PRATO: A MEDIÆVAL JOURNEY

M.M. Newell Giov. Pisano

THE CAMPANILE, PRATO

HRICE had we been in Florence and never seen Prato, only twelve miles away. Many times had we noted in passing where the waters of her little river, the Bisenzio, join the Arno, and wished to follow its banks through the plain to the city whose fortunes and history are so identified with those of Florence. There was no good reason for not going to Prato; there are several ways of doing it—by diligence, tram, or steam; and Murray declares that half a day will suffice to see the town. So one hot day we took the plunge, boarded the tram, first having provided a bountiful luncheon, for of course the inns would be impossible. We can not recommend that tram ride. The line passes through a flat, dusty country, the service is unpardonably slow and tedious, and we were smothered in dust and very cross. But let us hasten to say that the journey itself was our only disappointment; all discomfort vanished with our arrival. We were charmed with our first glimpse of the city, and found the Albergo Giardino so good that we were obliged to apologize for bringing a luncheon and supplement it generously from the hotel menu. Temper restored and at peace with all the world, we set forth to prove Herr Baedeker's statement that a visit to Prato is "indispensable to those who desire to acquaint themselves thoroughly with the early Renaissance style of Florence;" for which same thorough acquaintance we had allowed ourselves four hours, forsooth! The Prato of to-day has, of course, its praiseworthy modern enterprise and industries: the women are picturesquely busy at every street corner with straw plaiting, there is a good trade in woolen cloths, and the bright red caps (calabarsi), made here are greatly demanded in the Levant; in side streets we come upon shops hung with gleaming copper vessels of every sort and shape, and the sound of the coppersmith's hammer rings out merrily on the clear air. It is said that the people have a reputation for rudeness and turbulence, but what can you expect from a town which, having made the good fight for freedom, lost its independence and its identity in that of another city, that was once captured by the redoubtable Castruccio, and, to crown all disaster, was from 1512, for twenty-two years, made to suffer all the atrocities that Spanish cruelty could devise? After all, the City of the Meadow (prato) is in no sense a modern town; its ancient walls are still intact; the castle, if fallen from its high estate as a citadel, is still a delight to all the snap-shotting fraternity; and if the streets are no longer gay with ruffling bravos in their fine attire, the ancient palaces of the Commune and Pretorio still hold their own in point of noble architecture and as venerable centres of justice and good government.

Alinari Benozzo Gozzoli

DETAIL OF THE PROCESSION OF THE MAGI

CHAPEL OF THE RICCARDI PALACE, FLORENCE

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M. M. Newell

ARCADES WHERE HANG THE COPPER AND WOOLEN GOODS

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Very different, indeed, must it have been in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, when Prato was in the zenith of her wealth and pride, when Donatello and Fra Lippo Lippi, Mino da Fiesole, and the Pisani were busy there, and all the world was running to see their work; crowned heads and critics, humble aspirants and cavalcades of brilliantly attired Florentines were arriving daily to admire and criticize the new art. The jaded tourist of to-day, if a true lover of nature and history, thinks yearningly of the mediæval journeyings over these roads; of the humble enthusiast making his way on foot, and of gay trains of mounted nobles riding leisurely through these regions of delight. Benozzo Gozzoli has shown us how it was done in his noble fresco "Procession of the Magi," painted on the walls of the Riccardi Palace to commemorate the visit of the Eastern Emperor, John Palæologos, in 1439, who, according to an inscription in the Duomo of Prato, made an excursion thither from Florence accompanied by the illustrious Bessarion and a suite of six hundred cavaliers magnificently appointed. The "three kings" in the fresco are represented by the Emperor, the patriarch Joseph, and the young Lorenzo de' Medici, who are surrounded by theologians and scribes, attended by a train of cardinals, bishops, and nobles, with their servants and horses, in splendid array. The painted scene is full of the vigour and freshness of spring—of that spring when men awoke to the force and meaning of human existence, "freedom of thought, beauty of the world, and goodness of youth and strength and love and life." Those gay young cavaliers prancing over the plain, exuberant with their new joy in nature, colour, and splendour of dress, are equally keen in their intellectual freshness; every man is a poet, Lorenzo de' Medici himself the "most typical poet of his century," and their every verse rings with the burden, "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may."

