The Story of Siena and San Gimignano

There was a great display of confidence and magnanimity on either side. The Sangimignanesi sent a blank sheet of parchment with their seal to Florence, for the conditions of their submission. The Florentines crossed it and sent it back with two other blank sheets, for the Sangimignanesi to fill up as they pleased. Finally, on August 11th, 1353, the terms were arranged in the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence. They were, remarks Pecori, “most honourable terms, alike for those who dictated and those who received them.” And this is true, so far as everything connected with the taxes and with the local statutes and customs of the place are concerned; and all of the terra and contado, except the “magnates, or those that are considered such by the statutes of the said town,” are to be “in perpetuity, verily and originally, of the contado and of the people, popolani of Florence.” One of the articles stipulates that “all the artisans of San Gimignano, who shall wish to be admitted to the matriculation of any Art in Florence, can be received gratuitously by the respective consuls; it being expressly stated that it is lawful to each one of that town to exercise his own art there freely, notwithstanding the ordinances of the Arts of Florence.” But, in San Gimignano itself, there is to be a Florentine Podestà with full jurisdiction and power, according to the statutes of the terra itself, and further, an unmistakable note of servitude, it is stipulated “that in the Terra of San Gimignano there be constructed a fortress, at the expense of this Commune, in the place that shall be determined by the commissaries of the Signoria of Florence.”[186]

Thus ended the independence of San Gimignano, after a period of a century and a half. As long as the great Republic into whose hands they had fallen lasted, the Sangimignanesi kept up some sort of appearance of communal liberty, and were even allowed to send ambassadors and treat with the other communes of Tuscany on their own account—in small matters of commerce and boundaries. The nine Governors and Defenders of the Town became the eight Priors (reduced to six in 1390) and the Gonfaloniere of Justice, after the Florentine model. When the Podestà entered upon his term of office, he came out in state upon the steps of the Palace, presented the letters of the Signoria of Florence to the assembled people, took the oath and received from the Gonfaloniere the baton of command and the keys of the town. In like fashion the Priors and the Captains of the Parte Guelfa entered upon their terms of office with great pomp, always magnificently attired; the great banner and the seal of the Commune were still solemnly consigned to the crimson-robed Gonfaloniere; and in public ceremonies the magistrates were accompanied by young squires with trumpets, robed in red and yellow, the colours of the Commune, with black caps and green cloaks emblazoned with the arms of San Gimignano in silver. Down to the eighteenth century, San Gimignano was famous for the magnificence of its municipal functions.

Until the end of the fourteenth century, painting in San Gimignano appears to have been exclusively practised by Sienese masters. In the fifteenth century it was exclusively Florentine. At the end of this century, San Gimignano produced two excellent painters of its own, though neither of them in the front rank. Sebastiano Mainardi (died in 1513) became the favourite pupil of Domenico Ghirlandaio, whose sister Alessandra he married; he was a diligent artist, who followed his master with ability, and frequently worked from his designs. Vincenzo di Bernardo Tamagni (1492-1533) worked under Raphael in the Vatican, and imitated his style with considerable success. Vasari praises his soft colouring and the beauty of his figures. His life appears to have been unfortunate. In 1511 Bazzi had him imprisoned for debt in the prison of the Podestà of Montalcino, and in 1527 he was ruined in the sack of Rome, after which, says Vasari, “he lived on, in little happiness.” Bernardo Poccetti (1542-1612), by whom there is much second-rate fresco painting in Florence, was also a native of San Gimignano.

At least one Sangimignanese in the days of the Renaissance acquired an European reputation. Filippo de’ Buonaccorsi was born here in 1437, of an old and noble family. He was one of the humanists who flocked to Rome in the days of Pius II. Here he was associated with Pomponius Laetus in the founding of the famous Academy, and took the name of Callimachus, which was supposed to be the classical equivalent of Buonaccorsi. He was a leader in the real or fictitious plot against Paul II., of which Platina gives us so vivid a picture in his life of that Pontiff, and saved himself by flight. Later on, he made his way to Poland, where King Casimir IV. made him tutor to his sons and one of his secretaries, and frequently sent him on embassies. When Casimir’s son, John Albert, succeeded to the throne in 1492, Filippo became his chief minister and adviser, and is said to have counselled the King to resist the nobles and aim at despotic power. He died at Cracow in 1496, leaving a number of works in Latin, dealing with the history of Poland and Hungary. On one occasion, when on his way to Rome as ambassador from King Casimir to Pope Innocent VIII., Buonaccorsi passed through San Gimignano. He received a pompous reception from the Commune, in order that others, his fellow-citizens, might be encouraged to follow in his footsteps.

