Orvieto’s cathedral has Italy’s liveliest façade. This colorful, prickly Gothic façade, divided by four pillars, has been compared to a medieval altarpiece. The optical-illusion interior features some fine art, including Luca Signorelli’s lavishly frescoed Chapel of San Brizio.
Will you just take a look at this gleaming mass of mosaics, stained glass, and sculpture? Note how it’s literally just a façade, ornamenting an otherwise very plain, mostly Romanesque exterior.
At the base of the cathedral, the four broad marble pillars carved with biblical scenes tell the history of the world in four acts, from left to right. The relief on the far left shows the Creation.
The next is the Tree of Jesse. Looking up at the roaring lion of St. Mark and the grand façade filling your view – awe-inspiring as intended.
In the third panel, with scenes form the New Testament, look for the unique manger scene, and other events from the life of Christ.
On the far right is the Last Judgement; see Christ judging on top, with a commotion of sarcophagi popping open and all hell breaking loose at the bottom.
Each pillar is topped with a bronze symbol of one of the Evangelists – angel (Matthew), lion (Mark), eagle (John), and ox (Luke). The bronze doors are modern, by the Sicilian sculptor Emilio Greco.
When one takes it all in, it’s clear that the church is dedicated to the ascension of Mary. In the mosaic below the rose window, Mary is transported to heaven. In the uppermost mosaic, Mary is crowned.
Once inside, the nave feels spacious and less cluttered than most Italian churches, even with statues of the apostles positioned at each column. Those statues have only recently returned to the cathedral: In 1897, the people decided they wanted to “un-Baroque” their church, and they move d the apostles out (for 122 years, they sat in another church in town). Bits of medieval fresco survive in niches once covered by altars and confessionals. From the back of the nave you can appreciate the fine stained glass above the altar- it’s original form the 14th century and some of the oldest in Italy. The stripes of the church are purely decorative, made of locally quarried basalt and black travertine.
The interior is warmly lit by alabaster windows, highlighting the black-and-white striped stonework. Why such a big and impressive church in such a little town? First of all, it’s not as big as it looks. By lining the nave with striped columns and opening up the side aisles with arcaded chapels, the architect made the space seem longer and bigger than it is. Still, it’s a big and rich cathedral -the seat of a bishop.
The cathedral’s historic importance and wealth is thanks to a miracle that happened nearby in 1263. According to the story, a skeptical priest named Peter of Prague passed through the town of Bolsena (12 miles from Orvieto) while on a pilgrimage to Rome. He had doubts that the bread used in communion could really be transformed into the body of Christ. But during Mass, as he held the host aloft and blessed it, the bread began to bleed, running down his arms and dripping onto a linen cloth (a “corporal”) on the altar. That miraculously bloodstained cloth is now kept here, in the Chapel of the Corporal.
The bloody cloth from the miracle is displayed in the turquoise frame atop the chapel’s altar. It was brought from Bolsena to Orvieto, where Pope Urban IV happened to be visiting. The amazed pope proclaimed a new holiday, Corpus Domini (Body of Christ), an the Orvieto cathedral was built (begun in 1290) to display the miraculous relic. For centuries, the precious linen was paraded through the streets of Orvieto in an ornate reliquary (now In the MoDo City Museum.
The room was frescoed in the 14th century with scenes attesting to Christ’s presence in the communion wafer and offering a vivid peek at life here at the time. The miracle of Bolsena (here set in 13th-century Orvieto) is depicted on the chapel’s right wall.
Near the middle front of the church, there is a decorative area on the floor. This patch in the marble floors marks where the altar stood before the Counter-Reformation. It’s a reminder that as the Roman Catholic Church countered the Reformation, it made reforms of its own. For instance, altars were moved back so that the congregation could sit closer to the spectacular frescoes and stained glass. (These decorations were designed to impress commoners by illustrating the glory of heaven – and the Catholic Church needed that propaganda more than ever during the Counter-Reformation).
The richness of the place really envelopes you. This cathedral put Orvieto on the map, and with lots of pilgrims came lots of wealth. The town, perched on its easy-to-defend hilltop – was used off and on for a couple of centuries as a papal refuge, whenever the current pope’s enemies forced him to flee Rome. Over the altar, the brilliant stained glass is the painstakingly restored original, from the 14th century. The fine organ has more than 5,000 pipes.
This marble pieta’ (statue of Mary holding Jesus’ just-crucified body) was carved in 1579 by local artist Ippolito Scalza. Clearly inspired by Michelangelo’s Pieta’, this exceptional work, with four figures, was sculpted from one piece of marble. Scalza was able to impart amazing subtle texture.
