editions of Caccia.

The date is thus satisfactorily established, but the authorship of the work is less easily settled.  All the authorities without exception say that the sculptor was a certain Giacomo Bargnola of Valsolda, who was also called Bologna.  Fassola describes him as a “statuario virtuosissimo e glorioso per tutta l’ Europa,” and Torrotti calls him “il famoso Giacomo Bargnola di Valsoldo [sic] sopranominato Bologna.”  All subsequent writers have repeated this.

At Varallo itself I found nothing known about either Bargnola or Valsolda, but turning to Zani find Bargnola under the name Paracca.  Zani says, “Paracca, non Peracca, nè Perracca, nè Perrazza, Giannantonio, o Giacomo, detto il Valsoldo, Valsolino, e il Valsoldino, non Valfondino, ed anche il Bargnola, e malamente Antonio Valsado Parravalda.”  He says that he was a “plastico” and restorer of statues, came from the neighbourhood of Como, was “bravissimo,” and lived about from 1557–1587.  There was a Luigi Paracca from the same place who was also called “Il Valsoldino” and a Giacomo, and an Andrea, but of these last three he does not say that they were noteworthy.

Nagler mentions only a Giovanni Antonio Parracca, who he says was called Valsolda.  He says that he was a sculptor of Milan, who made a reputation at Rome about 1580 as a restorer of antique statues; that he only worked in order to get money to spend on debauchery, and died, according to Baglione, young, and in a hospital.  His words are—

“Paracca, Gio. Antonio gennant Valsoldo, Bildhauer von Mailand, machte sich um 1580 in Rom als Restaurator antiker Werke einen Namen, arbeitete aber nur, um Geld zur Schwelgerei zu bekommen.  Starb jung im Hospital wie Baglione versichert.”

I have had Baglione before me, but can find no life of Paracca either under that name or under that of Bargnola, and suppose the reference to him must be incidental in the life of some other artist.  I will again gratefully accept a fuller reference.  I do not believe a word about Paracca’s alleged debauchery.  Who ever yet worked as Nagler says?

We have, then, to face on the one hand the authority of all writers about the Sacro Monte, and on the other, the exceedingly explicit claim made by Rossetti himself in the inscription given above.  Probably Bargnola began the work and Rossetti finished it.  It is not likely that the extremely circumstantial statement of Fassola should be without any foundation, but again it is not likely that Rossetti would have claimed the work if he had not done at any rate the greater part of it.  If Bargnola died about 1587, he could not have done much, for in the 1586–1587 edition of Caccia it is expressly stated that the chapel alone was done “Di questa è fatta solamente la chiesa.”  And if he had lived to finish the work, he, and not Rossetti, would have signed it.  We may conclude, then, with some certainty, that he died before the chapel was finished, but may think it nevertheless probable that he was originally commissioned to do it.

The question resolves itself, therefore, into how much he did, and how soon Rossetti took the work over.  It must be remembered that Michael Angelo Rossetti is a name absolutely unknown to us.  Zani, Nagler, Cicognara, Lübke, Perkins, and all the authorities I have consulted omit to mention him.  I find abundant reference to three, and indeed five, painters who were called Rossetti, two of whom—doubtless nephews of Michael Angelo Rossetti,—did the frescoes in this very chapel we are considering, but no one says one syllable about any Michael Angelo Rossetti, and it is a bold thing to suppose that an unknown man should have succeeded so admirably with such a very important work as the Massacre of the Innocents chapel, and have lived as the inscription shows to the age at least of fifty-seven without leaving a single trace in any other quarter whatever.

The work, at any rate in many parts, is that of one who has been working in clay all his life, and was a thorough master of his craft, and this makes it all the more difficult to suppose it to be a single tour de force.  On the other hand, such tours de force were not uncommon among medieval Italian workmen.  Gaudenzio Ferrari’s work in sculpture is little else than a succession of tours de force, and in other parts of the work we are now considering, there is a certain archaism which suggests growing rather than matured power.

We should not forget, however, that an inscription in terra-cotta cannot be surreptitiously scrawled on like a false signature on a fresco or painting.  Here the signature was made with pomp and circumstance while the clay was still wet, and was baked with the figure on which it appears.  Too many people in this case would have to know about it for a false inscription to be probable.  As for the evidence of Fassola, we must bear in mind that he is a notoriously inaccurate writer; that he did not write till nearly a hundred years after the work was completed; that Torrotti is only an echo of Fassola, and all subsequent writers little more than echoes of Fassola and Torrotti.  On the whole, therefore, the more I have considered the matter the more I incline towards accepting the signature, and giving the greater part of the terra-cotta work to the man who claims it—that is to say, to Michael Angelo Rossetti, sculptor, of Claino.  Signor Arienta tells me he has found a Castel Claino mentioned in an old document, as formerly existing near Milan.  He is himself inclined (though knowing nothing of Paracca when I last saw him), to see two hands in the work—and here he is probably right, but I hardly think Rossetti would have signed as he did if Bargnola or Paracca had done the greater part or even half of it.