M. M. Newell

THE FORTRESS

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"I went a roaming, maidens, one bright day,

In a green garden in mid month of May.

Violets and lilies grew on every side

Mid the green grass, and young flowers wonderful,

Golden and white and red and azure-eyed;

Toward which I stretched my hands, eager to pull

Plenty to make my fair curls beautiful,

To crown my rippling curls with garlands gay.

I went a roaming, maidens, one bright day,

In a green garden in mid month of May."

Alinari

THE CATHEDRAL OF PRATO

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Like Benozzo Gozzoli's train, we would sweep gaily from the court of the old Medicean palace into Via Larga, pass through the Piazza del Duomo, invoking the protection of Santa Maria del Fiore, cross the ample square of Santa Maria Novella, and so come to Porta al Prato, leading out to the plain, blue at this time of the year with the small Tuscan lily which gave Florence her device. Then, as now, we would pass through a busy suburb, or borgo, clustering about the gate, and take our way over the plain, thick set with little hamlets, vineyards, and orchards, and having always at our right hand the fair Tuscan hills, hung with blooming gardens and starred with shining villas. There is many a shrine or church along the way well worth a brief halt, and such a leisurely ride may easily include a short visit and refreshment at many of the Medici villas in the vicinity—at Careggi, finest of them all, first occupied by Cosimo, Pater Patriæ, rebuilt by Michelozzo, and where Lorenzo would, at a later day, gather about him the scholars, artists, and singers of that rich time; here also tradition places that improbable scene between Savonarola and Lorenzo at the time of his death. The grand old tower of Petraia next lifts its crown above a bosky hillside; this villa, now the Royal Villa, was the work of Brunelleschi, and may well be visited for the sake of its noble gardens and rare trees—among them an oak four hundred years old. It is said that Poggio a Caiano, somewhat farther on, was Lorenzo's favorite villa; earlier it belonged to the notorious Pistojese family, the Cancellieri, who boasted among their members eighteen knights with golden spurs, and whose quarrels originated the widespread feuds of the Bianchi and Neri. Lorenzo loved the place, and called his favorite architect, Giuliano Giamberti, whom he had fondly nicknamed "San Gallo," to build his villa; the plain exterior is broken only by a fine classic portico, while the pride of the villa is the great hall with its beautiful barrel roof—a creation which Lorenzo had declared San Gallo could never accomplish. Later this architect built the little church of the Madonna delle Carceri [1] at Prato—"perhaps," says our critic, "the gem of the Laurentian age of architecture," and certainly "classical principles have never been employed with more sympathy and more originality."

M. M. Newell

GARDEN BELONGING TO THE ROYAL VILLA OF PETRAIA

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Alinari Donatello

EXTERNAL PULPIT, CATHEDRAL, PRATO

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Alinari Andrea della Robbia, 1489

