Life in Old Siena

IN many of the more ancient Italian cities, and most of all in Rome, we are continually irritated by contrasts. We pass in a moment from all that is noble in what is old to all that is trivial in what is new, making incessant effort to attune ourselves to our surroundings. The worst of it is we are often attacked by a painful suspicion that the occasional involuntary relief we experience, on releasing our attention from the great demands of antiquity upon it, is a sign that we ourselves may partake of the cheapness and gaudiness of modern times : we feel shrunken, disheartened, humiliated ; one life seems but a trivial thing beside these forms which have watched the passing of thousands of generations ; we are like butterflies beating against a tomb. Whether one gathers the wild flowers in the clefts of the Coliseum, or lies gazing at the Alps from the amphitheatre at Verona, or sees the relics of a greater city unearthed beneath the feet of the living at Bologna, melancholy — passive and tender, indeed, but still melancholy — is and must be the predominant tone of feeling. So it is in Venice, in Pisa, in Ravenna, in a hundred other places; and it has its charm. I know of only one city in Italy where, instead of being placed in antagonism to the past, one seems assimilated with it. The reason of this I find to be the entire harmony of the surroundings, which altogether exclude the idea of newness, while they yet make no painful suggestions of decay. Not only do the buildings preserve the old traditions in great measure, but even the ancient inhabitants of Siena do not seem entirely to have passed away. They appear to have undergone a perpetual metempsychosis, which has preserved much of the old trick of thought and speech and gesture, and they are not in the least out of harmony with the old palaces they inhabit. If they are obliged to construct new habitations, they do it in the antique fashion so far as possible, and manage these “ restorations ” with a reverent touch, in which there is no trace of personal vanity. Therefore, at Siena one is content and tranquil as well as awed and interested. Is there a subtile flattery in these old buildings which open their doors to us, as if we were not unworthy of their fame, instead of relegating us to some newly built hotel in the “ strangers’ quarter ” ? Certainly, as we sit on a balcony overlooking the Piazza del Campo on the day of the great races, when all the ancient bravery of battle array comes forth, — the carroccio, the men full clad in armor, the mediæval costumes of the pages, the gayly-caparisoned horses, the tapestried windows, — it is difficult to persuade ourselves that we are in and of the nineteenth century.

Nor does the past seem far away or strange to the Sienese of the present day. However tame and monotonous may be the actual life in so small a city, Siena never forgets the dignity and activity which has once been hers. From the thirteenth century onwards, nothing has faded out of her memory. Even in the middle of this century, at the time when Florence became the capital of Italy, and delegations from all parts of the country were hastening thither, it was difficult, says Mr. Trollope, to persuade the Sienese that they would be well received ; and when the reason was finally arrived at, it was found to be a fear that the Florentines still bore them a grudge on account of the disastrous defeat of the Florentine army at Monte Aperto, in 1260 !

This battle is indeed an epoch in Siena’s history ; for the great victory over the Guelph party allowed the city a period of repose, in which it grew and prospered, and which was its golden age. Familiar as the story is, I never return to Siena without feeling a fresh interest in it. As I pass through the Piazza Tolomei, I seem to see the elders of the city and the populace assembled there on that September morning, when the haughty message is received from the besieging army spread out on the plains below : “ Make breaches in your walls, so that we can enter at our will.” I hear Bandinelli’s wily insinuations that it might be better to comply with the demand ; and then the indignant retort of Provenzano Salvani, whose indomitable firmness overcomes hesitation, and makes treachery slink away. A dictator for the time being is chosen, and the great banker Salimbeni promptly offers a loan of 18,000 florins, to quicken the zeal of the German mercenaries by double pay. The new dictator, Bonaguida Lucari, now comes forward and addresses the people: “ It seems to me fitting at this juncture that we should devote our persons and our wealth, our city and our district, with all that we have, to the Virgin Mary.” He bares his head and his feet, and lays aside his robes, and in his tunic, with a rope around his neck and the keys of the city in his hand, he heads a procession of the citizens, all barefoot like himself, to the cathedral. The venerable archbishop meets him at the threshold, and embraces him with tears. There is weeping and embracing throughout the great building, with the reconciliation and oblivion of long-existing feuds, as Bonaguida advances to the high altar, and, kneeling before the statue of the Virgin, solemnly dedicates the city and its inhabitants to the “ most pitiful mother, the counselor and helper of the distressed.” But there was work as well as prayer. All night the city was astir ; “ old men, women, and children aided in preparing armor; ” and at daybreak the long procession filed out of Porta Pispini (then San Viene), with the great battle-car in the midst. Not an able-bodied man was left in Siena that day. Those who could not fight crowded to the Duomo to pray, while from time to time the sentinels on the Marescotti¹ tower gave notice of the varying fortunes of the battle: " Pray for our army, for it seems to waver ; ” and again, “ Now it is the enemy that is in flight;” until towards sunset comes the joyful notice from the trumpeter, “ sounding from his tower the signal of victory,” that the Florentine standards are prostrate, and their forces in confusion. Through the same gate, the next day, came back the conquering army, preceded by the messenger who had brought the insolent summons riding on an ass, with his face towards the ass’s tail, and his hands bound behind him; the proud banner of Florence trailing in the dust. Again to the Duomo, this time with psalms of thanksgiving ; and it was ordered that “ every citizen over sixteen years old should offer a wax candle at the cathedral on Assumption Day,” and that to the inscription " Sena Vetus ” on the coins should be added, “ Civitas Virginis.”