Proceeding to a consideration of the frescoes, we find that two of Herod’s body-guard, standing on his left hand, and corresponding to the one on his right, on whose collar the sculptor signed his name, have also signatures on their collars, obviously done in concert with the sculptor.  The signatures are as follows:—

“Battista Roveri Pictor Milane Æta XXXV”

and

“Io Mauro Rover Pictor.”

Fassola says that the painter of the chapel was “il Fiamenghino.”  If he had said the painters were “i Fiamenghini” he would have been right, for Signor Arienta called my attention to a passage in Lanzi, in which he has dealt with three painters bearing the name of Rovere, two of whom, if not all three, were called “i Fiamenghini.”  The three were Giovanni Mauro, Giambattista, and Marco, which last painter does not seem to have had anything to do with the Massacre of the Innocents.  Lanzi calls Gio. Mauro a follower, first of Camillo, and then of Giulio Cesare Procaccini.  He describes them as painters of great facility and invention, but as seldom taking pains to do what they very well might have done, if they had chosen, and his verdict is, I should say, about right.  He adds:—

“I find them also called Rossetti, and they are still more often described as ‘i Fiamenghini,’ their father, Richard, having come from Flanders, and settled in Milan.”

Signor Arienta explained to me that it was through this surname of Fiamenghini, by which the brothers Rovere were known, that Giovanni Miel D’Anvers was supposed to have had any hand in the frescoes on the Sacro Monte.  This last-named painter was court painter to Carlo Emanuelle I.  Bordiga knew this, and seeing he came from Antwerp, concluded that he must be “il Fiamenghino” mentioned, and all subsequent writers have followed him.

Signor Arienta also tells me that some twenty years or so later these same two painters signed some frescoes at Orta as follows:—

“Io Battista, et Io Maurus Aruberius, dicti Fiamenghini, pinxerunt anno 1608 die 9 Octobris.”

Doubtless their mother’s name was Rossetti, and the Michael Angelo RSTI who claims the sculptured work, and was some twenty years their senior, was their uncle.

He also told me that one of the figures in the frescoes of the Massacre of the Innocents chapel is wearing a collar with a clasp on which there is an oak-tree, for which “Rovere” is the Italian, and that he holds this to have been a portrait of the painter.

Fassola says that under the glazed aperture which is in front of the piece there is placed a small terra-cotta car drawn by a child and loaded with a head, or ear, of maize, a goose, and a clown; he explains that the maize means 1000, the car 400, the clown 90, and the goose “per il suo verso”—whatever this may mean—4, which numbers taken together make the number of infants that were killed.  He adds that there is another like hieroglyphic, which, as it is not very important, he will pass over.  I find no mention of this in Torrotti, nor yet in Bordiga, but when people call attention to a thing and then say nothing about it, I generally find they have a reason.  On a recent visit to Varallo I examined the two hieroglyphs; the second is also a small terra-cotta car or cart drawn by a child, and containing the bust of a monk, a die, and two or three other things that I could not make out.  The treatment of these two hieroglyphics alone is enough to show that they were done by a thorough master of his craft.  No doubt the import of the whole was known by Fassola to be sinister, but I must leave its interpretation to others.  He adds that the graces vouchsafed at this chapel are chiefly on behalf of sick children.

I may conclude by saying that though nothing has been taken directly from Tabachetti’s Journey to Calvary chapel, the sculptor, whoever he was, has nevertheless plainly felt the influence, and been animated by the spirit of that great work, then just completed.

CHAPTER XI.
CHAPELS No. 12–No. 22.

That the figures of Christ and of the devil have both been cut about may be conjectured from their draperies being in part real linen or calico, and not terra-cotta; Christ’s red shirt front is real, as also is a great part of the devil’s dress.  This last personage is a most respectable-looking patriarchal old Jewish Rabbi.  I should say he was the leading solicitor in some such town as Samaria, and that he gave an annual tea to the choir.  He is offering Christ some stones just as any other respectable person might do, and if it were not for his formidable two clawed feet there would be nothing to betray his real nature.  The beasts with their young are excellent.  The porcupine has real quills.  The fresco background is by Melchior D’Enrico, and here the fall of the devil when the whole is over is treated with a realistic unreserve little likely to be repeated.  He is dreadfully unwell.  The graces in this chapel are more especially for those tempted by the world, the flesh, and the devil, for people who are bewitched, and for those who are in any wise troubled in mind, body, and estate, “as the varying views of the pilgrims themselves will best determine.”