MADONNA AND CHILD, WITH SAINTS

LUNETTE OVER CENTRAL DOOR OF THE DUOMO, PRATO

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Thus filling a memorable day, we should come at eventide, as the setting sun sifts its gold on olive-clad hills, to Prato on the Bisenzio, where even an emperor might study with interest the civilization of the West during the "age of the despots," and its reawakening in learning and art. He would also enjoy the hospitality, for which the city was noted when Florentine nobles made Prato their frequent residence and enriched their palaces there with every form of art and luxury, for which that time was celebrated. Prato, we find, has her tradition honouring her above all other cities in the world, and about which centres much of her importance in art. The story runs something like this: When the Blessed Virgin disappeared from earth, it seems that St. Thomas, father of skeptics, could not believe that she had been caught up into heaven, as everybody knows who looks at Italian paintings. The Virgin, to convince him, dropped from the clouds her girdle (cintola), which St. Thomas faithfully cherished while he lived. After his death the holy relic descended in course of time to a Greek priest. All this happened in the Holy Land, to which, in 1096, journeyed a certain Michael of Prato, who, being an Italian, was presumably a handsome man with a silver tongue, won the love of the aforesaid Greek priest's daughter, who brought the sacra cintola as part of her dowry. Michael returned with his bride to Prato, where they lived the rest of their lives, and treasured the precious relic with the greatest reverence and care. Eventually it was transferred to the cathedral, where it is kept in a chest sculptured by Giovanni Pisano, and the keys thereof jealously guarded by the Bishop of the Diocese and worshipful Syndic of the City of Prato. The people hold the relic in the profoundest reverence; five times during the year it is, with great ceremony, publicly exhibited, until about the tradition has gathered a religious cult, to which many of the noblest works of art in the Duomo directly refer. The Duomo alone stands for seven centuries of art (though little remains of the earliest church, built in the eighth century), and, like its noble campanile, is the work of Giovanni Pisano. It is built of alternate bands of fine limestone and the dark green serpentine from neighboring Monte Ferrato.[2] On the northwest corner of the church is the external pulpit of Donatello, "Prince of Humanists," supported by Michelozzo's bronze capital. The pulpit is adorned with seven reliefs of dancing figures, "half-childish and half-mythical," with musical instruments. From this pulpit, if it chance to be May Day or Easter, we may witness the picturesque ceremony of exhibiting the sacra cintola to the devout people in gala dress, kneeling in the piazza below. We enter the Duomo under Andrea della Robbia's lunette of the Madonna and Child, attended by St. Stephen and St. Laurence, the whole surrounded by a wreath of cherubs' heads; this relief, among the many Della Robbias in various churches and oratories of Prato, is the only one executed by Andrea's hand, and is a beautiful and serious work in the master's late manner. The interior of the church is in the form of a Latin cross, its roof supported by columns of serpentine; at the left is the chapel of the Sacra Cintola, surrounded by a fine bronze grille or screen, wrought by Bruno di Ser Lapo at Lorenzo's order. It is a masterpiece of graceful designs, circles, quatrefoils, wreaths, and acanthus leaves, among which appear tiny figures of cherubs supporting the arms of Prato—a shield powdered with the lilies of Anjou. Over the screen hang thirteen silver lamps of antique form, kept ever alight before the altar, where stands the charming Madonna by Giovanni Pisano and the sculptured ark or chest containing the sacred girdle. On the walls is Angelo Gaddi's painted story of the life and death of the Virgin and the gift of her girdle to St. Thomas. The same subject, splendidly painted by Ridolfo Ghirlandaio, hangs over the great west door. In the nave, amid all this richness of colour, Mino da Fiesole's beautiful marble pulpit shines out with its delicately sculptured reliefs, supported on serpent-tailed sphinxes. Foremost, however, among the treasures of the Duomo, are Fra Lippo Lippi's frescoes in the choir, considered his most important work. Nothing, perhaps, puts one so fully in touch with fifteenth-century men and art as the career of this vigorous and prolific artist, a true son of the Renaissance, who, while he paints sweet-faced Madonnas, dimpled children, and holy saints on monastery walls, follows his own pleasures and trolls out his careless love song:

Braun, Clement et Cie. Botticelli

LUCREZIA TORNABUONI, WIFE OF LORENZO IL MAGNIFICO

WEARING THE MARSYAS JEWEL OF THE MEDICI

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"Who am I?

Why, one, sir, who is lodging with a friend

Three streets off—he's a certain ... how d'ye call—

Master—a ... Cosimo of the Medici,

In the house that caps the corner. * * *

* * * * * * *

"And I've been three weeks shut within my mew

A-painting for the great man, saints and saints

And saints again. * * *

* * * * * * *

"I painted a St. Laurence six months since

At Prato, splashed the fresco in fine style."

Song

"Flower o' the broom,

Take away love and our earth is a tomb!"

* * * * * * *

Our allotted "four hours" for Prato have come to an end, leaving many beautiful things unseen; the pleasant cloisters of San Francesco, the perfect Renaissance church of Santa Maria delle Carceri, and many others, must be left to that indefinite "next time." We hasten to the train, stopping only a moment at the shrine on the corner of Via S. Margherita, which contains Filippino Lippi's Madonna, where we murmur our thanks for a happy visit and make solemn vows to come soon again.

STEMMA, PRATO

Alinari A. della Robbia

DETAIL OF FRIEZE

S. MARIA DELLE CARCERI, PRATO

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CHIANTI AND THE IMPRUNETA

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