CHAPTER XII

In the Town of the Beautiful Towers

Until the great pestilence of 1348, San Gimignano was divided into four contrade: the contrade of the Castello, of the Piazza, of San Matteo and of San Giovanni. After 1348, it was divided into thirds, the contrade of the Castello and Piazza being made one. In the sixteenth century these three were further reduced to two, as at present; the Contrada di San Matteo and the Contrada di San Giovanni.

The centre of interest in the town is the former Piazza della Pieve, the historical scene of all the great State functions of the Republic, now called the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele. Here are the Collegiata or Pieve (sometimes, but incorrectly, styled the Duomo[187]), the Palazzo del Popolo or Palazzo Comunale (sometimes called the new Palazzo del Podestà), and the old Palazzo del Podestà.

The Collegiata, or Pieve, was originally built in the eleventh century and modified in the fourteenth, the stone columns of the nave with their curiously worked capitals and part of the exterior belonging to the earlier epoch. But, in 1466, Giuliano da Maiano came to the place and designed the new choir and chapels, with the result that the church is a peculiar combination of Romanesque and early Renaissance architecture. The walls of the aisles and between the two doors are a mass of glowing fresco painting, illustrating the whole story of Sienese art daring that epoch that intervened between the deaths of the Lorenzetti and the rise of the great painters (practically the scholars of Taddeo di Bartolo) of the Quattrocento—but presently yielding, like San Gimignano itself, to the Florentines. On the left, in three parallel series, are scenes from the Old Testament by Bartolo di Fredi, finished in 1356; the Creation and Expulsion from Paradise, Cain and Abel, the story of Noah, Abraham and Lot, the stories of Joseph, Moses, and Job. They impress us by their naiveté, the charm and grace with which the Sienese tell a story; note the delightful realism in the Building of the Ark, the beautiful group of women and children on the altogether impossible beasts intended for camels in the Crossing of the Red Sea. On the right are scenes from the New Testament, the life of Christ from the Annunciation to the Crucifixion; the later scenes have been destroyed (in the sixteenth century) to make room for the orchestra, but we can just see the remains of the Descent into Hades and the Ascension. They were begun by Barna of Siena, who fell from his scaffolding here and was killed in 1380, and finished by his pupil Giovanni da Asciano. Though of no surpassing merit, the scenes are well composed, in accordance with the usual tradition, and the painter has caught enough of Duccio’s spirit for the sacred stories to receive fairly adequate illustration for devotional purposes. The whole scheme of decoration of the aisles and nave is to set forth the entire creed of mediaeval Christianity, in accordance with which we see on either side of the window of the right aisle (below which is a memorial tablet to Barna) the peacocks, the emblems of the Resurrection. Round the central window is what completes the whole tale of human life, from this point of view: the Last Judgment, painted by Taddeo di Bartolo in 1393. It is a mere variation of the usual mediaeval composition; Christ is enthroned as Judge, with Angels bearing trumpets and the emblems of the Passion, the Madonna and Baptist kneeling on either side as representing Divine Mercy and Divine Justice respectively; lower down are Enoch and Elijah as assessors, while the twelve Apostles are seated below the window. At the sides, to right and left of the Judge, are Heaven and Hell. Christ and His Mother are seen in the Empyrean, with Angels and Saints in the fruition of the Beatific Vision. The Hell is disgusting and vile, even beyond the usual fashion of these representations. Those who can endure it, will be able to work through its revolting details with the aid of the scrolls, and will be interested to note how certain Dantesque motives (the punishment of the panders and seducers is a good instance) have become coarsened and brutalised by the feebler imagination or provincial taste of the Sienese painter or his Sangimignanese employers.

After the pestilence of 1348, it was decreed that an altar should be built, between the two doors of the Pieve, in honour of St Fabian and St Sebastian, to put the survivors under their protection. The fresco that we now see in that place, under Taddeo’s Last Judgment, by Benozzo Gozzoli, commemorates the pestilence of 1464, and was ordered by Fra Domenico Strambi, an Augustinian monk, who was regarded as the great theological light in San Gimignano in the latter part of the fifteenth century, and to whom many of the artistic monuments of the town are due. He had been sent to study theology in Paris, partly at the cost of the Commune, in 1454, and received a State welcome on his return. Benozzo, as the inscription states, finished the work, “to the praise of the most glorious athlete, St Sebastian,” in January 1465 (that is, according to our modern reckoning, 1466). The Saint himself is impassive and stolid, though his body is a mass of arrows; the group of Florentines who seem practising archery, on our left, is the most satisfactory part of the fresco. Angels crown the martyr, Christ and the Madonna appear to him in glory above the clouds. In the frieze we see St Geminianus above with the model of his town, and, in the corners below, Bartolo and Fina. The Eternal Father with the Dove and the beautiful group of Angels (completing the scene of the Annunciation, with the two wooden statues of Mary and Gabriel by a Sienese sculptor of the preceding century) are also by Benozzo. His, too, are the Assumption on the left, the St Antony and four Saints on the pilasters. The Patriarchs opposite the scenes from the Old Testament, the medallions of the Apostles between the arches, the Christ above the steps to the choir, are by the priest, Pier Francesco Fiorentino, that curiously unprogressive painter of the latter part of the fifteenth century, whose works abound here and in the neighbourhood.[188]