Bordiga says that the chapel was begun about 1580, and completed in 1594, but he refers probably to Tabachetti’s reconstruction, for in the portico there is an inscription painted by order of the Bishop, and forbidding visitors to deface the walls, that is dated 1524, and the back of the chapel has many early 16th century scratches.

Chapel No. 14.  The Woman of Samaria.

This chapel is given as completed in the 1586 edition of Caccia, so that Bordiga and Cusa are wrong in dating it 1598.  In the poetical part of Caccia it is described as recently made and “ben ritratto.”  The woman of Samaria is a fine buxom figure, but the paint has peeled off so badly both from her and from the Christ that it is hardly fair to judge the work at all.  I should think it was very possibly an early work by Tabachetti, but should be sorry to hazard a decided opinion.  The frescoes are without interest.  The graces at this chapel were chiefly for women who wanted to abandon some evil practice, and for rain when the country was suffering from long drought.  This last is because Christ said to the woman of Samaria “Give me to drink.”

Chapel No. 15.  The Paralytic.

The chapel alone was completed by 1586 and 1590, so that we may be certain Tabachetti had no hand in it.  The statues are said to be by D’Enrico, whom we meet here for the first time.  Bordiga praises them very highly, but neither Jones nor I liked the composition as much as we should have wished to have done.  Some of the individual figures are good, especially a man with his arm in a sling, and two men conversing on the left of the composition, but there is too little concerted and united action, and too much attempt to show off every figure to the best advantage, to the sacrifice of more important considerations.  They probably date from 1620–1624, in which last year Bordiga says that the frescoes were completed.  These are chiefly, if not entirely, by Cristoforo Martinolo, a Valsesian artist and pupil of Morazzone, who, according to Bordiga, though little known, has here shown himself no common artist.  Again neither Jones nor I admired them as much as we should have been glad to do.  “All infirmities of fever, and paralysis,” says Fassola, “if recommended to the Great Saviour at this place will be dissipated, as may be gathered from the many voti here exhibited.”

Chapel No. 16.  The Widow’s Son at Nain.

Of this chapel the walls are alone mentioned as completed in 1590.  So that Bordiga and Cusa are again wrong in saying that the frescoes were painted about 1580.  It is not good.  The walls were probably raised soon after 1580.  Donna Mathilde di Savoia, Marchesa di Pianezza, a natural daughter of Carlo Emmanuele I., was among the principal contributors.  The graces were “for those who had had bad falls or any accidents whereby they had been rendered speechless, stupid, senseless, and apparently dead.”

It will be observed on referring to the plan facing p. 68, that this chapel is given as on the ground now occupied by Christ taken before Annas, and faces the Herod chapel on the Piazza dei Tribunali.  This may be a mere error in the plan, but the plan is generally accurate, and it is very likely that a change was made in the middle of the last century when the Annas chapel was built.

Chapel No. 17.  The Transfiguration.

This is on the highest ground of the Sacro Monte, the Transfiguration being supposed to have happened on Mount Sinai.  Inside the chapel they have made Mount Sinai, but Fassola says that it was originally quite too high, and the Fabbricieri had ordered it to be made lower, “so as to render it more enjoyable by the eye.”  It was begun at the end of the sixteenth century, but is mentioned as being only “founded” in the 1586 and 1590 editions of Caccia, and the work seems to have got little further than the foundations, until in 1660 it was resumed; Fassola, writing in 1671, says that the chapel was “levata in alto da terra l’anno del mille, sei cento e sessanta,” or about ten years before his book appeared; it was still in great part unpainted, and he makes an appeal to his readers to contribute towards its completion.  From both Fassola and Torrotti it would appear that only the group of figures on the mountain was in existence when they wrote.  They both of them make the extraordinary statement that these figures are by Giovanni D’Enrico, whom they must have perfectly well known to have been dead more than a quarter of a century before Fassola wrote, and many years before the figures could possibly have been placed where they now are.  It is much as though I, writing now, were to ascribe Boehm’s statue of Mr. Darwin, in the Natural History Museum at South Kensington, to Chantrey.  The figures on the mountain are among the worst on the Sacro Monte.  I see that Cusa ascribes the figures of Peter, James, and John only to D’Enrico, but the ascription is very difficult to understand.