An uncle of Dante, Brunetto Bellincioni, was in the Guelphic army, and it is not impossible, as a recent writer remarks, that from his lips the poet may, when a child, have heard the story of that woful day. Wandering, in later years, by the little stream, whose banks were thickly sown with the bones of his kindred, his wrath burned hot against Siena, and imbittered every mention of her race in his great poem.

Now began a period of prosperity and luxury unequaled in Siena’s earlier or later annals. This was the time of the “ Brigata Godereccia,” or twelve young gentlemen, who undertook “ to do things that would make the world wonder; ” they succeeded so well that they have been a laughing-stock ever since. They spent all their money in less than two years, by means of feasting, and throwing the dishes of gold and silver out of the windows after every banquet. But there were many nobler uses of this prosperity : money was freely lavished on art and architecture ; the building of the Duomo was continued on a greatly enlarged scale, and its bewilderingly rich façade was begun. The population of the city had increased to two hundred thousand at the time when the plague broke out, in 1348, and brought desolation and almost ruin to the city. Some historians say that it carried off nine tenths of the people ; others, that only fifteen thousand were left alive. From this blow Siena never entirely recovered. The broken arches of the unfinished facciatone of the Duomo bear witness still to the calamity. The cathedral no longer needed to be of such vast proportions for the diminished congregation. But the spirit of the Sienese was not broken. Wars and sieges were still before them, and to a period of luxury succeeded one of stern and almost savage temper, in which even the amusements of the people partook of the barbarian quality of the times. The favorite guioco delle pugna, or boxing game, was often prohibited by the authorities, and again permitted by popular desire. On the last Sunday of the Carnival, two great tents were erected in the Piazza del Campo, and whoever was disposed to take part in the game repaired thither. The contestants were under the direction of two captains, and marched to combat to the sound of trumpets and amid a crowd of excited spectators. The effects of the fray are thus described by Sermini, in one of his novelle : “ There are at least two hundred, who, for a month to come, will not be able to earn their bread, by reason of their hurts. This one has a hand lamed, another an arm, another his jaw broken, or his shoulder dislocated, or his ribs fractured ; here is a fellow quite used up and half dead. This one has lost his cloak, and that one his jacket, and another his cap, and they will have to wait long enough for new ones. ’ Where is your brother ? ’ ’ He has been assisted home.’ ’ And are not you going too ?’ ‘ No ; I must stay here for the present, though I know very well that I can’t eat my supper to-night, on account of my smashed jaws.’ ’ And I can hardly speak, my ribs are so doubled up.’ ’ Ah, but I have two teeth less for to-day’s fight.’ ’ And your neighbor, who was carried home, — how is he ? ’ ‘ To-morrow we shall see, but I fear wo shall have to bury him. By reason of this fight, six or more fellows will be dead before Easter. But you know how it is: if some die, others are always being born. However, for my part, I think that the lookers-on have the best of it.’ ”

From novelists such as Sermini, Sozzini, Bargagli, and Ilicini, we get most curious pictures of the manners and customs of the olden time in Siena. Many of their works have been lately republished ; and modern writers, like Falletti-Fossati, Carpellini, Banchi, and Acquarone, are indefatigable in their efforts to restore the couleur locale to Siena’s history. By the help of these books, old and new, we can understand pretty well what were the ways of daily life in Siena four hundred years ago.