At the end of the right aisle is the shrine of Santa Fina. The chapel is a perfect gem of later fifteenth century art; architecture, sculpture and painting are blended to form a plastic poem even more harmonious than that of the more strenuous virgin of Siena in San Domenico. It was designed by Giuliano da Maiano in 1468; the shrine itself, in pure white and gold, was executed by Giuliano’s brother, Benedetto, in 1475. It is not quite as the sculptor left it. Above the sarcophagus are the Madonna and Child in a glory of cherubs with two Angels; underneath them are scenes from Fina’s life in relief; her vision of St Gregory, her funeral, her appearing to heal a sick woman. These predella scenes were originally below, the present base of cherubs’ heads and sacramental cups being more modern. Below, on either side of the tabernacle, are four Angels in niches, and two more (isolated statues) kneel with vases of flowers on either side of the altar. Upon the sarcophagus, with curious naked genii in the spirit of the Renaissance, is the inscription:—

And it is dated MCCCCLXXV. All round the chapel runs a frieze of cherubs’ heads. In two large lunettes on either side are two admirable frescoes by Domenico Ghirlandaio, which have a freshness and simplicity that we hardly find elsewhere in his work. On the right is the bare, poverty-stricken room where Fina lies on her plank, which has already begun to break out into flowers beneath her. Her faithful nurse Beldi supports her head with the hand that, according to the legend, caught the disease, and another woman is seated by her; both are peasant types, in the dress of peasants at the painter’s own day. They do not see the sudden vision of St Gregory in his glory, that sheds its splendour over the humble chamber, but they gaze up because of Fina’s rapt face. Above, the Angels are carrying her soul up to Paradise. Opposite is the funeral, a picture full of those splendid Florentine portrait heads that Domenico painted so well. Fina has just placed her dead hand upon that of her nurse, and thereby cured her; Bishop Ranieri of Volterra, who had a few months back reconciled the conflicting factions of the town, is reading the office for the dead. In the background are the towers of San Gimignano, and the Angels are ringing the bells. These two frescoes appear to be very early works of the painter, who had probably been introduced to the Operaio of the Collegiata by either the architect or sculptor.[190] The Prophets and Saints in the angles and round the windows, the Evangelists on the ceiling are the work of Sebastiano Mainardi.

In the choir is a Madonna and Child with Saints and Angels, signed by Benozzo Gozzoli, and dated 1466. How stiff and archaic it seems by comparison with its neighbour, the Coronation of the Madonna by Pietro Pollaiuolo, signed and dated 1483, one of the pictures commissioned by Fra Domenico Strambi! Instead of Benozzo’s heavy gold haloes in which the names of the saints are inscribed (a characteristic which he borrowed from his master Angelico), Pietro reduces this emblem of sanctity to an almost imperceptible thin ring of gold and makes their human side predominant. There is a certain harshness about Pollaiuolo’s picture; Christ and the Madonna are unattractive types, and there is an excessive display of anatomical knowledge; but the admirable heads and powerfully modelled figures of the six saints—Geminianus and Bartolo (the two central figures), Augustine and Jerome, Fina and Nicholas of Tolentino—are unsurpassable in their way. The head of San Bartolo, especially, is a magnificent piece of painting. The beautiful mitres of Augustine and Geminianus on the ground show that the painter was also a goldsmith. On the left is a somewhat Raffaelesque Madonna and Child with Saints, one of the best works of Vincenzo Tamagni; the black monk kneeling in front is not Aquinas (as might be supposed from his attributes), but Nicholas of Tolentino who is much honoured in this town. The choir stalls date from 1490, and there are some illuminated choir books, one of them with ten excellent miniatures ascribed to Niccolò di Ser Sozzo Tegliacci, whose masterpiece in this kind we have seen at Siena.

San Gimignano was the first town in Italy to listen to the teaching of Fra Girolamo Savonarola, while Florence still rejected him. He preached the Lents of 1484 and 1485 in this very church. It was here that he first uttered the words of threefold prophecy that were soon to echo through the world. There was to be a renovation of the Church; but, first, the scourge of God would fall upon her and upon Italy; and these things would come speedily. Can we not imagine his eyes resting on Taddeo’s Last Judgment at the end of the church, when he first mounted the pulpit, thrust back his cowl, and gazed round upon the assembled people?