Bordiga does not say who did the figures of Peter, James, and John, but he gives the Christ, Moses, and Elias to Pietro Francesco Petera of Varallo.  The fourteen figures at the foot of the mountain he assigns to Gaudenzio Soldo of Camasco, a pupil of the sculptor Dionigi Bussola.  In 1665 Giuseppe and Stefano Danedi, called Montalti, and pupils of Morazzone, “painted the cupola of the chapel with innumerable angels great and small exhibiting the most varied movements.”  Giuseppe had the greater share in this work, in which may be seen, according to Bordiga, signs of the influence of Guido, under whom Giuseppe had studied.

Among the figures below the mountain there is a blind man, and a boy with a bad foot leading him—both good—and a contemptuous father telling the Apostles that they cannot cure his son, and that he had told them so from the first, but the paint is peeling off the figures so much that the work can hardly be judged fairly.  When photographed they look much better, and Signor Pizetta tells me he was last year commissioned to photograph the boy, who is in a fit of hystero-epilepsy, for a medical work that was being published in France, so it is probably very true to nature.

Chapel No. 18.  Raising of Lazarus.

Fassola says that this chapel was erected at the expense of Pomponio Bosso, a noble Milanese, between the years 1560 and 1580.  It is mentioned as finished in the 1586 edition of Caccia, and was probably completed before Tabachetti came.  Bordiga only says that it was finished in 1582.  The statues are of little or no merit, nor yet the frescoes.  I observe that in Caccia the “tempio” is praised but not apparently the work that it contained.  The terra-cotta figures are ascribed by Bordiga to Ravello, and the frescoes to Testa, whose brother, Lorenzo Testa, was Fabbriciere at the time the chapel was erected.  There is one rather nice little man in the left-hand corner, but there is nothing else.

Chapel No. 19.  Entry into Jerusalem.

The figures in this chapel are ascribed to Giovanni D’Enrico by both Fassola and Torrotti, an ascription very properly set aside by Bordiga, without assigned reason, but probably because 1590 is considerably too early for Giovanni D’Enrico, and there is a document dated May 23, 1590, showing that the fresco background was then contracted for.  The sculptured figures are mentioned as finished in the 1586 edition of Caccia, so that D’Enrico could not have done them.  They are better than those in the preceding chapels, but they do not arouse enthusiasm, and have suffered so much from decay, and from repainting, that it is hardly fair to form any opinion about them.  They probably looked much better when new.  The landscape part of the background is by one of the brothers Rovere, named, as I have said, Fiamenghini, and he has introduced a house with a stepped gable like those at Antwerp.  Some of the figures in the background appear to be by the painter Testa, who is named in the document above referred to.

Chapel No. 20.  The Last Supper.

This was one of the earliest chapels, and is mentioned as completed in the 1586 edition of Caccia.  The figures are of wood, stiff, and lifeless, the supper is profuse and of much later date than the figures, but the whole scene is among the least successful on the Sacro Monte.  Originally, but not till many years after the figures had been made and placed, Lanini painted a fresco background for this chapel.  Perhaps Gaudenzio brought him from Vercelli on the occasion of the temporary return to Varallo supposed by Colombo to have taken place between 1536 and 1539.  If we could know when Lanini was on the Sacro Monte doing this background, we might suspect that Gaudenzio was not far off.  Lanini’s work has unfortunately perished in a second reconstruction of the chapel.  Torrotti in 1686 says that a reconstruction of the Cena chapel was then contemplated, but that Lanini’s frescoes were not to be touched.  The original Cena chapel may or may not have been on its present site, but the first restoration certainly was so, as appears from the plan dated 1671 already given.  The apostles have real napkins round their shoulders.  The graces are for people who feel themselves deficient in faith, and intercession may be made here for obstinate sinners.

Chapel No. 21.  The Agony in the Garden.

This chapel, again, has been reconstructed, but the old figures have not been preserved as in the case of the Cena, nor yet has the original site.  The original site, according to Bordiga, was apart from the other chapels at the foot of the neighbouring monticello, meaning, presumably, the height on which the Transfiguration chapel now stands.  It was at this old chapel that S. Carlo used to spend hours in prayer.  It was one of the earliest, and the figures were of wood.  Fassola says that it was the angel who was offering the cup to Christ in the old chapel who announced his approaching end to S. Carlo, but the figures had been removed in his time as they were perishing, and the terra-cotta ones by Giovanni D’Enrico had been substituted, with a fresco background by his brother Melchiorre.  These in their turn perished during a reconstruction some twenty years or so ago.  The graces at this chapel are thus described by Fassola.