The Chapel of San Brizio features Luca Signorelli’s brilliantly lit frescoes of the Day of Judgement and Life after Death (painted 1499- 1504). In the chapel we are surrounded by vivid scenes crammed with figures. Although the frescoes refer to themes of resurrection and salvation, they also reflect the turbulent political and religious atmosphere of late-15th-century Italy.
The chapel is decorated in one big and cohesive story. Starting on the left and moving counterclockwise, you get the basic plot: Antichrist (a false prophet), end of the world (above the arch leading to the nave), Resurrection of the Bodies, Hell, Judgement Day (Fra Angelico – who worked on the chapel 50 years before Signorelli – painted Jesus above the window, and finally heaven.
In the Sermon of the Antichrist, a crowd gathers around a man preaching from a pedestal. This befuddled Antichrist forgets his lines mid speech, but the Devil is on hand to whisper what to say next. Notice how the arm in front of is attached to both figures, suggesting they are joined as one. His words sow wickedness through the world, including executions. The worried woman in red and light blue gets money from a man for something she’s not proud of (perhaps receiving funds from a Jewish moneylender – notice the Star of David on her purse). Many of the faces in the crowd are probably actual portraits.
Most likely, the Antichrist himself is a veiled reference to Savonarola (1452-1498), the charismatic Florentine Monk who defied the pope, drove the Medici family from power, and riled the populace with apocalyptic sermons. Many Italians, including the painter Signorelli – viewed Savonarola as a tyrant and heretic, the Antichrist who was ushering in the Last Day.
In the upper left, notice the hardworking angel. He looks as if he’s at batting practice, hitting followers of the Antichrist back to earth as they try to get through the pearly gates.
In the bottom left is a self-portrait of the artist, Luca Signorelli (1450-1523), well-dressed in black with long golden hair. Signorelli, from nearby Cortona, was at the peak of his powers, and this chapel was his masterpiece. He looks out proudly as if to say, “I did all this in just a few years, on time and on budget,” confirming his reputation as a speedy, businesslike painter. Next to him (also in black) is the artist Fra Angelico, who started the chapel decoration five decades earlier but completed only a small part of it: the Last Judgement over the window and the angels around it.
Look at the difference between the style of painting between these masters – Angelico’s angles stacked like little wooden dolls next to Signorelli’s intertwined naked bodies. You can clearly see the huge effect the Renaissance had on painting in just a few decades.
Around the arch opposite the windows are signs of the end of the world: eclipse, tsunami, falling stars, earthquakes, violence in the streets, and a laser-wielding gray angel.
Opposite the Antichrist is the Resurrection of the Bodies. Trumpeting angles blow a wake-up call, and the dead climb dreamily out of the earth to be clothed with new bodies, some of the randy skeletons finding time for flirting.
On the same wall is a gripping pieta’. Also by Signorelli, this pieta’ gives insight into the artist’s genius and personality. Look at the emotion in the faces of the two Marys and consider that Signorelli’s son had just died. The small black-and-white Deposition scene (behind Jesus’ leg) seems inspired by ancient Greek scenes of a pre-Christian hero’s death. In the confident spirit of the Renaissance, the artist incorporates a pagan scene to support a Christian story. This 3-D realism in a 2-D sketch shows the work of a talented master.
The altar wall features the Last Judgement. To the left of the altar are the Elect in Heaven. They spend eternity posing like bodybuilders while listening to celestial Muzak.
To the right are the Damned in Hell, in the scariest mosh pit ever. Devils torment sinners in graphic detail, while winged demons control the airspace overhead. In the center, one lusty demon turns to tell the frightened woman on his back exactly what he’s got planned for their date. According to legend, this was Signorelli’s lover, who betrayed him… and ended up here. Signorelli’s ability to tell a story through human actions and gestures, rather than symbols, inspired his younger contemporary, Michelangelo, who meticulously studied the elder artist’s nudes.
In this chapel, Christian theology sits physically and figuratively upon a foundation of Classical logic. Below everything are Greek and Latin philosophers, plus Dante, struggling to reconcile Classical truth with Church doctrine. You can see the intellectual challenge on their faces as they ponder the puzzle of theology that survives the test of reason.
The figures are immersed in fanciful Grotesque (that is, grotto-esque) décor. Dating from 1499, this is one of the first uses of the frilly, nubile, and even sexy “wallpaper pattern” so popular in the Renaissance. It was inspired by the decorations found in Nero’s Gold House in Rome, which had been discovered under street level just a few years earlier and was mistaken for an underground grotto.
During the Renaissance, nakedness symbolized purity. When attitudes changed during the Counter-Reformation, the male figures in Signorelli’s frescoes were given penis-covering sashes. In a 1982 restoration, most – but not all – of the sashes were removed. A little of that prudishness survives to this day, as those in heaven were left with their sashes modestly in place.