We will suppose a stranger to have arrived at Siena towards the close of the fourteenth century. Having been detained on the way thither, he has not reached the top of the long ascent till after sunset, and he finds the city gates closed.² He must therefore be content with a lodging for himself and his horses and servants at a humble osteria outside the walls. His repose will not be untroubled, for all night long trains of mules will be arriving, laden with grain, stuffs, skins, and all manner of merchandise, and their drivers will be carousing in the courtyard. He will be quite ready to join the miscellaneous procession, when, at daybreak, the great bell from the tower of the Palazzo Pubblico announces that night is past, and that the citizens may issue from their houses. Slowly the heavy gates creak open, and through the narrow entrance pours the crowd of men and beasts, pushing, struggling, held back by the gabellieri until the tedious search for contraband articles and the payment of duties on lawful ones have taken place ; these gabellieri being in their turn under the surveillance of men in the secret service of the municipality. Once inside the city gates, and toiling up the steep, narrow streets, the traveler sees the workmen hastening to their tasks, with hooded heads and enveloped in long cloaks ; for the autumn mornings are frosty on the hill-top, and the chill of night still lingers in the streets. The chief movement is towards the Piazza del Campo, in the centre of the city, where, all around the outer edge of the great shell-like cavity, booths are being erected, and the venders of fish, flesh, straw, fruit, stuffs, and every imaginable article of commerce are spreading forth their wares. The centre of the shell is reserved for the sellers of earthen vessels. Vociferous bargaining with early housewives has already begun, and oxen, horses, cocks, mules, pigs, and sheep lend their voices to this matinée. The gay dresses of the peasants and the white head-cloths of the city servants add picturesqueness to the scene.

It is now seven o’clock, and the bell from the Mangia tower begins to sound again. This time it summons the city officials to their posts; and they come striding through the crowd with their red tunics and black or crimson hoods. They are hurrying along at a rather undignified pace, in order to reach the palazzo before the bell shall have stopped ringing, lest they should incur a line for tardiness. Seated in their highbacked chairs behind a broad table, surrounded by their secretaries and messengers, they present a much more imposing appearance. All sorts of taxes must be received by them, and it is also their duty to preserve or dispose of all sequestrated property, especially weapons found on persons not allowed to carry them, to register the names of criminals, and to pay bounties to those who have procured any benefit to the city, such as the killing of a wolf or the building of a cistern. Other officers, each escorted by two soldiers in full armor, may be seen departing on their rounds to inspect all the shops and discover any false weights or smuggled goods. Suddenly a trumpet sounds; the babel of voices is hushed, and all eyes are turned towards the banditore, or herald, who advances from one of the dark streets on horseback. It would seem a sacrilege to call this gorgeous creature a town-crier; he is clad in red and white, and boasts a silver trumpet and a silken banner. As he is the only medium of public or official news, it well becomes all citizens to pay attention to him, until, with a parting flourish on his instrument, he dismisses his audience and disappears.

Our traveler by this time is glad to quit the noisy piazza, and seek the inn, whither his servants have preceded him. The landlord of the Three Kings has been only informed that a " pezzo grosso ” (man of consideration) is coming, and the hotel is full of the goodnatured bustle in which Italian courtesy shows itself. Here, in the best room, he will get some good old Chianti wine and a dish of tripe, or of fish from the Arbia; and the landlord will promise him a lasca from Lake Thrasymene for his dinner, if the Illustrissimo will honor his poor dwelling, or will whisper, carefully looking to see that no strangers are listening, that he has a fine shoulder of mutton in the cupboard. But this is a dead secret, for sheep’s and pigs’ flesh is not allowed to be sold within the city or suburbs; and if the vender were discovered, he would be obliged not only to pay a heavy fine, but to stand a whole day in the piazza, with the meat hung round his neck, a butt for the ridicule of all the street gamins.