“Il moderno e Christo ed Angiolo nel medemo stato rinouati non sono meno miraculosi, perche tutti li concorrenti, bisognosi di pazienza di soffrire trauagli, malattie, ed ogni sorte d’ infermità tanto dell’ anima, quanto del corpo caldamente racomandandosi al piacere di questo sudante Christo riportano ciò che meglio per lo stato di questo, ed altro Mondo fà di necessità alle loro persone.”

I find no mention of any original fresco background, though I do of the one added afterwards by Melchiorre D’Enrico, now no longer in existence.  As this was one of the earliest chapels, I incline to think that there was no fresco background in the first instance.

Chapel No. 22.  The Sleeping Apostles.

Fassola says that this chapel was decorated about fifty years (really fifty-nine) before the date at which he was writing, by Melchiorre D’Enrico.  It was then on its present site, but the end of the Cena block was rebuilt some twenty years ago.  The present Custode, Battista, tells me he worked at the rebuilding, and taking me upstairs showed me a trace or two of Melchiorre’s background.  The sleeping Apostles are said to be by Giovanni D’Enrico; they will not bear comparison with Tabachetti’s St. Joseph.  The benefactor was Count Pio Giacomo Fassola di Rassa, a collateral ancestor of the historian.  People who have become lethargic in their self-indulgence, or who are blinded through some bad habit, will find relief at this chapel.  I have met with nothing to show that there was any earlier chapel with the same subject, and in the 1586 edition of Caccia it is expressly mentioned as one of those that as yet were merely contemplated, though the Agony in the Garden itself is described as completed.

CHAPTER XII.
THE PALACE OF PILATE.

Chapel No. 25.  Christ taken before Caiaphas.

Cusa says that this chapel, which again is not in the Palazzo di Pilato block, adheres very closely to the design of Pellegrino Tibaldi.  The figures, thirty-three in number, are by Giovanni D’Enrico and Giacomo Ferro, and the frescoes being dated 1642, we may think the terra-cotta work to be among the last done by D’Enrico on the Sacro Monte.  The figure of Caiaphas must be given to him, and it is hard to see how it could have been more dramatically treated.  Caiaphas has stepped down from his throne, which is left vacant behind him, and is adjuring Jesus to say whether he is the Christ the Son of God.  If it were not for the cobweb between the arm and the body, the photograph which is here given might almost pass as having been taken from life, and the character is so priest-like that it is hard to understand how priests could have tolerated it as they did.  Indeed, the figure is so far finer than the general run of Giovanni D’Enrico’s work, and so infinitely superior to the four figures of Pilate in the four Pilate chapels, that we should be tempted to give it to some other sculptor if, happily, the Herod did not also show how great D’Enrico could be when he was doing his best, and if the evidence for its having been by him were not so strong.

To the left of Caiaphas’s empty throne are two standing figures, which look as if they had been begun for figures of Christ, but were condemned as not good enough.  They may perhaps be intended for Joseph and Nicodemus.  Some few of the other figures, which in all number thirty-three, are also full of character, but the greater part of them do not rise above the level of Giacomo Ferro’s supers, and suffer from having lost much paint; nevertheless the chapel is effective, chiefly, doubtless, through the excellence of the Caiaphas himself, and if we could see the work as it was when D’Enrico left it we should doubtless find it more effective still.

The frescoes are by Cristoforo Martinolo, also named Rocca.  They are not of remarkable excellence, but form an efficient background, and are among the best preserved on the Sacro Monte.  They have also the great merit of being legibly signed and dated.

Chapel No. 26.  The Repentance of St. Peter.

Hard by under a portico there is a statue of St. Peter, repentant, and over him there is a cock still crowing.  The figure of St. Peter, and presumably that of the cock also, are by D’Enrico.  I can find nothing about the date in any author.

This cock is said to have been the chief instrument in a miracle not less noteworthy than any recorded in connection with the Sacro Monte.  It seems that on the 3rd of July 1653 a certain Lorenzo Togni from Buccioleto, who had been a martyr to intemperance for many years, came to the Sacro Monte in that state in which martyrs to intemperance must be expected generally to be.  It was very early in the morning, but nevertheless the man was drunk, though still just able to go the round of the chapels.  Nothing noticeable occurred till he got to the Caiaphas chapel, but here all on a sudden, to the amazement of the man himself, and of others who were standing near, a noise was heard to come from up aloft in the St. Peter chapel, and it was seen that the cock had turned round and was flapping his wings with an expression of great severity.  Before they had recovered from their surprise, the bird exclaimed in a loud voice, and with the utmost distinctness, “Ciocc’ anch’ anc’uei,” running the first two words somewhat together, and dwelling long on the last syllable, which is sounded like a long French “eu” and a French “i.”  These words I am told mean, “Drunk again to-day also?” the “anc’uei” being a Piedmontese patois for “ancora oggi.”  The bird repeated these words three or four times over, and then turned round on its perch, to all appearance terra cotta again.  The effect produced upon the drunkard was such that he could never again be prevailed upon to touch wine, and ever since this chapel has been the one most resorted to by people who wish to give up drinking to excess.