In the sacristy there is an admirable bust, by Benedetto da Maiano, of Onofrio di Pietro, the Operaio of the Collegiata under whose superintendence the building was restored and the shrine of Santa Fina constructed; he died in 1488. The marble ciborium is also by Benedetto. A Madonna and Child with six Saints by Sebastiano Mainardi does not show that painter at his best. Out of the left aisle opens the chapel of San Giovanni, with a frescoed Annunciation of 1482, probably executed by Mainardi from the design of Ghirlandaio, and an old baptismal font (still used) made by Giovanni Cecchi of Siena in 1379 at the expense of the Arte della Lana, with quaint bas-reliefs of the Baptism of Christ, Angels and the Agnus Dei of the Guild. This same Guild, together with the Commune, had previously borne the cost of Bartolo di Fredi’s frescoes. There is a cloister attached to the Pieve with a few remains of frescoes, one of which—a Pietà—is ascribed by Mr Berenson to Pier Francesco Fiorentino.

At the side of the Collegiata is the Palazzo Comunale or Palazzo del Popolo, which was begun in 1288. Its great tower, the Torre del Comune, was begun in 1300 and finished about 1311, when the bell of the Commune was placed there. The palace is sometimes called the new Palazzo del Podestà, because after 1353 the Florentine Podestà resided here. The steps lead up to the platform upon which the Podestà stood when he presented his credentials and received the baton and keys from the Gonfaloniere, and it was at its steps that the two Ardinghelli had been beheaded in 1352. There is a picturesque court, with fragments of frescoes and armorial bearings, and a well of 1360. To the right of the court is what was once the Cappella delle Carceri. Opposite the door is a fresco of the Madonna and Child enthroned, with St Geminianus and another bishop, of the school of Taddeo di Bartolo. By Bazzi (hastily executed and much repainted) are frescoes in chiaroscuro, representing St Ivo, the just young judge, administering justice to the poor and helpless, and, at the foot of the stairs, a magistrate seated between Truth and Prudence, trampling upon the Lie.

In the Sala del Consiglio, the councils of the Commune met in the fourteenth century, and it was here that Dante, on May 7th, 1300, spoke on behalf of the Guelf League of Tuscany. Here are remains of remarkable frescoes painted in 1292, and which he must therefore have seen; they represent hunting scenes and jousting, knights dashing against each other with swords and lances in the regular Arthurian style, a centaur slaying a hydra, Scolaio Ardinghelli arbitrating between the Commune and the clergy. This latter scene refers to a great dispute that began in 1290 between the Commune and the clergy of the town, concerning tithes and taxes. When the Bishop of Volterra put the place under the interdict, the people broke down the doors of the Pieve and had Mass celebrated there in spite of him, upon which the Proposto and his clergy left, carrying off the pictures and other treasures of the church with them. Pope Nicholas IV. intervened, and at last the matter was referred to Scolaio Ardinghelli, a prelate high in favour with the Pope, who in April 1292 decided in favour of the Commune. The picture was ordered by the latter in the same year. The rest of the frescoes were destroyed to make way for the large fresco by Lippo

Memmi, painted in 1317 in imitation of the work his brother-in-law had just completed in Siena, representing the Blessed Virgin and her Son enthroned and surrounded by the celestial court of Saints and Angels, while Messer Nello di Mino Tolomei of Siena, podestà and captain of the Commune and People of San Gimignano, kneels at her feet under the patronage of St Nicholas. In his rhymed chronicle, Fra Matteo deals somewhat hardly with this dignified magistrate, calling him the ruin of the town, disfacimento di San Gimignano, accusing him of stirring up the people. The fresco was restored by Benozzo Gozzoli in 1467, who painted the four saints at the sides.