Going out for a walk after breakfast, the Illustrissimo would find the streets full of the higher classes of the people : riders of gay horses careering through the streets (innocent now, as then, of sidewalks), crying “Salva! Salva!” to the pedestrians in their way; damsels on their high saddles, and pious dames on foot, returning from mass at their parish churches. The nobles were not, as in these days, distinguishable by being the worst dressed men in the crowd ; on the contrary, they were known from the burghers by their black hats with golden cords and white plumes. They had an advantage over the other sex as to street costumes: they could display all their bravery abroad, while strict sumptuary laws relegated the elegant toilets of women to the house. The men’s attire, of richest silk and velvet, sparkled with precious stones, and their horses were not infrequently shod with silver. But women of respectability were forbidden to appear out-of-doors in garments of luxury. No stuffs with woven or embroidered designs of flowers, fruits, animals, or arabesques were allowed. The girdle, from the earliest times one of the most costly portions of the dress, must no longer be “ a veder più che la persona; ” it must not be worth more than four florins, and even then must be entirely concealed. For did not those stern and bejeweled law-makers surely know that deft fingers, if allowed to display their handiwork, would make a thing of beauty out of the commonest and least expensive materials ? A dark-colored mantle, ample enough to hide the figure, must also envelop the whole person from head to foot. But even these laws were not so stringent as those of Florence at the same period, which regulated the minutest details of female costume, even to jewelry; while the Sienese dame might display, in holding her mantle about her chin with one hand, and managing her train with the other, as many rings and bracelets as she chose. However, the dark eyes and brilliant complexions of the Sienese beauties doubtless shone all the more brightly in the setting of their dull mantles; and veils were not only not enjoined, but strictly forbidden, as tending to favor secrecy and unlawful designs. A lady of quality never went out on foot without being attended by two men-servants, one preceding and the other following her, while her maid walked, at a respectful distance, by her side; and there might also be a page to relieve her of the fatigue of holding up her long train. Thus attended, and deeply versed as any Turveydrop in the laws of deportment, “ vera incessu patuit dea.” She well knew that her step must not betoken pride, embarrassment, or frivolity ; that her glance must evince, or at least affect, simplicity and honesty. As to natural, free exercise on foot in the open air, it was, and is in great measure to this day, a thing unknown to Italian women. The impossibility of young unmarried women going out alone early induces the habit of remaining in the house, which eventually makes it irksome to do more than creep to mass at a neighboring church.

But we will suppose our traveler to have gazed his fill at these unknown damsels and squires, for the bells of the churches are ringing for noon, and all Siena dines at this hour. Let us hope that mine host of the Three Kings has fulfilled his promises, and given the stranger occasion to think well of the Sienese cuisine. At all events, he will have plenty of talk to season his repast, for the landlord will look in to see that his distinguished guest is well served, and to get the latest foreign news from him, in return for which he will detail all that is going on in the city. It is a pity that the Illustrissimo had not come a couple of months earlier, to see the race for the palio. “It was quite wonderful this year,” says the host; “ and our district, of the Bull, won the prize.” And then follows a long description of the splendors of that great occasion, which I will not inflict upon my readers, who may have seen, or may see, that most beautiful and fascinating of all public festivals still kept upon Assumption Day, in the same manner as it was four hundred years ago. Besides, my wish is simply to describe an ordinary day’s routine.

After his siesta, the Illustrissimo will think it time to pay visits to such acquaintances as he may have in the city. He will find the crowd in the streets even greater than in the morning. It is the hour of amusement and relaxation. Here a group has gathered around an improvisatore ; or a cantastorie is droning out his long ballads in a monotonous recitative. Politicians are “ discreetly ” discussing public affairs about the shop doors ; young girls are being safely convoyed by lynx-eyed mammas, and young men are intently studying the pretty faces as they pass, and perhaps getting a chance to whisper “ Bella ! ” into some ear. It is not mere idle curiosity on their part, for all men between the ages of twenty-eight and fifty must marry, or be ineligible for any public office. The text of this curious law, which was promulgated in 1405, runs thus: “The city of Siena being deficient in population, and the wish of the citizens being that said city should prosper, it is provided and ordered that every citizen between the ages of twenty-eight and fifty years shall be bound and obliged to take a wife within a year from the day when the present provision goes into effect. And whoever is of contrary mind and neglects to obey cannot and shall not hold any public office until he takes a wife; the penalty for any such person who accepts office being one hundred pounds in Sienese money, and removal from said office ; and it shall be lawful to bring accusations, and the fourth part of said penalty shall go to the accuser, another fourth part to the official who tries the case, and the half to the Commune of Siena. And the present provision does not include those who can give a legitimate reason for being excused on account of infirmity.”