The foregoing story is not given either in Fassola or Torrotti, but my informant, a most intelligent person, assured me that to this day the cocks about Varallo do not unfrequently say “Ciocc’ anch’ anc’uei”—indeed, I have repeatedly heard them do so with the most admirable distinctness.  I am told that cocks sometimes challenge, and wish to fight, well-done cocks on crucifixes, but it is some way from this to the cock on the crucifix beginning to crow too.  One does not see where this sort of thing is to end, and once terra-cotta always terra-cotta, is a maxim that a respectable figure would on the whole do well to lay to heart and abide by.

Chapel No. 27.  Christ before Pilate.

The Pilate is not nearly so good as the Caiaphas in the preceding chapel, but though there is not one single figure of superlative excellence, this is still one of D’Enrico’s best works, and the Pilate is the best of the four Pilates.  The nineteen figures are generally ascribed to him; and, I should say there was less Giacomo Ferro in this chapel than in most of D’Enrico’s.  Possibly Giacomo Ferro was not yet D’Enrico’s assistant.  The frescoes are by Antonio, or Tanzio, D’Enrico, but I cannot see much in them to admire.

The date is given by Bordiga as about 1620, but no date is given either by Fassola or Torrotti.  The nude figure to the left, seated and holding a spear near the spectator, is said to be a portrait of Tanzio, but Bordiga thinks that if we are to look for the portrait anywhere in this composition, we should do so in the open gallery above the gate of the Pretorium, where we shall find a figure that has nothing to do with the story, and represents a “jocund-looking” but venerable old man, wearing a hat with a white feather in it, and like the portrait of Melchiorre painted by himself in his Last Judgment—presumably the one outside the church at Riva Valdobbia.  Bordiga adds that Melchiorre was still living in 1620, when Tanzio was at work on these frescoes.

Chapel No. 28.  Christ before Herod.

Bordiga says that this chapel was begun in 1606, as shown by a letter from Monsignor Bescapè, Bishop of Novara, authorising the Fabbricieri to appropriate three hundred scudi from the Mass chest for the purpose of erecting it, but it was not finished until 1638.  The statues, thirty-five in number, are by Giovanni D’Enrico, and the frescoes by Tanzio, but we have no means of dating either the one or the other accurately.

The figure of Herod is incomparably finer than any others in the chapel, if we except those of two laughing boys on Herod’s left that are hardly seen till one is inside the chapel itself.  Take each of the figures separately and few are good.  As usual in D’Enrico’s chapels, there is a deficiency of the ensemble and concert which no one except Tabachetti seems to have been able to give in sculptured groups containing many figures; nevertheless, the Herod and the laughing boys atone almost for any deficiency.  Bordiga speaks of the frescoes in the highest terms, but I do not admire them as I should wish to do.  They are generally considered as Antonio D’Enrico’s finest work on the Sacro Monte.

The figures behind the two boys’ heads coming very awkwardly in my photograph, my friend Mr. Gogin has kindly painted them out for me, so as to bring the boys’ heads out better.

Chapel No. 29.  Christ taken back to Pilate.

This is supposed to be the last work of Giovanni D’Enrico, who, according to Durandi, died in 1644.  The scene comprises twenty-three terra-cotta figures, few of them individually good, but nevertheless effective as a whole.  One man, the nearest but one to the spectator, must be given to D’Enrico, and perhaps one or two more, but the greater number must have been done by Giacomo Ferro.  The frescoes were begun both by Morazzone and Antonio D’Enrico, but Fassola and Torrotti say that neither the one nor the other was able to complete the work, which in their time was still unfinished; but Doctor Morosini was going to get a really good man to finish them without further delay.  Eventually the brothers Grandi of Milan came and did the Doric architecture, while Pietro Gianoli did some sibyls, and on the facciata “il casto Giuseppe portato da due Angioli.”  Gianoli signed his work and dated it 1679.  We know, then, that in this case the sculptured figures were placed some years before the background, as probably also with several other chapels; and it may be assumed that generally the terra-cotta figures preceded the background—which was designed for them, and not they for it, except in the case of Gaudenzio Ferrari—who probably conceived both the round and flat work together as part of the same design, and was thus the only artist on the Sacro Monte who carried out the design of uniting painting and sculpture in a single design, under the conditions which strictly it involves.

