In those in which he was undoubtedly assisted by Giacomo Ferro, as for example the Caiaphas, Herod, four Pilate, and Nailing to the Cross chapels, with possibly the Ecce Homo, perhaps the safest rule will be to give the few really excellent figures that are to be found in each of them to D’Enrico himself and to ascribe all the inferior work, of which unfortunately there is too much, to Giacomo Ferro. That the assistance rendered by him was on a very large scale may be gathered from the fact that there was a deed drawn up between him and his master whereby he was to receive half the money that was paid to D’Enrico,—a quasi partnership indeed seems to have existed between the two sculptors. This deed is referred to by Signor Galloni on page 178 of his “Uomini e Fatti,” and on the same page he gives us an extract from a lawsuit between Giacomo Ferro and the town of Varallo which gives us a curious insight into the manner in which the artists of the Sacro Monte were paid. From a procès-verbal in connection with this suit Signor Galloni quotes the following extract:—
“And further the said deputies allege that in the accounts rendered by the said master Giovanni D’Enrico in respect of the pontifical thrones in the Caiaphas and Nailing to the Cross chapels, these have been valued at the rate of four statues for each several throne and horse, whereas it appears from old accounts rendered by other statuaries that they have been hitherto charged only at the rate of three statues for each throne and horse. Wherefore the said deputies claim to deduct the overcharge of one statue for each horse and throne, which being thirteen at the rate of 10 and a quarter scudi for each figure, would give a total deduction of 132 and a half scudi.”
It appears in another part of the same procès-verbal that Giovanni D’Enrico had been paid in 1640 the sum of 4240 lire and 8 soldi.
Giacomo Ferro and his brother Antonio were Giovanni D’Enrico’s heirs, from which it would appear that he either died unmarried, or left no children.
To say that D’Enrico will compare with Tabachetti would be an obvious exaggeration, and, indeed, there are only very few figures on the Sacro Monte about which we can feel certain that they are by him at all. The Caiaphas, Herod, Laughing Boys in the Herod chapel, and the Man with the Two Children in the Ecce Homo chapel cannot, I think, be given to any one else, but at this moment I do not call to mind more than some fourteen or fifteen figures out of the three hundred or so that are ascribed to him, about which we can be as certain that they are by D’Enrico as we can be that most of those given to Tabachetti and Gaudenzio are actually by them. For not only have we to reckon with Giacomo Ferro, who, if he had half the pay, we may be sure did not less than half the figures, and probably very much more, but we must reckon with the figures taken from older chapels when reconstructed, as in D’Enrico’s time was the case with several. What became of the figures in Gaudenzio Ferrari’s original Journey to Calvary chapel, and in other works by him that were cancelled when the Palazzo di Pilato chapel was built? It is not likely they were destroyed if by any hook or crook they could be made to do duty in some other shape; more probably they are most of them still existing up and down D’Enrico’s various chapels, but so doctored, if the expression may be pardoned, that Gaudenzio himself would not know them. In the Ecce Homo chapel we can say with confidence that the extreme figure to the left is by Gaudenzio, and has been taken from some one of his chapels now lost; we are able to detect this by an accident, but there are other figures in the same chapel and not a few elsewhere, about which we can have no confidence that they have not been taken from some earlier chapel either by Gaudenzio or some one else. What, then, with these figures, and what with Giacomo Ferro, it is not easy to say what D’Enrico did or did not do.
The intercalated figures have been fitted into the work with admirable skill, nevertheless they do not form part of design, and make it want the unity observable in the work of Tabachetti and Gaudenzio. They have been lugged into the composition, and no matter how skilful their introduction, are soon felt, as in the case of the Vecchietto, to have no business where they are. Moreover, D’Enrico shows his figures off, which Tabachetti never does: the result is that in his chapels each figure has its attention a good deal drawn to the desirableness of neither being itself lost sight of, nor impeding the view of its neighbours. This is fatal, and though Giacomo Ferro is doubtless more practically guilty in the matter than D’Enrico, yet D’Enrico is the responsible author of the work, and must bear the blame accordingly. Standing once with Signor Pizetta of Varallo, before D’Enrico’s great Nailing of Christ to the Cross chapel, I asked him casually how he thought it compared with Tabachetti’s Journey to Calvary. He replied “Questo non sacrifica niente,” meaning that Tabachetti thought of the action much and but little of whether or no the actors got in each other’s way, whereas D’Enrico was mainly bent on making his figures steer clear of one another. Thus his chapels want the concert and unity of action that give such life to Tabachetti’s. Nevertheless, in spite of the defect above referred to, it is impossible to deny that the sculptor of the Herod and Caiaphas figures was a man of very rare ability, nor can the general verdict which assigns him the third place among the workers on the Sacro Monte be reasonably disputed. But this third place must be given rather in respect of quantity than quality, for in dramatic power and highly-wrought tragic action he is inferior to the sculptor, whoever he may be, of the Massacre of the Innocents chapel, to which I will return when I come to the chapel in question.
I may say in passing that Cicognara, Lübke, and Perkins have all omitted to mention Giovanni D’Enrico as a sculptor, though Nagler mentions his two brothers as painters. Nagler gives the two brothers D’Enrico as all bearing the patronymic Tanzio, which I am told is in reality only a corruption of the Christian name of the third brother. Zani mentions Giovanni D’Enrico as well as his two brothers, and calls him “celebre,” but he calls all the three brothers “Tanzii, Tanzi, Tanzio, or Tanzo.”
CHAPTER IX.
THE ASCENT, AND THE FIRST FOUR CHAPELS.
The ascent to the Sacro Monte begins immediately after the church of Sta. Maria delle Grazie has been passed, and is made by a large broad road paved with rounded stones, and beautifully shaded by the chestnuts that grow on the steep side of the mountain. The old road up the mountain was below the present, and remains of it may yet be seen. Ere long a steeper narrower road branches off to the right hand, which makes rather a shorter cut, and is commonly called the “Strada della Madonna.” From this name it has become generally believed that the Madonna once actually came to Varallo to see the Sacro Monte, and took this shorter road. There is no genuine tradition, however, to this effect, and the belief may be traced to misapprehension of a passage in Fassola and Torrotti, who say that the main road represents the path taken by Christ himself on his journey to Calvary, while the other symbolises the short cut taken by the Virgin when she went to rejoin him after his resurrection. When he was Assistente, which I gather to have been much what the Director of the Sacro Monte is now, Torrotti had some poetry put up to say this.
At the point where the two roads again meet there is a large wooden cross, from which the faithful may help themselves to a chip. That they do get chips is evident by the state of the cross, but the wood is hard, and none but the very faithful will get so much but that plenty will be left for those who may come after them. I saw a stout elderly lady trying to get a chip last summer; she was baffled, puzzled, frowned a good deal, and was perspiring freely. She tried here, and she tried there, but could get no chip; and presently began to cry. Jones and I had been watching her perplexity, as we came up the Strada della Madonna, and having a stouter knife than hers offered to help her. She was most grateful, when, not without difficulty, Jones succeeded in whittling for her a piece about an inch long, and as thick as the wood of a match box. “Per Bacco,” she exclaimed, still agitated, and not without asperity, “I never saw such a cross in my life.” The old cross, considered to be now past further whittling, was lying by the roadside ready to be taken away. I had wanted to get the lady a chip from this, thinking it looked as if it would lend itself more easily to the design, but she said it would not do. They have a new cross every year, and they always select a hard knotty uncompromising piece of wood for the purpose. The old is then taken away and burnt for firewood.