The Pinacoteca, on the third floor of the Palace, contains some excellent works. The more important are the following:—A triptych by Taddeo di Bartolo, the Madonna and Child with Saints, the Annunciation, Christ blessing with St Peter and St Paul above; the Madonna and Child, with the Baptist and St Francis, St Gregory and Santa Fina (the latter very sweet and golden-haired, with her flowers), a good Florentine work of the school of Benozzo Gozzoli; St Bartholomew with scenes from his martyrdom, by Lorenzo di Niccolò of Florence, dated 1401; two little panels with four miracles of Santa Fina, probably by the last-named painter; St Geminianus enthroned with a model of the town, with eight scenes of his miracles, including his appearance on the walls of San Gimignano to drive back Attila, by Taddeo di Bartolo; a triptych, by an unknown painter of the Quattrocento, representing St Julian with St Antony and St Martin, on either side of which are little pictures of Santa Fina and St Gregory, perhaps by Lorenzo di Niccolò; a Madonna and Child with two Saints (restored), by Pier Francesco Fiorentino; two excellent tondi by Sebastiano Mainardi. At the end of the room are the two chief treasures of the collection. The Madonna alone in a glory of Cherubs, with a pope and an abbot kneeling in adoration in a beautiful landscape, is one of the finest of Pinturicchio’s works, in colour and in expression; it was painted for the convent of the Olivetani outside the Porta San Giovanni. On either side of it are two tondi representing the Annunciation, in beautiful old frames; these were commissioned by the Commune in 1482, and, though in colour and form they curiously approach Botticelli, appear to be early works of Filippino Lippi. M. Paul Bourget especially admires the Gabriel, “un Ange annonciateur au profil douloureusement extatique, aux mains blanches et fines dans leur longueur.” There is also an altar-piece by Fra Paolino da Pistoia, which may possibly have been painted by him from a design of Fra Bartolommeo’s, but is very poor in execution. There are several frescoes ascribed to Pier Francesco Fiorentino in other rooms of the Palace.

Opposite the Collegiata is the old Palazzo del Podestà, where that magistrate resided until San Gimignano surrendered to Florence. It was built in the thirteenth and enlarged early in the fourteenth century. There is some antique iron work, including a fine fanale, on the façade, and in the Loggia are the remains of a fresco painted by Bazzi in 1513. Its tall tower, only slightly lower than that of the Torre del Comune, originally called the Rognosa and, after 1407, the Torre dell’ Orologio, marked the limit to which noble citizens might build their private towers. When at nightfall its bell, those of the Pieve and the more sonorous one of the Commune answer each other, the Sangimignanesi assure me that the sound can be heard in Florence. The tower near it is that of the Savorelli.

Adjacent to the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele is the Piazza Cavour, formerly called the Piazza della Cisterna from the old octagonal well of 1273 that still adorns it. On the left is the imposing Torre Pratellesi, originally the tower of the Palazzo Paltoncini in which the Podestà occasionally held his court in the first half of the thirteenth century. Opposite to it, is the tasteful little Gothic brick Palazzo Friani, a restored structure of the fourteenth century. Here is the tall, grass-grown Torre Cinatti, one of the most characteristic of the noble towers of the town. The two dismantled towers on the right are the remains of the palace of the Ardinghelli, in which the councils of the Commune met occasionally in the thirteenth century. At the corner of the Piazza is the Portone de’ Beccie Cugnanesi, or Arco dei Talei, of the original circuit of walls before the end of the twelfth century, to the right of which is the picturesque Vicolo de’ Becci, ending under a massive arch with one of those quaintly picturesque views that make the town an artistic delight at every turn.

Between the Via San Matteo and the Piazza dell’ Erbe are remains of a large palace, with two very tall twin towers. This appears to have been the Palazzo Salvucci,[191] the towers still showing traces of the fires kindled round them by the vengeful Ardinghelli. Opposite them, in the Via San Matteo, is the Torre Pettini. Thence we pass under a massive double arch, the Arco della Cancelleria or Portone di San Matteo, of the first circuit of walls. On our right are the Library and small Dante Museum, the latter inaugurated on the sixth centenary of Dante’s embassy to the town. A little further on, the church of San Bartolo has a picturesque façade of the eleventh century. Beyond is the great palace tower of the Pesciolini (according to a quite unhistorical tradition once the residence of Desiderio, King of the Lombards), in the style of the fourteenth century. The basement of what was once a palace, on the left, has decorative frescoes of the school of Poccetti. At the Porta San Matteo, we turn down the little lane within the walls to the Piazza Sant’ Agostino.