In connection with this chapel both Fassola and Torrotti say that D’Enrico has intentionally made Christ’s face become smaller and smaller during each of these last scenes, as becoming contracted through increase of suffering.  I have been unable to see that this is more than fancy on their parts.

It is also in connection with this chapel that we discover the true date of Fassola’s book.  He says that they had been on the lookout “during the whole of last year”—which he gives as 1669—for some one to finish the frescoes.  “Now, however,” he continues, “when this book is seeing light,” &c.  The book therefore should be seeing light in 1670.  It is dated 1671.  True, Fassola may have been writing at the very end of 1670, and the book may have been published at the beginning of 1671, but perhaps the more natural conclusion is that the same reasons which make publishers wish to misdate their books by a year now, made them wish to do so then, and that though Fassola’s book appeared at the end of 1670, as would appear from his own words, it was nevertheless dated 1671.

Chapel No. 30.  The Flagellation.

Torrotti and Fassola say that the Christ in this chapel, as well as in all the others, is an actual portrait—and no doubt an admirable one—communicated by Divine inspiration to the many workmen and artists who worked on the Sacro Monte.  This, they say, may be known from two documents contemporaneous with Christ Himself, in which His personal appearance is fully set forth, and which seem almost to have been written from the statues now existing at Varallo.  The worthy artists who made these statues were by no means given to historical investigations, and were little likely to know anything about the letters in question; besides, these had only just been discovered, so that there can have been no deception or illusion.  Both Fassola and Torrotti give the letters in full, and to their pages the reader who wishes to see them may be referred.  Fassola writes:—

“Hora vegga ogni diuoto se rassomigliando queste statue al vero Christo essendo lauorate accidentalmente, parendo da Dio sia dato alli Statuarij, e Pittori il lume della sua Diuina Persona non si hà se non per mera sua disposizione e diachiarazione d’hauer quiui quasi come rinouata, e resa più commoda alla Christianità la sua Redenzione” (p. 103).

The work is mentioned as completed in the 1586 edition of Caccia—this, and the Crowning with Thorns, being the only two that are described as completed of those that now form part of the Palazzo di Pilato block.  These two chapels do not in reality, however, belong to the Palazzo di Pilato at all; they existed long before it, and the new work was added on to them.  Bordiga says that “an order of Monsignor Bescapè relating to this chapel, and dated February 1, 1605, shows that there was as yet no plan of this part of the Palace of Pilate.”  I have not seen this order, and can only speak with diffidence, but I do not think the chapel has been much modified since 1586, beyond the fact that Rocca, whom we have already met with as painting in the Caiaphas chapel in 1642, at some time or another painted a new background, which is now much injured by damp.

Not only does the author of the 1586 Caccia mention the chapel, but he does it with more effusion than is usual with him.  He rarely says anything in praise of any but the best work.  I do not, therefore, think it likely that his words refer to the original wooden figures, two of which were preserved when the work was remodelled; these two mar the chapel now, and when all the work was of the same calibre it cannot have kindled any enthusiasm in a writer who appears to have known very fairly well which were the best chapels.  He says:—

“Da manigoldi, in atto acerbo e fiero,
Alla colonna Christo flagellato
Da scultor dotto assimigliato al vero
Di questo [181] in un de i lati è dimostrato,

E come fusse macerato e nero,
D’aspri flagelli percosso, e vergato,
Di Christo il sacro corpo in ogni parte,
Vi ha sculto dotto mastro in sottil arte.”

I think the reconstruction of the chapel, then, and its assumption of its present state, except that a fresco background was added, should be assigned to some year about 1580–1585, and am disposed to ascribe, at any rate, the figure of the man who is binding Christ to the column to Tabachetti, who was then working on the Sacro Monte, and whose style the work seems to me to resemble more nearly than it does that of D’Enrico.  Whoever the chapel is by, it was evidently in its present place and much admired in 1586; there could hardly, therefore, have been any occasion to reconstruct it, especially when so much other work was crying to be done, and when it had, in all probability, been once reconstructed already.