Following the stranger to the house of his friend, we find him received with the usual ceremonious and complimentary Southern welcome. In those old days, when visitors were rare and fortunes larger than at present, it could not be permitted that even an unexpected guest should remain at an inn. He is at once invited to pass the remainder of his stay in Siena under his friend’s hospitable roof, with many reproaches for not having sooner made known his presence. Of course he endeavors to excuse himself. Ma, che ! servants are quickly dispatched to the Three Kings for the stranger’s impedimenta ; and they are bidden to make haste, for the sun is setting, and the first curfew has already begun to ring. The city gates are closed, the shops are shutting, and the night watchmen are putting on their armor and gathering at headquarters. An hour later the second curfew sounds, and whoever has to go through the streets at this late hour must carry with him a wax candle, of a size regulated by law. Hasty goodnights are exchanged between the few passers-by, all quickening their steps to reach their homes before the third and last curfew shall strike; for then all the people must be within their houses, or pay the penalty of citation for their disobedience. Thus two hours after sunset, by half past seven on this October evening, the streets are silent save for the watchman’s tread, and dark except for the twinkling ray from some lamp before a shrine. Even now, with the blaze of gaslight, the open shops, and the busy crowd, there are steep, narrow lanes and flights of steps, where shadows lurk in the recesses and doorways ; and the Via del Coltellaccio — the Street of the Ugly Knife — has an ominous sound.

But the citizens of Siena were not, as it would at first appear, deprived of all social pleasures after nightfall. Those bridges thrown from tin; upper story of one house to that of another, over streets and passages, of which one still sees many in all Italian cities, were not intended solely for the support of the high buildings against winds and earthquakes, or for escape in case of assault. They served also a pleasanter purpose as a means of communication during the hours when it was forbidden to go into the streets ; and a whole neighborhood could thus assemble, and protract their festivities to as late an hour as they pleased. The Illustrissimo Signore, says his friend, has arrived at an opportune moment. To-night there is to be a conversazione in the house of the Piccolomini, and all the elite of Siena will be there. Those who live at too great a distance to avail themselves of the bridges will come early, and pass the night in the Piccolomini Palace, or in the houses of friends. He will be delighted to show his friend the beauty and fashion of Siena, of which he can have seen but little out-of-doors. And truly, the stranger owns himself dazzled, as, after threading narrow passages and steep staircases and dizzy bridges, he emerges into a brilliantly lighted gallery, full of liveried servants, and is conducted to the vast salon, already peopled with gorgeously appareled guests. For this is the hour of the Sienese woman’s triumph and revenge. While in the morning her lord’s dress outshone her own, now she eclipses his. The Sienese ladies, says an old chronicler, “diligently sought out the finest and very best materials ; ” they loved embroidery and pearls and gold and precious stones so well, and wore them in such profusion, that the richest toilet that ever made a husband of to-day repine would seem tame and ordinary in comparison. The toilet of a gran signora, in any part of Italy, was fuller of mysteries than that of the Empress Josephine. There were all sorts of washes, and unguents, and powders, and tresses of golden thread to he inwoven with the hair. Allessandro Piccolomini, in his curious little satire, “ Della bella creanza delle donne,” tells us that there was not a woman in Siena who did not make use of these aids to beauty. He puts into the mouth of his Raffaella this receipt for a cosa rarissima for the complexion, which is not much worse than some veritable Venetian or Florentine ones which have come down to us : “I take a pair of pigeons and bone them ; then I put some Venetian turpentine, lily blossoms, fresh eggs, apples, sea-crabs, pounded pearls, and camphor inside the pigeons, and leave them to simmer in a glass bottle by a slow fire. Then I take musk and amber and more pearls and silver ; and having pulverized them, I put them in a cloth, and tie it over the mouth of the bottle, so that the liquid will run out through it, after which it must stand a few days.” But of these things the Illustrissimo is supposed to be profoundly unconscious. The result which is before him enchains his eyes. He sees brilliant, complexions, in which red and white are skillfully, if not naturally, mingled, melting dark eyes and heavy eyebrows, abundant hair carelessly gathered into a gold or silver net, and a diadem on the brow. The dress fits closely to the bust, with bouffant sleeves, and the girdle is now exposed in all its splendor. The buttons of the dress are of wrought gold, and necklace, bracelets, and rings sparkle with diamonds and rubies, while the foot, in its high-heeled, painted slipper, peeps out from the short front of the trained skirt. Complicated forms and extravagant ornamentation had already taken the place of the simple and noble styles of the thirteenth century. Any book of ancient costumes will show this gradual depravation of taste in dress, which — shall we dare to say it ? — has not yet had its risorgimento.

Where can we better leave our traveler than in the company of these noble cavaliers and dames, gazing at the frescoes of Signorelli and Gozzoli, listening to sweet voices accompanied by spinet or guitar, or dancing in stately fashion till long after midnight has tolled from the Mangia tower ?

E. D. R. Bianciardi.