The church of Sant’ Agostino was built between 1280 and 1299. It was consecrated by the Cardinal Matteo d’Acquasparta—a short while before that very unsatisfactory prelate’s attempt to make peace in Florence while Dante sat in the priorate. On the right of the principal entrance is the chapel of San Bartolo, constructed in 1494 by order of the Commune. The tomb itself is the work of Benedetto da Maiano and his pupils, but hardly equal to the one that Benedetto had made for Fina. The tondo of the Madonna and Child, in which the Mother is guiding the Infant’s little hand to bless the people, is most exquisite, and probably it (with, perhaps, the three theological virtues) is the only part executed by the master himself. The three Saints on the wall, the four Doctors on the ceiling were painted by Sebastiano Mainardi. The picture over the next altar, of the same year 1494, the Madonna and Child, with many Saints and a tiny little Dominican friar as donor, is one of the best works of Pier Francesco Fiorentino. The frescoed Pietà above is ascribed to Vincenzo Tamagni. Then comes one of those curious symbolical representations of the Passion, which Don Lorenzo and Fra Angelico had made traditional. The second altar, dedicated to St Nicholas of Tolentino, has frescoes of 1529 by Vincenzo Tamagni, representing the Madonna and Child with Angels, St Nicholas of Tolentino and St Rock, St Antony the abbot and St Paul the first hermit. At the first altar on the left, the chapel of the Crocifisso, are more frescoes by Tamagni; kneeling opposite the Magdalene at the foot of the Cross is St Clare of Montefalco, holding in her hand her heart marked with the signs of the Passion; the St Margaret on the left is a thoroughly Raffaelesque figure, while the Madonna and St John are more like Perugino at his weakest. Then comes St Sebastian taking the people of San Gimignano under his protection in the time of pestilence, an admirable fresco by Benozzo Gozzoli; around the Apollo of Christian legend gather the people of the town in prayer; in spite of Christ and Mary, the Eternal Father and the Angels of wrath are hurling down the arrows of pestilence, but these are broken into pieces by other Angels at Sebastian’s intercession. Over the third altar is the Madonna delle Grazie with St Michael, originally a fresco by Lippo Memmi, but completely repainted and modernised.

The fresco at the steps, by Sebastiano Mainardi, inscribed S. Geminianus Silviaci Populi Gubernator, is a masterpiece of municipal sentiment. The Saint sits enthroned as bishop, while the three local worthies kneel before him to receive his blessing; Mattia Lupi, the bald-headed poet with his crown of laurel, who wrote in Latin verse the annals of the town and died in 1468; Domenico Mainardi, a noble-looking, grey-haired ecclesiastic, a distinguished canonist, who lectured at Bologna, Florence and Siena, was chaplain to Pope Martin V., and died in 1422; Nello de’ Cetti, a writer on civil law who died in 1430. The fresco is dated 1487. The heads are fine, almost worthy of Ghirlandaio, but they have been somewhat restored. Below it lies Fra Domenico Strambi, “Parisian Doctor,” the patron of Benozzo and Pollaiuolo, who died in the following year. In the chapel to the left of the choir is the Nativity of Mary, a curiously archaic picture by Tamagni, and in the chapel to the right are two frescoes representing her birth and death, ascribed to Bartolo di Fredi.

The frescoes by Benozzo Gozzoli in the choir, begun for Fra Domenico Strambi in 1463 and finished in 1465, are among the supreme achievements of Florentine painting in the third quarter of the Quattrocento. They set forth the chief events in the life of St Augustine, partly drawn from the Confessions. The first fresco, in which the little Augustine is taken to school by his parents, Patritius and Monica, is admirable for the freshness and naiveté with which the whole comedy of school-life, past and present, is treated. The drastic methods adopted by the schoolmaster in dealing with the little idler are specially referred to in the Confessions, where Augustine seems to remember his floggings with a curious sense of injury and injustice.[192] In the next (partly obliterated), we have his admission to the University of Carthage at the age of nineteen—that season of lawless loves and Manichaean errors so inimitably described at the beginning of the third Book. On the window wall, much damaged and restored, are St Monica praying for him, his crossing the sea and arrival in Italy. Next, we see him teaching philosophy and rhetoric in Rome, the usual composition of the lecturer and his pupils which we find elsewhere in the art of the fifteenth century, with those splendid portrait heads that make the modern student realise the wonderful intellectual vigour of these Florentines of the Renaissance. Then comes the journey from Rome to Milan, whither Augustine is sent by the Roman prefect Symmachus, in answer to the Milanese request for a teacher of rhetoric; even so might young Pico della Mirandola have looked when he first came to Florence. This somewhat, indeed, recalls the style of the Procession of the Magi in the Palazzo Riccardi, but is naturally in a more chastened style. Above, two white-robed, green-winged Angels bear a scroll in honour of Fra Domenico Strambi, who—it is expressly stated—at his own cost had bidden Benozzo paint here; it is dated 1465. Then Augustine arrives at Milan, makes the acquaintance