On the whole, until external evidence shows D’Enrico to have done the figures, I shall continue to think that at least one of them, and very possibly all except the two old wooden ones, are by Tabachetti.  The foot of the man binding Christ to the column has crumbled away, either because the clay was bad, or from insufficient baking.  This is why the figure is propped up with a piece of wood.  The damp has made the rope slack, so that the pulling action of the figure is in great measure destroyed, its effect being cancelled by its ineffectualness; but for this the reader will easily make due allowance.  The same man reappears presently in the balcony of the Ecce Homo chapel, but he is there evidently done by another and much less vigorous hand.

The man in the foreground, who is stooping down and binding his rods, is the same as the one who is kicking Christ in Tabachetti’s Journey to Calvary, and is one of those adopted by Tabachetti from Gaudenzio Ferrari’s Crucifixion chapel; this figure may perhaps have been an addition by Giovanni D’Enrico, or have been done by an assistant, for it is hardly up to Tabachetti’s mark.  The two nearest scourgers are fine powerful figures, but I should admit that they remind me rather of D’Enrico than of Tabachetti, though they might also be very well by him, and probably are so.

Fassola says that the graces obtainable by the faithful here have relation to every kind of need; they are in a high degree unspecialised, and that this freedom from specialisation is characteristic of all the chapels of the Passion.

Chapel No. 31.  The Crowning with Thorns.

Much that was said about the preceding chapel applies also to this.  It is mentioned in the 1586 edition of Caccia as done “sottilmente in natural ritratto,” and as being one of the few works that would form part of the Palazzo di Pilato block that were as yet completed.

That this chapel had undergone one reconstruction before 1586, we may gather from the fact that the left-hand wall is still covered with a fresco of the Expulsion of Adam and Eve from Paradise; this has no connection with the Crowning with Thorns, and doubtless formed the background to the original Adam and Eve.  I have already said that I am indebted to Signor Arienta for this suggestion.  Bordiga calls this subject Christ being Led to be Crowned, and gives it to Crespi da Cerano, but I cannot understand how he can see in the work anything but an Expulsion from Paradise.  The chapel having been reconstructed before 1586 on its present site—as it evidently had been—and being admired, is not likely to have been reconstructed a second time, and I am again, therefore, inclined to give the whole work, or at any rate the greater part of it, to Tabachetti, and to reject the statements of Fassola, Torrotti, Bordiga, and Cusa, who all ascribe the figures to D’Enrico.  The two men standing up behind Christ, one taunting Him, and the other laughing, are among the finest on the Sacro Monte, and are much more in Tabachetti’s manner than in D’Enrico’s.  The other figures are, as they were doubtless intended to be, of minor interest.

Some of the frescoes other than those above referred to, were added at a later date, and are said by Bordiga, on the authority of a covenant, dated September 27th, 1608, to have been done by Antonio Rantio, who undertook to paint them for a sum of ten ducatoons.  They are without interest.

It was here the Flemish dancer was healed.

His name was Bartholomew Jacob, and he came from Graveling in Flanders.  It seems there was a ball going on at the house of one of this man’s ancestors, and that the Last Sacraments were being carried through the street under the windows of the ball-room.

The dancing ought by rights to have been stopped, but the host refused to stop it, and presently the priest who was carrying the Sacrament found a paper under the chalice, written in a handwriting of almost superhuman neatness, presumably that of the Madonna herself and bearing the words, “Dancer, thou wouldst not stay thy dance: I curse thee, therefore, that thou dance for nine generations.”  And so he did, he and all his descendants all their lives, till it came to Bartholomew Jacob, who was the ninth in descent.  He too began life dancing, and was still dancing when he started on a pilgrimage to Rome; when, however, he got to the Sacro Monte at Varallo on the 7th of January 1646, he began to feel tired, tremulous, and languid from so much incessant movement.  This strange feeling attacked him first at the Nativity Chapel, but by the time he got to the Crowning with Thorns he could stand it no longer, and fell as one dead, to rise again presently perfectly whole, and relieved of his distressing complaint.

Personally I find this story interesting as giving high support to the theory I have been trying to insist upon for some years past, and according to which in a certain sense a man is personally identical with all the generations in the direct line both of his ancestry and his descendants, as well as with himself.  The words “Thou shalt dance for nine generations” involve one of the most important points contended for in my earlier book, “Life and Habit.”  Fassola and Torrotti both say that more pilgrims left alms at this chapel than at any other.  In fact they both seem to consider that this chapel did very well.  “Quì,” says Torrotti, “si colgano elemosine assai,” and, as I have said already, it is here that a few autumn leaves of waxen images still linger.

A few weeks ago I saw the original document in which the story above given was attested.  It was dated 1671, and signed, stamped, and sealed as a document of the highest importance.  I noticed that in this manuscript, it was a voice that was heard, and not as in Fassola a letter that was found.