of Ambrose, is received by the Emperor Theodosius. After this he listens to St Ambrose preaching, St Monica kneels before the latter (whom, writes the Saint, she loved as an Angel of God), and Augustine begins to be convinced. On the window wall we have the wonderful scene in the garden, where Augustine and Alypius are finally and simultaneously converted by the reading of the Epistle to the Romans—after Augustine has heard the child’s voice singing again and again from the neighbouring house: Tolle, lege; tolle, lege, “Take and read: take and read.”[193] This is followed by his Baptism. Next Augustine, black-robed and aureoled, is among the monks, and meets the little child by the shore who rebukes him for attempting to penetrate into the mystery of the Trinity. After this comes perhaps the finest picture of the whole series, the Death of St Monica, with, at the window high up on the left, the famous conversation at Ostia which preceded it;[194] the youth standing behind Augustine with clasped hands is his son Adeodatus, ex me natus carnaliter, de peccato meo. Monica is sitting up in her bed to receive the Christ Child in the Host, and above her soul is being carried up to Paradise in the usual little cloud (the nubiletta bianchissima of Dante’s Vita Nuova) by Angels. On the right of the fresco, Augustine is returning to Africa. In the four remaining frescoes of the lunettes and on either side of the window, Augustine as Bishop of Hippo blesses his people, he confutes the heretic Fortunatus, has a vision of the glory of St Jerome in Paradise, and at last follows him. This last fresco, representing the death and apotheosis of Augustine, is also an admirable work. Full of expression and excellently composed, it is one of those traditional death scenes which, in their ultimate analysis, proceed from Giotto’s Death of St Francis. The Evangelists on the ceiling, the eight Saints on the pilasters are also by Benozzo. In these frescoes he was assisted by pupils and apprentices, chief among whom was a certain Giusto di Andrea, who had previously worked with Fra Lippo Lippi.

Also in the Piazza Sant’ Agostino is the small church of San Pietro, which has the peculiar distinction of depending upon the bishopric of Volterra, while all the other churches of the town are subject to the Bishop of Colle. It contains several fragments of frescoes of the fourteenth century, still partly under whitewash. Over the altar on the right is a frescoed Madonna and Child with the Baptist and St Paul, of the school of Lippo Memmi, in which—a rather unusual motive—the Child is running to the Mother, clasping her hand in one and holding a fruit in the other hand.

In the Via Venti Settembre, on the left, is Santa Chiara. The altarpiece is a good work of the chief Florentine painter of the seventeenth century, Matteo Rosselli. It represents Christ enthroned upon the clouds, between the Madonna and the Baptist; below are St Francis and St Louis of France on our left, while on our right—a motive equally happy in conception and execution—St Clare is bringing Santa Fina into the celestial company. There are several pictures ascribed to Rosselli in the town, but this is the only one in the least degree worthy of the painter of the David of the Pitti. Further on, on the right, are the Hospitals, including the Spedale di Santa Fina, founded shortly after her death by the Commune, partly from the alms of pilgrims. In 1274 two special officers, Esortatori, were appointed to visit sick persons, to beg alms or legacies for the institution. In the entrance hall, formerly the chapel, are frescoes by Mainardi; four Saints in lunettes and, over the door, a Madonna and Child blessing those that enter. In the chapel is preserved the tavola, the board upon which Fina made her hard bed of expiation for the sins of the world, and which blossomed out into flowers when her sacrifice was accomplished.[195] Beyond is San Girolamo, a church belonging to a convent of Vallombrosan nuns, with an altarpiece by Vincenzo Tamagni of 1522, with an upper part added by a later hand. At the end, connected with the former convent by a covered way across, is the church of San Jacopo, which belonged to the Knights Templars before the nuns had it; it is a building of the eleventh century (said to have been built in 1096 by the Sangimignanesi who returned from the Crusades), lovely in its ruin, in a little inclosed plantation of olive trees. The ornamented terra-cotta window and the curious coloured plates on the façade are noteworthy. Within are old frescoes, apparently of the Sienese school of the fourteenth century. Mr Berenson ascribes the St James on the pilaster to Pier Francesco. Then we pass out, through a breach in the walls, to the olive trees that clothe them, and to the sweeping view of the valley beyond.

At Santa Chiara, the Via della Fonte leads down between vineyards and old walls to the Porta della Fonte, over which is a chapel. Outside, over the gate, a statue of St Geminianus records the attempt of the Ardinghelli and their allies to capture the town for the Duke of Athens at this point, in 1342. The wonderfully picturesque fountains below, where the women linger over their washing and carry up pitchers to the houses, were constructed in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. A little to the left, among the olives, flaming poppies and purple foxgloves, where a few oaks still remind us of the woods of old, there is a superb view of the “Castello della Selva” right above us, with eight of its towers visible.

The large prison that rises up at the walls, to the left of us, occupies the site of the Rocca that defended the town until the Florentine occupation in 1353. After that, a Dominican convent was built upon the spot—the convent in which Savonarola stayed while preaching the Lent in the Pieve. It was suppressed in the eighteenth century by the Austrian Grand Duke of Tuscany. Opposite to it, in the Via del Castello, is the little church of San Lorenzo in Ponte, with a few unimportant frescoes of the Trecento.

Passing under the Arco de’ Talei into the Via San Giovanni, we see a large piece of the first circuit of walls on the right, adjoining the Portone, blackened apparently by fire, and the tall Torre Talei. Opposite the tower is a shrine, with a ruined fresco by Mainardi. In the refectory of a former convent of Benedictine nuns (now the Palazzo Pratellesi) is a very Peruginesque fresco by Vincenzo Tamagni, representing the mystical marriage of St Catherine of Alexandria; it is dated 1528. On the left is the dismantled façade of San Giovanni, a building of the eleventh century. Over the inside of the gate is a chapel built in 1601 to cover a venerated picture, but the outside of the Porta San Giovanni is still unspoiled thirteenth century architecture.

A short way beyond the Porta San Giovanni is the former monastery of Monte Oliveto, founded in 1340 by Giovanni di Gualtiero Salvucci. In the lunette over the door of the church is a fresco of the Madonna between two white-robed monks, possibly by Tamagni. There is a Madonna of 1502 in the church by Mainardi, and two Sienese pictures of the school of Lippo Memmi are in the sacristy. In the cloister is a frescoed Crucifixion by Benozzo Gozzoli, with St Jerome beating his breast and saying the Rosary at the foot of the Cross. Beyond Monte Oliveto, a road of olives and barley fields leads to the small hamlet of Santa Lucia. In its church are a fresco of the Crucifixion, with a little Dominican kneeling at the foot, by Pier Francesco, and a picture by Fra Paolino—one of those compositions of Madonnas and Saints that he inherited from Fra Bartolommeo.

Outside the Porta San Matteo is the convent of the Cappuccini. In its church is a Deposition from the Cross of 1591, ascribed to Jacopo Ligozzi of Verona. About two miles further on, with a splendid view over the valley, is Cellole, a Romanesque church of the first years of the thirteenth century. Attached to it was the Leper Hospital, where San Bartolo devoted his life to the stricken and where at last, himself overtaken by the fell disease, he became one with the rest and died.

Behind the Collegiata, the way leads up to the Rocca di Montestaffoli, the fortress which the Florentines built after 1353, to maintain their hold upon the town. “The Commune of Florence,” writes Matteo Villani, “because it wished to live more secure of the town of San Gimignano and to remove every cause of evil thinking from its townsfolk, began to have made and finished, without leaving off the work at their expense, a great and noble Rocca and fort, the which was raised above the Pieve, where was the church of the Friars Preachers. And that church it had rebuilt, larger and more beautiful, on the other side of the town lower down.”[196] It was dismantled, two hundred years later, by Cosimo de’ Medici. The greater part of it is now a garden, with the old well in the middle of it. Ivy and purple foxgloves clothe the walls; figs and olives and cherries grow where once the fanti of the Florentine captains lolled in their tight parti-coloured dress. The varied noises rising from the town mingle pleasantly with the humming of bees. The highest part commands a superb view over the valley of the Elsa bounded by the distant mountains, the terra itself below with, close at hand, the belle torri rising as it were in the face of their Florentine lords, and away northwards is Boccaccio-haunted Certaldo. One at least of Messer Giovanni’s fair heroines came from San Gimignano—the Isabetta whom English poets and English painters have surely made our own. Her father, it will be remembered, was a citizen of San Gimignano who had settled in Messina.

San Gimignano must be seen on some day of festa and procession, such as that solemnity of Santa Fina which is kept once in every five years on the first Sunday in August, or, more easily perhaps, on the annual celebration of the Corpus Domini. On the afternoon of the vigil of the latter day, the children wander out over the fields of all the country round for miles, returning at nightfall with baskets full of red and yellow flowers (the colours of the Commune), to be scattered in the way on the morrow. Then on the morning of the Festa, after High Mass at the Duomo, the procession passes under the Tower of the Commune, through the streets, between those grim towers, beneath the massive dark portoni, round and round the piazze. First come the various companies and confraternities of the contado with their priests and banners, then the Cappuccini with the gigantic black crucifix, followed by the canons of the Collegiata and, under the baldacchino, the Proposto bearing the Blessed Sacrament. The procession is almost exclusively composed of men and boys, the women and girls contenting themselves with scattering the red and yellow flowers before it as it advances. The crowd follows from place to place, falling down in adoration as the Sacred Host comes past. The bandsmen, the one obtrusive note of municipal modernity, with their uniforms, their white plumes and tricoloured favours, only make themselves evident at intervals, and whatever there may be of tawdriness in the decorations and the finery is lost and transfigured in the glory of the Tuscan early summer. Old Latin hymns, the Church’s heritage from the remotest Middle Ages, mingle and harmonise with the clamour of the bells that clashed out a stormo while Guelfs and Ghibellines struggled madly together in these very streets through which the waving banners move to-day, that rang a gloria for the coming of Bishop Ranieri the peacemaker, or were swung to and fro by the hands of invisible Angels when the maiden Fina died. What more would the seeker for fresh sensations in Italy desire?

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL APPENDIX